Crab-tastrophe: The Endless Grind of the Starting Zone

In the shallow shores, a warrior stands,
A blade in hand, against the sands.
A crab with claws, too fierce to flee,
An endless fight—what is it to be?

He strikes and strikes with all his might,
But the crab just scuttles out of sight.
No level gained, no victory sweet,
Just the endless grind beneath his feet.

His armor scratched, his health worn thin,
Yet still he battles—where to begin?
The starting zone, where progress stalls,
And the crab's shadow looms and calls.

Day by day, in endless strife,
This cycle clings, a pointless life.
A hero trapped, where nothing’s gained,
In the struggle against the crab unchained.