85 [85] Hell
The tranquil moonlight outside the window, pure and bright as it cascaded gently into the bedroom.
Lying on the bed was a silver-haired woman, her figure voluptuous, her healthy wheat-colored skin still faintly marked with traces of last night's passionate storm.
Caenis's resilience was indeed remarkable... her robust physique endowed her with excellent endurance, capable of withstanding the wrath of Sparta completely embraced in her broad bosom.
When did it become like this?
...the subtle sensation of going with the flow.
The wise king, no matter how gentle and modest he appeared in front of others, harbored a brewing anger and violence, fueled by faith, which Caenis wholeheartedly embraced and absorbed into her broad embrace.
Caenis became the outlet for his release, opening her arms with warmth, tenderness, and fullness.
The fierce storms of the sycamore tree were not something everyone could endure, even the materials used in his palace were specially reinforced, lest it would have collapsed several times over.
Just as she described... throughout Sparta, only her constitution could fulfill such conditions.
"No matter how much you ravage and ruin me... it doesn't matter, Your Highness."
Indeed.
No matter the thunderous storms endured the previous night or the indulgence in cream puffs.
This land named Caenis, the more it was cultivated, the more it turned into fertile soil... amidst the ceaseless grace of the young king, it shed the solemnity and fierceness of a warrior, appearing flushed and charming.
This... couldn't help but remind Kratos of a certain cat whose loved riddles.
Regardless of appearances and words, how fierce and sharp they might be.
Running his fingertips over her fading facade, then delving into her fiery heart, one would discover... the belly of a cat, warm and soft, yearning for its owner's touch.
Though compared to Caenis...
In fact, there was also a cat, named Atalanta, easier for Kratos to envision as Kal'tsit, who often approached, sniffing the pleasant scent emanating from the young king, intoxicated by it.
Both were cat-eared maidens with green hair and eyes, their personalities carrying a similar fierceness and independence.
But in front of Kratos, the sharpness of the huntress princess was wholly contained, leaving only the softness of a cat.
Strolling through the woods, picking up various plant leaves, Atalanta listened attentively as Kratos introduced their uses.
The huntress princess's upright pupils, however, did not focus on the flora Kratos held, but instead observed the black-haired youth, his handsome profile illuminated by the dappled sunlight filtering through the branches.
Her delicate face tinged with a blush, her light green irises blinked, her keen nose sniffed lightly, and her fair neck glistened with subtle beads of sweat, like a cat in heat.
In the past month, Kratos could clearly see that Atalanta, too, hoped for his affection.
But due to her lingering reserve, shyness, and hesitation towards her own reawakened feelings, she couldn't bring herself to confess.
Disdain Caenis, question Caenis, understand Caenis, envy Caenis, and then aspire to be like Caenis.
Atalanta struggled to endure, striving to keep her love and care from souring.
She clearly... under the gleaming moonlight, made a vow to the moon goddess Artemis, pledging a lifetime of chastity.
She desperately clung to her precarious sanity.
But... if the young king were to take the initiative, wouldn't that absolve her from breaking her vow?
As long as he doesn't marry, then she wouldn't be considered married, right?
Kratos understood very well.
If he reached out and gently pushed... he could easily make the huntress princess collapse, defenseless and exposed, in this lush green forest.
However... Kratos's strength had now grown to a point where it was somewhat overwhelming.
The suppressed anger, the received faith of the god of war.
And the gradually loosening restrictions from his training sessions with the great hero Alcides.
Kratos's strength was increasing fiercely day by day.
During his meals now, he would often accidentally crush the specially made utensils, showing that he still needed time to adapt to his rapidly increasing power.
So... only Caenis, with her robust physique, could temporarily withstand Kratos's current storms.
If it were Atalanta instead.
If she spent that night with him, she might not have been able to handle it and would have to be rushed to the emergency room.
And... the biggest problem is...
Kratos sat on the bed, silently staring at the strands of hair in his palm.
Though... there weren't many.
But who was he? The uncrowned King of Sparta!
With Kratos's current physical condition, a single strand of hair could be tanned into the toughest bowstring, making hair loss, a big age-old crisis for middle-aged men, impossible.
It was obviously... a side effect of his limiter.
This meant that he had taken a solid step towards reaching the caped baldy realm out of his interest in breaking free from the limiter imposed on him.
...Damn!
He was only twelve years old, and he was starting to go bald?
He didn't want that kind of affection!
A surge of impulse rose in Kratos's heart... he really wanted to shave off all his hair...
As long as he had no hair, then he wouldn't experience hair loss, right?
Tsk...
This self-deceptive impulse, a thousand words compressed into a bitter sentence, was hard to let go of.
Who would want to go bald if it weren't to break free from limiter?
Oh well.
Strength and beauty, the two couldn't coexist... either beauty or strength, but how could someone have both beauty and strength?
Thinking of Alcides... with his flowing hair.
"..."
Kratos felt a bit numb.
The number of hair loss could be used to judge the degree of freedom from limiter... comforting himself like this, Kratos secretly resolved to find a way to fix this side effect.
Strength was temporary, but handsomeness was eternal.
"Sigh..."
He let out a long sigh.
Kratos wasn't in the mood for sleep anymore.
Covering Caenis's voluptuous body, which she didn't bother to conceal, like a stuffed snow cake, with the blanket, he put on his robe and walked into his office.
Not only were the Argonaut heroes stationed in Sparta now.
Every day, thousands of elite warriors rushed from various cities, the passes were crowded every day, and Sparta's population had increased by another hundred thousand in the past two months.
Thanks to magical development in this age, building construction was really fast.
Hire two craftsmen, and a building could be magically erected in a day.
Otherwise, with such rapid population growth, housing alone would be a major issue every day.
Although Kratos had quickly trained a group of officials for Sparta and handed the army over to Dante to manage, there were still many decisions that he, as regent, had to personally review.
The little free time he could spare was almost all given to the Argonaut heroes and the tumultuous intimacy with Caenis.
Fortunately, his body no longer needed much sleep now, and the pressure from facing Athena had greatly diminished, leaving the neglected orange-haired goddess feeling resentful.
With the completion of the Gates of Hell looming, there was too much to do.
Kratos wished he could split himself into two, grow two clones, but unfortunately, Aatrox was brainless, otherwise he could have let it take over some of his duties.
"Huh?! You think I'm brainless just because I'm a sword?"
A hoarse voice of resentment echoed in his mind, infuriated.
"My crest may not be able to connect to the ark right now, but its computing speed is countless times faster than yours, humans!"
"Even if it's true... you're still just a tsundere AI, Aatrox."
"Tsundere?! Who's tsundere!"
"I'm not saying who."
"Ah! Whoever Kratos is... I'll end his miserable life!"
Amidst the peaceful commotion.
The wise young king smiled as he reviewed the documents in the moonlight.
In a moment of reverie, he felt something.
A soft, incredibly elastic touch grazed the back of his head from behind, as if from a pillow.
A voice, once neutral and forceful, now seemed tender and charming, floated gently from behind.
"Your Highness..."
Though long accustomed to training, his skin still retained its delicate texture. Fingers, faintly teasing, caressed Kratos's jaw.
"Not sleeping, Caenis?"
Leaning into this understanding embrace.
Kratos smiled, tilting his head back.
His deep crimson eyes met the silver-haired woman's, shimmering with iridescent hues of charm.
Caenis nibbled her lower lip, cheeks still flushed, wisps of hair by her ears trembling softly.
"If you're not lying beside me... then this bed has no meaning."
The curve of her lips teased.
She leaned down, capturing the young king's lips in a kiss.
Seated in Caenis's embrace, Kratos attempted to continue reviewing the documents.
Yet, those restless sensations almost pulled him away from his duties.
Wrapping his hands around the silver-haired woman, he pressed her against the wall.
And reinserted his rod into her wet hole.
In the royal palace of Sparta, tremors continued incessantly.
In the adjacent library.
The purple witch, engrossed in her reading, peeked up from her book pile, her face almost blushing as she gazed at... the magical light crystal above her head swaying gently.
"..."
His Highness Kratos, and Caenis...
Hm...
Would such intimacy only deepen?
Is it... comfortable?
To Medea's ears, it seemed... comfortable.
The purple witch blushed.
Though knowing... that no one was watching her, she still used the books to cover half of her face, as if wanting to hide within them.
With the swaying of the crystal.
Medea's breath became slightly unsteady.
As a magician, her keen senses, if focused, seemed to pick up faint movements.
Wanting to listen...
...But too embarrassed to do so.
His Highness generously opened the library to her, allowing her to read at her leisure, even teaching her magic without reservation.
If she eavesdropped on her host's conversations, that... would be impolite!
Thighs rubbing together.
Cheeks seemed to burn.
Heart beating so fast...
Though she hadn't seen anything, just imagining the scenes filled her with embarrassment.
Medea didn't understand what she was so nervous about.
Just pretend she hadn't heard anything, that's the etiquette of a guest...
Though... the person she truly liked should be Jason.
But only His Highness...
The purple witch Medea dared not meet his gaze.
That captivating, deep crimson gaze.
Staring into those eyes, her mind seemed to be stirred by a vortex, rippling with subtle waves.
That's right.
All the Argonauts, conquered thoroughly by Kratos, by this young king of Sparta, by his knowledge and wisdom, by his humility and character, by his talent and resilience.
He was more formidable and perfect than all of the Argo's crew combined... he alone, simply a one-man army, a city-state!
This land could not find anyone more charming... and of the same age, a youth.
The heart of the purple witch Medea beat fervently and fiercely.
...A curse.
Medea bore a curse, a love curse for Jason.
However, possessing the characteristics of the vanguard of wandering star, there was simply no curse that could bind Kratos.
Even love curse, under his subtle influence, gradually, within the chambers of Medea's heart, loosened.
No, it can't be...
...It can't be like this.
I... clearly like Jason.
Deep in Medea's heart, she repeated this admonition to herself.
However...
The book in her hands was gradually set down.
Slowly.
As it had been for the past month, on every trembling night.
The witch's body, unable to resist, began to crawl towards the wall.
With a rosy, embarrassed face.
She pressed her ear tightly against the wall, a fervent, thirsty expression on her delicate cheeks... like an explorer in the desert searching for an oasis, enduring hunger and thirst.
Listening to the vibrations emanating from the other side of the wall, as well as the intense applause of the audience, as if facing an exciting drama.
Medea's legs went weak, and she couldn't help but sit down.
This feeling... always seemed to come naturally.
Imagining the passionate night breeze, undulating in her courtyard.
Or like a girl's fingertips, teasing her bashful heartstrings.
Basically...
She couldn't focus on her book...
...
The Gates of Hell finally completed.
Like a towering mountain, massive and imposing, a bronze-colored gate stood at the very center of Sparta's concentric iron wall defense line.
From the elevated iron walls of the circular battlefield with a radius of half a kilometer.
Amidst the enthusiastic cheers of the people.
Kratos slowly removed his robe.
His resplendent armor, gleaming with flowing gold, covered his entire body, enveloping him completely.
Under the gaze of the gathered crowd.
The majestic figure of a god descended upon the earth.
The radiant sunlight bathed down, further enhancing Kratos's figure, towering like a divine being.
All the Argonauts, in the magical projection, had seen Kratos in this form.
However, only those who witnessed it with their own eyes could truly feel the awe-inspiring power...
"So powerful..."
Standing atop the high wall, gazing at the towering figure of the King of Sparta in the main seat, emanating a majestic aura that filled the surroundings.
The handsome golden-haired youth couldn't help but murmur softly.
As the captain of the Argonaut, he was almost a hero standing at the pinnacle of mortals. In terms of raw strength, Jason had the confidence to compete with his close friend Alcides in arm wrestling. But... strength was one thing. The chaos of the battlefield was another.
On the Argonaut, Jason played more of a binding role.
That overwhelming aura.
It was the culmination of everything he had fought for on battlefields littered with corpses and blood-soaked oars, the sublimation of all his struggles.
Sparta was attacked by War Devil, resulting in over forty-two thousand deaths and over ninety-eight thousand injuries.
A fleeting sentence in historical records recorded the horrendous ordeal the young king had endured, akin to hell itself.
And...
"Kratos, what manner of form is this of yours?"
I... Kratos.
The devil who slays the devils.
If you seek to understand this power, then come to Sparta.
Kratos' declaration from five months ago still echoed in their ears.
Not only the Argonauts, but all the devil hunters who had come to Sparta were immensely curious.
What was the meaning of this divine-like figure descending to earth?
"...Blessings from the gods? No, it's not that."
Asclepius, holding his serpent staff, shook his head gently.
"Though it may seem holy and glorious, it's merely a magical facade."
As the son of Apollo, he was particularly sensitive to various forms of radiant authority, and could easily discern that this was just a magical facade.
"That sensation of devouring everything, it feels more like... that crimson titan."
Asclepius' words weighed heavily on the heroes around him.
Is that so?
They had seen Aatrox' blood-colored form before.
Naturally, they were also unaware of the truth about the vanguard of the wandering star.
The heroes of the Argonauts would never rudely inquire about someone else's secrets, that would be too offensive.
But that didn't stop them from speculating.
"The devil slays the devils... Is it a fusion of human and devil? If that's the case..."
Asclepius, usually silent, couldn't help but feel excited at this revelation of bodily transformation.
"...This means, Kratos has transcended the boundaries between humans and devils?"
This god of medicine keenly sensed that this was a newly opened field of knowledge.
If humans could unite with devils and wield their power...
Then it would bring about a seismic shift in Greece.
"When he fights... we'll see. I'm looking forward to it..."
No doubt, no curiosity.
In the minds of all the warriors present, except for Kratos' greatest rival... Alcides, there arose only a surge of indomitable fighting spirit.
He knew this form was Kratos' true strength, and their usual blood-splattered sparring was just practice.
He really wanted to have a good fight with Kratos...
But such internal strife was certainly not good.
In that case.
The great hero Alcides broke into a brilliant, and then somewhat wild, smile.
Let's see who can kill more devils! Kratos!
"Kratos!"
"Kratos!"
"Kratos..."
Amidst the cheers of thousands of soldiers, Kratos began to step forward, his majestic figure treading upon what seemed like steps composed of condensed sunlight, descending towards the Gates of Hell.
With each step he took, the cheers from the warriors surged even more passionately.
Perhaps... it was appropriate?
Today was Kratos' thirteenth birthday.
And '13' was the sacred number of the Emperor.
The Gates of Hell standing here were Sparta's gift on the king's birthday, the best gift they could offer.
Kratos, on his sacred thirteenth birthday.
Commanding the people of Sparta, commanding the entire Greek land, launching a full-scale counterattack against hell.
He... which is currently in Aatrox's ascended god-warrior form.
This glorious and holy demeanor was quite similar to that golden Emperor.
But something was missing...
That's right.
...A golden horse... No, a golden throne!
Standing atop the steps of condensed sunlight.
Kratos chuckled.
"Aatrox..."
"Heh... Only when you're showing off do you remember me."
Aatrox's hoarse voice echoed slowly in the young king's heart.
"Let's confirm this again... without me, you can't do anything, Kratos."
"Of course..." Kratos replied with a smile, "I can't lose you anymore."
"...Ah, I can't stand you."
"Sappy, disgusting."
Bathed in the burning and fervent gazes of tens of thousands of soldiers.
Kratos spread his arms towards the Gates of Hell.
Brilliant and radiant colors, emanating from the void beneath his feet, coalesced inch by inch, forming behind Kratos a terrifying and sacred golden throne, adorned with countless skulls.
Amidst the deafening and earth-shaking cheers of the warriors.
The uncrowned King of Sparta, supported by the armrests on either side, slowly descended onto this throne.
Descending into the embrace of Aatrox.
"Warriors."
"The glory of Sparta shines upon you..."
"Activate! Charge! Forward!"
Like a proclamation of final judgment.
The King of Sparta roared out his fury, resonating through the heavens.
"Crush them!!!"
Hum...
As the thoughts of the people converged and the chants layered upon one another, as the immense and pure magical energy of the age of gods poured into this massive magical ritual.
The gigantic bronze gates trembled and shook, the entire Gates of Hell were thoroughly activated.
Lightning surged within the gate's maw.
The colors within the deep crevice slowly spread open... as if an invisible blade, cutting across the fabric of the world, slowly carved out a rugged and ferocious wound...
...
On the earth's surface, filled with the fragrance of flowers and the lush green grass, the sky above was adorned with all sorts of peculiar doorways floating about.
It was a scene worthy of a painting, yet eerie and surreal in its own realm.
This was the domain known as Hell.
Thousands upon thousands of devils, with grotesque appearances of various kinds, caught the scent of the tantalizing human aroma. They crawled and slithered from all corners of this hellish land, converging behind a crevice about to split open, eagerly awaiting.
Before the gates of hell, tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, gathered their thoughts, chanting their words in unison.
They were calling upon Hell.
They longed for it... the crevice of Hell to appear before them.
And the devils sensed it...
...Sensed the piled-up, fresh, and tempting flesh outside, waiting to be devoured, torn, and savored!
With an uncontrollable thirst for blood.
Countless devils from Hell began to converge towards the seemingly massive crevice, eager to reach it.
The unstable crevice slowly widened...
A massive devil, resembling a mountain of flesh with countless sinister eyeballs embedded within its swollen, bloody flesh, crushed the nameless foot soldiers, swallowing them whole as it squirmed its way to the forefront of the Hellish crevice.
As if sensing it, amidst the crevice, countless devils of Hell began to emerge.
But suddenly...
Without warning, a brilliant and radiant holy sword burst forth from the depths of the dark crevice, piercing through the devil's eyeball.
Aieee!!!
The devil's incomprehensible form twisted in agony and howled.
Clad in armor but seemingly grinning... a face more ferocious than the devil's emerged in front of the crevice.
"You vermin, this is... Kratos/Atrox."
Too slow...
The opening was too slow!
Kratos extended his hands, grasping the edge of the Hellish crevice.
Creating a hole between the two realms was difficult... because there was no wall to be found.
But once the hole was made, filling and expanding it, and maintaining it with magic to prevent the world from repairing itself became relatively easy.
Rip...
Kratos tore open the crevice of Hell with a forceful push of his hands.
"Behold! You filthy maggots!"
Behind, a pair of magnificent golden wings unfurled, radiant and brilliant.
He soared straight up, crossing the rift between two realms. From bottom to top, he raised his hand and swung a sword... slicing through the devil like cutting butter, the massive body resembling a mountain of flesh.
Splat!
Like tomato sauce splattering everywhere.
Thick blood scattered and splattered in the fragrant hell of birdsong and flowers!
The devils almost froze in place.
As they gazed at the massive crack in hell, the once-contained dimensions gradually widened and spread...
Soon, countless armored humans emerged from within.
Warriors long prepared for battle looked straight at the devils before them.
On their faces, a cruel and bloodthirsty smile appeared.
This smile...
Seemed familiar.
It was the smile devils would crack while slaughtering mortals.
?
Is... something wrong here?
No... no no no! Where exactly is hell?!
"Maggots! Prepare for tactical transformation!"
With wings flapping, Kratos and Aatrox laughed wildly.
No need to worry about destroying any buildings anymore!
No need to worry about injuring any civilians!
Just enjoy the purest and most flawless slaughter! Unleash the most unrestrained fury!
"Once, I defied the void! Now! I welcome it!"
Aatrox gripped his greatsword, roaring thunderously.
"Ah! Hell is truly my home! Kratos!"
"Deeply felt."
Layered words emanated slowly from the sturdy figure.
Extreme brutality and bloodlust, alongside extreme rationality and calmness.
Aatrox and Kratos, the two godslayers, almost perfectly merged with each other.
This will be... a massacre!
His demonic form unfolded completely without reservation.
The colossal divine body forged from the fusion of a demonic sword and a youth, like a whirlwind of minced meat, fought into the battlefield of countless devils coming forth, taking the lead as the King of Sparta.
"Follow His Highness..."
"Charge! Forward!!!"
The Spartans blew their horns.
The human army's roar resounded through Hell for the first time.
The most elite devil hunters of Greece, the Spartan army, and warriors from various city-states came together to support each other.
In the picturesque landscape, amidst the fragrance of flowers and the chirping of birds, the battle lines of both sides collided and merged together.
Slaughter.
As if it were endless slaughter.
From dawn till dusk.
The blood moon of Hell rose slowly into the Hellish sky, casting an eerie glow upon the floating doorways, adding to the surreal and eerie atmosphere.
The crimson moonlight spilled down, no brighter than the color of the earth.
The vultures of the devil's carcass circled high above, and the deep sky was saturated with the rich blood hue, giving it a sinister appearance.
Before the crevice of Hell, the human army's roar echoed, while the devils' corpses piled up into an endless mound of bodies.
With the whirlwind of carnage.
The devils, with their simple and feeble minds, seemed to sense fear and cowardice, constantly retreating.
Humans seemed to slaughter endlessly, tirelessly.
Devils flooded towards the horizon, being squeezed by the retreating devils, creating a chaotic scene.
The Spartan front line steadily pushed forward, preparing to establish a stable foothold in Hell.
With a roar, devils, bearing infamous names, raised their bone-like knives and stabbed a Spartan warrior directly through the chest.
Shwick... Shwick...
In the past...
A human so weak, receiving such a fatal wound, would immediately struggle and die, becoming a dessert for the devils.
However...
The Spartan warrior in front of him suddenly seemed to burst forth with a majestic force, breaking the devil's bone knife abruptly.
In the devil's almost frozen gaze...
The Spartan warrior before him let out a blood-curdling roar.
He was calling out...
Calling out to his god, his lord, to give him sight, to grant him favor!
Was he calling for the mercy of Ares?
No, the mercy of Ares was useless.
The whole of Sparta, who would show favor to the warriors, the answer was already... clearer than ever.
"Honorable Kratos of Sparta!"
"You are the hero of war!"
"You are the god of courage!"
"You are the embodiment of all power and glory in this world!"
"Under your command, faithful Spartans seek your blessing!"
Boom!
Crimson flames, as red as blood, emanated from the warriors' bodies, surging forth.
In the bewildered devil's gaze.
As he pierced through the heart of this Spartan warrior, the devil found his chest, previously a ghastly and fatal wound, rapidly healing at a speed visible to the naked eye.
His muscles bulged suddenly, his already sturdy and muscular figure expanding once more as he thrust his spear forward, piercing straight through the devil's heart.
?
What is this...?
Their thoughts, dominated by bloodthirsty instincts, completely struggle to comprehend such grotesque forms.
Who exactly... is the devil?
Such grotesque forms.
Continuously, throughout the vast battlefield resembling a meat grinder, occurrences abound.
Blood for the Demonic Sword! Skulls for the Skull Throne!
Every devil's corpse is a trophy of Spartan warriors, also a tribute to His Highness Kratos.
The great army of Sparta, with the flesh and blood of devils, resuscitates and offers sacrifices.
The blessings of Kratos, rain down upon the entire battlefield.
The King of Sparta bestows upon his warriors courage and strength that steadily ascend, elevating them to his chosen ones.
The more devils they kill, the fiercer they become, thus they are promoted to become his champions.
Devil hunters witnessing Spartans act in such a manner, with envy in their eyes, begin to imitate.
Bathed in the blessings of Kratos, the battlefield presents almost a one-sided massacre.
The blood-red radiance symbolizing the God of Courage, Kratos, continuously spreads across the land of hell.
The most elite warriors and devil hunters, carefully selected, charge into the depths of hell.
The remaining soldiers stay behind on the Spartan side.
Some lucky devils, having escaped the meat grinder's edge, slither through the cracks of hell, hoping to steal a few scraps on the other side of the gate.
And then.
They see on the vast, circular battlefield, a military force standing firm like an iron wall, awaiting them sternly.
?
The robust figure of Kratos sat upon the throne of the battlefield in hell.
The violent bloodlight and embossed skulls continued to spread and flourish on his golden throne.
It was the accumulation of majestic faith and the magical power offered by the warriors.
At this moment... there was no need for him to personally slaughter anymore.
Kratos consumed the surging power, suppressing his own savagery.
And Aatrox excitedly roared, devouring the faith and magical power with his crest, bringing rare pleasure and satisfaction to the devils' demise.
The black-haired youth sat atop the sky of hell, the highest point of the battlefield.
That figure of the king, a golden silhouette, seemed to imbue the warriors with boundless courage and strength.
Finally...
The devils, overwhelmed with fear, fled in disarray.
After that, what was reflected in the eyes of the Spartan king was a massacre.
Like a tide of devils surging forth, then receding...
...
As the entire battlefield was swept clean, devil corpses piled up like small mountains beside the gates of hell.
The gates of hell, opening and closing each time, led to different areas, so efforts were made to maintain their stable operation.
Devil corpses were the purest source of magical energy, used to fill the cracks in hell and serve as fuel for the gates.
Devil blood was also a rare magical material used to inscribe various runes.
Devil bones and flesh could be used to craft various weapons and armor, saving the effort of hunting for beasts.
Devils were truly precious resources!
Under the night sky, standing atop the iron walls, Kratos looked upon the scene with immense satisfaction, achieving a victory greater than he had imagined.
In this battle, the casualties for Sparta were almost negligible.
His spirit directly monitored the entire battlefield, and whenever his Spartan warriors faced adversity, he would bless them on the spot, ensuring their victory. This led to much cursing from various devils, claiming that the King of Sparta lacked honor.
Even when his blessings couldn't save their wounds.
Outside the gates of hell, there was the most elite medical team in all of Greece, led by Asclepius as the chief physician, capable of reattaching severed limbs and even regenerating lost organs.
Unfortunately, the devils with intellect and names dared not trouble Kratos.
What remained were mostly instinct-driven devils, resulting in a one-sided slaughter.
After all, this was the devils' home ground.
Devils could resurrect, and they loved their hellish abode.
Thus, Kratos had to take the initiative to confront them.
He was the spring of warriors.
Where he stood was Sparta.
Now in the heart of the Spartan city-state, a rift to hell of unprecedented scale opened up.
News came from various city-states that they were facing devils invasions less frequently than before.
Kratos validated his own thoughts... he had taken control of most of the hellish network, so devils could only descend through the passage in Sparta.
Despite the continuous onslaught from hell, the people of Sparta no longer feared.
Days passed, and the entire land of Greece began to sing praises of the courage and fame of Kratos.
Even those who didn't believe in him, such as foreign warriors and devil hunters, now held a certain reverence for Kratos after this battle.
The cleansing brought forth a surge of bloody excitement.
In shifts, the armies stood guard before the gates of hell.
Sparta celebrated its great victory, celebrating the birth of Kratos, with the whole city adorned in lights.
Taken from devils, used against devils.
It was truly ingenious perpetual motion machine!
Olympus should award the Nobel Prize for him!
The night sky was cloudless, with stars shining brightly.
Standing at the highest point of the iron walls, Kratos slowly raised his gaze towards Mount Olympus towering into the clouds.
His gaze seemed to pierce through the mist, straight towards the temple of the God of War swaying in the flames.
He knew.
That former God of War must be watching him.
Towards the direction of Mount Olympus.
With black hair, the young and wise king slowly raised his hand, smiling ferociously, running it across his neck.
"Fuck your mom, Ares."
He laughed.
"Sooner or later, I'll twist your head off, tear out your eyes and shove it into your fucking mouth."
Watching the flames flicker, a wicked smile appeared on the face of the black-haired youth.
Hearing his words was the ultimate insult.
Bang!
Ares slammed her fist on the table, causing the grape wine in front of her to spill.
"Kratos!!!"
Draped in blood-red armor, the black-haired woman waved her hand, and a scorching divine power surged out, converging into a crimson spear.
With a flick of her hand, she could unleash an attack on Sparta, completely annihilating that arrogant brat and his city into rubble.
Her wrist trembled.
The woman's familiar, gentle, and charming voice echoed softly in Ares' ears.
"If I were you, I wouldn't do that, my dear sister."
Athena smiled, her voice lingering.
"Fuck your mother, Athena!"
Ares raised her hand violently, about to launch the spear.
Boom!
A divine thunderbolt suddenly struck the dome of the temple, shattering the flaming spear in Ares' hand and electrifying her whole body.
"...Next time, it won't be a warning."
A solemn, cold, emotionless mechanical voice resonated in the temple.
"Zeus!!!"
Scratching her disheveled hair, Ares roared and howled at the sky.
"What do you want?! Have you forgotten your duty as the flagship? For these weak, insect-like humans, have you disregarded our race? Do you even want to destroy Olympus?!"
The sky remained silent.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck Fuck Fuck!!!!!!"
Ares wildly pulled her hair, unable to believe that Kratos, a mere human like an insect, could do anything to her.
But in just a few months, this kid's power had increased at an alarming rate, even making her, a machine god, feel palpitations.
She didn't care about the weak human faith, but the compatibility between him and the vanguard of the wandering star seemed unprecedentedly high.
...Is this for real?
Ares twitched her face as if she really wanted to imagine Kratos twisting her head off, tearing out her eyes, and shoving it into her mouth.
Ares knew very well.
...That guy can really do it.
"My foolish sister..."
Athena smiled.
"Its true you're not allowed to lay a hand on Kratos..."
"But, it doesn't mean Kratos can't lay a hand on you."
"If Kratos, overwhelmed by anger, chooses to strike you, you can defend yourself."
"Even Zeus cannot resist the fundamental laws to stop you from eliminating the threat of the fleet."
"What's the use of saying this nonsense, Athena!"
Ares roared in frustration.
"Kratos, he's completely rational! You've seen it too! After everything that happened to him, he's still rational! That's not human, he should've gone mad! Fuck! Why would he attack me when he's rational?!"
"Is that so...?"
On the face of the orange-haired woman, a mysterious smile appeared.
She gently caressed her abdomen.
"Hehe... I've gained a lot from him, you know."
"His emotions, his anger, that passionate heart of his."
"I feel like something is about to be born from my terminal."
"You...?!"
Ares looked at her sister with twitching facial muscles.
"Shh..."
Athena pressed her lips.
"Don't say it."
The orange-haired woman smiled mysteriously.
"If you want Kratos to strike you, it's actually... very simple, my dear sister."
"What he cares about the most, is in your hands."
"Are you referring to Vergil?"
Ares sneered disdainfully...
"Family, is that useful? He's a lord of a city! He's endured all the hatred for so long. I don't believe he would completely break his defenses for a brother."
"That's because you don't understand him at all."
"And I understand him very well..."
"...In this world, no one understands him more than I do."
"He absolutely..."
Athena said with a smile...
"...cannot resist."
As her words faded away.
Inside the temple, there was a long silence.
Ares' expression seemed lost for a moment.
She lowered her eyelids and her gaze fell directly on the humanoid figure that had been largely transformed, standing in the black, half-reconstructed ground.
Vergil.
No longer needed to become the strongest...
Ares now just wanted to kill that brat immediately to prevent any future trouble.
Athena's figure slowly dissipated into nothingness.
"Kratos..."
The black-haired woman sat on the throne of the temple.
The hideous scar on her delicate face seemed to writhe like a centipede.
She chuckled.
"I will make you experience true hell..."
