The sky was bleeding. Crimson and gold tore through the heavens like open wounds, streaked with dark veins of shadow that pulsed with malice. The world trembled under the weight of power, the air thick with the scent of blood, salt, and decay. Waves lashed against the jagged shores of Thalassaris, the Infinite Depth, where the very sea seemed to convulse from the agony of battle.

  Poseidon stood upon the cliff’s edge, his trident held aloft, the silver-blue metal thrumming with the force of an impending storm. Behind him, the ocean roared in sympathy, its voice echoing his fury. He was not alone.

  Beside him towered Thor, lightning crackling from his war-hammer, Mjolnir, his eyes filled with rage and purpose. On his other side, Ares, blood-slicked and grinning like a feral beast, sword dripping with the ichor of fallen horrors.

  But even with such power gathered, the world was dying.

  “Damn him,” Poseidon growled, his voice a tidal surge of anger and desperation. “Erebus is breaching through. His corruption is... everywhere.”

  “It’s not just his corruption,” said Athena, her gaze sharpened with fury and despair. “It’s his arrogance. He means to tear our very existence apart.”

  “He wants to be us,” growled Ares, his knuckles white around the hilt of his blade. “A ruler over everything. His ambition knows no end.”

  But ambition was only part of the equation. The truth was that Erebus, the Son of Chaos, was not simply seeking conquest. He was seeking freedom. And in his mad pursuit of it, he was tearing the fabric of reality itself.

  The Black Sun Veil hung over the world like a blackened eclipse, a wound in the sky that bled darkness into every corner of existence. From its depths, Scions of Lethe emerged like swarms of locusts — twisted beings born of fractured souls and shattered hopes. And worse, Erebus had found a way to corrupt the very thing the Sentients relied upon to interact with the mortal world.

  The Sentients had long understood that their influence over mortals was limited. They were beings of such incomprehensible power that direct interaction would obliterate a human mind. So they devised the process of Symbiosis — a method by which fragments of their essence could merge with a mortal host.

  It had started as an experiment. A way to extend their will and knowledge beyond their own boundaries. But as Erebus's influence grew, it became a necessity.

  Poseidon’s first experiment had been with the warriors of the sea. Men and women of iron will who swore themselves to him, taking fragments of his power and allowing his presence to guide their strength. But even this was not enough.

  Erebus’s corruption tainted the very concept of Symbiosis. The Black Sun Veil twisted the connection between Sentient and Host, creating distorted echoes of the gods’ power. The Voidkin, twisted agents of Erebus, spread their poison like a plague, enslaving Symbiotes and turning their power against their creators.

  But Poseidon refused to surrender.

  “Triton!” Poseidon bellowed. His son emerged from the churning sea, his scaled armor glistening with ocean mist. His trident twirled effortlessly in his grip, a weapon forged by the Telchines, master artificers of the deep.

  “They’re here, Father,” Triton said, his voice a strained calm. “The Voidkin are coming.”

  “How many?”

  “Too many,” Triton admitted. “But we have allies.”

  “Allies,” Poseidon echoed, his gaze shifting to the skies where Apollo and Athena coordinated strikes from above, guiding mortal hosts into formation. Beneath the waves, the Nereid Conclave wove enchantments to soothe the ocean’s rage, their voices echoing like siren songs of hope.

  But Poseidon knew it wouldn’t be enough. Not against Erebus. Not against the Veilstorm.

  High above, the Black Sun Veil pulsed with a rhythm that was almost alive. Poseidon could feel its influence clawing at his mind, twisting his thoughts with flashes of madness and despair. Even now, he struggled to keep his own Symbiote fragments — Rahab and Raguel — in harmony.

  Where Rahab raged, demanding destruction, Raguel sought balance and judgment. But in the presence of the Veil, their conflict only grew worse. Poseidon’s trident trembled in his grip, the metal shivering with the echoes of his fractured soul.

  He could feel Erebus’s laughter. A cold, suffocating thing that seeped into his thoughts like poisoned water.

  “We cannot win this alone,” said Athena, her voice cutting through the din of battle. “The mortals... they are the key.”

  “They are fragile,” Poseidon retorted. “Mere sparks in the darkness. What can they possibly offer?”

  “They offer hope,” Athena replied. “And determination. And most importantly, they offer the ability to adapt. Something we’ve been too arrogant to consider.”

  A deafening roar shook the air, the ground fracturing as an enormous Scion of Lethe tore its way from the depths. Its form was a twisted amalgamation of shadows and agony, limbs lashing like living whips.

  Poseidon met the beast’s charge head-on, his trident driving into its maw with the force of a collapsing mountain. The creature howled, its shriek a sound that curdled the air itself.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  But even as the beast fell, Poseidon could feel the encroaching darkness. The Veilstorm was growing stronger, the Veil expanding, reaching out to consume all. And Erebus’s presence was only becoming more insidious.

  “The only way we survive this,” Athena said, her eyes blazing with determination, “is if we fully embrace Symbiosis. We must learn to merge, not control. We must trust them.”

  Poseidon hesitated, his gaze flickering between the storm-torn sky and the endless, churning sea. But deep within him, Rahab and Raguel were united in a single thought.

  Survival.

  “Then we do what we must,” Poseidon said, his voice a growl of acceptance. “Call upon the mortals. Offer them the power of the gods. It is time we fight as one.”

  The darkness was growing.

  Poseidon could feel it like needles against his skin, an itch beneath his mind that scraped and clawed for dominance. The air was cold and sharp, the scent of brine twisted with the acrid rot of decay. It was not just the Veilstorm tearing at reality; it was something worse. Something deliberate.

  He glanced toward the Curator, who stood as still as stone at the edge of the cliff, his gaze fixed upon the maelstrom of battle below. His eyes were dark and unyielding, but his voice carried the weight of ancient wisdom.

  “They are coming, you know.” The Curator’s tone was emotionless. Detached. As if the slaughter of worlds was nothing more than an academic exercise.

  Poseidon tightened his grip on the trident. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Voidbound Legion.” The Curator’s gaze shifted, and for a moment, Poseidon saw a flicker of sorrow. “Erebus’s twisted children. His fury made manifest. His way of unleashing himself upon the universe.”

  Poseidon followed the Curator’s gaze and saw it. The mass of creatures surging from the Black Sun Veil like living nightmares. Lesser Beasts, blackened and shrieking with fangs like razors. Devourers, immense and gluttonous things that consumed both matter and spirit. The Reavers, vicious assassins who moved like liquid shadows. And worst of all, the Hollow Lords, towering monstrosities encased in writhing darkness, their power rivaling that of the lesser gods.

  “We’re not prepared for this,” Triton whispered, his eyes wide with horror. “Even the mortal hosts we’ve empowered will be slaughtered.”

  Poseidon’s mind raced, the thoughts like crashing waves. He could feel Rahab’s fury urging him to unleash his wrath upon the horde, to crush them beneath the ocean’s endless rage. But Raguel’s voice whispered of balance, of unity, of something more than mere destruction.

  And then, the Curator spoke again.

  “You have misunderstood the purpose of power, Poseidon.”

  Poseidon’s gaze snapped to the Curator. “Speak plainly.”

  “You fragment your essence, give it to mortals and demand they wield it as a weapon. But they are not weapons. They are potential.”

  “I gave them strength to fight,” Poseidon growled. “I gave them the means to survive.”

  “You gave them chaos. Nothing more.” The Curator’s eyes were sharp, cutting through Poseidon’s pride like a blade. “The power you grant them must be forged through unity, not control. You cannot command them. You must merge with them.”

  “Merging?” Triton’s voice was thick with disbelief. “You mean... allowing mortals to influence the gods?”

  The Curator nodded. “Yes. Only then will they become what they were meant to be. A true Symbiosis. One of will and essence, not mere subjugation.”

  Poseidon stared at the Curator, his thoughts a churning storm. The idea was absurd. Dangerous. To surrender his power so completely was to risk annihilation.

  And yet... it made sense. A terrifying, beautiful kind of sense.

  The battlefield below became a blur of agony. The Voidbound Legion tore through mortal armies, their twisted forms devouring flesh and spirit alike.

  Ares fought like a beast, his sword flashing in brutal arcs. But even his power began to falter.

  Apollo’s arrows rained from above, but his light could not pierce the endless dark.

  Even Zeus himself thundered with fury, his lightning crackling against the monstrous horde, but the darkness only seemed to drink his power, growing ever stronger.

  Poseidon’s own forces were being decimated. The Nereid Conclave was torn apart by swarms of Reavers. The Telchines who had crafted his trident were now crumbling before the sheer ferocity of the enemy.

  Poseidon looked to the Curator, his voice thick with urgency. “If I follow your advice, how do I begin?”

  “By giving them a choice,” the Curator replied. “By offering them the freedom to become more. And by accepting that their path may not align with your own.”

  “What if it fails?” Poseidon whispered. “What if they reject my essence and the darkness consumes them?”

  “Then you will learn from your failure. Just as they will learn from theirs.” The Curator’s gaze was steady, his expression serene. “But know this: It is not the power itself that is corrupted. It is how you choose to wield it.”

  The world trembled as the Hollow Lords approached, their presence distorting reality itself. Poseidon’s mind screamed with the raw intensity of their power, a darkness so profound it felt as though it would tear him apart from within.

  But he did not break. Not this time.

  “Enough,” Poseidon said, his voice like the crushing tide. “If we are to survive this, we must do more than fight. We must evolve.”

  “What do you intend to do, Father?” Triton asked, his eyes filled with both hope and terror.

  Poseidon’s gaze turned to the mortals below, those who still fought with courage despite their madness. Despite their pain. Despite the Veil’s corruption gnawing at their minds.

  “I will give them a choice,” Poseidon said. “And in doing so, I will grant them something greater than mere power.”

  He lowered his trident, the Celestial metal gleaming with a light that cut through the darkness. The middle fork, the most potent aspect of his essence, glowed with a force that could not be contained.

  Then, with a mighty heave, Poseidon drove the trident into the earth.

  The shockwave tore through the battlefield, the light of Poseidon’s will flooding the world with a brilliance so pure it forced the darkness to recoil. But as the power spread, Poseidon felt something fracture within his trident.

  The middle fork, shattered by the force of the release, was lost. A piece of himself torn away and cast into the void. But in its place, something else began to grow.

  “Now…” Poseidon said, his voice trembling with both hope and terror. “Let them choose.”

  The light rippled through the battlefield, a beacon that echoed in the minds of mortals everywhere. A voice carried through the storm, not as a command, but as an invitation.

  The power was theirs to claim, if only they had the courage to embrace it.

  Poseidon turned to the Curator, his gaze fierce. “Prepare them. All of them. We have little time before the Veilstorm swallows us whole.”

  The Curator nodded, his expression one of solemn resolve. “Then let us begin.”