You are in the forests of Antarctica, 190 million years ago.

The air was surprisingly humid, filled with the smell of wet ferns, yet a towering mountain loomed in the distance, a reminder of the frozen world you knew this would eventually become.

The ferns around the riverbank parted, but not from the wind. A low hum, almost like a buzzing in the ears, preceded the creature. Through the mist, stepped a 20-foot nightmare, its skin a mottled mix of olive green and crimson orange. It wasn't the crest that made you freeze, but the eyes—cold and calculating—focused directly on you beneath a bizarre, fan-shaped pompadour that curled forward. It opened its jaws, and the scent of raw meat and frozen pine filled the air. This was no T.rex, but it was just as deadly.