𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆.

❝   nature   has   a   way   sometimes   of   reminding   man   of   just   how   small   he   is...   ❞

        ind.   sel.   GODZILLA   of    the   monsterverse.   worshipped   by   COYOTE.

𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞   𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬   𝐨’𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝.   he   peers   down   at   the   the   creature   before   him,   speaking   as   man   would   ---   and   sharing   all   the   follies   that   came   with   it.   bends   down   further,   his   eyes   scan   him,   recognition   evident   in   them   as   he   looks   him   over.   was   he   measuring   him   up,   examining   him,   or   just   trying   to   place   him?   it   was   impossible   to   tell.   rearing   back   to   his   full   height,   the   creature   puffs   out   a   great   breath   that   takes   with   it   any   dust   that   remained   upon   his   jagged,   scaled   form.

❝   hmh,   ❞

𝐡𝐞   𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐬,   voice   low   but   resonating   deep   in   chest   as   he   speaks.   the   creature   from   the   depths,   a   being   of   few   words.   expending   his   breath   to   get   across   plainly   one   simple   message.

𝐚𝐧𝐝   𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞   𝐬𝐡𝐞   𝐰𝐚𝐬,   perched   before   him   with   ease   as   she   leaves   behind   the   skies   to   sink   below.   patron   saint   of   light   and   balance,   come   to   this   world   so   long   ago.   lost   to   wear   and   fervor   were   many   of   his   battles,   it   was   a   way   of   life,   fighting   both   against   and   for   humanity   when   it   suits   him.   a   keeper   of   balance   himself, borne   here   of   the   much   and   radiation.   and   yet   never   did   fester   nor   rot   the   light   of   her   image   in   his   mind,   no   matter   how   old   he   was.   golden   orbs   examine   her   like   greeting   an   old   friend,   smile   upon   the   old   monarch’s   jagged   maw   that   said   :   𝘪   𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥   𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸   𝘺𝘰𝘶   𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.  

𝐲𝐞𝐬   𝐡𝐞   𝐡𝐚𝐝   𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝   𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡   𝐡𝐞𝐫   𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬,   bearing   witness   was   an   honor   all   its   own,   but   o’   how   it   stung   and   wore   the   old   god   thin   to   watch   her   form   torn   asunder.   always   left   behind   was   her   essence   ---   whatever   she   was   she   could   not   be   killed,   and   he   wasn’t   the   same   but   always   in   awe   and   in   gratitude   did   he   regard   her   when   she   returned.   recalling   his   bellowing   cries   to   the   air,   he   could   not   see   her   any   longer   but   knew   she   was   there   all   the   same.   so   does   he   wonder   how   much   she   knew,   how   much   she   felt,   what   guilt   would   wash   over   him   had   she   weathered   the   storm   of   his   rage   and   anguish   in   the   face   of   her   sacrilegious   execution,   all   to   power   his   fading,   broken   body.   yet   with   a   thought   it’s   vanquished,   he   doesn’t   need   to   dwell.   simply   thankful   to   see   her   once   more,   a   rattling   chuff   does   escape   the   old   god.   presses   forward   gently,   gently   so   to   meet   her   tender   brush   against   his   face.

𝐚   𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞   𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞   𝐡𝐞   𝐰𝐚𝐬,   laid   waste   to   the   lands   of   man   and   any   creature   who   opposed.   but   not   here,   not   now.   low   guttural   chuffing   continues,   his   heart   rate   slows   just   a   touch,   and   he   visibly   uncoils   in   her   presence   as   he   returns   the   affection   in   kind.   before   her   comes   the   worship   of   his   own   design,   a   simple   thought   tenderly   sent   off   to   her   akin   to   a   boat   upon   gently   lapping   waves.   no   use   for   words   with   her,   he   knew   she   would   understand   in   any   language   he   chose   to   speak   those   words   to   her.   it   finds   respite   on   the   vivid   shores   of   her   being   when   his   eyes   reopen   and   meet   with   hers   once   more   :   𝘪   𝘥𝘰   𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦   𝘺𝘰𝘶.  

𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡   𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐬   𝐚   𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥   𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭   𝐨𝐟   𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝,   a   mere   chuckle   at   the   thought.   as   if   he   feared,   or   perhaps   that   wasn’t   what   he   found   to   be   so   entertaining.   eyes   seem   to   settle,   tenderness   evanescent   in   golden   orbs.   with   ease   he   recalls   their   battle,   vying   for   power,   the   hind   leg   upon   his   chest   adorned   with   scars.   how   he   drove   in   his   claws   and   pressed,   yet   refrained   from   pressing   through   ---   or   using   his   reserves   of   radiation   for   an   atomic   blast.   yes,   he   supposes   with   ease   he   could   have   done   it,   but   that   wasn’t   who   he   was.   𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺   𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴   𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦   𝘵𝘩𝘦   𝘰𝘭𝘥   𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴   𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴   :

❝   brutality   out   of   fear   is   the   law   of   man,   and   I   have   no   use   for   it.   ❞

❝   there   was   no   need.   the   boy   knew   I   had   won.   ❞

𝐚   𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞   𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲,   yet   nonetheless   true.   turning   his   gaze   towards   the   stranger   a   soft   snort   through   nostrils   is   heard.   exhausted   was   he,   in   the   face   of   the   man   made   god,   imbued   with   the   power   of   ghidora,   their   battle   having   left   him   worn   and   in   dire   need   of   regeneration.

❝   I   am   not   interested   in   spending   energy   upon   creatures   who   have   not   earned   my   brutality.   we   have   come   to   an   understanding.   ❞

𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐫   𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬   𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝   𝐧𝐨𝐭   𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞   𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧   𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧,     true   that   he   held   distrust   for   the   other   alpha.   but   found   honor   and   compassion   in   his   discarding   of   the   axe.   their   agreement,   he   did   not   challenge   him   for   power   after   he   staked   his   claim   to   tokyo   once   more,   although   he   could   have   defeated   him   in   such   a   state   with   ease.   in   their   actions   he   found   balance,   perhaps   even   peace   in   the   future.   after   all,   they   were   the   only   two   left   now.   

@godofskullisland