Chapter 322: Zeus vs poseidon (Brother,” Zeus thundered)
The sky was not supposed to look like this.
The heavens above Olympus were split into two halves—one side writhing with thunderclouds, lightning roaring through them like veins of molten fire; the other trembling with the surging rise of the sea, walls of water coiling upward into the air as though Poseidon had dragged the ocean itself into the skies.
At the heart of it, two figures faced one another.
Zeus—the All-Father, King of Olympus—his aura burning with divine lightning, every spark across his body singing of judgment. His eyes glowed with molten gold, and in his grip was the weapon feared even by immortals: the Master Bolt, a spear of thunder capable of reducing empires to ash.
And before him stood Poseidon.
No longer merely a vessel. No longer whispered as a boy who stumbled into godhood. He stood now as a storm given form, the sea crashing inside his veins. His trident shone with abyssal light, its tips dripping with brine that hissed whenever it touched the sky. His chest rose and fell heavily—already bearing the scars of battles past, already carrying wounds that throbbed beneath his armor. But his gaze... his gaze did not falter.
"Brother," Zeus thundered, his voice loud enough to rattle the bones of Olympus itself. "You trespass where you do not belong. You bring the sea against the sky. You forget your place."
Poseidon’s lips curled into a grim smile. "No, Zeus. I have not forgotten. I have remembered. For too long, I was drowned, buried, chained in silence while you and your council played gods of order. But the sea... the sea does not forget. It rises when it must."
The clouds snarled with lightning. The waters behind Poseidon rose higher, bending, forming colossal serpents of foam and brine that twisted around him like guardians.
Zeus’s knuckles tightened around the Master Bolt. "Then you rise only to fall again."
And then the heavens shattered.
The first strike came not from trident or bolt but from the sky itself. Zeus raised his hand and brought it down, and the clouds obeyed—lances of lightning a thousand strong rained upon Poseidon. Each one should have reduced him to nothing more than ash.
But the sea answered. Poseidon’s trident slammed into the clouds, and from its three points, a tidal roar exploded outward. The lightning struck the water—but instead of annihilation, the power bent. It twisted, redirected, exploding harmlessly into the sea-serpents coiling at his side.
One serpent shattered into foam. The other two struck back, launching themselves at Zeus like watery titans.
Zeus’s laughter boomed across the heavens. "Childish tricks."
He swung the Master Bolt. The first serpent split apart instantly, cleaved down its watery spine. The second wrapped around his torso, constricting like a leviathan’s coil.
"Fall," Poseidon commanded, his voice layered with the abyss.
The serpent tightened.
For a heartbeat, it seemed Zeus himself might be dragged down by the weight of the oceans. But then—
"ENOUGH!"
The Master Bolt erupted with light. The serpent evaporated into steam, boiling into the sky. Zeus tore free, his cloak of storm-wind blazing. His eyes met Poseidon’s, sharp and merciless.
"You would raise the seas against the king of the skies? Then drown in your own hubris!"
---
The second clash shook Olympus.
Poseidon hurled his trident, and the weapon became a spear of tidal force, carving the heavens open as it flew. Zeus answered with the Master Bolt, lightning colliding with ocean in a detonation that blinded even the watching gods below.
The shockwave ripped the sky apart. Clouds disintegrated. Stars flickered. Mountains trembled. Mortals far below clutched their chests as storms ravaged their shores, their crops, their temples.
When the light cleared, both gods staggered.
Poseidon’s shoulder smoked, charred black where lightning had kissed him. His breath was ragged, saltwater spilling from his wounds like blood. Still, he stood.
Zeus’s left arm bled faint golden ichor, burned where the trident had struck him. His grin was savage. "You wound me, brother. Few can claim that. But it will be the last thing you ever achieve."
Zeus descended like a storm incarnate. His blows were relentless, the Master Bolt flashing again and again, each strike shaking Olympus. Poseidon parried with his trident, but each clash drove him back further. His strength was the sea, endless yet surging in tides—but tides, no matter how mighty, could not resist the storm forever.
Poseidon roared, summoning a wave so vast it towered above Olympus itself. It came crashing down, an ocean in the sky.
Zeus lifted his hand. "BEGONE!"
The Master Bolt struck.
The wave split in two. Steam hissed across the battlefield as the ocean boiled away, rain pouring over Olympus in sheets of burning salt.
Poseidon staggered. His body smoked. His arms shook.
Zeus advanced. "You cannot win."
Poseidon spat blood, the sea within him still roaring. "The sea... does not seek to win. It seeks to endure."
But endurance was breaking.
Zeus’s next strike tore through Poseidon’s chest. The trident flew from his hands, spinning into the void. Poseidon crashed to one knee, seawater gushing from the wound as though his very body was the ocean itself, spilling free.
---
The Killing Blow
Zeus raised the Master Bolt high. The air screamed with its power, lightning wrapping around it in blinding arcs. "Goodbye, brother. The age of Poseidon ends tonight."
Poseidon looked up at him. His eyes, still glowing with the abyss, held not fear, but defiance. "Strike me down, and you will only wake what sleeps deeper than either of us."
Zeus did not listen.
The Master Bolt descended.
Lightning swallowed Poseidon whole.
The heavens went silent.
But when the light faded, Poseidon was gone.
Only shattered seawater remained where he had knelt, his form dissolved into mist and tide.
Zeus snarled, thunder rippling from his chest. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for the presence he had obliterated. But all he found was the whisper of the sea.
And then, from the mist, a voice carried—low, defiant, eternal.
"Watch for me, Zeus. Watch the horizon. The tide always returns."
The mist collapsed into the sea below. The waters rippled once... then stilled.
Poseidon was gone.
Zeus hovered above Olympus, fury radiating from his form. His arm bled, his chest ached, his pride stung. He had nearly killed Poseidon—but nearly was not enough.
The gods who had watched from afar whispered in dread. "He escaped."
"Even Zeus could not finish him."
"The drowned god... endures."
Zeus clenched the Master Bolt, lightning screaming in his grip. "Let him crawl away, broken. Let him lick his wounds. The next time he rises, I will end him utterly."
But deep within the oceans, far from Olympus, Poseidon’s battered body reformed from the waves. He collapsed into the depths, broken, bleeding, barely breathing. His chest burned with Zeus’s lightning. His trident drifted beside him, cracked but not destroyed.
And even as darkness closed in, his lips curved into a faint, grim smile.
For though he had been beaten—though Olympus had nearly ended him—he had survived.
And survival was enough.
The sea does not forget.
And Poseidon would rise again.