Chapter 332: Do not mock me.
The council chamber of Olympus had never been so loud.
Gods shouted over one another, voices cracking like thunder, divine weapons slamming against marble, and the sky itself rumbling in sympathy. Lightning forked across the heavens, not from Zeus’s hand, but from the raw chaos rising among the pantheon.
For the first time in an age, order was gone.
"Silence!" Zeus’s voice cracked like a storm rolling over mountains. He stood from his throne, lightning wreathing his arms, his eyes burning like molten suns. "You will all listen, or you will all burn."
The chamber shuddered. Even Hera’s gaze faltered, though her lips were curled in fury. The noise died down into a tense hush.
In the center of the chamber, chained by bonds of white flame, a herald knelt—his lips split, his robes scorched, his body trembling. He had carried news that no god wanted to believe, but none could ignore.
"Hades," the herald rasped. "Lord of the Dead. He has... struck a bargain. With him."
Murmurs broke again, a wave of disbelief crashing through the thrones of Olympus.
"Lies," Hera snapped, though her tone betrayed unease. "My brother would never—"
"He did." Athena’s cold voice cut through, sharper than bronze. She leaned forward, gray eyes glinting with steel. "I can smell the Styx on those words. No herald could conjure that oath unless it was true."
The herald raised his head weakly. "Hades gave Poseidon sanctuary... for a price."
"Impossible," Ares barked, fists curling. "The Lord of the Underworld has no stake in the sea. He would never interfere in our war."
"And yet he has," Apollo countered, his golden bow materializing in his grip. His voice was bitter, low. "You all felt the silence in the Underworld. The dead are no longer bound by the same chains. He has shifted the balance. He has fed the sea with shadows."
A hush fell again as realization spread.
Zeus’s knuckles tightened around the armrest of his throne, cracks spiderwebbing through solid marble. "Betrayal..." he growled, his voice guttural, as if dragged from the bones of the earth. "My brother dares ally himself with the Drowned One? Then he is no brother of mine."
Hera’s lips tightened. "Careful, husband. The Underworld cannot be unseated as easily as you’d like to believe."
Athena spoke again, her tone calm but edged. "If Hades has indeed joined with Poseidon, then Olympus must decide swiftly. To strike down one without the other is folly. To face them together may be doom."
The word doom lingered heavy in the air.
Far from Olympus, Poseidon stood in the abyss. His hair flowed like kelp in the current, his aura dimmed, his chest heaving as though each breath drew oceans into his lungs.
Before him, fragments of his shattered trident drifted through the water like dying stars.
The weapon that had once been his soul, his anchor, his dominion—broken. Shards of divine bronze, each carrying a fragment of his essence, spun slowly downward, glowing faintly as they sank into the trenches below.
His jaw tightened. His fists trembled. Without the trident, his command of the sea was wounded. Not gone—but wounded, as if one of his limbs had been severed.
Behind him, a shadow uncoiled.
"You bleed power, brother of storms," came Hades’s voice, smooth as black marble. The God of the Dead emerged from the dark, his robes shifting like smoke, his helm glinting with pale fire. His gaze swept the broken trident, then settled on Poseidon’s stern face. "But wounds are lessons. And you... have always been slow to learn."
Poseidon’s teeth bared. "Do not mock me."
"I do not mock." Hades drifted closer, extending a pale hand. "I offer. Olympus believes me chained in shadow. Let them. They do not know the bargains I’ve made, the doors I’ve opened. You and I—together—we unmake their throne."
Poseidon’s eyes narrowed, but deep within, the tide whispered of truth. The bond between him and the Underworld was unnatural, but real. The sea was silence, depth, inevitability. And death... was the same.
"You saw them tremble," Hades continued. "Athena with her logic. Ares with his hunger. Zeus with his rage. They shout because they fear. Fear you. Fear what you are becoming."
"And yet my trident lies in ruin," Poseidon muttered, glancing at the shards. His heart twisted as the abyss drank their glow. "A god without his weapon is—"
"A god still," Hades interrupted. "The trident was never your strength. It was only a focus. The sea obeyed you long before it was forged. And now, you are no longer only Poseidon."
The shadows in Hades’s eyes flickered. "You are more."
The abyss seemed to pulse, as though agreeing.
Poseidon clenched his fists. He had felt it too—the deep stirring inside him, the hunger not entirely his own. The name that Olympus dared not whisper: Thalorin. The abyss that had been chained within him was no longer content to slumber.
But whether it was curse or gift, he could no longer deny it.
The council splintered into factions.
Ares slammed his fist against the marble. "We march now. We crush Poseidon before he regains strength. And if Hades stands in the way, we cut through him too."
Hera’s laughter was cold. "Bold words, for a god who has lost to his uncle before. Have you forgotten how Poseidon broke your armies on the isles of Aegis?"
"Enough," Zeus thundered, though his tone cracked with strain. "This is not the same brother I banished. This is something darker, something wearing his face. And Hades..." His eyes blazed. "...Hades has chained himself to that darkness. They will drown this world if left unchecked."
Athena’s voice cut through again. "Then we must outthink them. Direct assault is suicide. We need allies. The Titans stir in their prisons. The primordials whisper. There are forces who hate the sea more than we do."
Zeus glared at her. "You dare speak of freeing them?"
"I speak of survival," she replied flatly.
A heavy silence followed. For the first time in memory, Olympus was not a council—it was a den of wolves, circling, snapping, waiting for the first to bleed.
And above them, thunderclouds thickened, black and swollen, as if the sky itself sensed the fracture in its lords.
Poseidon lifted one shard of his trident from the sand. The bronze hummed against his palm, resonating with the marrow of his bones. The weapon was gone—but not dead. Each piece was alive, still bound to him.
"Reforged," Hades said quietly. "Not as it was. As it must be."
Poseidon’s eyes narrowed. "And what price do you demand?"
The Lord of the Dead smiled faintly. "Only that when Olympus burns, their souls fall to me. You may have their seas, their skies, their earth. But the dead..." His hand tightened, shadows coiling. "...the dead are mine."
The sea rumbled. The abyss churned.
Poseidon closed his fist around the shard. His eyes glowed with the fury of storms. "Then let Olympus tremble. For I will rise again."
And in Olympus, the gods shivered as the waves struck their thrones—not of water, but of dread.