"Yes," Kratos says, without hesitation and without fear. He is quite certain, in fact, that he can take Zelos-- or at least, put up a fairly decent fight.

He steadies his stance, summons his sword, the flash of red that accompanies the blade bright and stubborn, stronger than it might be, otherwise. Leftovers of Mithos' discharged ether still sing in his veins, in his core. He pulls on them readily.

"Tell you what," Kratos calls, confident. "If you can defeat me in a fight, I won't stop you. I won't follow you, either, though I cannot make that promise for the rest of our companions. But you have to defeat me, if you want to go."