I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The heavens seemed to shatter as the explosion tore through the earth, splitting the ground as if a hole had been punched straight into the planet’s core. A blinding inferno of divine fire and glacial destruction consumed everything in its path, swallowing Poseidon whole. The impact shook the very foundations of the world, sending shockwaves rippling across the land.

Fortunately, the devastation did not extend beyond the confines of the city. From the outside, there was no indication of the battle raging within—no thunderous explosions, no cries of pain, not even the faintest echo of destruction. The reason for this eerie silence lay in the five divine barriers encasing Lyrnessus, powerful constructs woven by celestial hands to contain all sound, energy, and force within their shimmering confines.

To the rest of the world, the city remained untouched, undisturbed. At most, an occasional tremor might have rippled through the distant lands, subtle enough to be mistaken for a natural occurrence. No one outside would suspect that the gods themselves were waging war within these walls.

For a brief moment, thick plumes of smoke veiled the battlefield, obscuring the aftermath of the catastrophic assault. The ground where Poseidon had borne the full brunt of two Divine Rank Spells—spells that had been meticulously crafted and fortified over the past days—was nothing more than scorched ruin. The sheer force of the combined magic had shattered the terrain, leaving deep fissures in the earth, but more importantly, it had struck down one of the mightiest gods of Olympus.

And then, through the dissipating smoke, his figure emerged.

“GAGHR!”

A wet, gurgling sound tore through the battlefield as Poseidon staggered forward, blood spilling in a violent torrent from his mouth and splattering onto the charred ground beneath him. His once-pristine divine form was now a grotesque mockery of itself—his flesh, once unyielding and godlike, had been seared away in places, exposing the eerie, marble-white bones beneath. His body, though still standing, looked barely capable of sustaining itself.

By all rights, he should have perished from such an attack. Any lesser deity would have been obliterated. Yet Poseidon—God of the Seas, one of Olympus’ greatest—still clung to existence, a testament to his unfathomable power. Even so, he had not emerged unscathed, and the weight of his own mortality settled over him like a suffocating tide.

He had fallen into a trap. A simple, foolish trap.

His ragged breaths came in uneven heaves, his chest rising and falling in strained desperation. A thin veil of water shimmered around his body, a desperate attempt to mend his injuries, to restore his divine frame. But it was slow. Agonizingly slow.

His gaze darkened. Gone was the arrogance, the amusement that once danced in his eyes. What remained was something colder, sharper—a seething rage that burned from within. He had come close to death. Too close. And that was something he could not—would not—forgive.

“K…Khione…” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of his fury. His piercing gaze locked onto the goddess before him, standing with an air of icy indifference.

Again.

That look.

That cold, detached expression she always wore, as if he were beneath her notice.

How he had always wished to break it.

A slow, cruel smirk curled at the corner of his lips despite his pain.

“I am going to—”

“Divine Rank Skill.”

A whisper, barely audible. Yet the moment it reached Poseidon’s ears, an unnatural chill raced down his spine.

His instincts screamed at him, but it was already too late.

He turned sharply—only to feel a hand resting lightly against his back.

Nathan.

The white-haired mortal stood there, a smirk playing on his lips, his gaze gleaming with something unreadable. There was no hesitation. No mercy. Only the certainty of what came next.

“Death Curse.”

The moment the words left Nathan’s lips, the air shifted.

A dreadful, suffocating chill swept across the battlefield, wrapping around Poseidon like unseen chains. An unbearable coldness seeped into his very essence, an all-consuming void that gnawed at him from within. His body trembled violently as his knees buckled beneath him.

“Wha… what… is… happening…?”

His voice wavered in shock as his gaze dropped to his hands—only to see them being devoured by an abyssal blackness.

His very existence was unraveling.

He was going to die.

No—he was dying.

The realization struck Poseidon with the force of a tidal wave. His once-mighty body, revered and feared across the realms, was now succumbing to a force he had never imagined possible.

A mere mortal had bested him.

His wide, sea-colored eyes, once filled with arrogance and divine superiority, now reflected nothing but pure disbelief.

“I… Impossible!” he howled, his voice raw with desperation.

It was inconceivable. Unthinkable.

He was Poseidon—one of the Twelve Olympians, ruler of the seas, master of storms and tides! He had battled titans, laid waste to entire civilizations, and reshaped the very land with his trident. And yet… here he was, kneeling before a mortal, his divine essence unraveling like thread in the wind.

Nathan remained unfazed by his anguish. With a calm, almost dismissive tone, he turned his golden, demonic eyes toward the watching goddess.

“You can leave now, Khione,” he said simply.

Khione had been standing silently, her icy gaze fixed upon Poseidon’s writhing form.

For so many years, this man—no, this wretched god—had tormented her. She had lost count of how many times he had tried to force himself upon her, how many others had suffered his cruelty. She had no allies among the gods, no friends, because of him. His whims had dictated her existence, his arrogance had made her life a prison.

And now, at long last, he was paying the price.

All because of the man she had summoned.

Her cold eyes flickered toward Nathan, taking in his poised stance, the way his golden irises gleamed in the dim battlefield light. There was something undeniably captivating about him—this mortal who had done the impossible.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and for the first time in what felt like eternity she felt proud of having such a man as her husband, a faint blush warmed her usually frigid cheeks. She turned away, heading toward where Aphrodite and Amaterasu were battling Hera. If they hadn’t already taken her down, she would ensure they did.

Nathan, meanwhile, took a slow, measured step forward, his gaze never leaving Poseidon.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. “The great Poseidon… reduced to this.”

Poseidon’s teeth clenched in pure hatred. His once-great form was shaking, his power ebbing away with every passing second. He forced himself to lift his gaze, his expression contorted with fury and humiliation.

“You… you bastard,” he growled, his voice trembling from rage and pain.

Nathan remained unimpressed.

“You shouldn’t have tried to lay a hand on Khione,” he said coldly. His golden eyes darkened with possessiveness. “Khione is mine.”

Poseidon’s expression twisted further, his pride refusing to crumble even in the face of death.

“You… you will die for this,” he spat, his voice rising with desperate conviction. “Killing a god is a crime beyond measure! My brothers will avenge me! Zeus—Hades—they will come for you!”

Nathan chuckled. A slow, deep laugh that sent a shiver down Poseidon’s spine.

“They won’t even know you were killed,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “What are you talking about?”

The realization dawned on Poseidon like a hammer striking his skull.

The five Divine Barriers.

They sealed everything—sound, presence, divine energy. Not even Olympus could sense what had transpired within them. Even his own divine barrier, which had been meant to protect him, now worked against him.

He had dug his own grave.

For a fleeting moment, panic surged through him.

No one would even know.

Zeus might assume that Poseidon had retreated in shame, sulking in some distant corner of the world after the greeks lost the Trojan war. Hades, ever indifferent, would not question his absence. The gods would move on.

“You… you seem to understand now,” Nathan murmured, watching Poseidon’s expression shift from defiance to horror.

But still, the sea god refused to surrender completely. A flicker of hope burned within him.

“I… I won’t die!” he declared, forcing strength into his voice. “I will go to Tartaros! I will be reborn in the Underworld, and there, I will find my brother Hades! He will know! He will—”

Nathan’s smirk deepened.

Poseidon stopped.

Why… why wasn’t the mortal reacting?

A creeping sense of dread crawled over him.

Nathan wasn’t worried.

He knew something.

Something Poseidon didn’t.

Nathan said nothing, but his smirk alone sent Poseidon’s blood running cold.

Because deep within Tartaros, beneath the watchful gaze of Hades himself, there was another force at play.

A certain Thanatos awaited.

And Thanatos would ensure that Hades never even realized his brother had been trapped in the abyss below his feet.

Of course, he wasn’t going to say anything.

Nathan simply stood there, watching as the last remnants of divine power flickered and faded from Poseidon’s broken form. The once-mighty god, ruler of the seas, had been reduced to nothing but a withering corpse.

Nathan’s golden eyes gleamed coldly.

“I hope you do come back one day,” he murmured, his voice carrying a chilling edge. “By then, I’ll be even stronger—strong enough to kill you with my own hands. So, I truly hope you return to fulfill this wish of mine.”

Poseidon’s hate-filled glare remained locked onto him, but there was nothing he could do.

Then, just like that—he was gone.

The god of the seas had perished.

Nathan didn’t spare him another glance. Without hesitation, he turned away, his steps echoing in the silence.

The battlefield had quieted.

The sounds of clashing divine forces—the fierce battle between Amaterasu, Aphrodite, and Hera—had dulled to a near silence.

Nathan walked forward, and soon, his gaze fell upon the three goddesses.

All of them stood victorious—save for one.

Hera knelt on the ground, her breathing ragged, her once-imposing figure trembling with exhaustion and anger. Her golden hair, once pristine and regal, was disheveled, and her proud, haughty expression had been replaced with sheer rage.

“I… I will never forgive you for that…” she spat, her voice laced with venom.

Nathan tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re still speaking as if you have power, Hera,” he said mockingly.

Hera’s glare snapped toward him as he approached, and her fury only deepened.

“I… I am the QUEEN OF THE GODS!!” she shrieked, her voice echoing across the battlefield. “RELEASE ME!!”

Nathan let out a quiet chuckle.

“Queen of the Gods?” he mused, stepping even closer. “Well…not for long.”

He raised his hand.

A divine white glow emanated from his palm, surrounding Hera’s kneeling form. The air trembled as ancient power surged forth, wrapping around her body like chains forged from pure divinity.

Hera’s breath hitched.

Something was wrong.

Her limbs wouldn’t respond—her very essence was being locked away. Her body convulsed, and then, she froze in absolute horror.

A mark, intricate and pulsing with forbidden energy, began to etch itself onto her chest.

“N… NOOO…!!!” she screamed, her voice shaking with desperation and fear.

Nathan’s golden eyes darkened as he gazed down at her, his expression utterly devoid of mercy.

“Forbidden Seal.”

Hera trembled violently, the last vestiges of her divine authority slipping away.

She was no longer the Queen of the Gods.

She was nothing but a slave.

His slave.