Chapter 78 – The First Strike of Shadows
The skies were not broken—they were dying.
Shards of light pierced the void like cold knives, yet offered no warmth, no guidance. Each fissure in the air pulsed with shadow, as if the rifts themselves had taken breath and chosen to whisper threats. Far beneath them, the fractured remains of the First Realm smoldered, its veins of broken power bleeding upward into the Nine's grasp.
Kratos and Atreus stood upon a plateau of fractured stone, edges crumbling into nothingness. Xenara hovered beside them, her staff glowing faintly, wards trembling in resonance with the chaos that began to stir across the horizon.
"They're moving," Xenara said quietly, her voice tight. "All of them. Every rift, every shard of fractured reality—they're aligning."
Atreus's pulse quickened. He could feel it through the fracture inside his chest: a cold, patient hunger. Not just from the Nine, but from the worlds themselves, reacting violently to their intrusion.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"They are coordinating," she replied. "The collapse of the First Realm was a signal. Now, the Nine are striking simultaneously across the surviving realms. You are the anchor, and they intend to pull everything else into the void."
Kratos's grip tightened on the Leviathan Axe. "Then we meet them."
Atreus shook his head. "We can't. Not all of them. We barely held the shadows in the First Realm. If they strike the others…"
Xenara's eyes narrowed. "It will not matter what we can do. We must choose where to strike first. Or everything falls at once."
The wind—or what passed for it in this dying place—shifted. The horizon cracked as shadowed forms emerged from distant rifts. The Nine were not approaching individually; they moved as a tide. Each was accompanied by fragments of realms already broken: shards of kingdoms, shattered mountains, cities suspended in midair by their will. Shadows of the fallen danced around them like loyal specters.
One figure stepped forward first. Its shape was familiar to Kratos: jagged armor, a helm shattered across the face, eyes glowing a crimson hue that burned through the distance. The Others followed, each a distorted echo of divine form, yet twisted in new, sinister ways by the collapse of the First Realm.
"They've adapted," Xenara whispered. "Each strike will be sharper than the last. Faster. More precise. They've learned from our resistance."
Atreus swallowed, feeling the fracture inside him pulse violently, whispering temptation: Release it. End them now. Obliterate everything to save what remains.
"Do not," Kratos said, voice low but commanding. "Control is the weapon, not destruction."
Atreus closed his eyes, centering himself, and let the fracture respond—not with force, but with precision. Threads of energy shaped themselves along the ley lines of the fractured plateau, sealing cracks, reinforcing platforms, and pushing shadows away just enough to hold them at bay.
The Nine advanced relentlessly, their laughter echoing across the broken horizon. But now it was different. It was no longer amusement alone—it was strategy. Every step, every movement, every fragment of a realm they carried had been honed to exploit weakness.
"First strike," Xenara murmured. "They will divide the surviving realms among themselves. Each one takes a realm, corrupts it, and waits for the fracture to amplify their victory."
Atreus looked out across the horizon, trying to comprehend the scale. "We're… too few."
Kratos did not answer. He only stepped forward, setting the pace. Each footfall caused the stone beneath to tremble, echoing like a drum of warning across the desolate horizon.
From the shadows emerged the first wave. Figures of impossible height, armed with weapons forged from darkness and light intertwined, came down the slopes. Their presence alone warped the air, causing the fractured platforms to tremble violently.
Xenara fired wards, energy arcs forming jagged barriers. Atreus let arrows fly, each one piercing through constructs before they could fully form. Kratos swung the Leviathan Axe, each strike creating shockwaves that blasted the ground and scattered shadow, yet more surged forward, multiplying faster than they could be held back.
"This is not a battle," Atreus shouted over the roar of clashing energy. "It's a hunt!"
Kratos's jaw tightened. "And we are the prey… until we become the hunters."
Another rift tore open in the horizon. Through it, the Nine's chosen strike force emerged: towering beings, fused with fragments of fallen realms, wielding weapons older than time. Their presence twisted reality, bending light and shadow, warping the very air around them.
The battlefield became chaos incarnate. Platforms shifted and buckled. Shadows erupted from the rifts in jagged waves. Energy pulses from the fracture surged with each strike.
Kratos met the first of the Nine head-on, Leviathan Axe slicing through weapon and shadow alike. Sparks of energy danced across the shattered sky as they clashed. Each swing was precise, measured, but the enemy countered with uncanny speed, their attacks unpredictable yet deliberate.
Atreus moved alongside Xenara, drawing upon the fracture's energy to create focused threads of light, dispersing smaller shadow forms before they could coalesce into solid threats. Yet each dispersal fed the larger tide, forcing them into retreat and repositioning constantly.
From the distance, a cry rang out. A world they had hoped to save—Vanaheim—was already under assault. Massive fractures tore through the forests, and shadow constructs moved through the trees like rivers of black smoke. The Nine were no longer contained—they were spreading, overwhelming, conquering even without directly engaging Kratos and Atreus.
"They don't just fight," Xenara said, voice grim. "They destabilize. They don't need victory—they need collapse. Every realm that falls increases their strength."
Atreus's hand shook as the fracture's energy called to him again. One release. One strike. End them all.
Kratos's voice was iron. "No. Control it. That is the only way they fail."
The primordial laughter rose again, echoing across the horizon: low, patient, infinite. Yes… resist. Endure. Fight… but do not yet see the end. I will enjoy watching the path unfold.
The Nine's forms advanced, their shadows reaching the very edge of the plateau. The fractured ground threatened to give way beneath them, and the surviving fragments of other realms teetered on the brink.
Kratos roared, launching himself forward, axe swinging with ferocious precision. Atreus and Xenara followed in tandem, arrows and wards flaring in the dim, fractured light. Yet even as they struck down one wave, two more rose in its place, relentless and calculating.
"Hold the line!" Kratos shouted. "We do not break! Not here! Not now!"
Atreus felt the pulse of the fracture echoing through his chest, trembling like a storm barely contained. He understood fully now—the Nine were not merely attacking. They were testing the limits of their resistance, probing for weakness, seeking the moment to strike the fracture directly through him.
A massive shadow construct formed at the center, taller than any they had faced, its body a fusion of iron, stone, and void energy. Its glowing eyes locked onto Atreus, and a wave of oppressive intent slammed through the plateau, bending the air and nearly knocking him off his feet.
Kratos stepped forward, placing himself between Atreus and the construct. "You are not yet ready to carry this burden alone," he growled.
Atreus shook his head. "I am ready! I—"
The shadow roared, a soundless force that made the plateau quake violently. Platforms shifted, energy threads snapped, and the tide of the Nine surged forward as if sensing the fracture's hesitation.
Kratos swung the Leviathan Axe, shattering the construct's arm in a massive shockwave. Atreus focused his energy, sending arrows laced with controlled fracture threads to bind the shadows' movement. Xenara created a lattice of wards, anchoring the edge of the plateau to prevent complete collapse.
But even as they fought, it became clear: this was only the beginning.
The Nine were not here to be defeated in a single strike. They were here to spread chaos, to force the fracture to its limit, to break the balance that Kratos and Atreus had fought to maintain.
The laughter echoed across the void once more, layered with menace and delight: Yes… fight… survive… but understand… this is only the first strike.
Kratos looked over the horizon, seeing the distant flicker of realms already crumbling under the Nine's assault. His hand tightened on the axe.
Atreus tightened his grip on the bow, drawing a deep, steadying breath.
Xenara's wards flared brighter, holding the edges together for now.
The Vein Wars had begun in earnest.
And the first strike of shadows would not be the last.