At first, Poseidon turned the ocean against them.
The wind sliced across the deck. Waves hit harder each time, rolling in with a weight that felt deliberate. This wasn't weather. The sea shoved at the hull, pulling, pushing, trying to drive them back to the shore.
As they sailed farther, a shadow passed beneath the surface, broad, slow, deliberate, like a predator pacing before the strike. The water swelled. Then it broke through.
Scales the color of storm clouds. A body longer than the ship. Its head was narrow, jaws lined with teeth like jagged marble. Fins fanned out from its sides, each big enough to sweep a man into the deep. Eyes pale and glassy, like they hadn't seen sunlight in centuries, fixed on the deck. A Cetus. Bigger, uglier than the one he had fought before.
His gaze tightened.
"Oh, that ugly thing again. Dammit—do they not go extinct?"
