Reincarnated As Poseidon

The skies above Olympus bled with fractured light. Where once the heavens were serene and eternal, cracks now spiderwebbed across the very firmament, as if reality itself had grown brittle beneath the weight of the sea god's defiance.

Thunder rolled. Not Zeus's thunder. Something deeper. Something older.

Poseidon stood upon the marble steps of Olympus, drenched not in rain but in seawater that clung to him like a living mantle. The waves that had carried him here still lapped against the steps, each surge climbing higher, as though Olympus itself were being dragged into his domain.

His trident gleamed, droplets hissing where they touched divine marble. His gaze swept the assembly of gods arrayed before him.

They had come armed.

Ares, helm blazing with warlight, his blade exuding the screams of a thousand forgotten battlefields. Athena, calm as ever, her eyes sharpened to a spearhead of logic and precision. Hera, regal and unyielding, her crown glowing with authority that could bend mortals—and even gods—into submission.

And at the heart of them all, Zeus, King of Olympus. His lightning no longer looked like light. It burned black, thunder laced with fury.

"Brother," Zeus growled, his voice shaking the cracked firmament itself. "You dare breach Olympus as though it were your harbor?"

Poseidon did not flinch. "Olympus has floated above the world too long. It is time it remembers the sea beneath its clouds."

Murmurs rippled through the gathered gods. Some stepped back. Others clenched their weapons tighter.

Athena's voice cut like tempered steel. "Poseidon, you are no longer the brother we once knew. You wear another's shadow. You carry the Rift in your veins."

Poseidon tilted his head, sea-water dripping from his hair. "I am not shadow. I am tide. You cannot debate the tide into obedience."

"Then it must be broken," Ares snarled, stepping forward. His sword's edge shimmered with raw violence. "One more corpse beneath Olympus will not stain us further."

Before Zeus could give the command, Ares lunged.

The marble split beneath his charge, sparks flying as his blade cut a path through the air. Poseidon raised his trident casually, meeting the strike with a clang that echoed like two continents colliding. The force flung shards of marble skyward.

Poseidon pushed, and the sea answered. Water erupted from the cracks, flooding the steps and dragging Ares backward, his armor groaning under the pressure.

But Athena was already moving.

A flash of silver—her spear thrust for his heart, guided by unerring calculation. Poseidon twisted, letting the strike pierce through water instead of flesh. With a flick of his trident, the water hardened into a shield of ice, shattering her spear's trajectory.

Athena's eyes narrowed. She did not falter. She struck again. And again. Each thrust was perfect. Each thrust was turned aside.

Hera raised her hand. "Enough!"

Her voice was not thunder, not flame. It was command, pure and absolute. The weight of her authority slammed into Poseidon like chains of gold. For a moment, his knees buckled, the divine command forcing him toward the marble. The gods gasped—Hera's dominion was supreme in Olympus. None could resist it.

But the sea did not kneel.

The water roared upward, lifting Poseidon on a throne of waves. He rose above Hera's power, his eyes burning like stormlight.

"You think Olympus crowns you queen," Poseidon said, his voice rising with the tide. "But crowns rust in salt."

The chains shattered. Hera staggered back, pale with disbelief.

And then Zeus moved.

The sky itself darkened, splitting open as his bolt gathered. Black lightning, pure annihilation. He raised his hand, and the air screamed as the bolt descended.

Poseidon raised his trident.

The two forces met.

Sea against storm. Tide against sky. Brother against brother.

The explosion ripped through Olympus. Towers shattered, statues crumbled, and the very mountain groaned as if it would collapse. Gods shielded their faces from the blinding surge. Mortals below, in distant valleys, saw only the sky tear apart and felt the earth quake beneath their feet.

When the smoke cleared, Poseidon still stood. Steam rose from his body, his trident glowing with stolen lightning.

Zeus's eyes narrowed. "So it is true. You are no longer only Poseidon. You are something worse."

Poseidon's voice rolled like distant waves crashing upon unseen shores. "I am the depth you forgot existed. The depth you sealed away."

Ares roared, dragging himself free of the waves. Athena circled, eyes unblinking, spear poised for another strike. Hera gathered her authority once more, her presence swelling like a crown reforged.

But Poseidon did not retreat. His power only surged, the sea pressing harder against Olympus, creeping into every crack, every corridor, every hidden chamber of the mountain.

The gods of Olympus stood united.

Poseidon stood alone.

And yet, the tide did not falter.

The battle for Olympus had begun.

The sky over the Aegeon Rift was no longer a sky.

It was an ocean turned inside-out.

Clouds were drowned beneath swells of black water that rose above the heavens, defying gravity, curling like colossal waves in the firmament. Lightning crackled through the deep, not as bolts but as luminous veins coursing through the body of a leviathan storm.

And at its heart, he stood.

Poseidon.

No longer hidden behind the name of Dominic. No longer a vessel in conflict. He was the tide itself, the pulse of the abyss.

His trident burned with light stolen from stars, each thrust sending shockwaves through sea and sky alike. Beneath him, islands shattered under the pressure of his presence, their cliffs breaking like glass. Mortals far below fell to their knees—not from worship, but from inevitability.

For tonight, the ocean did not obey the moon. It obeyed him.

The Gathering of Suns

But Poseidon was not alone.

Three gods had descended upon him, each radiating fury that scorched the horizon.

Zephyros, the Sky-Judge, wings vast enough to blot out stars, hurled down spears of stormlight. His voice carried like thunder, every word a decree.

"You trespass against Olympus itself! You bring madness into ordered seas. Your reign ends now!"

Beside him, Seraphin, Goddess of Flame, rose wreathed in a mantle of sunfire. Her hair streamed in embers, her skin molten-bright, her every breath scorching the air. The seas boiled where her gaze fell.

"Poseidon… drowned god, cursed reborn—your ashes will salt the waves you claim!"

And last, from the shadows of the storm, came Nymera, Goddess of Night and Tides. Once she had whispered warnings, once she had played the role of watcher, but now her cloak of midnight writhed with killing intent. Her eyes were voids that drank even Poseidon's light.

"Brother of the deep…" she murmured, almost mournful. "I should have stopped you before you stirred. Tonight, I end what should never have returned."

Three gods.

Three suns of power burning against his storm.

Poseidon raised his trident, his voice rolling