Leviathan’s Fury: The Horror of Hurricane Poseidon

The first whispers of trouble came from the Cape Verde Islands. A storm was forming off the coast, whispering ominously in the wind, its dark clouds dancing in rhythm with the rough sea. This was not an ordinary storm. The inhabitants knew it, the winds knew it, and even the seagulls sensed the strange, electric aura surrounding the burgeoning cyclone. This storm was different. This storm was alive.

Its birth was sudden, its infancy swift, and within twelve days, it had matured into a behemoth of unparalleled terror. No ordinary scale could measure its might, for it was larger and fiercer than any storm known to man. The Saffir-Simpson scale shivered before it, shaking its head in disbelief, unable to comprehend the monster it was witnessing.

It set its sights on the Bahamas, Cuba, and the Leeward Islands, its roar of impending doom echoing across the waters. Panic spread like wildfire, people scrambling for shelter, for escape from the monster’s path. Many fled, their homes and lives abandoned in the face of the incomprehensible beast. But many others refused to run, standing defiant against the storm’s wrath. They were the first to meet their doom.

As it made landfall, it devoured everything in its path. Thousands perished under its icy breath, swallowed whole by its monstrous maw. Buildings crumbled like sandcastles, trees bowed down in fatal reverence, and the sea roared in terrified acquiescence.

Once done with its eastern feast, the storm turned its eyes westward, hungry for more. It slithered across Florida, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Then, it set sail across the Gulf of Mexico, its sights set on New Orleans. Here, it unveiled its true terror, with winds whipping at a nightmarish 400 MPH. If it were to be measured, meteorologists suggested it would stand at an unthinkable category 8. Once it had wiped out the Big Easy, it moved north, destroying homes and killing even more unsuspecting residents. It spent its last breath around Nova Scotia, and all became still.

Never had the world seen such a storm, such a ruthless slaughterer of living things. Scientists pointed at global warming, El Nino, and various other factors. But amidst their theories and calculations, they shared one common truth: they didn’t know. They couldn’t understand why or how such a monster could have been born.

In the aftermath of Poseidon, ss few lucky survivors began to whisper. They spoke of a creature they’d seen in the heart of the storm, a great beast controlling the winds and rains. These claims were quickly dismissed, written off as trauma-induced hallucinations. But those who had seen it and stared into the eye of the storm, such as those who flew into it, knew what they had witnessed. Some took their own lives at the memory.

They knew that Poseidon, the mighty God of the Seas, had awakened. He had risen from his slumber and unleashed wrath upon an unsuspecting world. The question that haunted their nightmares was whether he would sleep again or rise once more from the African coast to drown the world in his rage. They could only hope and prepare for the day when the winds whispered his name again.