Chapter 319: The Tide Turns
Poseidon sat upon a jagged throne of obsidian coral, seawater cascading around him like waterfalls suspended in air. His eyes burned like twin abysses, dark yet glowing with endless depth. Each breath he took caused the seas of the mortal realm to heave and fall, tides rushing in unnatural rhythms that no sailor could predict.
For weeks, the gods had sought to contain him. For weeks, they had hunted him. Yet now, here he was, seated not on his ocean floor, but at Olympus’ gates themselves.
And the gods knew it.
From the Hall of Thunder, Zeus emerged, his form towering, eyes sparking with storms. Behind him followed Hera in robes of molten gold, and Apollo whose bow was already drawn with an arrow of sunfire.
The air snapped with divinity.
"Poseidon," Zeus thundered, his voice shaking the high pillars. "Brother no more. You have forsaken Olympus, and you have taken the forbidden power of Thalorin into yourself. This is your final chance—yield and be bound, or face the fury of the heavens!"
Poseidon rose slowly, each movement rippling the oceans of the mortal world below. Mortals across harbors, coasts, and islands gasped as the tide pulled violently outward. Entire fleets were left stranded in mud. Shorelines stretched naked for miles, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
He raised his trident, and the waters above Olympus responded. Clouds tore apart as a column of sea surged into the heavens, crashing against the divine city like a roaring serpent.
"I do not yield," Poseidon said, his voice calm yet layered with a resonance that belonged to something far older than him. "I claim."
The marble foundations cracked. Olympus shuddered.
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The Mortal Echo
Far below, in the mortal world, sailors clutched their chests as if their hearts had been seized. Priests of every temple, whether they worshipped Zeus, Athena, or Artemis, felt their holy fonts run dry, replaced by saltwater.
In the city once drowned by Poseidon, the Watcher of Tides knelt before the endless lagoon, whispering:
"The abyss walks Olympus. The tide of the old god rises."
Children wept in their sleep, dreaming of deep oceans swallowing the sun.
---
Back to Olympus
Zeus’s lightning clashed with the oceanic surge, exploding into steam and boiling rain that hissed down the marble causeways. Hera raised her hands, weaving divine wards into chains of golden fire, attempting to bind Poseidon’s limbs.
But the sea was not so easily bound. Water does not resist—it flows, it coils, it seeps. The chains wrapped him, only to dissolve as his form blurred into spray before reforming again.
"Your thrones are built on lies!" Poseidon bellowed, slamming his trident down. The earth of Olympus cracked, fissures spilling forth rivers that should not exist in the heavens. "Your balance was purchased by shackling what you feared. By drowning truths in the abyss."
Apollo loosed his arrow. The blazing shaft tore through air and struck Poseidon in the chest. For a heartbeat, the sea god staggered. But instead of blood, a torrent of black water gushed forth, writhing like eels before surging back into his form.
Apollo’s eyes widened. "He heals with the abyss itself."
Hera’s face hardened. "Then we must unmake him entirely."
Zeus raised his thunderbolt high. "Together!"
And the gods of Olympus hurled their might.
---
The Battle Shakes Creation
The clash could be felt across realms.
Mortals on distant shores saw lightning arcs dance across a cloudless sky. Storms broke out where no clouds existed. The seas churned in whirlpools vast enough to swallow islands.
In the Trench Below All, where Thalorin’s whispers were once sealed, something ancient stirred, as if Poseidon’s ascension had unlocked not just his own fury, but the echo of something far worse.
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Poseidon’s Fury
The gods struck as one—thunder, flame, and sun. Olympus itself shook as pillars toppled, statues crumbled, and mountains cracked.
But Poseidon did not retreat. He moved forward.
Every godly strike that landed upon him was absorbed by water, dissipating into mist. His trident glowed with abyssal power as he thrust it toward Zeus, splitting the sky. A column of black ocean surged upward, striking the King of Gods square in the chest, hurling him back into the marble steps of the Hall of Thunder.
Zeus roared in fury.
Hera attempted to flank, golden fire swirling into spears, but Poseidon turned the seawater into walls, each one harder than diamond. They crashed upon her, drenching her divine flames until they sputtered and hissed to ash.
Apollo’s arrows, once able to pierce titans, shattered into sparks as they touched Poseidon’s aura. The god of the sun faltered for the first time, his hands trembling.
And then Poseidon’s voice rolled like an oceanquake.
"You call me vessel. You call me cursed. But I am no shell. I am no drowned king’s echo. I am the abyss reborn in flesh, and Olympus will learn to kneel."
The waters surged, flooding the marble streets of Olympus, pouring through shrines and temples. Divine attendants screamed as their sanctuaries collapsed, golden roofs swallowed in rising tides.
For the first time in eternity, the gods themselves felt fear.
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A Shadow Among the Waves
But as Poseidon pressed forward, another presence stirred.
From the cracks of Olympus, shadows leaked, whispering. Not Nymera’s, not the petty shadow of a goddess, but something colder.
Thalorin.
His voice echoed inside Poseidon’s mind, low and relentless.
"Break them. Drown them. Let Olympus be your tomb and your crown."
Poseidon’s grip on his trident tightened. His jaw clenched. He could feel it—the abyss clawing, pushing, demanding more.
For a heartbeat, his ocean eyes flickered with Dominic’s old sorrow.
But then it was gone.
And only Poseidon remained.
Zeus rose again, blood streaking his divine lips. "Then so be it. Brother or not, you have chosen your grave!"
Hera joined him, her chains reforged, Apollo at her flank. More gods surged in from the distant halls—Athena with her shield blazing, Artemis with arrows of moonlight, Hephaestus wielding molten hammers.
Olympus roared with its defenders.
And Poseidon laughed.
The sea behind him rose higher and higher, until it was no longer waves, but an entire ocean suspended above Olympus, blotting out the false sky.
With a single gesture, he unleashed it.
And Olympus drowned.