CHAPTER 103 — THE EIGHTH ASCENT
The doorway to the Eighth Realm was nothing like the spirals they had traversed before. It stretched endlessly upward, an obsidian spire that disappeared into clouds so thick they swallowed the faint light of the crimson sky. The air around it was cold—so cold that every breath burned, and frost formed along Kratos' beard and Atreus' hair.
Atreus shivered. "I… I can feel it, Father. The Realm… it's different here. Heavier. Older."
Kratos' gaze swept upward. The Leviathan Axe hummed faintly, frost licking its runes. "Every Realm grows more cruel as we ascend," he said, voice low, controlled. "The Divide was only a test. What awaits here… is judgement."
The ground beneath them was slick with blackened ice. Each step sent shivers through their bones, and the spire itself groaned as though alive, responding to their presence. Shadows clung to the edges, flickering in forms that resembled ancient gods long forgotten. Their faces twisted in silent screams, some reaching out as if trying to pull the intruders into the void.
Kratos tightened his grip on the axe. "Keep your focus. Do not falter. This Realm will use our fear against us."
Atreus nodded, threads lacing around his arms, arrows nocked. "I can see it, Father… it's watching us. It knows we survived the Divide."
They began the ascent. The spire twisted unnaturally, the path narrowing and curving in ways that defied reason. Each step felt heavier than the last. The higher they climbed, the more the spire seemed to stretch infinitely, and the colder it became.
Then the first trial appeared.
A figure stepped from the shadows. Not massive like the guardian of the Throne, but smaller, quicker, and infinitely more vicious. Its form was fluid, shifting between man and beast. Eyes glowed crimson, reflecting the icy frost of Kratos' axe. Claws scraped the obsidian spire with a sound that resonated through their bones.
"You have come far," the creature hissed. "But far is meaningless here. Every step you take… you lose something."
Kratos' jaw tightened. "And what is it that you offer?"
"Fear," the creature said. "Doubt. Regret. Pain. The tools of this Realm. And if you falter… death."
It struck. Movement too fast to follow with the eye. Tendrils of shadow extended, aiming to ensnare. Kratos swung the Leviathan Axe, frost erupting, shattering the nearest appendage. Atreus fired his arrows, threads wrapping and yanking, slowing the creature's movements.
But it was adaptable. Every strike they made was countered with a new attack pattern. The shadows flowed around them, wrapping the spire in a haze that obscured perception.
Atreus' voice trembled. "Father… it's learning faster than anything we've faced."
Kratos' eyes burned. "Then we strike faster. Harder. With intent."
He leapt onto the creature's shifting body, frost spreading with each footfall. The being screeched—not in pain, but in recognition, as though it understood the threat Kratos represented.
Atreus lashed threads outward, binding its limbs to jagged projections of ice. Sparks flew as the creature struggled, tendrils snapping violently, but Kratos pressed the advantage, driving the axe deep into the frost-covered torso.
The figure exploded into shards of shadow and ice, scattering across the spire. The air vibrated with their screams, fading into silence.
Kratos exhaled slowly. "This Realm measures more than strength," he said. "It measures resolve."
They continued upward. The spire narrowed further, the wind growing stronger. Each gust carried whispers—echoes of failure, regrets, and voices of those lost along the path. The Eighth Realm fed not on their flesh, but their minds.
Atreus' hands trembled as he gripped his bow. "I… I can hear them. Voices… telling me I can't do it. That I'm weak. That I'll fail."
Kratos' eyes were like ice. "Ignore them. Focus on what you are, not what you fear. Your will is sharper than this Realm. Remember that."
The higher they climbed, the thinner the air became. Each breath was a struggle. Their movements slowed, limbs heavy as though wading through liquid stone. Shadows clung to them, whispering doubts, manifesting fears.
Atreus faltered, almost slipping from the narrow edge. "Father!"
Kratos caught him, pulling the boy close. "Steady. You will not fall here. Not while I stand."
A deep rumble began. The spire itself seemed to awaken. Jagged cracks appeared, glowing faintly with crimson light. Shadows surged upward from the fissures, forming into humanoid shapes—figures of those Kratos and Atreus had failed to save in other realms. Soldiers, civilians, allies… their eyes hollow, accusing, impossible to ignore.
Atreus gasped, trying to move past them, but each step brought more phantoms, whispering, clawing, trying to block their path.
Kratos swung the Leviathan Axe in a wide arc, frost spraying outward, shattering phantoms into fragments. "Do not hesitate!" he shouted. "Do not falter!"
Atreus followed, threading arrows with icy precision, dispersing the lingering forms. But they kept coming, relentless, endless—a test of endurance, not skill.
Finally, the spire widened slightly, opening onto a plateau of cracked ice. At its center rose the Eighth Heart, smaller than the Seventh, but pulsing with a deeper, darker crimson. The shadows surrounding it coalesced into a massive guardian—an entity born of frost and shadow, its limbs long and jagged, veins of red energy pulsing visibly beneath the icy armor covering its form.
It spoke without moving. "None who ascend here leave unchanged. None who strike the heart survive unscarred."
Kratos stepped forward. "Then we will survive."
The guardian surged. Frost and shadow clashed violently with Kratos' axe. Atreus fired arrows, lacing them with threads to bind limbs and tendrils. Each strike shook the plateau, cracks spreading into the icy surface, threatening to swallow the ground beneath them.
The guardian adapted instantly. Tendrils wrapped around the air itself, attempting to crush their movements. The wind howled violently, cutting at their skin, testing their resolve.
Atreus shouted, "Father… it's feeding on the Realm's energy! Every strike we make, it grows stronger!"
Kratos growled. "Then we strike with purpose. Harder. Faster. End this before it can adapt further."
He leapt onto the creature's torso, frost spreading explosively with each step. The guardian screeched—a soundless, mind-ripping shriek—and lashed violently, throwing Kratos into the icy ground.
Atreus' threads wrapped tightly, yanking tendrils into jagged cracks. He fired arrows continuously, each one slicing through veins of crimson energy.
Kratos rose, driving the Leviathan Axe deep into the heart of the guardian. Frost erupted violently, shards scattering across the plateau. The guardian thrashed, tendrils smashing the ice, but the Leviathan Axe held true, and Atreus' threads anchored its movements.
The Heart pulsed violently, responding to their combined assault. The guardian let out a final, echoing scream before shattering into fragments of shadow and ice.
The plateau quaked violently. Shards of ice and shadow fell into cracks below, revealing the abyss beyond. Silence fell once more, heavy and oppressive.
Kratos and Atreus stood together, battered but alive. Frost and blood clung to them, but their resolve remained unbroken.
"Atreus," Kratos said, voice low, lethal, "the Eighth Realm tests more than strength. It tests endurance, purpose, and will. Remember this—each step forward demands everything. But hesitation is death."
Atreus nodded, threads dimming slightly. "I understand, Father… I will not falter."
Kratos' eyes scanned the plateau. The Eighth Heart pulsed weakly, scarred by their attacks but alive—a reminder that the Realm itself would not yield without continued struggle.
The path forward narrowed once more, spiraling upward into mist and darkness. Shadows lingered at the edges, watching, waiting for even the slightest hesitation.
Kratos tightened his grip on the Leviathan Axe. "We endure, boy. Step by step, we endure. Or we die trying."
The crimson wind whispered around them. The Eighth Realm was patient. Merciless. Hungry.
And Kratos and Atreus pressed forward, together, into the unknown.