“Have you ever felt pain in such a constant state, it became too normal for even yourself to feel?”
What suffering had this pup endured, to know pain as the norm? Would his scales allow it, Gojira’s expression would have crumpled at the thought; as it stood, his brow furrowed, drawing tighter above golden eyes alight with true sorrow, raw anguish. Queer though the creature was, as unalike to him as Rodan was the flying machinery humanity had spearheaded Boston’s assault aboard, it seemed as much a part of Titanus Gojira as Gojira himself, if only a little altered.
( Serizawa would have had a field day with such a creature, Gojira thought privately. And yet his friend was gone, swallowed in nuclear fire, all memory of him in Gojira’s throat, to bring life to a near-destroyed King. )
Only once had he known true pain, an endless agony he had assumed would be his final moments. “Only once,” he admitted, a quiet reflection, like the brimming tide of memory, in the usual gruffness of his voice. The Oxygen Destroyer, sent to kill both he and Ghidorah; a flash of light, shining silver bodies rising in dead clouds, agony raging through his own body, tearing him asunder as swiftly as his body made to repair itself, supping on his radiation, his life, his blood, until his heart slowed, slowed….stopped.
It had only been raw chance he had drifted down toward the vortex he emerged from, his dying body propelled by the hollow earth toward his temple, his salvation. Humanity had spared no thought for one who made to save them, but had murdered him anyway.
“The pain does not linger now.” Gojira continued, shaking himself from the ghosts of pain and past torment. He had suffered countless claws and burns, the drills of Megalon raining on his head, Ghidorah’s lightning summoned from three foul mouths and blasting him to the core, but never before had he felt what it was to be unmade. The daikaiju’s head canted, ancient gaze coming to land on this younger him, this queer sort of pup. “What is your pain, that you feel it so often?”
