Megalorax

Megalorax did not chase. He did not need to. His shadow preceded him — a

darkness that spread across the seafloor like a stain, and everything beneath

it knew what was coming. The first fish, the first shelled things, the first

creatures brave enough to swim in open water — all of them learned the same

lesson: when the light above you disappears, it is already too late. He was

not the largest of the sea-beasts, nor the most ancient. But he was the most

feared, because Megalorax was efficient in a way the other First Beasts were

not. No wasted motion. No roaring. No spectacle. Just the shadow, and then

the silence. When the gods erased the Primordia, they say the last thing to

vanish from the oceans was not a body, but a shadow — fading slowly,

as if the sea itself refused to forget what fear felt like.