Evolving Monster in the Monsterverse

Across the breadth of the globe, a slow and dreadful silence settled over the military command centres of every nuclear-armed nation, the kind of silence that followed catastrophe too vast to comprehend, too swift to halt, and far too powerful to challenge.

From the snow-laden silos of Siberia to the arid bunkers of the Middle East, from deep sea naval carriers to mountain-cloaked facilities hidden beneath state borders, Titanus Oodako struck with terrifying purpose and surgical efficiency. There was no hesitation in his movements, no wasted motion, no deviation from his singular path; he came not for territory, nor vengeance, nor chaos, but for the cores of humankind's might: their nuclear arsenals.

One after another, like a predator devouring its fill before a long slumber, Mark consumed the nuclear payloads of every nation that had ever dreamt of dominion through radioactive power. The United States' reserves were torn from reinforced vaults beneath desert ground; Russia's subterranean bastions, long frozen and defiant, were split open like eggshells; the vast stockpiles of China and the secret repositories of France fell just as swiftly.

Even the oceanic launch platforms of the United Kingdom were not spared, their steel cages ruptured beneath the crushing embrace of his acidic limbs. India, Pakistan, and Israel—nations whose nuclear weapons were born of rivalry and dread—found themselves equalised, silenced under the judgement of a being beyond their reckoning.

But Mark did not stop there. As if spurred by a deeper, more calculated awareness, he pursued the silent arsenals kept far from public knowledge. He struck at Iran's hidden stockpile, one long denied and fiercely protected.

He devoured Japan's quiet contingency held in scientific vaults, where energy research masked military ambition. He struck South Korea's dormant warheads, kept alive through allied cooperation, and even uncovered Germany's supposedly dismantled nuclear force, kept under the protection of ancient treaties and international trust. In each case, his actions were the same: eat, absorb, vanish.

And then, after the world's last nuclear warhead had been reduced to silent ash within his glowing core, Mark returned to the place where his journey first began—Skull Island. Beneath the storm-wracked clouds and ancient monoliths, he vanished into the depths, disappearing from satellite view entirely.

What remained was a planet that had, in less than a week, been stripped of its most powerful deterrents. What remained was a humanity now forced to face the future naked, defenceless, and unified by despair.

It was this realisation that brought forth an emergency summit of the greatest magnitude ever seen, not through the echoing chambers of the United Nations where centuries of indecision and political inertia often bloomed, but through a direct, encrypted digital conference held between the G20 nations and their respective scientific and military leaders. A virtual war room, crafted with haste but upheld by desperation, now served as the last platform for global cooperation.

On one screen, the President of the United States appeared haggard and pale, his fingers tapping the desk not out of anxiety, but grim determination. Another screen displayed the Premier of China, his jaw locked and silent as military aides whispered in the background. The President of France sighed beneath the weight of his decision, while the British Prime Minister sat quietly, brow furrowed, nodding slowly as data scrolled across his screen. India's Prime Minister adjusted his glasses with weary resolve, while the Chancellor of Germany muted her background chatter before speaking clearly into the silence.

"No nation stands alone any longer. Not after this."

Across multiple feeds, agreement came with solemn nods, voices raised not in argument, but consent. The Russian Defence Minister added, "He has left us nothing but unity; or extinction."

And so, in that moment, the political illusions of division shattered. Old rivalries, frozen wars, ideological stalemates; all were swept aside beneath the looming shadow of an apex creature who feared no border, respected no government, and obeyed no flag. A unanimous resolution was signed into effect: the creation of the United Earth Coalition, a supranational authority forged not from ambition, but necessity.

Alongside it came the funding and empowerment of a singular military-industrial entity known henceforth as the United Earth Defence Corps, or UEDC, a hybrid of state oversight and private ingenuity tasked with the unthinkable—fighting back.

Near the summit's conclusion, as the signatures were finalised and diplomatic aides began to excuse themselves from their feeds, the American President remained still. Slowly, he turned away from his microphone, his voice low but laced with grim conviction as he addressed a figure standing in the shadows behind him.

"Marshal Stacker Pentecost," he began, every syllable heavy with authority and hope, "You are hereby granted full command over the Jaeger initiative under the UEDC. The world has suffered too long, watching its cities crumble beneath the wrath of titans while its people die screaming beneath falling rubble. Today, that ends."

He stood slowly, spine straightening as he gestured toward the screen, where the faces of leaders watched in attentive silence. "As decreed by the United Earth Coalition, you shall have the full support of all member nations; every scrap of science, steel, and sweat we can spare. Build us our own titans. Show the world that we do not yield to monsters."

Stacker Pentecost; a man whose eyes held both war and mourning, offered a single, firm salute to the assembled council. No words passed his lips. None were needed. The conviction in his posture, in the way he pivoted with solemn strength and walked from the room, said everything.