(A/N: Making a change to canon here; Greek divine blood is gold, it'll make sense later)
Deimos was feeling uncharacteristically guilty. He hadn't felt anything other than hatred, agony, and an odd feeling of scopaesthesia for the past few years--
Years? Decades? He didn't know, everything had blurred at this point--
But he was grateful to his brother, Kratos, for saving him from Thanatos, and he intended to repay him in kind someday. But, even as they traversed the ledges of the Suicide Bluffs (he had only learned its name a few minutes prior, and already he didn't like it) he felt guilty. Guilty at the rage and insanity that had consumed him when his brother rescued him from Thanatos' Domain.
And now they intended to kill the abstract concept of death itself!! How ludicrous was this, to a man who had been powerless to stop his captor only a mere hour or so ago? He couldn't stop thinking about it. He trusted his brother, very much, but he had to admit this was insane! The Arms of Sparta quivered in his grasp, ever so slightly, as he led the charge up the Bluffs to Thanatos, only stopping by the round gate that he presumed led somewhere important.
At least, Kratos seemed to think so, as he slowed his pace to gaze at it, before urging his brother to keep moving. Doing as his brother commanded, he jogged up the dirt path, dreading what was at the top of the mountain, more and more, with ever step he took, every breath he sucked in and pushed out with Spartan discipline. Even as a child in the agoge, which he had spent so little time, he was trained on proper battle formation and breathing techniques, and they still remained chiseled in the back of his memory, as fresh as the day they were pounded in.
The top of Mount Olympus ("Mount Olympus?!?!" Deimos had cried, when Kratos answered his question of where they were. "We're in the home of the Gods?!?!" He was told not to think about it, and focus on the task ahead.) Was almost level. Deimos would have to watch his footing. Thanatos stood at the edge of the summit, staring keenly at the two of them.
Then he started laughing. A horrible, grating laugh that scratched at the small bones in Deimos' ears, making the hairs upon the back of his neck stand up in alarm.
"The Oracle may have yet spoken truth," Death said, in a voice that was as terrible to hear as the agoge instructor's knife upon the lesson board.
"'The Marked Warrior shall bring about the destruction of Olympus,'" he quoted, carrying on, and seemingly relishing in Deimos' fear of his captor.
"Ares chose poorly that day," Death continued, with another racious laugh.
"He took your brother, when it should have been you!"
Deimos and Kratos exchanged a look, Deimos silently asking his brother if the concept was making any sense to him, because it sure as Hades wasn't making sense to him.
Although, now that he thought about it, Kratos had a Mark, just as he had. Was Thanatos speaking truth?
He didn't get any more time to ponder, however, when Death said,
"None of that matters now. Nothing you do is of your own choosing!"
Kratos, apparently taking offense to this, and Deimos, also realizing that Thanatos was addressing his brother instead of him, saw him start forward a little, shouting, "The Gods do not decide my fate, Thanatos!!"
Deimos grinned to himself. Kratos was as stubborn and hard headed as he had been as a boy. Not much had changed since then, apparently. Except... was that ash on his skin?
He was jarred out of his thoughts by yet another horrid laugh, with Death continuing. "The Gods decide... and the Sisters of Fate make it so! You are nothing but a pawn in a game you don't even know is being played." He added, angrily, growing more and more tired of the brother's insolence.
"Pathetic..." He ended, grabbing his scythe by the handle, whereas he had his hands upon the topmost part, almost on the blade, resting his hands upon it.
Swinging it to his side, he declared, "Now is the time, Kratos... the beginning of the end."
