"Now?"

"No."

Norsca was a barren place; cold, unforgiving, without the hope of polite civilization ever calling it home. Massive glaciers rise from her countryside as ominous, icy walls, and the seas are rough and frigid. Nothing weak lived there long, but for the mercy of the dark gods that cast their long shadows overhead. Threatened by monsters from within, Chaos from above, Druchii from the west, and Troll Country to their south, they receive no respite, and it was here, in this isolating, barbaric place, where Kratos found himself, teaching his son how to hunt mammoth.

"The wind has shifted," Kratos whispered. "Now what?"

Atreus held a finger in the air. "We need to move that way so they don't smell us."

"Good. Lead."

The boy did as he was told, and they snuck behind the bushes, avoiding the bones that littered the ground and being careful not to crack any twigs. The mammoths were docile, picking through the snow to eat the frail weeds that sat underneath. Atreus planted his feet, pulled an arrow from his quiver and looked to his father for guidance, of which Kratos gave none. After some time in silence, Atreus looked back at the Mammoth, pulled back the bow, and let fly a single arrow. The arrow struck the hide of one of the massive creatures, and it let out a surprised trumpeting. All at once the herd, ran off, disappearing into the snowy fog.

"What-" Atreus started.

"When I told you to pick a weapon for hunting Mammoth, why did you pick your bow?" Kratos asked with crossed arms.

"I-" Atreus started again.

"What did you think that bow would do against such creatures?" Kratos asked again, growing more impatient with every word.

"I didn't think-"

"Of course not. You did not think! And because of that, you might now starve, freeze and die out here. Those mammoths are clothes! They are food! They are weapons! You didn't even chase after them…"

"I was waiting.-"

"I because you waited for me to tell you what to do, you failed. We are going home. Can you at least do that?"

"Yes, father."

Kratos followed his son back to the cabin. Norsca was harsh, but it was a place where people never came looking, and that was just how he liked it. He was far from his brothers and sisters, those who inhabited the Realm of Chaos, always fighting amongst themselves, always competing, never seeing the truth about their own existence. They were machines, not gods, for gods can change. The Ruinous powers never changed.

Not even Tzeentch could argue that he was truly a creature of change, for he was always what he was; twisted and malevolent, and always the liar and the trickster. Kratos saw Khorne as a creature without honour or a warrior's spirit, for when was the last time Khorne lifted his own sword to strike down an enemy? When had he ever risen from his throne in past aeons? No true warrior sends lackeys to fight their wars for them, and Khorne had grown fat with comfort. Slaanesh, his younger sister/brother, was a spoiled child, without direction or goals. There was Nurgle, an old man stuck in his ways, the oldest among them. How did he never grow tired of himself?

Malice, the Horned Rat, Khaine, all of these gods were slaves to their personas, forever trapped within their boxes, acting out their parts in an eternal stage play for some unknown audience. Kratos spat at this, at this play they were supposed to act out, this tune they were supposed to dance to. When he became the God of Strength and Revenge all those years ago, he too fell prey to his patronage. He carried out revenge against the gods who wronged him, tearing down their towers and palaces, slaughtering daemon after daemon, but eventually, he realized; it was not the gods playing the great game, but the great game that was playing the gods.

Thus, he surrendered the majority of his godly power, took physical form, and went out into the world to find true purpose in his existence. He abandoned his godliness, married a mortal, and became a father, not of daemons, but of a child. Still, those godly instincts, to be that creature of revenge and rage, were always there, and he knew it affected his relationship with his son. Every day was a battle against himself, forever fighting against the great game's pull on him.

As they braved the blistering snows to return home, Kratos pondered whether he was unnecessarily harsh. No. This was Norsca, not Reikland, and the boy had to learn the hard way, while there was still time to learn. The black silhouette of the cabin pierced the blizzard, renewing Atreus' resolve and quickening his pace. Kratos stopped to watch as Faye opened her arms to the boy, wrapping her strong hands around him. He scoffed, for what did an embrace teach him? How does warmth help him survive out here? No matter, Atreus was her son as well as his, and he was to learn from both of them.

Faye ushered Atreus inside, where the smell of cooked mammoth filled his nostrils; Kratos wasn't about to risk his family's meal on the boy's competence, after all. Faye waited for her husband at the door, then held it open as the hulking man stepped through. She placed a hand on his chest and held him in place for a moment.

"How did he do?" She asked in harsh tones.

"He brought the bow." Kratos replied.

Faye rolled her eyes. "And you didn't advise him otherwise?"

"He must learn-"

"Exactly!" Faye said before hushing her tone. "Exactly. He must learn, from you, not from countless mistakes. Confidence is not just a word, it's something he needs, and he's not getting it from this."

"Confidence comes from success and victory." Kratos replied. "Not from holding his hand."

"It is not holding his hand to teach him that a bow will not kill a Mammoth!" Faye hissed. "The gods might be born with knowledge, but mortals are not! Remember who he is."

"Fine." Kratos resigned. "Tomorrow, I will...coach him."

"I want him to learn just one thing tomorrow." Faye specified. "Just one thing, and I want you to be able to tell me exactly what he learned."

"You'll get a full report." Kratos grunted before pushing his way into the cabin, where Atreus was busy chewing through the meat.

Kratos stood over Atreus at the table, as the boy's meat melted off the bone into his mouth. It took a moment for Atreus to stop eating and look up at his father's face.

"Do you believe you deserve dinner?" Kratos asked.

Atreus looked at him with a desperate and confused expression.

"You do not catch food, you do not eat food." Kratos explained. "That is the way of Norsca. Go to bed and wait there."

"Yes...father." Atreus sighed, pushing the place away and stamping off to his room.

"Really?' Faye barked, slamming the door shut and approaching her husband. "You starve him, now?"

"I have seen the world." Kratos replied just as aggressively. "It is cold, and cruel. Lizards slaughter. Ratmen uncounted skitter under our feet. My brothers and sisters go about their madness, and you want to cradle him! You will carry him to his grave!"

"And how will the boy survive without food in his gut?" Faye snapped. "A starving hunter is a weak hunter. He's twelve!"

"Other Norscan boys have killed their first giant by now!" Kratos spat back. "I will not watch him die out there because we did not prepare him!"

Faye opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing for a moment. "I know you want what's best for him, in your own special way. Do this for me. For me, husband."

Faye grabbed the plate and shoved it into Kratos' hands. "Feed him. I'll make it worth your while."

"Hmm." Mumbled Kratos. "You always know how to manipulate me."

"A god once, a man now." Faye said with a grin. "Go. I'll prepare the bed. He's your son, act like it."

Kratos reluctantly brought the plate to Atreus' door. He gave the wooden door a single, hefty knock, then slid the food under the door. There was a patter of feet, then almost fast enough to spill it all, the plate flew back out, with not a single piece of meat touched.

"I don't want your pity." Atreus sniffed from the other side.

"Part of survival is cooperation," Kratos replied, sliding the food back under the table. "This is not pity; it is a lesson."

Atreus was silent for a time, but eventually, the sound of a plate lifting off the ground came from behind the door. Kratos stood from the door and looked back to his own room. What awaited him on the other side was Faye, naked and cold, with goosebumps forming along her bare skin.

"Tonight," Faye said with a maniacal smirk, "I am your god. Tonight, you will worship me."

"My lady." Kratos replied, closing the door behind him.

The morning was brisk, and the fire was low. Thus, it was the morning ritual to go out and find firewood. Faye enjoyed the smell of specific tree bark, and so Kratos obliged her, and he went out into the forest to find the special tree. With his axe, made by the Ice witches of Kislev, he hacked down the special tree, and with one arm, he carried it back to the cabin. The trek was long for this special tree, and the snow had built up the previous night. It bit at his knees and calves as he walked, but it was nothing compared to true cold, and he bore it without complaint. As he walked, he noticed smoke over the treeline, and he wondered if Faye had grown too impatient for her special bark and had simply used the local forestry. No, that wasn't smoke from their chimney. It wasn't one single pillar, either. Something was wrong.

Quickly, he tossed the tree to the ground and ran back, axe in hand. When he reached the cabin, it was aflame. The walls were broken, and many arrows stuck from them. With as much haste as his legs could muster, he charged into the burning home to find his family.

"FAYE!" He roared. "ATREUS!"

A weak cough forced his attention, and with a quick motion, tossed aside the wooden beam that hid the figure underneath. It was Faye, with blood pouring from her mouth, and with six arrows in her chest. Kratos hovered his trembling hand over the wounds and moved to pick her up, to pull her from the flames, but she smacked his hands away.

"Atreus." She croaked. "They took him."

"Who?!"

"Druchii."

Kratos' eyes grew wide, and without consideration for his own home, smashed through the wall, following the footprints leading off in the snow. He ran without stopping for air or for consideration of the trees around him. He smashed through the stones in his way and pushed the trees over as he ran. The tracks contained many large, slender feet, and one small pair. His son was alive, and knowing this only enraged him, and his pace grew faster.

His feet slid along the snow as he reached the Norscan cliffs, only to watch a cursed Black Ark disappear under the horizon. He almost broke the axe's handle with his rage. When he returned to the home, it was smouldering, and Faye was pale, breathless, and still, but untouched by the flame.

As he placed her body on the pyre to be sent to the Realm of Souls, he felt no sadness, only rage; a deep-seated rage that he had not felt since his days as a God.

"Faye." Kratos muttered. "I told you. Atreus...he-"

That was all he could get out before his anger overtook his ability to speak. All those critiques of his brothers and sisters, how they all allowed the Great Game to decide their fates, all of that fell by the wayside, replaced by pure instinct. He was once again the God of Revenge, and the Druchii would learn of it firsthand. He would find Atreus, dead or alive.

With his axe on his back and his armour bound to his limbs, he set off, his feet melting the snow by the sheer rage he felt. Today, the End Times had come early for Naggaroth and Malekith's race, and Kratos would bring it to them