Monster Verse: Indominus Rex

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"ROAAARR—!!"

The earth itself trembled.

From the center of the explosion, the sky split open like a torn piece of fabric.

The mushroom cloud that had loomed menacingly over the Atlantic, a terrible monument to human desperation, was suddenly pierced from within and swept aside by an unnatural force.

In its place rose a figure that no human should have ever seen again.

Pentagon stared, paralyzed, as the impossible unfolded before them.

"No… no, it can't be…"

Alarms screamed across the command deck.

Red lights strobed.

Officers shouted into dead comms, some frozen, others frantically rerouting power or scanning for survivors.

The nuke had hit dead center, a fifty-megaton detonation, humanity's final card.

Everything had been gambled on that strike.

But it wasn't enough.

It wasn't even close.

From within the churning heart of the blast zone, a monstrous silhouette emerged, wings outstretched, blotting out the sun.

Each beat of those wings stirred stormwinds.

His body, was larger, more terrifying, shimmered with a molten glow.

Silver-white scales had darkened and hardened, etched with red veins of power like volcanic glass.

The air around him wavered, not with heat, but with distortion, as if reality itself buckled under his presence.

Miraluz

King of Dinosaurs.

Alive.

More than alive—evolved.

One of the officers choked back a scream.

Another wept openly. But they couldn't look away.

The survivors felt the weight of something ancient and terrible crush down on their soul.

On the charred metal of the control deck lay still corpses, half-melted, skin seared to the bone.

There had been no warning, no chance. No last words.

Miraluz's crimson eyes opened.

They were no longer merely golden; they burned with energy barely contained.

Beneath his translucent chest plates, something moved—nuclear fire, coiled.

Radiation bled off him in waves but didn't harm the world anymore.

It was being drawn inward.

Siphoned.

The energy from the blast was being pulled into him, metabolized, and stored deep within his biological reactor.

A deep humming sound, like a thousand turbines spooling up, filled the air.

His chest began to glow brighter and brighter, until the light escaped through the gaps in his scales.

Then he opened his jaws.

And the world shattered.

"BOOOOOOM—!!"

He dove like an apocalyptic meteor, smashing into the remnants of the Atlantic fleet.

The water vaporized on impact.

Decks shattered.

Battleships were ripped in half as a pulse of energy detonated from his body, not flame, not plasma, but raw, weaponized radiation, focused and condensed by his internal reactor and then unleashed as a directed wave of annihilation.

It wasn't a breath attack.

It was a second nuclear event—only this time, born of flesh and fury.

Metal warped and crumpled as cruisers capsized.

Concrete fortifications vaporized.

Dozens of fighter jets in the sky were erased mid-flight.

Their pilots had no time to scream.

Captain Kimura, aboard the U.S.S. Raleigh, braced herself against the forward console.

The ship groaned under the strain.

"Helm! Hard port! Hard!"

White consumed everything.

Her voice was lost in the roar.

From high above, Miraluz hovered, wings extended, his massive chest still aglow.

Trails of steam hissed off his scales.

Radiation shimmered like a crown around his head, warping the light.

"RRAAGGHH—!!"

His roar shook the heavens. But it wasn't a cry of triumph.

It was a warning—a challenge.

Every satellite in orbit, every military command room still online, watched the same thing:

The annihilation of the Atlantic fleet.

Fifty thousand soldiers.

Gone.

In under an hour.

"Red Lotus…" he whispered.

He could feel it now.

The sun. The air.

The energy in every molecule around him.

Miraluz hovered above the charred battlefield, his wings flexing, absorbing the radiant heat still lingering from the nuclear strike.

He was burning from the inside, but he didn't scream.

He welcomed it.

He had faced extinction.

He had endured the bite of humanity's deadliest weapon.

And now, he was stronger than ever.

His vision, once primal, had grown sharper.

He could see heat signatures on the horizon.

He could feel tectonic shifts in the planet's crust.

And far, far away—he could feel something else.

A rival.

"Thanks for the temporary powerup."

His wings beat once more, lifting him into the sky.

He gave one final, thunderous roar, heard across continents, rattling satellites in low orbit.

Then, with a beat of those burning wings, he soared westward.

Toward land.

Toward war.

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Elsewhere — Deep within the Bermuda Triangle

The sea boiled silently ten thousand meters beneath the surface.

Pressure here could crush steel, and the waters were black, eternal, and ancient.

And yet, something moved.

The ruins of Atlantis stood among the abyssal silence, cloaked in darkness and time.

Carvings long forgotten lined the stone pillars: men kneeling before beasts, stars aligned with serpents, titans swallowing cities.

At the heart of the ruins, beneath a cracked obelisk, the water began to vibrate.

"RUMBLE..."

A hum resonated from the ocean floor.

Then a roar. Distant, yet omnipotent.

It echoed not through ears but through bone.

Godzilla opened his eyes.

With a single tremor, the abyss cracked open.

Giant plates of stone fell as the currents screamed.

The slumbering god rose from his rest, scales aglow with blue fury.

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Monarch – Bermuda Headquarters

"Multiple seismic events reported!" shouted Dr. Yates from the control room.

"The signal's matching, oh God, it's him! It's him!"

"Who?" Agent Myles demanded.

Dr. Yates turned, face pale.

"Godzilla. He's awake."

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Washington D.C. – White House War Room

President Selwyn stared at the digital map, dotted in red.

The joint chiefs sat in grim silence.

"He survived a direct hit. A clean nuke," General Armitage said.

"No… not survived," whispered CIA Director Voss.

"He evolved. We gave him the fuel."

"What options do we have left?" Selwyn asked.

"Is Project Leviathan ready?"

The generals glanced at each other.

"No," Armitage admitted.

"Sir, we have an energy problem, we can't use nuclear fuel they feed on it."

"Then we need another plan." Selwyn stood.

Voss didn't respond.

His eyes were fixed on the satellite feed.

"What of Cloverfield"