38 More Meat, More Gainz
"The ground just crumbled under you?..." Hephaestus mutters with a hand to her chin, "...But the middle floors' walls are made of bedrock, which would take a lot of firepower to break. It was definitely not a coincidence, that's for sure."
Kratos sits on a sofa across from the crimson-haired Goddess, a small table between them with gentle sunlight leaking through behind Hephaestus' desk. The Spartan hums as those uncertain words reach his ears, "That is what I thought..." he mutters.
Hephaestus nods in response, pursing her lips as her mind floats to each and every possibility. The Goddess' leather pants stretch as she crosses her long legs, "...Unless they had access to some kind of bomb, there's really only a few adventurers strong enough to cause a collapse like that, but..." her words turn to a mutter as the woman is suddenly stubbed.
"What is it?" Kratos asks, leaning forward with elbows to knees as he speaks.
With raised brows, Hephaestus looks to Kratos again, "I'm sorry, it's just... Who would even target Atreus? There's no way you've already made enemies in your short time here... Right?" she answers with a question of her own.
Suddenly a chuckle flows through the room and Hephaestus furrows her brows as she glances down at Mimir who leans against a stack of books on the table, "What's so funny?" the Goddess asks.
"Oh, I don't know how much the old man is willing to reveal, but... We've definitely made an enemy or two," Mimir responds with another chuckle.
Hephaestus sighs, rubbing her forehead gently as she shakes her head. She raises her eyes to Kratos again, her wrist folded back in disappointment, "And who are these enemies?" she asks.
Kratos pauses for a moment, his eyes glued to those crimson pupils as he leans back on the sofa with a sigh of his own, "Loki," he mutters, sharing the disappointment with Hephaestus.
Silence falls, and Hephaestus seems to have a delayed reaction to the words. Her lips part and her brows raise as tries to speak, but the words appear to be stuck in her throat, "...THE Loki Familia? The one with level sixes filling their ranks?" she asks, but suddenly, the woman gasps as she realizes something, "Wait, wait, wait... Please tell me I'm wrong, but... Are you the one that nearly wiped out the entire familia?"
Kratos nods, "Yes. Though there are reasons for what transpired... Do not assume I am in the wrong if you are not aware of the details," he responds with a hiss.
Hephaestus shakes her head, "Of course not. Loki is not exactly known as being an innocent Goddess... But, would you mind telling me what exactly happened?" she asks, her hands pressed hard against her leather-covered knee.
Kratos pauses, a sigh leaving his lips as he sinks further into the soft cushions, "Head, you will tell her," he mutters.
Mimir hums, "Of course, Brother," he says as those glowing eyes drift to Hephaestus, "Well, let's see here, where to start?..." The Faerie tells the Goddess of their meeting with the Loki familia in the dungeon, changing details here and there as to not expose his pile of lies. He tells of their second meeting, Riveria's words that exposed Kratos' secret, and their trip to the Twilight Manor. Mimir ends the story with the mention of Loki and Kratos' conversation, and the not-so-peaceful result that ensued.
"Hmm..." Hephaestus hums as she listens closely to Mimir's words. She pauses as the Faerie finishes his explanation, a nervous giggle leaving her lips, "...Well, I'm glad I decided to keep your other secret, but..." pursed lips pause further words as the woman glances at Kratos with a wrinkled forehead, "...You and your son were in the middle floors before even meeting me? That's..."
"...Believe me, ma'am, we know. I'm sure you understand the man's reaction now," Mimir's eyes shed golden light upon the Goddess as he responds.
Hephaestus nods, "Yes, I do, trust me..." she says, "...But I've known Loki since the beginning of time, and while her children may not stoop to that level, I would be lying through my teeth if I said Loki would not," the Goddess' words dump into Kratos' mind, sparking that rage again like lighter fluid to a flame.
The Ghost of Sparta grits his teeth, the wooden back of the sofa cracking under his rough hand, "...Are you certain?" he hisses with eyes shut tight.
Another soul begins to know that fear-striking bloodlust as Hephaestus glances at the splinters under Kratos' hand with pursed lips. She looks to the Spartan's tensed face, and those brown eyes pierce her soul as she shakes her head, "...No. It could be anyone, but like I said, Loki is not an innocent soul," she responds.
Suddenly, Kratos stands from the red cushions and retrieves Mimir from the table, his eyes focused on the path before him as he steps towards the exit.
"Where are you going?" Hephaestus asks as she bolts to her feet, her brows furrowed as she watches the Spartan grip a silver knob.
Kratos pauses his movements, glancing back with dead eyes, "...You have given me more than I hoped for... Return to your work. I will not take any more of your time," the God mutters, and that door swings open a moment later.
"Wait!" Hephaestus reaches a hand out as that red tattoo is replaced by a closed door. Silence surrounds the Goddess, and she lowers her hand slowly, her face contorted in confusion, "...What have I done?"
The question never reaches the company that had just left as those silver doors slide to a close before Kratos, and the same silence surrounds him as his head nearly bumps the ceiling of the vibrating elevator. Those dead eyes stare at a distorted reflection in the silver door, and Kratos clears his mind, the only thing left behind being a tiny flame that grows ever so slightly.
"Where are we headed to? It was a little rude to leave the woman like that," Mimir's voice fills the claustorphobic elevator, and the Faerie finds nothing but the muffled scraping of metal to answer his question, "...Well, I'm just along for the ride, so I can't complain much..." Mimir chuckles nervously, and silence greets him again, "...Just don't do anything you would regret, Brother."
---
A day of training passes, and that star-studded blanket covers the sky again. It's been a long day for a certain boy, but comfort finds him as a sweet scent of homemade cooking fills his tiny nostrils. Atreus' stomach releases a beastly growl as he sits before a long dining table, fine china littering his vision with piles of different foods atop them.
Cutlery clatters against the table, and the Little Jötnar drools over a chicken thigh as he grips a fork and knife. He digs into the food with focused eyes, and if a passer-by were to witness this, they would wonder just when the last time the boy had been fed. Suddenly, a giggle flows through the large room as a teasing voice comes from the end of the long table, "I see someone trained hard today," Freya says as she watches the boy eat like a starving beast, "You'll have to catch up to Ottar if you want to be strong though."
Atreus pauses his movements, chicken grease staining his lips as he raises his eyes to the man across from him. Ottar sits there in silence, the dining chair nowhere to be seen behind the man's massive body. The Boaz holds an entire roasted chicken in his tanned hand, and his rust-colored eyes suddenly meet the pair of Icy blue pupils across from him, "What?" his deep voice thunders through the room after a gulp.
Atreus furrows his brows, his eyes drifting from the half-eaten chicken and the two whole ones covering the plates below to his tiny chicken leg and back, "Does eating a lot make you stronger?" he asks.
Ottar rips a roasted chunk with sharp teeth, the muscles in his jaw visible as chews with a nod. Atreus returns his own nod, looking to another whole chicken set before him. The boy's tiny lifts by the bone, staring at the massive roasted chicken with wide eyes, "...How is this supposed to fit in my body?" he mutters a question to himself.
Despite the challenge, the Jötun takes the biggest bite he can manage, his eyes widening again as the meat nearly falls from his over-filled mouth. He chews quickly, and after merely a few seconds, his jaw grows tired as he looks at Ottar. They stare in silence, and Ottar gulps again, grunting as he suddenly picks up another entire roasted chicken and rips another chunk from the poor meat.
Atreus finally takes a gulp of his own, and despite the fatigue lingering in his jaw, the boy does the same. Training ended long ago, but the two men fail to take the hint as they battle with seasoned meat and greasy bones.
