Chapter 139: Zeus vs Poseidon
The ocean pressed against him like a second skin, surging and whispering with every thought he allowed himself. To the mortals above, the sea was a vast mystery—an endless blue veil hiding secrets. To him, it was breathing, pulsing, alive. Every wave was his will, every tide his command. And yet, beneath the command, there lurked something deeper—something that was not entirely him.
Poseidon stilled himself at the ocean floor. The silence here was ancient, heavy, broken only by the thrum of his heart that was no longer entirely mortal. The seabed trembled faintly, cracks forming where his presence rested.
"You feel it too, don’t you?" The voice was in his mind again—Thalorin’s, cold as abyssal waters, yet threaded with a strange familiarity.
Poseidon exhaled sharply, bubbles rising in streams. "I don’t need your constant whispering."
"You may not need me now... but soon, you will crave me. Already, Olympus stirs. Already, the gods conspire. Without me, you are a lamb in a den of wolves. With me, you are the storm that drowns them."
His jaw tightened. He could feel it—the truth of those words curling like brine in his lungs. Even now, he sensed ripples across the Pantheon. They were watching. Zeus, Athena, Hera... and others whose names were spoken in reverent or fearful hushes. All of them were weighing him, judging if he was man, god, or monster.
But it wasn’t only Olympus that gnawed at him. The mortals he had left behind—his fleeting, fragile past—lingered in memory. The white halls of the hospital, the beeping of machines counting down his borrowed time, the hand of his mother clutching his in silent fear. He had died as Dominic, the boy with leukemia. He lived now as Poseidon, vessel and god. But what truly separated them?
The water shifted. A presence approached.
He turned—and saw not a monster, nor a god, but a mortal. A fisherman’s boat had drifted far above, and the man had slipped overboard. He thrashed, lungs desperate, bubbles fleeing his mouth in panicked bursts.
Poseidon could have ignored him. Mortals drowned every day, their lives no more to the gods than sparks against the void. Yet, something in him stirred. Not Thalorin, but Dominic—the boy who once fought against death and lost.
With a gesture, the ocean cradled the man, holding him afloat. Another gesture, and he was pushed gently back toward his boat, coughing but alive.
The mortal would never know the truth of who saved him. To him, it would be luck, chance, perhaps a miracle whispered over drinks in a coastal tavern.
But to Poseidon, it was a reminder. He was not wholly gone.
"Pathetic," Thalorin hissed. "You waste your divinity on insects. That man would have forgotten you in a heartbeat. Do you think Olympus will spare you because you show mercy? No. They will come for you, blade and lightning in hand. And when they do, it will not be your compassion that saves you."
"Perhaps not," Poseidon murmured, rising through the water toward the surface. His eyes reflected storms that had yet to break. "But I decide what makes me god—or monster. Not you."
For the briefest moment, silence stretched between them. Then, laughter—low, terrible, echoing like thunder rolling in the deep.
"You truly believe you are the master here? You will learn, Poseidon. Either by your choice... or by mine."
As he broke the surface, the storm answered, clouds gathering with unnatural speed. Lightning forked across the sky. And for the first time, he felt Olympus not just watching—but preparing.
Preparing for war.
The sea was no longer silent.
Dominic—no, Poseidon—stood waist-deep in the foaming waters of his domain, the waves curling around him like serpents awaiting his command. For hours, perhaps days, he had been training, pushing his power further, deeper, into the marrow of the ocean’s soul. Each surge of water bent to his call, each current trembled with his will. But for all the mastery he was gaining, for every storm he summoned, the shadow of Thalorin lingered—whispering, watching, waiting.
His trident rested in his grip, faintly glowing with cyan fire. He thrust it downward into the waves. A whirlpool opened instantly, swallowing a school of fish into its spiral before he willed it shut with a snap of thought.
"Control," he muttered. His voice echoed across the open sea. "Every surge... every tide. It must answer only to me."
The ocean obeyed, yet there was something hollow in that obedience. Dominic felt it. It was as though the waves remembered that they belonged not to a mortal boy-turned-god, but to something older, darker.
"Impressive," a voice said suddenly.
Poseidon spun, the trident glowing brighter. From the mist that rose off the waves, a figure emerged—tall, cloaked in sapphire-blue garments that shimmered like salt spray under the sun. His hair cascaded in silver, his eyes deep as the ocean trench. It was Nereus, the ancient Old Man of the Sea, prophet and shapeshifter, father of the Nereids.
Poseidon lowered his trident slightly but did not relax. "You’ve been watching me."
"Since the moment you set foot in these waters," Nereus said, his voice carrying both warmth and warning. "The sea tells me of its masters. You are young, reckless, untempered. Yet..." He tilted his head. "You carry the weight of two beings in one body. That has never happened before."
Poseidon’s jaw tightened. "You mean Dominic and Thalorin."
Nereus chuckled. "Names are like waves—they come and go. What matters is essence. And yours is conflicted. You are learning to bend the waters, but soon, boy, you must ask yourself: do the waters bend to you, or to the one inside you?"
A coldness rippled down Poseidon’s spine. He hated that Nereus spoke truths he didn’t want to hear.
"And if I refuse to listen to Thalorin?" Poseidon asked, eyes narrowing.
"Then the gods will destroy you," Nereus answered without hesitation. His silver eyes gleamed with pity. "They are already stirring. On Olympus, they debate your fate. Some call you a threat, others a weapon. None call you kin."
Poseidon clenched the trident harder. He had imagined this. Zeus, Hera, Athena—none of them would simply welcome him. Not when they sensed Thalorin’s presence.
"I don’t need their acceptance," he growled.
"But you do need allies," Nereus countered smoothly. He stepped closer, the waters parting around him as though afraid to touch his skin. "The sea is vast, yet its currents are many. Not all of us bow to Olympus. Some... may bow to you, if you prove worthy."
Poseidon’s head snapped up. "And you? Will you bow?"
Nereus smiled faintly, as though Poseidon had asked a child’s question. "I am too old to bow, boy. But I will watch. And when the tide of war comes, I will see which current you choose to ride."
Before Poseidon could answer, Nereus dissolved into mist, leaving only the taste of salt and prophecy behind.
---
Hours later, Poseidon drifted back toward the cliffs of the mortal coast. He had withdrawn the sea around him, walking upon bare stone, his trident dragging a groove into the rock. Dominic’s thoughts pressed harder than ever.
Nereus was right. They’ll never see you as Poseidon. To them, you’re just a boy carrying a monster. If you don’t act first, they’ll strike you down.
Dominic shook his head. "No. I won’t be their pawn. And I won’t be Thalorin’s vessel either. This power—it’s mine."
But even as he spoke, a new unease churned within him. A storm gathered on the horizon. Not one of his making.
The skies blackened unnaturally fast, and the sea began to thrash, not obeying his command but resisting it. He felt it instantly—this was no mortal storm. It was divine.
Lightning cracked the heavens, and in the flash of blinding light, a chariot descended from the clouds, pulled by winged horses made of fire and storm. At its helm stood Zeus himself, clad in bronze, his thunderbolt raised like the spear of judgment.
Poseidon froze. His brother’s presence was overwhelming. The air itself seemed to kneel before Zeus’s will.
"POSEIDON," Zeus thundered, though his gaze was locked not on Dominic, but through him—into him. "Or should I say, vessel of Thalorin?"
The words hit like a hammer. Dominic’s grip on the trident tightened, but he stood his ground.
"I am no vessel," he shouted back, his voice almost lost in the storm. "I am Poseidon reborn!"
Zeus’s expression hardened. "Do not mock me, boy. The ocean whispers your truth. You are tainted. And Olympus cannot—will not—allow such danger to rise unchecked."
Lightning sparked along the storm clouds, framing Zeus like a god of judgment.
Poseidon lifted his trident defiantly. The waves surged behind him, towering like walls of blue steel. "If you mean to strike me down, brother, then come and try."
For a moment, silence. Just the thunder growling between them. Then Zeus’s lips curled in something between a sneer and a grimace.
"So be it."
The sky exploded.
---
The first strike came like the fist of heaven. Zeus hurled his thunderbolt downward, splitting the ocean in half. Poseidon braced, thrusting his trident into the ground. A dome of water rose to meet the lightning, absorbing some of its force, but the shock still sent him sprawling across the jagged rocks.
He forced himself up, coughing seawater, the taste of ozone sharp on his tongue. His arms trembled, his chest burned—but he refused to kneel.
"You won’t kill me that easily," he snarled.
Zeus’s eyes glowed like molten gold. "I won’t need to. The storm will do it for me."
Another strike, another clash—this time Poseidon countered with a sweeping arc of his trident. A tsunami roared upward, colliding with the lightning in a flash of steam and fire. The force of it shook the coastline, splintering cliffs and hurling ships in the distance into chaos.
The battle of sea and sky had begun.
Poseidon fought with everything he had. Every motion of his trident summoned waves like mountains, currents that dragged
The sea bed
Poseidon’s eyes glowed, not from rage, but restraint. "You came alone?" His voice echoed across the trench.
Zeus tilted his head, studying him as one would study a beast caged too long. "Would you prefer Olympus itself? Do not mistake this as mercy, brother. It is warning."
The sea around Poseidon pulsed. Sharks swirled in the distance, their instincts roused by the charge of godly tension. A leviathan’s silhouette shifted far below, restless, sensing battle.
He stepped forward, the seabed cracking beneath his bare feet. "Then say your warning, Zeus. Speak it and be gone."