Chapter 147: poseidon and Artemis
The world seemed quieter now, unnaturally so, as Poseidon drifted along the rocky cliffs of the island. The crash of waves below should have been thunderous, yet every sound felt distant, muffled, as though the ocean itself was holding its breath. The trident in his grip pulsed faintly, its glow dimming and then reigniting, as if in rhythm with a heartbeat not his own.
He halted, raising it. The aura around the weapon rippled, summoning water vapor into the air. It coiled into threads that writhed like serpents before vanishing into mist. Poseidon frowned. Not mine. This is Thalorin’s doing... or perhaps something older still.
A flicker of movement in the distance caught his eye. Across the darkening horizon, storm clouds gathered unnaturally fast, rolling in like a wall of black. Lightning split the sky, and within that crackling storm, he sensed a presence — not divine, not mortal, but something between. Something watching.
The trident burned in his palm.
"Who follows me?" he demanded, his voice carrying into the wind.
No answer.
Instead, the sea responded. The waters below churned violently, and from its depths emerged a figure. Not a god of Olympus, nor a mortal fisherman, but a being made of brine and shadow — a malformed husk of a creature, eyes glowing with sickly green fire. Its jaw unhinged far too wide, spilling seawater as it shrieked, its body both liquid and flesh.
Poseidon’s stance tightened. "A fragment... Thalorin’s spawn."
The creature lurched forward, climbing the cliff face with unnatural speed, leaving trails of slime and salt crust. Its many-fingered hands reached for him, clawing at the rocks.
Poseidon swung the trident. Water from the storm above spiraled downward, forming a jagged spear of hardened rain that impaled the thing’s chest. It shrieked but did not die — instead splitting in two, each half becoming a new entity crawling toward him.
A grim scowl crossed his face. "Persistent."
He summoned the tide. A great wave surged up the cliff, smashing against the monsters, tearing them apart into frothing foam — but even then, their essence writhed, reforming into smaller, darting serpents of seawater and shadow. They hissed, circling him like vultures waiting for weakness.
"Thalorin’s corruption has already spread farther than I thought..."
Before he could strike again, a whisper pressed against his mind, alien yet strangely familiar.
Why resist? You wield my trident, yet you deny me. Accept what you are, and the sea will no longer oppose you. Together, we could drown Olympus in their own arrogance.
Poseidon gritted his teeth. The whisper was not entirely Thalorin’s. It was his own darker thoughts, amplified, twisted, given voice by the essence that lingered in his soul. He pushed it back, slamming the butt of the trident into the stone beneath his feet.
The ground trembled. Water exploded upward in a massive column, washing the serpents into the sky before dispersing them like mist. Silence fell again. The storm lingered, but the watchers — if they were still there — receded for now.
Poseidon lowered the weapon, his breath heavy. The weight of his dual existence pressed harder than before. He was Poseidon, god of the sea, and yet... he was not entirely free. Thalorin’s remnants clawed within him, waiting.
A voice broke the silence.
"You are not hiding your power well."
Poseidon whirled, trident leveled. From the shadows of a jagged rock outcrop stepped a figure cloaked in silver-gray, her eyes sharp as moonlight.
"Artemis," Poseidon said coldly.
The goddess of the hunt stood at ease, her bow slung across her back. "Do not look so surprised. Olympus moves, Poseidon. You know this already. I was sent to watch."
"To watch, or to strike?"
Her lips curved in a faint, unreadable smile. "That depends on what I find."
He tightened his grip on the trident. "So Zeus already suspects I am not entirely myself."
"Zeus suspects everything," she replied smoothly. "But I suspect something else entirely. I felt the disturbance across the seas — your clash with whatever abomination crawled out just now. That was not divine. That was something older, darker. Was it you... or something else?"
Poseidon’s silence spoke volumes.
Artemis took a cautious step closer, her gaze narrowing. "There are whispers that you are more than what you seem. That perhaps the god before me is a shell... or a vessel."
Her words struck like daggers.
Poseidon’s jaw clenched. He could not allow her — or anyone — to discover the full truth. Not yet.
But Artemis was perceptive. Too perceptive.
"I should tell Zeus," she murmured, almost to herself. "But something holds me back. Perhaps curiosity. Perhaps doubt. Tell me, Poseidon... are you still one of us, or are you something else entirely?"
He met her gaze, unflinching. "That depends. If Olympus turns on me, they may find the answer far more dangerous than they expect."
The air between them crackled with tension. Artemis studied him, then slowly inclined her head. "For now, I will watch. But make no mistake, if you become a threat to Olympus, I will not hesitate."
She turned, vanishing into the mist as quickly as she had appeared, leaving Poseidon alone once more.
He exhaled, lowering the trident. His thoughts churned like the storm above. He had held her off, but not for long. If Artemis suspected, then others would soon follow.
And Olympus would not merely watch. They would strike.
Poseidon stared out at the endless sea, its waves restless under the storm’s weight. He had little time. The gods gathered against him, Thalorin whispered within him, and the creatures of the abyss were beginning to rise.
And yet, somewhere deep in that conflict, a resolve hardened in his chest.
If Olympus wants war... then they will have it. But it will not be the war they expect.
The storm thundered overhead as he descended from the cliff, trident in hand, and stepped once more into the embrace of the restless sea.
The tides raged like a living storm around Poseidon. The waves rose higher than cliffs, the salt-laden spray stung his eyes, and the very seabed trembled beneath his feet. But the real tempest wasn’t outside—it was inside him. Thalorin’s essence coiled like a shadowed serpent within his veins, tightening, pushing, tempting.
"You are not me," Poseidon growled, clenching his trident. The weapon hummed with a low, resonant note, vibrating as though aware of the duel it was being forced into. "I am Dominic. I am Poseidon. You will not take me."