Tales of the God of war

With the essence now coursing through his veins, Kratos felt a surge of power unlike any he had ever known. His senses sharpened, the world around him coming into focus with crystal clarity. Every flicker of movement, every shift in the wind, became noticeable. His body felt more alive, more attuned to the ancient forces that now resided within him.

But with this power came an undeniable weight. The faint whispers of the essence still lingered, like distant voices calling out to him. Kratos shook his head, attempting to clear his mind, but the urge to follow them was strong. The temple ahead beckoned, its spires now twisting unnaturally in the violent sky.

As Kratos walked forward, he noticed a figure standing at the temple's entrance. It was a woman, tall and regal, her eyes glimmering like sapphire flames. She wore a crown of thorns, and her dark armor glowed with an ethereal energy.

"I am Solinara," she said, her voice echoing through the still air. "The first among the gods of this realm. You are bold to come here, Ghost of Sparta. But I warn you—there is no place for your kind."

Kratos's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on nothing. "There is always a place for death," he replied coldly.

Solinara's lips curled into a smile. "Then let death come, Kratos. But know this: you will not leave this place unscathed."

The air crackled with tension, and Kratos could sense that this was only the beginning. The battle for this new world had just begun.