GTAG Chapter 19: Embryo
When Godzilla surfaced from the sea, his body had already shifted from its aquatic form into one more suited for land.
As he broke through the waves, the massive wings on his back fully extended, like a pair of demonic wings.
Even though each wing stretched hundreds of meters, together spanning nearly a kilometer, they were still nothing but a black speck against the endless blue ocean.
Godzilla flapped the wings, forcing them to beat.
The sea roared and surged as though a storm had risen from nowhere.
With each beat, the waves grew wilder until finally, Godzilla lifted himself more than thirty meters above the surface.
But just as he was about to push further skyward, his body faltered. The muscles along his back throbbed and burned.
Turning his head toward the violently flapping wings, his eyes flashed with frustration.
He knew it—these wings still weren't enough to let him truly fly.
With a low growl, Godzilla pulled his wings upright, like two black pillars piercing the sky, and then let himself crash back into the sea. The impact sent plumes of water hundreds of meters into the air.
Thankfully, he had chosen the deep ocean. Had he tried this near a human city, even the waves from his failed flight would have caused catastrophic destruction.
The wings themselves were not the problem. His muscles simply weren't developed enough to support their power.
If he wanted true flight, his body would need far stronger, denser muscles.
But that would force his body to change drastically—his front limbs would shrink, his proportions would warp, and he would lose the form he had shaped for himself.
After a long moment of consideration, Godzilla abandoned the idea of wings.
He sank back into the depths, letting the wings recede into nothing.
For now, flight would remain out of reach.
Instead, he returned to his old routine: scouring for rifts into other worlds, then resting when his energy ran low.
But this time, he did not devote all of his power to that search. He reserved part of it for his own growth.
In the last world, he had lingered for over half a year.
During that time, he had grown more than ten meters taller, now standing at over one hundred thirty meters. His mass had increased by tens of thousands of tons.
The fusion reactor in his chest had also expanded, outputting far more power than before.
For the foreseeable future, Godzilla no longer needed to worry about energy shortages.
As his body grew, the reactor scaled with it, sparing him the risk of outgrowing his own power source.
And with a larger reactor came stronger, longer-lasting atomic breath.
If not for his understanding that growth must be gradual, he might have forced himself to expand to a kilometer in height all at once. Then, a single blast of his breath could scour the world clean.
What Godzilla didn't realize was that his brief experiment with flight, just a few minutes at the surface, had already been caught by satellites.
Normally, nations monitored the oceans constantly, never daring to relax.
They had no means to stop him if he emerged, but ignoring the seas entirely was unthinkable.
And so when Godzilla broke the surface in broad daylight, his colossal wings visible beneath the sun, the images spread across the world like wildfire.
Godzilla could fly—or at least, he was trying to.
This revelation sent shockwaves through every government and scientific institution.
Godzilla was evolving.
He had gone from an aquatic beast to a land-walker, and now he sought to claim the skies.
The speed of his evolution was terrifying.
Scientists debated endlessly. Why wings? Why attempt flight at all?
Godzilla's evolution, while rapid, was never random. There had to be some trigger, some external threat or necessity that pushed him to attempt wings.
But what could possibly threaten Godzilla enough to make him try such a transformation?
No answer came.
The only comfort they found was in the footage itself. The wings had failed.
But if this attempt failed, what about the next?
Would his next evolution succeed?
In response, militaries around the globe scrambled to revise their strategies.
None could afford to assume Godzilla would always approach from the sea. They now had to prepare for the nightmare of him descending from the sky.
Neither possibility offered them hope.
For Godzilla himself, none of this mattered.
At the ocean floor, boredom gnawed at him.
He thought back to the power he had stolen from the Alien ancestor—the ability to create offspring through specialized means.
With his vast genetic library, filled with DNA from countless species of this world and the last, the temptation to experiment was irresistible.
Why not create something new?
Why not pass the time by shaping monsters of his own?
At a flat stretch of seabed, Godzilla unleashed his atomic breath, carving a circular pit over a thousand meters deep and nearly ten kilometers wide.
He descended into the hollow and began his work.
He selected cells, infused them with chosen traits from his vast genetic arsenal, and modified them.
Then he cast the cells into the pit, letting them settle at the bottom.
These were no ordinary cells. They carried the essence of Godzilla's G-cells, capable of drawing energy from both water and air to trigger nuclear reactions.
They would consume nuclear energy and grow. What they would ultimately become, even Godzilla did not know.
And that was what excited him.
Yet here, deep in the ocean where oxygen was scarce, their development was slow.
No matter.
Godzilla lay nearby, letting the radiation from his body seep outward. That alone would be enough to fuel their growth.
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