"Finally. I've wanted to see what this weapon is capable of for a while now. It shall be... glorious."

As if to accentuate the ominous and malevolent words of the one eyed man, a flash of lightning appeared behind him, descending from the heavens above, and a rolling roar of thunder followed those evil words. An effect that would have seemed wonderfully choreographed, and which he would have loved the effect of, had he actually planned on it.

Instead, for the psychic atop the forts ramparts, he had not planned it at all. In fact it put a rather big wrench in their plans.

He jumped out of his skin at the clap of thunder, which was odd considering that this was not the first lightning bolt nor even the twentieth. Yet this was a bolt of true lightning, from the heavens above, and it was striking the body of a particular woman who was beginning to rise from the ground, as if lifted by the lightning itself.

His singular eye trembled in fear, the sight of Astra rising in the lightning burning itself onto his retina, and not just from the near blinding light from the constant bolt of lightning, but because it was an awe-inspiring, yet horrific sight he would not forget for the rest of his life. And considering the sight in front of him, that might not be for very much longer.

In fact, He was not the only one shaken to his core by the sight, understandably so. But many were shaken much deeper, as their very faith in their grand Lightbringer shook ever so slightly. Not by much, not by enough to completely undo their belief in him. But enough... enough for the man in question, the man posing as a god, could feel it as his powers shook like a nervous chihuahua. Which was not all that different from a normal chihuahua, but that's beside the point.

It was also the warning tremors of the cataclysmic earthquake that was about to rip apart his entire 'religion' at its foundations.

The one-eyed Psychic reeled in fear, before voice appeared in his head. It was not his own voice, not some figment of his imagination posing as a conscious nor was it the voice of his guardian.

Instead it was the voice of Paladin Phobus, and he did not sound all too pleased.

[Is it done yet? Can you hear me?! Why is the weapon not out of it's cage?! Answer me!]

'S-sorry sir. There's just a... change in the situation. I can see why you called for the weapon. Your foresight is a true blessing.'

Of course Phobus had no idea this would happen, in fact he was the one who was certain of the initial plan to bleed Astra of all of her energy. But no one else needed to know that.

[Yes, yes. I am amazing, but remember who you serve. Now get that Weapon active, now! His Grace demands it.]

The psychic nodded softly, even though his conversation companion could not see it, and hurried over to the crate that shared the rooftop with him. He completely ignored the servant that had ran up here to inform him of the orders, and had only established the mental link before his faith had been shaken.

He would have maintained it the entire time, but no one liked the prospect of their minds being read. Especially not the Paladins.

With a wave of his hand, the latches holding the crate closed flipped themselves open before the wall panel fell to the ground with a loud thud, opening like a castle drawbridge, and revealing a most disturbing sight within.

The muffled sound of forge bellows, pumping and wheezing as they drew in more breath, only grew louder. A set of mechanical lungs sat within a glass case, like a pair of accordions expanding and retracting. The glass case was attached to the floor of the crate and had leather straps attached to it on either side, like handles of a backpack.

A rubber tube exited the top of the mechanical lungs and fed itself into a metal coffin that filled the majority of the crate. It was this same metal crate that harboured the weapon.

With another flick of his wrist, heavy iron clamps flicked open and the lid of the metallic coffin creaked open, revealing a man strapped inside.

The rubber tube of the mechanical lungs fed into a mask the man wore, that completely covered his nose and mouth. Although he had never seen it, the Psychic suspected that underneath that mask the hose fed deeper into his throat, where it reached his true lungs.

An IV drip was plugged into his arm, which was heavily strapped to the inside of the coffin like every part of his body. Even his individual fingers were locked in place, although the metal bindings were crumpled and bent in places from the slight movement of those same fingers.

Alongside the mask covering his mouth, he wore a blindfold that completely blocked out his sense of sight. The only sense that was left to him was hearing, but even with the creaking of the coffin and the thud of the crate, the man did not move an inch nor make any sign that he had heard the psychic unlocking his iron prison.

Despite this the man inside the coffin, the Weapon himself, was perfectly aware of what was going on around him. Not only could he hear every single thing that was occurring, as if his sense of hearing had been dialled up to 11 then dialled up a few dozen more times, but also because he could see.

Yes even with his eyes covered he could see, mainly because he was not looking through his own eyes. Instead, what he could see was himself, locked in his iron prison, through the psychics eye.

He didn't speak, yet the psychic bowed his head and let out a soft laugh.

"Yes, it is finally time. I am sure you will do his Grace proud, just like you hoped for... No, he is not here to witness you. But, he will hear of your glory as you smite the heretics down in his name.

I know, I know. You have waited all this time. But they will learn to fear the name of Paladin Cratos, the Lightbringers ultimate weapon."

At that moment, more flashes of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a voice that cut through the battlefield like thunder.

"I AM THE QUEEN OF THE STORM, THE GODDESS OF LIGHTNING. NOW FACE THE WRATH OF THE HEAVENS!"

The psychic let out a soft whimper, flinching at the thunder, before turning to the unmoving man in the iron coffin.

"That? It was just one of the heretics. The one you will smite and remind of her place."

[Is it ready yet?]

A voice cut through his mind, startling him once again, but the psychic quickly regained his composure and started to undo the bindings holding the Weapon down.

'In a few minutes, Paladin Phobus. I just need to undo his bindings, then we can release him onto the heretic calling herself a Goddess. When she falls then-'

[NO!]

'S-sire? What do you me-'

[I don't care about the Queen of Storms. The Hothead can handle her, it is just a light show. Nothing to worry about. Send the weapon to take care of the Giant. I want her gone!]

'B-but sire, surely the heresy of calling herself a Goddess is more deserving of a smiting. If we just-'

[But nothing! If nothing! I am telling you I want that damned Giantess gone. So wipe her from my sight, Now! Or... do I need to tell the Gracious One that you are disobeying his Paladins?]

'No! I mean.... No sire... I understand. I will get on it right away.'

The psychic bowed his head in shame and, using his telekinetic abilities, began to undo the bindings of the Weapon known as Cratos. It was a slower process than unlocking the rest of the hinges and bolts up until this point, mainly because he was taking extra special care not to bump or move Cratos in the slightest, as if he was the most delicate vase in the world that would shatter at the smallest touch.

All the while, he desperately tried, and failed, to tone out the strikes of lightning and claps of thunder. He could feel the Weapon judging him silently, even if he wasn't looking at him and could only see what he was seeing, he could still feel it. But neither said anything about it.

Once all the shackles were undone, and the Weapon was freed, he still didn't move. Instead the psychic wrapped his abilities around him and lifted him from the coffin, twisting his body in the air and keeping his exact position, only ever flipping him so that he was facing a different direction.

He lifted the Weapon high into the air, high above the fortress where he could do no harm, and pointed him in the direction of the Giant.

When he was in position and the psychics eye landed on the Giant woman looming in the distance, a Giant of stone that was standing victoriously over the broken body of a demon that was dissolving into smoke. Only then did Cratos finally move.

He slowly and gently bent the middle finger of each hand inwards, meeting them with the thumb he raised, until both hands were primed to flick. His finger trembled with the power he was building into them, before he finally flicked them against the air.

The simple flick of his fingers let out a deafening boom louder than any clap of thunder, as his body disappeared into a blur. Twin cannons of air roared out behind him, tearing up the landscape behind the fort, tearing up the dirt and forming two parallel canyons in the ground.