Monster Verse: Indominus Rex

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The American armada cut across the Pacific like an iron leviathan.

At its center, the USS Theodore Roosevelt, a Nimitz-class nuclear aircraft carrier, pushed through the waves with relentless determination.

The giant ship was flanked by two Ticonderoga-class missile cruisers and four Arleigh Burke-class destroyers.

A lone Perry-class frigate cruised along the rear, scanning for shadows.

Beneath them, invisible yet deadly, two Los Angeles-class attack submarines prowled the depths—USS Spitfire and USS Devourer, among the Navy's finest hunters.

Above, the sky buzzed with aerial vigilance.

AWACS patrol planes orbited in wide loops, their spinning radomes sweeping the horizon for the slightest anomaly.

P-8 Poseidons dove low, dropping sonar buoys like breadcrumbs.

F-22 Raptors sliced the sky in V-formations, flanked by the elusive silhouettes of F-35 Lightning IIs—their radar profiles near-ghostly, but their payloads all too real.

From high altitudes, the deafening roar of C-17 Globemasters echoed.

One after another, they released their payloads: pallets of ammunition, rugged Humvees, crates of stinger missiles, and mobile command centers.

Following them came the C-5 Galaxies, bearing heavier gear—modular artillery, radar arrays, even rapid-deployment drones.

In less than a day, the beaches of Isla Nublar, long reclaimed by jungle and ash, had become a forward operating base.

M1 Abrams tanks now lined the hardened shores.

M2 Bradleys perched on ridges, their cannons sweeping for movement.

M3 Cavalry Scouts buzzed drones into the canopy, mapping every thermal flicker.

Infantry squads hunkered down in foxholes with eyes on the treeline, while engineers constructed AA turrets and howitzer platforms from prefab kits.

From the air, it looked less like a mission and more like a siege.

They called it Operation Dragon Slayer.

Its objective: to locate and eliminate the Titan Miraluz, the King of Dinosaurs, who had led the devastating invasion of San Francisco just three weeks ago.

The attack had left the American army scarred, thousands dead, and the world stunned.

For the second time in human history, war had broken out between man and evolved prehistoric life.

Washington, NATO, and the UN had all green-lit the operation.

It wasn't just a matter of retaliation

His campaign wasn't erratic—it was strategic.

In the Roosevelt's combat command center, tension hung thicker than oil smoke.

"Status report," shouted Admiral William Stense, folding his arms behind his back.

His voice was gravel dragged across steel.

The veteran officer had seen battle across four decades—desert storms, island skirmishes, cyberwarfare, even the Arctic standoff—but never this.

Never a monster who breathed storms and commanded an army of mutant dinosaurs.

"Fleet is in full perimeter spread. All submarine patrols are live," said Commander Allen Rhodes, head of Naval Intelligence.

His eyes, always sharp, now darted between several holoscreens.

One showed thermal scans. Another displayed deep-sea sonar grids.

A third monitored atmospheric ionization, because Miraluz didn't just fly.

He crackled.

"Still no visual or thermal contact with Miraluz," Rhodes continued.

"Drones have mapped over eighty percent of the island. No nests. No movement. No seismic activity. No known lieutenants."

Admiral Stense frowned, approaching the holographic map that flickered in the center of the room.

Blue dots marked U.S. forces. Red zones—possible threats—blinked with varying intensity.

"Impossible," he muttered.

"They don't just disappear. Not something that big. Not after what he did in San Francisco."

Rhodes paused, then added, "Three days ago, we intercepted a Chinese military transmission. Satellite images from their orbital assets showed a major skirmish... on the Great Wall."

Stense turned slowly.

"The Great Wall of China?"

"Yes, sir. And there's more. One of the heat signatures from that encounter matched Miraluz. Perfectly."

"Are you telling me he left the Pacific, crossed the ocean, and attacked China?"

"He didn't just attack," Rhodes said grimly.

"He crushed an ancient subterranean species known as the Taotie Tribe. The Chinese call them 'underworld beasts'."

Stense's breath caught.

"And Miraluz?"

"He subjugated their King. Took control of the region. Our analysts believe he's growing stronger exponentially. First San Francisco. Then the Megalodons. Now this. He's targeting rival apex predators. One by one."

Stense clenched his jaw.

"And the next rival?"

Rhodes met his gaze.

"Mostly likely HIM, sir, but he hasn't appeared in years."

Before Stense could reply, a high-pitched alarm split the air.

The red lights on the overhead rig began to rotate.

"Sonar contact lost with the USS Spitfire and USS Devourer, sir!" a technician called out, his voice trembling.

"Both submarines... gone."

"Gone?" Stense turned sharply.

"Gone how?!"

"No emergency pings. No SOS buoys. No contact since 0400 hours. They were in sector six—deep trench patrol."

"Check sonar logs," Rhodes snapped.

"Run back the last five hours. Look for anomalies—thermal spikes, cavitation, electrical surges, anything!"

"We're checking now... negative on all counts," another tech reported.

"No propulsion trails, no debris fields, no life rafts. They... just vanished."

A silence fell over the command room. Not even a heartbeat seemed to echo.

Two of their most advanced submarines.

Stealth-coated. Nuclear-powered. Armed to the teeth. Gone—without a whisper.

Stense's voice was hoarse.

"Get me the Atlantic command. I want additional drones sweeping that trench. Full saturation. Mobilize the Sea Dragon unit. And raise our alert to DEFCON Three."

Rhodes didn't argue.

"Understood."

The Admiral turned to the holographic display and zoomed in on the trench sector.

His gut told him what the tech wouldn't.

This wasn't a failure of equipment.

This was a kill.