Chapter 144: Weight of the Abyss
The sea was no longer still. The waves pulsed in rhythm with Poseidon’s heartbeat, each crash against the cliffside like a warning drumbeat. Dominic—the boy he once was—could feel his fragile humanity clinging to him like a shadow, even as the mantle of godhood pressed heavier upon his shoulders.
He stood at the shoreline, trident in hand, its edges humming faintly as though whispering secrets from the abyss. The sky above was dark, swollen with storm clouds that he hadn’t called—but answered to him nonetheless. For the first time since awakening, he felt a strange dread creep into his chest.
Was he truly the master of the oceans, or only the vessel of something far older?
"Thalorin..." His voice broke the silence, tasting of brine. "I can feel you stirring. How much of this power is mine... and how much is yours?"
The waves gave no answer—only the distant rumble of thunder.
---
A memory cut through him. White hospital walls. The faint beeping of a machine. His mother’s soft voice, her hand gripping his thin wrist. You’ll be okay, Dom. You’ll be okay.
But he hadn’t been. He had died.
And now he lived again, reborn as a god who should not exist.
---
A sudden disturbance jolted him back. The waters rippled unnaturally, not from his call, but from something pushing against the current. His trident sparked as he tightened his grip.
A figure emerged from the water—armored, broad-shouldered, with scales glistening under faint lightning flashes. His eyes were sharp, cold, like twin blades.
"Aegirion," Poseidon muttered, recognizing the newborn god who had revealed himself days earlier.
The rival smirked, his voice carrying a low resonance. "So it’s true. You’re no mere pretender. The seas bend to you as they once did to the ancients." He stepped onto the rocky ground, water dripping from his frame. "But power does not belong to you alone."
Poseidon raised the trident slightly. "Then why come here? To measure yourself against me? Or to steal what you don’t understand?"
Aegirion chuckled. "Neither. I came to warn you. The Olympians gather, whispering of your existence. Already, Hermes has carried word to Zeus. They fear you."
The storm growled above.
"And you?" Poseidon asked, his eyes narrowing. "Do you fear me, Aegirion?"
The god tilted his head, considering. "Fear? No. But I know enough to respect what you are. A vessel of Thalorin."
The name, spoken aloud by another, twisted something inside Poseidon. The abyss stirred again, a pulse deep in his veins.
"Careful," Poseidon warned, his voice low. "That name is not meant for every tongue."
But Aegirion only smiled, almost mockingly. "So it is true. Thalorin lives within you."
---
Poseidon’s fingers tightened around the trident. For a heartbeat, he thought of striking him down—ending this smug rival before his words carried further. But another thought restrained him. If Olympus already suspected him, spilling divine blood would only ignite war too soon.
Instead, he lowered the weapon, though his eyes never softened.
"You’re playing a dangerous game," Poseidon said. "If Olympus turns its gaze fully upon me, they won’t stop until I’m destroyed. And if you align yourself with them..."
Aegirion laughed, the sound sharp. "Do not mistake me for one of Zeus’s lapdogs. I despise Olympus. But unlike you, I know the weight of history. Thalorin nearly drowned the heavens once. They will never allow him—or his vessel—to rise again."
---
A silence stretched between them, broken only by the restless sea. Then Aegirion’s tone shifted, strangely curious.
"But perhaps... perhaps there’s another way. Tell me, Dominic. Poseidon. Whatever you choose to call yourself—do you wish to be Thalorin’s puppet, or will you seize control of what you’ve been given?"
The question hung heavy.
Poseidon felt the abyss coil tighter inside him, as if listening. He could sense the entity waiting, watching, always on the edge of breaking free. He wanted to say he was his own master, that this power was his to command. But deep down, the boy who once lay dying in a sterile hospital bed knew better.
"...I won’t be a puppet," Poseidon said at last. His voice was steady, though his heart trembled. "This power is mine. And I will bend it to my will—even if it kills me."
Aegirion studied him for a moment, then gave a slow, approving nod.
"Then perhaps... we are not enemies. Not yet." He turned, stepping back toward the waves. "But know this—Olympus prepares its judgment. And when they come, you’ll stand alone. Unless..."
He paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"...you choose allies wisely."
And then, like a phantom, he slipped back beneath the sea.
---
Poseidon stood in silence long after Aegirion vanished. The storm above calmed, though unease still gnawed at his chest.
Allies. Enemies. Olympus. Thalorin.
The world felt as though it were tightening around him, pressing him toward some inevitable reckoning.
But before he could dwell, the trident pulsed violently in his hand. A vision slammed into his mind—an image not of the sea, but of Olympus itself.
Marble halls gleaming with gold. Gods gathered around a throne of storm and lightning. Zeus, his face grim, his hand gripping his thunderbolt. Hera, whispering with eyes sharp as knives. Athena’s gaze, cold and calculating.
And words echoing like a verdict:
"The boy who calls himself Poseidon cannot be allowed to live."
---
Poseidon stumbled, gasping as the vision faded. His knees dug into wet sand, sweat rolling down his temple.
So it was true. Olympus had already chosen.
They would come for him.
And when they did, it wouldn’t be a warning—it would be war.
---
The abyss stirred again, stronger now. He could almost hear a voice, ancient and vast, curling around his mind like smoke.
Let them come, it whispered. Their blood will salt the seas. Their screams will echo through eternity. Together, we will drown Olympus.
"No," Poseidon growled through gritted teeth, clutching his skull. "You’re not in control. I am."
You are nothing without me, the voice hissed. A dying boy reborn by my grace. Do not forget where your power flows from.
Poseidon forced himself to his feet, rage boiling. "Maybe. But I’ll decide where it flows to."
---
His reflection shimmered on the surface of the water—half human, half something monstrous. His eyes glowed faintly blue, but beneath them lurked a darker hue, swirling like black ink.
The struggle was no longer just with Olympus, or with rival gods. It was with himself.
And he knew... if he faltered, even for a moment, the abyss would claim him fully.
---
He lifted his trident, planting it firmly into the sand. Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating his silhouette against the storm.
"I am Poseidon," he declared to the roaring sea. "Not a vessel. Not a puppet. And if Olympus wants my head—they’ll have to drown in my waters first."
The waves answered, crashing in thunderous applause.
And far above, in the golden halls of Olympus, gods turned their gaze downward, their decision made.
The storm of destiny had begun.