Was it worth it…? Poseidon asked himself as he stared at himself in the mirror that stood before him. Bleeding injuries that will soon turn into deep blue scars.

Was it worth it… He asked himself again, his trident laying broken next to him.

This Greek. Odysseus. He had dared to hurt his son, the cyclops Polyphemus.

And Poseidon had taken revenge by killing nearly 500 men which were under the king of Ithica’s command.

He thought, one last fight and Odysseus will surely die.

He was infact, just a mortal. Just a man.

But no. He had defeated Poseidon. With his own trident.

With his own power. He had won.

Poseidon could smack himself for letting the Greek go. He was so angry. So god damn angry.

He flinched as he grimaced his face in anger, the cut that ran through his left eye had started bleeding again. Golden blood dropped down on his hands.

He cursed and sighed. Was he that weak? Was he that weak of a god to be defeated by a mere mortal?

To say it clearly: Poseidon felt defeated. His body aching, the wounds burning, the blood dripping.

Being tortured by a mortal… Only a weakling would let that happen.

He closed his eyes, giving into his depressive thoughts. This had destroyed the little self esteem he has had left in himself.