GTAG Chapter 20: Pacific Rim
At the bottom of the pit, Godzilla created ten embryos, each using different combinations of genes and modifications.
In less than an hour, the embryos—originally so small they weren't even a meter long—had already doubled in size.
He studied them carefully, watching their development with interest.
Each embryo became encased in a sac veined like blood vessels, pulsing rhythmically like a beating heart.
With every pulse, they grew larger.
Time seemed to slow as Godzilla observed their evolution.
Soon, the first hatched.
It was a massive serpent over ten meters long, scales covering its body, a single horn on its head, and a grotesque maw.
The serpent glared around with blood-red eyes, but within moments, it convulsed violently, thrashing the water.
Then its belly rolled, eyes glazed, and it died.
The sudden death stunned Godzilla.
He turned to the remaining eggs, unease rising in his chest.
And sure enough, his premonition proved true.
Over the next day, the eggs hatched one after another. Of the nine left, only two survived.
Six died shortly after birth—some within minutes, others after an hour.
One never even broke its shell, dying a stillborn.
The two survivors looked bizarre, nearly seventy percent of their forms resembling Godzilla himself.
It seemed the G-cells had gone rampant during development, devouring other genetic material until they dominated completely.
Without them, these two would have shared their siblings' fate.
Even so, Godzilla found them pitiful.
One looked like a lizard, with three coral-like dorsal fins and wrinkled, scaleless skin.
The other resembled a grotesque ribbonfish, its skin just as ugly and wrinkled.
Both had the same lifeless, dead-fish eyes.
The lizard-like one resembled Godzilla more closely, but without any sense of menace—it looked almost dopey.
Godzilla guessed that once the cells left his body, he lost the precision to guide their growth, leading to unpredictable mutations.
He dismissed them with a mental command, sending the pair away.
What they would eventually become didn't matter. At ten meters long, nothing would easily threaten them.
Despite the failure, Godzilla didn't abandon the project.
The unpredictability, the uncertainty of whether a creature would survive or not, was strangely entertaining—like opening a blind box.
So, day after day, alongside his energy devoted to searching for new worlds, he also spent time crafting these "little monsters."
Time passed, and he made no less than a thousand attempts.
In the end, fewer than a hundred survived.
Even that ten percent success rate existed only because the G-cells consumed other genes and dominated the process.
Without G-cells, the survival rate was exactly zero.
Godzilla began to wonder if he simply lacked talent for creating monsters.
Was he cursed to fail every time?
Of course, if he were willing to create a specialized organ within himself—something like a Xenomorph egg sac—his success rate would rise to nearly one hundred percent.
With his control over G-cells, failure would be nearly impossible.
But he dismissed the thought in less than a second.
He wasn't doing this for reproduction. He was only passing the time. No need for such sacrifices.
By the time he released his eighty-second surviving monster into the sea, his collection of living creations finally numbering in the dozens, he stumbled across a new world.
Pacific Rim.
A world of titans and towering machines.
Another Earth, once again targeted for invasion.
The invaders were the Precursors—alien beings who had discovered Earth long ago.
At first, Earth was unsuitable for their biology, so they abandoned it.
But as human civilization advanced, polluting the atmosphere, Earth began to change into something closer to the Precursors' ideal environment.
With a little more terraforming, it could become their perfect colony.
So they opened a dimensional breach and unleashed Kaiju to attack Earth, reshaping the environment in the process.
At first, things went smoothly.
Humans used high-yield weapons to kill the Kaiju, but their blood poisoned the land and oceans.
As stronger Kaiju appeared, ordinary weapons became useless. Injured Kaiju ran rampant, spreading pollution further.
In desperation, humanity turned to nuclear weapons.
But that was a disaster for both sides—killing Kaiju, yes, but devastating their own world even worse.
The Precursors were delighted.
Humanity's desperate nuclear strikes only hastened Earth's ruin, moving it closer to the invaders' vision of paradise.
To counter the endless Kaiju, humanity devised the Jaeger Program.
Giant mechs, piloted by pairs of humans, built to fight monsters head-on.
They offered a way to kill Kaiju without devastating the environment further.
Put simply: pilot a Jaeger and beat the monster to death.
Brutal, but effective.
Armed with cutting-edge weapons and martial skill, the Jaegers killed many Kaiju.
And so, the Jaeger pilots became humanity's new heroes—icons admired and worshiped by millions.
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