The harsh, flesh numbing winds, the black clouds that blot the sky with raging thunder and relentless snowfall point to one conclusion; Fimbulwinter has begun. Following the death of Balder, the Aesir God, the dreadful season brewed in not long after. All of the nine realms are in a panic, as the signs of Ragnarok come to fruition over a hundred years sooner than expected. The chain of events has been accelerated due to the intervention of a father and his son. Kratos, the Greek God of War, and his child Atreus, known as Loki to the giants, now unwillingly play a role in the coming events of the prophecy due to their actions.

Three years have passed since the beginning of Fimbulwinter. The land of Midgard is buried beneath the thick coat of snow. Its lakes have become hardened and now sparkle like fields of diamonds. All is quiet, and any noise that is heard is more gentle than a soothing hum. At this time, the father and son slumber within their wooden cabin. The peace of the realm makes their sleep even more pleasant, leaving them with no care in the world. Although all seems serene, what would transpire this night would reawaken the slumbering chaos of the land.

Without warning, an earth-rumbling bang abruptly awakens them. The power behind the noise is so mighty that the entire house shakes violently.

"What was that?" Atreus questions in disarray.

"Your bow!" Kratos commands without any hesitation behind his decision.

The two arise from their wooden beds of hay and fur blankets to face whatever threat has come to their home. Atreus, as ordered by his dad, takes up his bow resting at his feet. The two are shaken by the booming noises that are occurring outside. Rushing ahead of him, Kratos moves toward a wooden pillar. Hanging from it is his golden axe of frost, the Leviathan. Angrily stripping it from its sheathed spot, he continues to march toward his door. He is only temporarily halted when a blinding bolt of lightning strikes through the ceiling. Even so, this does not stop the God of War from reaches his doorway. Fueling his rage as he moves through his home, he swings the entryway open and makes it outside.

Standing just a few feet away, as mighty as the Ghost of Sparta himself, is a dark figure in a hooded fur cloak. The only time that any physical features can be seen is when the devastating storm flashes around him. Still, the mere flickers of light are not enough to uncover this person's identity. The one heart-piercing detail that did not remain hidden regardless of the lighting is his glowing Cyan eyes. As if nature itself was at his command, the lightning dances around him, and only strike just out of his reach. Even the wind has become stronger in his presence. The stranger stands his ground, even with his enemy already bearing arms against him and with the world around them being more chaotic.

"Who are you?" Kratos shouts at the top of his lungs.

There is a brief pause, even the lightning stops for a moment. Suddenly, the stranger brushes his cloak off his left arm. Revealing a relic on his left side, once showing it, the storm returns just as destructive as before. From the series of Nordic runes carved into it pulsates electric, godly power. All who lay their eyes onto the weapon know its name, and shiver at its title. A hammer that gods, giants, and all the creatures of the nine realms fear, Mjolnir.

"I'm your demise!" The figure responds with a rumbling voice of hateful anticipating.

The fierce, howling lightning, the unique design of the stranger's mace all pointed to one conclusion. While Kratos only stares angrily at the warrior, his son Atreus breaks into a cold sweat. His throat closes and opens over and over, only allowing small, quick breaths. With what little confidence he has in this dreadful moment, the son of the Ghost of Sparta speaks the stranger's name.

"Thor..."

Kratos, now acknowledging the threat before them, is no longer full of rage, but concern. The knowledge of the bloodthirsty Aesir is unforgettable, a truth that none could disbelieve. An entity none would wish to be in the presence of, and now he stands before them with a burning vengeance in his eyes.

"My brother Balder, my favorite son Magni, and Modi," the Aesir begins to name them off, stricken in disdain. "All of them, taken by your hands..."

While Kratos only tenses at the hate emanating from the Aesir, his son's confidence begins to waver. He steps to the side, closer to his father, seeking comfort but not admitting his fear.

"I would like to see how better I fair against you, Ghost of Sparta," Thor grins arrogantly with violent intent.

Unlike the rest of the gods that the Spartan had slain in the past, he knew Thor was a foe that would not fall soo easily. Perhaps this God of Thunder could match, or even surpass him, the possibility that he might not be able to defeat the Norse god lingers in the back of his mind. There is only one thing that he can ensure. Kratos looks down at his fear-stricken son. He swallows a deep-frozen breath before addressing him as any Father should.

"Atreus," he whispers calmly.

The boy, slightly troubled by his father calling his name, looks up to him. The God of War smiles down at him, Atreus is left baffled at what he is witnessing. It is not often that his dad calls him by name, but also displays such emotion towards him. He grasps his chest, knowing that something is wrong. Yet, before he can reply, Kratos places his hand on the boy's cheek, gently and sliding it up to his son's head. The Spartan leads his hand onto Atreus's scalp temporarily, still smiling as if lost in an optimistic thought. As the storm grows more violent around them, the Ghost of Sparta lifts his hand and blocks his son from Thor's gaze.

The God of Thunder takes up his hammer, wielding it as lightning emits from all parts of it. Kratos tightens his grip on the Leviathan axe, frost, and ice pour from the razor blade. Being that both weapons were made by the same makers, a subtle hum of familiarity emits from both godly arms. Atreus's concern only grows as he is left to just observe the two gods staring down one another.

"F-Father?" The boy can only question what his dad's intentions are.

Kratos takes in another sigh, the ice-cold weather frosts his breath as he exhales. For the first time, he will face a battle not full of rage, but with hope. As calm as he can be, he asks of one last thing from his son.

"Run, and don't look back, my son..."

Atreus is left without words, only a gasp of air can escape his lungs. He glances once more at the Aesir. A weight on his heart is made for what's about to commence.

Thor begins marching towards them with malice filling in his burning blue eyes. With each stomp, the gravel beneath them rumbles, just like the thunder around them. Kratos, with an ear-pounding roar, releases his caged fury. The Spartan rage within him, ignites his arms and consumes his vision. The two leap at one another, Kratos takes the upper hand as he rams his shoulder into Thor's gut and sends the two of them flying across the valley.

Knocked down from the immense impact, Atreus looks in the direction of where the two went. With the two gods nowhere to be seen, he follows his instincts and his father's wishes and fleas. Without hesitation, he runs to the other side of his home, and as fast as his legs can manage, sprints in the opposite direction. However, escaping would prove to be a more significant challenge than he could anticipate. As he runs, the earth beneath him quakes and turns under his feet. The storm around him strikes more viciously, with lightning blasting near him and random debris dropping from above. The boy, while able to dodge the incoming stones, looks back to see why this is happening.

The clash between the two rage-fueled gods is causing Midgard itself to crumble and fall apart by their might. Lightning and ice are hurled all across Kratos and Thor's battleground. To any who would carelessly be caught in the crossfire, would not live to tell about it. Despite his father's wishes, Atreus will continue glimpsing back at their battle, having concern for his father's safety.

Many times he tumbles onto his knees and side from the unsteady ground. Yet, no matter how many times he finds himself on the floor, he repeatedly pushes himself back up. His father's compassion, his actions, and his words cannot leave the boy's mind as he frantically presses forward. With each time he looks back, his thoughts and beliefs become more conflicted.

The last time he does this is when the Aesir and Greek gods have made themselves airborne. At that moment, he witnesses Kratos hurl both of them into the nearest mountainside. Their devastating collision shatters the mass of stone and the land around it. The repercussions of this shockwave, shake the ground under Atreus. Without any time to react, he tumbles off the edge of a hill and rolls into a deep crevis. Once more, he is given no time to leave, as the ruble of the mound buries and traps him in the darkness of the pit.

Hours have passed, all is silent, and the valley is desolate. The trees that once surrounded the plot of land have been torn asunder. The narrow cliffsides that encased the canyon have been leveled and shattered. Smoke, ash, frost, and snow litter the area that was once Kratos and his son's home.
Atreus, with what strength he has, begins pushing his way out of the pit. Little by little, the rocks that layered over him brush away as the boy grunts with each shove. With one last push, he flings a boulder off and over the pile of debris. He coughs vigorously to clear his throat of the dirt and dust that buried him, his breaths are just as rough. Despite his condition, Loki groans and lifts himself out of the crevis. His body is weak from the stress of last night, as well as the time spent getting himself free. He leans forward and uses his hands to grasp his knees while regaining his stamina.

Yet, he is unable to rest for long before taking notice of what lies before him. The current state of the land he calls home is in ruins. His heart pounds anxiously in his chest, the beats being so strong he can feel them in his throat.

"Oh, no..." Is all he can say with dread in his voice.

Atreus rushes back to his home, climbing what is left of the hill he fell off of. His frantic movements cause him to slip while moving up the slope. Even after reaching the top, he trips here and again. Pillars of rock have been forced out from under the earth, and cracks and gaps scar the fields and trails. Unfortunately, his worries only grow, and for a moment, his heart stops when he reaches his humble abode.

The home he was born in, where he grew up in, and where his fondest memories of his mother were, was no more. The shack has been obliterated by the cataclysmic battle. Little remains, the wood that was used to build the home is either burnt, broken, or left in dozens of pieces scattered across the ash-covered fields. Despite this saddening event, he proceeds passed it, only looking around at the damage.

Just ahead of him, a dense collum of smoke and mist lingers in the area of the chaotic battle. Atreus feeling a hint of suspicion takes up his bow, and from his quiver places a black arrow in between his fingers and holds it against the string. With his weapon lowered, he marches bravely into the fog, prepared to take on any threat that may lie within.

As he suspected, the cloud is too thick to see far into. Even when squinting his eyes, and getting low to the ground, his vision does not improve. Still, he takes precautions and turns his head rapidly in different directions to monitor his surroundings. With each step he carefully takes to sneak through, he slowly finds himself moving downward. After a few seconds of thinking, he realizes he is making his way to the center of a crater. Though his thoughts are in disarray, this pales in comparison to the discovery in front of him.

To his surprise, his foot bumps onto something metal smothered in the ashes. As his attention is directed to the object, the smoke around him slowly clears away. Strapping his bow around him, he begins to dig at the ground. At first, he is left uncertain as to what he has uncovered. A curved wooden handle with metal welded around it. Despite the damage to it, the familiarity of the grip is unmistakable. Without much time to study it, a single thought sparks in his mind. This theory, in the back of his head, consumes him with despair.

"It can't be," he tells himself, denying his own belief.

With his eyes widened, his throat becoming dry, and blinded by panic, he digs and scurries through the snow and dust. Clearing away whole chunks and masses of it with quick swoops of his hands and arms, in the hope that what he thinks is wrong. As he searches with haste, the thick mist continues to clear away and improve his sight. With each scoop of his hand, his panic only increases. Finally, with one swing of his hand, the ding of metal is heard.

Sadly, that which he discovers only adds more proof of his theory. Both his hands shake as he becomes hesitant to reach into the thin layer to uncover his find. He stutters his breathing, and his eyes water over the possibility. Still, slowly and surely, he eases his fingers into the mound of dirt. He goes at the same pace when retrieving the object, to which his prediction came true. Lying before his eyes are what remains of the Leviathan axe. Its handle is broken in two, and the razor edge is cracked with pieces of it missing. This once great weapon is left powerless and cast away to fade with the ruins of battle.

"How did this happen?" He questions himself, refusing to believe what he's seeing.

If the axe is here, then where is Kratos? Before he can ask himself this question, the answer is displayed not too far from him. Crystal clear as clean river water, the crater is revealed and exposing the truth. Atreus lifts his eyes to the center of the pit, what he stares at what he feared most.

"F-Father?" He questions his sanity for what is before him.

At the heart of the impact point, Kratos lies at the center, giving no sign of life. The blood from his severe bruising, cuts, and gash wounds stain the area around him. The God of War's body is placed in the supine position and has both arms crossed over his chest. The dust, snow, and ash have been brushed away from him. However, he was not the only one harmed. Leaving him is a thick trail of blood that stretches beyond the crater and into the wilderness. Thor is nowhere to be seen. Based on how settled the area is, none have been there for some time.

"Father!" Atreus calls out as he rushes to Kratos.

His frantic movement makes his sprinting unsteady, a few steps along the way he trips. With urgency, it takes him no more than a second to get back onto his feet. When close enough, he drops to his knees, sliding across the snow to immediately aid his dad. Stopping right next to his head, Atreus pulls him onto his lap.

"No, no, father!" The boy begs for him to awaken. He pats his father's face, shakes him, and shouts close to him.

Atreus in panic reaches into his pocket and retrieves a green resurrection stone. With no time to waste, he slams it into the Gods of War's chest. The gem shatters and fills the air with emerald healing energies.

"Wake up!" The boy's eyes water as his efforts proves useless.

With each passing second, his frightfulness converts to pure sorrow. He places his hands on each side of Kratos's head, lightly shaking it with the last bit of hope in his heart, wishing that he'll awaken.

"Dad, please," he pleads as tears start to flow from his eyelids. "Y-you can't lose, not here..."

No longer does doubt haunt his mind, only melancholy from his acceptance remains. Despite all of the tales told, and all the legends passed down to him about his father's strength, tenacity, and sheer willpower, he accepts the heartbreaking truth. The Ghost of Sparda is no more, and his spirit finally rests. Atreus wraps his arms around his dad's neck, holding on tight, unable to contain his pain.

"I can't lose you too," he whispers, his voice faded by his sorrow.

The suffering and misery he has endured have pushed him beyond his mental limits. No longer can he quell and contain the heartache and anger at losing so much. The son of Kratos lifts his tear-soaked face to the sky, and with anguish and rage in his heart, he shouts to the heavens. His cry stretches and reaches every corner of the valley, basking the land in his pain. Even as he sits up in silence, his scream still lingers and echoes through the frozen plains. His head remains high as his tears flow down his cheeks, not knowing of what is taking place on his father's body.

The curse of ash that has been dyed onto the Kratos's flesh has begun to dissipate. No longer apart of the living world, the horrible reminder that Kratos carried for his failings is now leaving him. Little by little, the pale white dust and remains of his family depart with his spirit. Beneath the milk-white layer, a tan complexion remains on the Spartans skin. Even his red mark begins to leave his body in bits and particles. Over time, the white and red clutter forms in front of Atreus, the boy with eyes watered, is unable to see it.

It's from a gentle touch on his face that he, at last, opens his eyes. Hovering just above him is a familiar form made from the burnt remains. His father, in a rough outlined shape, looms in front of him with a dust molding hand resting on the child's cheek. Atreus is in no way startled by this but instead begins to hold in his sorrow. In his father's presence, he can manage and control his emotions far better. The spirit of the Ghost of Sparta is silent when comforting his son, much to the boy's dislike.

"Don't go," he pleads, still unable to hold back the tears. "I can't continue alone..."

The shade of Kratos shakes his head side to side gently. While he does not speak, his child knows what he is implying. At that moment, the red flakes that were once his father's marking, spiral and move like a serpent in the air. Atreus watches as the glowing clutter of ash moves to him. Upon touching his flesh and dying itself onto his face and body, the color alters into an Azure blue. Even though it is painful, the boy endures it, accepting it as a last parting gift.

This would be the last act of Kratos. Not only did he pass on his mark, but also an essence of himself. So that a part of him will always be with the boy. Sacrificing what little power he has left, his astral form begins to ascend. Atreus can only watch in pain from the branding, and the loss of another loved one. With the sun's rays finally peeking from the clouds, the serene spirit of the God of War shuts its eyes when blessed by the light. After so many years of pain, suffering, betrayal, and so many other hardships, Kratos, at last, can find peace. As his apparition vanishes within the sunlight, the sound of a little girl cheering, and an older woman giggling can be heard.

"Father," is all that Atreus can say before sadness consumes him once more.

His head drops onto his father's forehead, his whimpering too quiet for any to hear. His grieving continues, having no sense of direction, he remains idle and unwavering. Once again, the barren plain of snow is devoid of any other sounds. Even the wind itself feels absent at this moment. However, it would not remain this way for long.
Far into the distance, more rumbling and shaking echoes and reaches out Atreus's ears. Even so, he remains keeping his face down as he mourns to himself. It is not long after that the root of the sound draws rapidly closer. The earth around him vibrates and becomes unsteady, even the nearby rubble begins to roll and clear away by the quakes. The boy slowly raises his head to the phenomenon that's taking place around him. He directs his sights rapidly to different corners of the crater to locate the source. It is only until a massive, black shadow that blocks out the sun and covers him, that he realizes what is going on.

Standing taller than the mountains of Midgard themselves rises the world serpent, Jormungundr. The giant stares down at the young god and even leans its head towards him to get a visible look at him. Only a few dozen feet is between him, and the son of Sparta as the two gazes at one another. The creature frowns at the boy, already knowing what has transpired. He bows his head as a way of giving his condolences. Despite the kind gesture, Atreus, full of anger and sadness, cares little for his empathy.

"Where were you!" He questions loudly to release his aggression. "Why didn't you help him!"

Jormungundr backs its massive head away from the boy. A growl of pondering fills the air around them as it attempts to answer. Due to the creature's language, Atreus might not be able to understand correctly. As followed, the World Serpent still tries to explain. From its mountain-sized jaws, the grumbling language of the giants flows from its tongue. The sheer wind force behind its words blows away the snow. The boy blocks his face while also keeping his body steady from the powerful gust. Fortunately, the creature's response was understandable to Loki.

"I don't care about Ragnarok!" Atreus replies with his temper unswayed. "You should have helped him!"

The giant has nothing to say, and explaining any further won't do any good. Instead, he merely growls and stares intently at the despairing child.

"Just go away!" Atreus shouts impatiently.

Even while full of wrath and showing resentment towards the snake's unwanted company, the World Serpent is not deterred. Once more, the creature speaks in its booming voice, out of agitation, it speaks down to him. This time, the howling air is not as rough as before, only forcing the young god to close his eyes. Even while Loki tries to ignore the giant's words, the details in its dialect spark a confusing interest.

"What do you mean by destiny!" Atreus questions out loud. "What role do I play in this!"

Again, Jormungandr speaks but is now much calmer as he explains with more in-depth clarity. The Jotnar rambles in his slurred, rugged language. As he continues laying out the details of the current topic, Atreus can't help but be drawn in by the giant's words. At this point, the boy has grown used to the blowing wind and can keep his eyes open through it. However, once the creature finishes, its last implication appears to trouble Loki. For a moment, he tends to his own thoughts and becomes dead quiet. He looks back down to his lap where his father's chilled, lifeless body rests, and places his hands upon the Ghost of Sparta's cheeks.

"What can I do, that he couldn't?" Atreus asks himself in a gentle, ill confident tone.

Even though his voice is lowered, the World Serpent can empathize with the child's distraught feelings. Already with a solution in mind, the Jotnar moves its way to the far right of the boy's direction. Atreus lifts his head up, out of intrigue, he sets his sights to follow his friend's actions. Jormungandr, with his head looming right where Kratos's home was, drives its mouth into the land. The earth breaking strike makes the plains and fields vibrate, nearly knocking the boy over. The overwhelming interest in the serpent's intentions overcomes the child's melancholy. He leans in the direction of the giants head in anticipation.

After a few moments of rummaging through the rubble and ruins of the old home, the World Serpent lifts itself up. Boulders, snow, and ash trickle from the lips and teeth of the colossal beast. Once turning back toward Loki, it remains still for a brief second. Its eyes narrow as if aiming for something, and another growl of intense concentration rings throughout the valley. Having pinpointed its desired target, the snake opening its gaping, moss-covered jaws, flinging its slithering tongue forward. All that could be seen leaving its mouth are two metallic objects that flicker in the morning sun's rays. Landing just in front of Atreus is a pair of items that he hasn't seen in many years.

The Blades of Chaos, in all of their hellish and godly glory stand, impaled into the earth before him. Its chains dangle and ring subtly, but enough to prevent any from ignoring them. Atreus can only stare in confusion to the presence of his father's forbidden swords. Instantly he recalls the moments he witnesses the Ghost of Sparta using the duel, chain blades, as well as the dreadful tale of how they were used. Not even a god could count the many lives that those weapons had taken. The alarming return of those tormenting relics only gives the child more to wonder about.

In his moment of confusion, the World Serpent speaks to him. Due to the distance between them, only a gentle breeze can reach the Son of Sparta. His sentence was short and just as rough, but this brief statement strikes the child in the heart. His eyes widen, and his breathing becomes light as he rapidly inhales and exhales. What made this comment more meaningful is the similarity between it and the words of wisdom that his father imparted onto him long ago.

"We are the gods we choose to be," he recalls to himself. "Take justice, not vengeance..."

Jormungandr, despite being so far away, can feel what the boy is understanding. As he answers with a drawn-out nod, Atreus arises to the call of arms. Lifting himself up, while resting his father's head on the frozen earth, he begins to make his way towards the rage fueling swords. At first, he is wary of coming close to the weapons of a god. His footsteps are steady and light when approaching them. Even after all of this time, he has never actually touched them, let alone wielded them.

Standing above them, something within the blades begins calling to him. It was stated in the tales of old, that when the God of War engaged in battle, the voices of Greece would call out to him. Rather his enemy's be beasts, titans, or gods, at the sound of war drums, the spirits of Olympus cheered the name, Kratos. Now, he can hear them, but something was different. It was not just the voices of Athens, but also the cries of Midgard and of the other realms. Oddly enough, this time, they weren't calling to his father, but to him. To the same rhythm, they all chanted the name Atreus, the Last Son of Sparta.

While doubt for his capabilities plagues his consciousness, another desire helps fend off this negative outlook. He may not be as strong as his father now, nor not as well trained, there is still hope that he can one day face the ultimate challenge. That he can grow and become the great warrior that his father would want, and the god that all would love instead of fear. Most importantly, he can rise to stand against the Aesir, and free the nine realms from their tyranny once and for all. Clenching his fist, and overcoming his low self-confidence, the Son of Sparta comes to his decision.

With no hesitation, he reaches down to the chains that latch onto the hilts. Once grasping them, he begins wrapping them around his forearms. Just like his father before him, the chainlinks sear and burn into the child's arms. He groans in agony from the burning pain, almost becoming overwhelmed by it as the metal heats and flares red. Still, even with the tormenting sting, he presses onward to make the blades his own. After completing the first arm, he rushes to the next. Once more, his mind begins to feel light from the hardship, and his throat hurts from his screams.

At last, once he is done, he falls forward nearly fainting. His arms drop onto the hard, frozen floor, the clash of ice and heat creates thin steam. He pants in exhaustion, and with relief that the hard part is done. He lifts his head upward, looking to the handles of the Blades of Chaos. After a few more breaths of fresh air, and awaiting the coldness of the area to soothe his searing arms, he starts to lift himself to his feet. Again, he stands above the God of War's weapons. With a sigh of acceptance, he reaches for both swords simultaneously.

Once the hilts are within his palms, he pulls the swords from the stone floor. As if the blades were sentient and saw Atreus as worthy to wield them, a slumbering power awakens. From the razor weapons, a raging fire ignites from the sharp end of them. At first, the scorching flames appear the natural shade of orange and red but eventually shift to the same shade of blue as Atreus's mark. Both Loki, and Jormungandr look in awe at the Blades of Chaos, and their vibrant display. The crater glows from the untamed blaze, standing out in the realm like a star in the black sky. On this day of sorrow and suffering, a beacon of hope dawns.