GOD OF WAR REBORN

The First Hunter

Tharos didn’t move.

Not even a breath.

The footsteps behind him were slow, careful, the kind made by someone who knew exactly how to walk without sound… and did it anyway.

A warning.

A message.

I want you to know I’m here.

Tharos kept staring at the ruined village in the distance, the smoke lifting like ghosts, the red glow spreading in the night, the shapes of broken houses and bodies. The world around him felt strangely far away, as if covered in fog.

But the presence behind him? That was sharp, real, deadly.

His fingers curled tight around the spear he had taken earlier, the wood splintered but still strong.

Another step, soft, measured.

Then a voice, cold and flat:

“Tharos.”

He turned his head slightly, enough to see, not enough to expose his throat.

A man stepped out of the tree shadows, tall, wrapped in black armor that looked grown, not forged, ribbed plates like bone, dark metal lines running across his arms. His face was hidden behind a half-mask carved with strange symbols. A long blade hung at his side, thin, curved, and humming faintly with magic.

But the thing that hit Tharos first wasn’t the weapon.

It was the man’s eyes, gray, emotionless. Eyes that had watched people die and didn’t blink.

Tharos studied him.

The man studied him back, almost disappointed.

There was no fear.

None.

“What do you want?” Tharos asked, voice low.

The masked warrior tilted his head. “To confirm something.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you’re alive.”

A chill ran down Tharos’ spine, cold, sharp, unwelcome.

Alive.

As if he shouldn’t be.

Tharos exhaled slowly. “Who are you?”

The man lifted his chin. “A Hunter.”

No other explanation.

No name.

No warning.

Just that.

And the way he said it…

Tharos felt the truth of it.

A Hunter didn’t mean a regular assassin.

Not a soldier.

Not a bounty killer.

A Hunter meant someone sent for something dangerous.

Something unnatural.

Something that should not exist.

Someone like him.

The air thickened.

The man’s hand drifted toward his blade.

“Your strength,” the Hunter said quietly, “it woke something in the higher realms. That energy… it shouldn’t exist anymore.”

Tharos’s pulse hammered.

Energy.

Higher realms.

Shouldn’t exist.

The memory flashes from earlier stabbed into him again, divine light, metal armor, eyes shining with fear, a circle of figures closing in on him, blades piercing his body. 

Another sharp pain tore through his skull.

He staggered.

The Hunter watched with clinical interest. “Your memories are returning. Good. That will make this faster.”

Tharos clenched his teeth. “Why were you sent?”

“To kill you.”

He didn’t shout.

He didn’t lunge.

He didn’t threaten.

He just said it like a weather report.

Then he moved.

Fast.

The blade came out in one silent sweep, silver edge catching moonlight. Tharos barely dodged; the attack cut a tree behind him clean through. The trunk groaned and fell with a heavy thud, splitting the ground.

Tharos’s heart pounded, but a strange heat rose inside him, the same heat that had shredded the bandits back in the village.

He felt the world slow.

His blood throbbed.

His muscles tightened with unnatural power.

The Hunter paused, as if noticing it.

“Yes,” the man muttered. “That force… it’s the same as before.”

Before?

Tharos didn’t have time to ask.

The Hunter struck again.

Tharos blocked the blade with his spear, sparks flying. The impact was so strong it nearly tore his arm off. He grunted, sliding back across the dirt.

The Hunter stepped forward calmly.

“I expected more.”

Something inside Tharos growled, anger, frustration, something older and darker.

“You’ll get more,” he said.

He charged.

Their weapons clashed again, spear against sword, wood against metal. The force shook the air around them. The Hunter moved with unnatural grace, every step precise, every swing designed to kill.

Tharos fought with instinct, raw strength, and the rage burning through his veins.

He swung the spear downward.

The Hunter dodged and cut the shaft clean in half.

Tharos cursed and used the broken spear like two short sticks, blocking the next slash. He kicked the Hunter in the chest; the man slid back but didn’t fall.

No sound.

No grunt.

Just calm, deadly eyes watching him like an insect.

“You’re strong,” the Hunter admitted, voice flat. “Not as strong as before, but the start is there.”

“Stop saying ‘before,’” Tharos growled. “Before what?”

The Hunter didn’t answer.

Instead, he lifted his blade, touching two fingers to its surface. Dark light rippled across it, like blood spreading in water.

Then he whispered, “Kill-order confirmed.”

Tharos felt the world tilt, a sudden pressure, like invisible chains snapping into place.

The Hunter vanished.

Tharos barely saw the blur before pain exploded across his ribs. The blade cut deep; he felt hot blood spill. He swung back blindly, but the Hunter was already behind him.

Another slash, his shoulder, another, his thigh.

Fast.

Precise.

Meant to disable, not kill.

Not yet.

Tharos dropped to one knee, breath ragged.

The Hunter walked around him in a slow circle, blade dripping red.

“You don’t understand your place,” the man said softly. “Or the danger you represent to the realms.”

“Fuck your realms,” Tharos spat, barely able to stand.

The Hunter tilted his head, as if curious.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That arrogance. That defiance. The same you had before the pantheon killed you.”

Tharos froze.

Everything inside him went silent.

“What… did you say?”

The Hunter stepped closer. “You were warned. You were commanded. You refused to bow. So they ended you.”

Tharos’s breath shook.

Ended.

Killed.

Pantheon.

“They what?”

“They killed you,” the Hunter repeated. “And when you died, the realms finally had peace.”

Tharos felt something break open inside him, a hollow that suddenly filled with fire.

“My death brought peace?”

“Yes.”

“To who?”

“The gods.”

The world shook.

Tharos stood slowly, blood dripping down his body, every nerve screaming.

The Hunter lifted his blade again. “Don’t struggle. You were never meant to rise again.”

Tharos felt it, the heat, the roar inside his chest, the force that wanted to tear the world open.

“You’re wrong,” he said, voice shaking with rage.

A pulse of energy exploded from his body. The ground cracked. Trees bent. The Hunter staggered back for the first time.

His eyes widened behind the mask.

“That power—”

Tharos didn’t let him finish.

He grabbed the Hunter by the throat.

The man tried to slash, but Tharos slammed him into a tree so hard the bark shattered. The blade fell from his hand. Tharos lifted him higher, squeezing tight, the rage boiling through him.

“You said they killed me,” Tharos growled. “Who am I?”

The Hunter struggled, hands clawing at Tharos’s wrist.

Tharos tightened his grip.

“WHO AM I!?”

For a moment, the Hunter’s voice broke, the first crack of emotion Tharos had heard from him.

“You… you were the God of War…”

Tharos’s heart stopped.

The world turned red.

The Hunter’s voice trembled now, his lungs barely able to pull air.

“…and the pantheon feared you.”

Tharos felt everything inside him burn, memories, pain, betrayal and all rising like fire.

He didn’t realize he was crushing the man’s throat until he heard bones crack.

The Hunter gagged, choked, and finally pushed out one last whisper:

“They will come… all of them… now that you’re awake…”

Tharos let out a snarl and threw the man across the clearing.

The Hunter hit a rock, slid, tried to stand—

Tharos charged.

One punch.

Just one.

But it crushed the Hunter’s chest inward.

The man collapsed.

Unmoving.

Dead.

Silence crashed over the forest.

Tharos stood there, shaking, blood on his hands, breath wild.

God of War.

The words echoed in his skull like thunder.

He stared down at the dead Hunter, the first of many coming for him.

Lightning cracked across the sky.

The trees swayed.

The world felt wrong, as if something enormous had been disturbed.

Then Tharos felt it, a pressure, a presence. No, many presences.

Dozens.

Watching him.

Far above.

Cold.

Ancient.

Eyes from the Divine Realm, staring down at him through the clouds.

They had felt the Hunter die.

They knew he was alive.

A whisper spread across the wind, not from any mortal mouth:

He rises…

Tharos’s jaw tightened.

“Come then,” he whispered to the sky. “Come see what you created.”

The forest went dead still.

Then—

A crack of power far away.

A flare of light.

Someone else stepping into the mortal realm.

Not a Hunter.

Something worse.

Tharos turned toward the sound.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

The war had started.

And the gods had just felt their first fear.