Enjoy the little bit I wrote for this. I hope it's good:
The raging demigod strained against his newfound restraints. Countless weapons pierced his flesh, jagged wounds gouged into his ashen skin. Nothing he was unfamiliar with. Nothing he couldn't handle. Pain was like a fuel to him, and the more he was attacked, the more powerful he would become.
But this chain caused no pain. It left no wounds. Merely, it prevented his godly side from moving. Wrapping around him like a snake, stronger than the chains that bound his wrists, the fate that bound his sins to his skin, was the golden remnant of the king's last and true friend. Maybe, if Kratos was a different man, with a different power, a power to break all limits, he would be able to shatter this chain and continue his assault. But his power could not break this. Not even Zeus, his father, would be able to shatter this chain. The very soul within the raging man was bound by the order of this chain. And with wounds sapping his strength, power being drained from him, he could not hope to break it. The weapons embedded within him attacked not just his body, but his godly being.
For the first time in untold years, his godly strength was useless. No, it was his downfall.
The king looked down at Kratos, who barely avoided being bent on his knees. He felt nothing but a sense of pity for the restrained man, and a sense of anger at the gods who were so arrogant as to steal both the man's brother and his family. Even different gods, from a different time, knew no end to their arrogance.
"For a man to come this far against me, I must praise you." Gilgamesh opened his lips, letting words of praise flow forth. "Truly, your rage is justifiable. What those gods have stolen from you, what they took, was a crime unforgivable. Trust me, o raging destroyer, I shall bring them to justice in your stead." The man struggled even more ferociously against his restraints, angered by the words. How dare this king steal from him his revenge?
Gilgamesh reached out his hand, and a golden gate opened, pouring forth a key. "Your rage is it's own nightmare, one you cannot escape. No matter how much you charge forth, no matter how angry you grow, you cannot escape a nightmare of anger and torment with rage alone." He exhaled. "I know your anger. Everything I consider dear was robbed of me by the gods as well." Thoughts of a young person with flowing green hair came to his mind. Thoughts of that man's cold body laying in his arms, falling apart like the clay that it was. " Truly, it should fall to me to end your nightmare, for I understand it all too well."
The key exploded forth red tendrils, flowing across the sky, cutting into reality itself. Then, in an instant, they were gone, and sitting in the golden king's hand was a weapon. Red and black lead into a golden hilt. Blue marked the gold, flowing decorations that gave a sense of majesty. Yet, the spiraling of the three cylinders led one to only think of terror. It was not a sword, nor any other weapon. No, this was death itself.
"Know this. To seek revenge against those that have wronged you is a noble thing. To fight the gods is both foolish, yet also the very picture of justice itself. Your rage was inspired by the truest of reasons, and it was itself justice incarnate. Yet, to punish those who have not wronged you, to murder and kill those who are naught but innocent, is the same arrogant crime that the gods dealt to you. And to attack me was the greatest mistake one could ever make." The Ghost of Sparta raged against his restraints with more fury. He knew. He knew the man was right. He knew his crimes were unforgivable. He knew he was just as evil as the gods he sought to slay. But to be compared to them, to be called their equal, enraged a fury in him like no other.
But no rage could break the bonds that held him. He could not do the impossible. He could not deny his soul.
Red wind spiralled around the King as he rose through the air. Reality warped and ripped itself to pieces, torn by the immense power of the weapon in front of him. The golden man laid his hand on the weapon, and rose it slowly skyward, letting the power within it build. A hum eminated from the weapon, so loud it could be heard over the chaos around it.
"Your rage is a nightmare, for both yourself and those around you. It falls to the king to rouse this land from it, and to save the sleeping man from his own torture. All dreams end when the dreamer wakes. Likewise, all crimes are forgiven with with the death of the criminal. I am both the jury and the judge, and I shall deal both the verdict and the sentence. Wake this man from his nightmarish crimes, Ea! Enuma Elish!"
Death itself warped space and time, shot forward to claim the life of a ghost. He looked forward, no longer caught in his rage, but in awe of the power a head of him. The universe bent and warped, tore and shredded itself in the face of such raw power. Like a wave, the destruction washed over Kratos immediately, and his body was torn to shreds, pieces sent to different parts of time and space. The rift of space-time left nothing behind.
And like the storm it was, the power vanished. The king lowered himself to the ground, now a smoking crater, and retrived all that was left of the raging demi-god. Two blades, jagged and coated in blood and rust. Chains hung from their sides, meant to bind those that held them. In another instant, they were gone, dispensed into the treasury that Gilgamesh had made.
Gilgamesh looked to the mountain far in the distance. "When I slay the gods of this land, I will make certain I use these. You have my word."
