Monster Verse: Indominus Rex

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Meteorite Mountain.

Meteorite Mountain, so named by local survivors, stood as a scar on the earth.

It was forged not by tectonics, but by a catastrophe—the ancient meteor strike that split the Gobi Desert from within, leaving it warped, jagged, and eternally smoldering beneath the crust.

A place where legends gathered like ghosts, and monsters nested in the echoes of extinction.

When Miraluz and his dinosaur army finally arrived, they were greeted not by a mountain full of life, but by the scent of decay.

The mountain slopes were littered with bones—mangled and sun-bleached remains of creatures long devoured.

Twisted antlers, shattered rib cages, and skulls gnawed bare stared upward with empty sockets.

Some skeletons were humanoid, others bestial, but all were arranged in grotesque, ritualistic fashion—as if the Taotie clan had used them for grotesque ceremonies or territorial displays.

Only insects scurried across the rot.

Above, vultures circled lazily, unfazed by the presence of Miraluz.

Even they seemed to know that the true predators had arrived.

The dinosaurs tore through the Taotie beast soldiers that emerged from crevices and tunnel mouths.

There was no resistance.

These were sentries and surface dwellers—far removed from the hardened vanguard they had already slain at the Wall.

They fell quickly, broken beneath the talons and teeth of the mutated dinosaurs.

Miraluz didn't flinch. His wings stretched wide, casting a long, rippling shadow across the mountain.

A tremor reached his mind.

A signal—not from the sky or the wind, but from deep below.

The Beast King was moving.

In the dark below Meteorite Mountain, amidst an intricate network of burrowed chambers and winding geothermal caverns, the Taotie Beast King stirred in alarm.

Miraluz felt it—the rapid acceleration of its pulse, the energy signature of primal fear.

It was fleeing, burrowing through magma-warmed corridors under the escort of elite guards.

"Running won't help you," Miraluz growled, his deep voice echoing inside his chest like thunder in a cathedral.

His perception kept the creature locked in his mental crosshairs.

Its movements were frantic.

The tunnels twisted into the mantle, deeper than any human excavation had ever dared.

But Miraluz was no human.

He hovered now over the mountain's broken heart, the point where the meteor strike had exposed veins of superheated ore and crystalline magma.

He narrowed his eyes.

He remembered it vividly.

A scene from Godzilla vs. Kong.

In that movie, Godzilla had unleashed a beam of pure atomic fury—an earth-shattering breath that drilled straight through the planet's crust, sliced into the mantle, and reached the Hollow Earth.

A single, continuous blast.

A strike spanning nearly 3,000 kilometers.

Unbelievable by natural standards. Impossible by scientific ones.

Yet there it was—seared into his memory, not as fantasy anymore, but as a challenge.

Miraluz closed his eyes, letting the memory replay, frame by frame.

In that story, Godzilla had absorbed nuclear warheads—swallowed them like radiation tonics.

In a comic version, he had become the apex of apex predators.

With each pulse of stolen energy, he grew stronger, until finally, he transformed into Red Lotus Godzilla—a living nuclear inferno clad in flame and fury.

His breath didn't just burn; it tore through dimensions.

A single roar could reshape the battlefield.

And yet, Miraluz mused, the present version—the 2014 incarnation—had still been terrifying in its own right.

That Godzilla had been raw, primal.

His atomic breath had vaporized monsters and leveled cities. Focused. Precise. Devastating.

But not planet-piercing.

Miraluz opened his eyes.

He wasn't Red Lotus. Not yet.

But he wasn't that fledgling version either.

He had never attempted something so great.

Never needed to.

Until now.

"Zizzizi—!!"

The deafening screech of charging atomic energy split the silence of the mountain range.

A thunderous pulse surged from within Miraluz's chest, the glowing reactor embedded in his torso spinning violently.

His silver scales shimmered like mercury under the moonlight, reflecting off the storm clouds gathering overhead.

His massive wings flared open as he locked onto his target—the Taotie Beast King—fleeing desperately beneath the Earth's crust.

A glint of sharp fury flashed in Miraluz's twin dragon eyes, now lit with swirling atomic light.

The jagged horns on his head sparked with searing plasma, vibrating with energy as his power reached a critical threshold.

Boom-boom—CRACK!

Reality itself seemed to warp. The roar that followed wasn't just a sound—it was a declaration of war from a god.

"RAAAHHH—!!"

Thunder bellowed through the sky as a beam of condensed atomic breath erupted from his jaws, a blinding lance of blue-white fire surging downward.

The beam pierced the clouds and slammed into the earth with cataclysmic force.

Meteorite Mountain disintegrated in seconds—obliterated by a nuclear fireball that rose like a miniature sun. 

The shockwave shattered the air for miles.

But the blast wasn't just for show.

It was a calculated strike.

The Earth shuddered. The ground fissured outward for kilometers, turning stone into liquid magma under unimaginable heat.

Molten veins of the planet glowed red beneath the shattered surface.

Miraluz narrowed his eyes.

This wasn't over yet.

Beneath the Surface — 33km depth.

The atomic beam didn't stop. It burned downward, through solid granite, tearing past ancient layers of continental crust.

The upper granite layer—gone.

The basalt foundation—melted like butter.

In seconds, the focused beam was carving a tunnel deep into the Earth's underbelly.

It punched through the crust, approaching the Mohorovičić discontinuity—the boundary between crust and mantle, known to only the deepest creatures of the world.

Yet even here, the atomic breath surged on.

50 km... 100 km...Rock layers shattered under pressure. The earth howled.

200 km... 300 km...

The resistance grew. The mantle was tougher. Denser.

Composed of peridotite and olivine, it was a geological fortress.

Miraluz's breath faltered slightly.

His claws dug into the molten soil around the blast site, stabilizing himself.

The internal reactor within his chest flared once more—he pushed forward.

500 km... 800 km...

Every second of continued fire drained energy—his silver armor now glowed red from the heat backlash.

Electricity sparked from his wing joints. Even the King of Dragons felt the cost.

But he pressed on.

1000 kilometers.

The beam finally stopped, hitting something dense… not rock. Not magma. A signal.