Evolving Monster in the Monsterverse

The sun had risen and fallen countless times over their fragile convoy of emergency capsules, bound together by torn cords, broken aerial wire, and whatever scrap had floated nearby. Days blurred, weeks stretched. Time held no meaning for the survivors of the Jaeger corps—only the gentle slap of waves and the hollow ache of hunger reminded them they were still alive.

They had lost everything but each other. Language was a patchwork of fragments—English, Mandarin, German, Russian, French, Hindi, and Japanese all melted into one barely functional blend of gesture, repetition, and strained understanding. It was survival dialect—born in salt and shared struggle.

Sam Brody sat with his knees drawn up, chin resting on scarred wrists. His father, Ford Brody, lay opposite, his shoulders sunburnt, lips cracked, breathing shallow.

"I hate this ocean," Sam muttered.

Ford shifted slightly. "Could be worse. Could be dead."

A soft chuckle came from Ivan, the Russian pilot, who floated in the capsule beside them, arm tightly bound in dirty cloth. "Maybe I am dead. Hell look like this, yes?"

"No vodka in hell," Singh, the Indian pilot, replied with a lopsided grin.

"No mangoes either," added Wei, shaking his head in exaggerated despair.

They had run out of rations five days prior. Dehydrated meat, iron-rich bars, and vitamin gel—all gone. Saltwater had long ruined the filters. Rain collected in broken helmets was the only drinkable water. Even now, their lips split when they spoke too much.

The Japanese pilot, Daichi, pointed upward with a cracked finger. "Storm," he said simply.

"No," Lena, one of the German pilots, corrected. "Just cloud shadow. Still clear."

Émile from France wiped the salt from his goggles. "Still nothing on radio?"

"Still nothing," Sam answered. "No military bands. No distress. Not even static anymore."

"Maybe solar flare?" suggested Mei softly. "Scrambled transmission?"

"Maybe," Ford answered flatly. 'Or maybe the world went quiet because there's no one left to speak.'

They floated through dead water, hoping for land.

And then it came.

On the twenty-ninth day since the battle, Émile shouted from his capsule. "Land! Port side! Land!"

Excitement rippled through the group like thunder. Capsules jostled. Arms waved. Sam scrambled to his feet, nearly falling over the capsule's lip.

"Land! Real land!"

With their last reserves of power, they activated the emergency steering boosters, nudging their raft toward a grey smear on the horizon. No trees. No birds. No shoreline buzz of life. Just low rock, some shattered walls, and dull hills.

But land was land.

They stumbled ashore, half-crawling across gritty sand and into the ruins of what had once been green. The soil was dry and cracked. Patches of grey-brown ash spread like fungal scars across the ground.

Singh looked around slowly. "Where… is everything?"

"No insects," Daichi muttered.

"No wind," said Mei.

"No noise," whispered Lena.

Sam squatted and picked up a brittle stem. It crumbled in his fingers like burnt paper. "This used to be a jungle," he said numbly. "There's nothing now. Nothing."

Émile walked several paces forward and found what was left of a road. Cracked tarmac, twisted metal, the outline of a vehicle burned into the concrete. No bodies. No blood. Just scorched emptiness.

"Is this where we grew up?" he asked no one in particular.

"I don't understand," said Wei. "Where are people? Buildings? Trees?"

"We're in a dead world," Ford said grimly. "We missed it."

Ivan knelt beside the shattered chassis of an old transport vehicle. There was blood on the glass. Dried, dark, baked by the sun. "They died here," he muttered. "Fast. No one buried. No clean-up. No survivors."

"Too fast for anyone to escape," Singh concluded.

"There should be birds," Lena said, eyes scanning the sky.

"There should be clouds," added Daichi.

"There should be... something," Sam finished, his voice cracking.

Mei knelt and pressed a palm against the earth. "He was here," she whispered. "Titanus Oodako. He walked through this."

"How do you know?" Émile asked.

"I just do," she said. "You don't forget the sound of silence after he passes."

Ford sat heavily on a broken concrete block, eyes hollow. 'All that time adrift, thinking we were lost. But the truth is... we were spared. We floated above the fire while it burned the world below.'

"We're the last," said Sam, barely above a whisper. "A few pilots, some emergency gear, and a whole lot of sky."

"No food," Singh added.

"No plan," said Wei.

"No world," said Lena.

Ivan rose slowly and pointed toward the smouldering hills. "Still here. Still breath. Still legs. We walk."

"Where to?" Daichi asked.

"Anywhere," Ford replied. "Somewhere."

"Everywhere," said Émile with a faint, tired smile.

Together, the survivors began walking inland, across the scorched Earth that once teemed with life. Their boots crunched on shattered glass and bones too old to scream.

They had fought monsters, drifted through death, and now walked through the grave of civilisation.

They did not yet know how truly alone they were.

{AN: I hope you all have enjoyed this journey as much as I have. A short but nice story that I made on a random whim. Please leave reviews now that the story is over so I can remove my temporary ones I had to put in order to gain the minimum 10 reviews. Thank you!}