The Sea Tyrant's Obsession (PJO x ROR) 18+ WTM/WTS Book 1

*I Play Dodgeball With Cannibals

Note: Early update! I suggest you read the bold text carefully because there are some major changes. I hope the changes are well-received.

"Whoever they were, they were fast," Hades muttered, his tone cold and calculating.

Poseidon clenched his fists, his anger rising again at the thought of someone spying on Percilla. "No one's messing with my daughter! I'll make them regret it!"

New title:
I Play Dodgeball With Cannibals

The gods went silent, their eyes widening in disbelief at the title.

"What the fuck?" Zeus roared in disbelief. "Dodgeball with cannibals?!"

Hades eyes narrowed with concern. "Cannibals? My niece is going to fight monsters that eat people now?"

Poseidon's face twisted with fury. "This is ridiculous!" he bellowed. "How dare they involve my daughter with creatures like that?! I wish to tear those monsters apart with my own hands if they so much as lay a finger on her!"

My day started normal. Or as normal as it ever gets at Meriwether College Prep.

"Nothing will ever be normal for her." Shiva muttered.

See, it's this "progressive" school in downtown Manhattan, which means we sit on beanbag chairs instead of at desks, and we don't get grades, and the teachers wear jeans and rock concert T-shirts to work.

That's all cool with me. I mean, I'm ADHD and dyslexic, like most half-bloods, so I'd never done that great in regular schools even before they kicked me out. The only bad thing about Meriwether was that the teachers always looked on the bright side of things, and the teens weren't always ... well, bright.

Poseidon became angry that her mother had sent her to another school full of idiots.

Take my first class today: English. The whole high school had read this book called Lord of the Flies, where all these kids get marooned on an island and go psycho.

Beelzebub looked up from jotting down notes. "Lord of the Flies?" he mused with a wry grin, his voice tinged with amusement. "How quaint. A book about children descending into chaos under a title that mirrors my very own." He chuckled darkly, almost as if enjoying the irony. "Humans and their fascination with disorder... as if they need a book to tell them how quickly they would crumble without structure." He smirked.

For our final exam, our teachers sent us into the break yard to spend an hour with no adult supervision to see what would happen. What happened was a dance battle between the ninth and tenth graders that turned into punching and shoving, two pebble fights, and a full-tackle basketball game. The school bully, Matt Sloan, led most of those activities.

Hera rolled her eyes. "How childish."

Loki looks giddy. "A school bully? This should be interesting!"

Sloan wasn't big or strong, but he acted like he was. He had eyes like a pit bull, and shaggy black hair, and he always dressed in expensive but sloppy clothes, like he wanted everybody to see how little he cared about his family's money. One of his front teeth was chipped from the time he'd taken his daddy's Porsche for a joyride and run into a PLEASE SLOW DOWN FOR CHILDREN sign.

The gods were immediately disgusted by this human. His arrogance, carelessness, and lack of respect for anything or anyone made it clear he was nothing more than a waste of space.

Anyway, Sloan was punching everybody until he made the mistake of trying to hit my friend Tyson.

Tyson was the only homeless teen at Meriwether College Prep. As near as my mom and I could figure, he'd been abandoned by his parents when he was very young, probably because he was so ... different. He was six-foot-three and built like the Abominable Snowman, but he cried a lot and was scared of just about everything, including his own reflection. His face was kind of misshapen and brutal-looking. I couldn't tell you what color his eyes were, because I could never make myself look higher than his crooked teeth. His voice was deep, but he talked funny, like a much younger kid—I guess because he'd never gone to school before coming to Meriwether. He wore tattered jeans, grimy size-twenty sneakers, and a plaid flannel shirt with holes in it. He smelled like a New York City alleyway, because that's where he lived, in a cardboard refrigerator box off 72nd Street.