GOD OF WAR: In God of War with Hercules Template

Athenor crouched low, pressing his palm against the damp forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp soil, yet underneath it all, he could detect the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. His breath steadied as he narrowed his eyes, scanning his surroundings.

It had been weeks since he had fully embraced the hunt, and with 26% template integration, his body had begun to surpass that of any mortal warrior. His muscles coiled with power, his skin felt denser, and his reflexes had sharpened beyond what he once believed possible. Yet, he knew that strength alone was not enough—survival in this world required strategy, adaptability, and above all, ruthlessness.

A distant growl rumbled through the trees.

Athenor tensed, tilting his head slightly as he pinpointed the source. Heavy footfalls. Slow. Deliberate. The ground vibrated ever so slightly beneath him, signaling the approach of something massive. He exhaled, shifting his stance, and gripping his weapon tightly.

Then he saw it.

A hulking Ogre emerged from the darkness, its grotesque face twisted into a permanent scowl. The creature's thick hide was a patchwork of scars, its enormous hands gripping a jagged stone club stained with the remnants of its previous victims.

Athenor's pulse remained steady.

It was not fear he felt, nor was it hesitation. It was anticipation.

The Ogre roared, shaking the very trees around them, before raising its weapon high and bringing it down with crushing force.

Athenor moved.

Faster than the wind, he darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the earth-shattering impact. The ground cracked beneath the force of the blow, sending dirt and stone flying in all directions. But Athenor had already positioned himself behind the creature.

He launched forward, slashing his weapon across the Ogre's exposed ribcage. A deep crimson line bloomed across its hide, the thick flesh parting under the strength of his strike. The Ogre let out a howl of agony, swinging its club in retaliation.

Athenor ducked—just in time.

The club passed mere inches from his head, the displaced air rushing past him like a tempest. Before the creature could follow through with another attack, Athenor pushed off the ground, using his enhanced agility to vault onto the Ogre's back.

With a fierce snarl, he drove his blade deep into the base of its skull.

The beast staggered, its body convulsing as it let out a final choked roar. Then, it collapsed, its massive frame crashing against the earth with a thunderous boom.

Athenor landed lightly beside the fallen creature, his breathing controlled, his hands steady.

[Template Integration: 26.5%]

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his features, but he knew the hunt was far from over.

A rustling noise echoed from the treetops. Athenor's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing.

Something was watching him.

Before he could react, a blur of dark fur shot toward him from the canopy. He twisted his body, barely avoiding the razor-sharp claws that sliced through the air where he had just stood.

A Wulver.

Athenor's expression hardened as the creature landed on all fours, its glowing yellow eyes locking onto him with predatory focus. Its massive, muscular frame pulsed with raw aggression, saliva dripping from its bared fangs.

Then, another pair of glowing eyes appeared.

Then another.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Athenor smirked.

"Good," he muttered. "I needed a challenge."

The Wulvers did not hesitate. The first lunged, claws extended, aiming to tear through his throat in a single, decisive strike.

Athenor sidestepped, his movements unnaturally fast, and countered with a vicious slash that tore into the creature's side. It howled in pain but was not deterred. The others attacked simultaneously.

Athenor's body moved on instinct, his enhanced reflexes guiding his every action. He ducked under a clawed swipe, twisted his body mid-air, and slammed his knee into the second Wulver's jaw, sending it crashing into a tree.

The third Wulver landed behind him, its fangs snapping inches from his shoulder. Athenor spun, delivering a brutal backhand strike with the blunt side of his weapon, shattering the beast's jaw with a sickening crunch.

But he had no time to savor the moment—because the remaining Wulvers had surrounded him.

Their eyes gleamed with hunger.

Athenor took a slow breath, his grip tightening. He could feel his blood pumping, his body thrumming with the power of his integration. He was outnumbered, but that meant nothing.

He surged forward.

The first Wulver lunged—Athenor dodged low, sliding beneath its attack before driving his blade straight through its chest. He ripped it free in a spray of blood, pivoting just in time to catch the next attacker mid-leap.

He grabbed the beast by the throat and, with a powerful swing, slammed it into the ground so hard the earth cracked.

The remaining Wulvers hesitated, their instincts screaming at them that something was wrong.

But hesitation was a mistake.

Athenor launched himself forward, closing the distance between them in a single breath. His weapon sliced through the throat of one, his footwork effortless as he spun and drove his blade into the last Wulver's skull.

A moment of silence.

Then, the bodies collapsed around him.

Athenor exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he surveyed the carnage. His wounds were minimal—mere scratches compared to the damage he had inflicted.

He glanced down at his bloodied weapon, feeling the warmth of victory settling into his bones.

[Template Integration: 27%]

A low growl echoed from the shadows beyond the trees. More were coming.

Athenor smirked, tilting his head toward the approaching sounds.

"Then let them come," he muttered, stepping forward into the darkness.