Monster Verse: Indominus Rex

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POV: Lieutenant Rebecca Tran — USS Devourer (Earlier)

The last thing she remembered was the sound.

It wasn't a roar, or an explosion, or the sonar ping of another ship.

It was silence. A deep, absolute, crushing silence.

They'd been tracking faint tremors along the trench wall. Heat blooms far below the usual geothermal layer.

Something massive had stirred—something that didn't match any aquatic profile in their database.

She had just called to the sonar tech to double-check readings when the lights flickered.

And then, the water around them turned black.

Not from nightfall, or depth, or any natural shadow.

But from something alive.

She remembered screaming.

Remembered the hull groaning like it was being squeezed.

And then—nothing.

From the dark abyss of the trench, Miraluz rose slowly—silent as the ocean itself.

He opened his eyes—one deep gold, the other cracked with lightning-blue veins—and gazed upward at the distant glint of steel hulls on the surface.

Above him, the silent wrecks of the Devourer and Spitfire floated downward like toys.

Crushed. Imploded. A single strike had caved them in.

Miraluz raised his tail, now sharpened to a monolithic blade, and carved through the current.

His underlings—the raptors—circled behind him in formation.

They were his scouts now.

His eyes in the deep.

He clicked once, and they scattered toward the surface.

The time for hiding was over.

POV: Admiral Stense — Roosevelt Command Room

"Sir, we've got motion on the sea floor!"

A new wave of panic rippled through the room.

Holograms flared with sudden contacts.

"They're rising—multiple signatures!"

Stense leaned in.

"Are they ours?"

"No, sir," said Rhodes.

"They're... not even close."

—---------------------------------------------

The waves exploded outward as the USS Ironclad, a Burke-class destroyer, was torn in half like a child's toy.

There was no warning. No torpedo trails. No sonar pings. No missile alert.

Only violent, immediate death.

The hull shrieked as it split, the metal skin of the ship folding in on itself.

Its command tower cracked sideways.

Flames erupted from ruptured fuel lines, and in seconds, the wreck vanished beneath the boiling sea.

Debris and bodies rained down like shrapnel.

Alarms blared across the fleet.

Then another destroyer went up in a bloom of fire.

Then another.

Three ships gone in under fifteen seconds.

On the deck of the USS Theodore Roosevelt, the thunder of klaxons mixed with the panicked voices of sailors sprinting to their posts.

Officers screamed orders through the smoke.

On the horizon, black plumes rose like funeral pyres.

Somewhere behind the fog and salt spray, something moved.

Something massive.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE?!" shouted a communications officer from the Combat Information Center, nearly dropping his headset.

"USS Decimator just vanished from radar! Hull breach detected on the Wrath! We're losing ships one by one—without seeing a damn thing!" shouted the Combat Systems Officer, his knuckles white on the edge of the console.

"How is that possible?!" a technician gasped.

"No sonar spikes! No EMF interference! No magnetic flux! Nothing!"

"No..." whispered a young lieutenant as another explosion rocked the fleet, eyes wide with disbelief.

"This isn't stealth…"

[POV – Admiral William Stense | Command Bridge – USS Theodore Roosevelt]

Admiral William Stense stared at the fleet status display. Blue dots blinked. Then flickered red.

Then faded to black.

Gone.

He stood still for half a heartbeat. Just long enough for the old instincts to kick in.

"ALL SHIPS, CLOSE FORMATION!" he ordered.

"Condense our perimeter around the Roosevelt. High-density defense ring, now!"

"Aye, sir!"

"F-22 and F-35 squadrons—switch to wide-area suppression protocol. Free-fire clearance granted in Sectors 12 through 18. Detect any displacement—air, sea, sonar, heat—I want you to vaporize it."

Orders rippled across the network like electricity.

Outside, the carrier's deck rumbled as squadrons launched two by two.

Jets banked wide, their afterburners howling, forming circular kill zones around the burning remains of the Ironclad.

Then they saw it.

[POV – Lt. Marcus "Blitz" Kane | F-22 Raptor – 12,000 ft]

"Control, Blitz here. We've got surface movement near 56-Alpha. Vortex patterns, ten meters off starboard. Something's—wait—visual anomaly confirmed—holy shi—"

A shimmer in the air. Like heat waves. But thicker.

Then, impact.

Metal groaned. The jet shook.

"TRACERS UP!" Kane screamed, flicking the safety off his pod-mounted Vulcan.

The air erupted in a barrage of lead.

Tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu—

Tracer rounds hammered what looked like empty ocean.

But then—sparks. Ripples.

Like something alive and refracting the light around it.

And then, it screamed.

Not from pain. From rage.

"CONTACT—WE HIT SOMETHING—HARD!" Kane shouted.

From the sea, a shape rose—first a glinting horn, then shimmering wings.

Water cascaded off a titanic body plated in chrome and silver.

Sapphire eyes burned with electric fury.

Miraluz.

Wings spread wide—each over the length of a jet's wingspan.

Ridges of lightning-pulsed skin and bone lit like storm clouds.

His tail cracked like a whip behind him.

"...Oh my God," Kane breathed.

"It's him."

"Enemy confirmed—Miraluz is visual! All units—engage! Engage!"

—-------------

He no longer needed stealth.

This was war.

The humans had dared trespass on his island.

Had sunk claws into his dominion.

Now, he would show them what it meant to challenge a king.

The pain from the bullets registered dimly.

He had long grown immune to such trivial wounds.

Spectral Veil had shielded him.

But the surface turbulence had exposed his location.

It didn't matter.

Let them see.

Let them know what was coming.

He spread his wings.

Sunlight refracted off each blade-like feather, casting rays in every direction.

His tail curled in a spiral, building momentum.

The air trembled as he drew breath.

Resonance Charge

His throat began to glow—first blue, then white-hot.

The air itself recoiled.

"ROAAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!"

The shockwave detonated across the sea like thunder made flesh.

Aircraft spiraled out of formation.

Glass shattered on the Roosevelt's upper decks.

An entire line of drones exploded midair from the pressure.

Waves rose like walls.

Humans screamed.

[POV – Lt. Jackson Reyes | Roosevelt Deck Crew]

He had never heard a roar like that before.

Not during boot camp, not during Bering Strait intercepts, not even during the Indonesian Leviathan Event.

The noise hit him, body and soul.

Like every nerve inside him recoiled at once.

"GET BELOW—NOW!" someone shouted.

Too late.

The shockwave slammed into the deck.

Men were tossed like dolls.

Jets were knocked sideways on their rails.

A cargo Humvee flipped end-over-end, crushing a turret operator beneath it. The carrier itself groaned from the force.

And then, from the smoke and water...

More shapes.