Millions of tons of deep ocean ooze cascade off its flanks as it rises. "See," said the navigator. "Three thousand meters already." The kraken doesn't have eyes. There has never been anything for it to look at. But as it billows up through the icy waters it picks up the microwave noise of the sea, the sorrowing beeps and whistles of the whalesong. "Er," said the navigator, "one thousand meters?" The kraken is not amused. "Five hundred meters?" The [whaling] ship rocks on the sudden swell. "A hundred meters?" There is a tiny metal thing above it. The kraken stirs. And ten billion sushi dinners cry out for vengeance.
"Well, if you believe such things, there's a beast does the bidding of Davy Jones. A fearsome creature, with giant tentacles that'll suction your faceclean off, and drag an entire ship down to the crushing darkness. The Kraken. They say the stench of its breath... [shudders] Imagine, the last thing you know on God's green earth is the roar of the Kraken, and the reeking odor of a thousand rotting corpses... If you believe such things."