Chapter 282: poseidons Dream 2
The gods had thrown everything they could in the last battle. Three of their champions lay scattered—beaten, broken, retreating into the folds of Olympus to lick their wounds. Yet Poseidon’s victories never came without cost. His left shoulder bled seawater like a cracked cistern, each drop hissing as it hit the fragmented battlefield.
But his eyes were unyielding. A tide eternal.
"Is this all the heavens have left to oppose me?" Poseidon’s voice rolled like thunder over the shattered plain. "Then I will claim the rest myself."
The world answered.
A thunderous crack split the horizon, and from the breach spilled a host of celestial soldiers. They poured forth in gleaming silver armor, their bodies etched with runes of loyalty, their weapons burning like captured stars. Behind them, the golden gates of Olympus stood open wider than ever before.
And stepping through—were not mortals. Not champions. But gods.
The Gathering Storm
First came Zephyros, God of Sky and Judgment, wings unfurled in a blaze of stormlight. The air itself trembled under his dominion, winds cutting into edges sharp enough to split stone.
Beside him strode Nymera, Goddess of Shadows, her cloak of abyssal void trailing across the fractured ground, snuffing out light wherever it touched. The very sight of her made mortal hearts fail—an emptiness that drank courage and left only dread.
And last, with steps that set the battlefield aflame, came Seraphin, Goddess of Flame, her body wrapped in coils of fire that roared hotter than the heart of any sun. Each movement she made seared the air into glass.
The three gods who had once sat in the highest seats of Olympus now walked in unison against the tidebringer.
Poseidon tilted his head, trident steady at his side. "At last. No more pawns. Only kings and queens daring to stand before the sea."
Zephyros raised his hand, and the air itself thickened, locking the battlefield in a dome of divine pressure. "This ends here, drowned god. You’ve already overstepped your realm. No tide, no abyss, will drown Olympus so long as we breathe."
Nymera’s eyes glowed like black suns. "Your vessel was a mistake. You should have drowned in the Rift where you belonged."
And Seraphin’s voice was pure fire. "This rebellion burns tonight."
Poseidon laughed. The sound was deep, unshaken—an ocean colliding with cliffs. "Then come. Let us see if gods still remember how to drown."
The Battle
The world erupted.
Zephyros struck first. Lightning lanced downward from the cracks in the heavens, spearing toward Poseidon with the fury of judgment itself. But before it could strike, the sea beneath Poseidon roared upward—waves materialized from nothing, bending lightning into their depths where it fizzled uselessly.
At the same time, Seraphin’s flames burst outward in a blazing sun. The entire battlefield became fire, mountains melting, shadows screaming. But water surged to meet it, colliding midair in a hiss of creation itself—steam so hot and thick it blinded even gods.
And through that mist, Nymera moved. Silent. Merciless. Her shadows lanced like spears into Poseidon’s chest. One struck true—piercing through his ribs, lodging deep into his heart.
Poseidon staggered, blood and seawater pouring from the wound.
But then he gripped the shadow with his hand, crushing it to vapor. His trident swung wide, summoning a whirlpool in the very air, and Nymera was caught in its pull—dragged backward, cloak unraveling under his tide.
"You forget, shadow," Poseidon growled, "there is no night in the depths. Only pressure. Only silence."
Nymera snarled, breaking free, but her cloak had frayed—her eternal abyss leaking into the air like torn smoke.
Zephyros roared, calling winds to bind Poseidon. Cyclones erupted, pulling him upward, binding his arms and legs, dragging him toward the heavens like a chained beast. Seraphin struck in that instant, flames condensing into a spear of white-hot fire, aimed directly at his skull.
The strike landed—
—but when the fire cleared, Poseidon still stood. His trident braced against the spear, the ocean in his veins surging outward to douse the divine flame. His body smoked, flesh cracked, but his eyes burned brighter than ever.
"You fight like lords," Poseidon snarled, voice echoing like crashing waves. "But I am no lord."
His aura expanded, a tidal wave bursting from his body. The cyclone shattered. The flames guttered. The shadows scattered.
"I am the tide. And the tide kneels to no throne."
The Shattered Sky
Poseidon raised his trident. The battlefield broke.
The very sea rose where no sea should be, bursting upward through cracks in reality. Oceans roared into the sky, wrapping around Olympus’s gates themselves, dragging them downward. Stars flickered as though submerged. The golden realm trembled as if it, too, could drown.
Zephyros screamed, wings thrashing against the pull. "He seeks to drag Olympus beneath the waves!"
Seraphin hurled fire after fire, but each was smothered by torrents. Nymera’s shadows spread desperately, trying to shield the gates from collapse. But Poseidon’s tide was relentless, clawing higher, hungrier, as though the very heavens were but a coastline waiting to erode.
And then—Poseidon roared.
The sound shattered clouds, split mountains, and tore through divine wards. It was the roar of every drowned sailor, every swallowed city, every forgotten prayer to the sea.
The gods faltered.
Zephyros bled lightning from his mouth. Nymera’s cloak shrieked with tearing seams. Seraphin’s flames dimmed against the tide.
And Poseidon surged forward, trident spinning like a storm, striking all three gods at once.
The sky itself cracked.
Aftermath
The three gods were hurled back, their divine forms slamming into Olympus’s gates. The impact rang like a gong, echoing across realms.
They lay scattered—bloodied, panting, but alive.
Poseidon lowered his trident, chest heaving. The battlefield was silent but for the crash of waves still hanging in the air.
He looked toward Olympus, eyes narrowing.
"This is only the beginning. The tide has turned. And soon, even your thrones will sink beneath it."
With that, he stepped backward into the ocean he had summoned, vanishing into its depths. The sea collapsed behind him, leaving only wreckage and silence.
And in Olympus, the gods struggled to their feet, realizing for the first time in eternity—
—Olympus itself could drown.