The sharks cut through the wine-dark waves, Teddy's knife sings through the air to strike its mark, and Nanaue makes a feast of the fearsome beast's limbs — but godlike Achilles sets his gaze upon the haft of his spear, which from the leviathan's eye protrudes like a mighty splinter. Reaching for his weapon, he wrenches it from where it is lodged, taking no care to exit the wound cleanly. Again, the beast lets loose a howl of agony, a great cry that quakes the air like the crack of thunder.

No sooner has Achilles dislodged his long-shadowed spear than he is raising his arms to strike again. The pitiless iron pierces the leviathan's soft temple, sticks deep in its brain. Black blood bursts from its head as the son of Peleus shoves his spear in with all his great strength.

The terrible beast's cries collapse into silence, and death darkens its eyes. As when the waves carry seaweed aloft on their current — limply the plants tumble along, lacking any will of their own — so now appears the leviathan. Into the sky, Achilles looses a cry of triumph.