The world was fire and screaming light. The chaotic energy ate at Kratos's mind, a constant, static roar that promised only oblivion. Every parry against Athena's silver spear was fueled by it, every slam of his blades into the earth a release of pure, undirected destruction.
This is all you are, the rage whispered. A destroyer. A storm that breaks but never builds.
He saw his reflection in the polished gleam of her armor—a monster wreathed in impossible, violent colors, his face a mask of torment.
Then, through the storm in his soul, a memory surfaced, clear and quiet as a deep-water stone.
The old man's voice, dry as leaves. "There is a world beyond this rage. It is a quieter world. A smaller one."
The chaos around him flared, a tendril of it lashing out and annihilating a pillar of stone. Emptiness followed in its wake.
Quieter. Smaller.
The thought was a lifeline. He grasped for it.
And the world shifted.