Chapter 76: The First Realm Falls
The world did not shatter.
It sighed.
A deep, endless sound rolled across the broken land, like the last breath of a dying giant. The ash on the ground lifted, not by wind, but by fear. The sky above them dimmed, bruising into darker shades, as if something unseen had gripped the sun itself.
Kratos stood at the edge of the spiral staircase, unmoving.
Below him, darkness spiraled into infinity.
Above him, silence pressed downward.
"This is the realm?" Atreus whispered, his voice thin against the void.
"No," the Record answered behind them. "This is where it ends."
The staircase responded to Kratos's presence. Each step glowed faintly as his foot neared it, responding to something ancient buried deep within him. A long, forgotten recognition. As though the stones remembered his kind — destroyers, gods, endings given form.
"You said one may walk this path," Atreus said, anger creeping beneath his fear. "Why does it feel like it wants him?"
The spirit's shattered helm tilted.
"Because it knows him," it replied. "And because it fears you."
Atreus froze.
"Fears me?"
"Yes. You carry the future's breath. He carries its silence."
Kratos did not turn toward the spirit.
"Enough words," he growled. "What lies at the bottom?"
"The First Realm," the Record said. "What remains of it… and what must be unmade for the Nine to fully return."
A new tremor surged through the ground. In the distance, a massive crack ripped through the horizon — not stone, but reality itself. It stretched endlessly, glowing with pale, broken light.
"Something's happening," Atreus said.
"It has already begun," the spirit answered quietly. "The fall cannot be stopped. Only witnessed."
Kratos took the first step.
A ripple of energy raced down the spiral and out into the world. Far away, towering remains of once-great structures collapsed into dust. The ground shifted. Mountains leaned. The sky warped.
"You're breaking it," Atreus shouted. "Dad, whatever this is—you're breaking the realm!"
Kratos did not stop.
Step.
Another pulse.
In the fractured sky, visions flickered into existence:
A world of endless forests, now burning without flame.
A sea frozen in mid-wave, splitting down its center.
Giants kneeling as their forms turned to stone.
Statues weeping ash as crowns fell from their heads.
"The First Realm was the foundation," the Record explained. "Before Midgard. Before Asgard. Before names were carved into the bark of existence. It held the others together."
Atreus stared around in dawning horror.
"And now it's coming apart," he whispered.
"Yes," it said. "And when a foundation crumbles, all above it trembles."
Kratos finally paused and looked back at his son.
"You must leave this place."
"No," Atreus said immediately. "I'm not—"
"You must," he repeated, voice calm but absolute. "If it collapses completely, the breach will consume everything within its circle."
"And you?"
"I will finish what it asks of me."
Atreus's jaw clenched, the same stubbornness Kratos had seen since his earliest days.
"You always say it like that," the boy said. "As if dying is just… another task."
"This is not death," Kratos answered. "This is balance."
The Record drifted closer to the edge, its mist curling like smoke caught in slow water.
"If he reaches the bottom," it warned, "the First Realm will fully fall. Its energy will flow upward, awakening the others."
"You mean the Nine," Atreus said.
"Yes. And those who were never meant to wake again."
A low, distant howl echoed through the broken sky then, not from beasts, but from elsewhere. From other realms responding to the fracture.
"Jörmungandr…" Atreus murmured.
"No," Kratos said. "Something older."
Another step.
Another pulse.
The spiral staircase began descending faster, stone forming beneath his feet as he went. It was no longer waiting for him. It was dragging him down.
Atreus looked around desperately, then stepped toward the circle's edge despite the invisible resistance. He strained, muscles shaking, pushing through the unseen force holding him back.
"Don't you dare leave me again!" he shouted.
For the first time, emotion flickered in Kratos's eyes.
"I am still here."
The Record raised its hand slowly.
"Then choose," it intoned.
The air thickened. Time bent.
"Choose the fall of the realm… or the fall of the son."
Reality itself seemed to freeze at the words.
Atreus looked at the spirit in disbelief.
"What did you say?"
"To save the realm is to remain. To save the boy is to end the path before it completes."
Atreus turned back to Kratos. Panic and fury warred in his expression.
"Don't listen to it," he said. "This is a trick."
Kratos's grip tightened on the edge of his axe.
"For my entire existence," he said slowly, "I have chosen the world… over the ones beside me."
Silence swallowed the air.
"But not today."
The staircase beneath him began to crack.
The realm screamed.
Not in sound — in vibration. In memory. In sorrow.
Above them, the rift in the sky tore wider, and through it a faint golden light began to bleed.
"The others are waking…" the Record hissed.
Atreus felt it now too — energy rushing through his veins, unfamiliar, ancient, powerful.
"What have you done?" he breathed.
Kratos turned toward the rift.
"What I was made to undo."
He raised his hand.
Not with a weapon.
But with will.
The Iron of the old world responded. The ash lifted. The broken stone trembled. Power crushed inward like a closing fist.
And then—
The First Realm fell.
Not into darkness.
But into him.
A shockwave of pure ancient force burst outward, tearing the spiral staircase to nothing. The circle exploded into light. The spirit of Record shattered into fragments of forgotten voices.
Atreus was thrown back into the ash, shielding his eyes.
When the light faded…
The staircase was gone.
The Shadow Gate was sealed.
The sky, though cracked, had stilled.
And in the center of the ruin stood Kratos, surrounded by floating fragments of dim, fading realms.
He looked… different.
Not younger.
Not older.
But heavier somehow — like he carried an entire world within him now.
Atreus slowly stood.
"Dad…" he whispered. "What did you do?"
Kratos looked at his hands, faint traces of golden-black light fading from between his fingers.
"I became the boundary," he answered.
In the far distance, a new rumble echoed across the heavens.
One that did not come from this realm.
One that came from Asgard.
And with it… laughter.
Low. Knowing. Patient.
The game had begun.