Prophecy and Destiny in God of War

 Introduction: 

I want to start by saying that God of War Ragnarok is one of the best games I’ve ever played, period, and I want to explain what that means to me. 

I don’t tend to give games distinct numerical ratings, such as a score out of 10, for two reasons.

1. First, I feel that it can paint a simplistic picture of a game. Lots of things make a game good, and lots of things make a game bad, such as animation, pacing, story, music, and, of course, the gameplay. Games might not be consistent in all of these things, and while it may be tempting to weigh these categories and average those numerical scores, the problem is that these things cannot and should not be weighed equally when it comes to most games. 

2. Second, what that score actually means in the context of a game review can be wildly different. For some reviews and reviewers, a high score indicates that they enjoy playing it on a regular basis, always coming back for more, and a low score indicates that they played it and left it alone immediately afterwards, failing to find any reason to return. For other reviewers, the same high score indicates that they played it once and it left a deep impact on their psyche—some reviewers in this category give a glowing recommendation of games they haven’t even finished: they enjoyed their time with it, and left the game at that, without having even completed it. 

However, while I don’t give games strict numerical rankings, I do tend to have something of a hierarchy in my head. I tend to judge titles based more on very specific criteria and how well they fulfill that or not. Super Smash Bros Ultimate is my favorite fighting game, but it's only fun to play it with others and it's not the sort of thing I feel incentivized to engage with on my own, which would make it hard to evaluate. Bloodborne has the best atmosphere of any game I’ve played, but I don’t understand its story even though that’s one of my most important categories for ranking any non Soulslike game. Resident Evil 7: Biohazard also cultivates a great atmosphere, but rather than not understanding the story, I just don’t care much for it. 

So when I say that God of War: Ragnarok is one of the best games I’ve ever played, allow me to be more specific: Ragnarok has not only some of my favorite combat in any game I’ve ever played, it has one of the greatest, most satisfying stories I’ve ever experienced in the medium, and that is second-to-none in my eyes. In this essay, I’d like to go over that story, specifically, the core theme of Ragnarok and the entire series: fate. 

Fate has been a part of God of War almost since the beginning. God of War makes constant use of fate, destiny and prophecies as plot devices, but every time it executes these ideas, it draws on new interpretations from real-world mythologies. This gives each game its own distinct flavor of destiny, and by the time we get to the Norse Saga, we have many conflicting interpretations of destiny weaving together to form a narrative that confuses us just as much as it confuses the characters. 

“Heroism” and Breaking Fate in God of War II:

One of the most interesting things about the Greek Saga of God of War is how it structures its own narrative as if it were a Greek tragedy, infusing the fundamental story with themes and concepts taken from the very era it adapts. In a way, the Greek Saga exemplifies what I consider the greatest strength of period pieces: analyzing modern stories through the standards of an old world. It’s why many period pieces fall flat for me, they hope to condemn or praise characters (either historical or fictional) without giving proper acknowledgement to how the other characters of the time would feel about them. (Side Note: avoiding this is pitfall is also why I enjoyed Bridgerton a lot: though it is a racially diverse period piece, to a degree not actually found in real-world English history, it does not feel inauthentic because the story still carries the same themes of blossoming feminism from romantic literature of the time period.)

The most obvious example of God of War falling back on an older culture’s traditions to write its narrative is Kratos himself. Kratos is the protagonist of our story, and he is your standard Greek hero, but portrayed in a twisted, unflinching way. Ancient Greece judged their heroes based on how capable and strong they were, not on any moral compass, so many Greek heroes are not what we would consider good people, if they can even be ethically classified at all. 

Kratos, as a character, seems closest in conception to two Greek heroes: Odysseus and Hercules. While I have no concrete evidence from creators, writers and/or directors at Santa Monica confirming a connection, I suspect that Hercules and Odysseus inspired much of Kratos’ writing in these early games. Much like how Hercules killed his family in a bout of madness, Kratos killed his child and wife in a trick induced by Zeus. Much like how Odysseus was a war general, so too was Kratos. Much like how both men (and many more) long for families they cannot return to, so does Kratos. But all of those elements have been brought together to create a character whose personality is as uncanny and disturbing as it is logical and compelling. 

Kratos kills people. A lot of people. Innocent people, deserving people, men, women, children, mortals, Gods, it does not matter. He is a Spartan whose entire life was fighting. This did not stop when he got married, it did not stop when he had a child, and it did not stop after they were both dead. Fittingly, 2005’s God of War ends with him ascending and becoming the new God of War. He is tortured, rageful, desperate, and as much a victim of circumstance and immortal dickery as he is a victim of his own hubris. His is a story of perseverance: a story of looking into the darkness for a reason to keep going, not finding one, and pushing through anyways. None of these attributes can be separated from one-another. Considering how often he does it, one could even say that his destiny is to hurt, maim and kill others—Kratos himself might even agree with you in that regard, no matter how much it scares him. He is not the game’s protagonist (or “hero”) in spite of these things, he is the protagonist because of these things. 

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These themes and Kratos’ character do not have adequate time to surface in the first God of War, but God of War II makes up for it in full force. Zeus encounters the penultimate bosses of this groundbreaking sequel: the Fates (or Moirai as they were known in Greece), three immortal and all-powerful seamstresses with distinct roles in organizing the destiny of every being in the universe. Clotho spun the thread of life, Lachesis measured the thread of life (the amount of time allotted to each person before their death), and Atropos was the cutter of life, using her shears to slice a person’s thread, ending the lives of mortals and gods alike in the process. 

I find these roles, which have been an explicit part of Greek mythology for millennia, to be very significant in the context of the story so far. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos’ responsibilities portray destiny not as a whimsical or abstract idea, nor as rigid and set in stone. Destiny is malleable, it is tangible yet fluid and flexible. The Fates have the power to not only control the lives of mortals, but gods as well. No one is safe from their grasp, and if we are to interpret the original myths as literal in the context of God of War, that means that every horrible thing in Kratos’ life and all of the actions up until this point are their fault. 

It is fitting that Greek heroism is more about feats of bravery and strength than ethics, because God of War II ends with Kratos—the “hero” of our story—overcoming impossible odds and killing the Fates, rewriting his destiny in the process. This is an unprecedented, unheard of feat in Greek mythology. The irony, of course, is that in defying destiny and rewriting the future, Kratos does not actually change his past or future. He is now free from the shackles of destiny, and he uses this newfound freedom to do the exact thing he has always done, to do what he was prophesied to do in the first place: commit more violence. 

Self-Fulfilling Prophecies in God of War III:

That brings us to God of War III and one of the most iconic plot devices in Greek tragedy: that of the self-fulfilling prophecy. This is a plot device used in many stories, though they have particular significance in Greek tragedy, where characters are made aware of an undesirable outcome and take steps to avoid it, only to cause that outcome instead. These self-fulfilling prophecies portray the universe as deterministic (the philosophical doctrine that all events, including human action, are ultimately determined by causes regarded as external to the will). In other words, the mechanisms of predicting the future account for the consequences of predicting the future. 

The entire Greek Saga presents Zeus as a victim of a self-fulfilling prophecy. An oracle foretold that the Olympians would be destroyed not by the Titans, but by a red-marked warrior. Zeus believed this to be Deimos, so he kidnapped him. In honor of his brother’s memory, Kratos marked himself with red tattoos of his own. The experience of his brother being unfairly captured and tortured for decades made Kratos resent the gods, planting the seeds of his revenge as an adult. 

After God of War, Zeus comes to realize that Kratos, not Deimos, was the marked warrior of prophecy. Already afraid of Kratos’ newfound power as a God of War, Zeus come to learn that Kratos was his son. This added fuel to the fire, since Kratos killing Zeus killed his own father, the Titan Cronus, and Cronus killed his father, the primordial being known as Uranus. The deaths of Cronus and Uranus are canonical to Greek mythology, but the existence of Kratos is a new invention by Santa Monica, and yet it works so well because it snaps right into place, continuing a trend that scholars and historians have known about the Olympians for millennia.

Believing himself to be the latest in a long line of fathers killed by sons, Zeus reacts to this news by assassinating the newly-ascended Kratos, which is why Kratos ends up in the Underworld fighting a sea of monsters, spirits and deities trying to contain him throughout the second game. This leads right into God of War III. Kratos is so enraged by Zeus’ betrayal that he frees the Titans and storms Olympus, leading to the exact outcome that Zeus was trying to avoid and fulfilling the destiny laid out before him. 

In stark contrast to the portrayal of the Fates, who control and weave the forces of time and destiny, Zeus in God of War III is powerless to control destiny. That is to say, he can control his actions, but he cannot control the effects of his actions. Faced with dread of the future, King of the Gods is just as helpless, powerless, fallible and shortsighted as the men he rules over and the Titans he conquered—a common theme in the entire saga. 

But we just established that with the Fates now out of the way, Kratos is completely capable of turning around, leaving Greece and never going home again. But…he doesn’t. Instead, Kratos chooses what he has always chosen, as years of pent-up hatred come to a breaking point. The only one chaining Kratos to his course of action is, well, Kratos. 

In essence, the Greek Saga has two different “layers” of destiny stacked on one-another. First, the macro-level destiny of the universe is controlled by the Fates, autonomous beings with their own dispositions, agendas and personalities. But if we were to zoom in, we find that on a micro-level, individuals are still bound to specific choices and actions because they want to take those actions. Thus, destiny thus permeates the entire world on a level beyond that of the Fates. 

This is the ultimate tragedy of God of War’s first three games: even then the Fates are taken out of the equation, thus freeing all mortals and Gods from the shackles of destiny, there is no saving anyone. The cycle of violence set in motion by their machinations is so far underway that none of the characters are willing to deviate from their paths. 

And what does Kratos get for following this path to its logical conclusion? Nothing. Just the knowledge that he killed an entire pantheon, dooming the lives of those in his homeland, continuing a pattern of violence that has plagued him all throughout his life. 

Breaking Some Prophecies and Continuing Others in GoW 2018: 

In many ways, God of War 2018 flips the script on its head when it comes to prophecy, which makes sense, given this is a soft reboot of the franchise in an entirely new culture. GoW 2018 introduces what I consider to be two new twists to the idea of prophecy. 

First, the prophecies the Giants foretold to the Asgardians tend to be more concrete and specific than those found in Ancient Greece. Rather than the Asgardians being afraid of their destinies, their destinies give them the illusion of protection. In the original real-world myths, Magni and Modi did not die during Ragnarok. Presumably, this was told to them in the games, hence why they are so overconfident when fighting Kratos and Atreus, and why it comes as such a shock to the Asgardians when Magni and Modi are killed. In essence, we are seeing a prophecy being broken for the first time in the series. We see another prophecy getting broken with Baldur, who was killed in the game’s climax a century ahead of time. 

The second twist of prophecy is related to this: for the first time, we are seeing a nation’s prophecies from the perspective of someone who is not native to the culture. While Atreus’ actions as Loki were accounted for because he is a half-Giant, Kratos’ actions seem to go against the tide and break the Asgardians rules. And that makes sense when you think about it. Kratos is a demigod from another land, of course the oracles didn’t account for him. He’s a bug in the system, an error, but he’s also the father of the mythology’s most important villain. 

If we were to remove Kratos from the equation, we find that prophecies still work mostly as intended, and they follow much of the same logic as Greek prophecies. For instance, Freya fell victim to another self-fulfilling prophecy like Zeus did, but whereas Zeus took action to save his own skin, Freya took action to save a loved one and it backfired. 

This makes Kratos and Atreus’ actions in GoW 2018 so fascinating. One is a total outlier, constantly messing with the system and breaking all the rules, while the other is the biggest name of Norse mythology and keeps following all the patterns. Put together, they keep messing with the pre-established narrative. Take, for instance, Baldur’s death: it happens a century early due to Kratos being there, which was unaccounted for, but the curse is lifted in the first place because Atreus used a mistletoe arrow, which was accounted for. 

All of this gets flipped on its head with the ending, which is both a haunting moment for Kratos and an informative moment that presents some very interesting implications for how Norse prophecies work—as well as how prophecies generally work throughout this setting. After an entire game spent going on this journey and redeeming himself through his new role as a father, Kratos kills Baldur, thus committing the exact same actions that defined him as the Ghost of Sparta. However, it was obviously for a completely different reason, and the fact that Kratos only did so as a last resort shows that he’s changed; but the guilt still clearly weighs on him. Then, he gets to Jotunheim and finds out that the entire journey was preordained by his wife Faye. When Kratos gets to the end of the mural, he finds a picture of Atreus cradling him in his arms, the rune for “Death” listed next to it. 

Faye foretelling Kratos’ journey is the first instance we see of a Norse prophecy involving Kratos that actually works as intended because it takes into account the full picture, not just the limited scope of the Asgardians; if this prophecy was accurate, then Faye’s other prophecy of Atreus killing Kratos is likely accurate as well. 

In this moment, Kratos’ past and future have converged, and consequently, the Norse and Greek prophecies have coalesced into a cohesive narrative. Kratos is no longer immune from destiny, he is fated to die during Ragnarok at Atreus’ hands, continuing a chain that began with Uranus and Cronus of sons killing fathers. 

The Many Layers of Prophecy in Ragnarok:

All of this brings us to Ragnarok, which explicitly states an idea that, up until now, had only been subtly hinted at as part of the franchise’s subtext: the future is the result of people with consistent dispositions reacting in the same ways to the same things. 

Santa Monica brilliantly demonstrates this with the opening hours. Ragnarok opens with Odin antagonizing Kratos out of fear he will hurt them, sending Thor to attack him, and causing Kratos to fight back in self-defense. This is the exact mistake that Zeus makes in God of War II. History repeats itself, and Kratos’ past has indicated that even if he holds back as much as possible, even if he truly doesn’t want violence anymore, this will still end with another dead pantheon. 

Zeus and Odin obviously have completely different personalities and command respect using different tactics, but for the purposes of this essay, the one thing that really distinguishes Zeus and Odin in the opening of II and Ragnarok is Odin’s offer for Atreus to join him. This makes total sense—Kratos, as an anomaly, is someone Odin wants to get rid of because of his potential to break the system, but Atreus, as a well-documented figure, is someone Odin wants to groom and manipulate. 

Kratos tries hard to prevent Atreus from leaving and going to Asgard, but all of his attempts only frustrate Atreus, pushing the young boy to the point that he leaves for Asgard. Like his father before him, Kratos has fallen victim to yet another self-fulfilling prophecy. 

One of the most discussed scenes in the game is when Kratos visits the Norns to find where his son went, and Ragnarok presents this as an interesting counterpoint to the final boss of the God of War II. The Norns are equivalent to the Greek Saga’s Fates, except they have no true power to manipulate time and destiny. Instead, the Norns have knowledge; they are blessed with omniscience. They have immense information on everyone in the Nine Realms, and they cannot truly see the future, but they’ve studied everyone so much that their behavior patterns are beyond predictable. They knew Atreus would go to Asgard long before he left, not because of a true ability to gaze into the future, but because they knew Atreus was rebellious, Kratos was overbearing, and Odin would drive a wedge between them out of fear. 

The Norns mock Kratos for his failure to keep Atreus close, and they mention that Heimdall is prophesied to kill Atreus. This is particularly notable because Heimdall has the same abilities as the Norns—he cannot see the future, but he can read people’s emotional states and determine which action they are most likely to take based on their temperament. Using this ability, Heimdall has already seen a vision that Atreus will betray Odin and bring ruin to Asgard, which is true, but Odin is overconfident in his ability to successfully manipulate Atreus anyways. 

Upon hearing this prophecy, Kratos sets out to forge a weapon capable of killing Heimdall: the Draupnir Spear. The game builds up to their fight for a while, and once it actually happens, it is an absolute treat, using the game’s themes of prophecy and visions in a really clever way. Throughout their fight, Heimdall can see Kratos’ intent to attack with the spear, but this always masks Kratos’ intent to detonate the Spear, which is what the player ultimately uses to break his hard. As the fight goes on more and more, we also see that while Heimdall can read Kratos’ intent, that doesn’t mean he’s fast enough to react to that intent. 

After Odin, Freya and Kratos all demonstrated self-fulling prophecies throughout the duology, Kratos overcomes the odds, breaks the bonds of destiny and kills Heimdall before he can kill Atreus, in the process briefly slipping back into his old Ghost of Sparda persona. This clearly disturbs him, and compounded with him being forced to kill Baldur in the previous game, he spends the remainder of the game consciously trying to avoid as much fighting as possible, only doing so when it is absolutely necessary. 

Like in God of War II, this demonstrates that there are basically two “layers” of destiny going on here. First, there’s the actual prophecies from the Norns, Heimdall and the Giants, which foretells that specific events will play out in a specific way (i.e. Magni and Modi will survive, Baldur will die in one hundred years, Heimdall will kill Atreus, and so on). Second, there’s the overall temperament that each of these characters possess, which binds them to commit specific actions that they would have committed anyways because they want to commit them (i.e. Kratos will always defend Atreus, Odin will always manipulate, etc.). 

The tragedy of the Greek Saga is that Kratos defies destiny by killing the Fates but refuses to change his nature, so events occur exactly as they were foretold even without the Fates involvement. The genius of the Norse Saga is that Kratos defies both the foretold destiny and uses the knowledge he gained in the process to change his nature. This causes a massive ripple effect in the final battle. Odin is not only defeated, but the cycle of fathers killing sons is completely undone: by the end of the game, Atreus and Kratos are stronger and more stable than they’ve ever been. 

Conclusion:

If you haven’t noticed, the idea of fate and prophecy in God of War is freaking complicated. We have self-fulfilling prophecies, breaking prophecies, prophecies created just for the game, prophecies from two different real-world mythologies, and “prophecies” that aren’t even prophecies, just cause-and-effect derived from predicting people’s responses. All of this blends together to create a narrative that manages to be ridiculously complex when you try to spell it all out, yet it honestly feels rather simple when playing through the games. Given this is a game series of five mainline games and three spin-offs made over the course of 18 years, it’s shocking how cohesive it manages to all be; each game is both its own story and a continuation of the previous stories, and Ragnarok is the culmination of all of that. Whatever God of War decides to do next, I’m all here for it.