Reincarnated As Poseidon

Poseidon's gaze sharpened. He could feel Olympus pressing down, its judgment like a spear waiting to strike. The council would not forgive this. They had sent three gods, and he had broken them. The next response would not be measured—it would be annihilation.

He tightened his grip on the trident. "So this is their answer? To throw half-born deities into the tide and hope they hold me back?"

Elyra spat blood, her hair whipping about her face as the last of her winds guttered into silence. "You… are no god of seas. You are the abyss wearing his face."

Poseidon's eyes flickered—blue so deep it seemed bottomless. "Perhaps. But the abyss remembers what Olympus has forgotten." His voice rumbled with a resonance that was not only his own. Deep within, Thalorin stirred, like a beast shifting in a cavern.

Take them, the ancient whisper coiled in his mind. End them, and let their divine essence swell your tide. The more you consume, the less they can stand against you.

For a moment, Poseidon almost obeyed. It would have been simple—one strike, one breath, and three rivals would drown. But another voice, faint yet still his own, resisted. The voice that remembered Dominic, the mortal boy, the vessel who once clung to humanity like driftwood in a storm.

And so, Poseidon turned away.

"You live," he said, his voice as cold as the sea's deepest trench. "Not out of mercy. But because I want Olympus to see the fear in your eyes when you crawl back to them."

He strode past them, each step pulling water from the air, from the stone, from the blood of his enemies. Behind him, the three gods gasped and coughed but did not follow. They couldn't.

---

Olympus Watches

High above, within the halls of Olympus, the council seethed.

Zephyros, god of judgment, slammed his fist against the marble table, thunder cracking through the chamber. "He defies us openly. He toys with our emissaries and lets them crawl back like beaten hounds. He mocks the order of Olympus itself!"

Nymera, cloaked in shifting shadows, spoke softly. "He does not mock us. He warns us. Poseidon could have ended them… yet he did not."

"Which is worse," growled Seraphin, goddess of flame. "It means he has control. He is not Thalorin unleashed, mindless and ravenous. He is something else. Something deliberate."

Aegirion, still battered from his last encounter with Poseidon, stepped into the council circle. His trident dripped with seawater though he had not walked through tide. His voice was hoarse. "He is Poseidon. You cannot deny it. The tides obey him. The abyss bends around him. He is no vessel, no shadow. He is the sea."

Zephyros turned on him sharply. "Then what do you suggest? That we kneel? That Olympus bends to a rogue god who crawled out of the Rift on the bones of a mortal boy?"

Aegirion's eyes narrowed. "I suggest we remember that once, Poseidon was one of us."

But the chamber rumbled, not in agreement. In rejection.

The decree was forming. Soon it would be cast: Olympus against the Drowned God.

Far below divine sight, mortals whispered Poseidon's name once more. Cities that had forgotten him in prayer now cursed him in fear, sailors carving his trident on their hulls in desperate hope that he might spare them. Kingdoms sent envoys to beg the priests for blessings against the rising tides, only to find the priests themselves drowning in unanswered prayers.

And in the ruins of the harbor city Poseidon had tilted days ago, survivors gathered on rooftops and broken piers. They saw him walking across the water, a solitary figure, but one that bent the world around him like a storm bends sails. Some fell to their knees. Others spat and swore. But all knew the truth.

Poseidon had returned.

---

Poseidon's Resolve

On the black horizon, the Forgotten Tides churned. That prison of drowned things—once sealed, now cracked—echoed to him, promising endless power. He could tear it open fully. He could unleash what slept there and let the world drown.

But Poseidon was no longer just the abyss. He had been mortal once. He had seen fear not from above, but from within.

So he chose differently.

He planted his trident into the water's surface, and the ocean around him spiraled into a vast mirror, showing not only the drowned city but countless coastlines. Mortals stared in terror as their seas turned to glass, reflecting his image.

Poseidon's voice thundered across the world:

"Olympus calls me a rogue. Mortals call me a curse. But know this—"

The water trembled as he drew breath.

"—I am the tide. I am the abyss. I am Poseidon, and the seas are mine again. Let Olympus come. Let them try to chain me once more. The ocean bows to no throne but its own."

The declaration rolled through every harbor, every river, every drop of rain. And even in Olympus, gods felt the weight of it.

But as his words faded, Poseidon felt it—the stirring deep within. Not Thalorin's hunger this time. Something older. Something beneath even him.

The abyss was not empty. And it had listened.

From the edge of the Forgotten Tides came a roar—low, guttural, and vast—that made even Poseidon stagger. It was not his voice. Not Thalorin's. Something else. Something waiting.

Poseidon's grip on the trident tightened, and for the first time since his rebirth, his lips curled not into pride, but into something like unease.

The seas had always been his. But what if there were depths even he had never claimed?

The battlefield stank of salt, blood, and ozone.

The three gods lay scattered across the ruined coast. Their armor, once radiant with celestial luster, now bore cracks carved by a tide that would not obey divine law. Their divine ichor bled into the sand, glowing faintly like molten stars swallowed by the sea. Above them, the sky churned—not with storm clouds, but with the raw presence of Poseidon himself.

He stood upon the flooded shoreline, trident in hand, waves curling around his feet as if kneeling before their master. The air around him shimmered like a mirage. His hair dripped seawater, his eyes vast and merciless, the weight of ocean trenches condensed into a single gaze.

"You thought me chained to memory," Poseidon's voice rumbled, deeper than thunder. "But the depths do not forget. And neither do I."