Reincarnated As Poseidon

The sea shuddered.

Thaleon loosed his first arrow, and the horizon screamed as the bolt of wind shot forward, faster than sound. Poseidon swung his trident, splitting the water before him into a dome. The arrow slammed into the shield, detonating with the force of a hurricane. Waves heaved hundreds of feet into the air.

Before the spray fell, Myrrha's chains lashed outward. Dozens, hundreds, each one glowing with divine runes. They wrapped the air like living vipers, striking from every direction.

Poseidon's eyes flashed. The water rose at his command, turning into serpents of its own—massive coils of brine that smashed against the chains. Where iron met sea, explosions of steam shook the battlefield.

But Kaelith was not idle. He raised his hands, and the constellations overhead bled downward. Threads of starlight carved into the ocean, branding the water with burning sigils. The very tide around Poseidon hissed, resisting his control.

For the first time in this battle, the sea fought against him.

Poseidon's teeth bared. His voice rumbled like tectonic plates grinding beneath the sea.

"You dare turn my waters against me?"

He drove his trident into the surface. The ocean screamed. Waves warped outward in all directions, knocking the chains back, scattering the arrows, dimming the starlight. The pillars of water he had raised earlier collapsed into a raging maelstrom, dragging everything into its spiral.

Thaleon leapt into the air, riding the wind to escape. Myrrha dug her chains into the surface, anchoring herself against the pull. Kaelith hovered above, constellations blazing brighter to counter the pull.

Poseidon rose with the tide. The maelstrom parted for him, crown of water forming over his head.

"You do not fight the sea," he declared. "You drown in it."

Thaleon fired again. This time, the arrow split into a thousand, each one trailing a ribbon of wind. They curved through the storm like predators, homing in on Poseidon's chest.

Poseidon raised his hand, and the sea answered. A wall of water surged upward, swallowing the arrows. For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then the water erupted.

The arrows had split again, piercing through the tide. Poseidon staggered as dozens buried into his shoulder, chest, and thigh—not fatal, but painful. His blood spilled, mingling with the ocean.

The sea roared in outrage. His blood was not mortal. It was the abyss itself.

Every drop that hit the water became a rift, and from those rifts rose arms of liquid shadow, grasping for Thaleon. He barely dodged, his feathers shredded by the sudden onslaught.

Myrrha chose her moment. Her chains snapped taut, glowing brighter than before. She hurled them at Poseidon, and this time, they didn't aim to bind his body—they aimed for his soul. The runes carved directly into his aura, seeking to sever him from the ocean.

Poseidon roared, muscles straining as he tore at the bindings. But they were relentless, worming through cracks in his power.

"You cannot chain the sea," he growled.

"Everything breaks," Myrrha hissed, "even oceans."

For a moment, Poseidon felt it—the pull, the attempt to cage him once more. Like the Rift. Like the centuries of imprisonment he had endured. Fury ignited in his chest.

The sea convulsed. He tore the chains apart, shattering their sigils with brute force. The backlash flung Myrrha backward, her arms smoking where the links had been ripped from her flesh.

---

The Star God Descends

Kaelith moved.

The sky darkened as constellations collapsed inward. He raised his hands, and a single star detached from the heavens, descending as a spear of burning white. It pierced the storm, splitting the ocean open for miles.

Poseidon's eyes widened. Even he could feel it—that power was not divine. It was primordial, stolen from the fabric of creation itself.

The spear of starlight fell toward him.

He caught it.

The impact blasted the sea flat for leagues. Waves died. Wind ceased. For a breath, there was only blinding light and Poseidon's silhouette, trident crossed against the falling star.

Then the light broke.

Poseidon staggered, one knee hitting the glassy surface. His trident steamed, glowing red-hot where it had blocked the star. His chest heaved. His skin was scorched.

But he lived.

He smiled.

"Is that all Olympus has left to throw?"

The gods regrouped, circling him once more. Thaleon nocked another arrow, Myrrha summoned new chains from her bleeding arms, Kaelith's eyes still blazed with collapsing constellations.

But something shifted.

The sea itself began to boil. The water no longer moved in waves, no longer obeyed gravity. It spun in unnatural patterns, spirals and fractures, currents reversing in heartbeats. The ocean wasn't just alive.

It was aware.

Poseidon rose, his voice carrying across sky and sea alike.

"You have forgotten who I am. I am not a god bound by your council's decrees. I am the abyss, the tide, the hunger in your blood. And I will not rest until your crowns lie shattered beneath my waves."

The ocean erupted.

Tidal arms the size of mountains smashed upward, sweeping across the battlefield. Thaleon's arrows were ripped apart midair. Myrrha's chains were drowned in surging brine. Kaelith himself was forced back, his constellations dimming as the sea devoured the light.

The tide had chosen.

And it did not choose the gods.

The sea was quiet. Too quiet.

Beneath the broken cliffs and drowned ruins, the water held its breath. No gulls circled. No wind stirred. Only the deep, steady thrum of power pulsed beneath the surface like a hidden heartbeat.

Poseidon floated in the abyss, his body still, his aura pressing outward in silent command. Around him, the remains of shattered temples and sunken towers drifted like toys in a basin. He had crushed gods before, but this silence—the moment after violence—was heavier than steel.

His eyes glowed faint blue in the dark waters. The glow was not light but presence, as though the ocean itself poured outward from him. His chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. With each exhale, the sea shifted, as if bending to the rhythm of his lungs.