The battlefield trembled beneath the fury of gods. Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, stood bloodied but victorious over Asura, the demigod of wrath. Their clash had shattered mountains and boiled seas, but now silence reigned.

Kratos approached Asura, not with his blades drawn, but with something heavier—truth.

"You fight because you fear who you are," Kratos said, voice low. "I know that fear. I lived it. I buried it beneath rage and conquest. But I am done hiding. I am not the man Olympus made me. I am not the monster Sparta forged. I am… trans."

Asura, panting, eyes blazing, stared at Kratos. Then he laughed—a bitter, thunderous laugh.

"You think this is about me?" Asura rose, his body crackling with renewed energy. "You’re projecting your own war onto mine. You seek redemption not for me, but for yourself."

Kratos faltered. The words struck deeper than any blade. Asura surged forward, fists glowing with cosmic fire, and with a final blow, sent Kratos crashing into the ruins of their battleground.

The dust settled. Kratos lay still, staring at the sky. Not in defeat—but in reflection.

Who was he, truly? A god? A warrior? A father? A woman? A man?

Asura stood over him, no longer an enemy, but a mirror.

"Your truth is yours to find," Asura said. "But don’t make it mine."

And with that, Asura vanished into the horizon, leaving Kratos alone with the one opponent he had never truly faced—himself.

Bring me... TROONTOS