Chapter 80 – The Siege of Shattered Light
The plateau groaned.
Stone fractured. Ash fell in choking clouds. The air trembled, thick with the tension of a thousand collapsing worlds. Every pulse of the fracture inside Atreus's chest threatened to tear the fragile equilibrium asunder. The Nine pressed from every angle, their shadows shifting with unnatural intelligence, coordinated like predators circling a wounded prey.
Kratos stood at the forefront, Leviathan Axe in hand, muscles taut and eyes cold as iron. Each strike carved through the advancing constructs, but for every form he shattered, two more surged in its place. The Nine were relentless, their assault an endless storm that fed off destruction itself.
Atreus crouched beside Xenara, bow drawn, threads of controlled energy dancing across the shadows. "They're adapting faster than we can counter," he murmured. His pulse raced, the fracture whispering, Release it. Destroy them. End this.
Kratos's voice cut through the haze like a blade. "Do not yield to it! Control is the weapon. Endurance is strength. Remember who you are."
The words anchored Atreus, though the temptation burned like molten steel. Every construct, every fragment of a fallen realm, screamed at him to unleash power beyond measure—to obliterate the Nine before they could strike further.
But this was no longer a simple battle. The Nine had begun coordinated strikes, targeting the fragile remnants of other realms still tethered to the plateau. From the horizon, spires of fractured Vanaheim erupted, releasing shadowed beasts and constructs that lunged forward, collapsing platforms beneath Kratos and Atreus.
"Xenara!" Atreus shouted. "We can't hold them all!"
"They do not expect you to!" Xenara replied grimly. "They expect you to falter, to break. And the fracture will answer in their favor if you do!"
Kratos pivoted, axe swinging with precision, cleaving a massive construct in half, frost crackling along its shattered surface. Even as it fell, two more rose in its place, drawn from the rifts. The Nine were not just fighting—they were testing, probing, and manipulating the battlefield.
The first of the Nine approached directly, fused with the ruins of the First Realm. Its weapon, a massive blade of shifting void, cut through air with a hum that resonated with the fracture itself. Its eyes, crimson and infinite, locked on Atreus.
"You carry too much," it hissed, voice layered and echoing across the void. "Too much hope. Too much fear. One must fall, and I shall choose which."
Kratos moved to intercept, Leviathan Axe swinging in a calculated fury. Shockwaves tore across the plateau, sending fragments of stone flying into the void. But the Nine's movements were precise, almost surgical, countering each attack, testing their endurance.
Atreus's hands shook as the fracture pulsed violently. The whispers became voices: One strike, boy. One release. End them all.
Kratos's voice thundered through the haze: "No! Restrain it! Focus! We survive. Not because of power, but because we endure!"
Atreus drew a deep breath, centering the fracture within him. He unleashed controlled threads of energy, weaving them through the shadows, binding constructs to the edges of the plateau. Sparks of pure light lanced out, striking the Nine's advancing forces, but the enemy adapted instantly.
The horizon ruptured again. More rifts tore open, and from each emerged fragments of realms already destroyed. The Nine's forces now moved with terrifying cohesion, attacking simultaneously from multiple fronts. The plateau trembled violently, edges crumbling into the void below.
Kratos swung with precision, each strike a dance of death, but even his strength seemed insufficient. The Nine were relentless, their combined presence bending reality itself.
Atreus felt the fracture screaming, energy coiling violently within his chest. The temptation grew unbearable, urging him to release it fully. But he remembered Kratos's words, the discipline instilled through countless trials. The fracture could not be a weapon to kill recklessly—it was a tether to survival, to control, to the future.
Xenara's wards flared brilliantly, stabilizing the plateau. "We cannot hold them much longer," she warned. "One more surge, and this ground will collapse entirely!"
From the horizon, a massive figure emerged—one of the Nine fused with remnants of the First Realm's throne. Its presence radiated absolute authority, bending shadows to its will. It raised its hand, and the rifts themselves began to pulse, preparing a coordinated strike across multiple realms.
Kratos stepped forward. "Then we end this. Or we endure it."
The ground buckled beneath the approaching wave. Shadows surged, massive constructs lunging forward, collapsing the edges of the plateau. Kratos swung his axe, cutting a path through the onslaught, while Atreus fired threads of controlled energy, holding shadows at bay.
The fracture pulsed violently, screaming at Atreus to unleash everything. One strike could obliterate the Nine, destroy the rifts, even collapse the horizon itself. But he held. One controlled thread, one arrow at a time, binding and dispersing. Survival, not annihilation, was the weapon.
The Nine's commander advanced, blade humming with void energy. Each step it took sent shockwaves across the plateau, destabilizing every structure they fought upon. The air thickened, pressure building to suffocating levels.
Kratos met it head-on, Leviathan Axe clashing against the void blade. Sparks exploded, fracturing the air, shaking the platform. Atreus focused the fracture threads, weaving them into barriers and anchors to hold the plateau steady. The battle raged, chaos consuming the horizon.
Xenara's voice rose above the din. "They are coordinating! Every strike from the Nine is feeding off the fracture! If we falter—everything falls!"
Atreus's hands burned as he channeled energy. The Nine's laughter echoed, low and patient, reverberating through every crevice of fractured air. Yes… resist… endure… but know… you will not hold forever.
Kratos's voice thundered: "We endure because we must! Not for victory, but for survival!"
The Nine advanced again, coordinating an assault designed to fracture the plateau itself. Platforms cracked, the void opened, and shadow constructs surged forward with precision.
Atreus focused, sending threads of controlled energy weaving between the shadows, slowing them, anchoring fragments of the crumbling platform. Xenara's wards flared, holding edges together, but the strain was immense.
Kratos pressed forward, Leviathan Axe swinging with relentless precision. Every strike carved through the Nine's constructs, yet their adaptive force pushed back with terrifying speed.
From the horizon, more rifts opened, revealing fragments of other realms under siege. The Nine were not merely attacking—they were orchestrating a collapse, a siege of the remaining worlds, testing the trio's endurance and control.
Kratos paused briefly, surveying the battlefield. "Atreus," he said, voice low but unwavering, "we survive this… or everything ends. Control the fracture. Every move matters. Do you understand?"
Atreus nodded, chest heaving. "I understand."
The Nine surged again. Shadows pressed from all sides. Platforms buckled. The fracture screamed within Atreus.
Kratos swung. Atreus released threads. Xenara stabilized.
And still, the Nine advanced.
The siege of shattered light had begun.
And the Vein Wars had entered their darkest hour.