Kratos's eyes snapped open, piercing through the suffocating darkness. He lay amidst crumbled stone, his body aching as if it had endured a thousand lifetimes of torment. Above him stretched a sky unfamiliar—dark, swirling with clouds streaked in violent hues of crimson and gold. The air was thick with a silence too heavy, broken only by the faint sound of distant thunder.

"Where am I?" His voice was a guttural growl, echoing in the void.

Fragments of memories flashed in his mind—a crumbling Olympus, the screams of gods he had felled, and the faint cry of his child. His hand instinctively reached for his blades, only to grasp empty air.

Rising to his feet, Kratos surveyed his surroundings. The land was barren, its soil cracked and lifeless. Yet there was power here, a deep, pulsing energy that resonated with his very essence.

A shadow moved in the distance, humanoid yet monstrous. Kratos's fists clenched. This new realm would soon know the fury of the Ghost of Sparta.

"Let them come," he muttered, the embers of vengeance reigniting in his chest.

The journey had begun