Chapter 142: We march for Skoros
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The sea churned around Poseidon like a living thing, its rhythm no longer just the pulse of nature, but the cadence of his own heart. Each crash of the tide felt like it was answering him, acknowledging the growing storm within. For the first time since awakening in this new body, he felt the ocean bow to him—not as a stranger or a child fumbling with power, but as its rightful master.
And yet, beneath the exhilaration, the weight of something darker stirred. A whisper threaded through the brine, not from the waves, but from the abyss beneath them.
You are mine still... vessel.
The words slithered like a hook through his mind, jolting him. Poseidon clenched his fists, the water surging upward into a towering wall before collapsing back into foam. He had almost forgotten—Dominic might wear the mantle of Poseidon, but Thalorin’s essence still lingered, buried like a coiled leviathan in his veins. The more he drew on his godhood, the more that ancient presence stirred.
His thoughts snapped back when a voice broke the silence.
"Lord Poseidon!"
It was Galen, the veteran general of the sea guard, his scaled armor still glistening from the earlier clash with Aegirion’s forces. Behind him trailed a retinue of warriors—shaken, bloodied, but loyal.
"The seas beyond the Rift churn unnaturally. Aegirion has not withdrawn fully—he rallies near the Trench of Skoros. If he secures that depth, he can summon creatures from the abyssal plain."
Poseidon’s jaw tightened. He could still feel the fresh sting of his last encounter with Aegirion—the god’s arrogance, his claim of rightful dominion over all seas. That memory lanced his chest sharper than a trident.
"Then we cut him off," Poseidon said, his voice resonating deeper than he expected. It wasn’t just his command—it was the sea’s.
The warriors stirred, their resolve stiffening. But Galen hesitated, his weathered eyes narrowing. "My lord, you command as though you have always worn the crown of the sea. Forgive me, but..." He dropped his voice. "Who are you, truly? You carry Poseidon’s power, but you wield it differently. The ocean moves with you, not under you."
A hush fell. The question burned in every gaze upon him. Dominic’s old self, hidden within, urged him to confess—to explain that he had been human, once fragile, once dying. But another part, the godly weight pressing on his shoulders, knew the truth could fracture their fragile faith.
Before he could answer, the water darkened. A tremor rippled through the depths, cold and suffocating.
Then it came—Aegirion’s laughter, rolling across the currents like thunder.
"You think yourself king of the sea, boy? A name does not make you a god. Come to Skoros, if you dare, and I will show you what it means to be drowned by the abyss itself."
The voice faded, but its challenge remained.
Poseidon’s knuckles whitened around his trident. The sea guard stirred uneasily, some muttering prayers, others gripping their weapons tighter.
"Prepare the warband," Poseidon commanded. "We march for Skoros. If Aegirion seeks dominion, he will find only his grave."
The soldiers roared in response, but deep within, Dominic’s old fear gnawed at him. Each step closer to his destiny brought him nearer not only to Aegirion—but to the truth of Thalorin’s grip on his soul.
As they surged toward the trench, the ocean itself seemed to resist, currents twisting unnaturally. Fishes scattered, and the deeper they descended, the more oppressive the water grew, pressing against their lungs like a living hand.
The trench loomed ahead, an endless maw swallowing all light. And there, upon its edge, stood Aegirion, clad in blackened coral armor, eyes gleaming with abyssal fire. Around him writhed horrors born of the deep—serpents with too many eyes, crustaceans the size of ships, all hissing in unison.
"Poseidon," Aegirion spat, his voice laced with venom. "Or should I call you what you truly are? A fractured vessel, bound by a power you cannot control. Do you feel him, clawing at your soul even now? Thalorin does not sleep."
The words struck too close. Poseidon felt his pulse quicken, the abyss whispering again—Mine...
But he stepped forward, trident raised, the ocean rising behind him like an army. "I am no vessel. I am the sea incarnate."
And with that, the trench erupted into war.
The sea answered him.
The moment Poseidon’s command tore through the waves, the ocean surged like a living beast unchained. From the deep came the guttural rumble of shifting currents, the crack of pressure breaking upon pressure. He could feel it resonate through his veins, as though his very blood had turned into seawater.
The villagers clung to what they could as the tide recoiled unnaturally fast, dragging pebbles, shells, and boats into the widening maw of the ocean. Children screamed, women cried out for the gods, and men stood frozen in disbelief. They had prayed to Poseidon in offerings of salt and oil, never expecting the god himself to rise among them.
"Behold," Poseidon said, his voice echoing like thunder against the cliffs. "Your cries were heard. But it is not prayers of fear that bind me—it is the truth that lives within your hearts. You called to the depths, and the depths have answered."
His trident glimmered, arcs of pale blue light crawling along its prongs. He thrust it down into the earth. The ground trembled, and a pillar of water shot skyward, spiraling into the heavens. When it fell, the sea calmed—but only for a moment.
From the horizon, a shadow stirred.
It was no storm.
A massive fin cut through the waves, slicing the water as though it were fabric. A monstrous shape rose, scales glistening black and silver, eyes glowing with an unholy light. A leviathan—an ancient beast that mortals had banished to myth—surfaced with a roar that shattered the quiet.
The villagers dropped to their knees, wailing. "Proteus! The sea-demon returns!"
Poseidon’s eyes narrowed. He knew that name. Proteus was not merely a beast—it was one of the oldest children of the primordial sea, a herald of chaos long forgotten. It should not have stirred without cause. Unless...
Unless something deeper had awoken it.
The leviathan’s maw split open, jagged rows of teeth gleaming as it bellowed. The waves swelled behind it, rising like walls ready to crash down. The ocean itself seemed eager to devour the land.
"Stay behind me!" Poseidon roared to the villagers.
He leapt onto the water’s surface, his bare feet not sinking but pressing firm against the waves as though they were solid ground. He spun his trident, its resonance calling forth tides that bent to his will. Each rotation stirred whirlpools in the distance, dragging the leviathan’s advance.
Proteus lunged, jaws snapping. Poseidon struck, thrusting his trident into the creature’s snout. The impact rang like bronze on stone, sending sparks of sea-fire across the air. The beast recoiled, but its massive body lashed back, tail slamming into the water with such force that Poseidon was nearly swept off balance.
The ocean obeyed both master and monster. For each command Poseidon gave, Proteus answered with raw chaos. A duel of wills unfolded, every wave a blade, every current a strike.
"Why do you rise now, ancient one?" Poseidon shouted, voice carrying above the storm. "The sea is mine to rule, not yours!"
Proteus answered with a guttural roar that shook the very cliffs. The voice carried meaning—not words, but essence.
The depths stir. The sleeper wakes. The chains break.
Poseidon’s grip tightened on his trident. He understood immediately. This was not random. The beast was drawn by something older, something far darker than even itself.
The battle raged on. Poseidon launched spears of condensed water, piercing through the leviathan’s scales. Blood the color of oil spilled into the sea, staining it black. Proteus shrieked and dove beneath the waves, only to rise again behind him, faster, more relentless.
The villagers watched from the shore, torn between terror and awe. To them, this was no longer just a god defending them. This was the sea itself at war.
Poseidon steadied his stance. He called to the abyss, drawing power from currents miles beneath, from trenches no light had ever touched. The sea rose with him, lifting him high above the surface, until he stood upon a cresting wall of water. He raised his trident, and lightning cracked across the heavens.
"This is my dominion!" he bellowed.
The wave crashed down, swallowing both god and beast.
Silence followed—then the waters exploded upward as Poseidon burst free, trident piercing through Proteus’s neck. The leviathan howled, thrashing, until its body slumped, sinking slowly into the abyss. Its glow faded, vanishing beneath the waves.
Poseidon hovered above the calm sea, chest heaving. His trident still dripped with black blood.
The villagers erupted in cheers, crying his name, kneeling as they pounded their foreheads into the sand.
But Poseidon felt no triumph. His heart weighed heavy.
The beast’s words echoed in his mind.
The sleeper wakes.
Something was stirring in the deep. And if Proteus had been only the harbinger... then what lay beyond it was a storm the world was not ready for.
He turned his gaze to the horizon, where the waters seemed unnaturally still. His jaw tightened.
If Olympus ignored this... if the gods dismissed what he had seen... the world would drown.