Chapter 349: This is not a boy
The night sky above the mortal world had shattered.
Not by stars falling, not by storm clouds gathering, but by cracks — jagged, luminous fractures that bled divine light into the black heavens. The mortals who saw it thought it was the end of the world. They were not wrong.
For the sea had risen far higher than any shore, and Poseidon stood at its heart.
His body glowed faintly, sculpted not by mortal flesh but by pressure and abyssal depth. Water streamed from his shoulders like living rivers, every breath he drew pulling the tide higher, every exhale pushing it outward across plains, mountains, and fields. Already, entire kingdoms had been swallowed by the sea.
But it was not conquest for its own sake. This was war.
And Olympus had finally answered.
The cracks above widened until three great figures descended through them, each radiating power that scorched the horizon.
First came Zephyros, god of the sky and judgment, his wings of stormclouds spanning across the heavens. Lightning danced between his feathers as he raised his spear of stormwinds.
Then Seraphin, goddess of flame, followed, her hair a crown of fire, her hands wielding twin blades forged from the molten heart of the world. She landed upon the rising tide, her mere presence boiling the surface around her.
Last came Nymera, goddess of shadows, silent and watchful, her cloak spreading into tendrils that strangled the moonlight itself. She did not descend so much as unfold from the darkness already within the sea.
Three gods.
Three verdicts.
And their target was only one.
Poseidon.
The sea god lifted his gaze as the waters surged higher around his legs. His eyes, vast and abyssal, carried no fear. Only inevitability.
"You come too late," Poseidon’s voice rolled across the waters like thunder beneath the deep. "The sea has already claimed what you thought eternal."
Zephyros’s golden eyes burned. "You have drowned entire cities. Mortals scream your name in fear, not worship. This is not divinity. This is ruin."
Poseidon tilted his head, water spiraling behind him in vast whirlpools. "And yet, they call my name. Fear or worship—it matters little. Both are tides. Both bend to me."
Seraphin snarled, fire bursting brighter. "You dare mock the council? You, who were banished, broken, and sealed? You are nothing but the abyss pretending to wear flesh!"
"Then strike me," Poseidon said simply.
And the sea bent around him, waiting.
Seraphin moved first.
She launched across the waves, her fire cutting the sea into steam, her blades crossing toward Poseidon’s chest.
The ocean surged.
A wall of water the height of mountains roared upward, slamming against her. But Seraphin’s fire seared through, carving the wave into boiling mist. She cut forward—only for Poseidon to raise his hand.
The sea obeyed.
From beneath, spears of hardened saltwater burst upward, jagged as coral reefs, forcing Seraphin back. One grazed her arm, leaving molten blood that hissed against the tide.
Zephyros descended next, his storm spear thrusting downward. Lightning split the sky, striking Poseidon directly.
The impact lit the ocean white. Waves split apart for miles. Mortal eyes watching from distant cliffs saw only brilliance, like the world itself had shattered.
But when the light faded—Poseidon still stood.
Steam curled from his shoulders, his skin carved with glowing cracks where lightning had kissed him. He raised his arm—and the sea roared upward, a vortex spiraling toward the heavens, seeking to drag Zephyros down.
The storm god resisted, wings thrashing, thunder bursting from his chest. The vortex shattered into rain, but not before pulling him dangerously close.
And then—Nymera struck.
She did not shout. She did not blaze. She simply appeared.
Her shadows wrapped around Poseidon’s throat like chains, tightening, dragging him downward into his own sea. For a moment, his body flickered beneath the waves, his form dissolving into the abyss.
The gods above exhaled, ready to seal him—
Until the sea screamed.
A sound not of water, not of storm, but of everything.
The ocean itself convulsed, exploding outward in all directions. Entire coastlines miles away were shattered as the tide leapt inland, devouring villages and fields. Ships anchored in distant harbors were snapped like toys.
Poseidon rose again, water dripping from his hair, his eyes voids filled with crushing depth.
"You three believe yourselves hunters," his voice whispered across the sea. "But you are prey. And this ocean is your cage."
The sea turned against them.
From the deep, shapes rose—colossal silhouettes of beasts long thought myth. Leviathans with jaws like cathedrals. Serpents coiled in endless spirals. Their eyes glowed the same abyssal blue as Poseidon’s.
Zephyros cursed, lightning slashing through the first serpent’s skull, splitting bone and scale. It fell, but more surged upward, shrieking.
Seraphin’s fire burned vast swathes of the tide, vaporizing gallons into choking steam. But each time she cut one beast apart, another formed from the water itself, rearing to strike again.
Nymera’s shadows fought back, binding and choking the leviathans, but the moment her tendrils tightened, the water reshaped, slipping through her grasp.
The sea was endless.
And it was Poseidon.
High above, in the halls of Olympus, gods watched. The council chamber shook as visions of the battle unfolded in the scrying pools.
Some gods whispered of awe. Others of terror.
"This is not a vessel," one admitted, voice trembling. "This is not a boy. This is not even Thalorin reborn. This is something new."
But Zeus, seated at the throne of storm, said nothing. His jaw tightened as he watched his siblings fight—and falter. For the first time in ages, doubt flickered in his gaze.
Poseidon raised both hands. The sea behind him rose like curtains pulled upward, towering higher and higher until they eclipsed the moon.
Then he clenched his fists.
The walls of water collapsed inward, crashing toward the three gods with force enough to pulverize mountains.
Zephyros thrust his spear, a barrier of stormwinds deflecting some of the tide. Seraphin ignited herself fully, becoming a living star to burn through the crush. Nymera vanished into shadow, reappearing yards away, drenched but alive.
But even together, they struggled. Each breath was spent holding back the infinite.
Poseidon advanced, step by step, the sea carrying him forward. His voice rolled over the chaos.
"I am not your prisoner. I am not your forgotten brother. I am not Thalorin. I am the abyss that remembers everything you buried. I am Poseidon. And the sea... is rising."
The clash only grew heavier, gods and ocean tearing the world apart around them.
The mortals who watched from the ruined cliffs wept and prayed, not knowing if they prayed for mercy—or for an ending.
And far above, Olympus shook, for the first time fearing that its throne might not stand forever.