Kratos stared down at the supposed god before him. "Hrm."

Freyr, leader of the Vanir, raised his eyebrows at the irritated grunt coming from the large bearded man. "Hrm?That's all you have to say for yourself? Hrm? You stroll into Vanaheim from Njord knows where, slaughter some Einherjar putting them on alert, walk into our camp with..." The Vanir god sneered down at the second guest. "Withhimon your hip, and all you have to say is 'hrm'?"

"I need your ship."

Freyr stared, uncomprehending. He looked to his companions, just as perplexed as he was. "Deceiving Shit Head, is he real?"

"Aye," Mimir answered with a tired sigh. "He's a forthright sort, man of few words. Tends to get straight to the point."

"Well, with you being the exact opposite, I can't complain much. Stupid and confrontational is better than a silver-tongued bastard snake." The Vanir leader expressed his continued confusion with a defeated wave of his hand. "So you want a ship. I'm sure the Vanir can provide, if you're willing to do some favours in the form of killing more Einherjar. What kind of ship are you looking for? A longship? A karve? Let's talk about dimensions, and then we can talk about how many dead Aesir we want in return."

"Skithblathnir." The slightly slimy smile of the Vanir god slipped off his face at Kratos' proclamation. "The Vanir are in possession of it. I require it for my own purposes."

"Huh. Well, I was right about the stupid part. If I even had it, why would I ever give it to you? Why would I ever give it up? If you hadn't noticed from the prick's soldiers roaming around my home, I'm fighting a war here? Onehe," Freyr spat, looking down at the head on Kratos' hip,"was supposed to stop by buying my sister like a sack of grain. I'm not about to repeat the same mistakes, making a bad deal with someone who as far as I know might be working for that one-eyed bastard. Sacrifice a few men to get someone into my good graces? Yeah, that sounds exactly like something he might do."

"That's as may be," Mimir agreed without any argument at all. "But e'en you thinking I'm a self-serving bastard, d'you think I'd serve Odin as just a head?"

Freyr scoffed. "I don't think he'd give you a choice."

It didn't escape Kratos' notice that the Vanir god's companions had put their hands on their weapons. "Skithblathnir," Kratos repeated. "In exchange for taking Heimdall's head."

The Vanir god's eyebrows rose. "Aha, ahahahaha!" If nothing else, at least the threatening posturing had ended with the beginning of Freyr's laughter. "Bastard Head, your new friend has jokes! What will you do, wear Heimdall's head on your other hip? Maybe fashion a belt out of the severed heads of Aesir gods? Who gets pride of place over the crotch, Thor or Odin?" He shook his head. "Friend, you'll want to give up the brash threats. The head can tell you the story of the last guy who talked like that."

"I already told the story of Hrungnir–"

"Baldur," Kratos interrupted. "Magni. I do not make idle threats. I do not care about the Vanir. I do not care about your conflict with the Aesir. Your hatred of Odin. Or anything else. There is only one thing that matters to me. For it, I require your ship, and I will kill as many gods as I need to for the sake of acquiring it." The spartan loomed larger, his empty hands flexing, ready to call any weapon required to fill them. "You, or Heimdall, whichever it takes to get what I am after."

Once again, the threatening aura filled the camp, though much more balanced between the two opposing parties. Freyr's companions seemed uncertain, but ready. And Kratos was anticipating an attack as he always was.

Freyr, however, did not rise to the confrontational attitudes. "You killed Baldur."

"I did."

"And Magni."

"Yes."

"So who killed the other one? Modi?"

"Effectively, Thor," Kratos answered. "Directly, my son Atreus."

"Huh. You know, Baldur was my nephew." There wasn't an accusation in it, just a simple observation. To which Kratos did not respond. "Baldur was a scary guy, Heimdall isn't a pushover either. How would you get past his future sight?"

"Preparations have been made."

"Hm. You came knowing how you wanted this to go, huh?" Freyr nodded, as if confirming for himself. "Yeah. Okay. If that's how you want to play it, seeing Odin's watchdog ended is more valuable than Skithblathnir, even if not by much. Payment on delivery. You bring me his head and I'll get you your ship."

"I'll be keeping his head afterward."

"Heh. Would've liked to keep it and use it as a urine cup. Don't suppose you'd let me have that one in trade?" he asked, looking at Mimir.

"No."

Freyr shrugged. "Suit yourself. He would've been more useful that way. Lunda, if you could show them back."

"Ain't gotta tell me twice! C'mon you heapin' helpin' o' prime cut man meat! Let's git to gittin'!"
Kratos watched the subtle exchange as Freyr nodded to what looked like a dark elf among his companions. Only when he was out of sight did he hear the familiar sound of a dark elf taking flight, and only for an instant. Lunda could ensure he left without putting herself in danger, and return to Freyr in a moment if something went awry. And the dark elf could continue to observe in her absence. Freyr was not a fool.

"He doesn'a think you can do it," Mimir said aloud.

"Defeating a god is no small feat, even for another god."

"You misunderstand me, Brother. It isn't about Heimdall bein' a god. It's what kind o' god 'e is, and his place in prophecy."

"Fate again," Kratos grumbled.

"Aye. As the bearer of Gjallarhorn, Heimdall is the one chosen to sound the alarm for the assault on Asgard and the advent of Ragnarok. You just declared you're meanin' to walk up an' kill him simple as can be. That just doesn't happen, not in any prophecy written or spoken. I wager Freyr thinks he just sent an odd fella to go get himself killed. He won't have to give up anythin', an' the fella who stalked into his camp making threats won't be a problem anymore."
"Prophecy makes fools and slaves of all who believe them," Kratos answered dismissively. "Perhaps they were lies. Perhaps they were guesses. It does not matter. They have already proven false, and I will prove them false again."

-(-)-

"We have one chance at this, Brother," Mimir warned as the god of war stared up at the walls of Asgard. "We'll be settin' off Odin's paranoia succeed or fail. If he knows you're comin' for Heimdall, he'll keep the shitter under lock and key until he figures out why things aren't goin' ta plan."

"You claimed this would work," Kratos answered, the rune on his neck itched, though he was of course disciplined enough to ignore it.

"Oh, aye, worked last time, didn' it? Baldur didn't come runnin' until it was wiped off by Tyr's temple. Seidhr magic might not be my speciality, but I might've learned a couple o' tricks. Problem is, even if it works–"

"Hrm?"

"Even though itwillwork," the head corrected, "There's one who'll see us comin' regardless. We're gambling on him being the arrogant sod he is and come for you alone. That means–"
"I must finish him quickly."

"Aye," Mimir sighed. "And don't get me wrong, Brother. I've seen how vicious you can be, but–"
Kratos whirled around, spear entering and leaving his hand repeatedly in rapid succession. Three striking the ground, the fourth unerringly seeking the beast attempting to ride him down. The strange creature roared in pain as the spear lodged in its back. Roared louder as the spears detonated in its flesh and beneath it as it ran over the ones lodged in the ground. The Blades of Chaos raked across its side in a blazing lash.

The beast's confused rider leapt off as it skidded to a stop, glancing at the vicious gouge in its side. At its attacker. "Huh." He shook his head, kicking the dying creature's side. "Stupid beast. So, friend," his tone changed wildly from condemnation to joviality, "welcome to Asgard! Would you be skulking around below our walls for business or pleasure?" The man's attitude contained supreme confidence. The slaying of his mount didn't shake him in the slightest. The violent introduction hadn't even prompted him to draw his sword in self-defense. He stood with a welcoming gesture of open arms, staring at Kratos as though he were an amusing surprise. Staring with solid amethyst eyes that only held curiosity. It couldn't even be called malice. And as Kratos looked into those eyes, he understood why. This one thought himself untouchable.

"Heimdall of the Aesir. This is he?"

"Aye, that's the wanker."

"Ohhh, is that the old goat I hear?" Heimdall asked. "Mimir, you're shorter than I remember. Well friend, you know me. Who would you be?"

"Unimportant. I have come for your head."

"Oh, I think it's important. Carrying the old goat, I have to believe you're the one who has been causing the Allfather so much grief lately. He'll be glad to know you've been dealt with. I should thank you for being so stupid as to come right to us, all alone."

"Still begging for treats like a good lapdog," Mimir taunted.

"Am I being shamed for loyalty? And by a living ornament no less!" Heimdall asked with laughter in his voice. "When I rip you from his corpse Mimir, would you prefer to go back to your tree? Or I could put in a good word with Odin, perhaps we could put you up on the wall of the mead hall so you can sing songs for us! Or maybe–!" He swayed to the side before the Leviathan Axe even left Kratos' grip, avoiding the thrown weapon easily, as well as the whirling return, without looking. "Oh, we're starting–" And again, swayed back to duck under the swinging blades. "Aggressive, aren't you? A murderous beast."

He was slippery. Unflappable. Even in the face of weapons that would have carved him into pieces and seared the cuts shut, Heimdall still maintained his irreverent attitude. He didn't feel he was in any danger at all. But this was expected for Kratos. An opponent who could see or control the future? He had seen such abilities before. He knew their single great limitation. And the Draupnir Spear presented another loophole in his foresight. It was the reason for the weapon's existence, after all. And so, while Heimdall cheerfully danced around Kratos' attacks, he would intersperse them with throws of the spear.

"A weapon that can duplicate itself," the watchdog observed with a sardonic smile. "An interesting creation. It will be a fine trophy to present to the Allfather."

Kratos stayed quiet save for grunts of exertion, denying the slippery god any chance to press his advantage of foresight to the point he could go on the offensive. It was only a matter of time before Hemidall dodged himself into place and–

"Uh!" A momentary distraction. It was the best the detonating spear could do, and it gave Kratos an opportunity. He rushed in with a heavy swing of the axe. Dodged. Countered. A lesson learned. Heimdall might have relied on his gifts too much, but he wasn't incapable on his own merits. "Oh, very clever." Despite the mocking comment, the events played out again a moment later, the god's foresight unable to keep up with every factor at once. The second time, Kratos didn't give an opportunity to his enemy for a counterattack. As the spearhead detonated, the axe was already in his hand pointed at the god of foresight.

Heimdall saw the beam of frost akin to the unleashed power of an ancient. He saw it before it happened. He knew it was coming. But in that instant there was nothing he could do about it.
"AUGHHHHH!" the watchman yelled as the was enveloped in the freezing cold. Suffering pain Kratos knew well from his own experiences of the stone creatures. He stumbled and rolled away out of the path of the beam. Drew his sword. "AUUUUKAY!You've got some tricks up your sleeve, but don't think–!" The spear lanced toward him, exploded before it could even pierce his flesh. A practical choice as the precognitive god was already deflecting it by the time it reached him. As a result, instead of parrying it away, Heimdall was once again stunned by the blast. Already off-balance, he wasn't prepared for his perceptions to be challenged again so quickly while he was still recovering.

The god of war had been born into the role of soldier. He was a warrior, he learned the lessons of combat, of victory, and of defeat. He had been in more battles and more fights than most could ever imagine. And there was one rule that stood out in his mind, the one he needed to adhere to if he wanted to put an end to this quickly. When presented an advantage, do not stop until it, or your opponent, dies.

"Wait!" He tried to move. Tried to dodge. But the flaming blade ran through Heimdall's body regardless. "Hurk–! Wait! WAITWAIT!" The blade retracted, dragging the god toward the Ghost of Sparta. And as it dragged him close, he was afforded a mere half second of eye contact with the godslayer. A fragment of a moment in which he was permitted to see the truth of his opponent, of what he so completely underestimated. "No! NO NO NO NO NO NO–!"

"RRRRAGH!" The other blade carved at Heimdall's legs until they were hewn completely off. The helpless Heimdall slapped at Kratos with one hand, trying desperately to remove the blade in his chest with the other. Yet, it was Kratos who removed it in the end, letting the Aesir god fall.
The helpless god, terrified beyond reason, fought to drag himself away from the one who would be his end. "ALLFATHER PROTECT ME–!"

"RAGH!" The axe came down. Separated head from body.

The battle was over.

It was brief. And disappointing.

Disappointing.

With his free hand, he took hold of the severed head of Heimdall. Lifted it, looked it in the eye. The face of the arrogant god hung slack, violet eyes still wide and almost shining with power. It was impossible for the Ghost of Sparta to not draw comparisons. Once again he was taking the severed head of a god, using it for his own ends. Turning a life into a simple tool.

He looked at the Leviathan Axe. The last gift from his late wife. She had told him... After Atreus was born, she had said he was no longer who he once was. She was wrong. So very wrong. Athena, whether the spectre of her called from his own mind or the true her come to taunt him out of spite, she had it right. He couldn't change. In Greece, he had taken up his blades against Ares for the deaths of Lysandra and Calliope. Had carved through all of Olympus in his meaningless quest for vengeance. Here he was again. The corpse of a god at his feet, the head taken as a trophy, all in the name of Atreus.

And when the battle was over, he felt it was disappointing. Like he was hoping for more.

"Kratos." Mimir could feel it, the weight of what had just happened. "I know. Trust me, I do. But we can't stay here. Even if they can't find you, they'll know Heimdall has been slain. We need to go." Storm clouds rumbled overhead. "Before that comes for us."

"... Yes."

Kratos ran. Burned the blood from his body with the heat of his blades so that it wouldn't drip and leave a trail. Moved with a haste he hadn't felt since the conflict with Baldur. Sprinting, leaping, rushing to the gateway that could take him back to the safety of the Realm Between.
And with an almighty crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, he found his path blocked.
"Ohhh, shit," Mimir cursed. He had not seen the god of thunder who blocked Kratos' path, though he could certainly guess who it was.

No. He saw who stood behind Kratos.

"So, you're the guy making a habit of killing my sons and grandsons," Odin, the Allfather, said in an oddly convivial tone. "I get the feeling we're overdue for a little chat, don't you think?"
Kratos hand moved to his neck where the concealing rune was supposed to be, only to realise that in Heimdall's terrified flailing, he had ruined it.

Under Thor's cloak, sparks leapt from Mjolnir to the god of thunder's fingers. Not quite wrapped around the shaft of the divine weapon. And the storm above continued to rage.

"So, I see that's Heimdall's head hooked on your belt there. I gotta say, that's pretty disrespectful of you. I mean look at me." There was a half beat of pause. "Look at me." And the friendly tone slipped away just a little. Kratos head turned just enough that he could see Odin out of the corner of his eye, without abandoning his view of Thor. "See, now this is the look of a father who just saw his child's mutilated body. You have any idea what that feels like, son?"

"I do." And Kratos knew just by looking that Odin did not experience that same horror.

"Then why'd you do it?" Odin asked. "Baldur? I get it. He came for you, that boy was a box of bent nails after what his ma did to him. He picked a fight and you won it. Don't know what ol' Mimir has been telling you, but we Aesir, we get it. Someone picks a fight, someone gets dead, things happen. Sad, but it happens."

The threatening grumble from Thor suggested he didn't share his father's magnanimity on the subject.

"But Heimdall, he was a good boy. Loyal, proud, he worked hard. Then here comes you, sneaking into Asgard, murdering that good boy, and trying to run off without facing the consequences." The one-eyed god shook his head. "Like I said, the Aesir understand what happens when someone picks a fight. Thing is, you came here, you killed my boy, and you think you can just run off? Nah, nah son. You picked the fight this time. And you picked a fight with all of Asgard. You're not getting away before we settle accounts." The Allfather looked past Kratos, nodded at his son.

And in the instant the god of war took his eyes off the King of the Aesir, he was gone. Leaving just Thor.

"I don't give a fuck about Heimdall," the heavy set god of thunder said, his first words to Kratos. "Bastard was too full of himself and it cost him. I'm not doing this for him, or for Father." Mjolnir leapt into his hand. "Magni. Modi. They were my sons. Father didn't even care to mention them, but you killed them."

"I killed Magni when he came for us," Kratos acknowledged. "Modi appeared before us beaten half to death. Byyou. He appeared before us desperate to prove his valour after you called him a coward. And you lay his death at my feet?"

"Oh dear," Mimir whimpered.

Thor let out a low, menacing chuckle, straightening his beard with his free hand as he shook his head. "You don't know when to shut up, do you? I'm gonna paint my own little ode to Jotun art, telling your story with your own blood, then I'm gonna hang your entrails above the doors of the Great Lodge, then, I'm gonna raise a toast to my boys while drinking mead from your skull."
Kratos called the Leviathan Axe to his hand. "And you claim I talk too much."

-(-)-

A/N: This chapter seen very very very early on THE GREAT FORBIDDEN P! FEAR THE P! LOVE THE P!