You play through it. The volcano. The death of his mother, Callisto, who turns into a monster mid-embrace. The game wants you to feel sorry for him. And for a while, on that first playthrough, you do. You trick yourself into thinking Volume II is a tragedy.
The first Collection— Volume I —was easy. That was the blockbuster double-feature: God of War and God of War II . Pure rage, pure spectacle. You could turn your brain off and mash square. It felt good.
The opening is the same: Atlantis, before it drowns. The water physics catch the light in ways the PSP’s tiny LCD never could. You can see the salt crusting on Kratos’s boots. But it’s the quiet moments between the QTEs that get you. The flashbacks to Deimos, his brother. The way Kratos’s voice cracks—just once—when he says his name. god of war collection - volume ii
Because Chains of Olympus isn’t a tragedy. It’s a horror game wearing a hack-and-slash’s skin. The PSP original was impressive for its tech— look, God of War on a bus ride —but here, on a 42-inch plasma in a dark living room, it’s suffocating.
Because that’s the real horror of Volume II . Ghost of Sparta gave you hope that Kratos might be saved. Chains of Olympus proves he doesn’t want to be. You play through it
You finish both games. You watch the credits scroll. There’s no post-credits scene. No sequel tease.
This is the lie they tell you first. The official one. The polished menu screen loads up, and there’s Kratos on the throne, looking less like a monster and more like a tired king. Ghost of Sparta was the PSP game—the one nobody believed could work on a handheld. Bluepoint Games, those wizards of porting, didn’t just upscale it. They exhumed it. The game wants you to feel sorry for him
And that’s when the controller slips in my grip, because I remember what Volume II actually was.