CHAPTER 107 — THE PRICE OF CHOOSING
The Ninth Realm did not rage when Kratos made his choice.
It judged.
The moment his foot settled upon the dim, unstable path, the realm responded with a slow, deliberate shudder, as if an ancient mind had turned its attention fully upon him. The brighter path—the one burning with raw power, rage, and certainty—rose briefly, pulsing like a heartbeat of temptation, before collapsing inward and vanishing into the void. Its light left behind an afterimage in Atreus' vision, a reminder of what had been refused.
The ground beneath them sank, lowering Kratos and Atreus into the obsidian depths. Not falling—being accepted. The air thickened until each breath felt earned. Time itself seemed to stretch, dragging moments into long, suffocating silences.
Above them, the Judges loomed, vast and motionless, their colossal forms carved from shadow, light, and the essence of the Nine Realms. They did not intervene. They observed.
Atreus staggered as the fracture in his chest pulsed violently, silver light laced with gold spreading beneath his skin. He clenched his teeth, fighting the sensation—not pain, but pressure, as though something ancient was pressing against his very identity.
"Father," he whispered, voice tight. "It's reacting. The Realm… it knows what you chose."
Kratos placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Then let it know we endure."
The Ninth Judge spoke, its voice layered with echoes of countless others, vibrating through bone and memory alike.
"You rejected dominion."
The words struck like a verdict.
"You rejected certainty."
The obsidian plane beneath them cracked, spreading outward like a spider's web.
"Therefore, you will walk the path of loss."
The world collapsed inward.
Without warning, the Ninth Realm peeled away, layer by layer, revealing not darkness—but memory.
They stood in Sparta.
Not as it had once been, proud and living, but as it was in the final moments of its destruction. The sky burned crimson, frozen in a perpetual state of collapse. Ash hung motionless in the air. Stone streets were cracked and soaked with blood long since dried into the fabric of the realm itself.
Atreus froze.
"No…" His voice trembled. "This already happened."
Kratos did not answer.
A younger Kratos stood at the center of the square, blades chained to his arms, drenched in blood. His chest heaved with breath, his eyes empty—not raging, not grieving—resolved.
The past Kratos turned slowly.
His gaze locked onto the present.
Atreus felt his breath catch. "Father… it's you."
The Ninth Judge's voice echoed softly.
"This is not illusion."
"This is remembrance."
The younger Kratos spoke, his voice stripped of warmth. "You chose power," he said. "And the world burned."
The scene shattered violently.
They stood now amid a broken Midgard. Towers lay collapsed like bones. The sky fractured with lightning locked in eternal suspension. Gods lay scattered across the land—not slain, but hollowed, their power drained, their purpose erased.
Atreus' chest tightened. "This… this hasn't happened yet."
Kratos' eyes hardened. "It will. If the Nine remain unchallenged."
The Ninth Judge loomed closer.
"Every restraint you choose delays destruction," it intoned.
"Every mercy creates weakness."
"Every bond becomes leverage."
The world twisted again.
This time, the silence was unbearable.
They stood on a quiet battlefield beneath a dim sky.
Atreus' heart stopped.
He saw himself.
Older. Taller. Standing alone. His bow lay shattered at his feet. Around him were bodies—friends, allies, warriors whose names he had not yet learned. Their faces were frozen in the stillness of death.
Across from him stood Kratos.
Older. Heavier with years and burden. His expression unreadable. The Leviathan Axe rested in his hands.
"No…" Atreus whispered. "This isn't real."
Future-Kratos raised the axe.
Kratos roared.
"ENOUGH!"
Frost exploded outward as he slammed the Leviathan Axe into the ground. The vision fractured violently, memories splintering like shattered glass, scattering into the void.
The Judges shifted for the first time.
Kratos stepped forward, chest rising and falling, eyes burning with defiance rather than rage.
"You show me outcomes," he growled. "Not inevitability."
The Ninth Judge descended closer, its presence bending reality.
"You believe choice absolves consequence."
"No," Kratos replied. "I believe choice defines who we are. Not who you demand we become."
The realm trembled.
Atreus cried out as the fracture surged again—but this time, it did not burn out of control. The silver-gold light folded inward, stabilizing, strengthening.
"Father," Atreus said through clenched teeth. "I can hear them."
Kratos turned sharply. "Who?"
"The trapped ones," Atreus said. "The gods… the kings… the forgotten. They're not screaming anymore."
The Ninth Judge recoiled slightly.
"Silence, child."
Atreus lifted his head, eyes glowing faintly with a light that did not belong to the Nine.
"You're afraid," he said quietly. "Because this realm feeds on surrender. And we're not giving you that."
The Judges stirred now, unease rippling through their immense forms.
Kratos stepped beside his son.
"You do not maintain balance," he said coldly. "You harvest sacrifice. That ends."
The Ninth Judge's voice deepened, darkening.
"Then you will pay the final price."
The ground split open beneath Kratos.
Chains erupted upward—vast, ancient constructs forged from the essence of every realm. They wrapped around Kratos' limbs and torso, binding not flesh, but legacy. Every god slain. Every realm scarred. Every sin remembered.
The chains dragged him toward a chasm of pure void.
Atreus screamed. "Father!"
Kratos resisted, muscles straining, frost surging—but the chains were not meant to be broken by strength.
"This is my burden," Kratos said calmly. "Not yours."
"No!" Atreus shouted, threads exploding from his bow, wrapping around the chains. "I won't let them take you!"
The Ninth Judge thundered.
"If he remains, you walk free."
"If you pull him back, the fracture completes—and you become what the Nine fear."
Atreus froze.
The choice crushed him.
Kratos met his gaze.
"Whatever you become," he said firmly, "choose it yourself. Not for me."
Atreus' hands shook.
Then he tightened his grip.
"I choose us."
The fracture surged—but instead of exploding, it transformed. Crimson faded into silver-gold light, steady and controlled. The chains screamed—not aloud, but in essence—as Atreus pulled.
The realm convulsed.
Kratos was ripped free, crashing onto the obsidian ground beside his son.
One of the Judges cracked.
A fissure split its massive form, light bleeding through.
The Ninth Judge roared.
"THIS WAS NOT FORESEEN."
Kratos rose slowly, placing himself between Atreus and the Judges.
"Then your foresight is flawed," he said.
The Ninth Realm shook violently.
Deep beneath them, something ancient stirred—something buried not by accident, but by fear.
Atreus felt it clearly.
"Father…" he whispered. "We didn't just resist the trial."
Kratos nodded.
"We broke its rule."
Above them, the void cracked open.
And from the depths of the Ninth Realm, something began to awaken