Kratos
Kratos is a playable character in CyberVerse and a GEN2 CyberCitizen.
Lore
In the neon-drenched, dystopian expanse of Cyberia, where towering megacorp spires cast long shadows over a fractured wasteland, Kratos, the once-mighty God of War, awoke to a reality far removed from the blood-soaked battlefields of his past. Stripped of his divine dominion by forces unknown, his godly essence now flickered faintly within a scarred, mortal frame. The Blades of Chaos, once a symbol of his unyielding wrath, were reduced to rusted relics, hanging heavy on his back as he wandered the desolate streets of this futuristic hellscape.
Cyberia was a land of cold steel and colder hearts, where cybernetic enhancements defined status, and the un-augmented were cast aside like obsolete tech. Kratos, his body unmarred by circuits or implants, was an anomaly—a relic of a forgotten age in a world that worshipped progress. The gods he once defied were silent here, replaced by the omnipresent hum of AI overlords and the iron grip of corporations like Hyron and Ferrion. Yet, the fire of defiance still burned in Kratos’ eyes, even as he faced the humiliating struggle to survive.
With no wars to wage, Kratos turned to the only means of survival available to the downtrodden in Cyberia. He scoured the city’s refuse zones, sifting through dumpsters brimming with discarded tech—broken holo-screens, shattered cybernetic limbs, and glitching data drives. Each find was a gamble; a functioning circuit board could be bartered for a meal, while a dud meant another night of hunger. The stench of decay and oil clung to him, a bitter reminder of his fall from glory, but Kratos endured, his hands as steady as they had been when wielding his blades against Titans.
When scavenging yielded little, Kratos found work in the underbelly of Cyberia’s neon-lit districts, serving drinks at a grimy club. The patrons were mostly cyborgs—mercenaries with hydraulic limbs, hackers with glowing optic implants, and enforcers with cold, mechanical voices. They mocked Kratos, calling him “the flesh relic,” but he poured their synth-liquor in silence, his rage simmering beneath the surface. Once, when a cyborg drunk shattered a glass and demanded Kratos kneel to clean it, the God of War’s restraint snapped. In a blur of motion, he shattered the cyborg’s arm with a single blow, the bar falling silent as his raw, un-augmented strength reminded them of a primal power they could not compute. He was fired that night, but the legend of the “flesh relic” began to spread.
Desperate for steadier work, Kratos turned to the labor camps on Cyberia’s outskirts. Mining in the quarries was brutal—his hands bled as he shattered irradiated cyberium with a pickaxe, the toxic dust searing his lungs. Farming was no better; the soil was a synthetic sludge, yielding only bio-engineered crops that tasted of metal. Fishing in the polluted rivers brought catches of mutated, mechanical fish, their circuits sparking as they thrashed in his net. Each task was a grueling test of endurance, but Kratos, forged in the fires of war, refused to break. His muscles strained, his scars deepened, but his spirit remained unyielding.
As he toiled, whispers of rebellion reached his ears. The un-augmented, the discarded, spoke of a resistance—a movement to topple the AI overlords and their corporate masters. Kratos, who had once brought gods to their knees, felt a familiar stirring in his chest. The tools of survival he wielded—his hands, his grit, his unquenchable wrath—could become weapons once more. In the shadows of Cyberia, the God of War began to forge a new legend, not as a conqueror of gods, but as a liberator of the broken, a beacon of raw humanity in a world that had forgotten what it meant to be alive.
This content was submitted by slapshottwelve
