The Ghost of Sparta - he was a demon, a man created by the hate and rage of Ares. And Ares paid handsomely for it with his immortal life and title. All of his power went into the monster he had created, Kratos. The Ghost of Sparta.

But could it all really be blamed on Ares? Had the other Gods not used him for selfish reasons over his ten years of servitude to them?

Persephone: the worthless little bitch who couldn't play the hand she was dealt, and wanted to end all of Olympus. Tricked Kratos, made him forsake all of his gifts and powers to go to Elysium to see his baby girl. But to call him selfish crosses the line on all accounts, when considering that he abandoned his daughter when she wanted him most so that he could stop Persephone. So he gave up his daughter, he took back his powers, and he killed Persephone so that the world was not destroyed. So that his daughter didn't die in Elysium.

I would have done the same, had I been him and had a daughter I held as close as he had. But that is not the Gods. It is not our way.

I took it upon myself to stop Kratos; he could kill Ares, he could take down cities, but the world would not tolerate it. The Gods would not tolerate it. When I let the blade embed itself in my own flesh as opposed to my father's, I came to the conclusion that this was the best decision. My death would save the world, wouldn't it?

But I came back in a newer form, in a form more powerful and enlightened. I could feel the earth beat with me, and I knew that I was the last left. I had to be, to feel so much power at my disposal.

And when Kratos used my creation, Hope, to kill my father, I knew that he was not a demon. He was an angry man who had done deeds and favors to forget that he killed his wife and baby. But we would not take away the memory.

And he punished us. Oh, he punished us dearly. The death of Gods and Titans alike, leaving mere mortals on their own despite the existence of a few deities.

I had never felt like crying was possible for me until Kratos killed himself with the blade of Olympus, and I knew that I was as greedy as a God could become. The hope I had made, the power that would have ruled the world so beautifully went to senseless mortals that had no idea what to do with it. And I wanted to kill him twice over and cry because I had lost. I wanted to throw a tantrum and scream like Persephone had.

He's still out there, somewhere. Still trying to redeem himself and become at peace for all that he did wrong in his life. I'm sure he's learning to deal with himself, but I will not go to him. If I do so, I'm sure it will end in a swift death on his part. He will not see it coming, that is the difference. He will not be prepared for battle and I won't dare goad it out of him and make him fight. I will kill him painlessly, but mercilessly so his soul can walk the earth endlessly.

But that is not my job. I have grown attached to the mortal's way of time - ten years is no longer the blink of an eye, as it had been. A week still seems like a day, however. I'm sure that given a few years, Kratos will die on his own, old and withered and weak.

And I draw satisfaction from that.