Fate/Ultimate Antagonist

[87] Brothers

Gentle waves lapped against the shore in successive layers.

The morning sunlight of Sparta gently brushed through the window grates, casting a brilliant hue upon the messy palace, imbuing it with a radiant charm.

Caenis, Atalanta, and Medea.

Three women, voluptuous, wild, or sheepish, all slept soundly on the wide bed, their bodies intertwined in less-than-graceful postures.

Traces of glistening saliva hung at the corners of the girls' mouths. Their originally immaculate attire was now in disarray, adorned with various suggestive battle scars, and their tender skin bore the remnants of crimson marks.

The black-haired youth reclined against the soft pillows, seated amidst the entangled embrace of the girls, gently stroking their silky hair, a faint smile playing on his lips.

In the gradually dimming chambers of his heart, a rare sense of fulfillment arose.

Yet, like a poison, it numbed Kratos's heart.

"...I wish to live peacefully, not only for the hatred I bear but also for the bonds that tie us together."

"After spending a few more years like this, perhaps I will truly become ensnared in indulgence, unable to extricate myself?"

"But alas, I... cannot stop."

His words murmured into the void.

The youth's gaze drifted over the tranquil and serene sleeping faces of the girls.

Caenis always slept the deepest, as she often expended the most energy.

Atalanta clutched the damp pillow tightly, curling up into a ball, inhaling the comforting scent, murmuring dreamily about some apologies to a goddess.

The young witch Medea's lips curled slightly, sucking on her fair fingertips, lost in some delightful dream... she, because this is her first night, had received the most care last night.

How he wished time could freeze at this moment, how splendid it would be.

The wise king's eyes drooped.

But alas, Kratos could not stop.

Spending more years like this, perhaps his pain would ease, and he would no longer be reluctant to abandon everything for revenge.

But... it could only be him, only Kratos.

He did not wish to repeat the fate of orginial Kratos. Thus, he could only continue to advance on the path of carnage, becoming so formidable that even Olympus would tremble beneath his blade.

Throwing on the disheveled white robe, Kratos gently freed himself from their embrace, treading on the slightly warm floor of the palace, and walked to the lush and bustling courtyard.

The sun hung high, and life flourished.

He lowered his gaze, surveying the city under his rule, surrounding the towering gates of hell. Sparta had been developed into an impregnable stronghold in the land of Greece.

Thousands of people poured in every day, ships incessantly came and went, trade flourished abundantly.

Everything in Sparta prospered.

But... it wasn't enough.

Kratos flexed his fingers slightly.

The air around his palm emitted a sharp whistle and a burst of noise.

He didn't know how strong his current power limit was because his physical strength had reached the limit of human potential... he hadn't exerted himself to the fullest in a long time.