Chapter 143: "If the gods want to end me, let them come,"
The sea was calm, deceptively so. Each wave that lapped against the jagged rocks whispered secrets he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear. Poseidon stood at the cliff’s edge, his trident stabbed into the earth, glowing faintly with power. The salt of the ocean brushed against his lips, but it didn’t taste the same anymore. It was richer, deeper, almost alive.
Or perhaps it’s me that’s changed, he thought grimly.
Ever since Thalorin had stirred awake inside him, the water no longer felt like an element to command—it felt like a beast on a leash, restless, prowling. He could still hear that voice, low and resonant, echoing within his chest.
> You are more than a god of the sea, boy. You are the tide that drowns empires. The storm that breaks thrones. Stop fearing me, and wield me.
Poseidon tightened his grip on the trident until his knuckles went pale. His reflection in the waves shimmered oddly. For a moment, it wasn’t his face staring back at him but a monstrous visage—eyes like abysses, a crown of jagged coral thorns, and fangs gleaming in a smile too cruel to be his. He blinked, and it was gone.
He wasn’t alone. From behind, the crunch of gravel reached his ears. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The mortal girl—Selene—approached cautiously. Somehow, she always found him in his darkest hours, her quiet presence an anchor against the chaos in his mind.
"You haven’t slept," she said softly, her voice almost lost in the wind.
"I don’t need sleep," Poseidon muttered, not looking back. "Not anymore."
"That’s not true," Selene countered, stepping closer, her hand brushing the edge of his cloak. "You’re still human, in some way. Or do you mean to tell me that thing in you devours even your need for rest?"
He almost laughed. Almost. But the humor in her words struck too close to reality.
"Perhaps it already has," he said darkly.
The silence stretched between them. Selene looked out at the waves, unaware of the weight pressing on him. She saw the sea as beautiful, eternal. But Poseidon saw the truth—he felt the thrum of power surging like a heartbeat beneath every ripple. He felt the leviathans stirring in the depths, creatures older than Olympus itself, waiting for him to call.
And gods... he wanted to call them.
> Summon them. Break the chains Olympus wrapped around this world. They will kneel to you—or to me.
"Stop," Poseidon hissed aloud, gripping his temple. Selene flinched.
"Poseidon?" she whispered.
The name still felt strange to him. Once, he was Dominic, a boy dying in a hospital bed, his body weak and broken. Now, he was a god... or worse.
"Leave me, Selene," he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. "I don’t want you near me right now."
"No," she said, her tone firmer than before. "I’m not afraid of you."
He turned then, and his eyes glowed faintly blue, swirling like a whirlpool. For a heartbeat, Selene faltered—but she didn’t step back. She stood firm.
Poseidon’s chest ached. She was brave, perhaps foolishly so, but her defiance pulled him back from the edge. He exhaled slowly, forcing the monstrous energy down, burying Thalorin’s whispers deep within.
"Then you’re a fool," he said, softer this time.
Selene’s lips curved in the faintest smile. "Perhaps. But every god needs a fool to remind them they’re not invincible."
Poseidon looked at her for a long while, the storm in his gaze softening.
But the moment of fragile calm shattered.
The sea roared suddenly, far louder than natural. From the horizon, a wall of water rose, higher and higher, like a mountain of liquid glass. Selene gasped, stumbling back. Poseidon felt the surge before he even saw it—this was no ordinary wave.
The water was moving on its own.
And beneath it, a shadow stirred.
Something colossal broke the surface, scales glistening like polished obsidian, eyes glowing with abyssal light. The sea-dragon’s roar split the sky, shaking the earth beneath their feet.
Selene fell to the ground, covering her ears, while Poseidon’s blood ran cold. He knew the creature. A Kraken of Thalorin’s brood. It should not have been awake—it had slumbered for eons beneath the black trenches of the sea.
> I told you, boy, Thalorin’s voice purred inside him. They hear me. They answer me. They come... for us.
The kraken’s massive tentacle slammed onto the cliffside, sending shards of rock flying. Selene screamed as she scrambled away. Poseidon’s instincts flared. He lifted his trident, and the ocean answered.
But he hesitated. The power rising inside him wasn’t entirely his—it was Thalorin’s. To unleash it would mean surrendering, even just a little.
The kraken roared again, its maw opening wide, glowing with an otherworldly light.
Poseidon’s jaw clenched. He had no choice.
He raised the trident high—and when it struck the ground, the sea obeyed.
A column of water as wide as a city tower surged upward, slamming into the beast’s side. The kraken reeled back, but instead of retreating, it only grew more enraged. Tentacles lashed wildly, carving trenches into the earth, smashing stone like glass.
Poseidon’s heart thundered. This was no mere monster—it was a herald. A warning. Olympus would see this as a sign that he was losing control.
And perhaps... he was.
The silence of the abyss pressed against him. It wasn’t the silence of peace, but of something waiting—watching. Dominic—Poseidon—floated in the dark water, his trident still humming with residual energy from the last surge of power he had unleashed. His chest rose and fell heavily, the weight of both exhaustion and revelation anchoring him deeper.
The whispers of Thalorin, that ancient essence buried within him, hadn’t returned since their clash in the Rift. But Dominic could feel it—its pulse, its shadow—lurking just beyond his mind’s reach. The faint ache in his veins, like molten water threading through his blood, reminded him that he was no longer just himself. He was a vessel, but he refused to be only that.
Above him, faint glimmers of light pierced the waves—sunlight breaking the surface, blurred and unreachable. He clenched his fist, tightening his grip on the trident.
"If the gods want to end me, let them come," he muttered into the current. His voice vibrated strangely, echoing in the water as though the sea itself carried his defiance.
But the sea answered.
The currents shifted, spiraling outward like a great wheel turning. From the depths ahead, figures emerged—shadows at first, then forms made clear by the faint glow of the abyssal corals. Warriors. Their armor shimmered with bioluminescent runes, crafted not by Olympian hands but by the forgotten cities that had long ago been swallowed by the ocean.
They knelt in a semicircle around him, their movements deliberate, reverent. At their center stood a woman with hair like flowing kelp and eyes that glowed with deep-sea fire. She held no weapon, but the authority in her stance was sharper than any blade.
"Lord Poseidon," she spoke, her voice steady and commanding, though tinged with awe. "We have waited for your awakening."
Dominic’s grip on his trident tightened. "Waited? Who are you?"
The woman stepped forward, pressing a hand to her chest in solemn salute. "We are the Myrmidons of the Deep—sworn defenders of the true Sea Lord. For centuries we hid, guarding the memory of your dominion while Olympus claimed the throne of the seas. Now you rise again, and we rise with you."
Her words sent a cold thrill through him. He had expected resistance, perhaps even enemies lurking to test him. But this—followers, loyalists he had never known—was something else entirely.
Still, suspicion hardened his tone. "And if I am not the Poseidon you seek? If I am only Dominic, a boy cursed with a god’s burden?"
The Myrmidon leader tilted her head, studying him with eyes that seemed to pierce through flesh and into the depths of his soul. "You carry the essence. We feel it—its pull, its wrath. Whether you claim it or not, the sea answers to you. Already, the currents bend at your word. Deny it if you wish, but you cannot undo what has been bound."
Dominic’s heart pounded. He wanted to reject it, to scream that he was not their savior, not their lord. But the memory of the Rift, of the gods whispering his destruction, silenced him. Whether he claimed the title or not, the storm had already begun.
The woman knelt, pressing her hand into the sand of the seabed. The warriors followed, their runes glowing brighter as though reacting to their oath. "Lead us, Poseidon. Or we shall die in the shadows waiting for another who never comes."
For a long moment, Dominic said nothing. He looked at them—warriors who had hidden for centuries, who had pinned their hope on a god’s return. His throat tightened, not with pride, but with the crushing weight of expectation.
"Then rise," he finally said, his voice echoing unnaturally in the water. "But know this—I am not the Poseidon you remember. I am not your god. I am Dominic, reborn into this curse. If you follow me, you follow a path of blood and rebellion. Olympus will not forgive you."
The leader smiled faintly, fierce and unyielding. "Olympus has never forgiven us. We were born in exile. Now, we choose war."
The word struck him like a wave. War. He had always known it was coming, but to hear it declared outright—by those ready to fight under his name—was different. It felt real now.
And in the distant recesses of his mind, Thalorin stirred. A faint laugh, rumbling like thunder in a storm. "War, boy. At last, you speak my language."
Dominic’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t answer. Not aloud.
Instead, he raised the trident. Its prongs glowed faintly, the ocean itself vibrating around it. The Myrmidons bowed deeper, shadows flickering in the water as if the sea itself acknowledged his gesture.
Somewhere far above, in Olympus, gods whispered of his destruction. But here, in the cold, endless deep, an army had already begun to rise.
And for the first time, Dominic wondered if he could not only survive what was coming—
...but win.