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"Yes, sir!"
The unified response of the three armed service branches shook the war room.
Generals from the Air Force, Navy, and Army saluted sharply, the fire of resolve burning behind their eyes.
For years, the world had watched as monsters encroached, governments stumbled, and cities burned.
But America had prepared.
Billions invested in advanced weaponry.
Years of black ops testing anti-kaiju protocols.
Secret facilities stockpiling EMP missiles, railguns, and prototype mechs.
The moment had come to put it all to the test.
As the emergency meeting concluded, the President authorized DEFCON 2—the second-highest military readiness.
Orders spread like wildfire through encrypted channels.
Across the country, every base, outpost, and carrier strike group roared to life.
Jets were scrambled. Railgun-equipped battleships began deploying from Pearl Harbor and San Diego.
Nuclear submarines surfaced and received live payload authorizations.
Satellite targeting systems locked onto Isla Nublar and the surrounding Pacific.
Drone swarms began surveillance patterns over the ocean.
Massive amphibious assault carriers were loaded with tanks, exo-frames, and specialized infantry teams trained in anti-Titan combat.
In the heart of the Nevada desert, elite units were mobilized from Area Zeta, a classified base housing experimental weapons explicitly designed for kaiju-level threats.
The nuclear powered war machine was being built.
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On the Pacific Coast…
The world began to shift in the cities lining the Pacific seaboard—San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle.
Air raid sirens blared without warning, screaming across the early morning skyline.
People halted mid-step on sidewalks.
Traffic screeched to a halt. Heads turned toward the sky.
Some thought it was a drill. Others, a malfunction.
A few remembered the sirens from a decade ago and felt their blood run cold.
From government loudspeakers and emergency broadcasts came the same chilling message:
"This is not a test. All citizens are instructed to proceed to designated underground shelters immediately. This is not a drill."
Families ran, dragging children behind them. Shops were abandoned.
Civilians poured into metro stations and fortified tunnels.
Panic spread like fire—but underneath it, something colder took root.
Dread.
Was this another rogue Titan?
Or something worse?
They didn't know the name Miraluz yet. But they would.
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Somewhere in the Western Pacific Ocean…
Beyond the reach of satellites, shrouded in storm and mist, Miraluz stood at the edge of an island.
He was taller than a skyscraper, armored like an tank, and more intelligent than any monster ever recorded.
Bio-luminescent markings shimmered down his body, forming what looked almost like runes—an inherited memory of a long-forgotten order.
Behind him, the land trembled with the footsteps of his army.
Dinosaurs—enhanced with armor and serrated bone crests—slithered through the underbrush.
Pterosaurs the size of fighter jets soared overhead in formation.
Massive spike-backed Ankylodons thudded forward like living tanks.
A pack of raptors, adapted for land and sea warfare, moved silently along the coastline.
And then there were the Generals.
They stood on either side of his, waiting for his signal.
Miraluz stared toward the horizon.
The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, silent and foreboding.
Their destination: The Great Wall of China.
Before the journey, he had administered the ten vials of ALZ-114.
At first, the effects were far from subtle.
"I feel like I'm growing a new brain," Miraluz muttered, scratching his head as a strange mental itch pulsed behind his eyes.
Within days, that sensation evolved into something far greater.
His cognitive functions surged—memory recall, spatial awareness, and especially telepathic perception had sharpened to a frightening degree.
But the real miracle was what happened to the dinosaurs.
On the first day, they began to coordinate—not just through roars and gestures, but with clear intent.
Their reactions became faster, their eyes brighter.
Basic strategy emerged instinctively.
By the third day, their guttural roars began to take on form—phonemes, then syllables, and by the seventh day, full language patterns emerged.
Primitive, yet rich in structure.
Miraluz called it Dinosaur Language.
It was a moment that marked a tactical breakthrough and the birth of a new civilization.
Among the three milestones of intelligent life—definition, abstraction, and transmission—they had already achieved the first: definition.
They began to name things.
To differentiate between humans and their kind, allies and enemies, land and sea, battle and peace.
And for Miraluz, they coined one word from the heart of their new culture:
"Dragon God."
He was no longer just their commander.
He was their symbol. Their creator. Their unifier.
And they would follow him not just into war, but into legend.
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Seven days later...
The Pacific voyage was brutal. Typhoons roared. Currents shifted.
And at one point, a U.S. Navy sonar net almost detected them, prompting Miraluz to order a deep-dive maneuver across an underwater trench.
But finally, they reached the eastern shores of Asia.
China
He was not as a man, but as a force.
He stared across the plains that stretched beyond the Great Wall.
Wind rustled the ancient trees. Birds scattered into the air.
Then the land trembled.
They had arrived.
Their target was the Taotie Clan, lurking just beyond the Great Wall's northernmost peaks.
But these were not the beasts of legend.
Not the simple creatures from the film set in the Song Dynasty.
No, these were something far worse.
Modernized. Mutated. Militarized.
According to data from the simulator, the Taoties had adapted grotesquely in this timeline.
Their skin was tougher than steel, nearly impervious to bullets.
Their bodies were leaner, faster, and more violent than any variant before.
Most disturbingly, they'd evolved a rudimentary hive intelligence, coordinated by a queen.
They had already razed several countries and overwhelmed major military battalions.
Civilians were fleeing by the tens of thousands, and containment had failed.
But Miraluz didn't see a catastrophe.
He saw an opportunity.
"Thousands of gene points waiting to be harvested," he said aloud, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Grey let out a low snarl beside him, followed by a synchronized cry from the dinos.
The army was ready.