Reincarnated As Poseidon

The battlefield was no longer a place. It was an ocean.

Stone temples had collapsed into reefs of shattered marble. The once-proud cliffs of Olympus groaned as cracks spread down their length, water seeping into every fracture. What had begun as Poseidon's defiance was now something far greater—the sea itself reclaiming what the heavens thought untouchable.

Three gods lay scattered across the broken plain. Their weapons still gleamed faintly with divinity, but their hands shook, their forms flickered. The battle had drained them. Not merely of strength, but of certainty.

And yet Poseidon still stood.

His trident glistened with water that burned like molten sapphire. His hair, matted with salt, whipped in the winds of his own making. The ocean's roar was his breath.

"You should not be standing," croaked Zephyros, the God of Sky and Judgment. Blood seeped from a gash across his chest, staining the clouds beneath his feet. "No vessel should withstand this long."

Poseidon's eyes burned with the depth of trenches older than Olympus itself. "You mistake me for a vessel."

He stepped forward. Every stride sent waves cracking across the field, drowning divine fires, sweeping debris into nothingness.

"I am no shell. I am no pawn. I am what your council feared most—Poseidon returned. And this time, not chained by your decrees."

---

The Mortal Gaze

Far below, on the trembling shores of the mortal realm, cities watched the sky. The heavens churned, clouds swirling into cyclones that revealed brief glimpses of the divine battle above. Every thunderclap was not thunder—it was the clash of gods.

Fishermen knelt in their boats, whispering prayers they weren't sure anyone would answer. Mothers held children close as waves climbed higher and higher against their villages.

"The sea fights the heavens," one old man muttered, eyes wide with terror. "And the heavens falter."

For the first time in generations, mortals saw gods bleed. And they saw one god rise where three could not bring him down.

---

Back in Olympus

Seraphin, Goddess of Flame, staggered upright. Her once-blazing hair now flickered faintly, embers floating like dying fireflies. Still, her pride was not extinguished.

"You've drowned cities. You've toppled towers. But even if you stand now, you will break. Every storm ends."

Poseidon turned his gaze upon her. The very air thickened with salt, her fire sputtering.

"Storms end," he said, "but the sea does not. You burn, you fade, you scatter. I remain."

He raised his trident—and for a moment, the battlefield tilted. No longer a sky. No longer Olympus. But a vast, endless trench yawning open, dragging everything toward its abyss.

Zephyros slammed his wings wide, fighting the pull. "He seeks to draw us into his domain!"

But it was too late. The waters surged, dragging gods toward the deep. Their strength faltered—not because they were weaker, but because Poseidon was no longer fighting them in their realm. He was forcing them into his.

And yet, deep within Poseidon, something shifted.

The voice.

Do you see? it whispered, curling like a riptide in his veins. They fall. They weaken. You could end them now. Claim what is yours. Rule as more than Poseidon. Rule as Thalorin.

For the briefest instant, Poseidon's grip tightened on his trident. His pupils widened, dark waters bleeding into their edges.

But he steadied himself, teeth grinding. "I am not you."

The voice laughed. Not yet.

He shook his head, casting the whisper back into silence. There was no time to wrestle with shadows when gods still stood before him.

Nymera, Goddess of Shadows, emerged from the void where she had been lurking, her cloak unfurling like a thousand knives of darkness.

"You cannot drown shadow," she hissed. "It follows even into the abyss."

She struck, her tendrils wrapping around Poseidon's arms, legs, chest—binding him, pulling him tight. At the same time, Seraphin summoned the last of her fire, igniting the black coils until they burned white-hot.

"Now!" Zephyros roared, his wings blazing with lightning as he dove, spear aimed straight for Poseidon's chest.

The strike landed. Divine steel pierced water-forged flesh. The heavens themselves shuddered at the impact.

For a heartbeat, silence.

And then—Poseidon laughed.

Not mortal laughter. Not even divine. It was the sound of waves breaking cliffs, of continents shattering beneath tsunamis.

The trident spun, shattering Nymera's bindings, extinguishing Seraphin's flames. Zephyros's spear cracked in half, lightning fizzling as Poseidon wrenched it from his chest.

Blood flowed—but it was not red. It was blue, glowing, alive with the heartbeat of oceans. And where it fell, rivers formed across the battlefield, swelling and surging.

"You still do not understand," Poseidon said, voice rolling like endless surf. He raised his arms—and every drop of spilled divine blood, every droplet of his own ichor, lifted, swirling, becoming a tidal crown above his head.

"I am the tide. You cannot kill what feeds the world."

The crown collapsed into a wave, a wall higher than mountains, crashing down upon the three gods.

---

Collapse

When the water receded, silence fell.

Zephyros lay broken, wings shattered. Seraphin's flames were nothing but smoke. Nymera dissolved into shadow, fleeing into cracks where even the sea could not follow.

Poseidon stood alone. His chest still burned where the spear had struck. His body trembled beneath the weight of his unleashed power.

But he stood.

And Olympus wept.

High above the council chamber, where greater gods lingered unseen, murmurs stirred.

"He has broken them."

"He cannot be stopped."

"Not Poseidon alone. Something else moves within him."

A decision rippled through the heavens. What once had been whispers became resolve. If lesser gods could not bind him, then greater ones must descend.

And if even that failed… then the pantheon itself would fracture.

As silence settled over the battlefield, Poseidon lifted his trident, driving it into the fractured marble of Olympus. The sound echoed like a drumbeat, reverberating across mortal and divine realms alike.

"Let them send more," he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes blazed. "Let them send all. I will not kneel again."

The waters rose higher, carrying his words across the cosmos.

The sea had spoken.

And the gods would answer.