Chapter 145: Weight of the Abyss 2
The waves still trembled beneath Poseidon’s feet, but he hardly noticed the trembling. His body was calm, yet inside, his blood roared like a storm. The voice of Thalorin echoed faintly within him, not as loud as in the Rift, but enough to remind him that the ancient being hadn’t vanished. It lingered. It waited.
"You felt their eyes on you," the voice whispered. "You know Olympus will not let this pass quietly. They remember me. They fear me. And now... they fear you."
Poseidon tightened his grip on the trident. The sea wind lashed his hair, but it was not the wind he fought—it was the lingering doubt clawing at his chest. He had been given power, more than he had ever dreamed, but what did it mean if every god above saw him as a threat to be erased?
He lifted his gaze. Across the horizon, he could see faint outlines of sails—mortal ships daring to cut across his waters. Once, he might have looked at them with casual disdain. Now, every ripple of the sea, every flick of foam, carried his will. If he wished, he could crush them all into splinters with a single thought. The knowledge was intoxicating—and terrifying.
"Elias..." he whispered, almost forgetting his mortal name until it felt strange on his lips. "No... Poseidon. That is who I am now. That is what they will call me."
But as he stood there, a sudden tremor ran through the waves. His eyes narrowed. The disturbance wasn’t mortal. No, this was something else—something vast, primal, and older than kingdoms of men.
The sea around him darkened, as though the light itself fled the depths. A shadow stirred beneath the surface, swirling like a great leviathan uncoiling from a slumber. The water bulged, rippled, and then rose.
A creature erupted from the sea—scaled, monstrous, its body longer than any mortal ship. Its eyes glowed with a deep crimson hue, and its voice was a gurgling snarl that shook the tide.
"Poseidon..." the beast hissed, its jaws dripping with brine and fire. "You carry His mark. Thalorin’s scent lingers on you."
Poseidon raised the trident instinctively, stepping back as the waves churned violently around them.
"And what are you supposed to be?" His voice was steady, but his pulse thundered.
The beast rose higher, its massive form blotting out the sun. "I am Cetaros, Guardian of the Abyss. Bound here since the old war—since Thalorin drowned the skies in blood. You wear his essence. You are not welcome in my waters."
"My waters," Poseidon growled, a surge of anger lacing through him. The sea seemed to agree, lifting beneath his feet. "These seas answer to me now. Not you. Not anyone else."
Cetaros let out a booming laugh that made the waves quiver. "Bold. Foolish. Do you think his power makes you a god? You are nothing but a vessel. A shadow. And vessels..." The creature bared jagged fangs. "...shatter."
The trident pulsed, as if it had been waiting for this moment. Poseidon felt the current rush through his veins, cold and sharp like blades of water. He spun the weapon, and the sea itself twisted with it, towering waves rising like sentinels at his side.
"If you believe I am a vessel, then test me." His eyes gleamed with deadly light. "See if you can break me."
The battle erupted in an instant.
Cetaros lunged, jaws snapping, and Poseidon thrust the trident forward. A spear of water shot from its tip, piercing the beast’s cheek and sending torrents of blood into the sea. The creature roared, thrashing, sending waves crashing against the horizon. Ships far in the distance cracked apart like toys, dragged into the whirlpool of their clash.
Poseidon rode the storm he commanded, weaving waves into blades, hurling torrents at Cetaros’s scaled body. But the beast was older than empires, older than Olympus itself. Each strike it endured only seemed to fuel its rage.
With a sudden whip of its tail, Cetaros struck. The blow hit like a mountain, sending Poseidon flying across the water’s surface. He landed hard, skidding across the sea until he sank beneath. Darkness closed around him, choking, pressing, endless.
"You cannot win this, vessel..." Cetaros’s voice rumbled through the depths.
But in that suffocating black, Poseidon felt another voice, colder and far more ancient, seep through his bones.
"Do not falter. You are not Elias anymore. You are not merely Poseidon. You are mine."
Thalorin’s essence surged within him, tearing through the limits of flesh. His eyes snapped open underwater, glowing with a blinding blue light. His lungs no longer burned for air—the ocean itself was his breath.
He rose. The sea rose with him.
Bursting back to the surface, Poseidon hurled the trident forward, and the waters obeyed. A colossal whirlpool spiraled beneath Cetaros, dragging the monster down as lightning cracked across the sky. The beast thrashed, bellowing curses, but Poseidon’s will was absolute.
"This is my domain now!" he roared, his voice carrying across leagues of water. "You will bow—or you will drown."
With a final surge, the whirlpool collapsed inward, crushing Cetaros in a storm of water and bone. The sea grew red, then calmed. The waves fell silent, broken only by Poseidon’s heavy breath.
He stood there, triumphant, yet his chest burned with unease. That power... it hadn’t been his alone. Thalorin had lent him strength. He could feel it.
And he knew now, more than ever, that Olympus was right to fear him.
He was no longer just a god. He was becoming something else. Something far worse.
The waves whispered to him. Not in words, but in rhythms—pulses that beat through the marrow of his bones, through the veins of the ocean that were now tied to his breath. Each current tugged at him, begging for direction, for command. Yet the moment he opened himself to them, the darkness surged too, rising like a serpent from the abyss.
Poseidon—Dominic—gritted his teeth and pressed a hand to his chest. The water around him obeyed, parting in a vast circle as if recoiling from his turmoil. What once felt like a gift now seemed a weight, one that could crush him with every passing heartbeat.
Thalorin is awake, the thought repeated like a curse. He didn’t know how much of the voice he heard in his mind was his own, and how much was the ancient being’s whispers slithering through him.
"Breathe," he muttered to himself, steadying against a pillar of coral as currents shivered around him. "It’s still my will. Still my body. My soul."
But was it?
A school of silver fish darted past, their movements chaotic, as though even the creatures of the deep sensed the storm raging inside their master. The ocean floor trembled with faint tremors. Crabs scuttled into crevices. The sea was uneasy.