You thought he was better than this.

You stood a few feet away from Odysseus, blood staining both of your clothes. Your crewmates’ blood.

You couldn’t believe this. He had sacrificed six soldiers. Six of his men to bloodthirsty Scylla. And that’s what you were yelling at him about.

You pleaded angrily for him to say something, as he just stood there, turned away from you like a coward. He couldn’t even face you. As you spoke, he turned his head towards you; hurt, anger, and frustration in his eyes. But no remorse.

He didn’t even regret it.

“I CAN’T!” He shouted at you, his hands clenched to fists at his sides.

What was he even supposed to do? Even Poseidon was scared of Scylla, and it was either him or Scylla. There was no way Odysseus and his crew were going to fight Poseidon; they’d all lose their lives there. And fighting Scylla is even worse. The only way most of them could’ve got out alive was to sacrifice six soldiers to each of Scylla’s six heads, so Scylla would be satisfied and let them row through her cave.

But it was still messed up.