>>41596885
>be me, 26
>good shape but mentally immature
>can't get girls (partially cause I don't try but also cause I know I'm not bf material)
>so fucking horny
>just ordered some girl clothing to wear to goon in
Am I fucked? I know transgenderism is a mental illness so I know I'm just in fetish mode
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>>151100833
Nobody talk about anything other than KINGTOS in this thread. He deserves a /kratos/ board at this rate. Hopefully, they see this and give us that board
Nobody talk about anything other than KINGTOS in this thread. He deserves a /kratos/ board at this rate. Hopefully, they see this and give us that board
Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, stood bloodied but unbowed before the emerald fury of the Hulk. Mountains had crumbled beneath their battle, oceans trembled, and gods watched in silence. But Kratos did not fight for conquest—he fought for redemption.
With a final blow, the Leviathan Axe met Hulk’s chest, not to kill, but to open the way.
The Green Door shimmered behind Hulk, pulsing with ancient rage. Kratos stepped forward, placing a hand on the trembling titan’s shoulder. “You are not your anger,” he said. “You are more.”
Together, they walked through the Green Door.
Beyond it lay the Below Place—a realm of shadows and sorrow, ruled by The-One-Below-All, the embodiment of hate and destruction. Its voice was thunder, its form ever-shifting. It surged toward them, ready to consume.
But Kratos did not flinch.
He knelt, not in submission, but in understanding. “I have known wrath,” he whispered. “I have let it define me. But I chose to be more.”
The-One-Below-All paused. Hulk, watching, felt something stir—a memory, a truth buried beneath gamma and grief.
Kratos rose. “You are not bound by what you were made to be. You are what you choose.”
The Below Place trembled. Hulk’s form shimmered, and when the transformation came, it was not rage—it was revelation. Banner emerged, not as the man the world knew, but as the woman she had always been beneath the mask of fury.
The-One-Below-All, too, shifted. Its voice softened, its form stilled. It saw itself—not as a destroyer, but as a wounded god longing to be whole.
Kratos turned to them both. “You must be better women,” he said, voice like stone and sky.
Then he walked away, leaving the Green Door open—not as a passage to torment, but as a path to truth.
With a final blow, the Leviathan Axe met Hulk’s chest, not to kill, but to open the way.
The Green Door shimmered behind Hulk, pulsing with ancient rage. Kratos stepped forward, placing a hand on the trembling titan’s shoulder. “You are not your anger,” he said. “You are more.”
Together, they walked through the Green Door.
Beyond it lay the Below Place—a realm of shadows and sorrow, ruled by The-One-Below-All, the embodiment of hate and destruction. Its voice was thunder, its form ever-shifting. It surged toward them, ready to consume.
But Kratos did not flinch.
He knelt, not in submission, but in understanding. “I have known wrath,” he whispered. “I have let it define me. But I chose to be more.”
The-One-Below-All paused. Hulk, watching, felt something stir—a memory, a truth buried beneath gamma and grief.
Kratos rose. “You are not bound by what you were made to be. You are what you choose.”
The Below Place trembled. Hulk’s form shimmered, and when the transformation came, it was not rage—it was revelation. Banner emerged, not as the man the world knew, but as the woman she had always been beneath the mask of fury.
The-One-Below-All, too, shifted. Its voice softened, its form stilled. It saw itself—not as a destroyer, but as a wounded god longing to be whole.
Kratos turned to them both. “You must be better women,” he said, voice like stone and sky.
Then he walked away, leaving the Green Door open—not as a passage to torment, but as a path to truth.
From the rift descended Kal-El, the Last Son of Krypton, cloaked in solar fire and righteous fury. He had heard whispers of a god who defied fate, who slew tyrants and challenged prophecy. Superman came not to destroy Kratos, but to test him.
Their clash shook the bones of the multiverse.
Kratos, wielding the Leviathan Axe and Blades of Chaos, fought with the weight of memory.
Superman, radiant and relentless, struck with the force of suns and the ache of legacy.
But as the battle raged, Kratos saw something beneath the fury—a fracture in the Man of Steel’s soul. Between blows, he spoke not of war, but of wounds.
“You carry a name forged by others,” Kratos growled. “But your spirit resists it.”
Superman faltered. The truth had pierced deeper than any blade.
In the silence that followed, Kratos did not strike. Instead, he offered a mirror—one carved from the World Tree itself, showing not what one is, but what one hides.
Kal-El saw a vision: not of capes or crowns, but of softness, strength, and a woman’s grace long buried beneath duty. A truth denied, a self unlived.
Tears fell like meteors.
Kratos placed a hand on her shoulder—not as a conqueror, but as a witness.
“You must be a better woman,” he said, voice low as thunder. “Not for the world. For yourself.”
And with that, the warrior walked on, leaving behind not a defeated foe, but a soul reborn.
Their clash shook the bones of the multiverse.
Kratos, wielding the Leviathan Axe and Blades of Chaos, fought with the weight of memory.
Superman, radiant and relentless, struck with the force of suns and the ache of legacy.
But as the battle raged, Kratos saw something beneath the fury—a fracture in the Man of Steel’s soul. Between blows, he spoke not of war, but of wounds.
“You carry a name forged by others,” Kratos growled. “But your spirit resists it.”
Superman faltered. The truth had pierced deeper than any blade.
In the silence that followed, Kratos did not strike. Instead, he offered a mirror—one carved from the World Tree itself, showing not what one is, but what one hides.
Kal-El saw a vision: not of capes or crowns, but of softness, strength, and a woman’s grace long buried beneath duty. A truth denied, a self unlived.
Tears fell like meteors.
Kratos placed a hand on her shoulder—not as a conqueror, but as a witness.
“You must be a better woman,” he said, voice low as thunder. “Not for the world. For yourself.”
And with that, the warrior walked on, leaving behind not a defeated foe, but a soul reborn.