Old Man Viking Vs. The Kraken

My grandfather tells me many stories when I visit him, tales of Vikings and forgotten legends. Some of them are funny, like how Loki once tricked Thor into attempting to lift the Midgard Serpent, a gargantuan beast that encircles the entire Earth and bites its own tail (keeping the planet in balance and held together), which he had disguised as a kitten. One of the most interesting tales is the story of Odin and his two ravens, Huginn and Munnin, that would circle the Earth and report back to him every day.

One of my favorites, though, and the inspiration for the story I am about to tell is of the Kraken.

Ocean spray from a dark blue-grey sea hits my grandfather's face; tiny droplets linger in his short red beard. The wind of an oncoming storm whips at him as his boat cuts through the choppy waves of the sea, a storm blowing in and leagues left before reaching home. He and his men are weary from the battle they are returning home from, though they are determined and won't rest until they reach familiar shores once again. His brown eyes search the darkening horizon, looking for any sign of land, though he knows that there isn't any to be seen, not for another thousand or more leagues. Though when an island seems to appear out of nowhere, breaking the barrier between turbulent, dark greyish blue waters and the equally dark sky, his men rejoice, believing that they have found land, but he knows better. His weariness drops in an instant as tales from his youth ring in his ears, loud as the howling wind, warning him to turn about immediately, though he says nothing; fear turning his blood to ice as he stares at their approaching doom. Raindrops begin pelting down as he turns to face his men, his eyes wide and wild as thunder rumbles in the distance, something that shakes him from his stupor.

"Ready your weapons!" He shouts to his men above the roar of the wind, but his men either don't hear him or pay no mind.

However, those closest to him heed his warning, readying their large shields and long spears, swords sheathed at their sides. Just as their ship is within a short distance, the island seems to grow impossibly taller before it looms above the men and their battered vessel. He is afraid, but he doesn't let that show; fear only gives power to these monsters. Two large watery eyes, a sickly shade of yellow, open and stare at the ship, staring them down for what feels like a silent eternity before the tentacles appear. A few of the men are picked off in the blink of an eye before panic erupts. Some fight gallantly, while others run about before being torn in half before being thrown into a gaping maw of rosy flesh and sharp, yellowing teeth. Dark grey-blue waters a now a deep burgundy with blood and the storm raging overhead, littered with shields and a few lost body parts.

My grandfather stands at the front of the ship, stabbing and cutting at whatever appendages come within reach. With a mighty throw, his spear whistles through the air and meets its mark within one of the beast's eyes. With a bloodcurdling howl of agony and rage, the beast thrashes blindly for a moment before retreating with flailing limbs back into the depths from whence it came. My grandfather catches his breath, turning from where the beast had once been to survey the damage done: a hole in the hull, torn sails, and no survivors. Knowing that the beast will return eventually, he goes to the helm and takes up the rudder, guiding his ship home, knowing that Thor won't strike his vessel and that Odin has shown him mercy this day.