Reincarnated As Poseidon

The ocean sang to him—not in gentle lullabies, but in a deep, resonating chorus that seemed to shake the very marrow of the world. Waves rolled and crashed in perfect rhythm with the slow, deliberate beat of Poseidon's heart.

No… not Dominic.

Dominic was long gone.

The name might still linger in the minds of a few who once knew him as a dying boy in a hospital bed, but the moment he had been reborn into the vast depths, the moment the sea had embraced him, he became something greater. Something eternal.

He was Poseidon now. Lord of the Depths. Keeper of the Tides. And he would not be denied.

---

The battlefield stretched far across the surface and beneath it. The sky was a writhing canvas of storm clouds, and lightning painted jagged scars across the darkness. The ocean itself had become a weapon—walls of water rising like fortress walls before slamming down upon the enemy fleets.

Warships splintered like children's toys. Screams were swallowed whole by the roar of the sea. Blood ran through the currents, staining them crimson as bodies sank into the abyss.

And at the center of it all… Poseidon stood, barefoot upon the shifting water, as if it were solid stone beneath him. His trident shimmered with a cold, deadly light, each point radiating the wrath of the ocean itself.

"Enough hiding," he murmured, his voice carrying across the chaos like the whisper of a god. "Enough pretending to be less than what I am."

---

Below, shadows twisted in the deep. Massive forms moved just out of sight, but their presence was undeniable. Leviathans—creatures as old as the sea, summoned by their master's call—stirred from their slumber. Their eyes glowed with a feral hunger as they circled, awaiting the command to feast.

A warlord from the invading fleet dared to step forward, balancing himself on a shattered mast. His armor glinted even in the dark stormlight, and his voice was sharp with arrogance.

"Poseidon!" he shouted. "You claim dominion over these waters, yet you bring ruin upon them! The sea is not yours to command—it is nature's own!"

Poseidon's lips curled into something that was not quite a smile.

"Nature bends to me," he said, lifting his trident slightly. "It always has. It always will."

---

The warlord lunged, his blade glowing with some ancient blessing of the wind gods. But Poseidon did not move—not until the enemy was a breath away. Then, with a twist of his wrist, the trident met steel.

The clash was not a sound so much as a feeling—a deep, bone-rattling shock that rolled through the water and sky alike. The warlord's sword shattered in an instant, shards of steel flying into the waves.

A single step forward from Poseidon, and the sea itself rose behind him, forming a tidal spear that dwarfed any mortal weapon.

"Fall," Poseidon said simply.

The water obeyed.

The tidal spear tore through the warlord, lifting him into the air before hurling him into the churning abyss. The Leviathans descended, and his scream was cut short.

---

But Poseidon's victory was not yet complete.

From the horizon, an unnatural light began to glow. It spread quickly, turning the edges of the storm gold and crimson. The sea hissed as the light touched it—steam rising where saltwater met divine fire.

A voice, rich and venomous, rolled over the waves.

"Still playing at being a god, little vessel?"

Poseidon's grip on his trident tightened. He knew that voice. It was Aegirion—the self-proclaimed new god of the waters, the one who believed that the sea's will belonged to him alone.

The last time they had crossed paths, Aegirion had underestimated him. That mistake would not be repeated on either side.

---

The light on the horizon swelled until it took form—a towering figure of molten coral and burning current, crowned with jagged spines of gold. Aegirion's eyes were pits of volcanic flame, and each step he took turned the waves beneath him into scalding steam.

"Poseidon," Aegirion said, almost mockingly. "Or should I still call you Dominic? I can smell the mortal weakness clinging to you like rot."

Poseidon stepped forward until the distance between them was nothing but restless sea. His eyes were cold, his voice colder still.

"You'll call me Lord of the Depths before the day is done."

Aegirion laughed, the sound rumbling like a volcanic eruption. "Then prove yourself worthy. Show me you are more than the sea's accident."

---

The ocean between them exploded as they clashed.

Aegirion's strike was a hammer of molten current, seeking to crush Poseidon beneath sheer force. Poseidon's answer was a sweeping arc of his trident, calling forth a cyclone of water that swallowed the blow whole.

Lightning danced across the waves as they moved, faster than mortal eyes could follow. Every strike they exchanged sent shockwaves rolling across the sea, splitting ships in half and drowning men who had already abandoned the fight.

Below them, the Leviathans joined the chaos, tearing through whatever remained of the enemy fleet—but Aegirion's own monstrous servants rose to meet them, creatures made of coral, lava, and boiling water.

The battle became a storm within a storm.

---

Poseidon found his breath ragged but his focus unbroken. He had not been given this rebirth to falter. He had been forged in suffering, shaped by betrayal, and honed by the will of the ocean itself.

Dominic might have been a boy who knew weakness.

Poseidon knew only power.

With a surge of his will, the entire sea seemed to tilt—currents shifting violently, pulling Aegirion off-balance. Poseidon drove forward, trident blazing, and the point struck true, piercing into the molten armor at Aegirion's chest.

Steam burst forth, and Aegirion roared in pain.

But even wounded, the god did not fall. His hand shot forward, gripping Poseidon's arm in a vice-like hold.

"If I burn," Aegirion snarled, "I'll take you with me."

The molten current began to climb Poseidon's arm, searing his flesh. Pain flared white-hot—but Poseidon's fury burned hotter.

He called not to the surface waters, but to the deep—to the cold, crushing dark where light had never touched. From that abyss came an ancient force, older than both of them.

The ocean itself answered.

---

The sea rose higher than mountains, curling into a colossal hand of water. It struck with the force of eternity, slamming into Aegirion and dragging him beneath.

Poseidon followed, plunging into the depths after his foe. Down here, there was no light, no sound—only the crushing embrace of the abyss. And here, Poseidon was not merely a god.

He was the abyss.

---

When he emerged again, the storm had begun to break.

The sea was quiet—too quiet. Aegirion was gone, swallowed by the depths, but Poseidon knew better than to believe the god was truly dead.

For now, though, the waters were his once more.

The Leviathans circled him in silent acknowledgment before sinking back into the unseen deep. The fleets were nothing but driftwood and corpses. The world above would hear of this battle, and it would remember his name—not as a boy who died, but as the god who claimed the sea.

Poseidon lifted his trident to the sky, and the clouds parted. Moonlight spilled across the waves.

This was only the beginning.