the last of his kind — a Hundred-Handed One, cousin of the Cyclopes. We'd saved

him from Kronos's prison last summer, and I knew he'd come to help Poseidon, but

I hadn't heard of him since.

 

"He fights well," Poseidon said. "I wish we had a whole army like him, but he is

the only one."

 

I watched as Briares bellowed in rage and picked up the lobster, which thrashed

and snapped its pincers. He threw it off the coral mountain, and the lobster

disappeared into the darkness. Briares swam after it, his hundred arms spinning

like the blades of a motorboat.

 

"Percy, we may not have much time," my dad said. "Tell me of your mission. Did

you see Kronos?"

 

I told him everything, though my voice choked up when I explained about

Beckendorf. I looked down at the courtyards below and saw hundreds of wounded

mermen lying on makeshift cots. I saw rows of coral mounds that must've been

hastily made graves. I realized Beckendorf wasn't the first death. He was only

one of hundreds, maybe thousands. I'd never felt so angry and helpless.

 

Poseidon stroked his beard. "Percy, Beckendorf chose a heroic death. You bear no

blame for that.

 

Kronos's army will be m disarray. Many were destroyed."