Chapter 141: Am I truly a god
The ocean was silent around him, but not in peace—no, it was the silence of something holding its breath, waiting. The vast trenches and coral forests of the sea seemed to bow and bend as Dominic—Poseidon—glided forward, his trident a faint beacon of green-blue light that cut through the eternal dark.
Ever since his awakening, the ocean no longer felt like just water. It was alive. Each current carried whispers, each wave a tremor of voices he had never been able to hear before. They weren’t just sounds; they were memories of the sea itself, fragments of lives drowned, promises broken, secrets hidden in salt. It was overwhelming, but also empowering—his body thrummed with it.
Yet beneath that power, there was a shadow. He could feel Thalorin, the ancient entity fused with his essence. It was like walking beside a reflection that moved on its own. Sometimes it whispered, sometimes it roared, but always it watched.
You still cling to the boy you were, Thalorin’s voice rippled through his mind, deep and resonant, as if the abyss itself spoke. Dominic, whatever you call yourself—you are merely a vessel. My vessel.
Poseidon clenched his trident tighter, his jaw tightening. "No. I am not your vessel. If anything, you’re mine. You may have given me power, but I control it."
The water around him hissed, currents curling like angry snakes. Thalorin chuckled, low and dangerous. We shall see. For now, our goals align. The gods conspire above Olympus, sharpening blades and tongues. They would rather see you chained than crowned. You will need me to face them.
That truth burned more than he wanted to admit. Olympus. He had glimpsed flashes of it earlier—visions carried by the tides, whispers of gods convening in marble halls. He saw Zeus’s thunderstorm eyes, Athena’s calculating calm, Hera’s disdain. They weren’t debating whether he was a threat—they already knew he was. They were deciding how to erase him.
But Dominic—Poseidon—had never been one to let others write his fate. He had been born dying, his mortal life bound to the slow rot of disease, every breath borrowed. Death had been certain. And yet, here he was, alive in ways that mocked mortality itself. He would not bow. Not to Zeus, not to Olympus, not even to Thalorin.
Still, a new weight pressed on him—responsibility. With every pulse of power, he felt the sea’s creatures respond to him. Schools of fish swirled like living shields when he passed. Sharks gave way, tails swaying in reverence. Even the massive whales sang songs that echoed his name. Poseidon. God. Ruler. Savior—or tyrant. The choice would define him.
He rose upward, through forests of kelp that reached like green cathedrals. The water lightened, shifting from black to deep indigo, until the faint shimmer of the surface gleamed above. As he ascended, a disturbance tugged at him—ripples of energy, sharp and unnatural. Not of the sea.
He emerged with a roar of breaking water, his body dripping with divine radiance. The sky stretched wide, clouds heavy, and far to the east, something glowed—a warship, modern, mortal-built, its steel hull plowing through the waves. But it wasn’t the humans that concerned him. It was the energy he felt on board.
Divine. Faint, but unmistakable.
His eyes narrowed. The gods had sent emissaries.
He slid the trident across his palm, letting sparks of ocean-fire crackle across its tips. Lightning forked above, though no storm had been summoned. He could almost smell Olympus in the air—its arrogance carried on the wind.
Do you see now? Thalorin whispered, his voice curling like smoke around Dominic’s thoughts. They move against you already. Will you show them mercy—or will you drown them in the truth of what you are?
Poseidon’s heart pounded. Once, he had been a boy who pitied death. Now he was a god who embodied it. But his humanity still lingered, a tether that anchored him. If he slaughtered indiscriminately, would he not simply become the monster Olympus accused him of being?
And yet... if he hesitated, if he let them see weakness, Zeus would strike harder.
With a surge, he summoned the tide. The sea rose beneath him, a throne of water lifting his body high. His voice carried, booming, not just in sound but in power, resonating across the waves.
"Come out," he commanded. "I know you’re there."
The ship shuddered. Mortals screamed, scrambling, their faces pale with terror as the sea god’s aura pressed down on them. From the deck, three figures stepped forward—hooded, cloaked, their presence heavy. They pulled back their hoods, revealing not mortals but emissaries of Olympus.
The first was Hermes, his sly grin cutting across his face, golden eyes glinting with mischief. "Well, well. The lost one rises. I must say, Poseidon, you look rather... dramatic."
Beside him stood Ares, his bronze armor already glinting with bloodlust, eyes burning like embers. He rested a colossal blade across his shoulder. "I told them you’d be trouble. Should’ve gutted you in your cradle, but alas—mortals are always so sentimental."
The third, however, was unexpected. Hestia. Gentle flame, goddess of hearth and home. Her presence was calm, but her eyes carried sorrow. Unlike the others, she didn’t draw a weapon. She simply looked at him as if seeing through him.
Dominic—Poseidon—tightened his grip on the trident. His muscles coiled, but his voice was steady. "Why are you here?"
"Orders," Hermes replied, tilting his head. "Olympus doesn’t trust you. And with good reason, if the whispers of the sea are true. You’ve changed, little god. You’re not just Poseidon, are you? Something else lurks in your bones."
Thalorin laughed within him. They know. They fear.
Ares spat into the sea. "Enough talking. Let’s test if he bleeds like the rest." He raised his sword, crimson light spilling from it, the promise of slaughter hanging in the air.
But Hestia raised a hand, stopping him. "Wait. This one is... different. He carries both fury and compassion. He is not what Olympus thinks—not yet. Dominic, son of mortality... what do you want? Power? Revenge? Or something else?"
The waves hissed around him, his reflection shivering across the water’s surface. The question cut deeper than any blade.
What did he want?
Once, it had been simple. To live. To escape death. To taste a life stolen from him. But now? Now he stood between gods and mortals, between divinity and shadow. What he chose next would determine everything.
His eyes flared, sea-green fire glowing within. "I want freedom. I want the right to decide my fate. No chains. Not Olympus. Not Thalorin. Not anyone."
The air crackled. Hermes smirked, Ares growled, and Hestia’s sorrow deepened. Above, thunder rumbled—the sound of Zeus listening.
And beneath it all, Thalorin whispered, pleased. Good. Then let us show them what freedom truly means.
The sea surged, and battle loomed.