Your past was chaos - rage and vitriol. You were the Ghost of Sparta. Odin had never approved of that aspect of your life - but you were his child. A special one, at that.

"Off to kill another God, or will you stay a minute and stop running from your Father?" He chuckles at the way your body winces at the sound of his voice. You wrap your arms with bandages, steaming hot iron branded into your arms from the dreaded Blades of Chaos.