A sharp ping! broke through the air. Nezu's voice followed, calm but taut with urgency.
"Kratos. Mimir. The Zero Pointer's control systems have failed. AI core is unresponsive. The unit is on a full rampage. We've lost all command."
Kratos said nothing. His eyes stayed locked on the destruction below—buildings collapsing, debris flying like shrapnel from a war drum, students scattering in panic as the mechanical titan charged forward.
Nezu continued, more carefully now. "We need to contain it. Before it causes more damage—or worse, casualties. Other teachers are on their way to Battle Arena C, but the earliest estimate is one minute."
Still silent.
Then, Nezu added, his tone shifting into something… cautious.
"And one more thing. Because of this sudden situation, we'll need to release a public explanation. If we're forced to show footage of the response to maintain confidence in the school, it'll be seen by millions. If you're the one to bring it down… please—avoid using any overt runic attacks, if possible."
There was a pause.
Kratos' jaw tightened—just slightly.
Then, his voice rolled through the comms, deep and rough with mild irritation.
"Fine."
Nezu stopped mid-sentence. "...Thank you for understanding."
Now not only did he have to take the machine down quickly—he had to do it while holding back. No runes. No elemental fury. Just raw, unrelenting force.
Mimir whistled low from his place at Kratos' hip, voice laced with dry humour. "Ohhh, that's gonna be a hard one now, Brother. No runic tricks? No frosty explosions? No flaming blades of doom? I'd say you've got quite the uphill battle."
Kratos didn't respond.
He simply raised a brow.
Mimir chuckled. "What, don't look at me like that. I'm just sayin'—that thing's huge. Without magic, you might struggle to put it down quick enough. Bit o' a mess, innit?"
Kratos' voice rumbled low, like stone grinding beneath thunder.
"Is that what you think?"
Mimir gave a small shrug(in his head)—not that a floating head could do much more. "Well… aye. Bit of a tall order, wouldn't you say? I mean, you've got muscles for days, but that thing's practically a walking fortress. Might take you longer than 1 minute, is all I'm sayin'."
The edge of Kratos' lip twitched. Barely.
"Then you are mistaken."
Before Mimir could respond, the sound returned—metal tearing, glass shattering, and the distant war-cry of the Zero Pointer's engines roaring to life. The machine was charging straight toward them now, full speed, a storm of steel and fury.
Kratos stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"Even the biggest of beings," he said, voice low and calm, "can be felled with the right weapon…"
He reached the edge of the tower.
"…and the right tactic."
And then—he fell.
No hesitation. No roar. No grand declaration.
Just a god plummeting from the sky like a blade destined to strike true.
The wind howled as he fell. His gaze never wavered. Below, the Zero Pointer tore through a support column, sending debris crashing in every direction. Its optical sensor flared—unaware of the judgment descending from above.
Kratos' hand moved.
A flash of steel.
With a swift motion, he drew one of the Blades of Chaos and drove it into the side of the tower—
SCHKRAANG!
The blade shrieked through concrete as it slowed his descent, sparks exploding like a dying star. Dust and chunks of masonry rained behind him, trailing his fall like a comet's tail.
He slid fast—too fast—but his body remained poised, balanced with predatory grace. Every muscle coiled, every breath steady. Eyes locked on the target below.
The moment was coming.
CRACK!
Both feet slammed against the side of the tower.
The impact echoed like thunder—and the wall fractured beneath him.
Deep cracks spiderwebbed outward from his boots, crawling across the building's surface like the limbs of some ancient beast awakened from slumber. The force was immense—the concrete bowed, the steel framework groaned under the strain.
For a breath, the tower itself seemed to reel.
And then, with a burst of raw, unstoppable strength, Kratos pushed off.
He launched himself like a war-spear hurled from Olympus—
a blur of fury, flame, and unrelenting will.
He flew towards the incoming rampaging 0 pointer robot.
As the distance closed, Kratos drew both blades with a snap of his wrists—chains singing through the air, burning with ancient fire. He hurled them forward.
THUNK—THUNK!
Both blades plunged deep into the Zero Pointer's armored cranium, driving through its outer casing with the force of divine wrath.
The machine staggered, optics flaring in confused pain.
Kratos did not fall.
The chains held.
Steel wrapped around his forearms jerked taut, and with a grunt of effort, he reeled himself in—dragged skyward like a fisherman drawing a leviathan to the surface.
In a heartbeat, Kratos landed atop the robot's shoulder—knees bent, balance perfect, blades still embedded in its skull.
He did not strike yet.
He simply stood.
A god, perched upon the shoulder of a beast(mechanical) run mad.
And below, the battlefield trembled.
Kratos stood atop the machine's broad shoulder, the wind lashing at his beard, his gaze fixed forward—unblinking, unshaken.
With a motion sharp as a spearhead, he retracted the blades. His left hand lifted slowly.
From the band upon his finger—a ring etched with old runes and bound by breath and oath—the Draupnir Spear shimmered into being. It grew from light, expanding mid-air into solid form with a hiss of cold power. The weapon pulsed with restrained energy, humming softly in his palm like a beast awaiting release.
Kratos spun the spear once, reversed his grip, and drove it straight down into the cranium of the Zero Pointer.
CLAAANG!
The spear embedded deep, piercing through alloy and false sinew. The robot shuddered violently. Sparks erupted from the point of impact, lashing the air like angry fireflies. Arcs of electricity surged up through its skeletal frame, dancing like lightning caught in a cage. A keening shriek of metal-on-metal echoed across the battlefield as the internal systems convulsed in protest.
Its optic lens—cyclopean and crimson—jerked toward Kratos.
The focus narrowed.
Then widened.
Then narrowed again, rapidly adjusting its focus as the AI attempted to comprehend the anomaly tearing through its skull.
It stopped moving.
Its entire frame locked in place, quivering slightly, like a predator caught between confusion and fury.
The moment stretched.
Then—
RAAAAAAAGH—WHUUM!
The Zero Pointer's frame surged back to life, its optic blazing with renewed aggression. With a sound like collapsing towers, it raised its massive right arm, servos groaning under the strain, and brought it sweeping toward its shoulder—toward the intruder who had dared to wound it.
But Kratos was faster.
He surged forward—not away, but toward the danger.
With both hands he flung the Blades of Chaos once more. The searing chains screamed through the air, and the blades sank into the machine's raised forearm with a thunderous impact, one embedding near the wrist, the other just below the elbow.
The machine stuttered mid-swing, its arm caught mid-motion.
Kratos seized the chains, tightened his grip, and pulled.
Using the blades as anchors, he flung himself into the air in a tight clockwise arc, his body spinning with inhuman grace and momentum. As he whirled past the machine's chest, he drew one blade free mid-motion—steam trailing behind it like the tail of a comet—and summoned another Draupnir Spear into his waiting hand.
Fwssh!
The spear formed in a blink and was hurled in the same breath.
With a resounding THUNK, it plunged directly into the exposed mechanical joint connecting the robot's right arm to its shoulder—a critical node brimming with power and tension.
BOOM—CRACK!
A shockwave burst outward from the impact, sparks cascading like shattered starlight. The plating fractured, not enough to destroy the arm—but enough to wound it. The limb sagged, twitching with stuttering impulses as smoke curled upward from its joint.
Kratos, still airborne, whipped around behind the machine, the second blade still buried in the forearm. With a grunt, he ripped it free, the chain snapping taut behind him like a lashing serpent.
The Zero Pointer twisted its head with an eerie, hydraulic whine—a full 180-degree rotation. Its optical sensor glowed hotter than ever before, its lens adjusting, reacting, tracking.
Now behind the behemoth, suspended in air for a breathless moment, Kratos met its gaze once more.
It had found him again.
And Kratos?
He was already drawing the blades back to his hands.
The Zero Pointer's right arm hung limp—shattered, sparking, a ruined slab of metal barely clinging to the joint Kratos had already crippled. Systems fried. Servos whining. The machine's entire right flank trembled, weakened beyond repair.
But it wasn't done.
With the stubborn, mindless will of a machine stripped of reason, it raised its remaining arm—left this time—pivoting violently to crush the threat still clinging to its back.
Kratos saw it. Read it. Moved with no hesitation.
The Blades of Chaos screamed through the air once again.
THUNK! THUNK!
Both embedded into the rising arm with brutal precision, chains slithering around the forearm like vipers seeking purchase. And then—Kratos pulled.
With a surge of strength born of divine rage and Spartan discipline, he flung himself forward, body arcing cleanly toward the robot's left shoulder. Mid-flight, his hands lashed out and ripped free of the embedded blades from the machine's arm, flame and steel singing in perfect harmony.
His boots found the shoulder.
Kratos stepped. Launched.
He soared high—higher than the machine itself—his body spinning in midair, core twisting with otherworldly control. As he rotated, he conjured the Draupnir Spear with a mere thought. In a blink, it appeared in his grasp—formed from wind and will, golden runes flickering along the shaft.
The spear spun once in his hand.
Then he hurled it.
It struck true—a clean, brutal impact into the same shoulder joint he'd crippled on the other side. The explosion of sparks was immediate. Joints cracked. Internal supports snapped. The robot's second arm shuddered, locked, and dropped.
Both arms—gone.
The Zero Pointer froze. Evaluated. Adjusted.
And then—it ran.
With no remaining limbs to swing, to grab, to destroy—it defaulted to the last function in its corrupted core:
Rampage.
Kratos, still in midair, began to descend.
Just as he reached head height, the machine's path intercepted him like a charging bull smashing through a wall of spears. It barreled forward—straight through him.
Kratos hit the machine's skull with a grunt, metal scraping across his armor as he slammed down onto its head. He gripped whatever plating he could find as it accelerated violently beneath him. Dust and debris burst behind it like a warfront moving forward at full force.
The Zero Pointer plowed into the city simulation with merciless velocity.
CRASH!
A building erupted into shards of plaster and concrete as the robot collided with it shoulder-first. Walls buckled. Steel supports bent like reeds. Entire floors collapsed inward, devoured by the rampaging behemoth.
Windows shattered. Dust clouds surged. Faux office interiors splintered apart as Kratos, still clinging to the machine's head, was buffeted by flying debris and shrieking metal.
Behind him, buildings fell like dominos, torn apart by the force of the machine's reckless sprint. Entire façades crumbled as plaster peeled from steel like dead skin. Light fixtures exploded above, flickering wildly as simulated city blocks became a graveyard of shattered architecture.
Suddenly—
Ping!
A voice crackled in Kratos' earpiece—calm, but barely.
"Kratos," came Nezu's voice, laced with urgency. "The robot is headed straight for a designated safety zone. There are students hiding there—some injured. If it reaches them—there will be casualties."
Static buzzed, but Nezu's next words landed sharp.
"Heroes are moving in. They'll reach the zone in ten seconds."
Kratos' eyes narrowed, still hunched atop the machine, wind screaming past his face.
Nezu's final words hit like a hammer.
"You will arrive in exactly ten seconds."
There was no hesitation. No rebuttal.
But Kratos grunted—loud, rough, sharp with disapproval. Not at the mission, no—at the situation. First, he was forced to restrain himself, unable to unleash the full breadth of his power. And now—speed. Now, he had to end it.
Fast.
The rage stirred in him, cold and primal.
But he did not let it rule.
Kratos took a deep breath—slow, measured—the ancient discipline pulling the fire into a furnace behind his ribs.
He calmed.
And then—he began to count.
10…
The number echoed not from his lips, but from the pit of his soul—a drumbeat of divine discipline, each tick a warning bell for what was to come.
His grip tightened around the crushed plating of the Zero Pointer's head, fingers digging into warped steel. Beneath him, the mechanical beast thundered forward, pulverizing concrete and shattered glass underfoot, carving a ruinous path through the city simulation like a war-born avalanche.
9…
With a roar that rippled through the air like thunder over a frozen fjord, Kratos pulled.
Muscles forged in battle and tempered by chaos strained against the machine's momentum. His body tore upward, inch by inch, defying the sheer speed and force of the rampaging construct. Glass and debris rained across his back, entire steel beams snapping behind him as buildings collapsed in the robot's wake.
8…
He rose—stood fully atop the monster's skull, planting his feet against the racing air, a titan riding death.
7…
Kratos lifted his arm. The air shimmered. A Draupnir Spear appeared in his grasp, summoned from the depths of ancient magic. With one arm bracing against the curved hull of the robot's head, he raised the other to the heavens—and drove the spear downward.
CHUNK!
The weapon pierced metal with a shriek of agony. The robot buckled—but continued.
6…
Another spear appeared.
CRACK!
Then another.
THUNK!
One after the other, he buried spears into the construct's head like nails sealing a sarcophagus. Each one hissed with golden runes, embedding deeper, anchoring destruction.
5…
Then—his eyes snapped upward.
A prop building stood in the robot's path. All glass, no substance. Kratos saw straight through its walls—floor-to-ceiling windows, no furnishings, no barriers. Only air between one side and the other.
That was all he needed.
He moved.
With no run-up, no preparation, Kratos launched himself from the robot's skull and smashed through the glass like a cannonball. The window exploded around him, shards glittering like a shattered aurora as he disappeared into the office floor.
The impact caused the robot's head to jerk backward, the sudden force interrupting its stride just enough to buy one extra heartbeat.
4(+1)…
He landed hard—no time to roll. No time to slow. Behind him, the Zero Pointer slammed through the building like an unstoppable beast of iron. The walls caved. Glass erupted. The floor trembled with the fury of each step.
But Kratos was already running.
A blur of fury streaked across the office floor, every step slamming into concrete with seismic force. Dust and splinters flared behind him. His momentum defied his bulk—agile as a beast, driven by purpose.
3(+1)…
At the end of the floor, Kratos didn't hesitate. He hurled himself through another glass wall—and saw it.
A crane.
It towered like a forgotten relic of Midgard's old wars, meant to simulate a construction site, but to Kratos—it was salvation and strategy.
He drew a Blade of Chaos mid-leap, the chain already spinning.
THUNK!
The blade embedded into the thick steel girders above the crane's hook.
With a bellow, Kratos pulled.
The chain yanked taut, and Kratos' body snapped forward like a god-slung projectile. He flew through the air—a cannonball of muscle, steel, and fury—cutting through the wind like a scythe through wheat.
2(+1)…
He soared downward, angling his trajectory with precision honed through centuries of war.
And then—another explosion.
Behind him, the Zero Pointer burst through the last wall, glass and rebar scattering like leaves in a storm. Kratos didn't look back. He didn't have to.
Even as he flew through the air, his senses sharpened—primal, precise. He could hear the distant cries echoing off the ruined streets, the sharp sobs of fear, the frantic voices of those trying to organize through chaos. He could smell the bitter tang of ozone, hanging thick in the air from the wreckage of several destroyed 1- and 2-pointer machines—their scorched wires still sputtering faint arcs into the dust-choked breeze.
And then he saw them.
The children—dozens of them—huddled behind makeshift barriers of fallen concrete and twisted steel. Some knelt beside the wounded, hands pressed against bleeding arms and bruised ribs. Others simply stood guard over the frightened, shielding them with their own bodies.
1(+1)…
At the last instant before impact, Kratos bloomed his Guardian Shield—the bronze disc erupting from his gauntlet in a flash of gold.
WHAM!
He landed hard—on the shield, knees bent, absorbing the shock like a boulder breaking a fall.
He rolled once—quick, efficient—then rose.
A storm in flesh.
His shield gleamed in his left hand. The Blades of Chaos shimmered on his back. And in his right… another Draupnir Spear, pulsing softly in his grip.
The ground shook.
0(+1)…
The Zero Pointer appeared—a mountain of death and steel—just a hundred meters away.
Kratos stood like a drawn bow.
And then—he slammed the butt of the spear into the ground.
Golden runes flared across the shaft. A pulse of magic rippled outward like the breath of a sleeping giant.
Then—detonation.
The embedded spears, almost a dozen of them now buried in the robot's skull and shoulders—exploded.
BOOOOOOM!!!
The head erupted into shrapnel. Fire and light shot skyward, a geyser of molten death. Plates of armor tore apart like wet parchment. Hydraulic lines burst. Sparks rained like ash.
BANG!
Both arm joints detonated next, massive bursts that ripped the limbs free from the body. The robot's arms—still the size of trucks—were sent hurtling to the ground. One crashed through a row of parked faux-vehicles, flattening them like tin cans. Another skipped like a thrown boulder, gouging trenches in the concrete, smashing lamp posts, and shattering pavement like brittle glass.
0(+0)…
The robot—now limbless, headless, truly undone—lurched forward one final time.
Its legs carried it two more staggering steps, heavy and unsteady, driven only by the dying momentum of its charge.
But the machine was already dead. A corpse in motion.
The massive frame tilted—first slightly, then fully—
And then it collapsed.
BOOOOOOM!
It hit the ground with the force of a collapsing tower—stone, steel, and weight crashing into earth.
The impact cracked the earth beneath it. Asphalt split like cracked ice. Dust and debris exploded outward in a shockwave. The robot's chassis slid—its immense weight dragging it forward for tens of meters, tearing up the road, flattening street props, toppling light poles, and crushing everything in its wake.
And then—silence.
A breathless stillness settled over the chaos.
As the dust cleared, the hulking wreck of the Zero Pointer finally came to rest—
Exactly one meter before Kratos.
He stood unmoved.
Breathing steady.
Eyes sharp.
The spear still clutched in his hand.
And behind him—every pair of eyes watched in stunned, reverent silence.