The gray steel of the Iowa’s hull was a wall ahead of him, the keel just a few feet out of the mud. Vincent slid two legs beneath the hull and pulled sharply. The Iowa tilted crazily, sending the stupidly brave folks who’d stayed around to watch tumbling across the deck.

  But when Vincent tried to break the ship, he found the hull still too strong. All he could really do was rock the great ship back and forth, which was not very exciting to see. Not really . . . entertaining. Not at all what one expected of Abaddon.

  Besides, after a week on the Okeanos he was tired of ships and the sea. So he slithered up onto the far side of the channel, keeping the Iowa between himself and that stinging Bofors gun. Leaving the port, he rolled into and over a neighborhood of inexpensive, two-story apartment blocks, smashing cars, knocking down stucco walls, and collapsing tile roofs, and that at least was entertaining because people came running out into the street, hopped into cars or fled on foot, sometimes only half dressed.

  He broke power lines and gas lines with predictable results: fires blossomed in his wake.

Monster, Chapter 27