Archaon sat atop his steed Dorghar, the snow around his mighty hooves melting away to make way for his unholy presence. Assembled with the Everchosen was the host of all Chaos, for such was the importance of the Atreus child that it could join all of madness to a single cause. He looked up at the vortex above the Druchii city Ghrond, reshaping the clouds above into a maelstrom of magic and mayhem. They have already begun on the boy, he realised.

It mattered little; the city gates were near, now. Already, his Hellcannons rained fire down on the city, tearing down northern walls, and demolishing the pathetic cathedrals to depravity that cowered behind. Daemons of every shape and size swarmed for the walls without strategy or organisation, as was the way of Chaos. Still, disorganised as they were, the spirit creatures served their purpose.

Archaon wore on his helm the Eye of Sheerian, an artefact capable of potent foresight and prediction. It was a tool that had won him so many battles, for to know your opponent's movements before even they did was a power great enough to conquer the world. So it was that when the southern section of the city erupted into flames, it concerned him that he had not predicted it.

He squinted past the slits in his helmet and silently, slowly, and with a healthy dread rising in his heart, realised the threat. With a nod to his lieutenants, the army quickened their advance, and Archaon sped forth to join the fray.

/

Madness filled the streets as Kratos slaughtered and rampaged, his daemon cohorts doing the same. Minotaurs and Cyclops tore buildings apart in search of victims, while Centaurs and Satyrs swarmed the streets, shattering Druchii lines with the bloodlust of their patron god. Just as a Bloodthirster would never waver if Khorne was on the battlefield, so did Kratos' daemons never falter in his presence. War Hydras and Cold Ones joined the Druchii infantry, swarming the invading daemons with mad fervour. Each one was fueled by concoctions and spells to drive them to bloodlust, but it was still not enough to stop the onslaught.

Kratos' blades cut through armour, flesh and stone in equal measure. His stature was now that of a chaos god in mortal form. His eyes were red with the fires of the earth, his skin absorbing the ashes of the dead to fall by his blades. He stood over the enemy like a mountain stands over a town, the lines falling back, knowing their futility against such a monster. Those who heard him call for his son would know the name 'Atreus,' even in death.

At the centre of Ghrond, Morathi continued her spells, hurriedly now that the city crumbled around them. The audience was gone now, having donned their weapons and armour in defence of their race's last hope. All that remained was Morathi, the boy, and the hissing chants of the witches surrounding them. The rain came down hard enough to nearly drown the poor Atreus, whose face was beaten by the downpour.

"My father-" Atreus started, coughing to push the rain from his throat, "Is going to kill you!"

"Hush." Morathi hissed, striking the boy across the face with the back of her hand.

A great black shadow momentarily blocked the rain, granting Atreus a reprieve from the panic of it all, but it was short-lived. A Black Dragon landed atop the altar, and from its back leapt Malekith, who strode with all haste to grab Morathi by the shoulder.

"We must move the boy and continue elsewhere!" Malekith grunted. "We return to this once we've recovered the Sword of Khaine!"

"What has begun cannot be stopped!" Morathi shrieked, pointing to the sky. "The blood has been poured! The gateway is almost open! To stop now would undo everything!"

"It matters not!" Malekith barked. "We still need the sword to complete the ritual! We will begin anew in a secret location! More slaves will be gathered!"

"I need but a few more minutes!" Morathi shouted, ripping her shoulder from Malekith's grip. "A few more minutes and the world is ours. Do you understand?! I will not wait one more week, not one more hour! Your birthright only needs a little more time."

Malekith pondered beneath his metal mask, then leapt back atop his dragon. "You will have your time, woman, and I will have my crown."

A burst of air from the dragon's wings chilled Atreus to the bone, and once more, the rain came down upon them both.

"I'd be afraid if I were you." Atreus muttered.

"Silence!" Morathi shrieked.

"What's wrong, are you losing focus?" Atreus asked, smirking before the Witch struck him once more.

/

Even to the most savage of Druchii warriors, Kratos had demonstrated a new standard of terror. His brutality, incalculable. His cruelty to those who dared face him, incomprehensible, even to the Druchii. No War Hydra or sorceress could withstand him. Reaper bolts bounced off of his hide. Manticores came from the sky to shred him asunder, and he slew them all. Crossbowmen hailed a thousand arrows against him, but was no more an annoyance than the rain. What could they do against such a creature, who could fissure the earth with a single stomp? What could they do but run, and so run they did.

Kratos eventually made his way to the altar, a great pyramid of blood and gold. The smell of deaths long-passed permeated the place. Hills of dead slave bodies littered the ground along the steps. At the top was his son, his goal, now only fifty metres away. He leapt up a single step before the bite of a Black Dragon ripped him from his own feet and tossed him into a nearby building. The stone collapsed around him, and when he emerged from the rubble, he was met with the dragon's breath of noxious green fumes. Though he was a god, he was still wearing a mortal form, and for only a moment, the fumes made him dizzy.

The dragon lunged to bite down on the god. With stunted reflexes, Kratos raised his one blade against the top of the dragon's mouth, keeping it from biting down completely. With the other blade, he stabbed deep and ripped the blade across the dragon's palette. The dragon squealed, releasing Kratos from its maw. Atop the wailing dragon sat Malekith, his rage filling the air with a deadly chill.

"You will not take my birthright from me!" The Witch King roared, pointing his razor fingers at the god.

Malekith uttered a silent curse, and from the sky, a bolt of malevolent energy came down, striking Kratos before his stunted reflexes could realise. The dragon pounced and slashed, with Kratos dodging and slashing back. All the while, Malekith cast his horrid spells from behind. Walls of icicles rose from the dirt like blades, active in their search for Kratos. Winds as sharp as swords swirled, while noxious fumes filled the air. All Kratos had to do was wait for the opening, the right moment to strike.

When the dragon opened its maw to spew its breath, Kratos saw the small gland in the back, spewing the green from its pores. He threw his blade into the gland, and with a flick, Kratos sent a flash of heat down the chain, exploding at the end in a brilliant blast of red and green. The choking dragon thrashed about, its tail smashing buildings as it struggled, but Kratos' grip was unbreaking. Malekith was flung from his saddle, only recovering to watch his dragon take its last, gurgling breath.

"Seraphon!" Malekith called, grieving his steed, but quickly realising that Kratos had already picked his new target.

Malekith raised his sword to parry just in time, but it was not enough. Malekith was a good swordsman, but he was certainly no god. His only advantage was that Kratos was already battleworn. He had worn through his winds of magic, but retained enough power for perhaps one last spell; the Word of Pain. Would it work on the Ghost of Norsca?

Malekith uttered the forbidden words, and Kratos felt a surge of surprising agony ripple through his entire body. He had known pain before, but despite his familiarity, this was debilitating. Kratos took a knee, absorbing the new pain into his rage, making it one with his strength.

"Disappointing, for a god." Malekith boasted. "Now, perhaps we can fight on equal terms."

Malekith struck the debilitated Kratos against a nearby wall. The Ghost of Norsca hit the ground and dropped his blades, but knowing that all things were weapons, wrapped his fingers around a loose piece of nearby timber. As Malekith laughed over his premature victory, Kratos spun and slammed the post straight across Malekith's helm, knocking the Witch King to the ground and across the icy street. With two large stones in either hand, Kratos leapt onto the stunned Malekith and began unleashing his wrath at the elf's morbid mask. Scratches became dents, became bleeding fissures. Only when Malekith's body stopped twitching, only when his helmet was flattened into the dirt, only when red saturated the snow, did Kratos drop the eroded, bloodsoaked bricks and retake his weapons. He caught his breath and turned back to the Altar, and with his death, Malekith's spells finally wore off.

There was still time. Morathi saw the rageful god coming. She saw her dead son and felt a grief fill within her that she had not known since the beginning of their exile. Panic grew over her stretched face, for there was still much to be done for the ritual. Kratos had charged halfway up the pyramid of blood, when behind Morathi appeared a dark, horned figure, its three glowing, orange eyes piercing the rain. A single flash of lightning revealed it to be Archaon, the Everchosen, the Champion of Chaos himself. His blade pierced the hag's torso, and with a quick flick, the blade cut upwards through her collarbone, cleaving her in two. In one nonchalant motion, Archaon pushed her to the stone. Now, Archaon stood over the boy.

"Who are you?" Atreus asked, to which Archaon only raised the Slayer of Kings, his blade, high over the boy.

"ATREUS!" Kratos roared, wings sprouting from his back to cover the distance.

The blade's flames cast a horrid glow over the dark armour of the Everchosen, his cloak flapping in the wind. One quick strike, and the world would be his to claim. His blade came down, and just as the flaming edge touched the chains binding the boy, Kratos tackled the Everchosen at full speed. Both exchanged blows as they both toppled all the way down the pyramid. Both landed into a pile of corpses, scaring away the fleet of birds that feasted there.

The ground shook beneath the rage of their battle. Every step warped reality. Every clash of their blades ignited the world around them in flame. As they battled, neither noticed that Atreus' bonds had been cut by that single touch of Archaon's weapon. With a grunt and some effort, Atreus finally broke free of the chains. Looking upon Morathi's corpse, he moved to spit on her out of disgust, but instead, found her to be quite alive. He picked up her dagger, and with uncontrollable rage fueling him, brought the blade to her blood-covered neck.

"The spell…" Morathi sputtered as blood poured from her mouth. "It is complete. All you have…to do…find the sword of Khaine. You can still save the world from Chaos."

For a moment, Atreus held the trembling blade at her neck. Below, he could see his father, fighting chaos' champion so valiantly. Perhaps it was his destiny to fight chaos in another way. Perhaps it was his destiny to house Khaine's spirit inside.

"Help your father." Morathi gurgled. "Save us all. Find the blade."

"No need."

Atreus looked up into the decayed face of the Vampire Captain, Harkon. His smile glistened in the lightning, his eyes red with unholy magic. In his hand rested the Sword of Khaine. Atreus took a step back, and the pirate took a step forward.

"Finally," Harkon cackled, crushing Morathi's throat with his boot as he stepped, "I will use your body to house my mind. These elves did everything I needed. All I need to do is offer you this sword, plunge it through me, and my mind will transfer to you. Hold still, little one."

Harkon grabbed the boy's wrist and pressed the blade against his own chest. He began to mutter spells in unknown languages, and suddenly, the sky turned from red to green. With a smile, the pirate whispered. "Peace, for both of us."

Atreus closed his eyes out of fear, and in doing so, missed as Morathi bit her teeth into Harkon's ankle, forcing him to loosen his grip on the blade. Atreus, seeing the moment, grabbed the handle.

Harkon's last words were, "NO!"

Below, both fighters paused to catch their breath. Daemons from both sides had gathered to witness the battle, cheering and jeering with every attack and counter attack.

"The Eye of Sheerian sees all." Archaon's voice boomed as the third eye in his helmet glowed bright. "I can foresee your every attack!"

"Then prophecy controls you." Kratos grunted. "Like a slave."

"Nothing controls me." Arachaon replied. "Soon, not even the gods."

"Then abandon this errand! It is them who force you here. Leave, and be free!"

"No." Was all Archaon said before the battle was rejoined, and the crowd of daemons cheered.

Blades became chipped and armour became dented. Before too long, they were forced to resort to throwing fists, beating each other with rocks and bricks, throwing buildings down on top of each other and wrestling each other along what remained of the ground. Archaon's prediction of Kratos' moves gave him the advantage, and eventually, the Everchosen did manage to grapple Kratos to the ground.

"Your physical form betrays you!" Archaon roared as he threw his fist against Kratos' skull. "Donating your power to your daemons made you weak! You are but one castrated god. I am the champion of four!"

Archaon's sword, the Slayer of Kings, possessed within itself the soul of the daemon, U'zuhl. It fed on the souls of kings and champions, and what better soul to feast upon than that of an ex-Chaos god? Archaon reached out his hand, and from afar, summoned the Slayer of Kings into his hand. Kratos held out his hands to stop the blade, but before he could, another sword intercepted Archaon's attack. Both champions turned their gaze to the wielder. It was a figure of smoke and flame, whose eyes blazed and whose mouth leaked smoke. Their skin was dark as iron and their red hair was molten and glowing. Elvish symbols glowed across its flesh, and in its talons was wielded the Sword of Khaine.

Past all of this, Kratos recognized him: "Atreus?"

It was the boy, but no longer him at the same time. His glowing eyes were no longer that of an innocent child, but that of a veteran, harsh and tired. His teeth gritted as he ripped the Slayer of Kings from Archaon's grasp, and with a single kick, launched Archaon off into a nearby tower. As the tower collapsed, the daemons on Archaon's side grew angry, but with a single swing of the Sword of Khaine, an inferno of Chaos energy tore through the city, banishing daemons both under Archaon and Kratos' banners. Entire city blocks were vapourised before the wave of death finally flickered back into the ether, leaving nothing but ash and destruction in its wake.

Archaon emerged from the rubble, bruised and battered, but not defeated. He reached out his hand, pulling the Slayer of Kings from the rubble. Kratos staggered to his feet and took Atreus by the shoulder.

"Son." He said.

Atreus shot his furious gaze back at Kratos. "YOUR SON IS GONE…BROTHER."

With a flick of his wrists, Khaine launched Kratos into the pyramid stairs, forming a crater of debris in his wake. With that, Khaine turned back to Archaon. The Sword of Khaine in the hands of its master proved to overcome the prophetic powers of the Eye of Sheerian, and after a brief exchange of blows, Khaine had ripped the Eye and his helm from Archaon's head, crushing it beneath his foot. Archaon, the faceless threat and the champion of the cosmic horrors beyond the world, was unmasked, revealing that he was only a man. Long, black hair, pale skin, strong jaw, scars and stubble, orange eyes, and nothing more. He was untainted, clean of any one god's blessings.

Enraged, Archaon led one more attack against the Bloody-Handed God, but this was to be his downfall. His armour was dented and worn now, the flesh underneath revealed, while Khaine was a creature made of iron. Archaon was exhausted from his battle with Kratos, while Khaine was fresh. The Slayer of Kings was chipped and worn, while the Sword of Khaine was unbreakable. One misstep, and Archaon had left himself open to a thrust through the kidney. The Sword of Khaine glowed red-hot as it pierced Archaon's armour.

Archaon, unwilling to admit such defeat, roared in rage. He felt no pain, felt no fear, and in his anger, threw all of his might into a blow, aimed for Khaine's cheek. Without the Eye of Sheerian, he did not see Khaine's other hand move to intercept the blow. The winds howled. Windows shattered. The earth cracked, as Archaons' last effort was halted in its tracks. Khaine's face was cold, almost mocking the Everchosen's feats.

Archaon, unsure of how to defeat this creature, quickly calculated the odds of his victory, and realising his own doom, chuckled in the face of it. "Fools. Fools! The Everchosen will return, for it is a name only! As long as man worships the gods, you will know me! Me, and those who come after!"

The Sword of Khaine cut through the mortal flesh, cauterising as it tore the Everchosen in twain. The Chaos Champion fell apart, leaving Khaine in the silence of the dead Druchii city. The witch was dead. The king was dead. The invaders were dead. Such was the way he liked it. He breathed in the smell of blood, the smoke of the flames, the sound of crying children, and smiled. "It has been too long."

He smiled only for a moment, for not far, the boards and rubble shook, and staggering into the rain emerged the bruised and battered Kratos. He was out of breath, head hung low, but eyes never leaving the vessel that was once his son. Khaine turned to face his sibling and bowed. "Brother."

"Leave him." Kratos demanded, coughing as he straightened himself.

"It is done." Khaine replied. "The world shall be mine. All will bask in bloodshed and cruelty. When the last life is expended, then there will be peace over all realms. Only then, when there are no more minds to fuel our existence, can we rest. Do not try to fight me; you will fail. Love has weakened you, old friend."

"No." Kratos replied, his wounds slowly healing. "It has strengthened me."

Khaine smirked, and with a wave of his blade, the god of murder took a defensive stance. "Even if you find a way to kill me, you will kill him too."

"So he is still in there." Kratos grunted, and with rage filling his soul, took up the Blades of Chaos.