The Makara patrolled the delta, its elephantine trunk raised to scent the salt air. Temple Spout Ward. It was the guardian of the sacred confluence, a hybrid beast of water and earth that feared no crocodile or shark. Today, however, the tide was wrong. It was receding too fast, sucking the mudflats dry with a terrifying hiss.
Out in the deep, the horizon shifted. A wall of grey scales rose from the abyss. Jörmungandr had awoken. He did not care for rivers or guardians. He was the boundary of the world.
The Rising Tide
The Makara roared, a sound like grinding stones, and summoned the river's strength. Tide Gullet. It tried to push back against the receding ocean, to anchor itself and its territory against the displacement.
Jörmungandr merely rolled. His bulk was so immense that his movement created a displacement wave worthy of an extinction event. Tidal Cataclysm. The World Serpent didn't even attack directly; he simply occupied the space where the water used to be.
"Little fish," the vibration seemed to say in the bedrock. Midgard-Encompassing Coil.
A wall of water a mile high, driven by the Serpent's movement, crashed down on the delta. The Makara braced itself, biting at the wave, but physics was undeniable. The sheer kinetic energy shattered the coastline. The Makara was washed away, tumbling inland for miles, buried under tons of silt and ocean debris. Jörmungandr settled back into the deep, unaware he had even been in a fight.