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The third round of Ragnarok hadn’t gone according to plan. Of course, the end result was the same. Poseidon speared Kojiro Sasaki through the throat, took his head, and painted the arena red with his blood.
The actual match leading up to that result, however, was disastrous. Shame burned in Poseidon’s gut as he remembered his performance. Kojiro Sasaki was more formidable than he first believed, and in his private thoughts, even Poseidon could admit that he almost lost against the samurai. The scars along his frame will serve as permanent reminders of that fact.
The more Poseidon thinks about it, the angrier he becomes. He can feel his nails dig into his skin. Can see his knuckles turning white as he struggles to control his breathing. Had the samurai been in front of him, he would have stricken him down again. Now he was in the infirmary recovering from the fight. Zeus’s orders.
His eyes flicked to the television mounted on the nearby wall. There, the fourth round of Ragnarok was already starting. Shiva was facing another one of the mortals foolish enough to go against the gods.
Poseidon snatches the remote, his thumb smashing the off button as the metal cracks in his grip. He didn’t want to see the next fight. Why should he? It would be obvious which side would emerge victorious. The humans were down by three already, and Poseidon knew they wouldn’t make up any lost ground. How could they when they were going up against the very beings who created them?
Theirs was a losing battle from the start.
Instead, Poseidon turns his head, his gaze falling on the untouched glass of water placed by his bedside. When he waves a palm over the glass’s opening, liquid pours over the sides. The water bends to Poseidon’s will, twisting and taking the form of the man who had been at the forefront of his mind for days now.
Soon, a miniature replica of Kojiro Sasaki stands on the bedside table. Every detail in the liquid clone is an exact match to its real life counterpart. The flower patterns on his haori. His long strands. The infuriating grin on his face and the determination in his eyes.
Poseidon scowls. Seeing the samurai's likeness brings back fresh memories of his performance in Ragnarok and the anger that comes with them. Of the pitying look this stupid, insignificant human gave him. Poseidon suddenly has the urge to crush the water clone.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he watches the tiny samurai twirl and swing, locked in a one sided fight that only Poseidon could see. He thought of all of the ends that Kojiro Sasaki could have faced. By the end of his trident. By his bare hands. Hell, Poseidon could have drowned him in the water that surrounded the arena. The insect would have deserved every one of those deaths and more, by virtue of being one of the humans deemed worthless in the eyes of the gods. No matter what Poseidon did, his thoughts all drifted to Kojiro Sasaki as of late and it was driving him mad. He shouldn’t be paying a second thought to a human, but he was. And he kept doing it. He didn’t know how to stop.
Perhaps it was because he was the first person in a long time who dared try to stand on equal ground with him. Who didn’t cower because of Poseidon’s fearsome reputation. As stupid as he was, Kojiro Sasaki was certainly braver than most of the other divine beings who called themselves gods. Only he dared to show dissent against his ideals. Saw the isolation that came hand in hand with upholding them.
That worm made him question his principles and was the only being, divine or not, to ever do so.
His glare at the water copy softened. It was a shame that Kojiro’s talents were wasted on the mortal plane. Had he been born a deity, he surely would have been a sword god.
Of course, he would have been nowhere near Poseidon’s standards of perfection. He imagined that many of the flaws that made Kojiro so disgustingly human would have carried over to his life in divinity as well. He probably would have been too relaxed. Too forgiving. Too reliant on the connections he would have made with the other gods, but he would at least be competent in his swordsmanship. A decent sparring partner for Poseidon.
Poseidon kept…entertaining the idea. Pondering what Kojiro would have been like if he were a god. Pondering who he would have associated with. What pantheon he would have belonged to. Where his temples would have been erected. What his symbols and sacred animals would have been. Maybe they would have never crossed paths without Ragnarok. Or maybe they would have met another way.
Perhaps they could have been something more if Kojiro Sasaki had been born a god instead of a miserable human.
Poseidon stops those thoughts there, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, the thoughts of what could have been are gone.
He reminds himself that Kojiro Sasaki is dead. Killed by Poseidon’s own hand, like so many other mortals before him. In a hundred years’ time, he would join their ranks outside of Poseidon’s memory. Small, insignificant, and forgotten.
Poseidon ignores how that statement sounds like a lie even to his own ears.
Kojiro’s liquid double has stopped moving. It stares at Poseidon with a look of pity that mirrors the real Kojiro Sasaki’s expression during their battle. A strange, foreign feeling bubbles in Poseidon’s chest. He swallows before turning away.
He doesn’t want to look at anything with the samurai’s likeness anymore.
With the wave of his hand, Kojiro’s clone scatters into the air, floating away into dust. Just as all humanity would, once Ragnarok concluded.