The sky ripped open with a blinding burst of light—and from it, descended a force uninvited and unforeseen. A bladed god and a wisecrackin' head plummeted through the breach between realms and tore through the heavens of an unfamiliar world.
Wind howled past them like the wail of Valkyries, whipping his beard about his face. His shield was braced tight to his left forearm, his body angled forward to cut through the air. Muscles coiled, instincts sharpened—but there was no enemy to face. Only endless sky below.
Strapped to his hip, Mimir jostled and bounced slightly with every air current, his carved wooden frame groaning in protest.
"We've been fallin' a good while now, haven't we?" he called over the roar of the wind.
There was no response.
"Not that I'm complainin'—just… curious. You keepin' track, Brother?"
Still nothing. Only the tight-jawed silence of a man entirely too used to falling into unknown battles.
"Right. Silence. Classic."
Mimir's eyes rolled slightly in their sockets. "How long d'ye think it'll take 'til we hit the ground? Rough estimation, perhaps?"
No answer. Not even a twitch of the brow. Only Kratos' gaze, narrowed and sharp, locked on the fast-approaching world below.
"Still not talkin'. You know, I admire the stoicism, I do—but we're plummetin' through the bloody sky and I'd like some idea if I should be sayin' my last rites or polishin' up a clever farewell."
A pause. Then—
"Actually, can we die from fallin'? You can, right? I mean, I'm just a head, but—"
From deep within Kratos' chest came a sound—guttural, low, and thunderous, like a boulder grinding against another in the bowels of a mountain.
"Rrrgh."
A single growl, loaded with a very particular weight: not now.
Mimir blinked. "Ah. There it is. The melodic growl of shut up, Mimir. Loud and clear."
He settled down with a resigned sigh, eyes still scanning the strange new horizon they were rapidly plummeting toward.
"I'll just… enjoy the view then."
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The air trembled with tension. Screams echoed down the wide avenue as civilians scattered like startled birds. A hulking villain, mutated and grotesque in form—his skin a patchwork of spiked growths and pulsing veins—roared with manic glee. His arms, far too long for any normal man, cracked the pavement each time he lashed out, sending chunks of concrete flying. Cars sat abandoned, storefronts shattered, and emergency sirens wailed faintly in the distance, drawing ever closer.
(AN: I kinda envisioned Abomination from The Incredible Hulk. Not completely, but yes, a little bit of here and there)
Hovering drones buzzed overhead, capturing every moment for the newsfeeds. Spectators on rooftops and behind barricades yelled for heroes, for help, for anyone who could stop this madness.
Then, someone screamed, pointing toward the heavens.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"
Dozens of eyes turned skyward. A shape—dark, heavy, and falling fast—was slicing through the clouds like an angry spear hurled by the gods themselves.
A massive figure descended from the sky, encased in glinting bronze and leather. At the fore was a circular shield, glowing faintly with ancient runes, braced tight against the force of descent. Behind it—muscles corded like old oak, a beard streaked with white, and eyes that burned like twin embers—was Kratos.
The impact shook the earth.
BOOM!
Concrete buckled. Dust exploded outward in a ring. Cars nearby rocked on their suspensions. Civilians screamed again—this time not in fear of the villain, but of this new force that had just landed among them.
Kratos had hit the ground shield-first, skidding several feet in a slow, grinding slide before twisting into a controlled roll and rising in one fluid motion. The Shield of the Guardian still raised, the Leviathan Axe gleamed in his right hand. His breathing was steady. Focused. A warrior in control.
Mimir, now latched back on Kratos' belt, muttered something indecipherable to the crowd.
The villain—momentarily forgotten by all—stood dumbfounded, blinking at the man-shaped meteor that had landed right in the middle of his chaos.
Kratos said nothing. His eyes swept the battlefield. The unfamiliar world sprawled around him—metal beasts on wheels, strange glowing signs, buildings that scraped the clouds. And yet, he remained still. Assessing. Calculating.
And the crowd?
They had no idea who he was, but they felt what he was.
Kratos stood tall—towering, really. At two full meters and a solid mass of 260 pounds, he looked less like a man and more like a statue come to life. A slab of living marble, chiseled from war and hardened by the ages.
His skin was ash-white, not pale but stripped—as if the very color had been burned away by gods themselves. Across his head and shoulder, a vivid red tattoo ran like a river of blood, cutting through his bald scalp and over the thick muscle of his torso. A relic of a past marked by violence. Every inch of his body bore the weight of battle: old scars, worn leather, and runed armor layered with practicality rather than decoration.
His face was stoic and severe, carved in angles sharp enough to draw blood. A proud, aquiline nose. A beard as dark as a raven's wing, full and thick around his jaw. His eyes—gods above, his eyes—burned with a golden hue, old as the world and colder than any blade.
On his left arm, a circular shield still hummed with the shock of impact, the ornate golden etching catching the city's strange light. In his right, a brutal axe shimmered with runes, its head marked with ancient frost—though the day was warm, steam curled from the steel as if it longed for battle.
And at his hip… a head. A talking one, if the witnesses were to be believed.
Mimir.
The God of War stood still for a breath. Then two. His shield remained raised, axe firm, but his stance was relaxed, controlled. Eyes scanned the new world before him with the cold calm of a hunter sizing up unfamiliar terrain. No panic. No questions.
Only wariness.
The civilians stared. Phones trembled in hands, unsure whether to record or run. Murmurs spread like wildfire.
"Is he a new pro hero?"
"I've never seen or heard of a pro hero like him!"
"And that entrance…is he alright? How did he manage to survive that fall?"
"Did he come straight from the Stratosphere?! I saw him falling for the past 20 seconds!"
"It has to do something with his quirk, right? His Quirk has to be something related to hardening his entire body. Or else I don't know what could explain that…otherworldly entrance."
"That does make sense, but…even Quirk have some limitations right? No way someone can survive a fall from that height much less stand back up like him"
"WHAT THE F*CK IS GOING ON?!!"
"He came from the freakin' sky! That's gotta be some Quirk reveal, right?!"
All eyes were on Kratos.
Even the villain, standing a stone's throw away and mid-rampage, paused. He blinked, watching the crowd's attention shift completely from him to this... thing in the crater.
A low growl rumbled from his throat.
"Tch. The hell's this?" the villain muttered, narrowing his mismatched eyes. "A flashy entrance? Some new hero makin' his debut with all the bells 'n whistles?" He scoffed, his grin baring too many sharp teeth. "Hmph. Sorry, pal. I'm the main event today."
He stomped forward, puffing his warped chest and throwing his arms wide as he addressed the crowd like a showman denied his spotlight. "Oi! You lot forget who you're supposed to be runnin' from? You think some new cape with a shiny axe's gonna stop me?"
Kratos said nothing. His golden eyes stayed locked on the surrounding buildings, the layout of the streets, the tension in the air. He was reading the battlefield—quiet, observant, dangerous.
The villain cracked his knuckles and sneered. "Heh. Fine. If this is some kind of PR stunt, you picked the wrong freak to upstage. I'll bury you right here, and then they'll remember me."
As if to make good on his threat, the mutant beast swung his arm like a wrecking ball into the pavement, shattering the concrete with a thunderous crash. Cars skidded, windows blew out, and civilians screamed as chunks of the street flew through the air. The spectacle was over. The panic returned.
People scattered in every direction, abandoning their phones and their awe for survival instincts. What was once a wall of gawkers turned into a stampede of chaos.
Kratos watched the scene unfold, silent as ever. A moment ago, he'd questioned if this crowd might be aligned with the misshapen creature—clinging to that faint, ever-cynical expectation of yet another realm where people willingly followed monsters.
But now? No. They fled like startled animals, the way deer would when a troll burst from the woods with blood in its eyes.
Kratos's grip on the axe tightened.
He understood now.
This creature—whatever it was—was this world's breed o' troll. Loud, destructive, puffed up with its own might. And if Kratos knew anything about trolls, it was this: avoid them if you can. If not... put them down.