Reincarnated As Poseidon

The battlefield still reeked of brine and blood.

The clash against the gods had left the heavens scarred — skies torn open by lightning, seas pulled into whirlpools so vast entire islands vanished within them. Yet amidst that ruin, Poseidon stood unbroken, trident clenched in his hand, his chest rising and falling like a living tide.

The world around him was not silent. It quaked. The ocean roared at his back. Clouds wheeled in fractured spirals. Mortal armies along the coast dared not move; they knelt or fled, unable to comprehend whether what they witnessed was salvation… or damnation.

And above, the heavens began to stir again.

Zephyros, Lord of Sky and Judgment, limped through torn clouds. His once-radiant wings were shredded, feathers slick with his own blood, but his gaze still blazed like suns. His voice thundered across sea and shore:

"This ends, Poseidon. You have gone too far."

From the east, Seraphin rose again, her fire dimmed but not extinguished. Her flames hissed where they touched the storm-slick air, burning even as they bled. "You cannot unmake balance without consequence. Even if we fall, others will rise."

And from the abyssal rift below the waves, Nymera's form emerged once more — shadows congealing into the shape of the goddess, her face pale but resolute. "The pantheon does not yield. Not to you. Not to Thalorin."

At that name, Poseidon's eyes narrowed. The tides recoiled as though struck.

"Thalorin is no master of mine," Poseidon spat, his voice rolling like thunder across an ocean trench. "He was hunger without end. I am will. I am the sea with choice."

He raised his trident, and the waters behind him lifted like the body of a leviathan, towering above ships and shattered cliffs alike.

"You speak of balance as though it is yours to guard," Poseidon continued, his tone dark and cutting. "But the balance you defend is built upon chains. Chains forged by fear of what the sea could become. Chains I will break."

The three gods closed in.

Zephyros struck first. Lightning carved the heavens, a column of white fire descending toward Poseidon. It split the air, searing sight itself.

Poseidon met it head on. His trident slammed against the ground, summoning a surge that rose like a shield of liquid crystal. The lightning tore into the water, splitting it into a thousand gleaming veins — but when the strike ended, Poseidon still stood.

Seraphin followed, hurling spheres of molten flame. They collided with the ocean, vaporizing entire stretches into boiling steam. The world became a furnace of mist and salt. Yet through the white fog, Poseidon's voice rumbled:

"You burn the surface. But the depths are mine."

From the fog came a tidal arm, crashing into Seraphin with the weight of an ocean. Her scream was swallowed by the hiss of extinguished fire as she slammed into the cliffs, molten blood scattering like embers in the rain.

Nymera struck from behind. Her shadows coiled around Poseidon's throat like serpents, pulling him into a realm of void. For a heartbeat, the sea was gone — only silence and endless black.

But Poseidon laughed.

His voice was not echo, but pressure, crushing and endless. "Shadows? You think darkness hides from the deep? The sea is darker than you will ever dream."

The void ruptured. From every corner, pressure surged — the weight of abyssal trenches collapsing Nymera's shadow realm. She reeled back, her cloak of night shredded, eyes wide with pain as brine dripped from her lips.

Along the ruined coastline, mortals trembled. Some fell to their knees, hands pressed to the wet earth in prayer. Others wept, clutching children, unable to know which god would claim the world if they survived.

The Watcher of Tides, his robes shredded, stood atop a fragment of broken seawall. He raised his voice, though saltwater choked him:

"Do you not see? This is no war for balance! This is a birth! The sea is remaking itself!"

The words spread like fire among the survivors. Whispers became cries. Some shouted Poseidon's name with reverence, as though he was savior. Others cursed him, damning him as executioner. The divide widened as quickly as the storm.

And Poseidon heard every word.

Zephyros dove once more, fury burning through his wounds. His sword — carved from skyfire itself — slashed downward. Poseidon caught the blade between the prongs of his trident. For a heartbeat, sea and sky locked.

"You should have stayed in your heavens," Poseidon growled.

"And you should have stayed drowned," Zephyros retorted, golden eyes blazing.

With a roar, Poseidon twisted. His trident snapped the divine sword in half, shards of light scattering like stars torn from the firmament. Zephyros staggered, disbelief etched across his celestial features.

But Poseidon did not stop.

A single surge of his palm unleashed a wave so immense it rose higher than mountains. It crashed down upon the battlefield, swallowing Zephyros whole. The sound shook the heavens, a single note of annihilation.

When the wave receded, Zephyros was gone.

Not dead. But broken. Cast back into the clouds, wings limp, his body vanishing beyond sight.

Seraphin crawled from the rubble of the cliffs, her flames guttering. She raised her hands one last time, summoning a blazing spear of fire. She hurled it with a scream.

Poseidon caught it bare-handed.

The spear sizzled in his grip, flames hissing against saltwater skin. With a flex of his fist, the weapon shattered into sparks, raining harmlessly into the waves.

"Go back to your embers," he said coldly. "The tide has no need for you."

He thrust his trident. The sea surged again, and Seraphin's body was hurled into the distance, swallowed by storm.

Nymera, bloodied but defiant, staggered forward. Her cloak of shadow rippled, trying to mend itself.

"You… cannot… reign," she gasped. "The sea belongs to no one. Not even you."

Poseidon stepped toward her. The ocean parted around him, bowing with every stride.

"You are wrong," he said, voice heavy with the weight of ten thousand tides. "The sea has always belonged to me. You merely forgot."

He raised his trident, and Nymera's scream tore the sky as the ocean closed around her.

When it receded, she too was gone.

Silence fell.

The battlefield, once filled with divine fury, now lay drowned in stillness. Waves lapped against ruined stone. Clouds thinned, revealing pale moonlight trembling across the water's surface.

Poseidon stood alone.

He raised his trident, the ocean answering with a low, resonant hum — not fury, but dominion. The sound spread across sea and land alike, sinking into the bones of every mortal and immortal who still drew breath.

The message was clear:

The sea had chosen its master again.

Far above, in Olympus, the Council of Gods watched. Their faces were pale, their voices hushed.

Three gods had fallen in a single battle. Not slain — but broken. Cast aside as though their divinity meant nothing.

"This cannot be ignored," whispered the goddess of reeds, her hands trembling.

"No," said Aegirion, gaze fixed on Poseidon's figure below. "It cannot."

But unlike the others, his voice carried something else.

Not fear.

As the last echoes of battle faded, Poseidon lowered his trident. The ocean settled, but its eyes — his eyes — never closed.

He knew more would come. Olympus would not forgive this. The gods would not yield their throne easily.

But for the first time since awakening, he did not feel divided. No longer Dominic. No longer Thalorin's whisper.

Only Poseidon.

And the sea itself bent to his will.