Chapter 337: The Legend Hercules
The seas had not been calm for months.
Every harbor along the Aegean bore scars — drowned warehouses, sunken fleets, villages half swallowed by creeping tide. Mortals whispered of Poseidon’s name not in prayer, but in fear. His dominion pressed further inland, reshaping coastlines, bending rivers, swallowing fields where wheat once grew.
Yet, while many cursed or begged, one mortal did not bow.
He lifted his spear against the waves.
The city of Thebes stood far from the sea, its walls solid, its people proud. Here, the tide had not yet breached, but the fear of it gnawed at their nights. The kings of Thebes called upon champions, mercenaries, even priests of foreign shrines, to prepare for what loomed beyond the horizon.
Among them walked Heracles.
He was not yet called "hero" by the songs of men, but whispers of his feats spread faster than fire. He was a towering figure — broad as a temple gate, his muscles coiled with relentless strength. Mortals said he was born with too much of a god’s fire in his veins, cursed and blessed in equal measure.
On this day, the people gathered in the great arena, not for sport, but for proof. Proof that one mortal could stand against what the gods themselves feared.
A lion, enormous and savage, had been brought from the shadowed forests of Nemea. Its hide was said to be unpierceable by mortal steel, its roar enough to unman the boldest warrior.
The beast prowled into the sand pit, golden mane catching the light of torches. Its jaws dripped with blood from handlers too slow to flee.
Heracles entered barefoot, carrying only a crude spear and a club carved from oak.
The crowd roared, though their cheers trembled with fear.
"Do you mock me with sticks?" Heracles asked the king, his voice carrying easily over the stands. "No armor. No steel. You want a man to fall — or a god to rise?"
The king swallowed hard, gesturing for the gates to lock. "Show us your worth, Heracles."
---
The Mortal’s Strength
The lion lunged. Sand exploded beneath its paws. Heracles didn’t dodge. He slammed his club down, splintering wood against the creature’s skull. The beast staggered, shook its head, and roared louder.
The spear snapped like twigs against its hide. Steel had been useless, just as the tales said.
The crowd gasped.
But Heracles only grinned.
He dropped the shattered shaft and lunged forward, arms wide. With brute force alone, he grappled the lion, muscles straining, veins bulging. The beast clawed, raking gashes across his back, but Heracles didn’t yield.
Step by step, he drove it backward, until with a final roar of his own, he wrapped both arms around its throat and squeezed.
The lion thrashed, claws tearing into flesh. Blood streamed down his arms. The arena shook with the crowd’s panic and awe.
And then—silence.
The lion’s body went limp.
Heracles dropped it at his feet, chest heaving, body slick with blood both his and the beast’s. He stared at the corpse for a long moment before ripping free its great pelt. He draped it over his shoulders like armor, hide unpierceable even in death.
The crowd erupted, chanting his name until the torches quivered from the force of their voices.
Heracles.
Heracles.
Heracles.
Whispers of the Divine
That night, as the city feasted in celebration, Heracles sat apart, sharpening his club by firelight. He drank little, ate less.
A priestess approached him quietly, kneeling at his side. Her face was pale, her eyes deep with fear.
"You are more than mortal," she whispered.
He looked at her, unimpressed. "So they say. And so they fear."
"Not just men," she continued, trembling. "The gods watch you now. The sea moves. The bells have drowned in the east. Poseidon rises — and he will not let mortals defy him."
Heracles said nothing, only tightened the pelt over his shoulders.
The priestess swallowed, then leaned closer. "You will be tested. Not by beasts of the earth, but by tides. Be ready, Heracles. You are not just fighting for Thebes. You are fighting for all who drown beneath the sea."
He watched her go, firelight flickering across his hardened jaw.
---
Far Below
And deep beneath the waves, Poseidon stirred.
The drowned god’s essence had already spread across harbors, bending coastlines to his will. But now, something else tugged at the tide. A ripple not born of ocean or storm.
Strength. Pure and raw.
A mortal’s defiance.
Poseidon opened his eyes within the abyss. Water split around him, creating a corridor of silent dark. In that void, he felt the echo of Heracles — the roar of a lion slain, the defiance of a man refusing to kneel.
And for the first time since claiming dominion, Poseidon’s lips curved into something like amusement.
"A mortal dares to shake the waves?" His voice was the grind of shifting oceans. "Good."
The sea trembled, as though in laughter.
"Let him rise. Let him rage. I will see if his strength can hold when the tide comes for him."
Back in Thebes, Heracles lay awake. The lion’s pelt covered him, its mane scratching his skin, its weight heavy but comforting. The cheers of men still rang faint in the streets beyond.
But he didn’t hear them.
What he heard was something else. A low hum. Not of earth. Not of sky. Of water pressing against stone.
He sat up, brows furrowed. There was no river near his quarters, no well within earshot. And yet—there it was.
The sound of a tide waiting at his door.
Heracles stood, hand tightening around his club. He did not know yet the name of the god stirring beneath the waves. He did not know yet that mortals across the coast were already whispering prayers drowned in salt.
But he knew this much: something vast was coming for him.
And he would not kneel.
The battlefield smelled of blood and brine.
Hercules stood alone at the river’s edge, his lion pelt cloak dripping with crimson water. Around him lay the wreckage of a hundred fallen soldiers—men, monsters, and half-bloods who had dared to test his strength. Their spears lay broken, their shields cracked, their screams carried away on the rushing current that now glowed faintly with Poseidon’s power.
The river itself had turned against them. And still, Hercules stood.