CHAPTER 126 — THE GODS DO NOT ASK
The first spear did not fall like a weapon.
It fell like a verdict.
It tore through the sky in silence, burning without flame, cutting through clouds as if the heavens themselves had been split open. It struck the ground with a soundless impact, embedding itself in stone less than ten steps from Kratos.
No explosion.
No shockwave.
Just pressure.
The air folded inward.
The earth bent.
Reality tightened.
Atreus felt it in his bones before he saw it — the shift in intent, the tightening of causality, the way the realm itself recoiled as if something ancient had just exhaled.
"This isn't the Hunger," he whispered.
Kratos already knew.
His stance changed — not defensive, not aggressive — but ready.
The posture of war.
"This is judgment," Kratos said.
The sky split open.
Not with lightning.
Not with light.
With separation.
A vertical rift tore through the clouds, revealing a void of white-gold radiance beyond reality. From it descended figures wrapped in layered divinity — gods whose presence bent space slightly, whose forms caused the land to groan under their weight.
They did not arrive as conquerors.
They arrived as enforcers.
Tyr's breath caught. "The Covenant…"
Freyr's voice trembled. "They're real."
Atreus felt his fracture tighten painfully, reacting not with power — but with warning.
These were not gods of realms.
These were gods of order.
A central figure descended last, slower than the others, controlled, deliberate. He landed between Kratos and the rift, his boots cracking the stone beneath him. His armor was simple — layered plates etched with runes of law, termination, and balance. No crown. No throne-symbols.
Authority did not need decoration.
His eyes were pale, cold, ancient.
"KRATOS OF SPARTA."
The name rolled across the land like a sentence being read aloud.
The refugees in the distance fell to their knees instinctively, bodies reacting before minds understood.
Kratos did not bow.
He did not move.
"I am Aurelion," the god declared.
"Executor of the Covenant of Continuance."
Atreus swallowed. "They don't guard realms… they guard reality."
Aurelion's gaze shifted to Atreus.
"And you are the anomaly."
Kratos stepped forward, placing himself directly in front of his son.
"Speak your purpose."
Aurelion finally looked at him.
"Containment."
The word was simple.
Final.
Cold.
The gods behind him raised their weapons in perfect synchronization — spears, hammers, constructs of pure divinity, all humming with restrained power.
Tyr lifted his staff slowly. "You have no jurisdiction here."
Aurelion replied without emotion.
"All collapsing systems fall under our jurisdiction."
Freyr shouted, "We're fighting extinction!"
"Extinction is natural," Aurelion said.
"Destabilization is not."
Atreus felt anger burn through his fear.
"So you cage what you don't understand?"
Aurelion's eyes did not change.
"We remove what introduces uncontrolled variables."
The Endurance of Worlds materialized, its裂 flickering violently.
"Containment probability results in accelerated collapse," it warned.
"Systemic error—"
Aurelion raised a hand.
The Endurance froze.
Not bound.
Not damaged.
Simply denied.
Atreus' breath hitched. "He just… overrode it."
Kratos' voice dropped into something dangerous. "Release it."
Aurelion ignored him.
"Kratos of Sparta," he said,
"your pattern is consistent. You destabilize systems. You collapse hierarchies. You break cycles. Wherever you exist, structures fail."
Kratos answered simply. "They deserved to."
"Irrelevant," Aurelion replied.
"Your son amplifies probability distortion. The Hunger adapts. The gods fracture. Realms destabilize."
He stepped closer.
"You are no longer protectors. You are catalysts."
Atreus felt the fracture burn.
"Then maybe reality needs to change."
For the first time, Aurelion hesitated — just a fraction of a second.
Then he raised his hand.
"Containment authorized."
The gods moved.
Not in rage.
Not in chaos.
In formation.
Light-constructs surged forward first — beings of structured divinity, blades forged from law itself. The air screamed as they cut through space.
Kratos moved.
The Blades ignited.
Fire met order.
Steel met certainty.
Each clash sent tremors through the land. Mountains cracked. Stone turned to dust. The battlefield became a storm of light and flame.
Atreus fired arrows in rapid succession — sigil-wrapped, fracture-threaded, tearing through constructs with controlled precision.
But each shot burned.
Pain lanced through his chest.
Blood ran from his nose.
"Argh—!"
Kratos turned. "Atreus!"
"I'm okay!" Atreus gasped. "I can still fight!"
Tyr shouted, "You're overdrawing the裂!"
Aurelion watched calmly.
"Observe," he said to the gods beside him.
"The anomaly destabilizes itself."
Atreus heard him.
And something inside him snapped.
Not rage.
Not fear.
Resolve.
"No," Atreus said softly.
"I stabilize him."
The fracture ignited.
The world slowed.
Threads appeared — not fate, not prophecy — decision-lines. Paths of cause and effect, vibrating with potential.
Atreus reached out.
Not to cut.
Not to destroy.
To bind.
A lattice of woven causality formed around Kratos just as a divine hammer came crashing down.
The impact shattered the ground.
The mountain behind them collapsed.
But Kratos stood untouched within the weave.
Aurelion's eyes widened.
"Impossible."
Kratos stared at Atreus. "Boy… what did you do?"
Atreus trembled. "I chose."
Blood streamed freely now.
The Hunger stirred at the edge of reality.
Learning confirmed.
Aurelion raised his hand sharply.
"Cease."
Everything froze.
Gods. Weapons. Light. Motion.
Stasis.
He stepped forward slowly, gaze locked on Atreus.
"You are not reacting to causality," he said.
"You are authoring it."
Atreus met his gaze, shaking but standing.
"Then stop treating me like a disease."
Silence stretched.
The gods waited.
The realm waited.
The Hunger listened.
Aurelion lowered his hand.
The stasis released.
The gods did not attack.
"Containment will proceed," Aurelion said.
"But not today."
Kratos growled. "Why?"
Aurelion turned away.
"Because killing you now would educate the Hunger."
The rift began to close.
As he vanished, his voice echoed across existence:
"You are no longer targets."
"You are leverage."
"Next time, we will not aim for you."
"We will aim for what you love."
The sky sealed.
Silence returned.
Atreus collapsed.
Kratos caught him instantly, holding him tightly.
"You disobeyed me," Kratos said quietly.
Atreus looked up, exhausted, eyes burning with conviction.
"I saved you."
Kratos stared at him.
Then pulled him into a fierce embrace.
"You will surpass me," Kratos said.
"And the world will hate you for it."
Tyr approached slowly. "They've declared you a living destabilizer."
Freyr whispered, "They're going to use people against you."
Kratos looked toward the horizon — where gods would gather, where realms would become weapons, where fear would become policy.
"Then we stop reacting," Kratos said.
The Endurance of Worlds裂 pulsed brightly.
"New strategy required."
Atreus steadied himself, standing slowly.
"Then we rewrite the rules."
Far beyond sight, the First Hunger observed.
Not with certainty.
Not with confidence.
But with something new.
Uncertainty.
Because for the first time since it was born—
It did not understand the ending.