Thrown through a building

Leviathan, however, had no intention of letting me try. He sunk his claws into the pavement and looked back at me over his shoulder with two of his remaining eyes. On a human being, they would have narrowed.

Water rushed in, slamming into my back — a tickle, a paltry thing that couldn’t have stopped me, couldn’t have stopped Herakles, on a bad day. What it did do was wash down over my body and underfoot, ruining my footing, because his tail moved, dragging me to the side along the slick, watery ground, and then pulling me up and into the air, where I had no leverage at all.

I knew his next move before he did it, and with a lightning fast undulation of his tail, he threw me off and whipped me into a nearby building.

Wood and metal alike snapped under my weight like toothpicks. I crashed through the front wall, through the first room, through the far wall and into a second room, and I made it through another two walls and out the other side, where I tumbled to a halt on the road.

I rolled to my feet an instant later, undamaged. Even the leather cuirass on my chest didn’t have so much as a scratch.