Elements of the following were originally written for the novel, but cut during editing.
The wind was beginning to whip harshly, pummeling the unprotected face of the planet with debris; remnants of a surface life that once existed. There was no sunlight, for the patches of ebony storm clouds stitched themselves together into a blanket of blackness which spread across the horizon, leaving the morning feeling more like the dead of night than daytime. For the citizens of the Underworld, buried deep in the protection of the planet, there was no footage of the dreadful and violent surface. Only those employed with needs for a visit above witnessed the view of the ghastly Upperworld. Few others wished to know what the face of the Earth had become.
Not far from one of the few remaining structures on the surface; the San Diego shuttleport that served as gateway to one of the Underworld Territories, there was a barren wasteland that was once an ocean. There the surface was rocky, less debris yet no less violent. Above what was once a plentiful ocean, a tornado danced, swirling blackness that appeared to be swallowing any remains of light as it consumed whatever remnants of civilization it found at its feet. With a menacing creak, the force of nature unearthed the bow of a sleeping vessel, decaying metal that was once a majestic ocean liner. Horrific power was released from the innards of the vortex as the wreckage began to roll, the tornado passing over and unearthing the ship’s grave causing pieces of its decaying deck to rip loose as though made of thin fabric.
Sections of the once mighty construct gave way to the towering demon, taking to upward flight until tossed like crumpled paper from the tornados peak. As the great ship of the past became the fodder left behind by nature’s angry force, the twister continued on its unstable course towards what was once called a shoreline.
Approaching the shuttleport, the tornado pirouetted just beyond, swaying back and forth as if stalking its prey, sand and rocks around the towering demon whipping upwards in a whirlpool of rubble. It circled the structure, almost seeming to bow towards its next dancing partner. When the bow was complete and the funnel swirled upright again, the twister moved forward.
At first the black construct that housed aircraft above the San Diego Underworld vibrated as sand and rocks circled around as if weightless upon the wind, and then the updraft tugged at the mighty edifice. The building stood strong for it had been constructed to survive the worst that an angry nature had to give. The twister danced further; its tip caressing the black walls of the shuttleport that was closed tight, massaging the mighty walls before hopping upon the building's topside. The blackened metal continued to withstand the roar of the tornado, until the colossal spout completed it’s time upon the stage that was the roof of the building and danced on.
There were few structures remaining in the Upperworld, but none that were not built to withstand the dance of a vehement nature. As the twister waltzed on towards higher ground, the building stood like a black spot upon the surface, a square with no visible characteristics; a sign of existence, or what existence had become.