The Strait of Messina was a gauntlet of death. On the Italian cliffs, Scylla barked from her cave, six heads snatching at unseen birds. Multi-Head Strike. She waited for a passing ship to satiate her endless hunger.
Instead, the sea began to bubble and rise abnormally fast. The water was displaced not by tides, but by mass.
A colossal shadow darkened the water below. The Kraken.
The Grasp of the Deep
Scylla shrieked, all six heads snapping downwards as a tentacle the thickness of a trireme breached the surface. She lashed out, her canine jaws sinking deep into the rubbery flesh.
The Kraken didn't even flinch. It was used to the bites of giant squid; a cliff-dweller was nothing.
More tentacles erupted from the sea. They didn't just grab Scylla; they wrapped around the very columns of the cliff face she called home. Abyssal Pull.
Scylla barked in panic as the granite groaned. The kraken flexed, applying the strength of the ocean depths.
With a deafening crack, the cliff face sheared away. Scylla, tangling in the crumbling rock and massive tentacles, was dragged screaming into the freezing, crushing dark of the abyss. The Kraken descended back to its slumber, leaving the strait significantly wider.