CHAPTER 214: BATTLE OF GODS 2

The battlefield was no longer recognizable.

What had once been a coastline bristling with mortal cities was now a drowned wasteland, torn between heaven and sea. The clash of divine powers had ripped the very horizon into fragments, sky and water bleeding into one another like broken glass.

Poseidon stood at the center of it all, trident planted into the earth that had already forgotten what it meant to be dry. Around him, waves as tall as fortresses reared and crashed, forming a crown of storms above his head. His aura poured outward in endless ripples, heavy enough to crush mortal lungs even from miles away.

But even a god of the sea could feel fatigue.

The three gods had not fallen easily. Their blows had cracked his skin, their light had burned through the depths, and their curses still coiled through his veins like poisoned harpoons. The battlefield bore the cost: shattered cliffs, sunken villages, and mortals praying to anything that would listen.

Across the waves, the survivors of the divine triad gathered themselves.

---

The Three Survivors

Nymera, Goddess of Shadows, hovered half-shrouded in darkness, her once-fluid cloak now frayed and dripping with saltwater. Cuts ran across her cheek, but her eyes gleamed with fury.

Beside her, Seraphin, Goddess of Flame, staggered on molten wings. Her fire burned less brightly now, guttered by seawater, but every flicker still promised ruin.

And Zephyros, the Sky-Lord himself, remained upright only by the sheer weight of will. One of his wings was torn, lightning bleeding from the wound. His golden gaze never left Poseidon.

They had not won. They had not lost. The war was still raging.

---

Poseidon’s Thoughts

Poseidon drew a deep breath, the sea answering with a shudder. For the first time since awakening, he admitted what simmered at the back of his mind: this was no longer just vengeance.

The gods were not merely challengers. They were the chains. Chains that had bound the ocean, that had ruled mortals like cattle, that had dictated which tides might rise and which storms might fall.

To face three at once and remain standing was not just survival. It was proof.

The sea does not bow.

But he felt the cost in his bones. His vessel—his mortal body—strained under the constant flood of Thalorin’s abyssal strength. For all his newfound sovereignty, the truth remained: he was still becoming. Still shaping himself into the god the world remembered.

And the gods knew it.

---

The Sky Breaks

Zephyros raised his hand, and the firmament cracked. Lightning lanced across the drowned horizon, striking sea and air alike. Every bolt carried the weight of divine judgment, and the sky itself seemed to roar Poseidon’s death sentence.

"Fall, drowned one!" the Sky-Lord bellowed. "You should have remained forgotten. You will not rise again!"

The bolts fell like an iron cage.

Poseidon lifted his trident. With one sweep, the ocean rose. Towering walls of water curved upward, intercepting the lightning with thunderous cracks. The clash of storm and tide filled the world with steam and mist, veiling everything in a silver haze.

From within the fog, Nymera struck. Shadows slipped through the mist like spears, piercing toward Poseidon’s chest.

But the sea was not without shadow of its own. He extended his hand, and the abyss answered. From beneath the waves, spectral tentacles of black water surged upward, snapping the shadow-spears in half and dragging them back into the depths.

"You cannot drown shadow," Nymera hissed.

Poseidon’s gaze pierced the mist. "But the sea does not need to. It erases."

---

Fire Against the Tide

Seraphin’s scream shattered the moment. She hurled herself forward, flames roaring brighter than before, fueled by desperation. Her body was a comet of wrath, burning away even the mist.

She slammed into Poseidon head-on.

The collision sent shockwaves across the drowned coast, splitting the sea open for leagues. Fire clashed with water, the two primal forces writhing in agony as they tried to consume one another.

Poseidon staggered back, trident locked against Seraphin’s blazing blade. Her face was inches from his, lips curled into a snarl.

"You are nothing but a parasite," she spat. "A drowned memory stealing a mortal shell!"

Poseidon’s eyes glowed deep and terrible, oceanic voids that promised no return. "Then drown in that memory."

With a roar, he drove his trident downward. The sea itself obeyed. A vortex opened beneath Seraphin, swallowing her flames into a whirlpool of crushing depths. She screamed as the tide dragged her under, her fire flickering like dying lanterns.

But Poseidon knew better than to think her gone. Gods did not die so easily.

---

The Breaking Point

Zephyros saw his chance. While Seraphin disappeared beneath the waves, the Sky-Lord descended, spear crackling with stormlight. He moved with the swiftness of thunder itself, closing the gap in an instant.

The spear struck Poseidon’s chest.

Pain exploded through him. Divine lightning coursed into his veins, ripping through flesh and aura alike. For a heartbeat, Poseidon’s vision went white. His knees buckled.

Nymera struck next, her shadows twisting into chains, wrapping around his arms and neck. The goddess materialized before him, her face pale, lips curved into a vicious smile.

"Your arrogance ends here," she whispered.

Poseidon’s trident trembled in his grip. The chains cut into him, lightning seared through his chest, and the abyss inside him threatened to burst free without his command.

But beneath the agony, a deeper voice stirred.

Not Thalorin. Not Dominic.

Poseidon.

The tide was not yet at its height.

---

The Sea Rises

With a guttural roar, Poseidon unleashed his will.

The ocean convulsed. Every drop of water within miles answered his cry. The waves rose, the vortex spun wider, and from the depths came not mere water—but forms.

Shapes older than the gods themselves. Leviathans of tide and scale. Serpents of drowned stars. Phantoms of every sailor who had ever sunk beneath his waves.

The battlefield became a nightmare.

Zephyros staggered back, his lightning swallowed by an endless maw of seawater. Nymera’s chains snapped like brittle reeds, shadows drowned beneath abyssal jaws.

And from the whirlpool, Seraphin burst forth, flames raging defiantly—but even she looked small against the tide that now rose above all of them.

Poseidon’s aura flared, vast and terrible, no longer restrained by the mortal shape he wore.

"The sea does not ask," he thundered, voice rolling across land and sky. "It takes."

---

The Retreat

For the first time, the three gods faltered.

Zephyros shielded himself in stormlight, retreating into the sky. Nymera dissolved into a dozen scattered shadows, fleeing into cracks the tide could not reach. Seraphin, gasping and drenched, pulled herself from the whirlpool’s edge, her fire dimming but not extinguished.

They had not been destroyed. But they had been broken.

Poseidon stood amidst the chaos, chest heaving, trident glowing with abyssal light. His body ached with wounds that would take ages to heal, but his will did not falter.

The gods had come to erase him.

Instead, they had bled.

And every mortal watching from the drowned shores would remember what they had seen tonight:

The return of the drowned god.

When silence finally fell, only the tide remained. Broken ships drifted like bones, temples smoldered beneath seawater, and the corpses of drowned priests floated at the surface.

Poseidon lowered his trident.

The war was only beginning. The gods would return. Stronger. With more than three.

But this night had proven something the heavens had long denied.

The sea had risen.

And it would not fall.