GTAG Chapter 95 Strong Acid Solution
One day, Godzilla grew curious and tried to peer into the "history" of his own world.
When he locked onto it, he saw something peculiar—himself.
Not only his testing-phase self, but also the present version of him swimming through the seas.
This perspective was entirely new to him.
But what delighted him most was the realization that he could now pinpoint his own position.
With the help of this outer-world view, he finally located the Yellowstone supervolcano.
He settled there.
Each year, Godzilla spent most of his time submerged in magma, absorbing its energy and producing Purple Mist.
At specific intervals, he awoke to refine his control over it, then sank back into the molten depths.
He did not know how much time had passed when suddenly, a consciousness stirred in his mind.
A human consciousness.
——
Ever since the kaiju known as Leviathan had plunged into a wormhole and vanished—closing it behind him—no new monsters had emerged for ten years.
In that decade, the world transformed.
First, mechas became beloved by the masses. Second, the cult that worshiped Leviathan wiped out the remnants of the kaiju-worshippers and grew into a force impossible to ignore. After all, Leviathan's overwhelming power had been undeniable.
With no new invasions, humanity entered a rare age of peace and growth.
Mecha technology leapt forward at a staggering pace—even unmanned prototypes were built, though only first-generation models. Still, it was innovation.
But in secret corners of the world, other events brewed.
Events that drove some insiders to the brink of despair.
The cause?
A single fragment of Godzilla's shed skin, left behind after that last great battle.
Recovered by a Jaeger and returned for study, it was given to Dr. Newton.
The deeper he studied it, the more flawless Godzilla appeared. Compared to him, the kaiju lost all allure.
But before Newton could savor the discovery, the Shatterdome was ordered shut down.
Without kaiju attacks, its purpose was gone.
Worse, the old general—its heart—was dying. Years of radiation exposure had ravaged his body. His time was nearly up.
Newton had to find new patrons.
He refused to hand over Godzilla's tissue samples to the politicians. Who knew what they might attempt with such power?
Though his studies had only begun, he understood one thing clearly: a fragment of Godzilla could cause a global disaster. Its danger dwarfed the kaiju. Mishandled, it could wipe Earth clean.
The remaining Shatterdome staff understood. They supported him in hiding it.
After peace returned, the last thing they wanted was to clean up another catastrophe stirred by greedy officials.
Besides, they trusted Newton. He was no power-seeker, only a scientist with boundless curiosity.
But scientists, too, are dangerous dreamers.
When Newton discovered the fragment could self-propagate, he cut a piece away. From it grew a humanoid creature, over three meters tall, like a man wearing a Godzilla suit.
Thanks to airtight security, Newton destroyed it before it matured, extracting its brain and preserving it in nutrient fluid.
The brain lived on. Alive, yet mindless.
Godzilla had ensured it would be so. Any spawn from his flesh was stripped of wisdom, left only with primal instinct.
But that did not make them weak. On the contrary, they were fierce.
And Newton dared not let one reach maturity, fearing a breach.
Even so, his work bore results.
Many inventions sprang from Godzilla's cells, most too dangerous to use—hurting friend and foe alike.
The most practical breakthrough was the Strong Acid Solution.
Extracted from Godzilla's blood, the acid could only be stored in special containers. Its corrosive strength was absolute—no Earth material could withstand it.
It was not weaponized on a large scale.
Slow tissue growth meant limited supply.
Newton crafted only a few water-gun–like weapons and handed them to close friends for self-defense.
Of course, whether they carried them or not was uncertain—the weapons looked like toys for toddlers, ridiculous to wear openly.
In his lab, however, the acid became indispensable.
Disposing of hazardous waste from his studies had always been a problem. Now, with the solution, it was effortless. No more digging pits to bury evidence.
But lately, Newton was conflicted.
His research often followed whims. One day, he sat beside the nutrient tank holding the juvenile Godzilla's preserved brain.
An idea struck him—synaptic resonance.
What if he could link with it?
He wasn't seeking power, not yet. He simply wanted to know whether the brain had thoughts of its own.
Instinct told him the spawn must have some level of intelligence. After all, the true Godzilla clearly did.
And if the father had wisdom, could the children truly be mindless?
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