GTAG Chapter 55: Chaos Battle
The moment Godzilla reabsorbed the G-cells that had devoured the infected creatures, he felt a brief agitation inside his own cells.
Those cells quickly began analyzing the mutations within the absorbed biomass and attempted to replicate them.
But that process would take a very long time.
Godzilla halted the replication. He had more pressing matters at hand.
His mission was complete, but these dangerous infected beings could not be left alive.
He unleashed waves of his radioactive breath, burning every hibernating infected creature to ash.
Then he turned toward the direction where more of them could be sensed.
Having consumed infected flesh, he could now track them—only in broad strokes, but it was enough.
Fortunately, they had only recently awakened, and with Antarctica as their prison, there were only three or four of them to deal with.
In fact, if humanity could muster even a fraction of its potential, they might have been able to kill such small numbers themselves.
But Godzilla placed no faith in human courage. He would sooner believe pigs could climb trees than expect mankind to act wisely.
The alien ship wasn't far from the infected presence, so he would reach it soon enough. There was no need to rush.
This was Antarctica. There was little here for the infection to spread to.
Even in a city full of people, it wouldn't matter. A single radioactive blast would end it all.
Godzilla was calm. Others were not.
At the human camp, some were so desperate they wanted to burn the entire base to the ground.
Not as a figure of speech—literally.
The alien creatures were terrifying beyond reason.
The moment they broke free from the ancient ice, they caused death. Worse still, they carried unknown viruses that quickly spread among the camp, warping men and women into monstrous shapes of flesh and bone.
Against these horrors, conventional weapons meant nothing.
Only fire could purge them—flamethrowers reducing them to ash.
Terror drove one survivor to madness, plotting to lock everyone inside the camp and burn them all alive, himself included.
But neither the other survivors nor the infected abominations would let him succeed. His plan collapsed with him.
Half the camp was already dead.
Some had been infected, others had been murdered in paranoia by their own companions.
The survivors who remained had lost all trust. Every one of them eyed the others, waiting for a mistake to justify pulling the trigger.
That was when the ground beneath them shook.
What's happening?
An earthquake?
If so, the icy fissures would swallow them whole, and without rescue, death was certain.
Humans panicked.
The infected didn't.
What did they care if the earth quaked? At worst, they would be frozen again for millennia.
From their warped bodies, tendrils of flesh tore outward, lashing toward the nearest people.
The quake saved the humans—the tremors made the tendrils miss.
But before relief could set in, the tentacles whipped out again.
Gunfire and fire roared in response.
The monsters shifted, twisting into even more lethal shapes, dodging bullets and flame, charging into the survivors' ranks.
They fought back with desperate precision.
Bullets tore holes through the monsters' bodies, proving that no matter how terrifying they looked, their flesh was still fragile under fire.
Yet the horrors pressed on, riddled with wounds, unyielding in their assault.
Only those caught by flame perished—screaming as fire consumed them to ash.
One man, holding the last flamethrower, steadied himself. If he could burn the remaining creatures, survival was possible.
Then a shout rang in his ear—someone yelling for him to dodge.
He turned too late.
Agony ripped through his chest as a tentacle punched a hole clean through him, tearing out his organs in a wet, sucking pull.
He collapsed, lifeless, into the snow.
The others ran to his body, not out of grief, but because he carried the last flamethrower.
They had to claim it.
But the creatures lunged at them, intent on preventing that.
Gunfire pushed the monsters back, but ammunition was finite. Sooner or later, their weapons would fall silent. When that moment came, victory would vanish.
Then the ice cracked open.
A thunderous roar split the air.
A colossal head rose from beneath the frozen earth.
At once, both humans and infected halted, stunned.
The massive creature commanded every gaze. There was no hiding it—its very presence was overwhelming.
Even its head alone was larger than a building.
No human had ever seen such a monster.
But then again, hadn't aliens already descended upon them?
If extraterrestrials existed, then why not giants like this?
Still, they could only watch in awe and fear as the leviathan loomed above them.
What was this beast about to do?
[Please give powerstones if you're enjoying the story.
500 stones = 1 extra chapter
patreon com/GuessMyName33 for up to 30 chapters ahead]