Chapter 1: The Destroyer of Fate

"I will lead us to Asgard."

The tension in the room hits like a dreki, suspicion arising, dread settling in every corner of Sindri's house. Kratos looks away from Tyr and towards Freya, matching her perplexed expression before glancing at Mimir. Before any of them can speak, Brok beats them to the punch, as he always does.

"'Scuse me... but if you got a way to Asgard, where's that idea been this whole fuckin' while?"

"That's... rather a fair question, brother," Mimir agrees, thinking deeply about the idea. Specifically, why Odin would spare Tyr, knowing he held such information.

Kratos turns back to face Tyr, studying the Norse God of War's face. "You... withheld Asgard?"

"You would have got us all killed. And we needed to give Loki time to find his destiny."

What does destiny have to do with anything? Kratos thinks to himself, watching Tyr take the mask from Sindri's table, holding it up for everyone to see.

"Here it is! It's all led to this."

"If we can get inside, I'm going after Odin," Freya states, standing up to the giant God.

"I will not stop you. We can do both," Kratos affirms.

"Spot on, brother... if the mask doesn't give us an out, we'll still have the drop on him," Mimir states with such conviction, no longer questioning the route they'll be taking to Asgard.

Just as long as they have one.

"Works for me," Freyr shrugs.

"Let's do it then... and quickly... before he sees us coming."

"He does hate surprises," Tyr let out a barely audible chuckle, something Atreus picked up on, now watching the god attentively as he walks away with the mask.

"Slow down, y'damn spruce," Brok intervenes, standing back in front of him. "I still want to hear the details of this, uh, new way to Asgard you've got. Spill it!"

Brok's voice echoing throughout his and his brother's home would normally catch a small glance, but Tyr's sudden silence on the matter catches everyone's attention.

"It's an ancient path. We can't reach it from here," he waves the Dwarf off, who continues to follow him mercilessly.

"Where then?!"

"Let me collect my things and I'll show you-"

"Y'aint got no things! And where are you going with that mask!" Brok questions, slapping it out of the broken God of War's hands.

"Brok-"

"That belongs to the kid! He earnt it!" Brok continues to scream, Atreus stepping forward to stand beside his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. "All you done was make passable dirt soup."

"Brok, it's okay..." Atreus tries to calm his friend down before things get uglier, only for his hand to be pushed from Brok's shoulder pad. Atreus quickly faces Sindri for any ideas, finding the latter just as confused about Brok's sudden meltdown, despite his good points.

"No, it ain't. This ain't right. All the pieces aren't welding together true. Like, what's with him calling you Loki, anyway?" Brok asks Atreus, Tyr taking the opportunity to walk away, the Dwarf still refusing to let that happen. "You know that ain't his name!"

Atreus watches Tyr turn to hide his other side, reaching into his belt to retrieve something. The entire thing sends a shiver down Atreus's spine, and he finds his body moving on instinct instead of thought.

"Hey! I'm talking to you-" Before Brok can finish speaking, Tyr turns swiftly, a blade in hand, about to stab Brok in the chest with it.

Atreus, consumed with a sudden, overwhelming rage, transforms into his wolf form. Without warning he leaps onto Tyr, biting and mauling into his arm, swinging his body to throw them both into the floor. Everybody watches in shock as the illusion of Tyr dissipates, revealing Odin as the one with his arm being chewed. Before any of them can react, however, Odin summons Gungnir, his spear suddenly piercing through the wolf's chest, a yelp and whimper leaving Atreus' snout.

"ATREUS!" Kratos screams, summoning Draupnir and propelling it towards the All-Father, detonating the spearhead and sending Odin into the front door. Handing Freyr the Leviathan Axe, Kratos's knees hit the floor, holding Atreus as he slowly transforms back into his human form, bleeding profusely from his wound and mouth.

Freya draws her sword, her brother joining her with the axe in one hand, the mask in the other, barely able to keep the weapon steady as he slowly walks towards Odin. Wielding his spear defensively, Odin covers his weapon in a strong layer of Bifrost, preparing himself to fight his way through the room if it means retrieving the mask.

"How dare you do this to the boy! Face me you fucking coward!" Freya screams.

"Tell your brother to throw me the mask, and I'll heal the boy, trust me, he won't be otherwise-"

"Freya, please," Kratos begs, horror and panic drowning his face. "He... he is not healing."

"Ah, ah, can't be in two places at once, Frigg," Odin smirks.

"If he dies-"

"It was never part of the plan! He was the plan! His mind! His intellect, seeing and hearing things all of you cannot! But hey, he dies, we can call it being square for Heimdall!" Odin watches the resolve on his ex-wife's dissolve before him, chuckling to himself as she slowly walks back to Atreus, taking over Kratos' hold on his son, bringing the God of War back into the conflict. "I am in control here! Throw me the mask! Now!"

"If he dies," Kratos breathes heavily, like a wounded animal, looking back at Freya, who tearfully attempts to heal Atreus, before turning back to face the All-Father. "Nothing will stop me from tearing you apart."

"Mm, it's truly been nice spending all this time with you all, but I've got places to be! So, the mask? You give it to me now, I'll heal your son, AND I won't burn this whole place to the ground, how's that for a fucking deal, huh?!"

Steam begins to rise from the heat burning within Kratos' fists and arms, letting out a roar of Spartan rage. He dodges a stab from Gungnir before punching the All-Father in the chest so hard, he's sent flying through the door of Sindri's home. He goes to continue his pursuit when Freya's voice calls from behind, stopping him in his tracks.

"Kratos! Come quickly! Please!" It takes mere moments before the God of War is by her side, cradling his son in his arms, keeping as much pressure on the wound as possible with one hand, the other holding his son's hand. "Vanir magic, it's- it's not working."

"Father... I... I don't feel so... I'm cold," Atreus shivers against Kratos' chest, a tear slipping from his father's face.

"I know, son, I know... but keep holding on, you can do this, you can heal," Kratos whispers, wiping the blood from Atreus' mouth.

"Father, it's... it's okay," Atreus whispers back, placing a hand on the back of his father's head, their foreheads touching. "I did... we did good, right?"

"Yes, we... we did, Atreus, and we can still, you just need to focus. Heal- please, I... I cannot do this without you."

"I- I made you proud?" Atreus questions so faintly, so timidly, it painfully reminds Kratos of when his son was a frail little boy.

The way Atreus used to walk on eggshells around him, even around his mother; frightened to ask if he could join his father on his hunt to learn something about him.

The way he'd nervously yet excitedly shown the Greek God drawings of animals that wandered into their home, randomly hugging him for the first time Kratos complimented his work...

Revealing the constant need for his father's approval... and love.

A sentiment that caused his father to freeze completely, uncertain how to return the affection, showing the positive attention Atreus had craved so much, consumed by the fear he held towards his son.

All the regret, the wasted time, pushing Atreus away for all those years and even now, the distrust he's held during Fimbulwinter, hits the God of War harder than Thor's hammer ever could. All the times he was preparing his son to survive without him, he'd forgotten to enjoy the little moments, he'd forgotten that time was so precious.

Why... why did he have to wait to free a Hafgufa to let that be known?

"My son, you have made me so proud, I-"

"You don't... have to be... who you were... just because... I'm not here," Atreus' breathing becomes slower and slower, the grip on his father's hand beginning to slip. Atreus' eyes flicker to each of the loved ones surrounding him, smiling softly as the blue of his eyes begins to fade to white. "Dad. I... love..."

Atreus' hand goes limp against his father's, head falling back against Kratos' shoulder, leaving the room in silence.

Nobody dares speak a word, not when they watch the silent tears fall from the feared God of War's face. Not when the closest thing they'll ever hear to sobs and whimpers croak from the God as he holds his son against his chest, not noticing Atreus' four soul parts leave his body. Brok, Sindri and Freya notice, watching them disappear through the shattered wall where the doors once stood, disappearing towards the gateway.

Towards Alfheim.

Before Sindri can speak on the matter, however, Kratos slowly begins to rise from the floor, startling the dwarf as he holds Atreus in his arms, walking towards Sindri's table. Barely turning his head, Kratos side-eyes the dwarf, motioning towards the table without saying a word. With a nod from Sindri, Brok removes Mimir from the table, allowing Kratos to slowly and carefully place his son on it, brushing the hair out of Atreus' face before feebly running a trembling finger along his cheek.

A gentle act; perhaps the gentlest and most vulnerable Freya and the Huldra Brothers have ever seen the God of War.

"Back of your hand," Freya had once told him when Atreus was on the brink of death. Then, his son's fever nearly burnt his hand, and now, his forehead is cold as ice, and for once, Kratos finds Atreus' stillness to be undesirable and haunting.

His son.

His boy.

His baby.

Dead.

By Odin's hands.

Kratos doesn't doubt he deserves this fate, after everything he's done; killing an unfathomable number of beings, Olympus, Magni, Modi, Baldur-

Heimdall.

He avoided judgment for too long, arrogantly disbelieved in fate and prophecy, and now he wishes he was wrong.

After all, he'd never seen a mural of Atreus' death, only his own. Never did he believe Fimbulwinter or Ragnarok would lead to this, perhaps he'd miss it, or perhaps the Norns were right, and there is no script, only the choices they make.

Choices he made, always leading to death and vengeance, no matter the path he chooses.

Perhaps that's all he's good for, bringing upon demise and the destruction of worlds.

Perhaps that's all he can ever be.

The only choice he can ever make.

"Kratos, I... I'm so sorry," Sindri sobs, looking back towards the door after Kratos says nothing in return. "Before you tear my head off for speaking... I know a way we could steal Atreus back, but... the quicker we-"

"Only the choices you make," the voice of the Norns echoes through Kratos' mind.

"Where?" Kratos finally speaks, his tone gruff and dark as he clenches his shaking fists.

"The Lake of Soul, in Alfheim," Sindri pauses, anxiously looking back to Brok, who stares back knowingly. "Atreus, he... he mentioned Faye's soul went into the Light, and if it went into the Light, it has to enter the Lake first," Sindri explains. "That's where the boy's soul parts are heading now."

With a faint grunt, Kratos looks back at his son, dormant and silent, saying nothing, instead, raising his hand. The Leviathan Axe springs from Freyr's hand and back into the God of War's, placing it on the omega symbol on his back. The Greek's eyes flicker from Atreus to Freya's, his mouth opening a little to speak, yet no words leave his mouth. Without another word, Kratos stomps away from his allies, moving through the gaping hole where the door once stood and towards.

"Brother, let's us help you save the boy," Mimir urges, expecting Kratos to turn back to look at him, to at least deny the help. Instead, he continues, not even grunting to acknowledge the notion, everybody watching helplessly as he reaches the gateway. "Brother! Don't do this alone!"

Kratos raises the stone towards the Mystic Gateway, selecting Alfheim before disappearing through the blue magic.

"Fuck," Freya sighs, looking back at Atreus, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Sindri, do you truly believe this plan is going to work?"

"As long as he can retrieve all of Atreus' soul parts, the resurrection parts of the process is, well... easier than you'd expect-"

"Let's not sit'ere and fuckin' pretend you can't be resurrected without all your soul bits," Brok growls at his brother. "But yeah, if he's gottem all, the boy will still get a fucken' afterlife."

"Shouldn't we be following him?" Freyr suggests. "He can't be thinking clearly, he's... he's gonna get himself killed out there."

"I agree, Freyr, we should be, but I wouldn't bet on him getting killed out there, brother," Mimir remarks, catching everyone's attention. "I'd say... now that we can't see Kratos, he's allowing himself to be overwhelmed by his grief. Part of me is grateful I'm not attached to his hip right now, simply... because I'd hate to see what happens to any enemies he encounters now."

"I agree with you as well, Freyr, but I am curious, Mimir," Freya pauses, taking the head from Brok's grasp, and holding him in front of her face. "Why are you certain he won't get killed out there? What if Odin sends Thor after him before Kratos can get to him?"

"Then Thor will be in a fight for his life, and I believe that because I... I saw the Ghost of Sparta first-hand, saw a glimpse of who Kratos used to be when he killed Heimdall."

"Something neither of you really spoke about," Freya comments, watching the discomfort contort Mimir's expression. "I've been fighting with him, Kratos usually shows restraint, using his brutality for efficiency instead of spectacle. What happened with Heimdall that was so different?"

"Kratos took off the vicious little prick's arm, even gave him a chance to surrender, but Heimdall took that as an insult, refused to have his fate in someone else's hands," Mimir explains, beginning to wince as he recalls the memory. "Kratos was lost in his rage after Heimdall affirmed he was going to gut Atreus if he survived the battle. That got his face smashed into the ground until he was unrecognisable, before Kratos strangled him to death, despite my attempts to talk brother out of it. If Heimdall threatening Atreus was enough to cause Kratos to snap, then the lad's death... it might be enough to bring back the Ghost of Sparta for good."

"He may not listen to us-"

"Of course he won't," Mimir confirms. "He's in the most pain he's experienced in a long time. He needs us, your Majesty, and if anyone can reach him, I believe it's you."

"Me? Why me?" Freya asks, her brows raised in surprise.

"Because you're the only one of us who he truly relates to. That, and if it comes to it, you're the only one capable of beating the rage out of him."

"I hope you're right, Mimir," Freya sighs, attaching the head to her own belt.

"For the sake of us all, your Majesty, I hope I am too."

"Sindri? Brok? Do you mind watching over him?" Freya asks, sorrowfully gesturing to Atreus.

"Of course, Lady Freya," Sindri bows slightly. "We'll... clean him up. Make him presentable for yours and Kratos' return."

"It's the least we can do," Brok agrees, a look of guilt in his eyes as he shakes his head at the corpse on his table, muttering under his breath. "It should be me on that table."

"You sure about this, Nao? If he can kill Heimdall..." Freyr asks with a disturbed tone. "What if he decides we're part of the cause of all of this?"

"He and I may have been sworn enemies before, but... I do understand him enough to know that he won't blame us for Atreus' death. If anything, he's placing the weight of the blame upon his shoulders, which from experience, can be far more dangerous. So yes, I'm sure of this," Freya states with absolution. "Kratos saved me, Yngvi, I owe him at least that, even if it means having to fight him again."

"He doesn't scare you?" Freyr shoots his sister a look as she begins walking towards the Mystic Gateway, and suddenly, his hesitation makes so much sense.

Freya, despite the circumstances, giggles ever so slightly. "Anybody in their right mind, one way or another, is afraid of Kratos. Let's just be thankful that we're not in the centre of his rage, because at this point, we may watch the God of War punch a hole in Asgard's wall."

"Well, I wouldn't want to miss that, besides, it's time I see Alfheim again," Freyr admits, joining his sister in her cause.

"Good thing, if the Light or Dark Elves get in his way, this may be your last chance to see the Realm in one piece."

That image alone sends the deepest, most violent chill down the Vanir siblings' spines.