CHAPTER 95 — THE BREACH OF SHADOWS
The Seventh Realm was alive in a way that made every breath feel like inhaling molten iron. The mist from the lower spiral clung to Kratos and Atreus like a living thing, writhing and twisting around them, carrying whispers of the fallen—souls trapped, corrupted, and hungry for release. Each step down the jagged plateau felt heavier, the stone beneath their boots unstable, as if the Realm itself sought to swallow them whole.
Kratos' eyes scanned the darkness, Leviathan Axe in hand, muscles coiled and ready. "Stay close, boy. This Realm tests everything—our strength, our resolve, our minds. Nothing here is as it seems."
Atreus nodded, his arrows strung with threads of fracture energy, glowing faintly against the crimson mist. "I can feel it, Father. The Realm… it's watching us, learning. Waiting for us to falter."
Kratos' lips tightened. "We do not falter. We strike. We move forward."
From the depths of the mist, the first tendrils of shadow emerged, black smoke that wriggled like serpents, slithering across the jagged stones. They pulsed with a faint red light from within, and the whispers intensified—sharp, cutting, insidious.
Atreus' threads flared as he shot arrows, one after another. Each arrow struck the tendrils, breaking some into shards, but they reformed almost instantly, more numerous, more aggressive.
Kratos swung his axe, frost ripping across the shadows, scattering them, but even as they dissipated, new shapes took their place—towering humanoid forms that seemed stitched together from fragments of nightmares.
"They learn from our attacks!" Atreus shouted. "Every strike, every move—they adapt!"
Kratos gritted his teeth. "Then we strike faster. Harder. With purpose."
The shadows recoiled, and from the center of the mist, a massive fissure cracked open, spilling forth a figure. It was colossal, humanoid, its form constantly shifting, composed of shadows and fragments of the Realm itself. Its eyes glowed a deep red, burning with intelligence and malice.
The figure raised its massive hands, and the plateau quaked beneath them. Stones split, sending shards tumbling down the spiral. Kratos and Atreus braced, leaping apart as the ground cracked dangerously.
"You will not pass," the figure's voice boomed, deep and resonant, echoing in their minds more than through sound. "You trespass… you will fall…"
Kratos' voice was low, steady, commanding. "We do not fall. We fight. And we move forward."
The figure lashed out, a shadowy arm sweeping across the plateau. Kratos rolled aside, striking with the Leviathan Axe. Frost erupted where it struck, cutting deep into the shifting form. Yet the figure barely flinched; it was as if the frost burned away, only for it to rebuild instantly.
Atreus fired a barrage of arrows, threads lacing the shadows, attempting to slow their regeneration. The figure recoiled slightly but retaliated with tendrils that lashed in every direction, forcing both Kratos and Atreus to leap, dodge, and strike in perfect synchrony.
Kratos' eyes narrowed. "It's feeding off the Realm… off our fear, our hesitation. We cannot give it strength."
Atreus' hands glowed faintly, threads lashing outward to bind the figure's tendrils to jagged rocks. "We can't keep it pinned forever. Every second it learns. Every second it adapts!"
The figure screamed—a soundless, mind-shattering vibration that radiated through the plateau. The shadows around them twisted violently, coalescing into smaller humanoid forms, each one attacking relentlessly.
Kratos roared, his voice cutting through the mental assault. "We end this! Together!"
They moved as one. Kratos swung his axe, carving through shadows and tendrils, frost erupting with every strike. Atreus' threads lashed, arrows striking precise gaps in the figure's form. The massive creature staggered, its movements slightly less coordinated—a crack in its defense.
Kratos leapt onto one of its tendrils, running along its writhing mass with the agility of a predator. He drove the Leviathan Axe deep into the creature's chest, frost spreading violently, shattering shadows in every direction.
The figure screamed again, and the plateau itself seemed to shudder. Cracks split beneath their feet, and debris rained down from above. Atreus barely managed to stabilize a section of the spiral with his threads, buying a momentary reprieve.
"It's going to collapse the plateau!" Atreus shouted.
Kratos' voice was calm, precise. "Then we finish it before it does."
They focused their attacks on the figure's chest, where a pulsing core of crimson energy burned—a weak point amid the chaos. Kratos drove the axe again and again, each strike pushing the creature closer to defeat. Atreus' threads lashed in perfect coordination, holding tendrils at bay, stabilizing the plateau enough for Kratos to continue.
The figure staggered, shadows flailing wildly, but it was far from defeated. It lashed out in desperation, striking both Kratos and Atreus with massive limbs. Kratos rolled, bringing the axe down in a sweeping arc, severing one of its arms. Atreus' threads coiled around another tendril, ripping it from the ground.
Blood—if it could be called that—seeped from the figure's core, the crimson glow flaring violently. Whispers turned into screams, echoing in the Realm and into their minds.
"You cannot survive this Realm," the figure intoned. "You are not worthy… you will fall…"
Kratos' eyes narrowed. "We define our own worth."
He leapt, driving the Leviathan Axe deep into the figure's chest. Frost erupted, a violent explosion of energy that scattered shadows in all directions. The figure screamed—its form collapsing inward, writhing violently before imploding, fragments of shadow disappearing into the crimson mist.
The plateau quaked violently one final time, stones splitting, mist swirling, but the figure was gone. The shadows dissipated, leaving silence behind. The whispers faded, leaving only the faint pulse of residual energy from the Realm itself.
Kratos and Atreus stood, breathing heavily, bloodied, but victorious—for now.
Atreus' hands glowed faintly as he steadied himself. "It… it's over. But… the Realm… it feels… alive still. Watching."
Kratos' gaze swept the plateau, eyes sharp, calculating. "It is alive. Every Realm we enter tests us, shapes itself around our strength and our fear. We've survived this test, but the Realm remembers."
The spiral below remained unstable, cracks forming where the shadows had torn through the stone. The crimson glow of residual energy marked the path forward—a path deeper into the Seventh Realm, into the heart of the darkness itself.
Kratos sheathed his Leviathan Axe. "We move forward. No hesitation. No mercy. The next threshold awaits, and we cannot falter."
Atreus nodded, tightening his grip on his bow. Threads shimmered faintly along his arms, ready for the next onslaught. Together, they descended further into the abyss, prepared for whatever horrors awaited.
The Seventh Realm whispered again, faintly, almost inaudibly, carrying promises of terror yet to come. The shadows had not vanished—they had retreated, regrouping, waiting.
Kratos tightened his grip on the axe, eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. "We are the storm," he muttered. "And the Realm will bend—or it will break."
The crimson mist swirled around them, shadows moving just beyond perception, alive and patient. Every step forward was a step into the unknown, every heartbeat a reminder of the danger that lingered.
And as they pressed deeper, Kratos knew the Realm's true test had only just begun.