Anguirus scratched the stone wall with his massive claws, leaving deep gashes. The room felt too small, too tight for creatures of their size, but it was the only safe haven they had left. His thoughts were a whirlpool of despair and confusion. He looked down at the jagged scrawl of his makeshift journal, the words etched in desperate attempts to hold on to reality.
"This place feels so small, so insignificant... The affected won't find us here—not for a long time. But I fear my sanity, and that of the others, will wither before then."
He paused, his gaze drawn to the corner of the room where Mothra rested, her once luminous wings dimmed, and the other survivors huddled close, silent and watchful. Anguirus could see the exhaustion in their eyes. Every day without a fight was both a blessing and a curse. They had managed to carve out a small refuge in the mountains, far away from the infected kaiju and the relentless swarm. But the quiet gnawed at their spirits.
Anguirus's scarred body ached with the weight of leadership. His most prominent wound, the deep scar over his left eye, throbbed. That scar—inflicted by Godzilla—was a reminder of how everything had changed.
Godzilla…
He had once been their king, their protector. But now, Godzilla was something else—something far worse. Anguirus clenched his jaw as memories flashed in his mind: the first time they noticed something was wrong. Godzilla had become distant, avoiding his fellow kaiju, slipping into the ocean and vanishing for days. When he did reappear, his body seemed sick. His mighty scales, once impenetrable, had begun to rot and fall away. His movements became erratic, more like an animal cornered and desperate than a king defending his realm.
Worst of all, they could no longer sense him. Godzilla's presence, once a beacon of power, had dulled to nothing. It was as if he had become a ghost, a shell of the force he once was. Anguirus and Mothra had watched him fight enemy monsters, expecting the usual show of dominance and raw power. But instead, Godzilla fought with savage brutality, tearing into his foes with teeth and claws, biting into their flesh with a feral hunger. And when the enemy fled, Godzilla did not pursue. He simply turned, wading into the sea, disappearing beneath the waves without a trace.
Then the plague began to spread.
Monsters Godzilla had fought returned, but they were different. Their flesh sagged, their scales decayed, and their once majestic forms were riddled with disease. Whatever virus had claimed Godzilla had begun to infect the planet's other kaiju, turning them into mindless husks of destruction. Even humanity, fragile and resilient, had been all but wiped out by the spreading sickness. Entire cities had been overrun in days, the infected kaiju reducing everything to rubble.
Anguirus growled, pacing the length of the room. He could hear the distant, sporadic roars of the infected outside their stone sanctuary. They were always nearby, always searching for the last remnants of the living. But Godzilla… He was the worst of them all. A monster who had once been their ally was now the harbinger of the world's end.
Anguirus glanced over at Mothra, her antennae twitching as she sensed his distress. "We miss him too," her soft chitter conveyed. Her vibrant colors had dimmed since they'd fled. She was still strong, still hopeful, but Anguirus could see the toll it had taken on her.
"I miss you, old friend," Anguirus whispered, more to himself than anyone else, his voice a low rumble.
Their small group, no more than ten kaiju, had survived the onslaught by sheer will and luck. They had fought their way through hordes of infected monsters, avoiding the gaze of their former king. Each day had been a struggle, and the scars on Anguirus's body bore the stories of those battles. But now… the silence was worse. They were used to the chaos, the constant battles, the roars of enemies on the horizon. But now there was nothing—just the distant, eerie quiet of a dying world.
He scratched at the wall again, trying to focus, trying to hold on to whatever clarity remained. "Even this place won't hold forever. Even Godzilla can find us here."
The thought chilled him to his core. He knew that if Godzilla—the infected Godzilla—found them, there would be no stopping him. They had barely escaped the last time. The scar on Anguirus's face was proof of how close they had come to death. But Godzilla was no longer the friend, the ally, the king they had once known. He was the disease incarnate.
Outside, a distant roar echoed through the mountains. Anguirus's ears perked, and he shared a glance with Mothra and the others. The infected were restless again. How long before they would be found? How long before Godzilla himself returned?
The roar faded, leaving the group in heavy silence once more. Anguirus's claws dug into the ground as he tried to suppress the dread creeping into his mind.
"We fight. We survive. For as long as we can," he growled softly, mostly to himself. There was no room for defeat, not yet. But he knew the truth.
Godzilla was still out there, and no sanctuary could keep them safe forever.