"And now, it's your turn."
Zeus' pale eyes were filled with cruelty.
"You're afraid..." Kratos suddenly laughed, blood flowing from the corner of his mouth to his chest, "so... you want to kill me..."
The motion of Zeus raising his sword paused almost imperceptibly. It was this moment of hesitation that allowed Kratos to use his last bit of strength to pounce at the Divine King. No weapons, no tactics, just pure, beast-like biting—his teeth actually embedded into Zeus' wrist, golden divine blood splashing onto his face.
Warm and scorching.
"You filthy beast!" Zeus roared, flinging his arm. Kratos was tossed into the air, greeted by the Olympus Sword that had long been waiting there.
The sword's tip pierced accurately into Kratos' chest.
Time seemed to stand still. Kratos hung on the sword, watching his blood flow down the grooves of the blade, those grooves engraved with divine inscriptions eagerly absorbing his life force. Zeus' face was close at hand, and finally, a hint of emotion appeared in those pale pupils... was it pity? No, it was something more complex.
"Athena was right,"
Zeus' voice suddenly became weary, "Certain fates, even gods cannot escape."
Rotating the sword hilt, Kratos felt his innards being crushed by divine power, "But at least today, the prophecy will not come true."
The blade erupted with blinding white light. Kratos felt himself falling, through rock, through magma, through countless wailing souls. The last thing he saw.
Was the boy from above—the figure that Zeus seemed incredibly wary of.
Who was he?
Kratos didn't know.
He only knew his will fell into silence.
As if his ears were muted.
He couldn't hear what the boy said after landing on the ground.
The storm subsided, the dust settled.
Ian's silhouette floated down from the high cliff like a falling leaf, his black robe gently swaying in the lingering wind. His boots touched the ground silently, his silver-gray right eye slightly narrowed, looking at Zeus who was still hovering in the air.
"Why did you point at me just now?"
Ian's tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable questioning.
Zeus was silent for a moment, the Olympus Sword in his hand still glowed with a dangerous golden light, but ultimately, he restrained his divine power, the sword's glow gradually dimmed until it completely vanished. He slowly descended to the ground, the dust on his white robe dispersing automatically, as if even the land dared not desecrate the deity's robes.
"The Blood of the Godslayer is here." Zeus did not directly answer Ian's question, but simply raised his hand, palm down, aimed at Kratos' desiccated body.
Kratos' corpse was already cold, skin ashen, muscles atrophied, yet as Zeus drew on his divine power, the blood remaining in his body began to writhe as if alive, seeping from wounds, from pores, even from the depths of his long-stilled heart, coalescing into a scarlet stream that spiraled upwards, finally condensing into a dark red blood orb in Zeus' palm.
Zeus retrieved a Crystal Bottle from the void, its body etched with ancient runes, the blood flowed into it automatically, churning within, as if still carrying the fury and defiance of Kratos in life.
"Take it."
Zeus handed the bottle to Ian, his tone indifferent, "It's what you wanted."
Ian took the bottle, looked down at Kratos' body, then lifted his gaze to Zeus, suddenly letting out a light laugh.
"I think he'll return."
Zeus' brow furrowed slightly, a trace of impatience flickered in his eyes.
"That's because you overestimate my son," he said coldly, "mortals are mortals, dead is dead."
Clearly, the Divine King was very confident.
Ian shook his head.
Placed the Crystal Bottle into his bosom.
He felt like a villain.
Indeed.
Meddling with these gods is bound to bring trouble.