The Moon's Shine (PJO)

Chapter 65

What do you think makes a god different from a mortal?

It could be their ego, which was taller than the Empire State Building. Or their paranoia, which made them betray even their most loyal family.

But it was something that these two attributes stemmed from: their experience of, well, living.

You see, gods have this very convenient feature of reforming once they die. It might take a while for them to return, but it still meant that each immortal had faced death dozens of times—and learned how to overcome it. It was quite an annoying thing for their enemies.

Therefore, while Poseidon found himself being overpowered in terms of magical power, he still didn't lose hope. Oceanus tried everything—restraining the god, creating more water spears, and bringing out new tricks that Poseidon had never seen. But every time, the god found some way of breaking through. 

"You insect," Oceanus growled as Poseidon hid behind Amphitrite's throne—an emerald-colored seat that had protected him from the latest assault, "stop hiding. You won't die an easy death."

Oceanus' words were full of confidence, though his breaths were uneven. He leaned heavily against one of the last remaining columns in the room. His eyes were full of hatred.

Poseidon wasn't doing any better. His right arm hung limply by his side, and his thigh throbbed in pain. They both had been hit by water spears. He'd quickly pulled them out, but his wounds refused to heal. Oceanus must've coated them with some sort of godly poison.

While the situation didn't look good, the god remained on high alert. Truth be told, if Oceanus used his freaky change-the-density-of-water ability again, there would be nothing Poseidon could do—after all, the god had used nearly all of his energy in escaping the last one. He could only hope that the Titan didn't have enough energy to use it again.

Either that, or Oceanus was playing with him.

Time to go. Poseidon's senses tingled, and he dove toward the left—behind Triton's throne. It was constructed entirely out of aquamarine crystals. He remembered how, five hundred years ago, he'd yelled at Triton's brashness of asking for a throne next to his powerful father. Now, down to the last piece of cover in the room, he cursed himself for not building more thrones for his subordinates. Amphitrite, if I ever see you again, I'll auscultate your desire to get more thrones for yourself—no, I'll commission them outright!

Half a second later, the throne . . . imploded. There was no other way to explain it. One moment, the bejeweled seat was there—and the next, emerald dust was being spread around the room. If Poseidon had been even a second too late, he would've visited the depths of Tartarus. Again. Let's try and avoid that, shall we?

One person was disappointed at the result, though. Oceanus clucked his tongue. "I thought I got you that time. Well, apparently, you're shorter and quicker than I gave you credit for."

Out of sight, Poseidon rolled his eyes. Gods could change every aspect of their body on a whim—including height. Oceanus' words were just a jab—trying to get a favorable reaction. There was no need to react . . .

Or was there? Before he could think, his body had already react. He grabbed his trident off the floor, and charged toward Oceanus.

He felt strangely exposed without the metal seat protecting him. Water was supposed to be his territory. He was the one who should be feared in the seas. But now, Oceanus' overwhelming power made him wonder if that ever had been true—and if his move was suicidal.

In his heart, though, he knew it was his best bet. Oceanus only brought out the nonsensical insults when he was on his last limb. Poseidon was certain; he had seen it play out dozens of times over the decades. And as Triton's throne collapsed behind him without a warning, he knew he'd guessed right.