Colonel Blake stared grimly at the drone feed from the field HQ in San Francisco. Dust still hung in the air from the previous clash, but now something far more concerning had captured his attention.
The wyvern—the creature they once known as Setan Ular—was growing.
His form bulged, scaled muscles swelling. His wings spread wider than ever before. His mass surged.
"This thing doesn't stop…" Blake muttered.
He had called off the airstrike once George had calmed and Lizzie fell, but now—watching the creature bulk up into something that rivaled Godzilla in stature—he was reconsidering.
---
Meanwhile, at Monarch Headquarters
Dr. Ichiro Serizawa stood solemnly before a bank of monitors, arms crossed, brow furrowed. The satellite feed showed Alex in mid-mutation, surrounded by a fog of data points, thermal signatures, and live drone visuals.
"This isn't evolution," Serizawa murmured. "It's escalation."
Dr. Houston Brooks leaned in over comms from another secure site.
> "Serizawa… how long before our jets make contact with the target?"
A technician beside Serizawa responded, eyes glued to her terminal.
> "Two minutes, sir. Intercept trajectory confirmed."
Brooks exhaled. "Let's hope they manageto take it out."
---
Back in San Francisco
Alex stood at the edge of the shattered battlefield, wings still unfurled from his transformation. He flexed them once, testing their weight after the drastic growth, then crouched low.
With a thunderous leap, he kicked off the ground, shattering pavement and kicking up a massive dust cloud.
Wind rushed past his face as he climbed skyward, cutting through the clouds with every beat of his wings. He felt free, but only for a moment.
Then he heard it—
Sonic booms.
He turned his head mid-flight.
fighter jets streaked toward him in tight formation, contrails carving into the sky. Their intentions were clear—weapons hot, orders locked.
"Damn it," Alex growled inwardly.
With his current strength, conventional weapons didn't scare him. Bullets were laughable. Missiles? Manageable. But a fight in the sky, against a national military force, would make him an enemy of every human government on the planet.
He didn't want that. Not yet.
So he turned.
With one mighty beat of his wings, Alex banked sharply, redirecting south—toward Isla Nublar.
Home. For now.
But the jets were fast.
Too fast.
They were closing the gap—missile lock was seconds away.
Alex glided effortlessly among the clouds, his massive wings cutting through the wind as the roar of jet engines echoed behind him.
Ten fighter jets.
He counted them with a quick glance over his shoulder. They were on his tail—fast, aggressive, and locked on. The sharp chatter of machine gun fire rang out as tracer rounds peppered his back, but they only pinged harmlessly off his obsidian scales.
An annoyance. Nothing more.
Realizing bullets were ineffective, the lead pilots gave the order.
"Switch to missiles!"
Alex heard the telltale tone of missile lock. The whine of guidance systems behind him was followed by a thunderous hiss as multiple missiles streaked forward.
His eyes narrowed.
Then, with a thunderous flap of his wings, he broke the sound barrier—a boom echoed through the sky as his speed rocketed. A shimmering white cone formed around him as he pushed harder, the clouds parting in his wake.
But the jets adapted.
Their engines flared as they activated afterburners, chasing after him at full speed, slowly narrowing the gap.
Enough of this.
Alex suddenly braked in mid-air, halting with an impossibly sharp maneuver. Three jets couldn't react in time.
Boom!
They slammed into his armored back, exploding into balls of fire and twisted metal. The rest of the squadron zipped past his sides, now unwittingly placing themselves in front of their target.
The predator had become the hunter.
Alex banked hard and surged forward, jaws wide. He caught up to one fighter and bit off its left wing. The aircraft spiraled out of control, and with a whip of his tail, he finished it—an explosion lit up the sky behind him.
Back at Monarch HQ, Dr. Houston Brooks watched the live feed in growing disbelief.
> "We're losing aircraft. Pull them back! Retreat, now!"
The remaining jets obeyed immediately, veering away and heading back toward safer skies. Alex watched them vanish in the distance and gave no chase. Instead, he turned southward once more—toward Isla Nublar.
---
Monarch HQ
Dr. Serizawa stood silently, arms folded, as the screen faded to static.
> "I suggest we establish an outpost on Isla Nublar," he finally said. "He has claimed it as his territory. For now, he shows no hostility to humans—but that could change."
Dr. Brooks nodded slowly.
> "He's not a Titan yet… but that growth rate? That power?" He shook his head. "We can't afford to look away again."
It was unanimous.
Isla Nublar was officially designated Monarch Outpost 73.
Subject designation: Black Wyvern —the name whispered by stunned survivors in San Francisco.
---
Back on Isla Nublar
Alex soared over the abandoned island, now eerily silent. The once-bustling park was a graveyard of metal and memories. Tourists, scientists, staff—all gone.
Jurassic World had fallen.
He descended over the shattered glass of the avian dome and landed heavily inside with a low thud. The sunlight filtered in through jagged openings above. Curling up like a giant cat, his tail coiling around him, Alex slowly shut his eyes.
Morning came, ushered in by the low thrum of approaching helicopters.
Alex stirred in his slumber beneath the fractured glass of the avian dome, the sound steadily growing louder and more persistent. At first, he tried to ignore it—after all, sleep was a rare luxury after recent events. But when the sound didn't stop—**when more rotors filled the sky—**his patience ran thin.
With a heavy exhale, Alex rose to his feet.
Careful not to further collapse the already-damaged dome, he stepped outside, stretched his massive wings wide, and leapt into the sky. His ascent sent a gust of wind rolling over the trees below, scattering loose debris like paper.
What he saw above Isla Nublar made his eyes narrow.
Helicopters. Dozens.
But that wasn't all. In the waters just offshore, ships were unloading crates, cranes, and mobile buildings onto the beach. The operation was organized, fast, and military-grade.
And on every single vehicle, every crate, every vest—
That symbol.
Monarch.
The moment Alex saw it, memories from his past life surged forward—images from a movie he'd once obsessed over. A world filled with monsters. Titans. Godzilla. Ghidorah. Kong. That meant…
This world was bigger than he thought.
And much more dangerous.
Alex circled overhead for a few minutes, his colossal shadow casting over stunned personnel below as workers froze to look up at the draconic figure looming above them. His golden eyes scanned their operation—not attacking, just watching.
Then, with a flap of his wings, he turned and glided back to the dome.
---
He landed silently and settled back into the ruined enclosure, thoughts racing.
> "So… Monarch is here. And they're not just here to observe—they're building. Outpost 73? This must be it."
They were going to monitor him—study him.
But what confused Alex was why. He wasn't even a full-fledged Titan. Not yet. Did they see his potential? Or maybe they feared what he could become.
That possibility made him pause.
If Godzilla—the literal king of monsters—saw him as a threat to the planet's balance, he wouldn't hesitate to remove him. And Alex knew damn well he wasn't ready for that fight. Not even close.
That was a problem.
He had wanted to explore the Mariana Trench, to test his new aquatic abilities. But now, with this realization?
> "That's Godzilla's lair."
Entering would be a challenge. A direct challenge. One he wouldn't survive.
---
But even with those dangers came… opportunity.
Hollow Earth existed in this world too. A place teeming with life, evolution, and power—and danger.
And Kong.
Still, it was a risk worth taking. If Alex wanted to grow, to evolve, and one day stand toe-to-toe with the true Titans of this world, he'd have to go.
But Monarch would notice his migration.
Would they allow it? Would they try to stop him? Or worse—follow him?
Alex snorted.
> "Let them try. Jets won't stop me. Not anymore. But a nuke would be a different story."
Still, there was one crucial question he had to answer before he made his move:
What timeline was this?
Had Ghidorah already been destroyed? Or was he still sealed away? Because if that three-headed nightmare was still out there, everything changed. Ghidorah could control Titans—he was an apex predator on another level.
Even if Alex wasn't a Titan yet, it wasn't a gamble he was willing to take.
He needed answers. To get them, he would visit the ruins of San Francisco and Las Vegas—the scars of Godzilla's first public battle.then. Boston where the fight between Godzilla and Ghidorah happened.
Only then would he know what kind of world he was dealing with.
And only then would he know how much time he had left.
With a plan forming in his mind, Alex unfurled his wings and launched into the skies once more, the obsidian membrane slicing through the morning air like a blade. His target was clear — San Francisco.
Though he had passed through the city before, overwhelmed by battle and adrenaline, he hadn't taken time to examine the damage. This time, he would observe. The scars left by titans. The destruction born of gods. After all, San Francisco had been touched not just by the rampage of three mutated beasts… but by Godzilla himself.
The carnage left behind by Ralph, Lizzie, and George had been intense, yes — toppling towers and rending smaller buildings — but it was nothing compared to the sheer devastation Godzilla had wrought during his battle with the M.U.T.O.s. Whole city blocks had been reduced to rubble. Skyscrapers that once scraped the clouds now lay in broken pieces.
Alex intended to study this place. Perhaps, deep down, he wanted to understand what he was up against — what kind of world he was truly living in.
---
Back at Monarch — Outpost 73
The hum of servers and drone consoles filled the air in the field command tent. Technicians tapped away on keyboards, monitoring Alex's movements via a series of drones and satellite relays.
Inside the main operations tent, Dr. Mason Hale stood over a live feed, brows furrowed.
> "He's on the move," a field analyst called. "Heading northeast. Current trajectory… San Francisco."
The words sent a ripple through the room.
The communications officer quickly relayed the report through a secure Monarch channel.
---
Monarch HQ — Classified Communications Line
In the lower levels of Monarch HQ, Dr. Serizawa stood in front of a wall of screens as the transmission came through.
> "Black Wyvern has departed Isla Nublar. Heading for San Francisco."
Serizawa's brows knit together.
> "Why return to the city?"
Dr. Chen, standing nearby, frowned.
> "The mutated crocodile's corpse?"
Serizawa's eyes narrowed.
> "He left it behind… but what if he sees it as his prey—"
Dr. Brooks, arms crossed, cut in,
> "That could be a problem. We removed the corpse. It's currently in containment for genetic study."
Serizawa turned slowly.
> "If he tracks it… all the way to us…"
Silence fell.
They all knew the implications. If Alex was intelligent enough to claim territory, recognize prey, and track its removal… then Monarch had already taken something that belonged to him. A theft.
And if he viewed Monarch as thieves, they would lose the fragile balance they'd worked so hard to maintain.and most of all how would he react.
Serizawa exhaled quietly.
> "Monitor him closely. Let's see what he does."
> "And if he finds where we took the body?" Brooks asked.
Serizawa didn't answer immediately.
Then:
> "Then we'll need to be prepared to hand it over"
---
End of Chapter