Act I, Chapter IX
The sun was setting once more, casting a blood-orange glow over the jagged cliffs and tumultuous sea below.
He had trudged along this journey for days, his body aching and his heart heavier than his sword. Galatea's cryptic words still lingered in his mind, reminding him of the bigger goals at stake each time he felt like giving up.
The rocky path winded into the woods, and as he followed it, the sound of crashing waves began to ebb… slowly being replaced by an eerie humming.
It was a deep, unsettling melody that seemed to seep into his bones with every step he took.
Yet he wasn't sure if it was the hunger gnawing at his stomach that made him slightly delusional. But as he follows the path, he descends into a cove shrouded with mist.
The sound of waves was distant now, the beat and hum of the sea just out of reach from his fingertips.
Perseus merely clenches Riptide tighter.
Blindly, he points Riptide ahead, using its glow to illuminate the way forward. But not before he startles a sheep, bleating with wide eyes as it scampers off into the mist loudly.
Perseus holds his breath, cursing slightly as he pauses where he stands.
The melody had stopped.
"Who dares disturb my solitude?" a voice bellows, low and thunderous. The mist parts, and there stood Polyphemus.
The cyclops towers over Perseus, his single eye gleaming like a fiery ember. His grotesque, weathered face twists into a cruel grin as he steps closer, his footsteps shaking the earth beneath Perseus's feet. In his hand, he carries a crude club, splintered and stained, more like a fallen tree than a weapon.
He was the exact same as he had seen in the memories of Galatea.
Perseus tightens his grip on Riptide, knuckles gleaming. He resists the urge to shudder - not because of the cold mist, but because - to be frank, Polyphemus is outright terrifying.
"I'm here for justice," he calls out, his voice steadier than he felt. "Galatea sends her regards."
Polyphemus lets out a booming laugh, a sound that seemed to mock the very concept of justice. "Ah, the nereid's pet! She sends mortals now? Pitiful. You think you, a son of Poseidon, can best me?"
Perseus' stomach churns. Son of Poseidon? He didn't want to question how Polyphemus knew, but the words had stung. His divine father had recognised a giant as a son, but had yet to acknowledge him.
"I've slain larger monsters than you," he shot back, voice quivering slightly as he forces himself to gaze into the giant's single eye.
The cyclops's grin only widens further, exposing jagged teeth. "And yet you tremble, boy. Tell me, does my father even know your name?"
Perseus purses his lips, gathering his courage as he points Riptide at Polyphemus.
"After I'm done with you, he will."
Polyphemus merely cackles, taking a step closer. "I think I'll send Galatea my regards…"
"Myself."
Before Perseus can retort, Polyphemus lunges, swinging his jagged club. He leaps to the side, but the impact of the blow sends shockwaves along the ground. Rocks and debris rain down, narrowly missing the demigod.
Perseus rolls to his feet, adrenaline surging. He rushes forward, slashing at Polyphemus' leg. Blade met flesh, evoking a bellow of rage from the cyclops.
But as Polyphemus swings again, Perseus tugs - unable to pull Riptide free. The second of delay is costly, as the giant's club catches the demigod on the backside.
Mist parts over the path as Perseus scrambles to his feet, his breaths ragged. The blow isn't enough to cause any detrimental injury, but the pain quickly blossoms towards his leg.
Carefully, Polyphemus pulls Riptide free from his leg, before tossing it aside. "Is that really all you have?" He sneers, advancing. "I expected more of a fight from a half-god, but it seems that you're simply weak, like all mortals."
The vision of Acis flashes through his mind, his prone and vulnerable form at the mercy of the giant. He too was mortal, undeserving of his cruel fate.
Now, he was defenceless, ironically just as Acis was. But Polyphemus' words had struck a chord within him, his mind flashing to his mother's face and her final words lost in the chaos of that night.
The memories of his mother - which he had been so close to truly reliving as reality had come crashing back - and he was reminded of how unjust fate had been.
Mortality was truly a blessing. To experience mortality knowing that life and death were the one true absolute certainty was something that immortals such as Polyphemus could never understand.
And that was something powerful itself. In a sense, he had a freedom greater than all of immortality - where ancient stories were prewritten in the yarns of the universe - the choice of his fate.
He refuses to let Polyphemus have another victory.
Perseus' mind flashes to Helen's face, full of longing and understanding. He wants to see her again, to hold her tightly and tell her that none of it was her fault.
He clenches his jaw. "I am not weak," he growled, summoning every ounce of resolve. "And I swear to the gods I will make you regret underestimating me."
The air hung heavy with dread, as if the Fates themselves paused to consider Perseus' next step.
Polyphemus roars, raising his club once more.
With his arms outstretched, Perseus draws upon every droplet of water embedded in the forestry around them, going even further to capture the essence of moisture within the thick mist. And as Polyphemus brings his club down, he brings it all together, forming a shield of water to match the blow just in time.
Riptide was bound to return to his pocket, but a sword against the brute strength of a giant would provide no advantage in a duel like this.
Yet Polyphemus is relentless. He holds the shield up for a second longer before Polyphemus finally smashes through, flicking the water off his club with an enraged snarl.
If he could just get closer to the sea, he'd have a significant advantage and a chance at defeating the giant. So pretending to retreat, he scrambles back, hardening the water around Polyphemus' feet to slow him down.
The action angers the giant even more as he wrestles against the water, before breaking through and continuing his pursuit.
Perseus makes it halfway to the sea before Polyphemus' club catches him on the shoulder.
Pain - agony that he hadn't experienced in a while - nestles into each fibre of his shoulder and arm, setting each tendon ablaze in a cacophony of suffering.
Polyphemus lets out a thunderous laugh. "Is this your resolve, demigod? Running away like the coward you are!"
Perseus grits his teeth, refusing to scream despite the searing pain. "You still underestimate me. That's your second mistake."
Polyphemus scoffs, his club raised high to deliver the final blow. Perseus presses a hand into the damp earth, drawing out the moisture from every root and leaf around him. If he can't reach the sea, he'll use everything at his disposal.
After all, the sea is within him, right?
The plants wither and wilt in an instant but the action revitalises him, mending his strength with their essence. He exhales sharply, energy coursing through his veins like a tide rising to its peak.
The ache in his shoulder remains unbearable, but he closes his eyes for a split second, focusing on the icy resolve that had saved him before. Frost creeps up his injured arm as he conjures a gleaming exoskeleton of ice, stabilising the frozen limb. He recalled his duel with Galatea, where he had attempted to do the exact same thing. He flexes his fingers experimentally, and though the pain lingers, the arm is functional.
As the club swings, Perseus ducks and rolls to the side, the ice on his arm like a cuirass glinting in the moonlight. Polyphemus remains undeterred, stomping towards Perseus - but he is already channeling his power into the mist-laden air.
With a heave, icy tendrils shoot up from the ground, coiling around Polyphemus' legs. The giant bellows In fury, trying to break free, but this was harder than the hardened water he had previously summoned. He hardens the tendrils into solid ice, rooting the giant in place.
The demigod rises to his full height, his glowing eyes alight with unyielding defiance. "If Poseidon truly cares about you, claims you as his son, then this would not be your end."
Polyphemus roars again, but there's a flicker of hesitation in his gaze now - an inkling of fear that Perseus seizes upon as he prepares to deliver his final blow.
The giant swings his club once more, but this time Perseus is ready, weaving under it and summoning a blade of ice to shatter it entirely.
But Polyphemus is far from done, using a fist to break through the ice before swinging wildly at the demigod.
Using both hands, Perseus catches the fist with a tendril before hardening it, tying it to the ground. Polyphemus swings once more, and Perseus strains as he holds up the giant's fist with both arms with all his might.
It's a stalemate at first, but he can feel Polyphemus rapidly gaining the upper hand as the his energy slowly but steadily is seeped by the tendril holding the other fist back.
Then, the tendril falls.
He's given a split second to react before Polyphemus' left fist swings overhead towards his chest. Perseus lets go of the fist, drawing ice from all parts of his exoskeleton towards the middle of his chest as he braces for the inevitable impact.
Polyphemus' punch sends shockwaves across his body, shattering the majority of the ice exoskeleton, but Perseus' body remains unharmed, albeit shaky.
He can feel his energy levels dropping, but the hours of tireless training with Galatea had conditioned him for longer duels such as these. But for exactly how long was the question. However, with his life on the line, he had no choice but to continue or die.
The giant rapidly advances, unrooting an entire tree as he hurls it at Perseus. The son of Poseidon aptly responds, conjuring the remaining ice into a blade that cuts it right in half.
Yet Polyphemus had learnt from his previous lesson of brutish arrogance and carelessness, and withdrew from charging at him . Perseus knows that it is purely within the giant's nature to let loose once more in the heat of the battle, and he needs to exploit it when he can.
With his heart hammering, he digs deep into his reserves, searching for that last flicker of strength.
Perseus drops his right arm, watching it fall as if in slow motion. He twists his wrist, forcing the remainder of his frozen exoskeleton to coil inward before the rest of his body follows suit, his hand shooting out from his side. The frost ripples through his veins, and in a sharp, fluid motion, he summons a spear of ice, sharp and jagged, its edge glowing with a cold light.
Another massive tree trunk slams down, but Perseus isn't there.
He's already behind Polyphemus, his spear aimed with deadly precision. The ice spear shoots forward with a force fuelled by desperation and years of training. It finds its mark, piercing Polyphemus' thigh with a sickening crack. The giant bellows in agony, his massive form shaking as he stumbles back, momentarily disoriented by the sudden injury. The cyclops grits his teeth, fury blazing in his single eye as his ichor pours from the wound.
But Perseus doesn't pause. Not now.
The moment of hesitation from the giant is all he needs. His pulse races as he turns, spinning on the balls of his feet, his injured arm hanging limp at his side. The pain in his shoulder roars, but he ignores it. The only thing that matters is the monster in front of him. Perseus channels the last of the water surrounding him, using the thick mist to obscure his movements. He steps forward, faster than he ever thought possible, his feet silent against the sodden earth.
Polyphemus' eye flicks toward him, bloodshot and wild, but it's too late. The ice spear he summoned is already in Perseus's hands once more, the cold blade now feeling like an extension of himself, his very will. With a final burst of speed, he thrusts the spear into the giant's side, aiming for the heart. The cold strikes deep, and for a moment, Polyphemus freezes - whether in shock of the turn of events, or in the icy grip of death, Perseus cannot say.
The massive cyclops stumbles back, but Perseus pushes harder, twisting the spear as it sinks further into the giant's chest. The impact of the blow sends tremors through the ground, but Perseus holds on, his eyes focused solely on his target.
"Is this justice?" Polyphemus spits, his voice a ragged rasp, but there's no mockery in his tone now - just pain. "Is this… what you wanted?"
Perseus' breath comes in sharp gasps as he pulls the spear free, ice crackling as it slides from the giant's body. His heart beats in time with the rhythmic sound of the ichor dripping from Polyphemus, the hot liquid staining the frozen earth beneath them. "No," Perseus breathes, his voice low, raw with the weight of all the years he'd spent running, fighting, surviving. "This is for Galatea. For Acis. For all the ones you destroyed."
Polyphemus growls, trying to swing his remaining arm, but his strength is fading. His vision blurs as the giant's body begins to collapse, the fight draining from him faster than his ichor.
Perseus steps back, watching as Polyphemus falls to his knees, his face twisted in disbelief, his massive form no longer able to hold itself upright. For a long moment, there's silence. The fog seems to hold its breath, as if waiting for something—waiting for the final moment.
And then, with a great shudder that shakes the very earth, Polyphemus crashes to the ground, his single eye staring at nothing. As the giant fell, the sea remained silent, withholding the answer Perseus sought, as if mocking his prayers.
Perseus stands over him, panting heavily, his hand trembling as he grips his spear. He can feel his energy draining, his body heavy with exhaustion, but there's no time to rest. Not yet.
He watches the body of the giant, lying in the thick mist, the land now quiet after the storm. The weight of what he's done sits heavily in his chest. But it's over.
Polyphemus's single eye had closed for now, but its glare seemed etched into his mind, like a lingering curse.
The silence after Polyphemus's fall was deafening, broken only by the sound of Perseus's laboured breath - victory had never felt so hollow.
"Is this what you wanted, father?"
The son of Poseidon is greeted by only the sound of crashing waves. Not even a whisper, or a rumble of approval.
He had never sought for approval during his adolescent years, not even after winning duel after duel against Troy's finest. But in that moment, Perseus stands still, hoping with all his heart that his words did not remain unanswered.
For a heartbeat, the silence feels suffocating. Then, with a bitter sigh, he turns his back on the giant fading into ash, and takes a step toward the sea. The waves crash against the shore, their rhythmic sound the only reply he receives - a reply that is both deafening and, in its own way, perfectly clear.
Perseus exhales, the waves crashing upon his heels as if to welcome him. He can still hear Galatea's voice in his mind, soft, like the ocean breeze, urging him to keep moving, to never forget who he is.
With one final look at the fallen giant, Perseus turns away, before swimming out to sea.
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"Perseus..."
He stops in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. Galatea. The voice is faint at first, like the sound of a whisper carried by the wind, but it grows clearer, more distinct.
"Perseus, listen to me."
He turns, eyes scanning the fog, but sees nothing. Yet, the voice fills his mind, as vivid and clear as if she stood right before him.
"The war is escalating. Things are getting worse - more than you can imagine. The Trojans are now pushing forward with greater force, without the help of Achilles. Your presence is needed, and I fear it's only a matter of time before the tides of war swallow everything... including you."
Perseus' heart clenches as he listens, the weight of her words settling in. The Trojan War - the fate of entire kingdoms hanging by a thread. He knew it was inevitable, but the urgency in Galatea's voice strikes deep, the weight of responsibility suddenly too much to bear.
"You must return, Perseus," she urges. "The time for hesitation is over. You can make a difference. The battle is not yet lost. But if you wait too long... you may never get a second chance."
It was like Helen all over again.
He could've kept her safe, married her even. But the gods had other plans… plans that he knew were already in motion. Aphrodite particularly, wouldn't give him the happy ending he felt he deserved.
He stands still, the message burning into his soul. His fight with Polyphemus feels insignificant now, the clash small compared to the impending chaos of the war. He can hear her, feel her presence in the back of his mind as the mist begins to part around him, revealing the darkened sky above.
"I'll be there," he murmurs, his voice steady, though his heart is racing. "I'll return."
The voice of Galatea fades, her final words echoing in his ears as the dream begins to dissipate in the morning fog. His resolve hardens. The journey ahead will be long, but Perseus knows, deep in his bones, that his next steps will determine more than just his fate. He must face the war, for the gods, for Galatea's sake, and for the people that still need him.
As the mist clears around him and the sea stretches wide before him, Perseus knows that his path now lies beyond the shores, toward the turmoil waiting on the horizon. And though the road ahead is uncertain, one thing is certain: he will answer the call.
Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! As always, review and comment any constructive critique. The plot for the Trojan War should be building up for the next chapter. Thank you to everyone on Fanfiction and AO3 for the suggestions, they were immensely helpful and will greatly shape this story. As always, I'll see you all in the next chapter!