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The storm wanes without Ghidorah’s presence, but it never falters, and though you’ve grown used to the rain and the thunder in the weeks since your first encounter with the three-headed beast, you would give anything to feel a bit of sunlight on your face.
Fat chance of that, you scoff internally, pulling the hood of your rain jacket over your head as fresh rainfall washes over the battered city. Godzilla was nowhere to be found, presumed dead, and from what little you’d managed to glean from your phone, all other avenues towards defeating King Ghidorah had been exhausted.
Escape from the crumbling city was no longer an option. Evacuations had been halted in the wake of the beasts congregating to Ghidorah’s call, and even if someone had managed to find you, the dragon would never let you go.
So you scavenge what you can from the buildings that remained standing, food and clean clothes and a first aid kit that you carry in a pilfered backpack, and you try to stay on Ghidorah’s good side, knowing that his favor is all that keeps you alive and still not knowing how you gained it in the first place.
You kept pace behind the golden beast while he patrolled his kingdom of ruin, sticking to the shadows whenever one of the other kaijus came too close. Ghidorah rarely slept, but he rested, and during those brief moments the storm would calm and you could build a fire to warm yourself in the shadow of his massive body.
You’d learned more of him as the weeks passed. Despite sharing a body, his heads seemed to have their own distinct personalities, the left ruthless and angry, the middle shrewd and ambitious, and the right impulsive, almost curious. It was a strange mixture, and an even stranger sight to watch the three interact, not only with each other but with you.
The right head had little to do with you, though it eyed you with angry amber eyes whenever you dared to step too close. The left found interest in all that you did, sniffing at your newly scavenged clothes or peering over your shoulder as you constructed your next meal. The middle - the leader, you’d gathered - merely watched you, growling at times to dissuade you from following after him if another beast was near or to urge you forward if you were lagging too far behind.
You didn’t know what you were to the creature - a tolerated irritant? A pet? You couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, why he’d beckoned you to follow him those long weeks past, or why he continued to allow it now.
And yet, somehow, you were grateful. With the other beasts congregating and the storm picking up in intensity, it would have only been a matter of time until you’d been killed in the fray. At least with Ghidorah’s protection, you could live to see another day.
How long your tenuous partnership - if you could call it that - would last, you didn’t know.
.
.
.
You should have known your luck wouldn’t last.
You tend to stick to the shadows when Ghidorah isn’t around, finding refuge and a modicum of safety in the plethora of abandoned buildings lining the ruined city.
The other monsters are easy to avoid, if only by merit of their size and the rumble of their footsteps. You catch glimpses of them now and then, though you’re quick to run in the opposite direction whenever you catch sight of their massive limbs or hear their low, warbling calls.
But you’re hungry, and with your usual haunts depleted of sustenance, scavenged clean by your own hands, you’re forced to travel beyond the stretch of city Ghidorah had claimed as his own. The dragon has been gone for two days, and though you want to wait for him, comforted somehow by his presence and the knowledge that you were safe beneath the shadow of his massive wings, your rumbling stomach forces your hand.
You feel the heat first. You blame the storm, the lashing wind and thunder and rain, and push on, though a part of you shrivels in fear the further your feet carry you away from Ghidorah’s den.
But you’re okay, you’re fine, you’ll return in less than an hour with enough food to last you a whole goddamn month so you won’t have to stray from Ghidorah’s side.
But then you turn a corner, stepping foot onto another broken, empty street, and a wall of humid heat slams into you so harshly you nearly choke.
And then you see him.
Rodan.
You stare in slack-jawed awe at the crimson-scaled monster, the heat of his body bringing beads of sweat to your brow. Perched on top of a ruined skyscraper, his leathery wings curl close to his body, beak pointed at the ground far below. The building screeches beneath his weight, shards of broken glass and twisted metal raining down with each shift of his wings or clench of his talons.
Among all of the monsters who have flocked to Ghidorah’s call, this one frightens you the most, ruthless and sharp-eyed and spilling heat and hatred from every pore.
And he sees you.
His eyes, brilliantly amber and keen with intelligence, pin you to the spot amongst the rubble. Rain fails to penetrate the miasma of heat generated from his massive body, steam billowing from his wings and talons like wisps of smoke.
It doesn’t matter that he’s half the size of Ghidorah. He’s still leagues larger than you.
A screeching cry is your only warning before Rodan is moving, his talons rending through metal and glass as he scales the building, coming straight for you.
You’re rooted to the ground, fear numbing your limbs and lungs aching for the breath you can’t give them, but another hungry cry is all the encouragement you need to turn tail and run in the opposite direction, your feet pounding against cracked concrete.
His heat burns against your back, his bulk shaking the ground and crushing streetlights and cars and anything else in his way. Tears blur your vision, but you push your body to its utmost limits, lungs burning, legs aching, eyes racing to find an alley you can duck down, a building you can hide in, some avenue of escape.
But there’s nothing, nothing but Rodan’s roar at your back and the heat of his breath on your heels and the surety that you are going to die -
Until lightning crashes across the sky, illuminating the lashing rain drops and the crumbled streets and far beyond that, high, high above your head, the angry, open maws of King Ghidorah.
The force of his descent knocks you to the ground, your hands scrambling above your head to protect yourself from the debris tossed about by the power of his body slamming into Rodan’s. The monsters’ shrieks deafen your ears, your knees and elbows scraped raw and bloody from your impact with the street, but you push all of it to the back of your mind as you struggle to your feet and run, run, run.
The ground quakes at your back, electricity prickling the air and raising the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck. You don’t dare look behind you, not until you’ve reached the end of the street and can huddle behind a storefront, breath wheezing past your lips and body trembling with fear and adrenaline.
Rodan is no match for Ghidorah. The red-winged beast chokes for air beneath the weight of the dragon’s foot bearing down on his throat, talons scrabbling at Ghidorah’s sides to no avail.
You’ve never seen the King so angry, all three heads baring their teeth in monstrous rage, tails lashing against the street and leaving craters in their wake. As one they roar, their wings spread wide and sizzling with electricity, and you’re certain you’re about to watch Rodan die, your eyes squeezing shut as the dragon’s screech rends the air.
There’s a pained shriek, the crunch of concrete, and then a mighty thud. Your eyes creak open to take in the sight of Rodan lying still beneath Ghidorah, head lowered in submission and wings trembling against his body. The rain lashes against the street, steaming off of Rodan’s heaving sides, and overhead, thunder rumbles, crashes, and shocks you into action.
You run from the scene, your pack banging against your back and shoes clumsy against the debris-strewn streets. By the time you make it back to Ghidorah’s territory you’re breathless and sore, the blood on your torn knees and elbows staunched by the rain and your skin stinging.
You collapse within the shelter of an empty bookstore, burying your head in your knees as you suck in lungfuls of slightly musty-smelling air. Your heart pounds within your chest, your head aches, your body wilting as the adrenaline that had carried you here fades away. You’re fucking exhausted.
But you’re alive. You’re alive, and as the ground outside shakes with the arrival of your savior, you find yourself pulling your aching body to its feet and stumbling out to meet him.
Ghidorah looms above you, amber eyes burning and teeth bared, and it’s only as he catches sight of you that the electricity sizzling through the air calms into a faint, muffled buzz.
He still looks agitated, though, his spiked tails rustling along the ground behind him, and with a start you realize he must have been… what, worried for you? He had certainly been furious at Rodan for attempting to harm you, and probably angry at you for putting yourself in the monster’s path in the first place, but it seemed too strange a conclusion to jump to. You couldn’t figure out why it mattered to the beast whether you lived or died, and yet it seemed important - vital, even - to Ghidorah that you remained unharmed.
“I’m alright.” Your voice is nothing but a croak, and you clear your painfully dry throat to yell again into the storm, “I’m alright!”
You spread your arms, gesturing to yourself, and your heart climbs into your throat as three massive heads lower as one to inspect you further. You’ll never grow used to that - commanding the sole attention of such a powerful, monstrous creature, having those sharp amber eyes trained on you and the ozone-scent of Ghidorah’s skin overwhelming your senses.
The right head is the first to touch you, and you suck in a breath as his snout presses against your stomach, nearly sending you stumbling back at the force of the pressure.
The left head growls - not at you, but at its impulsive brethren, and you watch in muted fascination as it too encroaches on your personal space, not close enough to touch, but near enough to feel the gush of its breath against your brow, its shrewd, angry eyes scanning you from head to toe as though to seek out any injury that might have escaped its gaze. Those amber eyes darken at the torn and bloody fabric around your elbows and knees, and you find yourself anxious to reassure the creature once more.
“I’m fine.” You no longer have to yell with the heads so close, but your voice shakes around the words. “I promise, I’m alright.”
The right head snorts out an angry breath, but seems satisfied enough to ease away. You find yourself seeking out the gaze of the middle head now that the other two have been assuaged, and you’re stricken silent as it presses forward, its snout resting near the ground at your feet.
He waits, watching you, a low growl emanating from his throat. You realize with a start that he wants you to touch him, something you’ve never taken the initiative to do before, and with a hitch in your breath you press your palms to his snout.
His scales are smooth, warm to the touch. Your hands are so minuscule against him, his size and his heat overwhelming in this proximity. You breathe in and the taste of ozone coats the back of your tongue, your hands tracing nonsense patterns on Ghidorah’s skin.
“Thank you.” Your words are nearly swallowed up in the storm, but Ghidorah hears them. You tremble, and then rise onto your toes to press your lips to the swath of golden scales along his chin.
A low, rumbling growl rockets through you, tingling along the top of your scalp and trembling through your feet. Ghidorah’s eyes hold you captive within their amber gaze, all three heads gathered close, the air thick with the heat of their breath.
They would never let anything hurt you, and they would never let you go.
You press your brow to golden scales, the truth of it striking through you like a thunderbolt.
You were theirs. You’d known that for a long time, known they had chosen you, spared you, saved you, known that you belonged to the creature that called itself King.
But their fury at Rodan and their wrath in the wake of your encounter with the beast had proven something else.
You belonged to them, yes, but they belonged to you, too.