The Last Olympian

Meanwhile, Manhattan was being destroyed. Mortals, now fully awake, were running in terror. Cars swerved and crashed.
    The scene shifted, and I saw something even more terrifying.
    A column of storm was approaching the Hudson River, moving rapidly over the Jersey Shore. Chariots circled it, locked in combat with the creature in the cloud.
    The gods attacked. Lightning flashed. Arrows of gold and silver streaked into the cloud like rocket tracers and exploded. Slowly, the cloud ripped apart, and I saw Typhon clearly for the first time.
    I knew as long as I lived (which might not be that long) I would never be able to get the image out of my mind. Typhon’s head shifted constantly. Every moment he was a different monster, each more horrible than the last. Looking at his face would’ve driven me insane, so I focused on his body, which wasn’t much better. He was humanoid, but his skin reminded me of a meat loaf sandwich that had been in someone’s locker all year. He was mottled green, with blisters the size of buildings, and blackened patches from eons of being stuck under a volcano. His hands were human, but with talons like an eagle’s. His legs were scaly and reptilian.
    “The Olympians are giving their final effort.” Kronos laughed. “How pathetic.”
    Zeus threw a thunderbolt from his chariot. The blast lit up the world. I could feel the shock even here on Olympus, but when the dust cleared, Typhon was still standing. He staggered a bit, with a smoking crater on top of his misshapen head, but he roared in anger and kept advancing.
    My limbs began to loosen up. Kronos didn’t seem to notice. His attention was focused on the fight and his final victory. If I could hold out a few more seconds, and if my dad kept his word . . .
    Typhon stepped into the Hudson River and barely sank to midcalf.
    Now, I thought, imploring the image in the smoke. Please, it has to happen now.
    Like a miracle, a conch horn sounded from the smoky picture. The call of the ocean. The call of Poseidon.
    All around Typhon, the Hudson River erupted, churning with forty-foot waves. Out of the water burst a new chariot—this one pulled by massive hippocampi, who swam in air as easily as in water. My father, glowing with a blue aura of power, rode a defiant circle around the giant’s legs. Poseidon was no longer an old man. He looked like himself again—tan and strong with a black beard. As he swung his trident, the river responded, making a funnel cloud around the monster.
    “No!” Kronos bellowed after a moment of stunned silence. “NO!”
    “NOW, MY BRETHREN!” Poseidon’s voice was so loud I wasn’t sure if I was hearing it from the smoke image or from all the way across town. “STRIKE FOR OLYMPUS!”
    Warriors burst out of the river, riding the waves on huge sharks and dragons and sea horses. It was a legion of Cyclopes, and leading them into battle was . . .
    “Tyson!” I yelled.
    I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I stared at him in amazement. He’d magically grown in size. He had to be thirty feet tall, as big as any of his older cousins, and for the first time he was wearing full battle armor. Riding behind him was Briares, the Hundred-Handed one.
    All the Cyclopes held huge lengths of black iron chains—big enough to anchor a battleship—with grappling hooks at the ends. They swung them like lassos and began to ensnare Typhon, throwing lines around the creature’s legs and arms, using the tide to keep circling, slowly tangling him. Typhon shook and roared and yanked at the chains, pulling some of the Cyclopes off their mounts; but there were too many chains. The sheer weight of the Cyclops battalion began to weigh Typhon down. Poseidon threw his trident and impaled the monster in the throat. Golden blood, immortal ichor, spewed from the wound, making a waterfall taller than a skyscraper. The trident flew back to Poseidon’s hand.
    The other gods struck with renewed force. Ares rode in and stabbed Typhon in the nose. Artemis shot the monster in the eye with a dozen silver arrows. Apollo shot a blazing volley of arrows and set the monster’s loincloth on fire. And Zeus kept pounding the giant with lightning, until finally, slowly, the water rose, wrapping Typhon like a cocoon, and he began to sink under the weight of the chains. Typhon bellowed in agony, thrashing with such force that waves sloshed the Jersey shore, soaking five-story buildings and splashing over the George Washington Bridge—but down he went as