The first blow was the most spectacular by far. His nose was broken, forced out of alignment. Blood vessels which carried that all-too-precious material were broken, and liquid flowed out of his nose. Onto that pristine white material which composed his shirt. The questions, the statements. They made promises to one another, did they? At the same time he felt proud of them for agreeing to protect their mother, he felt sad for them to think that Styx needed it. Most of all however he felt the violent pain of that promise given flesh and a target at which to strike. Akheron's head was not far away from the tree, and each of the many blows Kratos clumsily landed on his head forced his skull back into the heavy trunk of the white poplar. Akheron did not let his body go limp as he might have were he another - instead, he was bringing his head forward to meet the brutal punches. Broken his nose might be, but pain was a strange sensation for most. For him it was the adrenaline, combined with the power that pain could bring.
All of it together.
He did the only thing he could do. Akheron began to laugh. The blood streaked his teeth as it continued to flow out of his nose, bubbled against his tongue as it mixed with his saliva. That did not quiet his laugh in the slightest. Not because it was amusing - though it was, the hubris of imagining that pain would be a hindrance to the god of it rather than a help - or because he wanted to frighten Kratos. The god of strength would not frighten because his uncled laughed through a blood-soaked face. Blood that now drenched Kratos' fist as much as it did Akheron's face, sticky and spattered in wild patterns. Only the blood had stopped. The pain fed him as hate fed Styx, as any other god's power might feed them. New pain was replacing it, and Akheron realized that Kratos had just broken his nose for a second time. In a different place. This time when he jerked away from the god, he twisted his shoulder, and a handful of his shirt came away in Kratos' powerful hand.
Akheron dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.
Stopped laughing.
"You... you want to know why?" Akheron asked - as quickly as his nose had stopped bleeding it had started again, though it would stop shortly.
Again.
"Poor Kratos, so confused... you don't really want to know why, do you?"
Akheron spat on the ground, more for effect than anything else. His mistakes were being revisited now by the very ones he'd somehow hoped to spare, to protect. They were doing the same thing he had done, in too many ways to be ignored. Just like him. They were enraged at a wrong that had been committed, and so now they were acting out in violence. He wouldn't argue that he deserved it. But he didn't argue that Zeus deserved it, either. How long before they did something close to what he had done? All because of their mother? Styx had not stopped it, not realizing perhaps where it would lead. What would he do? Help them? Why would they let someone like him help them? Akheron had to find a way... not to save himself but to put this in context, for Kratos and the others. To help them realize that it wasn't... because if he imagined himself as Kratos, he would dismiss such words, thinking that Akheron was only trying to save himself.
So what was he going to do? Hit Kratos?
He'd given Styx his word, after all.
What was he doing?
The god of pain began laughing. On his hands and knees, staring at a growing collection of blood beneath his face, Akheron began to laugh. Kratos had the strength to kill him, and if this happened anywhere else he might even have worried about a fistfight with his nephew. Here there was little chance of dying. Every ounce of pain was felt keenly. He needed the power. He needed the adrenaline. He needed the consciousness. And most of all he needed the punishment. If Akheron was going to pay his penance, he couldn't without feeling the heavy sting and agony of each blow against his face, could he? The laughing only got louder. Pacts. Promises. Secrets. Teach Kratos a lesson while he was learning his own? He was a great fool. No coincidence that his foolishness led him here.