Reincarnated As Poseidon

The sea was restless.

Not in the way of storms or tides, but in the way of living things preparing to awaken.

All across the mortal coasts, harbors tilted, waves crawled inland, and the skies darkened though no cloud dared form. The world was holding its breath, waiting for the crack in reality that everyone—from fishermen to gods—knew was about to come.

And in the depths, Poseidon heard it.

The slow shatter.

The veil thinning.

The abyss calling.

Far above the abyss, in the drowned ruins of Veyrus's city, survivors gathered on rooftops. They lit torches that flickered against the mirror-flat water, whispering prayers that felt more like apologies. Children whimpered, sailors muttered, and the bell tower—broken since the drowning—now stood like a jagged tombstone above the lagoon.

"It's him," one old woman croaked, clutching her shawl. "The drowned god has risen. Poseidon walks again."

Her words spread like infection, whispered from lips to lips. Not as a prayer. Not even as fear. But as recognition. A truth they could not resist.

The water lapped gently at their ankles. It wasn't violent. It wasn't storm-driven. It simply was. And in its stillness, it carried a pulse—like the heartbeat of something immense lying beneath.

Far beyond mortal sight, in the golden halls of Olympus, the council of high gods assembled. The marble columns rattled as if the very foundation of heaven strained under a distant weight.

Zeus sat rigid upon his throne, stormlight flickering in his beard. Hera glared silently at his side. Athena leaned forward with narrowed eyes, fingers tapping her spear's haft. Ares paced like a caged beast, fists clenching in anticipation.

And Hades, grim and silent, watched from the shadows, his helm resting in his lap.

"It is no longer rumor," Athena said, her voice cutting through the chamber. "Poseidon has torn free from his Rift. He has drowned cities. His name spreads among mortals once more."

Zeus's fingers tightened around the master bolt. "I bound him once. I can bind him again."

Hades's lips curled in a humorless smile. "You bound him by casting him into the abyss, brother. That was no victory—merely a postponement. The abyss does not forget its own."

Ares slammed a fist into his palm. "Then let me lead the charge. I'll tear his new vessel apart before he gathers strength. Mortal, god, abyssal—makes no difference. Blood spills all the same."

But Hera's sharp voice cut him down. "You'll do nothing without the council's sanction. Poseidon is no longer just a rogue god. He is something else. Something tied to Thalorin."

The chamber fell into silence at the name. Even the thunder outside faltered.

"Thalorin…" Hades muttered. "The abyss that even gods fear. If Poseidon carries him, then every battle we fight will only feed him."

Athena rose. "Then we must strike not as individuals, but as one. Olympus must descend as a united storm. Otherwise, Poseidon will rise from the sea not as our brother… but as our doom."

Poseidon floated within the trench where sunlight could not reach. Around him, the abyss trembled with a sound older than gods. He did not need air. He did not need form. His body shimmered between flesh and tide, man and ocean.

Before him, cracks spiderwebbed across the abyssal floor, each pulse widening the fracture. Through them, he could glimpse something vast and endless—an ocean that was not water, but void, pressure, hunger.

The Abyss. Thalorin's throne.

Poseidon's voice rolled through the depths, each word echoing like thunder swallowed in salt.

"It awakens."

Behind him, his reflection rippled and shifted, showing not his face but another—eyes like bottomless whirlpools, fangs of coral, a crown of drowned bone. Thalorin's visage.

"You call, and I answer," Poseidon said softly. His trident glimmered with the weight of the sea. "But this world is mine. Not Olympus's. Not yours. Mine."

The abyss laughed—or perhaps it wept. The line between them was thin.

Then claim it, child of tides. But know this: to claim the world, you must drown it first.

The abyss cracked wider. A rush of pressure burst upward, a column of water that tore leagues of sea toward the surface. Mortals on the coast fell to their knees as a sudden wall of water rose against the horizon, blotting out the stars.

In Olympus, alarms of divine resonance rang through marble halls. Athena's eyes widened.

"He's breaching."

Zeus rose, lightning cascading from his frame. "Then Olympus descends now. Rally the pantheon!"

And so the sky itself tore.

The heavens split open in streaks of gold and silver as gods stepped down from their thrones, crossing the veil between immortality and earth. Zeus's stormclouds rolled across the night sky, Ares's war-cry shook the stars, Athena's owl-winged helm blazed with radiant fire, and Hades's shadows slithered across the horizon like hungry serpents.

Mortals who looked up screamed, for the sight was not glory—it was terror. A sky cracked with lightning, shadows, fire, and war.

And from below, the sea answered.

Poseidon rose from the trench, his body towering, vast, clad not in armor but in tide. His trident gleamed with abyssal blue, dripping with power no ocean should contain. Around him, whales fled, sharks knelt, and the very current stilled to wait his command.

When his eyes opened, the horizon bent.

"Olympus," he thundered, voice shaking continents. "You dare descend to me?"

Zeus hurled the first bolt. A spear of stormfire ripped across the sky, splitting cloud and sea. Poseidon lifted his trident and caught it, the lightning dancing across saltwater veins before he hurled it aside. It detonated miles away, a sun blooming over the horizon.

Ares followed, leaping from cloud to wave, blade drawn. "Brother or beast, it matters not—your blood will feed the sea!"

Poseidon met him head-on. Trident clashed with war-blade, sparks hissing in salt spray. Each strike shattered the air, waves bursting hundreds of feet high.

Athena descended next, her shield blazing, spear driving toward Poseidon's chest. He twisted, seafoam surging to deflect, but she struck his side—blood the color of the deep spilled, staining the water.

Hades did not charge. He simply stood, helm vanishing as shadows poured from his hands, binding the waves themselves in chains of night. "Return to the abyss, brother. You are not welcome here."

Poseidon bared his teeth, eyes glowing abyssal blue. "I am the abyss."

The ocean convulsed. Waves roared, not away from Poseidon, but toward him, gathering, swelling, forming walls of water that rose higher than Olympus's marble towers. He thrust his trident, and the walls collapsed outward, smashing into the gods.

Zeus's lightning burned through one, Ares cut through another, Athena darted between with precision. But still the waves came, endless, unbroken, like the heartbeat of something greater.

Mortals on shore fell to their knees as sea and sky became indistinguishable—storm, shadow, flame, and tide all colliding in a chaos that blotted out the moon.

Poseidon's laughter shook the world. "Strike me, brothers and sisters! Every blow you deal, every drop of my blood spilled, returns to the sea—and the sea is endless!"

But even as he roared, he felt it.

A pull.

A whisper.

The abyss behind the cracks was widening. And Thalorin's voice pressed harder.

Drown them. Drown Olympus. Open the gate.

Poseidon's grip tightened. His trident quaked with power enough to split continents.

And yet, he hesitated.

Not out of mercy. Not out of weakness. But because deep within the sea of his heart, a single fragment of Dominic still lingered. A voice not of abyss, nor of god, but of mortal.

If you open it fully, there is no return.

Zeus raised his hand again, lightning spiraling, preparing the bolt that had felled titans. Athena and Ares circled, shields gleaming, blades thirsty. Hades whispered in the dark tongue, shadows binding the waves tighter.

Poseidon stood at the center, trident blazing, abyss yawning open behind him.

One choice.

Drown the world.

Or hold it back.

For the first time since his return, the god of the sea wavered.

And in that heartbeat of hesitation, Olympus struck as one.

Lightning, shadow, flame, and steel fell upon him together—enough to kill any god, enough to bind any titan.

The ocean screamed.