The Desert night is thick and heavy in his lungs as he lumbers through the shadows, his face shrouded in a villainous scowl as his thoughts storm over her absence. His heart ached for her and in turn, soured his mood – the titan was accustomed to getting what he wanted and so her remoteness from him shook his temper even more so than it should have. Kratos had a seething, unquenchable possessiveness for the painted mare that boiled in his veins and riled his emotions to a feverish swell. She was his, she had always been his.
 
And he wanted her. He needed her. Their souls were meant to bleed together, to be stitched together – forever tethered.
 
The skull-faced giant skulked through the limestone caverns and the far-end oasis’, his temper and his yearning heart growing more vehement with each shadow he passed that did not yield her. And amid his frustration a tendril of white lightning shakes up through his throat and splits the night-sky with her name behind its blinding brilliance, “Rhy!”

Kratos

the electric titan of vanquish and lyric