Chapter 334: The Shattering of the Spear of Trium
The skies above Olympus were restless.
Stormlight—something alien to the heavens—broke through the pristine white clouds that had stood unbroken for millennia. Gods gathered in the marble forum, their gazes fixed upon the shifting constellations above. The very stars trembled, moving in patterns not dictated by Zeus nor Apollo, but by something far older, far hungrier.
The Abyssal Fang had been born.
Its echo could be felt even here, in the heart of Olympus. Each god felt it differently. For some, it was a sudden weight pressing against their chests. For others, it was a whisper in the marrow, urging them to kneel. For all, it was unmistakable.
Poseidon’s weapon had awakened.
And it was not of their pantheon.
The Council Gathers
Within the Hall of Twelve, pillars of marble shook under the invisible pressure. The amphitheater-like chamber, usually filled with calm arrogance, was lined with faces pale and tense.
Zeus sat upon his throne of lightning, the storm in his eyes flickering unsteady. Hera’s lips were bloodless, her nails carving crescents into her palms. Athena, ever the strategist, had her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white, though her mind was already racing with impossible calculations.
Aegirion—the sea-born god who had once claimed dominion in Poseidon’s absence—paced restlessly, trident in hand. He alone seemed closest to breaking.
"It is done," he snarled. "The Abyssal Fang exists in the mortal world. The moment its edge bit the sea, I felt it carve through every oath, every boundary the pantheon swore upon. That weapon... it is not simply a tool. It is a verdict."
Hermes leaned against a cracked pillar, his usual smirk gone. "Verdict or executioner’s blade, it doesn’t matter. The Fang belongs to Poseidon. That means the sea itself bends to him without contest."
Apollo’s golden eyes burned with agitation. "This was not foreseen in prophecy. The Moirai spoke of storms, yes. Of drowned cities, yes. But not this. Not... that thing."
The name of the weapon itself was avoided, as though saying it aloud would give it more power. Yet its name clawed through their silence anyway.
Abyssal Fang.
Athena finally stood, her voice a brittle calm. "We must face the truth. The Spear of Trium is no longer possible."
The words were a knife in the throat of every god present.
The Spear of Trium had been their plan, their last and greatest safeguard against Poseidon’s ascension. It was no mere weapon—it was an agreement. A binding convergence of three divine wills, each shard of its creation requiring gods who represented Sky, Flame, and Sea. A balanced trinity capable of piercing even primordial flesh.
But now...
Athena’s gaze swept the room. "The Abyssal Fang devoured its foundation. The sea shard—the keystone that was mine to shape through Aegirion’s hand—has been consumed, reforged into something else. Into his weapon. That means the spear cannot be forged again. Our one means to cage him has been undone."
Hera’s voice broke like glass. "You mean to say... we are defenseless?"
Zeus clenched his fists, lightning rattling his throne. "We are not defenseless. We are gods!"
Yet even his thunder seemed hollow beneath the shadow pressing against Olympus.
Dionysus, usually the first to laugh at fear, sat hunched and silent. He had been drunk when the Fang was born, yet even wine soured on his tongue the moment it entered the world. His eyes, bloodshot but lucid, met theirs.
"You all feel it. Don’t deny it. That weapon... it’s not only divine. It’s something else. Older than us. Wilder than Chaos."
Nymera, goddess of shadows, appeared in the chamber like smoke, though her form wavered under the same pressure the others felt. "He has merged with what we buried," she whispered. "The Abyss we cast down, the hunger we denied. Poseidon did not merely awaken—he claimed it."
The chamber chilled. Gods who had never known the taste of dread now shared the same thought.
Could even Olympus drown?
Aegirion slammed his trident against the marble floor, cracking it. His ocean-blue eyes blazed. "I warned you! When you debated, when you hesitated, when you thought Poseidon could be reasoned with! Now look. He holds a weapon no god can stand against."
Zeus’s glare cut like lightning. "Mind your tongue, pretender of tides."
But Aegirion did not yield. He stepped forward, chest heaving, his trident vibrating as though in sympathy with the sea below. "I was the sea in his absence. I felt every mortal prayer that once belonged to him. And now those prayers have returned to him in torrents. Mortals call him not as ’dominion,’ not as ’god’—they call him as inevitability. That is why the Fang exists. And you—" He pointed toward Zeus, toward Athena, toward the entire hall. "—you underestimated him."
His voice cracked. "Now we pay."
The chamber stirred with whispers.
Some gods murmured of surrender. Others of forging a new alliance with Poseidon. Some even suggested bending the knee outright before the Abyssal Fang was turned against Olympus.
Hera rose sharply, her voice filled with venom. "You would kneel? To him? To a half-born god, a drowned husk now puppeteered by an ancient hunger?"
But Athena, calm and cruel, countered: "Is kneeling not wiser than drowning?"
The forum erupted into shouts. Immortal voices, normally proud and unshakable, cracked with desperation. They argued not like gods, but like mortals on the brink of annihilation.
At last, Zeus raised his hand, thunder rolling through the chamber. Silence fell. Yet unlike before, it was not the silence of awe. It was the silence of fear, of children watching their father bluff against a storm he could not command.
His face was hard, but sweat gleamed upon his brow. "Then hear this. Even if the Spear of Trium is lost, Olympus does not bow. Not to the seas. Not to Abyss. Not to Poseidon."
His voice thundered. His eyes burned. Yet his hands trembled faintly against the arms of his throne.
For the first time in eternity, Zeus sounded less like a king, and more like a man trying to convince himself.
It was Hermes who spoke last, breaking the fragile silence. His tone was quieter, yet cruel in its simplicity.
"You’ve all missed it," he said, stepping from the shadows. "The Fang wasn’t just born. It fed. The drowned city, the prayers of the desperate, the silence that followed—all of it poured into that weapon. And the moment it cut through the sea, it carved away the future we thought we owned."
He looked up at the ceiling of stars, where constellations shifted into patterns none of them recognized.
"The Spear of Trium was never meant to be forged. It was bait. A dream of hope we clung to, while Poseidon and his abyss birthed something greater. Something final."
The words chilled them more than thunder.
If Hermes was right, then the Spear of Trium had been an illusion all along. Their plan to strike Poseidon was not stolen—it had never existed.
The Abyssal Fang was the only truth.
And Poseidon was now inevitable.
The gods of Olympus sat in silence. The skies above dimmed, constellations bending like drowning lights. For the first time since the Age of Chaos, Olympus felt small. Mortal.
Poseidon had risen beyond them.
The Abyssal Fang had sealed it.
And the halls of Olympus—once the beacon of order and eternity—quaked with the quiet truth none wished to say aloud:
The reign of the gods was ending.