There were times that Poseidon would regret losing his control, but he would always dignify it with an excuse, trying to ignore the guilt he felt. Or rather, the sharp decline in power as the Flame of the West was nearly put out, save for a few hundred people, and the demigods of course.

Really, he should have been used to the feeling of losing a child. He was thousands of years old. But before, his children had only died. This, this was much, much worse.

Tartarus.

The name made him clench his teeth together still, and it had been over a year since the fall had happened.

Part of the reason, he supposed, that he had been so angry was that Hermes had been so busy with delivering war letters that he had barely spent half a second to flit in, tell him his son had fallen into the pit, and flit out.

He had been devastated, and it showed. Small earthquakes had broken out with his grief, and it wasn't long before the other gods knew what had happened.

Athena had put aside her grudge with him for a while, and the two would just sit on the edge of Olympus and watch the mortal world below.

It was a week after he had received the news that he became angry, and the earthquakes began to grow in power.

He was angry with Gaea, for daring to have her brother swallow up his son, and he took it out on her, driving many small cracks through her skin.

When he discovered that Dionysius had been there, but barely done anything but tap a pinecone to the heads of the giant twins, he fully lost it.

Earthquakes over 10.0's struck globally, and then he released his control over the sea, letting the violent waters flood everything. He watched as billions of people died, and felt his power grow weaker as Western Civilization crumbled, but his gaze remained stony cold and he did nothing.

The other gods begged him to stop, offering anything they could, but Poseidon could not hear them. Until the God of Wine showed up.

Poseidon barely flicked his hand at him, but he was sent flying off Olympus. His throne crumbled nine days later, when he finally hit the Earth, and reformed in Tartarus.

Poseidon felt a ghost of a smile flit across his face for a half-a-second.

The two camps were saved, of course. All quest members were as well. Poseidon did not want any more gods to lose their children as he had.

The gods begged Athena to show him how unwise the whole thing was, but she ignored them as well, her steely grey gaze staring coldly on the Earth like him.

Percy and Annabeth made it out soon after that, and Poseidon began to feel tendrils of shame creep through him. His son was risking his life to protect the world and Poseidon had gone and destroyed it. He gave the three arcs a safe passage to Africa, knowing it was no where near fully placating his son and the other gods, but it was something.

The only good thing, Poseidon supposed a year later in reminiscence, that had come out of his anger was that Gaea had drowned under his waters, and would not be returning for many millennia.

At least, that was his excuse.

But it wasn't much of one.