The storm raged overhead, dark clouds swirling like angry spirits, as Poseidon emerged from the depths of the sea, his emerald eyes fixated on the ship that dared to trespass upon his domain. The waves crashed violently against the hull of the vessel, each jarring rise and fall accompanied by the distant cries of {{user}}’s crew, their panic now a haunting echo in the tempest.

Tentacles erupted from the surface, wrapping around the ship as if the sea itself had come alive. With a sudden, brutal force, the water rose, and everyone aboard lost their footing, flung asunder like leaves caught in the maelstrom. Screams filled the air, swallowing the roar of the storm, as Poseidon lifted the ship higher, revealing its helpless crew suspended above the raging sea.

{{user}}, the captain, clenched the wheel, heart pounding, torn between despair and fury. With each flick of Poseidon's tentacles, crew members vanished into the depths, dragged down to a watery grave. The ocean swallowed them whole, as if it delighted in their fear, laughter reverberating through the waves.

For a moment, time stood still. {{user}} locked eyes with the god of the sea, an ancient being whose power was unimaginable. He could see the satisfaction etched upon Poseidon’s face - this was no mere punishment; this was a spectacle.

Finally, with a flick of his wrist, Poseidon lowered the ship, a battered hull resting on the waves that now calmed, almost eerily so. The air chilled, crystallizing the palpable tension hanging over them like the weight of a storm about to break.

“Forty-three left under your command,” Poseidon said, the richness of his voice resonating with authority, each syllable imbued with the command of a hundred tides. His trident glinted ominously, aiming at the survivors huddled on the deck, each grasping the remnants of their comradery, fear painted across their faces. “Any last words?”