Reincarnated As Poseidon

The battlefield was already broken.

Islands that had stood for millennia now floated in shattered fragments, dragged into whirlpools so deep that even light dared not follow. The sea itself groaned as though alive, shifting under the weight of something vast beneath.

And at the center of it all stood Poseidon.

His trident glimmered with an otherworldly resonance, veins of sapphire light running through its prongs as if the ocean itself had bled into the weapon. Around him, the air was heavy, thick with salt and storm.

But this was no longer only his battle.

The Abyss beneath the world—that sealed wound where Thalorin's remnants had once been bound—was opening.

Poseidon felt it before any god could see it. The pulse. A beat deep below, like the heart of something buried in chains.

It is not me this time, he thought grimly. The abyss calls on its own.

The three gods who had opposed him—Zephyros the Sky-Judge, Seraphin the Flame-Goddess, and Nymera of the Shadows—halted their assault at once. Even they felt it. Their eyes snapped downward, toward the trembling sea.

"What have you done, Poseidon?" Zephyros growled, wings stretching wide, thunder crackling from his palms.

Poseidon's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Not I. The earth remembers what you buried. The ocean only answers."

Seraphin's flames flared wildly, sputtering in the sudden rise of pressure. "Lies. This is your corruption. You've awakened it."

Nymera's shadow form flickered like torn silk. She said nothing, but her gaze stayed locked on the sea. She knew.

The abyss cracked further.

A sound like screaming stone tore through the ocean floor. Great spirals of water shot upward, geysers that clawed at the sky, blotting out moonlight. Mortals on distant shores fell to their knees as tidal waves rose in answer.

---

The Voice of the Deep

Then came the voice.

Not words. Not truly. A vibration, an echo that drowned thought. It resonated inside skulls, hearts, and bones. Even the gods faltered under it.

Poseidon stood firm.

"Do you feel it?" His voice carried over the crashing waves. "The abyss does not need my hand. It remembers the chains. It remembers your betrayal."

Zephyros snarled, lightning sparking violently. "Enough of your riddles!" He hurled a bolt so vast it split the clouds.

Poseidon raised his trident, and the sea obeyed. A wall of water surged upward, swallowing the thunder whole, leaving only steam and foam.

The battle resumed.

---

Clash of Divinity

Seraphin swept in next, flames spiraling around her like a dying star. "Burn, drowned god!" she roared, unleashing a torrent that should have evaporated the ocean.

But Poseidon slammed the trident into the waves, and the sea rose higher than her fire could reach. The waters hissed, boiled, and then crashed down, smothering her inferno. She screamed as salt and steam seared her immortal skin.

Nymera struck from behind, shadow tendrils wrapping around Poseidon's chest, seeping into his veins. For a moment, his breath caught. The shadows tried to drown his essence, pulling at Dominic's mortal core beneath.

But Poseidon growled, eyes flashing with abyssal blue. No more chains. He burst outward, the shadows shredding as a tidal aura erupted from him.

Nymera stumbled back, her cloak in tatters. For the first time, fear crossed her face.

"You're no vessel anymore," she whispered. "You are the abyss itself…"

Poseidon advanced, unrelenting.

---

The Abyss Awakens

The ground split.

Far below, the first true tear in the abyss yawned open. Dark water—not the sea, but something older—spewed upward, carrying with it fragments of bone, rusted weapons, and echoes of voices long silenced.

The gods froze.

For centuries, they had sealed that prison. For centuries, they had whispered about what was locked away, never daring to look. And now, it was breathing again.

Poseidon felt it stir, felt the familiar weight pressing against his soul.

Thalorin…

Not gone. Not forgotten. His essence lingered in the abyss like rot beneath polished marble.

But Poseidon did not flinch. "If the abyss rises," he declared, his voice like thunder wrapped in tide, "then it rises with me. Not as your enemy. As your ruler."

Zephyros roared, lightning burning white-hot across the sky. "Over my corpse!"

He dove, spear of judgment crackling with pure skyfire. Poseidon met him head-on, trident clashing with spear. The explosion lit the sea like day, waves scattering for miles.

---

The Mortal View

On the cliffs of distant shores, mortals saw the sea split apart. Vast walls of water rose like mountains, revealing glimpses of the abyss beneath—an endless pit glowing faint blue, as if stars themselves had drowned there.

Fishermen dropped nets and fled. Cities rang their bells, priests wailed their chants. And yet, the sea did not retreat. It advanced, crawling inland, swallowing roads, fields, and temples.

The name passed through every mouth, a prayer and a curse:

"Poseidon."

The battlefield was no longer a place.

It was a paradox, a rift where sky, sea, and stone collided and churned together under the weight of Poseidon's unleashed fury. The ground cracked open into trenches filled with saltwater, while pillars of foam and storm lashed upward into the clouds. Lightning forked, not from the heavens, but from the ocean itself, jagged spears striking gods who dared to fly too close.

Three gods had already fallen beneath the tide. Their divine bodies lay broken upon the drowned plain, their essence leaking into the waves like blood into the current. But the others—those who still stood—had learned. They no longer underestimated the sea reborn.

Zephyros, God of Sky and Judgment, floated high above the chaos, his golden eyes hard with grim resolve. His voice boomed across the field.

"Poseidon! You trespass against Olympus itself! Withdraw, or you will be unmade!"

The words echoed like thunder, but they carried no weight against the man who stood below.

Poseidon stood in the center of the drowned battlefield, his trident raised high. Water swirled around him in a vast spiral, not a storm, but something greater—an entire sea summoned into the palm of his hand. His eyes were fathomless voids of shifting blue, his hair a cascade of water itself. He had stopped being a vessel. He had stopped being mortal. He was Poseidon, and there was no going back.

"Unmade?" His voice was calm, low, carrying over the roar of the waves. "Tell me, Zephyros… can you unmake the sea? Can you silence the tide?"

The spiral of water surged upward, blotting out the sun.

The gods answered not with words, but with fury.