Reincarnated As Poseidon

The battlefield was no longer mortal.

The city that had once been a jewel of the coast now lay drowned beneath fathoms of shifting blue, its towers jutting up like broken teeth, its streets hidden under rippling currents. Where once ships had sailed, now titans of water strode.

Poseidon stood at the heart of it, his trident embedded in the cracked seabed. Every pulse of his power made the drowned city groan as if the ruins themselves recognized their new master.

But he was not alone.

Three gods had come for him.

Not mortals wearing robes and chanting prayers, not priests swinging charms, but gods—radiant, ancient, and unrelenting.

Zephyros, Lord of Skies, descended with thunder rolling at his heels, wings spanning the horizon. His golden gaze burned like the judgment of the sun.

Nymera, Goddess of Shadows, unfurled herself like living night. Every ripple of her form turned water to ink, every whisper of her voice threatened to unmake what stood within her reach.

And Aegirion—he who had once spoken kindly to Dominic when he was just a mortal—now strode forward, tides coiling around his trident. But his eyes held sorrow, not hatred.

"Poseidon," Aegirion called, his voice muffled by the sea but heard by all. "Stand down. The council has decreed it. If you resist, Olympus itself will fall upon you."

Poseidon pulled his trident from the ground. The motion sent a quake through the ocean floor, cracks splitting outward in jagged lines that glowed faintly blue. His gaze swept over the three of them, calm but cutting.

"I am the sea," he said, voice deep and resonant. "Do you expect the tide to stand down when you command it?"

Lightning crashed behind Zephyros. "Then you defy the decree. You pit yourself against Olympus and the heavens themselves."

Poseidon's lips curled into a sharp, humorless smile. "The heavens fall eventually. The sea remains."

The first strike came from Zephyros. He raised his spear of stormlight and cast a bolt of thunder the size of a mountain straight into the sea.

The water split apart, a chasm of boiling steam ripping downward toward Poseidon. The shockwave shattered what remained of the drowned city's towers.

But the sea was not merely Poseidon's domain—it was his flesh.

He raised one hand, and the chasm closed. The water folded in on itself, swallowing the lightning whole. A moment later, the current spat it back upward—redirected—straight toward Zephyros.

The sky god barely had time to throw up his wings before the thunder he had cast slammed back into him, blasting him across the waves.

Nymera struck next. Shadows lengthened into tendrils, piercing through water as though it offered no resistance. They wrapped around Poseidon's limbs, around his throat, binding him in the embrace of the void.

But instead of thrashing, Poseidon simply inhaled.

The sea obeyed. The shadows buckled as tides collapsed inward, surging into his form. The water became a vortex, dragging Nymera's own power into him. Her scream echoed through the trench as her form flickered, her edges dissolving where the current swallowed her.

Aegirion charged, his trident gleaming with raw tideforce. He struck at Poseidon's chest, and unlike the others, his blow landed.

The trident's prongs dug into Poseidon's flesh, blue blood blooming into the water like ink. The sea god staggered a half-step back, his eyes narrowing.

"You still hesitate," Poseidon murmured. His hand clamped around the shaft of Aegirion's trident, holding it in place. "Strike deeper, or you'll drown with the rest."

Aegirion's jaw clenched. "You leave me no choice!" He twisted the weapon, unleashing a surge of compressed waves that detonated point-blank.

The explosion lit the sea like a second sun.

When the blast faded, Poseidon stood wreathed in water that burned with unnatural blue fire. His wound closed before their eyes, the blood retracting into his veins as if even his own body bowed to no loss.

He wrenched Aegirion's trident free and hurled it aside. The weapon spun end over end, embedding itself into the seabed miles away.

Then Poseidon raised his own trident.

The drowned city quaked. The sea heaved.

Columns of water rose, towering higher than mountains, each crowned with the glow of deep abyssal light. They twisted together, forming serpents of living tide that writhed and hissed as they turned their colossal heads toward the gods.

Zephyros righted himself just in time to see one strike. A serpent of water smashed him back into the sky with enough force to crack the air.

Another serpent lunged for Nymera, biting into her shadow form and dragging her screaming into its coils. She thrashed, but every attempt to disperse into darkness was swallowed by the pressure of Poseidon's grip on the sea.

And the last serpent circled Aegirion. It did not strike. It simply waited, pressing tighter and tighter, testing the will of the tide-god who stood before it.

Aegirion raised his hands, pushing back, forcing space between himself and the coils. But even as he resisted, he looked into Poseidon's eyes and saw something that chilled him more than the crushing water.

Not rage. Not bloodlust.

Purpose.

This was no tantrum of a vengeful god. This was inevitability.

Far above, in the halls of Olympus, the other gods watched. Scrying pools trembled with the force of the battle, showing glimpses of serpents made from the ocean itself, of lightning bent and broken, of shadows crushed under water's weight.

Some gods leaned forward, hungry for Poseidon's fall. Others sat in silence, uneasy.

And at the center of the council, Zeus himself remained unmoving, his thunder-wreathed fingers steepled beneath his chin. His gaze did not leave the image of Poseidon, standing unbowed, wielding the sea as though it were no longer an element but his own body.

"The drowned god grows," Zeus said at last, voice low and dangerous. "If he cannot be stopped here, Olympus itself may tilt."

But deep inside, even Zeus felt it—the first whisper of doubt.

Back in the depths, Poseidon raised his trident high. The serpents of tide twisted tighter, the drowned city cracking further beneath his power.

Zephyros broke free, blood trailing from his mouth, but his wings hung tattered. Nymera dissolved into a mist of shadow, escaping the serpent's bite, but her form was weaker, her edges blurring.

And Aegirion… still resisted. His arms trembled, his voice broke as he shouted against the crushing coil.

"Poseidon! If you keep this path, you will drown everything! Even yourself!"

Poseidon's gaze softened—just slightly. "No. I will drown the lies. The chains. The order you've mistaken for truth."

The sea quaked with his words.

Then the serpents struck again.

The battle was far from over. But in that moment, even the gods began to understand: Poseidon was not merely reborn. He was rewriting what it meant to be divine.

And the sea, once chained, had remembered how to rise.