CHAPTER 175: "KILL HIM?

He could feel it—the heartbeat of the sea. It no longer whispered; it thundered. A rhythm vast enough to swallow empires, steady enough to reshape continents. And beneath that rhythm, something older stirred.

Thalorin.

The abyss whispered inside his chest, ancient and cold, urging him onward. More. Break the chains. Flood the heavens.

Poseidon clenched his trident, its prongs dripping with liquid light. For a moment, his jaw tightened. He was no longer the boy Dominic, terrified of gods and men. He was no longer merely a vessel. He was the sea itself, shaped into human form. But the hunger of Thalorin pressed harder with each passing hour, threatening to devour his reason.

"Not yet," he murmured, voice low but resonant, carrying like a tide through the drowned streets. "I will rise—but on my own terms. Not as your puppet."

The tide obeyed. It receded slowly, leaving wreckage in its wake, as though the ocean bowed to his will.

---

The Shattered Mortals

On what little land remained, survivors stared at him. Some with hatred, others with reverence. They whispered his name—not Dominic, not boy, not vessel.

"Poseidon..."

The name spread like wildfire through the ruined harbor, a prayer and a curse entwined.

A wounded soldier, armor rusted by salt, raised his broken sword. "Monster! You drowned us all!" His cry cracked in his throat, more desperate than brave.

Poseidon turned his gaze toward the man. He didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t need to. The soldier’s blade rusted instantly, the salt thickening until the weapon snapped in two. The man dropped to his knees, sobbing as water filled his lungs—not from outside, but from within. He coughed, gasped, drowned standing in shallow water, and fell face-first into the tide.

Gasps echoed from the survivors. None dared move.

Poseidon looked at them not with rage but with something colder—detachment. "You called upon gods who never came. You built walls against a sea you did not understand. Now you remember the truth. The sea was never yours to command."

A mother clutched her child tighter, tears mixing with salt spray. She bowed her head. "Lord Poseidon... mercy."

For the first time, his gaze softened. He lifted a hand. The water around her receded, leaving her and her child dry amidst the flood.

"You are not my enemy," he said. "But do not mistake this mercy for weakness. The age of false gods is ending. The tide is mine alone to command."

---

Olympus Watches

Far above, hidden behind the veil of stars, Olympus watched.

Zeus’s throne crackled with stormlight, his face thunderous as he gazed into the scrying pool. The image of Poseidon standing amidst drowned ruins reflected there—calm, commanding, untouchable.

"This cannot stand," Zeus growled. "He dares claim the sea, he dares claim dominion, when Olympus holds the heavens and earth alike."

Hera’s cold voice cut in, sharp as a blade. "You left the seas unguarded for too long, husband. Now he has returned to claim what was once his."

Ares leaned forward, armor clinking, eyes burning. "Then we kill him. Drown the drowned god in his own abyss."

But Athena’s voice carried over the chamber, calm yet edged. "Kill him? Fool. He is not the boy we dismissed. Look closely. That is not merely Poseidon reborn—it is Poseidon and something more. That presence..." Her eyes narrowed. "It smells of the abyss. Of Thalorin."

At the name, even Zeus’s hand hesitated over his throne’s armrest.

"Thalorin was erased," Zeus said, though his tone wavered. "His essence scattered, locked away in the Rift."

"And yet here he stands," Athena countered. "We cannot rush. If Poseidon has fused with that abyss, then striking blindly may unleash more than we can bind."

The council erupted in argument—Ares demanding blood, Hera demanding control, Hades, silent in his shadowed corner, merely watching with faint interest.

But over them all, Zeus raised his hand, and the hall silenced.

"Then we proceed carefully. Summon Hermes. Spread word through the mortal kingdoms. Poseidon is declared an enemy of Olympus. His name is forbidden in prayer. Any mortal who shelters him will share his fate."

Thunder rumbled through Olympus, but for the first time in eons, Zeus’s storm carried unease.

---

The Whisper Beneath

Back at the drowned coast, Poseidon knelt by the shore. He dug his fingers into wet sand, closing his eyes. He could feel Olympus watching. He could feel their fear. And deeper still, he could hear Thalorin’s whisper.

They plot against you. They always feared you. Break them. Drown their thrones in salt. Become the abyss they dread.

Poseidon’s breath hitched, his body trembling as the abyss coiled tighter in his veins. Visions flashed—Olympus burning, gods choking on brine, the heavens dragged beneath a tidal wave that blotted out stars.

For a moment, his grip on himself slipped.

The tide surged violently, tearing more buildings from their foundations, swallowing the remains of the bell tower whole. Survivors screamed, clinging to ruins.

Poseidon opened his eyes, forcing the vision away. His pupils glowed brighter than before, like whirlpools pulling light inward.

"No," he whispered. "Not yet. I am Poseidon, not your puppet. The sea answers to me."

The whisper chuckled darkly, fading but not gone. For now.

---

The Heralds of Olympus

As the night deepened, a shadow swept across the moonlight. From the sky descended winged figures clad in bronze—Olympus’s heralds. Each bore a spear of lightning, eyes burning with divine authority. They landed upon the fractured seawall, their wings shaking off salt spray.

"Mortal and divine alike!" the lead herald bellowed. "By decree of Olympus, the one who calls himself Poseidon is declared rogue! Surrender your power and submit, or be struck down!"

The survivors turned wide-eyed toward Poseidon. Some whimpered in fear, expecting him to fall.

Poseidon rose slowly, trident gleaming, water curling around him like living armor. His voice thundered across the ruins, louder than the herald’s.

"You call me rogue? You, who abandoned the seas, who chained mortals with silence while storms consumed them? I am no pretender. I am the tide eternal."

The herald raised his spear. "Then you are condemned."

They charged as one.

But the moment their spears neared him, the water surged upward—not splashing, not spraying, but rising as if the sea itself obeyed a command. A wall of living tide burst forth, engulfing the heralds.

Their screams cut short as lightning sputtered, spears extinguished, wings torn apart by crushing water. In seconds, the sea swallowed them whole, leaving nothing but ripples.

Poseidon lowered his trident. The water calmed instantly.

The survivors stared in awed silence. Some dropped to their knees, bowing toward him, while others fled in terror.

Poseidon’s gaze drifted upward, past the moon, toward Olympus. His voice was steady, but it carried like a storm across the sky.

"If you would chain the sea, come yourselves. Send no more dogs."

---

The Omen of Tides

Far off the coast, the ocean stirred unnaturally. Currents twisted, spinning into a spiral that grew larger with every breath. The heavens themselves seemed to tilt as the tide bent reality.

From the deep trench, something vast shifted—a leviathan older than mortal memory, long chained in the abyss. Its eye opened, glowing faintly, reflecting Poseidon’s rising will.

The sea was no longer passive. It was awakening with him.

The age of Olympus was tilting.

And Poseidon, reborn, stood at the center of the storm, trident raised, the tide refusing every chain.