Chapter 173: Father And Son
The night wind curled along the cliffside.
Zeus stood high above the ruined village, his cloak snapping in the breeze, sparks running like restless serpents across his arms. From this height, the world below looked small, but the man kneeling in the ashes did not. Even from here, Kratos’s grief cut sharp, his roar for Ares echoing through the valley like thunder.
Zeus’s eyes narrowed, the electric blue glow in them reflecting every fire still eating at the wreckage. His jaw tightened. He had heard countless cries over the ages—warriors cursing the gods, mothers begging for mercy, kings calling for victory. But this one... this cry was different. It was not just rage. It was pain born from betrayal, the kind that left scars deeper than blade or fire.
The King of the Gods exhaled, the air itself rumbling with his breath. "So it begins," he muttered.
He turned, lifting his hand. Lightning snapped across the sky, tearing it open, and in its flash, another figure appeared—armor of bronze, helm shaped like a beast, eyes burning with the madness of endless war. Ares.
The god of war smirked, his spear resting casually on his shoulder, as if he had been dragged away from a battlefield he hadn’t finished enjoying. "You called, Father?" he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance. "I assume you’ve seen my work."
Zeus’s gaze sharpened, his voice low but thunderous. "Why?"
Ares tilted his head, feigning ignorance. "Why what? The Spartan begged for power. I gave it. He served well, cut down my enemies, painted the earth red. Tonight he simply... learned the cost."
Zeus’s hand clenched at his side, sparks hissing between his fingers. "You tricked him. You sent him into his own home, his own blood, and made him their executioner."
"And?" Ares’s grin widened. "Did you hear him scream my name? Did you see him fall to his knees, broken? That is war, Father. That is the true beauty of my domain. Soldiers, kings, slaves—it does not matter. In the end, they all curse the same god. Me."
Zeus’s eyes blazed brighter, lightning splitting the sky again. He stepped forward, the ground beneath him trembling. "You think this is beauty?" His voice was sharp, his anger held tight but burning. "You think destroying a man’s family is strength?"
"It was fun." Ares’s tone was almost playful, but the glint in his eyes was vicious. "Look at him. He is broken. And broken men make the fiercest weapons. I’ve given you a warrior who will shake the world."
"Fun," Zeus repeated, the word leaving his mouth like poison. He stared down at the god of war, his expression twisting with disgust. "You are a fool."
Ares’s smile faltered, but only slightly. "You always scold, Father. Yet you never stop me. Why call me here, if not to admire what I’ve created?"
Zeus’s voice dropped, deep and heavy as thunder over a sea. "Because you overstep."
The sky shuddered as he spoke. Sparks crawled across his cloak, his hair lifting with static. His eyes locked on Ares, piercing, merciless. "You forget yourself, child. You are war, yes, but war is not chaos without end. War has purpose. War shapes kingdoms, forges empires, teaches mortals strength. But this—" he gestured to the smoldering ruin below, where Kratos’s cry still lingered in the ash. "This is cruelty without meaning. You twist your gift into mockery."
Ares’s grin cracked, his jaw tightening, though arrogance still cloaked him. "You speak of meaning, yet you sit on your throne, shaping storms while mortals tear each other apart. Do not pretend you care for their pain, Father. You care only when they bleed too loudly."
Zeus’s silence was sharp as a blade. For a moment, neither god moved. The storm above hung still, lightning frozen in the dark. Then Zeus took one step closer, and the air itself bent around him.
"I care," he said, his voice quiet but heavy, "because you have planted a seed you cannot control." His eyes turned back to the village below, to Kratos’s hunched form among the ashes. "That man will not stay broken. His grief will become rage. His rage will become fire. And when that fire burns, it will not stop with you. It will reach Olympus."
Ares barked a laugh. "Let him try. He is nothing without me. I am his chains, his power, his curse. He cannot rise against the hand that feeds him."
Zeus’s expression did not shift. He shook his head slowly, almost mournful. "You blind yourself. You think binding a man makes him yours. But chains cut deeper into the flesh than you realize. And when they break, the scars they leave will never forgive the one who forged them."
Lightning cracked again, close this time, striking the earth beside Ares with a thunderous roar. The god of war flinched, his hand tightening on his spear, but Zeus did not press further. He only stepped back, his gaze still locked on his son.
"You disgust me," Zeus said at last, his voice low but final. "War should not be a game of cruelty. You twist the purpose of your dominion into filth. One day, Ares, your arrogance will cost Olympus dearly."
Ares sneered, though his smirk no longer reached his eyes. "So be it. I am war, Father. Without me, mortals are nothing. With me, they are gods themselves. Do not lecture me on cost. You will need me when the fires rise again."
Zeus’s eyes flared, twin storms burning in his skull. "Do not mistake need for tolerance." His voice rolled like thunder across the cliffs. "Go. Leave my sight."
The command hit like a hammer. Ares stiffened, his jaw clenched, but he bowed—mocking, exaggerated—and vanished in a ripple of red flame, leaving only the echo of his laughter behind.
Silence returned to the cliff. Only the wind remained, carrying the faint smell of ash.
Zeus turned his gaze downward again. Kratos was still there, his broad shoulders hunched, his body trembling under the weight of grief and fury. The god-king’s electric eyes softened, though the storm within them never dimmed.
He sighed. A long, weary breath that shook the air around him. "Spartan," he murmured, almost to himself. "May the Fates have mercy on you. For Olympus will not."
The storm above rumbled in reply, faint but heavy. Zeus let it roll across the desert sky, then drew his cloak tighter, his sparks dimming. He turned from the cliff’s edge, his steps slow, burdened.
But even as he walked away, he knew the truth.
Kratos would not forget.
Kratos would not forgive.
And when his fire came, it would test gods and kings alike.