The wind carried the scent of salt and decay as the Sea Eater—part man, part monster—stalked the blackened shore. His massive feet churned the damp sand, each step a reminder of his otherworldly nature. His arms, far longer than a human’s, swung slightly as he moved, their sinews rippling with dormant power. The horizon churned with storm clouds, lightning painting jagged streaks against the brooding sea.

He stopped abruptly. The waves ahead didn’t just crash—they recoiled, as though something immense stirred beneath them. His molten-gold eyes narrowed, scanning the restless water. The wind’s howling faded in his ears, replaced by a deep vibration that resonated in his chest, like the groaning of the earth itself.

Then, it rose.

The leviathan breached the surface in an eruption of foam and shadow, its scales glinting like liquid obsidian. Its sheer size dwarfed the Sea Eater, who, despite his own towering stature, felt an unfamiliar pang of insignificance. Jagged fins sliced through the air as the beast’s colossal head loomed above him, eyes glowing with an ancient and unreadable intelligence.

For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the distant cry of gulls fleeing the scene. The Sea Eater’s human side—a distant, aching whisper in his mind—marveled at the leviathan’s beauty. But his monstrous instincts screamed a different truth: he was in the presence of a predator far older and far greater than himself.

The Sea Eater growled, his human half grasping at the cryptic wisdom while his monstrous half bristled at the challenge. The leviathan, sensing his turmoil, gave a final, dismissive sweep of its tail, sending a wall of water crashing toward him. When the spray cleared, the beast was gone, leaving only the roiling waves and the echo of its voice.