Warlock of Oceans: My Poseidon System

Agony lanced through his chest as his ribs cracked under the pressure, the sharp pain radiating into his back. His spine screamed with every twitch, and he could feel his body protesting in ways that told him the damage was severe. The world spun violently as he skidded to a halt, gasping for air that refused to fill his lungs properly.

Cyrus coughed, the taste of iron flooding his mouth as he spat out a thick mouthful of blood. His vision blurred for a moment, pain radiating from every fiber of his being, but he forced himself to focus. As he blinked the haze from his eyes, his heart dropped.

The creature was already there—standing over him, as though it had folded space and time itself, appearing before him in an instant. Its monstrous frame loomed above, casting a menacing shadow over Cyrus' broken form. The sapphire flames flickered in its eyes, cold and unfeeling, its twisted mouth curling into a sinister grin that spoke of utter dominance.

Cyrus gasped, struggling to push himself up, but his body wouldn't obey. The creature's presence weighed on him like an anchor, pinning him down as if to say resistance was futile. Every breath sent fire through his ribs, but even through the pain, his mind raced with thoughts of survival. He was trapped beneath the gaze of this horrifying creature, his situation growing more desperate by the second.

"You strong ass motherfucker..." Cyrus whispered to himself, trying to summon his strength as the monster prepared to strike again.

Cyrus could feel the crushing weight of his situation, but he wasn't about to give up. The creature's massive greatsword swung down at him with lethal force, the blade humming with sapphire flames. Summoning every last ounce of his remaining strength, Cyrus twisted his body, barely managing to roll out of the way as the sword cleaved into the stone wall behind him, sending cracks rippling through the surface.

The force of the impact shook the ground beneath him, but Cyrus used the brief opening. His eyes blazed with determination as he pushed himself forward, aether swirling around him. With a desperate surge, he struck at the monster, his blade a glowing arc of energy slicing through the air. But the creature was fast—too fast. Its hand shot up, blocking the strike with its own greatsword. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, and Cyrus felt the sheer power behind the block reverberate through his arms.

The creature's eyes locked onto him, its grin widening in twisted amusement. In the blink of an eye, it retaliated. A crushing kick slammed into Cyrus' side, sending him flying through the air like a ragdoll. He crashed into the ground, rolling painfully before trying to rise again. But the creature was relentless. Before he could even catch his breath, it was on him again.

The next blow came in the form of a sharp slash across his chest. Cyrus barely raised his sword in time to deflect the brunt of it, but the force sent him careening into a nearby boulder. The impact was bone-jarring, and a searing pain shot through his body. His ribs screamed in protest, the broken bones grinding against each other with every breath. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he had no time to think.

A massive punch followed, slamming into his torso with enough force to crack the earth beneath him. His body whipped through the air, crashing into trees and rocks, each hit more brutal than the last. He felt his vision blur as his body was battered again and again, a helpless ragdoll in the creature's violent storm.

As the onslaught continued, the other adventurers within the dungeon floor had begun to scatter, their faces pale with terror. They ran for their lives, some abandoning their weapons in their haste to escape. Shouts of fear echoed through the forest, footsteps pounding the ground as they fled from the horror unfolding before their eyes.

Cyrus was flung into the air one last time, his body crashing into the dirt with a sickening thud. His limbs screamed in pain, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe, each breath a burning agony. But despite the overwhelming pain, he refused to give in. The creature loomed over him, its cold, unblinking eyes watching him like a predator toying with its prey.

With ragged breaths, Cyrus forced himself to rise once more.

Cyrus groaned as he struggled to pull himself up, his body battered and broken, the pain unbearable. He couldn't stand properly—his ribs felt like they were stabbing his insides with each breath—but he pushed through the agony, forcing himself onto his knees. As his vision cleared, he realized he had been thrown next to Athena, who lay a few meters away, her body limp against the dungeon wall.

To his surprise, she was conscious. Her eyes fluttered open, though they were glassy and distant, barely holding on to reality. She struggled to move, but every motion was weak and labored. Despite her condition, she lifted a trembling hand towards him, her fingers brushing the ground as if trying to reach him. They were too far apart, yet the desperation in her gesture was clear.

"Athena..." Cyrus rasped, his voice cracked from pain, but she didn't respond to his voice.

Her lips parted, and though her voice was faint and barely above a whisper, it cut through the chaos. "This… is why it must have been… given to me…" Her fingers twitched weakly, and her hand dropped. "The… Golden Ticket."

Cyrus' eyes widened. Golden Ticket? He had no idea what she was talking about, but the way she spoke, the look of dawning realization on her face—it was as if she had been waiting for this moment. As if whatever mysterious object she possessed, this "Golden Ticket," was meant for this exact situation.

The monster growled in the distance, stalking towards them, but Cyrus' focus was now on Athena. Her voice, even in its frail state, held the weight of something significant, something powerful. But she was barely conscious, and whatever plan she had in mind, she might not have the strength to pull it off.

The creature's presence loomed ever closer, but there was a flicker of hope in Athena's words—something that could turn the tide of this nightmare.

As Athena's hand twitched toward Cyrus, a single, thin beam of light shot out from her fingertip. It struck him square in the chest, not burning or searing his flesh, but sinking into him as if it was piercing something deeper. Cyrus' body froze for a moment before convulsing violently. He gasped as an intense pressure surged through his veins, a foreign energy invading not just his body, but his very soul. Time around him slowed to a crawl—the sounds of the dungeon faded, the monstrous presence of the creature stilled, and even the throb of pain from his injuries became distant and hollow.

His vision blurred, and for a moment, the world went completely black.

When his sight returned, he found himself standing in a completely different place. The air was damp and cool, the gentle roar of waterfalls filling the enclosed space. Surrounding him was an arena, worn and dilapidated by the passage of time. The floor beneath his feet was cracked stone, softened with patches of moss that grew wildly along the seams. Streams of water flowed through these cracks, guiding themselves over the broken brickwork as if they were temporarily mending the ancient stones. The walls and ceiling bore the same damage, with water weaving through their fractures in shimmering threads, giving the entire area a surreal, ethereal glow.

Cyrus looked around, his heart pounding with both confusion and awe. It wasn't just the strange, serene beauty of the place that caught his attention—he felt something familiar here. Something ancient.

Then, from the mist of the cascading waterfalls, a figure emerged.

Tall and regal, a man with long flowing dark blue hair stepped forward, his presence commanding yet gentle. He wore a long, flowing robe of deep, oceanic blue that trailed along the mossy floor. His skin was pale, almost luminescent in the dim light, but the most striking feature was his face. It was beautiful, like that of a god, but marred by a terrible injury—both his eyes were scarred beyond repair, rendering him blind. Yet despite his lack of sight, the man moved with grace, each step deliberate and calm, as though he had walked this place a thousand times.

Cyrus' breath caught in his throat. He knew this man.

"Poseidon…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The god of the sea turned toward him, his blind eyes unfocused but his face warm with recognition. A soft, knowing smile spread across Poseidon's lips, radiating a sense of calm and reassurance.

"You remember me," Poseidon said, his voice carrying a gentle strength, filled with something akin to fondness. "I'm glad."

Cyrus stood frozen, the weight of the moment settling over him. This was no dream. No hallucination. He had met Poseidon before, and now, here he was again, standing before him in this strange place as if the god had been waiting for him.

"Am I… am I dead?"

"No, but you will be soon. However, it seems your little friend sent you to me for a bit of advice."

Cyrus stared at him blankly, a swelling of emotions gurgling within his very soul.

"You want to say something, don't you?"

"I've been thinking this for a while. I've lost my path in life. My purpose before was to get back to my siblings, my friends, and all the people I formed connections with, yet… I can barely remember their faces. I remember their names, but I've forgotten what they sounded like. I've just been going with the ebb and flow of what is happening to me, but I'm tired of going with the flow. I just wish something would go my way."

Before Cyrus knew it, he had spilled some of the darkest thoughts residing within his mind. It was as if the presence of this god before him forced him to say what he had been dying not to think about.

"Your fate is a hard and arduous path. Would you like to change it?"