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The month that followed was a nightmare.
Base after base, city after city, Miraluz shadowed them all.
America's nuclear power became nothing but a hollow promise; its aircraft carrier strike groups, the pride of naval supremacy, were reduced to floating tombs.
Nuclear power plants cracked and burned, their energy devoured.
The death toll crossed 100,000 before the world even realized what it faced.
Across continents, presidents and prime ministers convened in terrified whispers.
In Japan, the Diet fell silent as satellite images showed burning seas around Hawaii.
In Russia, even hardened KGB agents went pale when briefed on the collapse of the Alaskan command.
In Europe, NATO assembled, but its maps already looked like obituaries.
And in every country, one phrase spread like wildfire:
"Death Wing"
Miraluz's name became a curse.
For the first time in recorded history, mankind truly understood: they were not the masters of Earth.
They were tenants, clinging to survival in cracks between the footsteps of giants.
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Isla Sorna
The storm clouds hid the island, as if even nature dared not disturb its new rulers.
Here, the Jurassic Alliance had carved its base, each cove and plateau claimed by different species.
Herds of armored ceratopsians guarded the lowlands, raptor packs patrolled the jungles, and titanic predators prowled the shores.
But at the island's heart, deep in a valley that glowed faintly at night with residual radiation, stood the sanctum of Miraluz himself.
There, a pulse of energy surged suddenly, enough to make even the mighty Spinosaurus pause in awe.
But just as quickly, the surge receded, drawn back under the iron will of the King.
Miraluz stood upon a basalt outcrop, his massive frame wreathed in crimson light.
His reactor organ had evolved once again.
He felt it in every bone, every breath.
Where once his body ran on nuclear fission, crude and brutal, now he held the fire of a miniature star.
When he exhaled, it was no longer the searing gold-white of old atomic heat.
His maw glowed a deep, angry scarlet.
The air itself recoiled from it.
This was the breath of a sun's heart, hotter than any hydrogen bomb mankind had ever imagined.
He flexed his talons, feeling power ripple through his colossal frame.
It was intoxicating.
Yet he also sensed the truth: this organ had reached a threshold.
No amount of fuel would push it further.
His path forward lay in evolution itself, gene points from Titans worthy of him.
"Panel," he growled, and the inner display of his being unfurled before him.
[Name]: Miraluz
[Age]: 1 year, 3 months
[Race]: Titanus Gojira (Male)
[Life Level]: Titan
[Size]: Length 200 meters, Height 100 meters, Weight 100,000 tons
[Skills]: Atomic Breath (Nuclear Fusion), Spectral Veil, Radiation Streams....
[Genetic Abilities]: ...Electromagnetic Pulse Lv 2
[Titan Gene]: .....Earthquake Beetle
[Gene Points]: 1000
The numbers were meaningless to most, but to Miraluz, they were a ledger of conquest.
He rumbled in satisfaction. One thousand points.
"Brother! Come quickly!"
The familiar rasping roar of Gray carried across the valley.
Her eyes gleamed with excitement, and even the hardened general could not keep her voice steady.
"Most of the eggs they've hatched!"
Miraluz turned sharply.
His burning gaze softened, just slightly.
Without another word, his wings unfurled, spanning the valley like storm clouds, and he launched himself toward the nesting grounds.
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The Nesting Grounds.
It was a vast plain of volcanic sand, heated from beneath by vents channeled by the Alliance.
Carefully dug pits lined the area, each filled with eggs the size of boulders, tended day and night by watchful mothers and guards.
When Miraluz descended, the earth trembled.
Every dinosaur present lowered its head in reverence.
"Dragon God!" they chorused, the sound echoing like rolling thunder.
Miraluz's gaze fell upon the nests.
He could see it at once: nearly half had split open.
From the shells crawled creatures unlike anything the world had seen in 65 million years.
Tyrannosaurs with eyes already bright with hunger.
Quetzalcoatls with wings that twitched instinctively toward the sky.
Even Therizinosaurs, their claws glistening like blades fresh from a forge.
They were not weaklings.
Each hatchling was already the size of a car, their weight measured in tons.
Their cries filled the valley, harsh yet eager, echoing across the cliffs.
These were no helpless young; they were born with strength, and they would grow into legends.
Miraluz's chest swelled with something rare: pride.
A dynasty was taking root.
The Jurassic Alliance had not just multiplied; they had branched.
A new generation of weapons, thinking, breathing, and learning, had been born.
Miraluz watched his kingdom grow stronger before his eyes, the newborns shrieking with life, the mothers roaring their pride.
This was more than survival. It was destiny.
"Rise," he thundered to the hatchlings, his voice shaking the ground itself.
"Rise, children of the storm. The age of man ends, and the age of the dinosaur begins anew. You will inherit not only my dream, but this Earth itself."
The hatchlings screamed back, a chorus that shook the valley.
And far away, in human cities still smoldering from his wrath, billions shuddered without knowing why.