Monster Verse: Indominus Rex

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Beneath the crushing weight of the Mariana Trench, where even light never touches, where pressure could shatter steel like glass, Godzilla's massive frame stirred.

He had not moved in decades, not even twitched.

His heartbeat, once powerful enough to cause subtle tremors in the seafloor, had slowed to a crawl during his hibernation.

But now, it thundered again.

A deep, reverberating rhythm pulsed through the ocean bed as blood laced with nuclear fire coursed through ancient arteries.

Above him, the ocean trembled.

Creatures of the deep eels, sightless abyssal leviathans, and gelatinous horrors, fled in frantic terror.

Coral crumbled.

Thermal vents ruptured as if the Earth itself acknowledged his rising.

Ever since the detonation of Castle Bravo, America's hydrogen bomb test in 1954, Godzilla, well-fed and satisfied, had gone into a deep sleep within his underwater palace.

Over the decades, countless human wars and monster uprisings erupted across the surface world.

But none of them were enough to stir the King of Monsters from his rest.

The reason was simple: whether human or monster, in Godzilla's eyes, they were no more than ants.

What did it matter if ants fought among themselves?

Only the emergence of a true Titan-level creature could rouse him.

But even then, Miraluz had remained an anomaly.

Despite his evolution into a Titan, Miraluz had always cloaked himself in invisibility, a trait that rendered him undetectable to even Godzilla's vast sensory reach.

And so, the slumbering King remained unaware.

Until now.

The detonation of a nuclear bomb—one with a yield in the tens of millions of tons—meant to wipe out Isla Nublar had finally broken that silence.

In an instant, Godzilla's golden eyes snapped open beneath ten thousand meters of oceanic pressure.

An overwhelming wave of invisible perception rippled out from his awakening form, scanning the vast lands and deep seas.

He immediately located the source: the epicenter of the explosion—Isla Nublar.

What he sensed there made his stomach rumble with hunger.

Nuclear radiation, fresh and potent, lingered in the air.

It was intoxicating—a feast for the atomic-blooded.

"Roar—!!"

But something else stirred in that direction.

Godzilla moved with slow, terrible purpose.

His tail, nearly the length of three football fields, swished lazily, sending up a storm of sediment and debris.

His dorsal plates began to glow—an eerie, oceanic blue hue—lighting the trench like a funeral pyre.

He was hungry.

But it wasn't just the call of radiation that had woken him.

It was… kin.

A breath he had not felt since the fall of the last true atomic Titan.

That day remained etched into Godzilla's mind like scars on stone.

Dagon—the elder—his rival, his brother in blood.

Slain by MUTO Prime, an abomination born not of nature but of desperate radiation and twisted biology.

Dagon had fought valiantly, roaring defiance as parasitic spawn burrowed into his flesh and drained his core.

Godzilla had arrived too late to save him, and in the centuries that followed, he roamed the seas alone, one final King in a dynasty of extinct gods.

Until now.

The aura he sensed from Isla Nublar was unmistakable.

Not a pretender cloaked in mimicry or a mutant saturated by radiation. No, this was something purer.

Ancient blood sung within that pulse.

The heartbeat of a true descendant of the Permian kings.

Younger. Stronger.

Unburdened by memory.

Godzilla growled low in his chest, a sound that rolled across the ocean like an underwater storm.

A predator's growl, mingled with something deeper-instinctual curiosity, ancestral fury, and maybe… anticipation.

Was this the heir to his extinct line?

Was she answering his prayer?

Or a usurper?

Either way, there could be no ambiguity.

No compromise.

There could be only one King.

At Sea — Midway Between Isla Nublar and the Trench

The USS Annapolis, an American nuclear submarine on high-alert patrol, had picked up the detonation of Hammer.

Now it registered something else, something that made even seasoned officers go pale.

"Captain," the sonar operator's voice cracked.

"We… we have a contact. Multiple kilometers in length. Moving at over 80 knots."

The captain leaned forward.

"That's impossible. Confirm it."

"I already did, sir. It's real. And it's headed straight for Isla Nublar. It—it's Godzilla, sir."

There was a moment of silence on the bridge.

They were bearing witness to a shift in the balance of the world.

The captain exhaled.

"Get every drone in the water. I want visual confirmation."

On the screens, grainy sonar gave way to blurry video as deep-sea drones lit up with flickering feeds.

Through dark water, a shape emerged.

Enormous. Ancient. Glowing with nuclear fire.