Chapter 146: Weight of the Abyss 3
He lifted his gaze toward the far expanse of the horizon where Olympus, hidden above the sky, surely looked down. Though they hadn’t yet confronted him, he felt their eyes. Every drop of water he stirred, every ripple he made—it was as if Olympus recorded it.
Poseidon’s hand clenched. "Let them watch."
He closed his eyes, allowing the current to wrap around him. The energy coursed up his arm like liquid lightning, and before he could stop it, the waters nearby shifted into a towering whirlpool. The vortex spun with terrifying force, dragging debris and startled sea life into its spiral.
His chest heaved. He hadn’t meant to summon it so violently.
The whirlpool grew larger, tearing at the seabed, until a jagged line of stone cracked open below. The earth itself groaned, and bubbles erupted from the wound in the seabed, releasing bursts of heat that shimmered like a warning flare.
Poseidon staggered back, his own power lashing against him like a beast straining its chains. He shoved both hands forward, forcing the waters to still. The whirlpool slowed, wavered, and collapsed with a deafening crash that rattled his skull.
For a moment, silence reigned. Only the frantic thump of his heart reminded him he still lived.
Control, he told himself. You must master it. Before it masters you.
But even as he thought it, the voice rose within him—low, resonant, and impossibly old.
> "You are no master. You are a vessel. And the sea does not bow—it consumes."
Poseidon snarled aloud, "Get out of my head!" His voice thundered through the water, carrying for leagues, startling shoals into frantic motion.
The voice laughed, a sound like waves breaking against cliffs. It didn’t fade. It never faded.
Before he could wrestle the noise down, movement stirred above him. His senses sharpened—water wasn’t just water anymore. It was a network of eyes, ears, whispers. He felt the intrusion before he saw it: several figures descending from the surface, cloaked in shimmering light.
Poseidon stiffened.
The intruders weren’t mortals. Their very presence made the sea hum with strained tension. They cut through the water as if it bent for them, not against them. Each step closer made Poseidon’s skin prickle.
He recognized the aura before the forms resolved. Messengers of Olympus. Heralds. No weapons drawn, yet their presence was blade enough.
The leading figure, draped in robes woven from starfire, raised a hand. "Poseidon," the herald’s voice echoed—not in sound but directly through the water, vibrating against his bones. "The Council summons you."
Poseidon’s lips curled. "Summons? Or commands?"
"Do not test Olympus."
The words carried no threat, yet Poseidon felt their weight all the same. The seas around him stilled into unnatural silence, awaiting his response.
He wanted to defy them. To laugh in their faces and refuse. But even as the thought rose, the dark pulse inside him whispered accept. Because whether he willed it or not, Olympus was no longer simply calling on Dominic, the mortal boy. They were calling Poseidon. They were calling the vessel of Thalorin.
He exhaled slowly. "Tell Olympus I’ll come."
The heralds did not reply. They dissolved, their bodies unraveling into streaks of light that swam upward toward the surface, leaving him alone once more in the restless sea.
Poseidon sank back against the coral pillar, shutting his eyes. The summons wasn’t unexpected, but it gnawed at him. He knew what Olympus wanted. They wanted reassurance that the ocean was still theirs. That he was still theirs.
But the truth? He wasn’t sure of that himself.
---
Far below, in a trench where light dared not touch, something stirred. The ancient chains that had once bound Thalorin rattled, faint but persistent. Poseidon froze, every hair on his body rising. The whispers grew louder—hungry, eager, as if the entity within sensed Olympus’s move.
> "Go to them. Let them see what you’ve become. Let them tremble."
Poseidon pressed his palms to his temples. He wanted silence. Just silence. But silence never came.
Instead, visions rushed him—floods of crimson seas, cities drowned beneath impossible waves, gods themselves gasping as waters choked their thrones. For an instant, he saw himself seated upon Olympus, trident in hand, while the others knelt in salt and ruin.
He shuddered, forcing the vision back into the pit of his mind. "No. That isn’t me. That isn’t what I want."
But when he opened his eyes, the sea no longer felt like his ally. It felt like a cage.
---
Poseidon rose slowly, his body glowing faintly with the deep-blue aura that clung to him now at all times. He had no choice but to ascend. The summons of Olympus wasn’t something he could ignore—not yet.
Still, as he prepared to leave the trench, he whispered under his breath, half to himself, half to the monster inside:
"If they want to see me, then let them see me. But I’ll decide what they fear."
The sea shifted around him, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if it was obeying his will or Thalorin’s laughter echoing in its depths.
The sea grew quieter after Dominic’s (Poseidon’s) confrontation with the water wraiths, but the silence felt uneasy, like the calm that comes before a storm. His body still ached from channeling Thalorin’s essence, every vein humming with alien power. He drifted above the waves, staring into the endless horizon, knowing Olympus would not stay silent for long. The awakening of something as ancient and uncontrollable as Thalorin had already sent ripples across the divine order.
But beneath his chest, he felt more than power. He felt conflict.
Am I truly Poseidon now... or just Dominic carrying a monster inside me?
The answer never came, only the rhythmic surge of the tide responding to his thoughts. The ocean was alive beneath him, tethered to his heartbeat, his will. It should have brought him comfort, but all it did was remind him of the burden he now carried.
The waves shifted. He felt it before he saw it—another presence pushing against the tide. Emerging from the rolling waters was Aegirion, the newly risen water god, his eyes glowing faintly like molten silver.
"You look troubled," Aegirion said, his voice smooth, calm, but edged with something sharp. "For one who just bent the ocean to his will."
Dominic turned, his trident materializing in his grip, its tip dripping with condensed seawater. "And you look far too comfortable for someone who should be hiding. Olympus will come for both of us."
Aegirion smirked, folding his arms. "Let them come. You think the gods will tolerate your... condition forever? They’ll treat you as they always have—Poseidon’s heir at best, a vessel at worst. But me? I am a new tide, Dominic. They can’t place me in their order. I am the anomaly."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "And what are you suggesting?"
"I suggest we stop pretending this ocean is big enough for two of us." Aegirion’s tone hardened, the water around him rising in jagged spires. "Either you claim your throne as the true Lord of the Seas... or I take it."
The ocean roared as if stirred by their clashing wills. Lightning forked across the horizon, illuminating their faces—one carrying the scars of mortality and rebirth, the other burning with raw, hungry ambition.
Dominic could feel Thalorin stirring within him, whispering temptations. Crush him. Show him who the sea truly belongs to. Spill divine blood, and Olympus will bow.
But Dominic clenched his jaw, fighting the voice. "This isn’t the time. You’re reckless. If we fight now, Olympus won’t need to destroy us—we’ll destroy ourselves."
Aegirion tilted his head, studying him. "Then perhaps that’s what the sea demands. One god. One dominion. No compromises."
The waves surged higher, battering them both. Dominic’s knuckles tightened on the trident. His mortal instincts screamed to find another way, but his godhood urged for dominance. And somewhere deep in his veins, Thalorin laughed.
Before either could strike, a shadow fell across the ocean. Dominic turned sharply—above them, an eagle of blazing gold circled, its wings cutting light through the storm.
The emblem of Zeus.
Dominic’s chest tightened. Olympus was already watching.