you can't offer your poison to me
in your kingdom of filth

He descends through the masses, the side of his face burning in a way he cannot acknowledge just yet for how it is sure to roil his stomach. This is madness, he thinks to himself wildly. This land is not his own, though Wrath had never cared to claim the Rift as his own. It was a sick and dying world. Wrath had expected to die with it, someday. Soon, most likely. The Rift was not known for its kindness, and Wrath had vowed to find a way to get Kratos out of its reaches. Only then would he return, because he had been sure that his ending was written somewhere in the twisted fates of the Rift. How could he leave the others to be slaughtered at the hands of the forsaken gods, if he knew there was another way? 

This, this he had never anticipated. 

His entire body is disoriented, and he's beyond confused. Who the fuck are these people? Why is everything so...bright? Beautiful? He's never seen anything like this land, because surely this is not the Rift any longer. But to watch the God wither and die...he feels as if he has finally achieved something worthwhile. The first step, the elusive knowledge he'd always sought. A way to free the others from their chains, their bondage. He is burning with it, heart pounding and limbs trembling with the adrenaline. Success! Success at last! And even the slow fire burn beneath his skin cannot stop him from wildly grinning, eyes seeming to glow umber with the death of one of the false gods that had kept him and his brethren in the mire of despair for so long. This, this is so much more than what he'd anticipated. What had started as a simple mission to get Kratos as far from the lands of the Rift as possible had revealed to him an opportunity. The gods could be killed. Did that mean they were not gods after all?

But first, the most important thing. 

"KRATOS!" he bellows, charging past those who stare around at each other as if not sure what to do now that the god is dead, their kin having turned against their own goddess. Wrath doesn't give two shits about them. This is not his land, and she is not his goddess. He has never been ruled by them before, and he shall not begin now, not when he is unsure of her motives. Let them celebrate her success, let her go beyond him and ignore him, it does little to influence him. What matters is Kratos, the one she'd attacked, the one she'd hurt. Self defense or not, it is not something he cares about. How could these so-called Gods expect them to trust in them when their own Gods had oppressed them for so long? As if the Riftians would dare to trust the words of a celestial, of any kind. This temporary of freedom from their bondage was only that - temporary. Gods grew mad with power, and Wrath would not stick around to let Kratos fall into that pit of damnation. 

He whirls to find the royal child, and when he does he storms over to his side, drawn to full height and breadth. Warning off all others who would even attempt to find fault or flaw in his charge, daring them to try something and face his fury. "We must find you a healer," he grunts, ignoring the pain that forces his right eye closed. Kratos first. Turning his eyes to where they seem to be gathered, at the prostrate body of another, he grunts. "Let's move, do not take a healer from the side of the fallen. Can you walk?" They would find another, somewhere. At least...until his face suddenly stopped hurting, and he tentatively blinked open his eye. What the fuck? Glancing at the goddess, he frowned heavily. No God had ever helped before. Why would they waste their powers on such lowly mortals? Was this a display of power? A warning that they should not cross her? Wrath distrusted her reasonings, but so long as he and Kratos were still in working condition, he'd deal with it. "Come, we need to regroup." Eyes flickered across the bodies that still remained. 

So they had been dumped here, supposedly freed from their chains, and yet given no information about where they were or why. Yeah, sounded just like a god.