GTAG Chapter 82 Sunflower Seeds
In a hidden place deep beneath the islands of Japan, there rested an enormous skeleton.
No one in this world could yet determine to whom the bones belonged. What was certain, however, was that the creature had not been born of this world.
Now, another colossal being had appeared in Japan.
Though centuries separated the two, the fact that titanic monsters appeared again and again led many to wonder if the barrier of reality was thin in this region. Why did monsters keep emerging here?
For Godzilla, the Japanese government quickly came to a decision. Attack. There was no second option.
But they also knew that simple weaponry could not work. A creature that had grown to such an absurd size must possess a density and mass beyond comprehension. Yet still, they prepared to strike, because there was no other path forward.
Fortune favored them at first. When Godzilla appeared, he did not rampage. This allowed them to evacuate civilians swiftly, especially since he surfaced along the coast rather than in the center of a city. A landfall in an urban district would have been catastrophic.
Only recently had Rodan's global emergence pushed Japan's leaders to near despair, their thinning hairlines worsening with every sleepless night. But at least Rodan had not been unique to Japan—it appeared across the world.
Godzilla was different. His arrival sent the government spiraling into panic. They could already foresee the moment when their weapons would prove ineffective, and then the world would propose nuclear options. Would they agree? Or refuse, and face the consequences?
Just as their debates began, Godzilla stirred.
Satellites worldwide tracked him. Every motion drew the eyes of nations. When he lifted his gaze to the horizon, the watchers realized what he saw: a great flock of Rodans rising from the ocean. With them came the crimson dust that scattered from their wings—Red Dust.
As the swarm closed in, Godzilla's mouth curved upward. Was he… smiling? The thought unsettled those who saw. How could a monster smile?
The Rodans attacked without hesitation, descending on Godzilla, scattering Red Dust across his towering form. They ignored the vast gulf in size, rushing at him without fear—or reason—throwing themselves against him with wild frenzy.
It was useless.
Godzilla reached out and seized one mid-flight. The Rodan clawed, its wings and beak striking his scales, producing sharp metallic notes like blades clashing. The sound was crisp, almost pleasant to his ears. He opened his claws and tossed it into his mouth, chewing once or twice before swallowing. Then another, and another.
To Godzilla, they were like sunflower seeds—small, hard-shelled, with little flavor.
Red Dust clung to his scales, crystalline fragments lodged between the ridges of his armor. That dust, crystalline in nature, had adhered to him during their assaults. With it came possibility. By consuming Rodan flesh alongside the Red Dust, he began testing his ability to command the substance.
With a thought, Godzilla shifted realms, submerging back into the waters of the Resident Evil world. The sea around him turned faintly crimson as the dust bled into the current, settling across his body like a thin, ominous shroud.
There, on the ocean floor, he withdrew inward. In his gut, Rodan corpses dissolved under the hunger of his G-cells. The blood and flesh were being absorbed, feeding transformation. Energy stirred. The dormant spacetime power within him, once muted and linear, grew restless, more alive than ever.
The Rodan corpses gave further, subtler benefits—but his attention was consumed by this surging temporal force. Other changes went unnoticed.
Gene integration altered him less visibly than he expected. Perhaps the differences were buried deeper, more elusive. What these changes meant, only slumber would reveal.
Time passed in stillness as the beast slept.
At last, in the abyss, the leviathan opened his eyes. Red Dust drifted upward around him. Outwardly, he looked the same. Yet within, his G-cells burned far more vibrant—his vitality multiplied manyfold.
Now, he knew: even if his head was blasted apart, even if his heart was ripped from his chest, he would regenerate. Before, it might take days or even months. Now, only minutes. And during that time, he could still fight, shifting his consciousness to the secondary brain he had long since cultivated. His foresight had proven flawless.
He had gained more than regeneration. The Red Dust now obeyed him. He could bend it, accelerate his own evolution, even consume it entirely to speed the ticking of his inner clock, forcing his body toward the next stage.
Godzilla's lips curled once again. His power was no longer just monstrous—it was divine.
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