Tales of the God of war

The fractured light of the realms swirled in chaos around Kratos, their once-divided borders now merging into a storm of uncontrolled power. Pieces of frozen tundra collided with molten landscapes, while the skies rained ash and fire. The void that had been the Keeper's domain began to buckle, its foundations crumbling.

Kratos stood amidst the ruin, his body pulsing with the power he had stolen from gods now gone. Their whispers screamed within him, each voice clashing with the others, demanding dominance. He gritted his teeth, his fists trembling as he forced the chaos into submission.

"You cannot contain this forever," a voice hissed within him.

"I have contained worse," Kratos growled, his voice steady, though his mind was a battlefield.

Ahead of him, the remnants of the Keeper's form flickered like a dying flame. Their broken mask lay on the ground, revealing a pale, ageless face etched with sorrow. The Keeper struggled to rise, their body fading.

"You've undone the balance," they said, their voice weak but resolute. "This power will destroy everything—yourself included. There will be no realms left to rule."

Kratos stared at them, his expression unreadable. "I never sought to rule. Only to end those who believed they could."

The Keeper's fading eyes met his. "You've fought to destroy gods, but in doing so, you have become something worse. The realms depended on their order, and now... chaos reigns."

Their body dissolved into shimmering particles, leaving nothing behind but silence.

As the void quaked around him, Kratos felt the weight of their words. The realms were collapsing, their energies spiraling out of control. The power within him surged, each fragment of divine essence pulling him in a different direction, tearing at his mind and soul.

But he did not flinch.

He stepped forward, his every movement deliberate. Each step took him closer to the heart of the storm, where the conflicting energies converged. Fire roared, shadows writhed, and the light of eternity burned brighter than ever.

Kratos knew the truth. If he let the storm rage unchecked, it would consume everything. But if he intervened, the cost might be greater than even he could bear.

"Balance," he muttered, the word foreign to him, yet it lingered in his mind.

For the first time in his endless struggle, Kratos did not charge forward blindly. He knelt at the storm's core, the energy searing his flesh and soul alike. He reached deep within himself, calling upon the fragments of power he had stolen, forcing them to merge.

The fire of Solinara blazed alongside the shadows of Malgrin, the raw strength of Aetherion, and the vastness of Caelus's eternity. They pushed back against him, resisting, but he held firm.

With a roar that echoed through the void, Kratos slammed his fists into the ground. The storm surged, then stilled.

Light engulfed the collapsing realms, their borders halting their decay. Slowly, the fragments began to rebuild, their energies stabilizing under Kratos's relentless will.

When the light faded, he stood alone in a space that was neither void nor realm. It was something new.

The war against the New Pantheon was over. But what had he created in its place?