Reincarnated As Poseidon

Across from him, the monstrous form of Aegirion rose from the shadows. The God of the Unfathomable Depths towered over the churning waters, his body a grotesque combination of coral plating and serpentine muscle. Tentacles lashed from his back, each ending in jagged hooks that dripped with black ichor. His eyes were abyssal voids, swallowing light.

"Poseidon," Aegirion's voice rumbled, vibrating the very stones underfoot, "you think because you hold the title of Ocean King, you can command the tides. But the deep… the true deep… belongs to me."

Poseidon's grip on his trident tightened. "The ocean answers to no tyrant, Aegirion. And today, it will drown you."

Without another word, Aegirion lunged forward, the sea erupting in a wall of water behind him. His hooked tentacles struck like whips, aiming to rip Poseidon apart.

Poseidon moved like the current—fluid yet devastating. The trident's golden tips clashed against the barbed hooks, sparks flying as if lightning struck steel. Each blow shook the air, the sheer force sending geysers of seawater skyward.

With a twist of his weapon, Poseidon summoned a cyclone of water, spiraling upward to block Aegirion's charge. The vortex roared, dragging the sea god's tentacles into its pull, but Aegirion only laughed, his inhuman strength tearing through the spiral.

"Your tricks are shallow!" Aegirion bellowed, swinging his massive clawed hand. The blow caught Poseidon across the ribs, sending him crashing into the reef.

Blood spilled into the water, a dark crimson cloud drifting with the waves.

But Poseidon rose again. Slowly. Deliberately. "You mistake control for dominance," he said, voice low but steady. "You take. I command."

He stabbed his trident into the water.

The Rift screamed.

From the depths below, leviathans awoke—gigantic serpents of blue scales and glowing eyes, their bodies coiling like titanic whirlpools. They rose in a frenzy, their roars shaking the abyss. The sea bent to Poseidon's will, the tide reversing in unnatural currents.

Aegirion snarled, his own essence pouring into the water. Black sludge spread through the waves, corrupting them, turning the sea into a viscous, poisoned mire. The leviathans howled in agony as the corruption touched them, their flesh blistering.

Poseidon's jaw tightened. "Enough."

In a burst of speed, he surged forward, water propelling him like an arrow. The trident clashed with Aegirion's coral armor, shattering fragments into the air. Aegirion swung again, but Poseidon ducked beneath the massive strike, driving his weapon upward into the god's abdomen.

The impact sent a shockwave through the Rift. Water exploded outward, forcing waves to crash against the cliffs in violent torrents.

Aegirion roared in pain, one of his tentacles wrapping around Poseidon's torso, squeezing. Bones creaked.

"I will drag you to the bottom," Aegirion hissed, pulling him toward the abyssal depths.

Poseidon's lips curled into a grim smile. "Then I'll take the ocean with me."

He drove the trident deep into the sea floor. Blue light burst from the weapon, shooting into the water like a beacon.

The ocean responded.

A wall of water unlike anything mortal eyes had seen rose high into the heavens. It curved like a giant serpent, its surface glittering with lightning. And then it fell—crashing down with such force that the very Rift shook, tearing new scars into the earth.

Aegirion was buried under the colossal wave, his form swallowed entirely. The poisoned waters were washed clean, the corruption dissipating into nothingness.

For a moment, there was silence—only the hiss of the rain and the distant rumble of the earth.

Then, the surface broke.

Aegirion burst forth, wounded, pieces of coral armor missing, his black ichor pouring into the water. But his eyes still burned with hate. "This… is not… over."

With a final roar, he dove into the depths, retreating into the darkness from which he came.

Poseidon stood, chest heaving, the trident still glowing faintly in his grip. He did not pursue—not because he couldn't, but because he knew. The ocean's war was not a single battle. It was eternal.

The storm above slowly began to break, moonlight filtering through the cracks in the clouds.

Poseidon turned his gaze to the horizon. This was only the beginning.

The Rift was collapsing around him. The once vast, endless expanse of shimmering black waters and fractured starlight now convulsed like a dying beast. The horizon bent inwards, swallowing itself into a whirlpool of oblivion. Poseidon—no longer Dominic in body nor name—stood at the eye of the storm, his trident buried into the shifting seabed of liquid shadow. His chest heaved, each breath a sharp drag of cold air that tasted of salt and blood.

The remnants of Thal'Zir's essence swirled in the maelstrom, a storm of azure fire and ancient wrath. Even shattered, the fallen god's voice still clawed at Poseidon's mind.

You are a vessel… not a king. You think you've won, boy? The tides obey no man.

Poseidon's grip on the trident tightened until the metal groaned. "No man, perhaps. But I am no man anymore."

He yanked the weapon free and raised it high. The currents obeyed—not Thal'Zir's, but his. Walls of water formed at his command, holding back the Rift's implosion long enough for him to step forward. The ground beneath him trembled, forcing him to his knees, but he did not fall.

The final fragments of the Rift's energy surged towards him, slamming into his body. Pain tore through every nerve, but beneath it was something else—a rising tide of power, deeper than the ocean's darkest trench. It coiled through his veins like serpents of liquid lightning. His vision blurred, and for a heartbeat, he saw the abyss stare back at him… and bow.

When he opened his eyes again, the Rift was gone.

He stood upon the surface of a midnight sea beneath a bleeding moon. The mortal world's air rushed into his lungs, warm and humid. Far in the distance, the faint outlines of ships bobbed on the horizon. But closer—too close—there was land, and on that land… the sounds of war.

The shoreline ahead flickered with torchlight and steel. Men shouted, swords clashed, and the cries of the dying were carried to him on the wind. His instincts told him to walk away. These were mortal affairs—petty squabbles between kingdoms that would mean nothing a hundred years from now. Yet as he stepped forward, the waves themselves carried him faster, lifting him to the shore without so much as a ripple to betray his arrival.

What awaited him on land was carnage. The sand was already black with blood, the tide pulling crimson ribbons back into the sea. Two armies clashed at the water's edge—one bearing the crests of the coastal kingdom of Neryth, the other in the black-and-gold of Arkoress.

The soldiers of Neryth were being slaughtered. They were outnumbered, their shields splintered, their morale broken. And yet, one man still stood at the center of their retreat—a knight whose armor gleamed even under the shadow of death. His blade moved like a storm, felling foe after foe, but even he was being pushed back.

Poseidon's gaze narrowed. He had no love for mortals, but this battle stirred something in him. Perhaps it was the sea breeze carrying the scent of desperation. Or perhaps it was the fact that these invaders had dared to spill blood in his domain—his shores.

A soldier from Arkoress, seeing the lone figure emerge from the waves, shouted and charged at him.

Mistake.

Poseidon didn't even raise his trident. With a mere thought, the tide surged upward, a wall of seawater crashing down upon the man with the weight of a mountain. When it receded, there was nothing left but an empty helmet rolling in the surf.

The fighting slowed. Soldiers from both sides turned to look at the stranger now walking across the wet sand. The moonlight caught the pale blue glow in his eyes, and for a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then one of the Arkoress captains barked an order. Arrows flew.

The sea rose.

Every shaft of wood and steel froze midair, suspended in a sphere of water that had appeared from nowhere. Poseidon's voice cut through the chaos, deep and resonant as if spoken from the ocean floor itself.

"Go back to your masters. Tell them the sea is closed to them. This shore is under my protection now."

The captain sneered. "And who in the Nine Hells are you to make such claims?"

Poseidon smiled—not warmly. The waves behind him churned, and from their depths, shapes began to emerge. Serpentine bodies. Jagged fins. Eyes like lanterns in the dark. Deep-sea beasts, called forth from realms no fisherman had ever dared sail.

"I am Poseidon," he said, and the name rolled over the battlefield like thunder. "And I am the tide that drowns kings."

The beasts surged forward at his command. The Arkoress ranks broke instantly, men screaming as jaws closed over them, dragging them into the waves. Those who fled to the forest beyond the beach found the very puddles and streams rising to strangle them.

Within minutes, the battle was over. The sand was littered with the dead, the surf pulling their bodies into the depths. Only the Neryth knight remained standing, chest heaving as he stared at Poseidon.

"Why?" the knight asked. "Why help us?"

Poseidon's gaze lingered on him for a long moment. "Because your enemies offended me. And because the sea remembers debts… even those not yet owed."

The knight didn't understand, but he bowed regardless.

"Then you have my thanks… Lord Poseidon."

Poseidon turned back to the waves, his trident tapping the wet sand. The beasts dissolved into foam, the water calming as if nothing had happened. But in his mind, Thalorin's voice echoed faintly, deep in the abyss where the Rift's last shadows lingered.

You play at being a god of mercy. But the ocean does not forgive. And neither will you.

He ignored the voice—for now. There would be time to confront Thalorin's whispers later.

For now, there were mortal lands to claim, and the tides were already turning in his favor.