CHAPTER 160: MERCY,” A VOICE CHUCKLED INSIDE HIM.

Poseidon closed his eyes.

The tide inside him pulsed. Every heartbeat drew another pull of the sea. Each breath dragged the horizon closer. He did not summon it—it came willingly, as though the oceans themselves had longed to answer him.

And yet...

Why do I feel hollow?

The power filled him to breaking, yes. The drowned bell had tolled because of him. The gods stirred because of him. The mortals whispered his name again after centuries of silence.

But beneath all of that, an ache lingered.

He could still hear Dominic’s memory. A boy’s voice. Weak, human. Desperate.

"I didn’t want this."

Poseidon’s fingers curled into fists. The sand beneath him turned instantly wet, saltwater rising around his knuckles. He could erase Dominic’s remnants completely, crush them into the abyss. He was the sea now—no mortal should weigh down his tide.

And yet, Dominic clung to him, like a barnacle to a hull.

---

The Survivor

A cough echoed from the rubble of a half-fallen watchtower. Poseidon’s head tilted.

Someone lived.

From the shadows staggered a figure—soaked, broken, yet upright. A woman in temple robes, hair plastered to her skull, her arms trembling as she dragged herself across the ruins. Her lips bled from salt. Her eyes burned with defiance.

The Watcher of Tides.

The last priestess who had tended the bell.

She collapsed to her knees in the surf, staring up at him. Not with worship. Not even with fear. But with recognition.

"Poseidon." Her voice cracked like brittle reeds. "You walk again."

Poseidon stepped closer. The water rippled at his command, lifting her up so she would not drown. Her frail body floated like driftwood before him.

"You rang the bell," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You knew what it meant."

"I did," she whispered, coughing. "And I know what you are."

Poseidon’s gaze sharpened. "Say it."

"You are not the boy. You are not the god we prayed to. You are not even the tyrant the council fears. You are... something else."

Her words struck deeper than any blade.

Because she was right.

Poseidon had expected fear. He had expected curses. But what she gave him instead was truth—truth he himself could barely shape.

The tide swelled around her ankles, testing, wanting. A single thought could crush her, silence the last witness of the drowned city.

But he did not.

Instead, Poseidon whispered, "Go."

The priestess blinked, stunned. "Go...?"

"Tell them," Poseidon said, his eyes glowing with abyssal light. "Tell the gods what you saw. Tell them what I have become. Let them tremble in their palaces before the tide even reaches them."

The water lowered her back onto a broken stone. Shaking, gasping, she crawled away, dragging her drenched robes behind her.

Poseidon did not watch her leave. He was already staring out at the horizon, where the line between sea and sky had begun to blur.

---

The Whisper of the Abyss

"Mercy," a voice chuckled inside him.

It was not Dominic. It was deeper. Hungrier.

Thalorin.

The abyssal echo that had been shackled inside him since awakening.

"You should have drowned her with the rest. You are not the tide if you choose where it flows. You are weakness still."

Poseidon’s jaw tightened. "You mistake restraint for weakness."

"Restraint?" Thalorin laughed, a sound like crushing pressure in the deepest trench. "No, little sea. Restraint is what chained me beneath eternity. Restraint is why the council believes they can hunt you."

The voice grew darker, closer. "I am you. You are me. Together, we are not Poseidon. We are the abyss. Let me steer, and I will show you what it means to end gods."

Poseidon’s hands trembled. The sea around him began to froth, surging upward as if answering Thalorin’s hunger. For a moment, he felt himself slipping—his will being dragged beneath black waters.

But then...

He remembered.

The priestess’s eyes. Her words.

Something else.

Not Dominic. Not the old god. Not the abyss.

Something else.

"I am Poseidon," he snarled. "Not your shadow. Not their pawn. Mine."

Thalorin’s laughter faded to a whisper, curling like smoke in the corners of his mind. "For now."

---

Olympus Watches

Far above, Olympus stirred.

The drowned bell’s toll had reached even their shining spires. From the marble halls, gods looked down into mortal ruin and saw their fear confirmed.

Zephyros, Lord of the Sky, leaned over the divine pool, eyes flashing. "He does not hide any longer. He announces himself. A challenge."

Seraphin, Goddess of Flame, spat fire between her teeth. "Then let us meet it with fire. He has drowned one harbor. How many more before we act?"

Nymera, cloaked in shadow, merely whispered: "He is not what he was. This tide... it bends. It thinks. He is dangerous not only in strength, but in will."

And in the corner, silent, sat Aegirion. His fists clenched, his jaw locked, his heart torn between two truths—duty to the council, and the haunting memory of the boy who had once looked at him with desperate eyes.

When the vote was called, the decree was swift.

War.

The gods would send their champions. The hunt for Poseidon had officially begun.

---

The Rising

Back on the drowned shore, Poseidon inhaled. The horizon swelled with him.

For the first time, he felt Olympus’s gaze. Heavy, judging, sharp as spears. They were not hiding their intent. The council had decided.

And Poseidon—newborn god, vessel, abyss—did not cower.

He smiled.

Because war meant they would come to him.

And the sea was already his.

The silence after the flood was not peace. It was breath held too long, lungs straining, a silence heavy with promise of something worse.

Poseidon stood upon the drowned shore, feet sinking into the wet silt where streets had once been. Around him, the sea glittered in eerie calm, lanterns from sunken boats flickering faintly below the surface like stars drowned too soon. The air reeked of salt and splintered timber.

Mortals clung to rooftops in the distance, their eyes wide not with disbelief—but recognition. They knew who had come. They knew who had leaned the sea against their walls.

And for the first time in centuries, they whispered his name again.

"Poseidon."

The syllables carried over the water like offerings, half in fear, half in awe.

Poseidon inhaled deeply, and the sea rose with his breath. Each droplet of saltwater in the air bent toward him, eager to answer his call. This was no longer the fragmented power of a vessel—this was dominion awakening.

Yet within the surge of power, there lingered an ache. Memories that were not wholly his. Dominic’s hands clutched phantom ropes of childhood; Dominic’s eyes saw Kaeli’s smile; Dominic’s heart still felt the fear of being mortal.

The tide spoke to him now in Dominic’s voice.

You will drown them all.

Poseidon’s gaze hardened. "No. I will cleanse them. The old order buried me, sealed me, spat on my name. But now? Now the sea remembers its king."

The waves lapped higher, as though bowing to him.

---

The Mortal Response

From the rubble of the seawall, survivors scrambled upward. Some carried blades, others torches, though both guttered uselessly against the water that coiled at their feet.

A captain of the city guard shouted, "To arms! He walks among us as a man! Slay him before he calls the deep again!"

Dozens of soldiers rallied, boots sloshing in waist-high water. They raised spears, their polished tips trembling.

Poseidon watched them with cool detachment. Mortals, brave enough to charge a god, yet too foolish to see futility.

One lunged forward, spear leveled at his chest. Poseidon did not move. The water surged upward of its own accord, hardening into a crystalline spear that met the mortal’s weapon mid-thrust. The human weapon shattered, shards sinking uselessly into the water.

Another soldier screamed and hurled a torch, its flame sputtering as it struck Poseidon’s shoulder. Instead of fire, steam burst upward, a hiss like angered waves crashing on cliffs. The soldier was hurled backward by the backlash, body breaking against a collapsed wall.

Poseidon lifted his hand. The sea obeyed. Dozens of streams rose like serpents, wrapping around each soldier’s limbs. They struggled, their cries echoing through the drowned ruins.

"Enough," Poseidon commanded.

The waters stilled—tightened—yet did not kill. He looked into their terrified eyes. "Your city fell because it forgot the sea’s name. But I am no butcher. Go. Carry word of what you’ve seen. Tell the world Poseidon has returned."

The water released them. They fled, stumbling, coughing, some screaming prayers to gods who no longer heard them.

---

The Whisper of the Abyss

When the last mortal vanished, silence crept back. Poseidon closed his eyes, breathing in the salt-thick air. But within his mind, another voice stirred.

You spared them.

The voice was deep, endless, filled with hunger. Thalorin’s shadow, lingering still within him.

Spare them, and they will betray you. Kill them, and they will worship you. The abyss devours mercy.

Poseidon’s fists clenched. "I am not your shadow. I am not your hunger. I am the tide itself."

The abyss chuckled, a sound like rocks grinding at the ocean floor. So you say... but tides always return. They come, they go, and they take all with them.

Poseidon exhaled slowly, opening his eyes. Across the horizon, storm clouds had begun to gather at last—unnatural, streaked with silver lightning. Olympus was watching. The other gods had felt the drowned bell.

He knew what would come next.

---

In the Divine Skies

High above, the gods peered into mortal seas. Olympus, seat of celestial power, shook with debate.

"His restraint is deception," thundered Zephyros, lord of the skies. "He drowns cities already—tomorrow, he drowns nations."

"Perhaps he is not yet lost," Aegirion countered, fists tight on his trident. "I saw hesitation. I saw choice. That is not Thalorin’s abyss—that is Poseidon’s will."

Seraphin, goddess of flame, spat fire across the chamber floor. "Choice? Look below. Mortals bow already in fear. If he regains dominion unchecked, none of us will hold sway over sea or shore."

The council roared in argument. Yet above them all, the Arbiter raised his staff. "Enough. The decree is set. Poseidon shall be struck before his tide overtakes Olympus itself."

The vote was sealed. The first strike would be prepared.

---

Poseidon’s Resolve

Back on the shore, Poseidon felt it—a prickle in the water, a vibration carried across every drop. They were coming. Not mortals this time. Not soldiers. Gods.

The sea at his feet quivered eagerly, awaiting his command. Above, lightning split the sky.

He spread his arms wide, his voice carrying across waves and ruins alike.

"Come then. Test your chains against the tide. You buried me once, but the ocean remembers. And this time, I will not kneel."

The waves rose behind him, towering like walls of glass and fury. His eyes burned with stormlight.

For the first time since his awakening, Poseidon smiled.