Chapter 313: You God’s offended me
The battlefield smelled of brine and blood.
For days, the sea had been restless, whipped into a frenzy by Poseidon’s will. Storm clouds rolled endlessly across the horizon, lightning clawing the heavens, while the waves themselves seemed to chant his name in a thousand crashing voices. The war of gods was no longer a distant whisper—it was here, at the edge of the mortal realm, where divinity split the world open.
Poseidon stood in the heart of it, bare feet pressed against wet stone, trident gripped loosely in his hand. Around him, the air quivered like a bowstring drawn too tight. His ocean-blue eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the rage of the storm above, but beneath that fury was something colder—resolve.
The chains of the Pantheon would break today.
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The Challenge of Chains
Three figures stepped through the mist ahead of him. Not mortals. Not lesser spirits. But gods.
The first was Zephyros, God of Sky and Judgment, his wings a storm of feathers that sparked with lightning. His voice carried thunder.
The second was Nymera, Goddess of Shadows, her form dissolving and reforming with each step, as though she were stitched from the void itself.
And the last was Seraphin, Goddess of Flame, whose very breath scorched the rain before it touched her skin.
Together, they radiated the crushing aura of Olympus itself.
"Poseidon," Zephyros boomed, eyes hard as stone. "You have stepped beyond your place. You drown cities. You tear harbors apart. You would tilt the balance of the world into your abyss. The Council decrees your end."
Poseidon tilted his head slightly. The storm above responded, lightning splintering across the heavens like a crack in glass. His voice, calm yet vast, answered:
"My place? The sea has no place. It claims. It yields. It devours. And I—" He lifted his trident, water curling around it like serpents. "—am the sea."
Nymera’s laugh slithered out, sharp as a knife drawn in darkness. "Then drown, god-king. Drown in your own arrogance."
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The Battle Ignites
The three gods struck first.
Zephyros hurled a storm of spears made of lightning, each bolt sharp enough to cleave a mountain. Seraphin followed, her hands unleashing a torrent of white fire that burned hotter than the sun itself. Nymera melted into shadow, reappearing at Poseidon’s flank, her daggers dripping with poison carved from starless nights.
But Poseidon was not mortal prey.
He slammed his trident into the earth. The ocean answered instantly—towering walls of water rose behind him and surged forward. Lightning struck the tide and spread, but the sea bent it away, redirecting the storm back into the sky. Fire hissed against waves, swallowed whole before it could touch him. And when Nymera’s blade found his side—she discovered not flesh, but a shield of condensed pressure, water hardened until it was like steel.
With a twist of his weapon, Poseidon’s counterattack came.
A whirlpool tore open at his feet, spiraling outward. The stone beneath cracked as though the sea itself had chosen to reclaim the land. Zephyros was driven back by the surge, wings buffeted by winds not his own. Seraphin’s flames sputtered as saltwater wrapped around her ankles, dragging her lower. Nymera slipped into shadow again, but her escape was narrower, her form unraveling under the weight of his tide.
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Voices in the Deep
For a heartbeat, the battlefield stilled.
And then Poseidon heard it.
A voice beneath the roar of the ocean. Ancient. Hollow. Unforgiving.
Break them. Break the chains.
It was not his own will alone anymore—it was Thalorin, the abyssal king within him, stirring like a leviathan in the deep. The hunger of the abyss pressed against his veins, urging him to go further, to end them not as warriors, but as sacrifices.
Poseidon’s jaw tightened. For years, he had fought to master that voice, to remain himself. But here, as three gods bore down upon him, he realized something bitter—he needed it.
The sea swelled around him, a visible manifestation of his divided soul. Half Poseidon, half something darker, older.
The gods faltered at the sight.
"Now you see," Poseidon growled, his voice layered with the resonance of another. "I am not your vessel. I am not your chained relic. I am storm. I am tide. I am abyss."
He raised his trident high, and the sea rose with it.
A wall of water hundreds of feet tall loomed, blotting out the horizon. Lightning danced within it, fire hissed upon its surface, shadows bled into its depths. And then, with one downward motion, Poseidon brought it crashing forward.
Zephyros braced, wings spread, but the storm crushed him into the ground, feathers torn and sparking. Seraphin screamed as her flames sputtered out, her form nearly swallowed whole by the tide. Nymera barely reformed, only to find herself dragged into the whirlpool, her shadow-self unraveling against the pressure of the deep.
The earth shook as the sea reclaimed it.
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Resistance
Yet they were gods still.
From beneath the torrent, Zephyros rose again, bloodied but blazing, his voice cutting through the storm. "You are no king—you are a calamity!" He thrust his blade of lightning, striking Poseidon square in the chest.
Pain lanced through him, his body convulsing as the sky’s wrath pierced his heart.
At the same time, Seraphin roared, her body igniting with pure solar fire, burning the very rain from the air. The flames spread like wings, striking Poseidon’s back, searing his flesh.
And Nymera, from within his shadow, whispered curses that wormed into his blood, attempting to still the pulse of the ocean within him.
Poseidon staggered. Blood mixed with seawater at his feet. For the first time in centuries, the gods felt him weaken.
But his eyes—his eyes did not dim.
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The Breaking Point
He straightened, steam rising from his wounds, trident dragging against the stone with a shriek.
"You think you bleed me?" Poseidon’s lips curled in a grim smile. "I am the ocean. I bleed, and the sea drinks it. I fall, and the tide rises higher. I drown, and the abyss opens."
The storm intensified, beyond anything mortal or divine. Ships sank miles away from the battlefield, mountainsides cracked from the pressure of his will, and the sea screamed like a living beast.
With a roar that shook Olympus itself, Poseidon unleashed his full might.
The whirlpool expanded, swallowing the land beneath their feet. Lightning bent sideways, forced into spiral arcs. Fire smothered itself in the suffocating depths. Shadows scattered like torn veils.
The three gods were hurled back, battered, broken, yet clinging to life.
And Poseidon stood alone in the eye of the maelstrom, chest heaving, trident raised.
When the waves finally receded, the battlefield was unrecognizable. The coastline had been redrawn. Villages along the shore lay in ruins. Mortal eyes who had dared to witness would never forget—the sea itself had fought gods, and it had not lost.
Zephyros knelt, wings broken. Seraphin coughed blood, her flames dimmed. Nymera clutched her shredded form, eyes black with hatred.
And Poseidon?
He still stood. Bloodied, scarred, but unyielding. The abyss inside him throbbed louder, hungrier, but for now, it was leashed.
"You chained me once," he said, voice cold as the deep. "Never again."
The storm overhead rumbled in agreement.