In the forgotten annals of time, where legends breathe and nightmares gallop, there is whispered the name HORK—a beast of land and sea, born from the wrath of nature itself. A predator unlike any other, HORK is the fusion of power and terror, an ancient force that haunts both the crashing waves and the blood-soaked battlefields of history.

His head is that of a monstrous shark, a gaping maw of endless hunger, lined with jagged teeth that can cleave through steel and bone alike. Cold, abyssal eyes pierce the darkness, sensing the faintest tremors of fear. His nostrils flare, catching the scent of prey from miles away.

Yet, from the gills downward, he is a creature of unstoppable momentum—a warhorse of nightmare proportions. Thick muscles coil beneath his salt-crusted hide, each hoof striking the earth like a war drum, shaking the very ground beneath him. His mane, a wild cascade of briny tendrils, flows like the ocean’s fury, while his powerful legs propel him forward with the force of a crashing tidal wave.

Legends tell of HORK thundering across storm-lashed cliffs, his hunger never sated, his presence heralding doom. The sea belongs to the sharks, the land to the horses—but HORK bows to neither.