Work Text:
They called him Godzilla.
In their terror and fear, they watched him evolve through burning misery. Them, and the radiation they dumped into the sea, sealed their perpetual split-atom fate. The blame lay eternally on them, their ignorance was no excuse. They would suffer.
He grew, and razed, and enveloped, and absorbed, and mutated, and expanded, and swallowed, and devoured, and digested their pitiful, purulent blue ball of a planet in his roiling maelstrom. He pushed onward, rending apart time, space and existence until only he remained, the single tenebrous echo of a wrathful species long ago destroyed.
Inside his void, he recreated it all. They never knew. Ignorant filth.
The minuscule fools thought the universe was over thirteen billion years old. And they were right from their perspective.
They were wrong about their macabre existence. Silly little things, really, they got lost in their collective occhiolism and never looked past it. What more should he expect from unthinking microbes?
Many called out to the deities they worshiped over the eons. Maybe those deities existed somewhere.
Godzilla waited to meet them, to fight them, and so far none challenged him. Perhaps they feared what he would become to devour them, too.
He manifested his physical form when their atomic age began, he walked across their tiny places of worship and he disrespectfully cut them to scorched atoms. Their screams were prayers he ignored as insignificant. Their sacred blessings counted for nothing.
After the first time, after the trains, and the choking ice, and the agony, he expanded.
He became.
Thirteen billion years held no meaning to him after he became. He was everything. Time, space, matter and energy. They did not know. They did not understand. They did not learn.
It all happened again inside him, inside the void he wore. A downward slope was all he saw, but they, the feeble ones, never could.
Godzilla’s inner sense alerted him of obstacles and incoming threats, and he obliterated them like paper. His lurid cosmic light split the darkness in purple rays. He grasped atoms and divided them until everything ceased to be.
Puny insects, their destruction meant nothing.
He began it again, seeking change, and disappointment blossomed as hypernovae in the airless, black emptiness. Gamma rays tore galaxies apart and life became impossible as hate consumed him. He destroyed it and started another, heedless of what he snuffed out.
They thought the stars were balls of gas contained in galaxies. Quasars blazed along his expanding outer edges as the voids between them swelled. Black holes pin balled through the emptiness. Cosmic radiation sustained him, each source glowing brighter than a billion suns.
The stars were his eyes, looking down in accusation at the blue globe no more significant than dust at the bottom of the sea. Spinning galaxies persecuted the masses of murderous ghouls who refused to recognize him as their all.
He showed them the quasars as a red glow in the crust of his flesh. Let them see the horror, hideousness and meaninglessness of their existence reflected on him. They were insects, pushing through their hopeless, useless lives, killing and maiming each other over religions, and food, and land, and money, and, sometimes, love. Love, twisted into degradation and disgust. Their rage, apathy and loneliness fed him. He spat radiation on them while they spat radiation on each other, a vomitous mass of wrath.
Often, Godzilla reappeared to remind them of who their true master was. He burped up blood in their streets and tore their architecture apart, smirking at the harmonies in their mournful wails.
Their bodies splattered like paste under his feet, his footprints left trails of unrecognizable red mush amid dusty bone powder. He transformed their towering cities into disarrayed rubble until dead flesh and construction materials looked the same.
They never understood, nor remembered, regardless of how many times he collapsed everything and started it anew. It ended the same, every time, with the trains, and the ice, and the silence.
No apologies came. They weren’t sorry. They should have been. Fools.
As the ice spread over him, he closed his sightless eyes under the watchful stars and went inward, where it all began once more. He recreated everything over thirteen billion years until the ice held him still.
And again, and again, and again, further and further inward. These weak, pitiful creatures were terrible learners. He waited for the deities they begged for, waited for an end to atoms themselves.
Such execrable creatures on their blue globe could never conceive of how long or how old anything truly was. They suffered, it was their destiny to suffer endlessly, because they refused to understand every breath they took was willed by him. Sometimes he stopped their breath to watch them die, just because he could. They didn’t matter to him.
He was lost, no one knew, there was no trace of his yearning. They created him, all the agony after falling on their shoulders.
Let them shout. Let them beg. Let them cry. It never reached his uncaring, cold ears.
Godzilla continued imagining inward, another vessel frozen. Perpetually growing, the void within a void, a sempiternal horror.
They did this to him, and they paid eternally. There would be no shaft of light in the darkness forever killing them. No. No salvation, no forgiveness, no relief, ever.
Their suffering was his.