Chapter 57 – The One Buried Without Death
The realm trembled as if it had taken a deep, shuddering breath that threatened to break the fragile silence holding it together.
Kratos and Atreus stood at the center of the pale, scarred expanse, encircled by figures that refused to exist yet would not disappear. Their forms were jagged and incomplete, twisted, as if reality itself had refused to fold them properly into being. And beneath them… something moved.
The grooves in the ground, long lines etched like veins across the ashen floor, pulsed faintly, slowly at first, then with accelerating intensity. Shadows danced within them, coiling like serpents of stone and smoke, converging on a single point far beneath the pale surface.
Atreus felt it before he saw it. Not with sight, but with sensation — a vibration within his bones, a presence in the marrow of his being, as if the world itself were breathing through him.
"Father…" His voice trembled, low, almost a whisper. "It's… it's alive. And it knows me."
Kratos tightened his grip on the Leviathan Axe. Every instinct screamed in his body that this was no ordinary force — this was older than the Nine, older than gods themselves. He could feel the mountain pulse beneath the Hollow Reaches. He could feel the remnants of that first abyssal surge that Atreus had shaped into light. And now, far beneath, something ancient and patient was waking… and it had been waiting for him.
From the far edge of the realm, the silhouettes shifted subtly, their blank faces tilting as one. The figures had been watching, waiting, but now a collective recognition passed among them. One of their own — older, more complete — was about to emerge.
Then, without warning, the ground split.
Not a shallow fracture, not a simple crack, but a massive tear, black and liquid in appearance, that ran from horizon to horizon. From its depths, a surge of energy rose, first as a whisper, then as a rumble, until the very air vibrated with sound that had no pitch. The pale veil above seemed to stretch, attempting to contain it, but even it began to fray.
And then it came into view.
A form.
Impossible in scale. In mass. In shape.
It rose from the rift slowly, carefully, as if testing the surface of a world it had been denied for eons. Its body was a shifting mass of shadows and broken stone, veins of green energy pulsating along fractured joints that hinted at arms, legs, a head — but never fully forming. Its presence was not loud, but it claimed space. It did not breathe. It did not blink. It simply existed, and that existence caused everything around it to quiver.
Atreus stepped forward instinctively. His pulse began to resonate again, not outward this time, but inward. The being felt him. Recognized him.
Kratos moved to block him. "Stay behind me."
Atreus ignored him. His voice was steady, firm, and he spoke aloud as if declaring a challenge rather than a question.
"Who are you?"
The entity's form shuddered, and a low vibration became audible. Then a voice emerged, layered, echoing in impossible ways — a chorus of whispers and growls that seemed to speak simultaneously in every language and none.
"I… am the one buried without death. The one that should have ended, yet was denied. The one who remembers every world that passed… and every one that refused me."
Atreus' stomach twisted. Even without fear, the presence pressed down on him like a hand made of lead.
Kratos tightened his grip on the axe. "Why are you here?"
"Because the child walks where death dared not follow. Because he carries the fracture. And because… the chains of the Nine are weak, and I am patient."
The ground shuddered again. The pale grooves beneath their feet glowed brighter, converging into a circular sigil almost as large as the horizon. From it, smaller figures began to rise — remnants of the trapped, the preserved, echoes of beings that had been denied rest. They were incomplete, broken, yet they carried the same weight as the central figure. And all of them turned toward Atreus.
Kratos' eyes narrowed. "Do not touch him."
The main form spoke again, its voice echoing across the void, resonating directly into Atreus' mind.
"I do not touch. I awaken. I offer choice. And yet…"
A tendril of green-black energy, liquid yet solid, arched toward Atreus. He did not move. He felt the pulse of it against his own, recognized it as part of the same current that had awakened the Hollow Reaches.
"…I know the weight of what lies in your chest. And I know the cost of what you carry. Will you awaken fully, boy? Or will you remain tethered, small, cautious, mortal?"
Atreus' hands clenched. His aura flared faintly. The entity's presence was oppressive, but not commanding. It did not demand obedience — it offered recognition. And that recognition was a temptation.
Kratos growled low in his throat. "Do not listen to it. Power is not always freedom."
Atreus looked at him, then back at the towering figure. The trapped ones shifted closer, not with hostility, but with anticipation.
The pale air vibrated. The realm itself seemed to hold its breath. And in that pause, Atreus understood something.
This being, this ancient one, had been denied rest for untold eons. It had been buried… preserved against its will… and now it had a chance to witness a fragment of what it had long been denied: the rise of someone who could undo the chains that held the Nine.
Atreus whispered, almost to himself: "It wants me to free it."
Kratos' eyes narrowed sharply. "Then it is no ally. Nothing that hungers for freedom can be trusted."
The entity's response was immediate. A pulse shot through the ground. The trapped figures trembled. Shadows leapt from their forms, swirling around Atreus and Kratos in chaotic spirals.
Kratos swung the Leviathan Axe. The frost licked out, shattering the nearest shadow-tendril, but more emerged instantly. The pale ground beneath their feet began to crack.
Atreus raised his hands, aura flaring, matching the pulse of the ancient one. For the first time, he did not feel threatened. He felt a resonance, a connection. The same energy that had once flowed through the Hollow Reaches now pulsed through this buried being. And for the first time, he felt the weight of his power as a choice, not merely a reaction.
The shadows swirled faster, the trapped beings leaning closer, and the central figure's voice cut directly into the fabric of his mind.
"Child of war… the world is not yet ready. But I am. And through you… I may finally awaken."
Atreus' aura exploded violently. The green light shot upward, wrapping around the towering form, circling it like a storm of molten emerald. The pale veil above cracked slightly under the pressure.
Kratos shouted: "Focus, boy! Control it!"
Atreus' voice echoed, strong, firm: "I will not be your instrument. Not yours. Not theirs."
The being recoiled slightly, as if surprised. Then, slowly, it spoke again:
"Then you choose… restraint. You are small yet wise. But the fracture remains… and it will be tested again."
A pulse of energy shot downward. The grooves beneath their feet glowed and then collapsed inward, disappearing into blackness, taking the trapped ones with it. The central figure began to dissolve, its form retreating into the rift from which it had emerged.
The silence returned. Heavy. Deadly.
Atreus dropped to his knees, exhausted, chest heaving. The green light faded from his aura, leaving only faint veins beneath his skin, pulsing in slow rhythm.
Kratos crouched beside him. "You felt it… didn't you?"
Atreus nodded. "It… it was waiting for me. Not to destroy… not to fight… but to see if I would let it awaken through me."
Kratos shook his head slowly. "The Nine, the Hollow Reaches… whatever is buried beyond death… none of it will rest until it tests you again. You cannot let your guard down. Not for a moment."
Atreus looked up at him. "Then we don't stop, Father. Not until we understand the fracture… and what it truly wants."
A soft hum resonated through the pale sky — not a sound made by wind, or by stone, or by air. Something else. Something deep. Something aware.
From the distance, faint silhouettes began to rise once more. Not fully formed, but waiting. Watching. Expecting.
Kratos rose slowly, Leviathan Axe in hand, the weight of centuries in his stare.
"Then we move. Forward. Into the fracture. Into whatever waits for us next."
Atreus stood beside him. No fear. No hesitation. Only the awareness that they had entered a world where the dead were denied rest, and even the gods would pause before treading.
And beneath the surface… something deeper still began to stir.
Something older than the Nine.
Something that had waited for centuries to be freed… and now knew the name of the boy who might set it loose.