Athena’s voice cut across the battlefield.
"Poseidon. Enough."
Her voice was hoarse, but it carried. Even the waves hesitated.
"You have shattered Olympus’s oath. The pantheon swore balance, and you tear it apart. The seas rise where they should not. Cities drown in your na. The world buckles beneath your storms."
Poseidon’s gaze narrowed. "Olympus’s oath was a cage. A leash. Balance?" He spat the word like poison. "Balance is stagnation. Your oath shackled for centuries beneath the Rift, while mortals prayed to oceans they never understood. Now I walk free, and I will never bow to your oath again."
Hers flickered to Athena’s side, his voice sharp. "You’re not free. You’re tainted. Thalorin’s hunger burns in you. You may call yourself Poseidon, but you are no longer just the god of seas—you are abyss, ruin, and storm. And for that, you will be ended."
Ares laughed, throwing back his head, voice booming like a war drum.
"Enough talk! Let’s kill him!"
And with that, the battle resud.
---
Clash of Titans
Ares charged first, his blade dripping with divine ichor, every step causing the battlefield to quake. He slamd into Poseidon with the fury of a thousand wars, sparks flying as trident t sword.
Poseidon’s eyes glead. He twisted, redirecting Ares’s brute force into the sea itself. A geyser erupted behind them, swallowing dozens of corpses whole. But Ares pressed on, relentless, his blade carving through water itself, leaving trails of steaming mist.
Hers struck next—blurring into existence behind Poseidon. Twin daggers plunged for his spine. But the sea god was already turning. With a flick of his wrist, water solidified into a shield that t Hers’s blades with a ringing crack. The ssenger god vanished before the counterstrike landed, reappearing at Poseidon’s flank, darting in and out like a serpent.
Athena, the strategist, did not rush. She studied. Every thrust, every ripple of Poseidon’s tide, she calculated. And when her mont ca, she hurled her spear—not at him, but at the tide beneath his feet.
The ocean exploded upward, salt spray blinding him for an instant. That instant was all Ares needed.
"DIE!"
His sword slamd into Poseidon’s chest.
The blow cracked against divine flesh, sending Poseidon staggering half a step back, his trident shuddering as it absorbed the force. For the first ti in the battle, blood—not ichor, but black abyssal brine—splattered the ground.
Athena’s eyes widened. Hers smirked. Ares roared with triumph.
But Poseidon only looked down at the wound, then up at them with a smile colder than the deepest trench.
"You drew blood." His voice rumbled like a collapsing glacier. "Now the tide answers in full."
The battlefield drowned.
Not with waves. Not with storms. With depth.
The land beneath their feet sank, folding like paper. What had been shallow tide beca an abyss, a gaping rift filled with endless dark water. Soldiers, corpses, and shattered temples were swallowed whole, vanishing into blackness.
Athena leapt to higher ground, wings of light flaring. Hers flashed through ripples of space, barely escaping the pull. Ares sank waist-deep before clawing himself out with raw strength, bellowing curses.
And from within that abyss, tentacles of liquid shadow coiled upward. Not re water. Not re abyss. This was Thalorin’s hunger, channeled through Poseidon’s will. Each tendril was a storm given flesh, lashing out at the three gods with crushing force.
Hers sliced one apart, only for two more to sprout. Athena’s shield cracked under the relentless battering. Ares hacked wildly, laughing even as ichor stread from his wounds.
Poseidon rose above them, standing atop the abyss as though it were his throne. His trident burned brighter, glowing with runes older than Olympus itself.
"You call tainted," he thundered. "But what you fear is truth: the sea was never yours to leash. It was always mine. And now, I claim not only the ocean—but war, wisdom, and speed as well."
His trident slamd down.
The abyss roared upward, a tidal wave ford not of water, but of stolen divinity.
---
The Gods’ Desperation
Athena scread, "Form the Triad!"
In an instant, the three gods aligned.
Athena at the front, her broken spear reforged in radiant fla. Hers at her side, blades glowing with stolen starlight. Ares at the rear, sword raised high, his roar shaking the heavens.
Together, their power bound into one strike. The Triad Oath—an ancient formation ant only for the most desperate of wars.
Their combined blow split the tidal wave apart, cleaving through Poseidon’s abyss with dazzling brilliance. The shockwave hurled the sea backward, opening a brief, gasping silence across the battlefield.
Athena’s voice was ragged. "You cannot win, Poseidon. Even gods cannot stand alone against three."
Poseidon looked at them, calm as still water. Then he whispered:
"I am not alone."
The abyss stirred.
And within it, a second voice echoed—a deeper, hungrier tone.
"FEED."
The battlefield trembled as the sea itself seed to open eyes. The will of Thalorin pulsed through Poseidon’s veins, rging with his own. Not overpowering him. Not devouring him. lding.
Poseidon’s aura flared—no longer only the ocean’s rage, but the abyss’s hunger.
The three gods staggered under its weight.
Athena’s eyes widened with horror. "Impossible... he has not beco Thalorin—he has made Thalorin his!"
Ares roared in disbelief. Hers paled.
Poseidon raised his trident high, his voice booming across realms:
"The oath is broken. Olympus will drown. And from its ruins, a new tide will rise."
---
The Final Strike
With one motion, he hurled his trident.
The weapon split the battlefield, tearing land and sky alike. The abyss surged with it, a wound in reality itself.
The Triad t it with everything they had—their combined might blazing brighter than suns, their voices united in defiance.
The clash shook the heavens. Mortals across the world felt the quake in their bones. Oceans overturned, mountains cracked, stars flickered.
When the light faded, all lay in ruin.
Athena was on her knees, her armor shattered, ichor streaming. Hers knelt beside her, one arm limp, his blades broken. Ares was sprawled across the broken earth, his laughter finally silenced.
And Poseidon stood, wreathed in abyssal fla, trident back in his hand.
Bleeding, yes. Scarred, yes. But standing.
Above him, the sky bent like glass, cracks spidering across the heavens themselves.
Olympus had felt the wound.
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