GOD OF WAR REBORN

The Rage Inside

Tharos always woke before sunrise.

Not because he wanted to, but because something in him never slept.

He sat outside his small wooden house, sharpening a hunting knife that was older than he was. The morning air was cold, the ground still wet from last night’s rain. The village was quiet… too quiet.

He hated this stillness.

It felt like the world was holding its breath.

“Tharos!”

He looked up. Old Mira, the healer, waved at him as she walked past with her basket of herbs.

“You’re up early again,” she said.

“I don’t sleep much,” Tharos muttered.

“Nightmares?”

He hesitated.

Images always flashed behind his eyes, fire, broken weapons, blood running like rivers. He didn’t know where these images came from. He didn’t remember anything before the day he woke up in this village years ago.

But he lied anyway.

“No nightmares, just restless.”

Mira studied his face. “You were born restless.”

He wasn’t born here, but she didn’t know that.

No one did.

Tharos stood and stretched. His muscles were too strong for a man his age, too heavy, too sharp. He trained every day, and even that wasn’t enough to burn away the strange power inside him.

He didn’t know why he had it. He didn’t know who he really was, he only knew one thing:

Something was wrong with him.

And whatever it was… it scared him more than he’d ever admit.

He walked through the village, greeted by people who smiled at him. They liked him because he helped everyone. Fixing roofs. Carrying wood. Hunting food. Protecting them.

Sometimes he wondered if it was the only reason he was still here.

If he stopped being useful, would he still belong?

“Tharos!”

This time it was Lysa, a young woman who always flirted with him. She rushed over, holding a basket of fruit.

“I saved some for you.”

Tharos gave a small smile. “Thanks.”

“You know…” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Most men would be flattered.”

“I’m not most men.”

“You’re right,” she said, brushing her fingers along his arm. “You’re better.”

Tharos gently moved her hand away.

“Lysa… I’m not good for anyone.”

She frowned. “Why do you always say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

Before she could answer, a scream ripped through the village.

A loud, terrified scream.

Then another.

Tharos didn’t think. He ran.

Black smoke rose above the houses. Fire spread fast across the roofs. People ran in all directions, crying and shouting. The air filled with heat and ash.

Then he saw them.

Creatures.

Tall, twisted beasts with horns, gray skin, and glowing red eyes, not bandits, not soldiers, monsters.

Tharos froze for a moment.

His heart pounded, but not from fear, from something else, something waking up.

A beast grabbed a child running past. Tharos moved fast, so fast then snatched the child away and shoved him behind a wall.

“Hide,” he said.

The creature roared and swung its claw at Tharos, the strike hit him in the chest but he didn’t fall, he didn’t even move.

The creature’s eyes widened.

Tharos looked down at the large scratch across his chest, blood, but not much. The wound burned… and the burning felt familiar.

His vision turned sharp.

His heart beat louder.

Something inside him growled.

The creature attacked again.

Tharos grabbed its arm, twisted, and snapped the bone in one brutal motion. The monster screamed, and Tharos slammed his fist into its skull.

The creature’s head cracked open like rotten fruit.

Silence fell around him.

People stared. Horrified, shocked, trembling, not because of the monster but because of him. Tharos didn’t have time to care because more creatures poured into the village.

“Tharos!” Mira cried, waving from her burning house. “Help!”

He ran toward her but something massive landed in front of him, shaking the ground.

A larger beast.

Covered in black armor.

Eyes burning like molten iron.

A symbol carved into its chest, the symbol of a god.

Tharos felt the world tilt, his breath caught.

That symbol…

He had seen it before.

Flashes hit him, screams, fire.

Angels falling from the sky, gods in golden armor circling him and a blade stabbing through his back.

And a voice saying, Kill him before he kills us.

His knees almost buckled.

“Who… did this to me?” he whispered.

The armored beast roared and charged but tharos didn’t move fast enough, so the creature’s claws tore into him and threw him across the burning ground. He hit a wall so hard it cracked.

Pain exploded through his body.

He tasted blood.

The villagers screamed his name, the beast stomped toward him, huge and unstoppable.

Tharos tried to rise, but his vision blurred. His chest burned, not from the wound, but from something inside him trying to break free.

He gasped, then everything stopped, time slowed.

And a voice echoed in his skull was cold, furious, familiar, saying, get up.

His eyes widened.

You were a god once, the God of War does not die on his knees, then a violent surge of power ripped through his veins.

Tharos inhaled sharply.

His eyes turned bright, not human bright but something else, he stood and the beast froze, sensing danger.

Tharos cracked his neck, blood dripping down his arm, and growled:

“Come on, let’s fucking finish this.”

The monster roared and leaped, Tharos charged, the two collided. 

—and the screen goes black.