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Dagger

Under the blazing midday sun, the creature emerged from the surf—a shark, but not the kind the ocean claimed as its own. This one had four powerful, sinewy legs, each ending in webbed, clawed feet that slapped wetly against the sand. Its sleek, gray body glistened with seawater, dorsal fin slicing the air like a banner of conquest. With each step, it left deep impressions in the beach, tail swaying for balance as it sniffed the breeze with a predator’s patience. Seagulls scattered overhead, their cries sharp with alarm, while crabs froze mid-scuttle, sensing the wrongness of this intruder. The shark’s gills flared, tasting the salt and the scent of something new—prey that didn’t swim. It moved with a strange, rolling gait, part marine grace, part reptilian stalk, eyes black and unblinking. Every motion was deliberate, as if the land itself were a new ocean to master, and with each heavy footfall, it claimed more of it as its own.