Reincarnated As Poseidon

The storm above raged like a wrathful god's heartbeat, every thunderclap rolling across the ocean in violent tremors. Poseidon stood on the prow of the shattered warship, sea spray lashing against his face. His trident gleamed under the flickers of lightning, the prongs singing with an energy that felt older than the waves themselves.

Below him, the dark water shifted unnaturally—not from wind, nor current—but from a presence moving through it with deliberate, predatory intent.

Thalorin's whisper slithered through his mind like brine in a wound. It wakes… can you feel it, vessel?

Poseidon's grip on the trident tightened. "It's not fear I feel," he said aloud to the empty horizon, "it's hunger."

The sea answered him with a deep, bone-shaking rumble. From beneath, the surface burst open in a bloom of crimson foam. A serpentine shape rose from the depths—its scales blacker than night, its eyes molten gold, burning with an ancient grudge. The Leviathan.

It was not just a creature—it was an old god of the deep, a sovereign predator from before mortal memory. And it was here for him.

The deck pitched violently as the beast coiled around the wreck, each movement making the wood groan like it was screaming. The air itself thickened, tasting of copper and salt. Poseidon felt the pressure in his skull—the Leviathan's will pressing down on his own, an unspoken challenge between rulers of the deep.

"I don't bow," Poseidon growled.

The beast lunged, maw gaping wide enough to swallow the ship whole. Poseidon spun, his trident flashing arcs of blue-white light as he struck. The impact was a thunderclap underwater—the Leviathan reeled, roaring so loud it split the clouds overhead.

But his victory was momentary. The tail lashed out with monstrous speed, shattering the mast and flinging Poseidon into the churning water.

Cold darkness closed over him instantly, but down here, he wasn't just a man—he was the ocean's heir. The water embraced him like muscle and sinew, amplifying his strength, feeding his will.

The Leviathan dove after him, its coils blotting out what little light filtered from above. Poseidon summoned the currents, twisting the sea into a spiraling vortex. The two collided in a maelstrom of force—the beast's jaws clamping onto the trident's shaft, Poseidon's hands locked in a desperate push to keep those fangs from finding flesh.

In his mind, Thalorin's voice rose to a fevered chant. Let go, and I will end this in one strike. Let me take the reins, vessel…

Poseidon's teeth clenched. He had felt Thalorin's true might before—raw, monstrous, and without mercy. But giving him control meant more than just winning; it meant losing himself, inch by inch, to the entity that lurked within his soul.

The Leviathan's eyes glowed brighter, its roar becoming a low, resonant hum—a weaponized vibration that rattled through Poseidon's bones. Blood filled his mouth.

He made his choice.

"Take it," he snarled.

The moment he surrendered, the change was instant. His skin darkened with the shimmer of abyssal scales, his eyes flared an unnatural shade between sapphire and abyss black. His grip on the trident became something else entirely—not the hold of a warrior, but the talons of a predator.

Thalorin laughed through his voice. Now, let's show it who owns the deep.

With a single strike, the ocean split. A column of water as wide as a city street blasted upward, launching the Leviathan out of the sea. Lightning caught its body in midair, illuminating every jagged scale and scar.

Poseidon followed, propelled by the currents like an arrow loosed from a bow. He drove the trident deep into the creature's chest, the prongs punching through flesh and bone with an explosion of black blood that rained down like oil.

The beast crashed back into the sea, thrashing in agony, the water frothing red. But it wasn't dead—not yet.

It surged forward, wrapping coils around him, dragging him deeper into the abyss. Darkness swallowed them both until the light of the surface became a memory.

Here, in the crushing silence, Poseidon felt the real danger—not the teeth, not the constriction—but the pull. Something deeper than the Leviathan's hatred was calling from below. A chasm. A prison. A hunger.

He realized too late: the Leviathan wasn't hunting him. It was delivering him.

From the shadows, two eyes larger than ships opened in the blackness. The sheer pressure of their gaze made the sea vibrate. A voice—not in his mind, not in the water, but in the marrow of his bones—spoke.

Child of the stolen name… return what is mine.

Poseidon's breath hitched. He didn't know who—or what—spoke, but Thalorin went utterly silent in his mind.

For the first time since his rebirth, the ancient within him felt… afraid.

The ocean roared like an ancient beast in pain. Every wave slammed against the cliffside with a violence that mirrored the turmoil within Poseidon's mind. His trident was clenched so tightly that the golden inlays dug into the flesh of his palm, warm and almost alive, pulsing faintly with the heartbeat of Thalorin — the ancient water entity that now shared his soul.

Behind him, the distant cries of gulls seemed almost mocking, as though the sea itself was daring him to take the next step. But ahead, beyond the horizon, he could sense them. The gods. Watching. Waiting. Planning his destruction.

"They're moving against you," Thalorin's deep voice rumbled in his thoughts, carrying that ageless authority that could command storms. "You've awakened too much, too quickly. They fear you."

Poseidon's jaw tightened.

"Let them fear me."

But even as he spoke the words, a shadow of doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve. The memories were still fragmented — flashes of his life before the mortal illness, before his death and rebirth. Images of hospital corridors. The smell of antiseptic. His mother's tears. Then the blinding light of drowning in a different sea entirely — one made of memories, blood, and eternity.

You are not just a god now, Thalorin reminded him. You are a vessel. But even vessels can break.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through the crashing of the waves. Poseidon turned slowly, his sea-blue eyes narrowing.

It was Nerissa.

Her hair shimmered like black pearls, her armor a sleek weave of coral and obsidian. But there was an unease in her posture, a hesitance that Poseidon had never seen in her before.

"They're calling the Council," she said without preamble. "Aegirion's voice was loudest. He wants you gone before the moon turns."

Poseidon's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Aegirion has wanted me gone since the day I arrived."

"This is different," Nerissa pressed, stepping closer. "They've summoned The Abysswalkers."

At that, even Thalorin's ancient presence went silent for a heartbeat.

Poseidon frowned. "The Abysswalkers are a myth."

"No," Nerissa shook her head. "They're real. And they're not bound by divine law."

The weight of that truth hung between them like a storm cloud. Abysswalkers — assassins from the deepest trenches, older than Olympus, older than the pantheon itself. Creatures whispered about in sailor's taverns and cursed prayers, said to strip the divinity from a god's bones.

"They'll come for you at high tide," Nerissa warned. "You need to leave this coast."

"I'm not running," Poseidon said coldly. "If they want me, they'll have to drag me into the depths."

A pulse of approval came from Thalorin. Good. Let them come.

But Poseidon could feel it — the ocean itself was shifting, uneasy, like an animal sensing a predator. Somewhere far below the surface, something ancient stirred.

---

By the time the sun had fallen behind the horizon, the beach was empty, save for Poseidon. The moon's reflection lay on the water like a silver blade. The tide began to creep inward, each wave pulling with it an unnatural heaviness.

And then he saw them.

Three figures, blacker than shadow, emerging from the sea as though it was nothing more than mist. No water clung to them. Their eyes glowed faintly — one crimson, one gold, one a sickly white — and their bodies were armored in what looked like the bones of drowned titans.

"You've awakened the Rift," the one with crimson eyes hissed, his voice like the grind of coral against stone. "Thalorin's essence cannot remain in this realm."

Poseidon's trident flared with blue-white light, the air around it crackling with power. "Tell Aegirion he'll have to kill me himself."

The gold-eyed Abysswalker tilted his head. "We are not messengers."

And then they moved.

The first strike was so fast Poseidon barely saw it — a blur of shadow, a blade slicing toward his chest. He twisted, the trident meeting steel with a sound like thunder. The impact rippled through the water at his feet, sending sprays into the night air.

The second came from behind, claws raking across his armor. Sparks flew, and for a moment, pain lanced through his side. He turned, sweeping the trident in a wide arc, catching one of them across the torso. The blow should have shattered any mortal — but the Abysswalker simply staggered and lunged again.

They are bound to the deep, Thalorin warned. You cannot kill them like men.

Poseidon growled, summoning the sea. The waves rose behind him, towering walls of liquid fury, crashing forward with his will. Two of the Abysswalkers were caught in the surge, their shapes vanishing into the churning water — but the third, the one with white eyes, walked through it untouched.

"Divine tricks," he murmured. "Useless."

The white-eyed one struck, faster than lightning. Poseidon caught the blade on the shaft of his trident, twisting it free and driving the butt end into the Abysswalker's jaw. Bone cracked. The figure staggered — but did not fall.

Blood dripped from Poseidon's lip. His breathing was ragged now. The salt in the air was thick with tension.

And then, the sea itself changed.

The waves stilled. The sound of the tide was replaced by a deep, slow heartbeat. The water at his feet turned black — not the darkness of night, but the abyssal black of depths no mortal had seen.

The Abysswalkers froze. And for the first time, they looked… uneasy.

From the black water rose a shape. Enormous. Unfathomable. Eyes like suns burning in the deep. The water shivered around it as the form leaned closer, and a voice that made the bones of the earth tremble spoke.

Vessel of my essence… will you claim what is mine?

Poseidon's heart pounded. He understood now. This was no mere battle. This was a test.

He tightened his grip on the trident. "Yes."

The ocean exploded upward, swallowing the shore in a maelstrom. The Abysswalkers were ripped away, their forms torn apart by tendrils of pure abyssal water. And in the center of it all, Poseidon stood — no longer merely a god of the sea, but something greater, something older.

When the water fell away, he was alone.

And on the horizon, he could see lights — the Council's ships, sailing for him.