CHAPTER 106 — WHAT THE NINTH REMEMBERS
The moment they crossed the threshold, the world broke.
Not shattered—unraveled.
Light folded inward, collapsing into itself like a dying star. Sound vanished. Even the sensation of movement disappeared, as if existence itself had paused to consider whether Kratos and Atreus were worthy of continuing.
Then the Ninth Realm breathed.
Reality snapped back violently.
Kratos landed first, boots grinding against black stone etched with symbols that shifted as he looked at them. The ground was solid—but it felt resentful, vibrating faintly beneath his feet, like a living thing tolerating an intruder. The air was colder than Hel, yet carried no frost. Instead, it was heavy, ancient, and saturated with memory.
Atreus staggered beside him, gasping.
"This place…" His voice echoed strangely, as if spoken through layers of time. "It's not just a realm. It's a mind."
Kratos rose slowly, Leviathan Axe already in hand. His instincts screamed danger—but not from a single direction.
Everywhere.
They stood on a vast plain of obsidian, stretching endlessly in all directions. Above them, the sky churned—not clouds, not stars, but visions. Flickering images formed and dissolved: wars long forgotten, gods kneeling, realms burning, civilizations erased without ceremony.
The Ninth Realm was watching them remember things they had never lived.
"This is where the Nine began," Kratos said, voice low. "And where they hid what they feared."
Atreus swallowed. The fracture in his chest pulsed—stronger than before. Not painful. Aware.
"I can feel it responding," he said. "Like this place recognizes me."
Kratos turned sharply. "Do not let it speak to you."
Too late.
The ground ahead split silently, opening into a descending pathway spiraling downward into darkness. No wind, no sound—just an invitation.
From the shadows below, a voice emerged. Not loud. Not threatening.
Familiar.
"Come forward, God of War."
Kratos' jaw tightened.
The voice continued, calm and measured.
"Come forward… Father."
Atreus froze.
"That voice—"
"I know," Kratos said. "Stay behind me."
From the darkness rose a figure.
It was not a monster.
It was Kratos.
Younger. Unscarred. Skin ash-white, eyes burning with rage untouched by restraint. The Blades of Chaos were wrapped around his arms, dripping fire that did not illuminate—only consumed.
But the eyes were wrong.
They held no fury.
Only certainty.
"You survived," the reflection said. "But you did not escape me."
Atreus felt his chest tighten. "Father… is that—"
"A lie shaped like truth," Kratos said. "Do not listen."
The reflection stepped closer. The ground did not resist him.
"You call it endurance," the false Kratos said. "I call it cowardice. You buried your nature beneath fatherhood and discipline, pretending restraint is growth."
Kratos raised the Leviathan Axe. Frost bled into the air.
"I chose control," he said. "I chose to be better."
The reflection smiled.
"And how many died so you could choose?"
The sky above them responded.
Images flared—villages burning, gods screaming, Atreus standing alone over fallen allies yet to be named. Futures. Possibilities. Consequences.
Atreus cried out, clutching his chest as the fracture surged violently.
"Father—make it stop!"
The reflection turned to Atreus.
"You carry his legacy," it said softly. "Violence disguised as destiny. This realm knows what you will become."
Kratos moved instantly.
The Leviathan Axe tore through the false Kratos—but instead of blood, memory exploded outward. Pain slammed into Kratos' mind: Sparta. Ares. The chains. The screams he never truly forgot.
The reflection reformed behind him.
"You cannot kill me," it said. "I am what you were. And what you will always be capable of again."
Kratos turned slowly, breathing controlled—but heavy.
"I know exactly what I am capable of," he said. "That is why I choose restraint."
The reflection's eyes narrowed.
"Then prove it."
The ground beneath Atreus cracked.
He fell.
Kratos lunged, grabbing Atreus' arm just before the darkness swallowed him. The fracture in Atreus' chest erupted with crimson light, tearing through the shadows below, revealing a vast abyss filled with voices.
Not screams.
Prayers.
Broken gods. Forgotten kings. Entities erased by the Nine.
Atreus gasped. "They're trapped… Father, the Nine didn't rule. They consumed."
The reflection laughed softly.
"The Ninth Realm is not a throne. It is a prison. And you stand at its lock."
Kratos hauled Atreus back onto solid ground. His eyes never left the reflection.
"What do you want?"
The reflection's form began to shift—older, taller, crowned in shadows woven from all nine realms.
"To see if you will repeat history… or finally break it."
The sky darkened completely.
From the horizon, shapes emerged—colossal silhouettes forming a circle around the plain. Not gods. Not titans.
Judges.
Each one bore a symbol of a realm: fire, frost, light, decay, time, void.
The Ninth stood at the center—faceless, immense, watching silently.
The reflection stepped back, dissolving into shadow.
"The trial begins," the voice echoed. "Not of strength. Not of power."
The Ninth Judge finally spoke.
"A trial of choice."
The ground split again, revealing two paths.
One burned with raw power—rage, destruction, certainty.
The other was dim, unstable, filled with uncertainty and sacrifice.
Atreus looked between them, breath shaking.
"Father… which one—"
Kratos placed a hand on his shoulder.
"We do not choose the easy path," he said. "We choose the right one."
The Ninth Judge's presence intensified.
"Then step forward, God of War. And accept what that choice will cost you."
Kratos stepped onto the dim path.
The realm reacted.
The fracture in Atreus' chest flared violently—but did not break.
Instead, it changed.
The Ninth Realm trembled.
Somewhere deep beneath them, something ancient stirred—something that had not expected defiance.
The Judges shifted uneasily.
And for the first time since its creation…
The Ninth Realm hesitated.