Reincarnated As Poseidon

The battlefield reeked of burnt salt and ichor. Clouds above were split in jagged scars, where divine lightning had carved holes into the sky itself. The ocean churned beneath, not in waves but in spirals that bent the horizon.

And at its center stood Poseidon.

His trident gleamed with wet light, each prong dripping silver streams that refused to fall—water bending upward in defiance of gravity. His chest heaved with exertion, but his eyes were steady, fathomless, a reminder that the man who once breathed as Dominic was gone. Only the Sea King remained.

Before him, three gods staggered to their feet—Zephyros, lord of sky and judgment; Seraphin, flame-goddess, her hair still trailing smoke; and Nymera, shadows swirling around her shredded cloak. They had not expected him to fight with such precision, such inevitability. Every strike they had thrown returned to them like waves meeting cliffs.

"You're not fighting," Seraphin spat, flames spitting from her lips as she steadied herself. "You're… reflecting. Bending every strike back."

Poseidon's voice carried like surf against cavern walls. "The sea does not resist. It receives. It reshapes. And it returns."

Zephyros's wings spread wide, feathers shining like polished bronze. "You've broken balance. You walk in a form not meant for mortals. You've trespassed into realms that belong to us alone!"

Poseidon tilted his head. "Balance?" He raised a hand, and the tide responded instantly. A column of water rose, higher than the tallest tower of Olympus, and coiled behind him like a serpent waiting for command. "You call tyranny balance. You call chains order. I call it what it is: fear."

Nymera's shadows lashed outward, snapping like vipers at his ankles. But the water surged beneath him, carrying Poseidon aloft, until he stood at the peak of his ocean serpent. Her shadows struck nothing but mist.

"I was cast into the Rift because you feared what the sea could become," Poseidon continued, his gaze piercing them one by one. "But the Rift could not bind me. The mortal shell you dismissed as weak bore me back. And now—" He thrust his trident downward.

The water-serpent plunged, slamming into the fractured ground with a roar. Shockwaves rippled, tearing cracks across the divine arena.

Seraphin lunged, hurling a spear of fire bright enough to scorch the air into glass. Poseidon did not dodge. He raised his hand, and the spear split around him, flame bending into a perfect circle that spun harmlessly into the ocean. The water hissed, drinking the fire down to steam.

"You're learning," he said softly, almost mockingly.

Zephyros snapped. His lightning struck, thousands of bolts stabbing downward like a cage of suns. The sea responded again, lifting itself upward into a dome. The bolts sank harmlessly into the barrier, their brilliance drowned in an instant.

"You cannot cage what has no form," Poseidon murmured. "The sea is eternal. The sea is free."

---

The Shift

Yet even as he spoke, Poseidon felt it. A tug—not from the gods before him, but from deep below. The abyss inside him stirred, Thalorin's essence pressing against his veins like a storm against a dam.

Take them. Break them. Drown them.

The whisper was not external. It came from within, the abyssal will that had once devoured pantheons. Poseidon closed his eyes briefly, forcing it down. He was no longer Dominic, but neither was he Thalorin. He was something else. Something in-between.

But his hesitation was enough.

Nymera surged from his shadow, blades of darkness aimed at his throat.

The strike never landed. A wall of water erupted around him, instinctive as breath, catching her blades and dissolving them into black mist.

Poseidon exhaled slowly. His eyes opened, glowing brighter than before. The restraint slipped.

"You wish for me to drown you?" His voice dropped, deeper, heavier. "Then drown you shall."

---

The Counterstrike

He thrust his trident forward.

The sea obeyed.

Tides rose not only beneath but from above, as if the very clouds bled oceans. Rain fell—not in drops, but in rivers, each stream striking with the weight of mountains.

Zephyros was the first to falter. His lightning scattered, his wings torn by torrents that sliced like blades. He crashed against a shattered pillar, coughing golden ichor.

Seraphin screamed, flames roaring to resist the deluge, but her fire guttered, smothered beneath endless weight. Steam blinded her, searing her throat.

Nymera dissolved into shadows, but the waters invaded even there. Her form flickered, shredded by lightless depths pouring through her sanctuary.

Poseidon advanced, every step parting waves around him like curtains.

"You three are but drops," he said. "Drops pretending to rule the sea."

He swung his trident once.

The serpent of water coiled tighter, striking like a leviathan. The gods were hurled back, their forms breaking against marble and mist.

Far above, in Olympus's great hall, the other gods watched through their scrying mirrors. Silence hung over them, broken only by the groaning of the palace itself as if even Olympus feared the sea below.

"This… this is not merely Poseidon," whispered one lesser god, clutching his trembling staff. "This is something worse."

Aegirion stood apart from the rest, his jaw tight. "No. This is Poseidon. The god you cast away. The god you feared."

"You defend him still?" hissed the reef goddess, eyes sharp with panic. "Can you not see he will drown us all?"

Aegirion did not answer. His gaze remained fixed on the waters below, on the figure who bore both mortal resolve and abyssal hunger.

Poseidon was not merely fighting. He was winning.

---

The Breaking Point

Back in the arena, Seraphin staggered to her knees, flames barely clinging to her skin. Zephyros bled light from his wounds, his strength shattered. Nymera crawled from the wreckage of her shadows, half-formed, her voice a ragged hiss.

"Enough… You'll unmake everything…"

Poseidon stopped. For the briefest instant, silence fell—broken only by the endless hiss of falling rain.

Then he spoke, voice calm, terrible, absolute.

"Everything deserves to be remade."

He raised his trident. The ocean surged in answer, forming behind him a tidal wall so vast it blotted out the fractured sky. It was not meant for three gods alone—it was a wave meant to erase Olympus itself.

Zephyros's eyes widened in horror. "He'll bring it down on all of us!"

And perhaps he would have.

But before the wave could fall, a voice thundered across the heavens, shaking even Poseidon's bones.

"Enough!"

The waters trembled. The gods froze.

And from the highest spire of Olympus descended a figure draped in white fire, crown burning brighter than stars.

Zeus.

---

The battle was not over. It was only beginning.