Chapter 297: My will. My name. Not yours
The skies above Olympus had never been so heavy.
Clouds rolled in—not the soft, painterly strokes of Zeus’s will, but storm-wracked titans of black and steel, pulled from the depths of seas Poseidon alone commanded. The golden spires of the mountain gleamed faintly beneath the looming storm, as though aware they were being buried under a sky that no longer belonged to them.
The throne hall echoed with voices of gods, rattled by what they had seen. Poseidon had risen. Not whispered in mortal tongues. Not conjured as an old name. But truly risen—his essence embodied, his will unbound, and his presence so thick the marble floors of Olympus groaned as though the entire peak could collapse beneath him.
And he had left them a warning.
"I will not kneel. The sea kneels to no one."
The words still hung in the air, though he had already vanished, withdrawing back into the mortal realm like a tide retreating before its next inevitable crash.
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The Panic of the Gods
Athena was first to break the silence, her silver spear striking the floor hard enough to splinter marble. "This cannot continue! He has tasted too much freedom already. If Poseidon claims both sea and abyss, Olympus itself may drown in his tide."
Apollo, pale-faced but still composed, countered with measured tones. "And yet, we saw it. His strength rivals the age before the Chains. Killing him now would not be so simple as casting down a mortal vessel. He is Poseidon again."
"He is not Poseidon," Hera snapped, her golden crown trembling on her brow. "That boy was only a vessel. The truth festers deeper. I smelled it in his aura. Something else rides within him—something older, darker."
Zeus, for once, had not spoken. The king of Olympus sat on his throne, hand tight on his scepter, eyes burning like storms in endless churn. When he finally spoke, it was low, quiet, and yet heavier than thunder.
"You all fear because you remember. You remember Thalorin."
The name fell like a stone into still water. The chamber hushed.
"Yes," Zeus continued, rising now, every god turning toward him. "Poseidon drowned once, long ago. And in that drowning, the Abyss took root. Thalorin’s shadow lurks in him still. If left unchecked, it will not be Olympus that falls first. It will be the world entire."
A murmur spread through the gods—some nodding, some shifting uneasily. The implication was clear. Poseidon was not only a traitor... he was a doom.
Meanwhile — Beneath the Waves
Far below mortal harbors and divine mountains alike, Poseidon sat in the trench he had carved into being. The sea bent to him, curling like a beast at his feet, ready to strike at a single thought. His eyes glowed with drowned light, but his chest heaved with the weight of what had transpired.
He had stood in Olympus. He had spoken to them as an equal, as a rival, as a threat.
And yet...
A faint tremor coursed through him. Not weakness. Not fear. Something deeper. A voice not his own, whispering in the dark places of his blood.
They will hunt you, as they always did. But we need not hide this time. We can break them.
Poseidon clenched his fist, veins glowing faintly with abyssal blue.
"I am not you, Thalorin," he muttered. "The sea is mine. My will. My name. Not yours."
The whisper coiled like smoke. Names drown. Wills sink. But the Abyss endures. Let me help you... brother.
He shoved the voice down, but it never left. It lingered, always waiting, like a shadow beneath his reflection.
Back in Olympus, the council had dissolved into chaos—arguments rising like stormwinds. But Zeus, Hera, and Athena did not wait for debate. The decree was made in silence between them.
Three gods of the old order would move first. They would descend into the mortal seas. They would face Poseidon directly.
Not as emissaries.
Not as brothers.
As executioners.
And so, as night cloaked the mortal realm, three pillars of light tore the heavens and struck the sea.
Poseidon, still in his trench, felt the rippling shock before he saw it. The water trembled—not from him, but from something descending. Three somethings. Their divine essence burned like fire against salt.
He rose slowly, trident forming in his hand. The abyss behind him hummed, alive, eager.
"They come."
The sea itself shuddered as three figures emerged through the water’s weightless dark.
Athena, gleaming in silver, eyes cold with calculation.
Hera, draped in divine regalia, fury carved into her features.
And Zeus himself, his body a storm given flesh, lightning dancing across his veins.
No words were exchanged. Their arrival was answer enough.
The first battle had begun.
Athena struck first, her spear thrust faster than mortal eyes could follow. It pierced through leagues of water, a beam of silver cutting toward Poseidon’s chest.
But the ocean itself rose to meet it, folding around the spear and slowing its strike as though it had plunged into eternity. Poseidon swept his trident, and the waters obeyed, bending Athena’s force sideways.
Hera’s hands followed, weaving currents into chains of golden fire. They lashed around Poseidon’s arms, pulling, constricting, sealing. Her voice boomed through the trench:
"Yield, brother! End this madness before it consumes you!"
Poseidon’s laugh echoed like cracking ice. "You think I will kneel? To chains? To you?"
With a flex of his arms, the chains shattered, bursting into sprays of steam. The abyss lent him strength, turning his defiance into shattering force.
Then came Zeus.
Lightning does not wait. It does not ask. It is.
The bolt tore through the trench, boiling the water around them, striking Poseidon with raw judgment. The sea king staggered, body wracked with thunder. His flesh smoked. His blood sizzled. For a moment, the ocean fell silent.
But then—
The silence broke.
From the depths, from the forgotten tides, the abyss rose with him. His wounds closed with glowing lines of blue fire. His trident roared with storms stolen from the deep. And his voice shook the trench.
"You wanted a drowned god. You will have him!"
The ocean surged. Entire trenches rose like walls, folding in on the gods. Darkness and water became one.
The battle of Olympus and the Abyss had truly begun.