Characters: Kratos, (dead)Kvar
Rating/Warnings: T; angst, violence, slight spoilers.
Kvar.
He's been waiting the past fifteen years for this moment — fifteen years.
He stands by his son in the despicable half-elf's room, the constant buzzing of flashing machinery invading his brain. Why is everyone talking? He didn't come here to socialize and discuss evil plans and whatever the hell else. He's here for one simple reason: revenge.
He steps up, makes everything stop. Watches the smile curve slowly across Kvar's wretched face. Slitted eyes smirk, glinting dangerously. Dare. I dare you.
He does not hesitate.
His sword slashes, at first lightly, across the chest of Kvar; another strike — and another, and another — follows, each tearing deeper into the flesh of the damned half-elf.
At last the sick murderer collapses. He lies in a pool of his own blood, previously pristine clothes and carefully-slicked hair lying in crimson disarray.
Kratos does not breathe for a long moment. His words, spoken out of pure, unadulterated hatred, ring loud and strong in his head.
Feel the pain of those inferior beings as you burn in hell.
Oh, how he wishes for more blood.