Reincarnated As Poseidon

And in the center of that apocalyptic chaos stood Poseidon. His trident burned with abyssal light, his hair whipped into serpentine coils by winds that bent only to him. The water didn't drench him—it curled toward him as if he were its axis.

Across from him hovered the gods who had come to break him.

Zephyros, the Lord of Skies, wings spread so wide they blotted out the stars. His spear gleamed with stormfire.

Nymera, the Shadow Veil, cloaked in night that swallowed even lightning's glare. Her blades dripped with venom that had undone titans.

And Aegirion, the young god of tides, torn between loyalty and duty, gripping his trident with trembling resolve.

The council had decreed Poseidon's end. Tonight, the sentence was to be carried out.

Zephyros moved first. His spear thrust downward, and the skies obeyed. A torrent of lightning screamed toward Poseidon, jagged bolts thick enough to split mountains.

But Poseidon only raised his hand. The sea surged upward, birthing a tidal column that swallowed the lightning whole. The water shuddered, glowed white-hot, then burst outward in a storm of boiling steam that blanketed the field.

Nymera was already within the mist. Her shadow split into ten, twenty, a hundred silhouettes, all racing toward Poseidon from every direction. Her blades slashed, each one capable of cutting through divine marrow.

But Poseidon's eyes glowed like twin abysses. He thrust his trident into the ground.

The sea answered.

The mist condensed instantly into jagged spears of ice-water, erupting outward in a deadly storm. Dozens of Nymeras were skewered, dissolving into smoke, until the true goddess reappeared behind him. Her blade cut clean—only to meet a wall of pressurized water that hardened into a shield at his back.

The strike glanced off. Poseidon spun, catching her by the wrist. His grip was a tide made flesh, crushing, relentless.

"You think shadows can swim?" His voice was the roar of waves breaking cliffs. "You think night can drown?"

He hurled her into the sea-wall, the force so great the water itself bent aside before closing in to swallow her.

But Zephyros was already descending, spear driving forward with hurricane force. Poseidon caught it with his trident, the clash ringing like worlds colliding.

Lightning and tide, storm and abyss, locked in a contest neither yielded to.

Aegirion hesitated, watching the impossible duel. He had always worshipped the ocean's majesty, even as a god. And now, standing before him, was its true master reborn.

Poseidon wasn't struggling. He wasn't flailing as some usurper desperate to claim power. He was the sea, vast and unyielding, and Aegirion felt it in every fiber of his being.

And yet, the council's decree thundered in his mind. Poseidon was a danger. A threat that could unravel balance itself. If he did nothing, Olympus would mark him as traitor.

"Move, Aegirion!" Zephyros roared, straining against Poseidon's strength. "Strike him down!"

Aegirion raised his trident, hands trembling. His eyes locked with Poseidon's.

And in that abyssal gaze, he saw something more than fury. He saw memory. The boy who had once walked as Dominic. The mortal heart that still beat beneath godhood's crushing weight.

Aegirion's trident faltered.

But Nymera was already behind him, emerging from the drowned shadows. "If you won't, I will." Her blade arced toward Poseidon's exposed flank.

Aegirion moved before he thought. His trident intercepted her strike, sparks screaming as divine steel clashed against shadow-forged metal.

Nymera's eyes widened. "You—traitor?"

Aegirion's jaw clenched. "Not traitor. Witness."

The hesitation shattered the balance. Poseidon roared, a sound so vast the sea itself trembled. The trident surged with abyssal force, flinging Zephyros into the storm above.

He turned, striking the ground. The battlefield obeyed.

The sea rose. Not as waves, not as tide, but as a wall that bent higher and higher until it blotted the horizon. Mortals far beyond the coast looked up that night and saw the sky replaced by a curtain of ocean.

Within that titanic wave, leviathans stirred. Shapes too large for human comprehension shifted in the depths—creatures that had slept since the first abyss was born.

Poseidon raised his hand.

The wall collapsed forward.

Zephyros screamed commands to the wind, Nymera vanished into shadows, and Aegirion alone held his ground, striking his trident into the earth to anchor the gods.

The wave hit.

For miles, the world was nothing but water. Cities drowned, forests bent beneath the tide, mountains vanished under foam.

When the waters finally receded, the battlefield was gone. Only a scarred seafloor remained, stretching endless beneath a bruised sky.

And in its center, Poseidon stood, untouched, trident burning like a star drowned in the abyss.

Zephyros coughed blood, wings torn, hovering weakly in the storm's remnants. Nymera limped from a broken shadow, her cloak shredded, venom dripping uselessly into the endless sea.

Only Aegirion stood close to Poseidon, chest heaving, his loyalty now carved into the world by his defiance.

"You cannot win this," Zephyros rasped. His spear flickered, dimmed. "Even if you break us, the council will send more. They will send all."

Poseidon's eyes glowed deeper, fathomless. "Let them."

Nymera snarled, forcing her broken body upright. "You are not a god. You are a calamity."

Poseidon stepped forward, the ocean rising with him. "And still you do not understand. I am not a calamity. I am inevitability."

He lifted his trident. The sea stirred again, eager, waiting.

And for the first time in eons, the gods knew fear.

In Olympus

Far above, the council felt the wound in the world. Dozens of divine thrones trembled as power signatures collapsed into silence.

The high arbiter's face blanched. "Three gods fell… and Poseidon still stands."

Whispers spread like fire through the chamber. Some gods demanded reinforcements. Others demanded retreat.

And in the shadows of Olympus, an older voice stirred. One not spoken in centuries.

"Let him rise," it murmured. "For only in his storm will the old chains break."

The council froze.

Because the voice was not divine.

It was Thalorin's echo.