It was an amusing thought that happened by, just then. The thought that he could suffer any amount of his pain even if his body would, at some point, stop responding to his commands. As it was now. The gun hardly mattered. Zelos was giving commands, making threats, but it was Kratos who had taken the lead from his brother, wasn't it? So it was no surprise that Kratos kicked him. Over and over and over. His abdomen might as well have been a wicker basket for all the resistance it put up. Every time Kratos' foot slapped against hard muscle there was an angry sound beneath Akheron's skin. The sound of bruising. The sound of something worse. So that when he finally tried to stagger to his feet, and the last kick was delivered, Akheron fell onto the hard ground with a sour grimace. Breathing was a laborious endeavor now, but Kratos still wasn't trying to kill him. Only Zelos had threatened it, but Akheron had not stopped laughing. If he could get what he wanted out of this meeting and still show them what they were... he realized with despair that he most likely could not.
Just as he'd told himself.
To them this meeting was not the same thing as Akheron's attacks had been. He deserved it. It had been decreed by the family. No, there were a thousand excuses for today. And in the future they would do it again, not realizing what they were doing, until finally they actually were like him. Wiping the blood away from his nose and mouth, Akheron couldn't figure out why that pained him most of all. To think that because of him they were turning into him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. When they were children he had dreamed of such fantastic things for them. Never thought even for a moment that his own hate, his own violence, would force them down this path. Now he wasn't laughing, he was trying to push himself to his feet with a great deal of effort. Muscles straining to respond with whatever energy they had left for the task. His torn shirt hung loosely around his neck as he finally managed it, just barely. There was a tree beneath his hand. Supporting him as he hunched over from the massive wave of pain that attacked his gut. Internal injuries. Good, he'd given those to Styx, hadn't he?
Just like her to want to keep all the best things to herself.
All this was going to earn him was a punch in the face.
Or a shot to the throat?
"Look at you," Akheron rasped, one of his eyes faintly pink while he stared at them. "I hurt Styx. Now here you are hurting me. What fine little... nieces and nephews I've raised."