Chapter 79: [79] Never Will Be
Boom!
Two Spartan round shields, each as tall and heavy as half a person, suddenly collided with each other, sparking a burst of friction.
On the wide training ground of Sparta.
The slender black-haired youth pushed off the ground with his right foot, slightly twisting his ankle, and forcefully tilted the wrist holding the shield, deflecting the impact at an angle.
His physical strength now indeed couldn't compare to Vergil's robustness.
But when it came to combat skills, even double the brute force wasn't enough capital for his younger brother to win.
Shields clashed, bodies intertwined.
Kratos slightly lowered his upper body, leaning sideways to support the inner side of the shield with his shoulder, and with the movement of his entire body's muscles, he pushed forward suddenly.
The flowing force instantly overwhelmed the silver-haired youth, disrupting his unstable balance.
Bang.
In an instant.
The intricate force shattered the silver-haired youth, destabilizing his floating body.
Bang.
Just one round of frontal confrontation, and Vergil, holding the shield, was already in disarray, falling to the ground.
But the practice was not over yet.
The fair skin felt the breeze gently.
No need to look back.
Kratos leaned slightly to the side, narrowly avoiding the thrust of the spear.
He suddenly reached out and, with his elbow, caught the wooden spear coming from behind him.
With a slight shake, the long spear suddenly vibrated like a bowstring.
The thrusting silver-haired youth suddenly felt a tingling sensation in his hands, unable to grip the spear handle.
The spear continued to vibrate.
Dante's fingers became numb, and the posture of holding the spear collapsed suddenly.
However, his body, driven by the momentum of the charge, continued to surge forward.
Kratos smiled.
He casually extended his foot and lightly tripped him.
"Oops!"
Bang.
As the youngest brother, Dante, fell abruptly to the ground, face down, eating dirt.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch..."
The two silver-haired brothers shook their heads and got up from the ground, pushing aside their shields and spears, supporting each other as they slowly stood up from the sand of the Sparta training ground.
Lost again...
Two against one, and still getting beaten. What a disgrace!
The two silver-haired youths glanced at each other.
As always, they began to bicker.
"Vergil!"
Dante took the lead in complaining.
"Why did you fall down at the first contact! I haven't even exerted my full strength yet!"
"... And you dare blame me?!"
Facing Dante's accusation.
Vergil, the silver-haired youth, only let out a disdainful chuckle,
"If you're so capable, why don't you try facing Kratos's frontal assault!"
"At least I managed to hold out for one round, Dante! You couldn't even withstand half a round!"
"Can you call what you did holding out? I was supposed to be the one distracting him! You failed, and Kratos focused on me alone. How am I supposed to play like that?"
"Stop whining, Dante. Let's practice."
"Who's afraid of whom, Vergil."
Kratos smiled, watching the two brothers grappling with each other.
What a heartwarming scene...
Leonidas, on the side, shook his head with a sigh.
Originally, Vergil and Dante's performance was already outstanding.
Typical Spartan warriors at their age couldn't even stabilize their shields and spears, let alone execute combat techniques.
However...
Compared to Kratos's excellence.
The two brothers appeared clumsy, weak-handed, unstable in posture, loose-footed, slow in reaction... hardly any action was decent.
The two brothers wrestled on the sand, beating each other up.
Although their physique was tough and would recover in half an hour, this appearance was still embarrassing.
"Get up, get up! Dante! Virgil!"
Leonidas clapped his hands, shouting enthusiastically.
"You're here to learn how to fight in the training ground! Not to brawl! If you have so much energy, try venting it on Kratos!"
Good lad, Father, you're really good at stoking the fire.
Kratos sighed helplessly.
What does it mean to vent on him?
Listening to their father's words.
The two brothers, supporting each other, wiped the blood from their mouths.
With bruised and swollen faces, they helped each other up.
Vergil said in a low voice.
"I'll let you off this time, Dante."
"Somebody chickened out, I won't say who."
"Tch..."
Vergil turned away from Dante's hand on his body, shifted his gaze, and looked at Leonidas.
"We do want to learn Kratos's fighting skills... but those postures are really hard to learn. Every time we meet head-on, Kratos just knocks us down, Father."
"Kratos is letting you feel... hmm, force control."
Leonidas came up with this term, which sounded a bit awkward even to himself.
Spartans have always advocated valor, relying on vigorous momentum to fight.
The so-called... combat skills, this kind of thing, was rarely mentioned.
What are skills?
Can you eat them?
Just charge in and be done with it!
The ancient Greek martial art Pankration especially emphasized a sense of power.
Various movements and techniques were large and forceful, pursuing a robust force.
For example... the most classic move, the Spartan Kick.
Stand face to face, lift your leg, and kick straight!
"This is SPARTA!"
The fighting posture of the Spartans was very simple.
One, frontal impact.
Two, jump up and strike downward from above.
That's it...
Move forward, never retreat.
Use straight punches, never hooks.
Their minds were filled with muscles, not these twists and turns.
However.
Since the age of two, the three brothers have been trained...
As the King of Sparta who has always fought and survived, Leonidas keenly perceives...
His eldest son Kratos's seemingly innate, trance-like combat skills.
It's something that would benefit Spartan warriors endlessly.
"Kratos is here to practice with you! If you don't learn, can you face him properly?"
Leonidas tapped his shield vigorously, encouraging his two sons.
His ideals were lofty.
Once Dante and Vergil learned Kratos's combat skills, he would send the two brothers to the army to spread this style of combat.
With the strength of the two brothers by then, it would be more than enough to subdue those Spartans whose brains are all muscles.
But...
"...You haven't learned it yourself, old man."
Kratos pierced through his father's thoughts mercilessly.
"Cough... cough, there are governmental affairs to attend to, my son."
"Isn't that all sorted out by Kratos?"
"Cough... cough, matters of adults."
The words of his son made Leonidas feel somewhat embarrassed.
Ah, indeed, he couldn't grasp it himself.
No way around it, after so many years deeply ingrained, who could blame him for letting his mind be dominated by muscles...
"I can't see any hope of winning at all, Kratos."
Vergil, the sturdy youth, sighed as he looked at his brother.
He looked so frail and weak.
Standing there, yet seemed like an immovable mountain.
Facing this peak named Kratos, both he and Dante had charged at it hundreds of times.
Never once conquered... no, not even a glimpse of hope to climb halfway up the mountain.
"Kratos, what exactly are you trying to do..."
Facing his younger brother's question.
Kratos pondered for a moment.
"Displacement... I applied displacement."
"Displacement?"
The two brothers exchanged glances.
"What is displacement?"
Spartans, they only understood... brute force.
Direct impact, in line with their doctrine of strength supremacy.
That is, charge, charge at any cost!
Slightly tilting the body, or using flanking maneuvers, Spartans didn't even deign to employ them, feeling it dishonored the art of war.
Promoting displacement, that was imperative.
"What is displacement...?"
Kratos contemplated in his mind, organizing his explanation.
"Dante, Vergil."
"Look... the sea is right beside us."
With the words of his elder brother.
The gazes of the two silver-haired youths, from the training ground, turned towards the vast Ionian Sea beside them.
The enchanting sunlight spilled over the endless expanse of the sea.
White foam floated on the shallow beach near the coast, layers of waves collapsing in circles.
The scorching sun hung high, nurturing all life.
Those azure ripples, like exquisite strokes of paint on a canvas by a master painter.
"The so-called displacement, it's like the sea."
"If you shoot a bow, throw a spear at the sea, no matter how swift your strength, how sharp your arrow, it won't harm the sea in the slightest.
"The sea will only accommodate you, just as displacement accommodates brute strength."
"To learn displacement."
Kratos emphasized each word.
"In battle... think of yourself as water."
"Water is something soft and accommodating, yet it can also sweep away everything."
"The ultimate softness is also the ultimate hardness. Extreme skill is extreme violence."
Looking at the contemplative frowns of his brothers,
Leonidas, the King of Sparta who was slightly softened by fatherhood, felt it necessary to assist his son's teaching.
"You're being too cryptic, Kratos."
"Your words indeed evoke imagery, but for these two kids, they won't understand..."
"Let's abandon those complexities and speak plainly!"
Hearing his father's directness.
Kratos nodded in realization.
Yes.
He realized he had fallen into a cognitive trap.
He had been too accustomed to the Clock Tower magecraft teachings, to the point of assuming everyone was as knowledgeable.
"The ultimate skill..."
Kratos extended his hand, grasping his own palm, his bones stretching out with soothing cracks.
"Simply put, it's about absorption, leveraging, transmitting force with almost no excess movement, achieving the transmission of power."
"Just speaking won't make your two foolish brothers understand."
Leonidas drew a wooden sword, weighing it in his hand.
The red-haired father smiled brightly at his eldest son.
"Son, you should be a little stronger, right?"
"After all this practice with you, even I have gained some insight, Kratos."
For the black-haired youth.
Just like once with Vortigern.
Leonidas raised the tip of the wooden sword.
"Kratos, your physique is no obstacle at all. You are a Spartan who will change Sparta completely."
"I firmly believe, you will become the strongest devil hunter."
His son, truly a dazzling brilliance.
Leonidas sighed with emotion.
This time, he was the seeker, not the teacher.
The King of Sparta, with a radiant smile, said...
"Come, Kratos, teach your two brothers! And... teach me too!"
With a reassuring, happy smile.
The black-haired youth gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands.
"Please instruct, Father."
As the last words faded...
The echo of the youth seemed to dissipate into the wind.
Kratos' gaze hardened.
Slowly, inch by inch, it froze.
The enchanting sunlight seemed to fade into a grim hue.
Dark clouds quietly gathered in the clear sky.
Bloated flesh began to rise from the sea.
In an instant.
It swelled up, a monstrous creature towering like a small mountain.
Hundreds of various war weapons were inserted behind it, blossoming like a fan.
Countless human skulls howled and screamed on its body.
In Kratos' frozen gaze.
The colossal monstrosity raised its hand and hurled a spear violently.
Boom!
The surging tide split apart on both sides.
Ferocious, like the earth's lamenting thunder, it rushed straight towards them.
In Kratos' frozen gaze.
The onslaught of the War Devil instantly crushed the smiling Leonidas' body.
Roars. Howls.
As if choked in... vocal cords, slowly, torn apart.
The black-haired youth stood dazedly.
Watching this scene replay before him.
His trembling fingertips reached out, unable to grasp even an inch of his father's flesh.
Before Kratos' eyes, blood splattered.
A rain of blood splattered.
Forming crimson petals, fluttering and dancing.
At the edge of his hearing, he heard Dante's roar and Vergil's wail.
"Give... Vergil back to me!!!"
"Kratos... save me-"
Kratos jerked his gaze aside.
Only the redhead maiden, her fair hands, gently caressing amidst the fluttering petals at the wedding scene, approached.
Kratos stared at her, frozen.
Watching Myrrine, her soft fingertips, brushed up.
Wiping away the tears that streamed down his cheeks.
In Myrrine's crimson eyes, there seemed to be strange concentric rings.
His childhood friend's face.
Gradually morphing in this trance-like dream to resemble more and more the goddess who held sway.
"Why are you shedding tears, Kratos..."
Amidst the roaring cheers of the crowd.
His father's approving and joyful gaze.
Athena before him, smiling at Kratos.
"We... are celebrating a wedding."
Boom!
A furious, almost sonic boom-inducing fist slammed suddenly into the bride's face.
Like a heavy hammer striking a mirror.
The square, the wedding, the petals...
And even the surroundings, all shattered in an instant.
Cracks spread like spider webs in the void, the entire space collapsing inch by inch, the light emanating from the cracks displaying hues of surreal colors akin to a dream.
Crack.
The splendid dream shattered like a mirror.
"Hiss..."
"Huff..."
Kratos held his forehead, exhaling heavily.
In the moonlit quiet of the palace bedroom, he slowly sat up.
Yet, the next moment...
There came, from beside him, that familiar and tender voice of a woman that sent his blood pressure soaring.
"Why... resist me, Kratos?"
Her soft arms gently wrapped around the boy's neck.
The goddess's slender arms, like frosty snow, as if crafted by the most dedicated artisan, shimmering with golden light.
His eye twitched as he slowly averted his gaze.
And then, he met the gaze of the beautiful and alluring woman with fair neck and loose orange hair, seemingly blinking innocently at him... Athena.
With an enigmatic and inexplicable tenderness, mingled at times with a hint of authority and sanctity, an aura befitting a goddess.
The orange-haired woman, almost face to face, silently watched the black-haired youth on the bed.
"..."
With a subtle smile.
Athena gently took the boy's hand, using her soft cheek to feel the warmth of his palm.
Caressing, kneading.
An instinct humans couldn't suppress.
Kratos almost stiffened, his fingers trembling slightly.
It was clear... this was a dream.
Yet the sensation was so real.
"Kratos..."
"Why does your expression look so stiff?"
Like a docile pet.
Gently, she rubbed her cheek against Kratos's palm.
The amber-eyed goddess tilted her head, smiling.
"Your hand, is so cold-"
"Athena..."
The black-haired youth spoke her name slowly.
"Could you... stop disgusting me, this kind of dream..."
"Has nothing to do with me."
In Kratos's somewhat frozen expression.
Athena, like a cat, obediently rubbed his palm, smiling softly as she spoke.
"I have no authority over dreams..."
"These exquisite, vivid dreams, are not nightmares I create, you have indeed misunderstood."
Silence.
Kratos gazed into her eyes, staring for a long time.
But not a ripple of falsehood could be observed.
No... Kratos had long understood.
For this goddess, there was simply no difference between telling the truth or not... because she lacked human emotions altogether.
Gazing at Athena.
The boy's voice trembled slightly.
"Then who... did this?"
Such nightmares...
Such that Leonidas and Myrrine, before his eyes, were repeatedly killed.
The most despairing moment was not the instant of destruction.
But watching the hope of beauty shattered before his eyes, that feeling of utter helplessness.
His palm trembled.
Kratos would decapitate that guy, burying his head in the sacred fire of Mount Olympus, to burn for ten thousand years.
"I told you... your family isn't dead, Kratos."
With a somewhat mysterious smile.
Like a cat seeking its owner's affection, Athena's face gently rubbed against the boy's palm.
"Though they were killed by the War Devil."
"Their souls still wander, calling out to you."
"You... must crave revenge deeply, right?"
"In an instant, all that was beautiful to you was destroyed."
"The flames of your vengeance are almost ready to overflow, I can see."
Kratos's palm suddenly clenched her skin.
So much so that it scratched her, leaving a few bloodstains.
But...
Athena paid it no mind.
Because she intended it.
Without her permission, Kratos couldn't harm her without utilizing Aatrox's attributes.
The orange-haired woman gently cupped the black-haired boy's hand.
With an alluring, intoxicatingly flushed expression.
Athena lightly licked the blood from Kratos's fingertips.
Gazing into his amber eyes, slightly squinting, teasingly.
A desire, apart from anger... some grand, lofty desire seemed to be rising and pervading his mind.
His hardened heart.
Seemed to be softening.
Some softness.
Seemed to be hardening.
Thud.
Kratos abruptly pulled away from the goddess's hand.
"These gestures have nothing to do with what you're about to say, Athena."
Though his tone remained as icy as ever.
But even Kratos himself didn't notice.
...His voice seemed to unconsciously soften...
"Go on."
Cold, commanding, insulting the divine tone.
But surprisingly, it got a response from Athena.
"Because of your mighty, vengeful flames."
The orange-haired woman, like an irresistible pet, leaned in.
Her fair fingertips spinning on his chest.
Various teasing gestures, like itching through boots, subtly tugging at one's heartstrings.
"So... the Furies seem to have noticed you, Kratos."
"The Furies?"
Kratos frowned slightly.
"Yes, the Furies... they watch over all in the world with hearts set on revenge. And they've sensed your blazing flames of vengeance."
Athena smiled in response.
"So, I surmise... they're using your father's soul as bait, intentionally releasing nightmares difficult to escape, perhaps to further stoke the flames of your vengeance, to make them burn even brighter."
"The Furies... where are they now?"
"And what benefit does this bring to them?"
Kratos naturally wouldn't believe Athena's words alone.
This goddess had been subtly coaxing him from the start.
But Kratos still asked questions.
In answering questions, more information would be revealed.
Kratos would discern the truth in his own way.
"They are in the Underworld, the deepest part of Hell."
"Your father and Myrrine's souls are also there, so... this is the only way to save them."
"Hades, the King of the Underworld, is suppressing the entire realm to prevent further contamination from Hell."
"Thanatos, the God of Death, assists him."
"All souls of the dead shuttle back and forth on the River Styx, awaiting rebirth or eternal rest."
"But... due to the bizarre devils in Hell, there are few gods brave enough to venture directly into the Underworld. Even my eyes can't see through what's going on inside."
Athena smiled knowingly.
"So, the Furies deliberately released nightmares to torment you. Perhaps, they want you to go to the Underworld?"
Kratos remained noncommittal.
The Furies, the Underworld, his father's soul...
"Athena... by telling me this, aren't you also enticing me to go to the Underworld?"
That's right.
Tormenting dreams...
It was almost blatantly a trap.
His father's and Myrrine's souls lingered in the Underworld.
Knowing this, no matter how difficult or dangerous it was, Kratos would surely venture into the Underworld to try to save their soul.
"Because you wanted to know, so... I told you, Kratos."
The orange-haired goddess smiled, captivatingly.
"Am I... being good to you?"
"Have I shown my willingness to cooperate?"
"If you think back carefully, you'll see that I've always answered your questions."
"I didn't kill your father, destroy your home, and I even deliberately protected you from Ares."
"Isn't my sincerity clear?"
"Even the nightmares that torment you, have nothing to do with me."
"I just used your nightmares as an opportunity for deeper communication with you."
The graceful goddess.
Her soft breath brushed against the boy's ear.
"After all, my divine body can't just come down directly to you... would you like to take me for a walk? It excites me, Kratos... but for now, it's not possible."
"Heh."
Kratos wouldn't believe anything Athena said.
Whether it was a lie or the truth.
In fact...
The most ingenious lies were often the truth.
Setting aside verbal inducements, observing a person's intentions often revealed more about the truth.
"Even if the nightmares aren't your doing."
"But if you truly have the willingness to cooperate..."
"...Then why did you intentionally replace Myrrine in my dreams?
"And why come to disgust me every night, deliberately trying to induce my favor?"
"If you were truly kind to me."
Kratos's voice was indifferent.
"Then, please leave my dreams."
"I refuse."
The goddess's immediate, smiling response.
Causing the black-haired youth's deep crimson eyes to flicker slightly.
"Why?"
Now, it's his turn to ask why.
Athena, this woman, is like a persistent sore, refusing to fade away.
But...
The reasons given by the orange-haired woman caused a slight pause in Kratos's expression.
"Because humans, when they see something they like, they want to possess it. When they see someone they fancy, they embark on passionate pursuits, don't they?"
"Persistence, perseverance, relentlessness..."
"Isn't that commonplace?"
Athena tilted her head, smiling as she countered with a question.
"So..."
"I find you, Kratos... very interesting, I like you."
"If reluctance is because the vanguard of wandering star is attached to you, I indeed can't bear to kill you."
"But now... my interest in you, Kratos, far surpasses that noisy sword."
"So..."
"...I'm making efforts to pursue you, isn't that normal?"
"You... pursue me?"
Kratos almost chuckled.
"But I should reject you."
"Reject... and so what?"
As if hearing an amusing joke.
The beautiful woman knelt on the bed, leaned forward, and ambiguously pressed her cheek against Kratos's forehead.
A few strands of downward cascading orange-red hair were caught between her lips.
In her breath.
Seemed to be the pleasant scent of olives.
"I am a goddess... a goddess, Kratos."
Whose love do you think you're rejecting? It's the love of the goddess Athena.
Reject, does that mean anything?
She squinted, smiling as she spoke softly.
"The heart of a god... is so small."
"I want to pursue you, and your rejection means nothing to me."
"Unfortunately... hearing that from you just makes me find it laughable, Athena."
Kratos believed it was necessary to show her the true aggressiveness.
In the confrontation with the goddess.
The black-haired youth spoke each word with precision.
"You... are not human."
"Without even anger, how can you understand human emotions?
"You want to control people, yet you don't understand the human heart."
"So, what exactly do you want to control?"
"A bunch of talking, squirming pieces of flesh?"
"In my eyes, you're just a clumsy imitation... trying to prove that you possess human emotions in this way."
"But, in the end... it's all in vain."
His words were sharp.
Kratos pierced through and refuted all her disguises.
Those emotions, those expressions.
All were just masks.
Faced with such denial.
This kind of rejection was more cruel than an insult to personality.
Kratos didn't believe she could remain calm.
But...
She still just smiled.
"You really... are becoming more interesting."
"Yes, you're absolutely right, Kratos."
"We're not humans, we're... Fleet."
"In our program, we don't possess any emotions."
"So..."
"I'm using my wisdom, trying hard to learn, you know?"
"The more I imitate, the more I want to crush your nerves, your heart, inch by inch... to observe what's inside, to see what kind of structure humans have."
"But... I've tried."
"And... got nothing."
"What exactly is contained within that organic matter... that you humans call heart?"
"Or rather."
"Emotions? Soul?"
"These things, even the acclaimed goddess of wisdom like me, indeed... find them very troublesome..."
"So..."
In the almost frozen expression of the black-haired youth.
The goddess's lips slowly approached.
Feeling...
That softness.
Briefly touching each other, then separating in an instant.
The goddess of control, Athena, smiled and softly said.
"Can you... teach me?"
Kratos stared at her in astonishment.
Looking into those eyes, the deep ripples, as if trying to lure someone into their depths.
The concentric circular pupils overlapping.
The captivating amber eyes.
"Perhaps, I indeed don't have a human heart..."
"Then, can you observe what my heart is like, Kratos?"
"But..."
"In such a dream, dismantling the heart seems to be very difficult."
"So, for now, carefully observe... my hand?"
The orange-haired woman softly said.
Her slightly warm palm held onto the fingers of the young man.
"Each finger, how long are they?"
"Is my palm cold? Or warm?"
"Kratos, people say the warmth of the palm conveys the warmth of the heart, you know?"
Kratos's palm.
Began to slightly sweat.
"Next is, the shape of the ears?"
"Are my ears attractive?"
"They say eyes are the windows to the soul."
"So, are our eyes properly gazing at each other?"
"Your lips are so soft."
"So, how soft are mine?"
The goddess, hailed as elegant, pure, and wise.
Guiding the youth's palm.
Exploring, her divine heart.
Kneading her ears, locking eyes, pressing their lips together.
Athena, gently opening her mouth, with a subtle force, biting the youth's thumb.
"Kratos, have you ever been bitten on the finger?"
Biting fingers...
Kratos couldn't articulate coherent words anymore.
"No... then, please remember."
Concentric circular pupils overlapping, eyes like captivating amber.
"Even if I'm not in front of you. You can still remember me by the feeling of biting your finger."
"..."
What expression should he have on his face now?
It's indescribable.
Because it's been so long since he felt so panicked and lost.
In this moment.
He is no longer the one actively conquering others.
Regarding Athena's words.
He was the one being conquered.
Trembling fingers.
Ambiguous warmth.
The moonlight cast by the serene night outside the bedroom window.
Mixed with sweat, it dripped down.
Is it... love?
No, it's... awe.
Undoubtedly, it's something that shook Kratos to the core.
"...I remember."
The black-haired youth whispered softly.
The rose-colored lips released the thumb, saliva forming threads in the air, the fingers held by the grip were pulled downwards, tracing the undulating curves.
"Now, can you feel my heart a little? Kratos."
The frozen gaze couldn't shift, the numb nerves couldn't respond.
Facing the goddess before him.
Kratos could only, with difficulty, squeeze out those words.
"I can't trust you..."
"Then, don't trust me."
Facing the youth's reply.
Athena just smiled and said.
"But I will surely obtain you, my rare treasure."
Aatrox was right...
He... couldn't outplay her.
Kratos closed his eyes, calling out in his mind.
"Aatrox..."
"Ah... finally, here you are. I thought maybe you wouldn't even call me anymore, Kratos."
"Do you think... I'll succumb?"
"Tsk... maybe not? After all, I'm a sword, I don't understand human hearts either."
Aatrox's languid voice resonated in Kratos's mind.
"But... she's subtly eroding your mind."
"There's a kind of loathsome smell emanating from her, like... those maggots in hell."
"This time, you've given me enough observation time, so as the shared thoughts with you, I've noticed..."
"Athena, she seems to have a very eerie ability."
"As long as... you slightly relax your guard against her, and thoughts like she seems not bad or she looks beautiful or she brings me happiness emerge..."
"...Your mind will gradually succumb, and she will slowly control you."
As if associating with his own unbearable past.
Aatrox let out a sigh.
"Like me... unable to outplay that twilight imp."
"Kratos, you can't outplay this bad woman."
Kratos remained silent for a moment.
"Next time I enter the dream, Aatrox, if I see her again, please quickly wake me up from the pain... do it as fast as you can."
"A cruel way to resolve it... but I like it."
Aatrox's hoarse laughter slowly echoed.
"Then you must... hold on."
In the slightly dazed expression of the orange-haired goddess.
The black-haired youth pushed her body away.
She stared blankly.
Kratos's deep reddish eyes, coldly staring at her.
"Athena..."
"I admit, you do have charm."
"But..."
"I abhor hypocrisy... at least in a relationship as intimate as ours, I cannot accept it."
"Your inducements, your deceptions, your meticulously crafted, deliberate lies, perhaps you don't think there are any flaws."
"But... I can still sense them."
"That's what they call... the heart of a human."
"Such things, you can hardly understand, right?"
"Because..."
"I'm just an item you desire so much, a rare treasure."
In the slightly dazed gaze of the orange-haired woman.
Splat.
Kratos once again, drove the sword through his own chest.
Intense, burning pain like scorching souls.
About to wake him up from this dream.
Athena stared, transfixed.
Looking at the black-haired youth, she shakily lifted her gaze, smiling weakly at him.
"I'm not... your possession..."
He coughed, intermittently speaking.
"Never... will be."
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