Godzilla strode across the planet like an unchallenged titan, each of his colossal steps shaking the ground beneath him, causing tremors that rippled through continents. His body, pulsating with immense nuclear energy, cast a faint glow even in the brightest daylight. Cities that once reached toward the heavens with their towering skyscrapers now lay in ruins, mere rubble beneath the shadow of the King of Monsters.
The gods, sensing his presence, were few and far between. Each one that dared approach quickly realized their mistake. Some fled in fear before even drawing their divine weapons; others foolishly tried to stand their ground, only to be swatted aside or obliterated by Godzilla's atomic breath. These encounters lasted mere moments, the gods proving no more than fleeting distractions in his path of destruction. They would retreat, bruised and broken, tails between their legs, understanding that to engage further was to guarantee their own erasure from existence.
Even the occasional monster, ancient beings of the Earth who had once rivaled Godzilla in his earlier days, dared to rise up against him. They had sensed his overwhelming power and sought to test their might, hoping to challenge the apex predator. But these confrontations, too, were brief. Rodan, Mothra, Gamera—beasts of myth that had once terrorized humanity—were reduced to nothing more than charred husks or fled in utter defeat. Godzilla had transcended his former peers, leaving no room for doubt about who reigned supreme. He destroyed them with casual ease, as if they were nuisances beneath his notice.
As for mankind, Godzilla regarded humans much the same way one might view insects. He had no hatred for them, no specific desire to exterminate them, but their attempts to halt his march or their cities obstructing his path would always end the same. If they attacked him with missiles or other weapons, he would respond with overwhelming force, his atomic breath reducing entire cities to ash in an instant. If they dared to stand in his way, their settlements would be crushed beneath his feet without a second thought.
To him, humans were like ants—insignificant, unworthy of his attention unless they were foolish enough to provoke him. They scrambled in terror whenever he approached, scattering like insects before a storm. Their once proud civilizations were nothing more than fragile constructs, easily toppled by the force of his existence. Skyscrapers collapsed, bridges crumbled, and entire landscapes were reshaped by his presence.
And yet, for all the destruction, there was a strange balance. Godzilla did not seek out humanity's destruction; it merely happened as a consequence of his movement across the Earth. If left alone, he often passed by human cities without much notice, focusing his gaze on larger, more significant threats—gods, monsters, and cosmic forces. However, if a city tried to defend itself, raising armies or deploying advanced technology to attack him, Godzilla's response was swift and brutal. He would level the city to its foundations, leaving behind only scorched earth and empty silence.
Despite the carnage, some humans worshiped him as a god, seeing him as the ultimate force of nature, an indestructible being that could not be reasoned with or controlled. These cults grew in secret, venerating Godzilla as the embodiment of wrath and power. In some dark corners of the Earth, humans even sacrificed to him, believing that by doing so, they could avoid his wrath. But Godzilla neither accepted nor rejected their offerings. He simply existed, indifferent to their pleas.
As he continued his march, wandering the globe, humans tried to predict his movements. Entire cities were evacuated in advance, governments scrambling to prevent the inevitable destruction that followed in his wake. The world had become a desolate, fearful place, where the appearance of Godzilla on the horizon meant doom. The land itself seemed to twist and quake in anticipation of his arrival, and humans could only watch helplessly as the King of Monsters continued his path of destruction, unstoppable and eternal.
To Godzilla, none of it mattered. He was beyond human comprehension, beyond divine intervention, beyond the monsters that once roamed the Earth. He walked as if driven by an unknown force, his destination unclear, his purpose known only to himself. Each step was a reminder to the world that he alone ruled this planet—humans, gods, monsters, all beneath his notice.
He was not just the King of Monsters anymore. He was something more. Something that had transcended all definitions of life, destruction, and power. Godzilla had become the sole ruler of a dying world, a being who would outlast the gods and see the end of all things. The Earth was his, and no one—god, monster, or man—could change that.
And as Godzilla walked on, with cities crumbling in his wake, humanity could do nothing but watch from the shadows, hiding from a force they could neither understand nor stop.