Chapter 305: Perseus, son of Zeus, slayer of monsters, breaker of kings, was dead.
The battlefield was chaos made flesh.
Lightning split the skies above, thunder shaking the earth, while waves as tall as palaces crashed violently against the cliffs of the mortal shore. Mortals had long fled, but their abandoned homes were drowned beneath roiling waters that bent to a single will: Poseidon’s.
At the center of it all, a man stood opposite him, gleaming like the last hope of Olympus. Perseus, son of Zeus, bearer of gifts from the gods. His blade, tempered in Hephaestus’s forge, gleamed with sunfire. His armor shimmered with the blessing of Athena, light scattering from it like shards of heaven itself. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked on the sea-god who had once been his uncle, but now wore the weight of something far more ancient.
"You’ve crossed a line you cannot return from," Perseus said, voice echoing across the battlefield. "This tide of destruction—this hunger—you are no longer the Poseidon of Olympus. You are something else. Something that must be stopped."
Poseidon’s gaze was dark, fathomless as the trench. When he spoke, the ground itself seemed to vibrate.
"I was never yours to command. Not Zeus’s, not Olympus’s. I am the sea. Eternal. Endless. And you, Perseus..." His voice dropped, like a storm about to break. "You are nothing but a mortal crutch gilded with borrowed gifts."
Perseus raised his blade, unflinching. "Then let us see if eternity can bleed."
The clash was instant.
Perseus moved first, his blade flashing in a streak of golden light. He leapt with divine speed, descending like a thunderbolt. But before his strike could land, a wall of water erupted upward, spiraling into a shield. The sword struck the torrent, splitting it in half, yet Poseidon’s counter followed immediately—his trident surged forward, glowing with abyssal power.
Sparks of lightning danced as metal met sea-born divinity. The impact tore apart the shoreline, throwing chunks of rock into the storm.
Perseus twisted, blade slashing in tight arcs, forcing Poseidon backward. Each strike carried the weight of Olympus’s blessings. But Poseidon was no longer bound by the god he once was. His every motion bent the tide itself, each step cracking the ground beneath him as if the land rejected his presence.
He lifted his hand and the sea obeyed. Entire waves formed into serpents, crashing down at Perseus from both sides.
The hero roared, shield raised, invoking Athena’s blessing. The serpents broke against divine protection, spraying salt and foam. Then Perseus surged forward, using the opening, blade piercing through the storm and carving a line across Poseidon’s shoulder.
The god of the sea staggered, blood—dark and heavy like brine—spilling into the air. It hissed where it landed, steam rising.
Perseus’s eyes widened slightly. He bleeds.
But Poseidon only smiled.
"You mistake blood for weakness."
The wound healed before Perseus’s eyes, flesh knitting with the sound of crashing waves. Poseidon slammed his trident into the ground. The entire battlefield shifted—stone cracked, the earth tilted, and suddenly the sea itself rushed inland, swallowing fields, forests, and mountains.
Perseus was forced to leap upon floating debris as the land became ocean. The battlefield was now Poseidon’s domain.
"Now," Poseidon’s voice boomed from all directions at once, "let us see how long you swim."
Perseus grit his teeth, calling upon Hermes’s swiftness. His body blurred, darting across the waters with impossible speed. He leapt and struck, each blow bright as lightning, forcing Poseidon onto the defensive. The sea-god’s trident spun, redirecting strikes, summoning shields of water and barriers of coral-hard current.
Yet Perseus would not yield. Every strike sang with Olympus’s blessings. Every movement was honed, precise, lethal.
Still—Poseidon was smiling.
With a flick of his wrist, the sea itself turned against Perseus. Tides pulled at his ankles. Waterspouts rose to meet him mid-leap. The air thickened with salt mist, suffocating his vision.
And then, Poseidon struck.
The trident glowed with abyssal light, thrusting straight through Perseus’s guard. The impact tore the hero’s shield from his grasp, shattering it into golden fragments that dissolved into the sea.
Perseus staggered, but his blade slashed upward in retaliation, grazing Poseidon’s cheek. A shallow cut—but enough to prove his resolve.
"You cannot kill me," Perseus growled. "Not while Olympus itself stands with me."
Poseidon’s laughter was low, like waves against a drowned cavern. "Then Olympus shall fall with you."
He raised his hand, and the sea answered.
From the depths rose a monstrosity of tide and darkness—Leviathan, forged from the abyss. Its eyes burned like lanterns in the deep, and its roar sent shockwaves across the ocean. It lunged for Perseus, jaws wide enough to swallow ships whole.
Perseus shouted, his sword blazing, and dove straight into the maw. With a single strike, he cleaved upward, splitting the beast apart. Water exploded outward, reforming into Poseidon’s aura.
The distraction had cost him.
Poseidon appeared behind him, trident already thrusting. It pierced Perseus clean through the back, bursting from his chest in a spray of water and blood.
The hero gasped, sword trembling in his grip.
"No... I—"
Poseidon leaned close, his voice a whisper that drowned worlds.
"Even blessed heroes drown."
With one motion, he wrenched the trident free. Perseus fell, crashing into the sea that once blessed him. His body sank, golden light dimming, until only crimson ripples spread across the surface.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then Olympus screamed.
The skies above blackened. Thunder roared with fury beyond storms. Lightning speared the earth in unrelenting fury. Zeus’s voice shook the heavens.
"POSEIDON!"
The sea-god raised his trident high, drenched in Perseus’s blood. His eyes glowed with power no longer bound by Olympus’s order. He stared into the storm, unflinching.
The gods who watched now knew. This was not the Poseidon they had once ruled beside. This was something else. Something greater.
Perseus, son of Zeus, slayer of monsters, breaker of kings, was dead.
And in his death, Olympus understood a terrible truth—Poseidon was no longer ordinary.
He was ascendant.
He was inevitable.
And war with him would not be victory. It would be survival.