When Deimos woke up, the world felt different. Colors were sharper, sounds more distinct, and even the air carried a weight he hadn't noticed before. His senses, once ordinary, now seemed enhanced beyond human limits. The template—the mysterious force that had begun integrating with him—was now at 8%, yet its effects were undeniable. He could feel the power coursing through his veins, his blood thrumming with energy he had never possessed before. It was as if the world itself had opened up to him, revealing secrets he had been blind to before.
He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he adjusted to the change. The shift in magic was palpable. It moved around him like an unseen current, a force he could now perceive with an unnatural clarity. His connection to it allowed him to blend into the environment, subtly masking his presence without effort. This was more than just physical enhancement—this was something deeper, something primal.
Yet, despite this newfound strength, one memory burned in his mind more than anything else.
Kratos.
His father had beaten him effortlessly. Not out of cruelty, not even with his full strength—just a single punch had been enough to render Deimos unconscious. It wasn't just pain that had humbled him—it was the sheer disparity in power. He had spent his whole childhood training, honing his body, sharpening his skills, believing he was getting closer to standing beside his father as an equal. That belief had been shattered in an instant.
He had never felt so weak.
Clenching his fists, Deimos gritted his teeth, frustration boiling within him. He refused to be insignificant. He refused to be left in the shadow of his father's legend, an afterthought in the legacy of the Ghost of Sparta.
As he brooded, a soft but firm voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Hmmm, you look different from before. What changed?"
Deimos turned to see Faye standing in the doorway, her piercing eyes studying him carefully. She wasn't just looking at him—she was sensing him, measuring the shift in his aura.
"I got beaten by Father," Deimos admitted, his voice laced with frustration. "He barely even tried, and I was put to sleep with one punch. I thought I was strong, but now I see how far I still have to go. So, I decided to push myself harder, to train until I can stand on my own."
Faye sighed, stepping closer. Her gaze softened, though her presence remained commanding. "Do not compare yourself to your father," she said gently. "Kratos was born into war, forged by endless battles. He lived through suffering, pain, and loss before he ever found peace. You, my son, were born into that peace, seeking the path of a warrior. There will always be differences between you two."
Deimos remained silent, absorbing her words.
"You are not weak," Faye continued, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Strength is not just about power. It is about understanding yourself, learning your limits, and surpassing them one step at a time. Do not chase his shadow. Instead, focus on surpassing your past self. That is how true strength is forged."
Deimos exhaled, some of the tension leaving his body. His mother had always been wise—her words carried weight, grounding him when he felt lost.
"Thank you, Mother," he said, nodding. "You always know the right thing to say."
Faye smiled, pleased. "Of course. I know my husband and my son well." Then, with a playful smirk, she gestured toward the kitchen. "Now, enough brooding. Come and help me with the dishes. We will eat once they return."
Deimos chuckled, the heaviness in his chest lifting slightly. He followed her into the kitchen, helping her prepare the meal. The scent of roasted meat and herbs filled the air, a comforting contrast to the turmoil still lingering in his mind. He focused on the simple task, letting the rhythmic motions of cooking steady his thoughts.
Time passed, and soon, the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. The door opened, revealing Kratos and Atreus returning from their hunt.
Kratos' eyes immediately locked onto Deimos. His expression remained unreadable, but Deimos knew his father well enough to recognize the silent assessment. He was checking for injuries, and evaluating his son's condition after their previous encounter.
"You look well," Kratos finally said. "Are you hurt?"
Deimos met his father's gaze without flinching. "My pride is wounded, but otherwise, I am fine."
Kratos grunted, his tone neutral. "Pride is a dangerous thing. Learn when and where to place it."
Atreus, who had been quiet, stepped forward with a concerned expression. "Are you sure you're okay? I heard Father punched you hard during training."
Deimos smirked slightly. "I'm fine, Atreus. I've taken worse hits."
Atreus sighed in relief. "Well, that's good to hear. I was worried."
Deimos nodded before changing the subject. "How was your day with Father?"
Atreus shrugged. "It was… fine. We hunted a boar. But he didn't say much the whole time."
Deimos chuckled, shaking his head. "That sounds about right. He's always like that during training. You'll get used to it."
Faye clapped her hands together, cutting off any further discussion. "Enough talk. Sit. Eat. We have much to do tomorrow."
They all gathered around the table, the warmth of the meal filling the air between them. Deimos stole a glance at his father. The gap between them was still vast, but that would not always be the case. He had been humbled, but he had also been given a new goal—one that burned within him like an unquenchable flame.
One day, he would stand as Kratos' equal.
And when that day came, he would no longer be just the son of the GODKILLER.
He would be a warrior in his own right.