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English
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Published:
2022-11-22
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1/1
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Another Path

Summary:

Kratos, upon being reminded of his own past, chooses a different path.

Work Text:

Another Path

God of War, and all associated characters, are property of Sony Santa Monica.

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Kratos, though he promised to trust Atreus and the man he was becoming, could not quite quell the quiver of worry in his heart as he sent Atreus off to Asgard. To Odin. He’d been assured that Odin would not see Atrues come to harm—his obsession with this strange mask was too great, Atreus’s skills with language and translation too valuable. But still, he worried.

When his son ended up crashing down outside Sindri’s home after crushing and emergency transport orb, he felt the oddest sense of vindication and terror.

It only grew worse as Atreus relayed what had happened to cause his hasty retreat.

And now, on top of wanting to punish Atreus for Heimdall’s demise—and for all the hell Thor had raised about a ‘blood debt’ they clearly did not take the threat to heart—Atreus had unwittingly stolen the very mask Odin was obsessed with.

And he, and their allies, wanted to use it.

 He glared down at the item with disdain—all at once, he was transported centuries into the past. Back in his homeland of Greece, bloodied, surrounded by the corpses of his brethren, the Barbarian King poised to strike him down.

“Ares!” he’d cried. “Destroy my enemies, and my life is yours!”

And all at once, Kratos knew what he had to do.

“Atrues,” he spoke softly, ignoring everyone else in favor of his son. He was still so young. “Do you trust me?”

His son nodded without thought—and Kratos, to his shame, remembered when he would be far more hesitant. “Of course, Father.” He looked around the table, “We all do.”

“Aye, Brother,” Mimir said. “Whatever your thoughts, we’re with you.”

“Well, I don’t know—” Freyr began, a snide, if jesting, tone in his voice.

“Quiet, Yngvi,” Freya reprimanded her brother.

“Please, Kratos,” Tyr, at the head of the table, gestured to the mask. “Your insight into the proper course of action if, of course, valued.”

“Aw, doesn’t all this touchy-feely crap just make your scrote all tingly,” Brok mocked.

“Please, Bork, learn to read the room,” Sindri complained.

Kratos nodded at each of them in turn. Then, in one swift motion, he pulled out the Blades of Chaos, and sank them into the mask, burning it to cinders.

“NO!” Tyr bellowed. He leapt over the table and clutched at the burning wood. “You idiot, what have you done?! Centuries, millenia of work, burnt to nothing!” Tyr’s voice shook with fury—wait, no, it was changing entirely. To something else. Something Kratos recognized—and Freya and Mimir, given their horrified gasps.

Faster than lightning, Kratos lifted his blades and stabbed them through Tyr’s hands. Tyr screamed in rage, and his body shimmered, the visage of Tyr melting away to reveal Odin, his one eye burning with hatred, and the promise of a slow, painful death.

He opened his mouth, but whatever hatful spite he wanted to spew died in his throat, Freya’s blade—the wedding sword she’d retrieved from Vanaheim—cleaving his head in two.

Mimir—unfortunately close enough to get spray with blood—spluttered. “Wah—tha—holy fuck!”

“Tyr…was Odin…” Atreus said, stunned.

Freyr said nothing, simply moving forward and slowly dragging Freya backwards, tears in her eyes as she took deep, unsteady breaths.

Brok peered Odin’s corpse. “Thought something was shifty—felt it in my scrote.” He sniffed, then spat on the body. “Good riddance. Well, Imma hit the hay!”

“What?!” Sindri screeched, scandalized—whether it be at the revelation, or the blood and brains pooling on his table and dripping onto the floor, Kratos honestly couldn’t say. “That’s all you have to say about this?!”

“Well the fuck else is there?” Brok pointed to the corpse. “We were planning on kill him come Ragnarök anyway, right? Mission a-fucking-complished!”

How Kratos wished it was that simple. But the Aesir were baying for blood with Heimdall’s death, he could only imagine how rabid they would grow upon hearing of Odin’s demise—and there was no hope of keeping such a thing secret. From what he’d been told of Odin, no doubt he’d devised countless contingencies on the off-chance he died before Ragnarök.

But that that could come later. “Brok is right,” Kratos declared, grinding the impending pandemonium to a halt. “We rest. Tomorrow, we regroup, and decide our next steps.” He picked up Mimir, whose brow was furrowed, deep in thought. Atreus still stared slack-jawed at Odin. He jolted when Kratos put a hand on his shoulder. “Rest, Atreus. Tomorrow we shall work towards a solution.”

“Man, I wish I had your optimism,” Freyr snidely remarked. But he slowly led Freya away from the table. Her breathing had evened, but she was trembling like a newborn fawn. No doubt she imagined her vengeance under much different circumstances.

He turned away from them, hand firmly on his son’s shoulder as he led them to their rooms.

“Uh…excuse me?” Sindri called out. “What am I supposed to do about”—he eyed Odin with a squeamish frown—“that?”

“Hold your fucking horses, I’m getting a mop,” Brok groused. “Feh, gonna have to build us a new table.”

“That is not the problem here!”

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A/N: Just finished God of War: Ragnarök. Thought about this during the big reveal scene.