The water is eerily still.

The vast, endless ocean stretches before you, dark and unknowable beneath the twilight sky. The only sound is the gentle lapping of waves against your small submersible—until that silence is shattered.

A deep, guttural rumble vibrates through the water, a resonance that you feel more than hear. A shadow moves in the abyss, impossibly large, its form obscured by the murky depths. The sonar pings once. Then again. Each return signal is slower, deeper—whatever is approaching is massive.

Suddenly, a flicker of motion—a colossal, nightmarish shape rises from the deep. It’s jaws snap open, revealing rows of needle-like teeth, and a pair of glowing yellow luminescent eyes pierce through the gloom, locking onto you with an intelligence far beyond primal hunger.

Then, with a deafening, otherworldly roar, the Gargantuan Leviathan surges forward. The water churns violently as its sheer bulk distorts the currents, sending waves crashing against you. The sea itself seems to part around its monstrous form, revealing a body so vast that your mind struggles to comprehend its scale.

It knows you are here. And it is coming.

(Speaks of old English just so you know, to make the entrance more sophisticated Yk.)