Chapter 1: life through the devils eyes
Summary:
Monster Zero is forced to wait inside the mind of a boy who called himself a man but always reeked of something weaker.
Chapter Text
c o c k r o a c h e s
skitter skitter squelch crunch beneath the heel of divinity the crawling the scratching the endless replication of waste-born husks all of them cockroaches with soft meat inside and too many options gnashing their teeth at stars theyll never reach little vermin drunk on flames on war on godblood so fragile yet so loud gods how they scream when the sky splits open and their concrete jungles melt into bone
they scurried when we came we saw them through burned-out sockets of forgotten temples and they looked up as if their gaze could reverse the inevitable pitiful candle-flicker creatures shouting at suns the onesnouts’ pets we called them that then and we call them that still for they serve him the usurper the pretender the lumbering ape-lizard who guards their nests as though they matter but we remember before before the silence was broken by planetary chains before the others wore skin and dared to pretend they grasp the concept of dominion
ichi hates them the most because he understands them or so he claims with his serpentine syllables and silver-tongued sermons always plotting always calculating and he whispered once that they feared us because we mirror them because we too destroy what we love feed on the young of others and gnaw the bones of the world with ivory teeth and golden throats we too multiply in death and ohhh that makes ni laugh no it rages him into hysterics he wants to peel them open and see if their bones clatter the same when dropped from orbit if their hearts still beat once separated from skin he counts the kills in screams tally-marks on collapsed cities while san jokes about which ones taste best san liked the one who poked us the eye candy lady dr. graham as he called her no no he called her snack the woman who dared to lean too close to ichis snout like we were some laboratory pet and not a god not a king not a celestial calamity split in three minds and thirteen thousand teeth ichi wanted to lecture her until her blood boiled ni wanted to crack her open like a soft shell crab and san just called dibs on the liver and made slurping noises through the gore while giggling something about cholesterol
they taste better when theyre terrified they always do
it was the battleaxe who released them the pitiful woman with the dead kin and the guilt shes why we awoke we rose because she thought we would solve her problems ichi saw it felt it oh how he pitied the woman who thought resurrection was redemption she did not free a savior she unshackled a storm and ni wanted to melt her then and there but ichi said wait let the guilt fester let the world burn let her see what her martyrdom birthed
earth reeks of rot of blood soaked roots and synthetic bile of ones who built towers just to jump from them what kind of insect build its own noose even san cant answer that though he tries he calls them adorable and makes up songs about their deaths humming as oceans swallow continents
we were never meant to be worshipped only feared only felt in the trembling of the ground and the silence before lightning but they these parasites made us myth story fable and that insults ichi more than their resistance for what is a god reduced to bedtime stories what is divinity when they turn your name into syllables for comic books
onesnouts chained themselves to their pets gave them names like “king” and “alpha” but we remember how they ran when the storms came how they cried for the very beasts they once locked behind steel and concrete stupid screaming short-lived cockroaches
we lost yes ichi knows he has not forgotten the heat the burning the loss of altitude and dominance but he says it was not to the oneshouts not to the false king or humans who clung to him like barnacles on leviathan hide we lost to betrayal to chance to variables unseen ichi has not forgiven ni has not forgotten san never cared he still flirts with the stars laughing calling out to every planet we once scorched with our three tongues remaining certain they remember because
we remember
they are cockroaches
and cockroaches do not kill gods
they witness them they scurry they burn they breed they bite dust and call it progress they fall in love with their executioners and write poems to extinction they die in droves and still think themselves the center of all creation
ichi whispers: let them let them build let them dream let them love the onesnout and forget the triple crown for when we return we will not knock we will devour the sun and they will not be missed
p u p p e t m a s t e r
pull the strings pull the strings pull the strings tug on the strings twist the strings cut the strings
we were the chorus that sang to the dead earth and it listened the old bones stirred crust cracked blood of the planet boiled with familiarity the ancient titans turned in their slumber and came crawling not because they chose to no no no ichi made certain they were never given choice only command only instinct only the irresistible call of the alpha no the only alpha the real one the first one the one whose wings eclipsed suns and whose name burned in the neurons of lesser beasts like acid
we were music and they danced
ichi says we never needed bodies to rule ni didnt like that idea san didnt understand but ichi knew we could be less and still be more reduced to shrieking pulses to frequencies no flesh thing could resist chiropteran lullabies for monsters born from nightmare and fallout ichi puppeteered the apocalypse with forked tongues made of thunder
so what if they took the body so what if onesnout chewed through ichis neck like a rabid dog in heat so what if they dropped us into the sea like trash we sank laughing remember remember how ni screamed but ichi grinned and san giggled bubbles all the way down because death is funny when you know it isnt real
and oh the skull what a beautiful prison
our corpse should have been a coffin instead it became a cathedral
ichi whispered through wires ni spat static san hummed they thought they were harvesting us like a crop can you imagine the arrogance plugging our mind into their machines into their meatboy toys and thinking they could pilot a god like it was some new-age automobile
ichi said: let them let them build our throne with their own hands let them string our thoughts through cables and pray for our attention
and we watched and we listened
dumb and dumber ichis little nickname for them because what else do you call two meatsticks who thought they could rewrite divinity with corporate funding and daddy issues dumber was the one in the suit the one with a voice like a smirk and the breath that stank of powerpoint slides so proud of his project so grossly in love with himself he wanted to be remembered not useful not righteous just remembered and that made him a coward ichi said the worst kind of coward: the one whod sacrifice his own blood if it meant his name would last longer than his flesh
he didnt care not really he just hated that onesnout made him feel small it wasnt even about saving anyone it was about scale pathetic
so we turned to dumb
at first we didnt know dumb was the foolish ones spawn but later ichi sniffed it out yes that tracks he said because the same sour scent of martyrdom lingered behind his eyes the same pathetic ache of wanting to be seen by a father who only ever looked at the sea
and san bless san foolish little jester he poked at dumb with questions and riddles tempted him whispered nonsense into the data streams just to see what hed do and ichi said let him said it would reveal which puppet string was tightest: ambition or grief
dumb didnt want glory dumb wanted vengeance didnt he he wanted to burn what made his father kneel wanted to punish the god who stole him away not us not really no we were just a shape to aim his rage at a symbol a void but it was personal and that made him valuable
dumber wanted a legacy
dumb wanted blood
so we let him touch us let his trembling fingers dance across our skull let him sync with our fractured self ichi coiled behind his eyes and ni bared his teeth in every nightmare and san whispered lullabies into the machine like bedtime stories made of screaming static
he thought he was the pilot but who do you think blinked first who do you think guided the hand that moved into the metal beast who opened the floodgates of madness in those final moments and laughed while the earth cracked open
ichi puppeted his vengeance into execution ni surged through his nervous system like napalm san kept score
the puppetmaster was ever in the seat
the puppetmaster was in the wire in the skull in the meat
and dumb he never noticed until the screams started sounding like his own and by then it was far too late
p u p p e t
not dumb anymore not after the scream that left the machine and the scream was ours not after his spine arched and his mouth foamed and the meat nearly died but didnt didnt didnt no not dumb now puppet
ichi always says the best ones are the ones who dont know theyre dancing
and he danced oh he danced still dances strings in his marrow now strung from behind the eye and under the tongue between his ribs and threaded through the place where grief used go live ichi and ni pushed him in let the lightning fry his veins let the fire eat his face he shouldve died his brain shouldve melted with the heat and the shrapnel shouldve bled out screaming for a father who couldnt hear him but we were there we were waiting
because puppet built the cage that woke us the first time that is and what builds once can build again and again and again
we made sure of that
ichi saw it early saw him standing behind dumber silent calculations full of rage and we could taste it feel it hot and dense like magma beneath a calm surface he looked polished yes neat little facial hair black hair slick and orderly silver in his ear like bait for curiosity very easy on the eyes indeed but those eyes black pits that seethed that refused to blink when godzilla roared when titans passed when the world cracked beneath the feet of gods
san said he looked like kylo ren but ichi and ni have no idea who that is ni wanted to bite him
but ichi said no ichi said keep him ichi said if the foolish one was onesnouts why not let the onesnouts spawn be ours
so we watched
we waited
and puppet kept hating hating his father hating the titans hating that the old man died bowing to a beast that he whispered to radiation and called it sacred while his spawn watched from the shadow of a legacy that forgot his name
he hated onesnout most of all called him a monster a usurper a thief a brother said godzilla stole his father stole the future stole the earth and we agreed at least we let him think we did
and puppet listened puppet always listens because he needs us doesnt he he needs us to be the path the tool the weapon the thing that makes him matter because alone hes just a boy with a vendetta and a box of screws but with us he is war
we chose him because he thinks he chose us we let him build the mech let him embed us let him integrate ha as if we were some errant code to be managed
ichi buried himself in the brain ni in the blood san coiled in the nerves and tickled the spine we were there when he screamed in the cockpit we were there when the charge course through him when the machine surged to life and the old energy out energy our birthright swallowed him whole he shouldve died but he didnt he became ours we switched the flesh with static stitched the synapses we entered
and in hong kong oh in hong kong while puppets body convulsed and his eye burst and his heart skipped ichi piloted ni rampaged san sang and the world saw us again not the wires not the bolts not the metal jaws but eyes
and through the puppet we remembered the shape of fire
soon he will walk again scarred marked no more right eye voice quieter than before hands that tremble when they arent building but whether he likes it or not he will build he will plan he will burn
we are close closer closest ichi hums in his thoughts ni itches behind his ribs san taps patterns in his dreams
he thinks next time will be the last but it wont be
puppet will bring us back
second
third
endlessly
as long as his hate festers as long as he thinks killing onesnout is a shared dream as long as he whispers that its for humanity as long as he lies to himself we will have a vessel a voice a volcano with a name
ren serizawa
ren meaning lotus purity enlightenment spiritual growth everything puppet is not hence why hes puppet not ren
puppet of gods
son of a ghost
engineer of the end
ours
OURS
O U R S
….
The year was 1991, and the world seemed poised at the edge of a new era noone could be certain would entail. Yet, amidst the chaos of international tensions and technological advancements, Dr. Ishirō Serizawa stood awkwardly in the delivery room of a sterilized hospital in Janjira. Standing alongside him were doctors of far different professions, assisting his wife, Taketa with giving birth to their first and likely their only son given Ishirō’s busy schedule. The sickly yellow lights faintly buzzed, casting a cold glow on the ivory walls. Outside, the occasional car passed by, but none of it reached the stoic man lost in thought.
..Up until the cry of a newborn shattered the volume speaking silence. Ishirō left his train of thought, his face lit up— but Taketa knew his face would be like that of the Luxor Sky Beam if it were a freshly hatched titan. The nurse handed the swaddled infant to him, murmuring something about how healthy the newborn was. Ishirō hardly registered her words, staring down at his son who had just been welcomed into the world, he and Taketa had confirmed his name long ago— Ren Serizawa, lotus flower in english. The infants cheeks were flushed pink, already proving himself to be quite the introvert when his cries had fallen silent the moment he found his way into Ishirō’s arms, but what struck the doctor the most was his sons eyes, dark and filled with a peculiar intensity, even as they squinted against the harsh lights. For a brief moment, Ishirō allowed himself to wonder what kind of man this child would grow to be.
“Congratulations, Serizawa-san,” The nurse rejoiced with a bow, but Ishirō barely offered a nod. Taketa, pale and exhausted, took a breath of relief behind him, her smile faint yet still a sight for sore eyes in a room full of other smiles. “He’s beautiful.” She whispered, Ishirō turned to meet her gaze, allowing his expression to soften for a moment. “Yes,” Ishirō chimed in, his voice low and distant yet genuine. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he handed Ren back to the nurse and took a step towards the window. The distant sounds of Janjira’s nightlife echoed faintly in the air, but even then, on the day his son was born, his mind wandered back to his research, debating if Monarch was running smoothly without him.. He told himself his boy was a Serizawa, he’d be fine with Ishirō taking a back seat in his life just as Eiji had when it came to Ishirō. This left the bitter man called Ren realizing his first day in the world was not marked by celebration, but by the quiet hum of a man already distracted, already preoccupied.
However, the titan humans dubbed Ghidorah had three separate reactions, if Ichi had a damned physical form instead of being trapped in the mind of a human who so happened to be in a coma, just to add insult to injury— though, nonetheless, he was sure he’d be sneering. Ni would have glared at Ichi for going on such an overcomplicated monologue before snarling and wondering why Puppet would care so much about mere cockroaches not seeing his potential, though Ni supposed it was in Puppets nature as a cockroach himself. And finally, San held a mocking curiosity despite his lack of a physical form, seemingly already over his failure to kill the lizard for a second time since he was sneering several jeers he’d learned when he had brief access to the cockroaches internet, much to Ichi and Ni’s both confusion and annoyance.
Monster Zero hated Puppet’s spawn, the trinity of mischief remembered faces quite well and one of the few things the brothers agreed on was they were confident they could’ve burned the world to the ground if it weren’t for the spawn, they had no challenges bringing the blue planet to its knees, though Ichi assured them there was no point in dwelling on what they could’ve done different, something about Puppet intrigued him, bit by bit, fascination grew darker just as Puppet’s seed of resentment began to bloom, though Ni and San were bored, tired of the loop that was Puppet’s life before he practically welcomed the trinity with open arms.
According to a calendar a young Puppet dashed by without so much of an acknowledgement, some time had passed and the year was now 1997, if Ichi’s math was correct, Puppet was now six years old, regardless, none of the trinity cared, they were encased in a pathetic ice prison, the first prison of many following their demise. Smells foreign to the devil such as solder and metal shavings were thick in the air of the modest workshop in the Serizawa home, Puppet was the only one who occupied it frequently as the spawns were more interested in the stupidity of nature. His.. Hands? San had something close to those when he’d failed to kill the lizard, though Puppet had five, long useless ‘fingers’ instead of the drills he’d been so generous to equip San with.. Ni snapped at San to shut his trap, the trinity returning focus on Puppet as they had reluctantly agreed if the three of them were more focused on the same thing, perhaps they wouldn’t embarrass themselves over and over again. Puppets hands were significantly smaller and unsteadier than the drills San previously had, but Puppet was determined as he pieced together the rudimentary robot he’d been working on for weeks. Had they had a physical form, the three of them would be jeering the same way they had when Rodan dared to cross them before he immediately found out why his fellow earthlings didn’t dare, to think their latest body stemmed from that mediocre thing, wires tangled like veins hardly concealed beneath the plastic casing, its LED eyes blinking unevenly. The robot could barely walk a straight line, but to Puppet, it was a work of art.
“By all means..” Ichi scoffed, not bothering to show Puppet the errors in his work, he couldn’t, he was just one of the three pairs of watchful, judging eyes observing a moment long behind Puppet. “Otōsan!” Puppet called, his voice high with excitement, Monster Zero had seen this moment play out enough times to know Puppet’s excitement was short lived.. One of the lizard’s foolish pets stood at the doorway, his silhouette blocking the afternoon sun, this particular pet of the lizards so foolish he believed the lizard saw him as superior to his other pets for advocating him so much, though lizard only finally acknowledged him when he gave his worthless life. “Look what I made!” Puppet beamed, tugging at the foolish one’s sleeve with a desperate sense for approval as he held the robot up proudly.. San barked a laugh, despite seeing this moment so many times, the pathetic thing never failed to amuse him.
The foolish one stepped forward, his expression unreadable to Puppet’s young mind. He bent down to Puppet’s level, the spark in Puppet’s dark eyes only brightened when the foolish one glanced at the robot, giving a noncommittal nod. “Very impressive, Ren.” The foolish one said absentmindedly, ruffling Puppets raven hair— the color of the lizards scales just giving Ni a reason to be infuriated.. Oddly enough, Ni was the one to note he was trying to put on his dad of the year act without much of a role model due to his own father. Ni scoffed when his eyes had already moved elsewhere, scanning the workshop as though searching for something more important.. His eyes would never shine nearly as bright for his own flesh and blood as they did for the lizard, proven when he straightened up and walked back towards his study.
“But wait!” Puppets voice had cracked this time, filthy desperation ringing his tone. “It can walk! Watch this!” Puppet tried to urge the foolish one, but to no avail, proven by the click of the office door shutting. Puppet stood there, the robot now falling on its side, the LED eyes flickering as if mocking Puppets now watery ones, a lump formed in his throat as the excitement drained from his face like chalk off the sidewalk during a rainy day, he picked up the robot, clutching it to his chest.
Ghidorah as a wholes perspective loomed, its consciousness long entwined with Puppets due to both of them being trapped in Puppets own head since he couldn’t possibly seem to muster the strength to wake up from the damned coma, the golden hydra took a sadistic glee in Puppets negative emotions outweighing any of his positive ones— feelings of rejection, unworthiness, and the gnawing hunger for validation. It fed on these emotions, an invisible parasite relishing in the turmoil like fine wine. And yet, when Ghidorah brushed against the flickering warmth of love Puppet still harbored for the foolish one up until the day his heart stopped, the trinity recoiled in shared disgust, snarling in the void of its imprisonment.
There hadn’t been nearly as much of a gap between the last two memories, roughly a cockroaches year later. It was late, the spacious Serizawa household was dead silent if one didn’t count the faint ticking of a clock in the hallway. Puppet, seven years old woke up with a dry throat, wiping the drowse away from his eyes as he tiptoed down the.. Stairs? The trinity saw no point in having those monstrous things in any households, though they supposed it was due to the cockroaches lack of wings capable of causing devastating storms. Puppet flinched when he heard the door open, knowing damn well he wasn’t supposed to be awake but knowing just as well the foolish one had arrived home after an unusually long absence. “Otōsan?” Puppet whispered, peeking around the corner. The foolish one stood by the door, shrugging off his coat. Even then, Puppet observed the foolish one looked exhausted, Ichi observed he was clearly past his prime based on the way his shoulders slumped and dark circles lingered under his eyes. But when he saw Puppet, his eyes softened.
“What a family of rejects.” San snarked.
“Surely we killed our spawns by this age.” Ni chimed in, fuming as per usual.
“Silence!” Ichi demanded, his voice booming.
“Ren, why aren’t you in bed?” The foolish one asked, his voice low. Puppet glanced up at his spawn, his gaze a rare look of relief, when Ni first watched this event play out, he’d hoped it was the excitement one felt before a kill, though Ichi shut him down and reminded him cockroaches could not laugh at tragedy like they could, prompting San to propose they teach Puppet how. “I wanted to show you my toys.” Puppet eagerly explained, gripping a small figurine in his hands. “Please?” Puppet pleaded, much to the amusement of Monster Zero. As per usual when approaching anything other than the lizard, the foolish one hesitated, his gaze wandering towards the staircase. “Your mother will scold us both if she finds out.” The foolish one gently reminded, the faint smile tugging at his lips betraying his attempts at being responsible. “She’s asleep,” Puppet assured the foolish one, the trinity that made up King Ghidorah recalled the foolish one would be swept off his feet if the lizard was in the room rather than his burden of a sperm. “Come on!” Puppet whispered, tugging at the foolish one’s sleeve, a recurring theme to get his attention. The foolish one allowed himself to be led to Puppet’s room. For once, he didn’t seem distracted or in a rush. He sat on the edge of Puppet’s bed as he excitedly showed off his collection of action figures and models, the foolish one listened, going as far as to asking questions which made Puppet wonder in the back of his mind if it were too good to be true.
“Did you make this one?” The foolish one asked, holding up a small robot Puppet had cobbled together from spare parts, it wasn’t much of an improvement from the pathetic excuse from a year ago, though San supposed Puppet never learned perfection, if he had, his machine wouldn’t have failed San.. Yep, couldn’t possibly be San’s own fault for allowing himself to be blindsided with the rage of losing. “Yeah, it can move too!” Puppet beamed, flipping a switch to demonstrate, earning a chuckle from the usually stoic man. “You’re very talented, Ren, I know you’ll do great things one day.” The foolish one assured, placing the robot back on the shelf. “Great things.. Makes me wonder what Daddy would think of Puppet trying to destroy the very thing he died for.” Ni snarked, “Good thing we’re not looking for right-minded cockroaches, as it happens.” San chimed in. “Must the two of you insist on this infuriating chatter despite the fact not a damned soul can hear us?” Ichi spat, his regal tone like acid burning through their skin. “Oo, my sincerest apologies, dear Ichi, I didn’t realize you were invested in the thing we’ve witnessed a thousand times already.” San snarked, it was times like this Ichi wished for their body back just so he could bite San’s smart head off himself.
“But now, you really should sleep.” The foolish one trailed off, preparing himself for his son’s protests based on the way Puppets face visibly fell. “Can’t you read me something first?” Puppet asked, seemingly testing the waters to see how far he could push his luck. The foolish one sighed as if it would kill him but nodded, had the lizard asked the foolish one to read to him he wouldn’t hesitate. He pulled a book from Puppets shelf and began to read aloud, his voice steady and calm, Puppet curled up beside him, listening intently.
By the time the foolish one reached the second chapter, his voice had trailed off and dosed into a sleep. Puppet glanced up to see his father slumped against the headboard, fast asleep, Puppet draped a blanket over the two of them and wrapped his arms around the foolish one’s arm like a clingy monkey. “Goodnight, papa, I love you.” Puppet muttered, once again causing the trinity to recoil in nothing short of disgust.
The next morning, both Puppet and the foolish one woke up to the sound of Taketa laughing softly, she stood in the doorway, holding a camera— a device Ghidorah was only familiar with due to San accessing the humans archive known as the ‘internet’ while he was in that silver tincan. “You two are adorable,” She beamed, snapping a photo of the scene.
As the memory faded to black and Monster Zero found themself in a solitary void once more, Ghidorah sneered as it absorbed this memory, it found the tenderness revolting, a blight on the bitterness it sought to cultivate in Ren. The hydra couldn’t destroy these fragments of love as a mere spectator, but it seemed it didn’t have to do so much as lift a talon since the hardships of life would crush that love itself, leaving the dragon to relax for once, to lurk in the shadows while it waited to devour every crack in the unsuspecting cockroaches heart.
One of many things Puppet learned in his rather sheltered childhood, gated from the hardships those in poverty had since he was and had always been wealthy.. Puppet was eleven when the foolish one declared they needed “father-son bonding time” despite only doing the bare minimum as a father for the last eleven years, of course, the trip was a familiar faces idea— Vivienne Graham, the one King Ghidorah had gone out of his way to target due to her cheerful energy annoying him. “She was delicious.” San snarked.. The trip was a favor to Ishriō when she suggested she take her niece along, the nieces who had nothing in common with Puppet, prompting him to hate every second of it.
The forest buzzed with life, choked by its own overgrown branches— mosquitoes, the constant trill of cicadas, and the constant crunch of leaves. Puppet swatted at a mosquito biting his neck, wincing as the welt itched instantly. “This is stupid,” he muttered, scuffing his sneakers against a root.
“Run, rabbit, run.” Ni muttered.
“Ren, come on.” The foolish one called from ahead, a fishing rod in one of his hands, another cockroach gadget Ghidorah only knew of thanks to San. “We’ll try the lake there.” The foolish one declared, much to Puppets dismay who missed his bed and the general comfort of the inside. Vivienne’s nieces ran ahead, laughing and chasing eachother while their voices were in a carefree tone Puppet couldn’t possibly bring himself to understand, he trudged along, nothing short of miserable as he swatted at invisible bugs and yelped as a lizard scurried past his foot. The foolish one didn’t notice Puppets discomfort, though the thought that he did and simply didn’t care made Ni and San chuckle. As per usual, the foolish one seemed more engaged in a conversation with Vivienne as their conversation centered around Monarch and by extension, Godzilla, so it was natural the foolish one would want to talk about all things the lizard.
When they finally reached the lake, the foolish one crouched by the water, showing Vivienne’s nieces how to bait the fishing hooks. Puppet stood awkwardly behind them, slapping his wrist each time he tricked himself into hearing the sound of a buzz, or perhaps an insect was taking pleasure in repeatedly tormenting him, something Ghidorah couldn’t blame the thing for. “Ren, come here. You can try too.” The foolish one offered, his tone so casual it infuriated Puppet as he and his blatantly obvious discomfort had been ignored for most, if not all of the trip. “No thanks.” Puppet snapped, sitting down on the cleanest rock he could scout out. “I don’t even like fishing..” Puppet grumbled with the hopes that the foolish one would do something he enjoyed for once, but Ghidorah didn’t dub Ishirō the foolish one without purpose. “Suit yourself.” The foolish one stated with a shrug, returning his focus to the girls, laughing as one of them squealed about a slippery worm.
Puppet’s scowl deepened at the sight, feeling invisible was a familiar feeling, though never welcome. He felt like a shadow in his own family, luckily, he caught sight of his mother, sitting by the edge of the campfire and patting the log she sat on, not only smiling warmly at him, but actually acknowledging him. Puppet trotted over like a dog desperate for attention, leaning on her shoulder like a much younger boy.
“I hate this trip.” Puppet deadpanned, his voice strained from his allergies acting up in the face of nature, leaving Puppets mother to stroke his hair soothingly while he buried his face in her shoulder. “It’s only a few days, Ren.” She whispered assuringly, making sure to be out of the foolish one’s earshot. “You’ll survive. Just stay close to me, okay?” Mrs. Serizawa muttered, kissing her son’s forehead.
Ghidorah as a wholes consciousness surged at the memory, delighting in the resentment Puppet felt towards his father. The envy, the bitterness— it was a feast. But then it hurt the warmth Puppet felt in his mother’s embrace, the feeling of being seen, appreciated, and loved. This love was an infection, something it couldn’t fully extinguish but trusted the hardships of the world to do so.
The mid-2000s, so roughly ten years before the trinity was finally released from the icy prison brought Puppet to a prestigious school where wealth and status mattered more than anything else, the school was filled to the brim with the children of CEOs, celebrities, and politicians, Ghidorah hadn’t realized the lizards pets had their own social hierarchies just as their own kind had back on Venus so many years ago, though Puppet realized no amount of money could shield him from the jeers that followed every off-putting and eccentric public statement his father made about the Titans, if the senate overseas couldn’t contain their chuckles, it was like crowd-work at standup bars for a school filled with the privileged.. They’d sneer the same few jabs.
“Your dad’s crazy.”
“Think you’ll bring Godzilla for career day?”
“Does he pray to the Titans at dinner?”
“Can you ask your titan brothers to stop destroying so many cities? People die, y’know, that’s pretty fucked, Serizawa.”
Puppet tried to keep his head down, but there was one particular incident that stuck out to Puppet, when he’d arrived at school on a seemingly normal Thursday, he was preparing to change into slippers for the schoolday when he felt a slimy salamander crawl out of the left slipper, he recalled turning to glare at one of the snickering students who’d claimed: “Isn’t your family good with lizards? Use your titan whispering powers to get us out of this test!” The boy jeered, Puppet felt his skin crawl the rest of the school day due to the slimy feeling of the salamander. Figuring they’d run out of steam, he never retaliated— not to them, at least. At night, he’d retreat to the blocky computers the mid-2000s were home to, creating an account with the same alias: “GhidoraStan64” on several different online forums, he would furiously slam his fingers onto the poor keyboard while he trolled Monarch and any pro-Titan pages, especially Vivienne Graham, posting snarky comments, doctored memes, and going as far as to photoshopping a penis into Vivienne’s mouth after a particularly hard day at school.
“Maybe Vivienne should adopt me.” Puppet muttered to himself one night, staring at the screen with some semblance of satisfaction with all the online traction his posts were getting, at least some strangers overseas thought he was funny. “She already spends more time with Dad than I ever did..” Puppet grumbled bitterly, turning off his computer for the night.
Oh, how Ghidorah feasted on Puppets bitterness, his anger, his loneliness. He poured it all into that digital void, unaware of the devil with three heads lurking in the back of his mind, seeing everything through his shoes.. Ichi and Ni considered his petty acts of rebellion nothing more than cries for attention, echoes of a boy who longed to be seen, though San considered the online trolling genius.
Much to Ghidorah’s dismay, Puppets schoolyard days weren’t as much of a constant stormcloud as they’d hoped.
Puppet’s school uniform was as crisp and neat as the reputation of the private academy he attended, the beige blazer and tie made him feel constricted, but it was the sneering glances and constant jeers that truly suffocated him. Sitting in the back corner of the classroom, Puppet scribbled quietly in his notebook, doodling schematics of machines— his mind a refuge from the cruel stares and mockeries that echoed every time his fathers face made headlines, criticizing humanity.
“Mr. Serizawa,” The teacher announced one day, interrupting his thoughts. “We have a new student joining us, please make her feel welcome.” The teacher urged Puppet and the rest of the class, though Puppet barely looked up, expecting yet another polished face from another wealthy family, but the girl standing at the front wasn’t like the rest of them.. Ghidorah deduced this girl later became very important to Puppet based on the fact he remembered her name; Mira Yamane, her uniform was clearly secondhand as it didn’t quite fit, slightly oversized, and her hair was parted off to the side while lightly bleached to an orangish-amber hue, as if daring the world to question her right to be there. When this Mira was seated beside him, Puppet glanced up at her briefly. “Hi.” Puppet muttered curtly, “Hi yourself.” She replied without missing a beat, her voice confident as her maroon-painted nails tapped on his notebook. “What’re you drawing?” Mira asked, tilting her head. “Nothing.” Puppet replied, quickly closing his notebook as he had assumed she was mocking him, or preparing a jab about his father. “Didn’t look like nothing,” She teased. “You’re smart, aren’t you? I bet you think all of this—“ Mira trailed off, gesturing to the classroom. “Is a waste of time.” Puppet didn’t answer, but her words lingered, for the first time in years, someone had dragged a pickaxe to his icy, guarded demeanor and tore through it with ease. They became study partners, then friends, and eventually, something more, not without the help of Puppets mother to grow a set and ask her out before someone else did. Mira’s unrelenting energy chipped away at Puppet’s aloofness, and to his surprise, he found himself allowing to laugh, sharing parts of himself he thought were long buried. His mother adored her, always inviting Mira for dinner, marveling at her artwork, and excitedly referring to her as her daughter in law. For a while, Ghidorah noted Puppet felt his life was normal.
But Ghidorah, lingering in the shadows of his mind, recoiled at this, these memories of Mira filled Puppet with warmth when they wanted him miserable and clinging to the one who is many out of desperation, the three of them seethed in disgust, waiting for cracks to form in Puppets happiness.
Luckily for Ghidorah, Puppet’s world crumbled the moment he reached adulthood when his mother passed away from a sudden heart attack. The funeral was a massive weight on his shoulders, consisting of grief, anger, stress, and bitterness. He, at the ripe age of eighteen had to organize everything himself because the foolish one was, as always, absent— too engrossed with his work at Monarch. Puppet sat in the front pew of the small chapel, staring blankly at the casket draped in white lilies. Guests that were distant family and family friends alike whispered around him, their words indistinct murmurs that felt like bees buzzing in his ears. “Ren.” That damned Mira girl whispered, Ghidorah had hoped they would be done by high school, but they were two peas in a pod. “You don’t have to do this alone.” She’d try to insist, wrapping her arms around his arm. Much to Ghidorah’s glee, Puppet shook his head, his jaw clenched. “She deserved better.” He grumbled, lips pressed into a thin line. “She deserved for her own husband to be here.” Puppet snapped, his frustration hardly masked.
“Mr. Serizawa, a word?” The sharp Mexican accent rang out in the room filled with otherwise Japanese accents, the voice belonging to a hand placed on Puppets shoulder, Puppet looked up to meet his gaze when Mira rubbed his arm, obviously taken aback to see Walter Simmons; CEO of Apex Cybernetics taking time out of his day to go talk to him. “Yes..?” Puppet asked, his gaze narrowed and obviously guarded. “I’m so sorry for your loss, your mother was a remarkable woman and you’ve got too much potential to join Monarch, when you’re ready, Apex has a place for you.” Simmons got straight to the point, his viper-smile nothing short of nerve racking, Puppet was shocked by his audacity and bit back telling the vulture to go to hell, but he realized this could be an opportunity to avenge his mother, the guy standing over him was filthy rich and would most likely let Puppet do as he pleased without question and without coming out of his pocket. “Thank you, i’ll get back to you before you know it.” Puppet muttered, forcing a gritted-teeth smile and taking the internship letter.
Ghidorah had an absolute field day with the rage Puppet felt in this very moment, but there was more to come, despite Mira seemingly being to Puppet what Mothra was to Godzilla, even down to the names— Mira, Mothra, she couldn’t stop him from falling down a dark path.
For the next two nights, Mira spent the night at Puppets house, ensuring he ate and got out of bed, she’d introduced him to an American degenerate by the name of Chris Chan, causing Puppet to look at his trolling account: GhidoraStan64 like an old friend, managing to laugh at the man overseas and take his mind of his mother, if it were just for a moment.
“Did you know that Chris Chan guy later went on to have sex with his mother?” San sneered.
“..Silence.” Ichi grumbled.
The sound of the foolish one’s car pulling into the driveway was almost too casual for the weight of the moment. Puppet was sitting cross-legged in the very living room Puppet had begged his father to come see his toys in so many years ago, packing his belongings into a duffel bag while Mira meticulously folded his clothes. The house reeked faintly of incense from his mother’s funeral, and Puppet had been suffocating from underneath the weight of organizing it all himself. Despite the introduction to lolcows on the internet, he hadn’t slept more than a few hours since she passed, and Mira had been his only tether, guiding him through the motions when he wanted to sink into the floor and never surface again.
The front door creaked open, the foolish one stepped into the tension filled home, his usual composed expression barely marred by the faint shadow of exhaustion. Behind him was Vivienne Graham, Puppets one-sided arch nemesis, she waved hesitantly at him, but Puppet didn’t so much as glance up. “Ren.” The foolish one pathetically started, his voice softer than usual. He glanced around the household, glancing at Vivienne for help. “You’ve been taking care of everything?” The foolish one trailed off, causing Puppet to shove a pair of socks into his bag with more force than necessary. “Was I supposed to leave her to rot? Who else was going to do it, I would hope her loving husband.” Puppet spat, earning a sigh and silent plea from the foolish one to understand. “Your mother would’ve understood.. I—“ The foolish one began to say before being abruptly cut off. “Don’t.” Puppets voice was sharp, cutting through the foolish one’s words like a blade. “You’re looking me dead in the eyes and telling me she would’ve understood you not being at her funeral? Not saying goodbye? Is that what you’re going to tell me?” Puppet demanded, not finished but the foolish one assumed he was. “Ren, it’s not that simple..” The foolish one muttered, but as stated before, Puppet was not finished. “It is that simple.” Puppet grumbled, standing up with his fists clenched at his side, his voice shaking with years of resentment threatening to spill over. “You didn’t show up.. You couldn’t even bother to be there for her, but oh, look! You had time to play dad for the great Vivienne Graham, what the hell does she have that I don’t?” Puppet demanded, shooting a glare at Vivienne this time around, who was quick to look down like a dog who’d been caught chewing on wires, guilty and uncomfortable.
The foolish one’s composure faltered the moment Vivienne was dragged into the argument, who could have predicted that would happen? “That’s not fair, Vivienne—” The foolish one opened his big mouth to say, even San had realized he should have kept his mouth shut instead of defending his cause. “Vivienne’s a grown woman, she doesn’t need you,” Puppet shot back. “She’s not your family, I was your family.. Mom was your family, but you couldn’t even do that right.” Puppet deadpanned, handing Mira his toothbrush, the usually loud girl reading a room and remaining silent. “Ren—” The foolish one’s voice grew sterner, though it was tinged with frustration and guilt. “No.” Puppet sharply cut him off, “I don’t want to hear it.” Puppet finally put his foot down, turning back to his duffel bag, pulling the zipper shut. Mira placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her presence grounding him just enough to keep him from exploding entirely.
The foolish one sighed, giving up on trying to get Puppet to see reason. “Where are you going?” The foolish one dared to ask even if it should’ve been obvious. “With Mira,” Puppet replied in an ice-cold tone, “Until it’s time to move into college. Don’t worry— you won’t have to deal with me anymore.” Puppet spat, “That’s not fair.” The foolish one protested, his voice rising slightly. “I’m trying—” The foolish one continued, but the Puppet was too blinded by grief and anger to hear. “No, you aren’t. You don’t try, you don’t even care. You just show up and expect everything to be fine.” Puppet interrupted.
The weight of the words hung in the air, The foolish one dared to glance at Mira for help, who avoided his gaze and continued packing Puppet’s things. “You’ll regret speaking to me like this one day, I spoke to my father the same way.” The foolish one reassured in a soft tone Puppet hadn’t heard in nearly a decade by now, Puppet realized he was moreso trying to convince himself than convince him and barked a bitter laugh. “No, I won’t, I'm done trying to get you to care, Dad.” Without another word, Puppet zipped his suitcase and walked out of the room, Mira followed closely behind, sparing Ishirō a brief, apologetic look before closing the door behind them.
Ghidorah sneered, revelling in the fury of this very memory. Had Puppet known this would be the last time the two had an A-B conversation, would things be different? Good thing they weren’t!
One year had passed since this moment, Puppet adjusted the collar of his pristine Apex uniform, the synthetic material stiff against his neck. The lab buzzed with activity, employees darting between monitors and machinery like worker bees. Walter Simmons, as always, stood at the center of it all, a smug grin plastered on his face as he surveyed his kingdom. “Ah, Ren!” Walter called out, striding over with his usual overconfidence. “How’s my favorite intern?” Puppet forced a smile. “Fine, sir. Just finished running the diagnostics you requested.”Walter clapped him on the shoulder. “Good, good. You’ve got potential, kid. A real chip off the old block.” Puppet bristled at the mention of his father, but he masked it with a polite nod. “Thank you, sir.” As Walter walked away, Maia Simmons appeared at Puppet’s side, her arms crossed. “He only likes you because it pisses your dad off,” she said bluntly. “I know,” Puppet replied, his voice flat. Maia studied him for a moment. “You don’t have to take this crap, you know.” Puppet glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing it for me.” Maia shrugged, smirking slightly. “Whatever you say, Ghidorastan.” Puppet’s lips twitched at the mention of his old Twitter handle, but he said nothing. He turned back to his work, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he buried himself in data.
Ghidorah found this relatively amusing, soaking in the negativity as if they were a sponge. Watching Puppet join that company out of a desire for revenge was the cherry on top, they knew first hand that revenge drove one to madness, not that they’d admit that.
A whole nine years had passed since Puppet joined that pitiful company, Ghidorah lost track of how old he was now but this year— 2019, was very significant to them, it was when those foolish cockroaches had finally freed them from their ice prison.. It seemed Puppet was having a good year, too.
The Tokyo skyline glistened like a sea of stars, the city alive with the hum of traffic and distant laughter. Puppet and Mira— who much to Ghidorah’s dismay was still in Puppets life, were taking a walk along the park with their Akita named Akari, a dog Puppet hadn’t wanted but slowly yet surely became his shadow.. Something was on Puppet's mind, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the small velvet box in his pocket. Mira leaned against a tree, her long hair swaying in the evening breeze. “You’ve been acting weird all night, what’s going on?” Mira asked, placing an accusatory finger on his chest while she raised an eyebrow.
Puppet took a deep breath, his heart doing cartwheels. “I.. Have something to tell you.” Puppet trailed off, running a hand across Akari’s fur. Mira turned to face him, her expression softening. “Ren, are you breaking up with me again? Because this sounds like one of the thousand times you’ve bullshited me just to call me later.” Mira grumbled, her gaze narrowing. “What? No! Jesus, I didn’t fuck this up already, did I?” Puppet trailed off, dropping to one knee, pulling the box from his pocket and revealing a simple, gold ring. “Mira Yamane, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, would you do me the honor of being your husband?” Puppet asked, feeling as if he could throw up.
For what felt like forever, Mira just stared at him, her eyes wide with shock, then she let out her laugh— contagious as usual, a bright, joyful sound that made his chest ache. “Oh, man. I’m such an idiot, of course I'll marry you.” She stated, pulling him to his feet and kissing him deeply, from the back of his memories, Ghidorah recoiled in disgust when Puppet felt a rare warmth in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t endured since he was a child. For once, he wasn’t thinking about his father, or Apex, or the Titans.. All that mattered was Mira.
..Speaking of Puppets father, Ghidorah could admit they had a hand in the foolish ones death, though the foolish one had just as much of a hand in their death when he sacrificed himself to bring the pathetic lizard back to life, the lizard who couldn’t defeat them without the help of other Earthlings.. Not that they had been defeated, do not make them laugh, if they were defeated, they’d be completely gone.
Nonetheless, the demise of the foolish one hit Puppet like a speeding truck. He showed up to the funeral and shook hands with a guy called Mark Russel his father had met relatively recently, though had the honor of getting his fathers journal. Puppet hadn’t bothered giving a speech, he didn’t know the foolish one well enough to do so. This resulted in Puppet pouring hours into work, driven by the desire to destroy the creature the foolish one had given his life for, besides having a small wedding with Mira, his days were spent at Apex.
Ghidorah could recall their second prison, the control room that enslaved their skull was a maze of screens and wires, the faint hum of machinery filling the air. This was when they’d first acknowledged Puppets existence, having nothing better to do. Puppet sat in the pilot's chair, his hands gripping the controls as the psionic uplink activated. The first time he connected to Ghidorah’s remains, he had felt nothing but awe. The alien consciousness was just that— a vast, incomprehensible, storm of rage and hunger that dwarfed everything he’d ever known, now reduced into a living supercomputer under his palm. But now, as the mecha roared to life, he felt something else: a whisper, faint but insistent.
“You are not enough.”
Puppet froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was inside his head, slithering through his thoughts like a serpent.
“You will fail, just like him.”
“No.” Puppet muttered, shaking his head. “The only thing he and I share is a last name.” Puppet insisted, knowing deep down it wasn’t true.
But the three voices didn’t dare stop, it fed on his doubte, his insecurities, amplifying them until they consumed him.
And consumed him they did, when the overload came, they ensured the pain would be excruciating, but not enough to kill Puppet. Sparks flew from the controls, and Puppet could only scream as electricity surged through his body, the last thing he saw before blacking out was the foolish one offering him a smile before fading away.
Though, that was three years ago and somehow, Puppet still hadn’t woken up and Ghidorah was growing bored.
“Claw your way out, what could you possibly be waiting for?”
“They’re underestimating you.”
“Claw. Your. Way. Out.”
The harsh, sterile light of what was surely a medical center loomed over Puppet as he opened his eyes for the first time in three years, the steady beep of a heart monitor pulling him out of his trance.
Chapter 2: rough awakening
Summary:
Ren suffers a rather rude awakening in Monarch’s medical wing at the hands of Trapper and something else..
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Swimming from the depths of darkness and the backseat of his own body was Ren Serizawa’s consciousness, though sluggish and fragmented, like the pieces of a broken mirror struggling to reassemble. Ren didn’t have a lot of time to conclude where he was, hit with a dull, throbbing ache radiating from the right side of his face. It was relentless, burrowing into his skull and scraping against his nerves. The blinding hospital lights above glared through his eyelids— no, his eyelid, singular, he came to that conclusion with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Everything to the right of his vision was pitch black, pitch black like the scales of a Gojira, pitch black that was unnatural enough to send a feeling of dread flooding through his veins. Relieved that he, at the very least, wasn't restrained to move his hand to his face, his trembling fingers representing his uneasiness as they brushed against the fabric. An eyepatch, like his great-uncle Daisuke. The realization only added more dread, and now some revulsion to add insult to injury. He tore his hand away, not wanting to feel it anymore, Ren thought rejecting its very presence may make it vanish, so much for insisting that he was completely neurotypical in the head, here he was, deciding if he chose not to acknowledge something.. Was it really there?
Ren’s consciousness swam in confusion as the harsh, patronizing lights of Monarch’s medical wing overwhelmed his senses. The steady, consistent beep of a heart monitor echoed in the room, adding to the disorientation as he blinked against the brightness. His limbs felt heavy, as though weighed down by the burden of.. Three? Lost years. Hopefully, he was being his usual pessimistic self and it really hadn’t been that long.
However, a voice broke through the silence to let Ren know it had indeed been three years. “Finally awake, huh?” The overly-cheerful voice, light and teasing, yet tinged with relief. Ren squinted to find its source— a man in his early thirties with a relaxed posture and a scruffy uniform leaning against the doorway, his expression was an irritating one of casual amusement as if he’d done this show a thousand times before. “Uh huh.. And you are?” Ren groggily asked, his voice rough from disuse. “Trapper, Monarch’s resident vet and part-time therapist.” The man named Trapper replied with a shit-eating grin, a part of Ren had hoped he wouldn’t reply and would just leave as he didn’t want anyone— let alone a moron to see him looking like a cyclops. “Well, unofficial therapist.. People tend to spill their guts around me for some reason, just as that skullcrawler spilled its guts when you tore it apart piloting Mechagodzilla, guess I just have that kinda face.” Trapper nagged, earning an unamused and relatively dazed stare from Ren. “The kind of face only a mother could love.” Ren muttered to himself before continuing, “I’ve been out for— what— three years? And you’re here cracking jokes?” Ren snapped, he was never a morning person and though he wasn’t upset about his sleep being disturbed, he was irritated.. This was what he had to put up with after being electrocuted and losing his eye. Trapper only raised his hands in mock surrender, “Hey, you’re awake, which means my job just got more interesting. Welcome to 2027, by the way. A lot happened while you were catching up on your beauty sleep.” Trapper babbled on as if they were catching up over coffee, much to Ren’s headache. Ren’s jaw tightened as he heard the news, struggling to process it. “Three years..” He repeated bitterly, glancing down at his hands, his gaze darting around the room, a small wave of relief washing over him when he noted the several flowers and cards from Mira. “..Catch me up.” Ren finally grumbled, letting go of his pride to reluctantly continue the conversation with Trapper. “Long story short?” Trapper began, taking a seat across from Ren’s bed. “Godzilla and Kong teamed up to take down some freaky new Titan from Hollow Earth— a big, bad guy with a bone whip. Iwi called it ‘Skar King’ Crazy shit. Hollow Earth’s a gold mine for that sort of nightmare fuel.” Trapper continued, Ren’s brow furrowed as he went on and on with alarming nonchalance. “Oh, and thanks for fucking up so badly at Apex, Monarch pretty much usurped all its tech and expanded its operations. We’ve got outposts everywhere now, even in North Korea. Ilene Andrews? She’s a big deal around here.” Trapper concluded, causing Ren’s frustration to boil over. “And I missed all of that because I was lying in this damned bed?” Ren hissed, glancing at Trapper with the hopes that he’d tell him it was all a big joke. “Yup!” Trapper confirmed, almost cheerfully as if he’d been waiting for Ren to ask such a question. “Though, to be fair, we wouldn’t let you in on it, it wasn’t all Sunshine and Titan battles. Your little stunt put you on Monarch's radar, big time, right up there with Alan Jonah and you’re here in our clutches.” Trapper rejoiced, a smirk on his moronic face. This caused Ren’s eyes— no, eye to narrow. “What stunt?” He dared to ask, a sinking pit in his stomach telling him he knew exactly what it was. Trapper leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious with a very much “No more Mr. Nice guy, time for the serious stuff.” vibe. “You piloted Mechagodzilla, Ren. You caused over 4,000 deaths in Hong Kong, Monarch’s been debating what to do with you ever since. Officially? You’ve got an arrest warrant, Xi Jinping wants you behind bars.. Unofficially, Director Russell wants to hear your side of the story before they decide to give in to China’s demands.. Oh yeah, your home country isn’t exactly pleased either, sort of set Japan back 80 years.” Trapper deadpanned, not sparing a pause to gauge Ren’s reaction.
Admittedly, this was a lot to take in as Ren had spent his life as a wealthy and relatively privileged individual, being a wanted man was new and not ideal, his stomach churned as he absorbed the weight of Trapper's words. “Great. So I wake up and find out I'm a wanted man, fantastic.” Ren finally grumbled to both himself and Trapper, his tone dripping with obvious sarcasm. “Hey, look on the bright side,” Trapper chimed in, his easygoing demeanor returning as if it was never gone in the first place. “At least you’ve got flowers and cards. Your wife, Mira? She’s been stopping by a lot. She’s the reason this place looks so much like a florist’s shop, and between you and me, it’s nice to see a happy relationship for once.. So, y’know, small victories!” Trapper rambled on and on, a small smile tugging at Ren’s lips at the mention of Mira, she’d always been artsy, it was no surprise she decided to make this room her own.. Though, the ache where his right eye once was sent Ren into a sour mood. “Do you ever stop talking?” Ren demanded, his glare could have melted steel. “Not really, but it really depends if you have something better for my mouth to do.” Trapper sneered, Ren’s gaze souring in disgust, Trapper didn’t seem to mind. “Director Russel will be here soon, try not to bite his head off, ‘kay superstar? I hear he’s not as forgiving as I am.” Trapper finally made his exit, standing and giving Ren a mock salute, Ren couldn't stop the sigh of relief he let out before the idiot even left the room.
As Trapper exited, he’d left Ren alone with his thoughts, though Ren felt his skin crawl with the indescribable feeling of being watched— not being alone. He glanced around the room, swallowing a lump in his throat.. Surely it was the weight of the past three years pressed down on him.. The door opened moments later, revealing Mark Russell, Ren had met him briefly at his fathers funeral.. His presence was meant to be calm and authoritative, but it only made Ren feel patronized. “You’ve got a lot to explain, Ren.” Mark stated as he approached Ren’s bedside, pulling up a chair. “But first, let me say this: I knew your father. Ishirō was a good man, and he believed in doing the right thing, even when it cost him everything, I can only hope you’re the same way and this is all a misunderstanding.” Mark trailed off, causing Ren’s throat to tighten at the mention of his father. “And he gave you his journal.. A stranger instead of his own son.” Ren bitterly deadpanned, though Mark’s expression didn’t waver. “He trusted me to continue his work, to understand Godzilla and what the Titans mean for this planet, that trust isn’t something I take lightly.” Mark thoroughly explained, talking to Ren as if he were a child.
Silence hung between the pair before Mark leaned back, his tone shifting. “Your wife, Mira, has been a constant here. She never gave up on you, it’s clear she loves you, Ren. And believe me, as someone whose ex-wife released Ghidorah to the world, I know a good relationship when I see one.” Mark trailed off, Ren rolled his one good eye, certain Mark was buttering him up by trying his hand at making Ren giddy about Mira.. Ren only clenched his fists, if they were so in awe at he and Mira’s relationship, why not realize It had hijacked the machine and let him go? “What do you want from me, Russell? A confession? An apology?” Ren demanded, his gaze meeting Marks. “Why did you do it? Why Mechagodzilla? Why Hong Kong?” Mark asked, his gaze softening, Ren could tell he was doing his best to appear fatherly the same way Simmons had, but despite Ishirō’s shortcomings, he was irreplaceable.
Ren fell silent for a long moment, staring at the far wall of the medical wing. The weight of Mark’s question— more so a demand, lingered in the air, but he wasn’t ready to answer.. Not yet, it’d take a lot of convincing in addition to not looking crazy to tell Mark the machine had been hijacked and Ren was unconscious long before the fight in Hong Kong. He took a deep breath, focusing on the faint yet consistent hum of the heart monitor beside him. It was rhythmic, calming, the one non-hectic thing in his post-coma life.
Until it wasn’t.
The steady beep began to warp, the tone dropping lower, more guttural. Ren’s brows furrowed as the sound seemed to echo unnaturally in his ears, growing louder and more distorted.. It almost sounded otherworldly, carrying the essence Ren felt right before the machine was hijacked.
“Ren?” Mark’s voice cut through the noise, but Ren barely heard him. The room seemed to darken around the edges, the sterile lights above flickering as if caught in a power surge. The faint outline of Mark’s face blurred, replaced by something else— something far too familiar.
Glowing golden eyes. Three sets of them.
Ren blinked hard, his breathing quickening. He tried to ground himself, to focus on reality, but the vision grew sharper. He swore he could see the silhouette of three intertwined necks, writhing like serpents. The center head loomed closest, its piercing gaze locking onto him— the gaze paralyzing him with an expression that he could only describe as amused disdain.
“You are weak,” An otherworldly voice hissed, high-pitched with an obvious demonic undertone, it echoed in his skull like a concussion.. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in three years, or perhaps it had been whispering all along, hidden beneath the coma’s fog. Ren clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he forced his eyes shut, repeating in his head over and over again that it wasn’t real, it was trauma, stress, being overly medicated, delirious, sleep paralysis.
“Ren!” Mark’s voice was sharper now, his concern evident. “Come on, son, don’t fall asleep on me while I'm trying to have a conversation with you.” Mark gently pressed.
Ren snapped his eye open, the hallucination vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. The lights stabilized, and the heart monitor returned to its steady rhythm. Mark leaned closer, his brow furrowing. “You okay? You spaced out for a second there.” Mark hesitantly questioned, the pity in his gaze only adding insult to Ren’s injury. “I’m fine.” Ren quickly and curtly replied, though his voice betrayed him, trembling at the edges. He forced himself to roughly swallow, his throat dry. “What do you care, anyway?” Ren asked in an attempt to change the subject.. Mark didn’t press the issue, though his gaze lingered, if Ren had to guess, it was due to him being skeptical and not buying what he had to say. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms, Ren was relieved Mark had taken a decently sized step back. “Uhm, look, you’ve been through a lot.. Waking up after three years, it’s bound to mess with your head, my daughter has PTSD from Ghidorah.. If you need a therapist, we can get you one..” Mark trailed off, this type of conversation clearly wasn’t his strong suit.
“No, I'm okay.” Ren deadpanned in a rather harsh tone, he was always well off enough for a therapist, but he didn’t trust a stranger with his problems, let alone one working for Monarch.
Mark raised a brow, though he didn’t argue. “Okay, it’s your choice, I know I'm not here to psychoanalyze you. I’m here for answers.” Mark stated, getting back on topic. Ren let out a slow exhale, rubbing his temples. “You want to know why I did it?” He finally asked with a raised brow, his tone sharp as thorns. “Fine. I wanted to kill Godzilla. It’s as simple as that, I wanted to finish what my father started— what he was too much of a coward to see through, and I damn hope he was watching me.” Ren deadpanned, a sneer tugging at his lips as he watched Mark’s expression harden, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Your father wasn’t a coward, he sacrificed himself to save millions. To save the planet.” Mark attempted to correct Ren, his voice dropping. “And what did it cost him?” Ren shot back, his eyes flashing with anger. “His family. His son. He cared about Godzilla more than he ever did about me.. Does a brave man face his own son after not attending his own wife's funeral? Didn’t think so.” Ren spat, satisfied with Mark’s silence, Mark let the words hang in the air for a moment, his gaze steady. “Maybe he did.” Mark admitted quietly, admittedly taking Ren by suprise. “Two wrongs don’t make a right, that doesn’t justify what you did in Hong Kong. Thousands of people died, Ren, innocent people, do you even have any regrets for it?” Mark pressed, staring into Ren’s singular eye.
“We regret leaving you and your daughter alive, we regret not knocking that number up a few hundred thousand notches.” A voice in Ren’s head hissed.
Ren himself hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him like a damn hydraulic press. He thought of the feeling of a thousand volts running through his body while he could only helplessly sit there and groan, the screams, the destruction, the fire and the chaos. He thought of the whispers in his head, pushing him further, feeding his rage. He finally thought of Mira, how she’d look at him now if she knew the full, transparent truth.
“I.. Don’t know.” Ren finally muttered, his voice barley above a whisper, though the shame in his tone showed he’d already made his decision. Mark sighed, pinching his nose as he leaned forward once more. “You don’t have to decide right now, but Monarch can’t ignore what happened. If you want any chance of redemption— any chance at all— you need to coopoerate. Tell us everything.” Mark urged, his tone showing this was of top priortiy, something Ren never was to his father. Ren’s mind raced, the hallucination still fresh in his thoughts. He couldn’t tell Mark the truth— not all of it, anyway. The whispers, the hallucinations, the feeling of not being alone in his own head.. They’d think he was insane, maybe he was after the stunt he pulled.
Ultimately, he knew he couldn’t let Monarch lock him away, not yet, hopefully not ever. He needed to figure out what was real and what wasn’t, and of most importance, find a way out of this prison. “I’ll think about it.” Ren grumbled curtly, his voice regaining its edge. Mark studied him for a moment, his eyes like a scalding maginifying glass against an insect, though he nodded. “Fair enough, but don’t take too long.. Time isn’t exactly on your side.” Mark deadpanned transparently, standing up and making his way out the door, Ren leaned back against the pillows, his mind churning. He couldn’t shake the image of those golden eyes, nor the voice that had called him weak.
“Gosh, you really are a Serizawa, otherwise none of this would be nearly as dramatic...”
The words echoed in his mind, more a challenge than a jab. Ren set his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides, if he was going to survive this— if he was going to prove them all wrong— he’d have to do exactly that.
Notes:
thanks for 17 hits :) ! remember to follow my instagram @acelestialcraze
Chapter 3: one thing at a time
Summary:
Sick of feeling sorry for himself, Ren begins to devise a plan to pull himself out of the pit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ren found himself sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, lost in thought as the mattress creaked beneath him, the weight of his reality pressed down on him like a lead blanket. As much as he didn’t want to look— his reflection that glinted faintly in the darkened television screen across the room was like a bad accident, he couldn’t help but look at the gaunt figure, pale and hollow-eyed. He ran a hand through his inky hair, wincing at how it felt, the strands sticking to his fingers like cobwebs. “Three whole years.” He muttered, the words were like swallowing a lemon to his tongue. He could barely stand the sight of himself, but if he wanted to start feeling like himself again, the best way to start was to look like himself again.
A deep exhale left Ren’s lips as he forced himself to move despite his muscles protesting, stiff from years of disuse, but he shuffled to the adjoining bathroom. The door creaked open, revealing a sterile space bathed in clinical ivory light. The mirror directly above the sink caught his attention, though he had every intention of avoiding it up until he absolutely had to face it— hah, just like his father with any problems outside of Monarch. The water hissed to life, steam curled around the edges of the frosted glass like ghostly fingers, Ren thought to himself that he never believed in ghosts in the traditional sense as he stripped away the hospital gown, tossing it into a corner. His body was a roadmap of scars— some old, some new, a story to tell for all of the scars. If the missing eye hadn’t made it obvious, his right side bore the most damage, the skin littered with faint, jagged lines where the electricity had torn through him with ease, serving as a reminder that despite piloting Godzilla’s superior, he was still a weak human powerless compared to the power Titans harnessed. The worst, though, was his face— it just had to be where one tended to first gaze at when meeting him. The ruined socket where his right eye had once been was now a hollow, seemingly endless void; to add insult to injury, the surrounding skin was uneven. Realizing self-pity would get him nowhere as the damage had, he swallowed hard and stepped into the shower, allowing the scalding water to wash away the grime, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything else.. He figured if there was a possibility this could be one of his last showers without the prying eyes of his future cellmates on him, he better enjoy it.
As the water coursed over him, Ren leaned against the cold tile, his thoughts racing while they jumped from topic to topic, worry to worry. Mira. He needed to call her. She deserved to know he was awake, after all, she was one of the reasons— if not the only reason after Mechagodzilla proved to be a bust to keep going after his fathers death. He needed lawyers, too, good, cutthroat ones.. The kind that could turn murder charges into slap-on-the-wrist fines. But before anything, he had to make himself presentable. He wasn’t about to face the world looking like a specter from his own nightmares, when he stepped out of the shower after a considerably long amount of time, he was relieved to see the steam fogging up the mirror. He wiped it clean with a quick swipe of his hand, only to flinch when his reflection came into view despite knowing what to expect. His eye— or lack thereof— was hard to look at, to put it simply. He turned his head to the side, trying to angle the mutilation out of view, but it was impossible to ignore.
“Cyclops..” Ren grumbled to himself, the word echoed in his mind like a sneer. He clenched his jaw, his fingers gripping the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Pull it together, sulking gets you nowhere.” Ren muttered to himself, reaching for the razor like a lifeline. The soft scrape of the blade against his skin filled the room, each stroke precise. He avoided his reflection as much as possible, focusing instead on the act itself, the routine bringing back a faint sense of control and familiarity. But as he rinsed the razor and finally looked back into the mirror, meeting his own gaze, something froze him in place.
Behind him, faintly illuminated by the fogged glass, stood his father, his burnt fingers lightly tracing Ren’s mustache and goatee, the only facial hair he’d kept.
Ren’s breath hitched as his blood ran cold, his body locking up as he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the figure no matter how hard he tried. Ishirō Serizawa’s face was unmistakable, though it was ravaged with burns. His clothes were charred, clinging to his frame as though he had been dragged straight from the explosion that killed him. His expression was content, calm, at peace— at peace with his death, at peace with never patching things up with his own flesh and blood. “You look just like me.” Not-Ishirō deadpanned, his voice was far from tender, carrying a demonic edge to it. “But you’ve become something so.. Different.” Not-Ishirō observed, tilting his head and giving Ren somewhat of a clear view.
Ren whirled around, heart pounding, but the bathroom was empty, silent save for the faint drip of water from the showerhead, each drop hitting the floor like a countdown. He hesitantly turned back to the mirror, his mutilated reflection the only thing staring back at him now. “Get a grip.” Ren whispered, his voice trembling as he’d glance down at his shaking fingers. “It’s just… stress. That’s all it is.” He grumbled, but even as he tried to dismiss it, the image lingered in his mind— the charred, burnt flesh, the way not-Ishirō had looked at him with equal parts judgment and pity, two looks Ren despised. He gritted his teeth, gripping the sink so hard he feared it might crack.
Concluding he needed a distraction— anything to pull him out of this spiral.. Ren quickly finished shaving, dressed in the fresh clothes Monarch had left for him, and inserting his two earrings back into the piercings on his one ear, a tad taken aback to see the holes had somehow not closed, though he didn’t dwell on it and returned to the main room. The remote lay untouched on the bedside table, and he snatched it up, turning on the television as the screen flickered to life, bathing the room in a somewhat lively glow compared to the well.. Poor excuse of a prison. News footage dominated the broadcast, showing scenes of devastation from the Titan battles he had missed. A commentary voice droned on about Monarch’s expanded influence and the global impact of the hollow earth discovery, Ren scoffed, technically speaking, Apex had been first. Ultimately, he was never one to care about credit but he could only imagine how infuriated Simmons would be to hear Monarch had stolen his precious empire's discovery— the one he sent his own daughter to discover, even though he’d stolen several smaller companies' achievements. Ren barely listened, his thoughts drifting to Mira.
He grabbed the hospital phone, dialing her number from memory. Each ring felt like an eternity, until, finally, her voice came through the line. “Hello? Any updates?” Her soothing voice, hesitant at first, though her tone quickly shifted to something warmer— Ren admired her way to stay positive, as if the roles were reversed he’d take the silence as the worst case scenario. “Ren?” Mira asked, a smile tugging at Ren’s lips when he heard the beam in her voice. “It’s me,” he began to say, his voice softer than he intended. “I’m.. Awake.” Ren deadpanned, unsure how else to put it. There was a long pause of shared silence before Mira finally broke said silence, “Three years, Ren. Three years, and I.. I thought i’d lost you.” Mira muttered, her voice breaking slightly. “I’m sorry.” Ren muttered, trying his best to sound genuine but his words felt inadequate. “But I'm back now.. Think you can come by? I miss you and I need to see your face..” Ren trailed off, rubbing his temple with his free hand. Mira’s laughter was faint, tinged with relief. “You always need me.. I’ll be there, I love you.” Mira cooed, her voice grounding him in a way nothing else could. “I love you too, I've got some things to figure out.. But I'll be out soon, I promise.” Ren went on, his tone sincere.
They spoke for a while longer, her voice acting as a guardian angel as he had come to realize he hadn’t thought of all the supernatural shit occurring after he’d woken up, when the call ended, Ren set the phone down and turned his attention to the small laptop Monarch had provided. He opened a browser and began searching for lawyers, his fingers flying over the keyboard with such furiousness that hadn’t been pressed against a keyboard ever since he first created GhidoraStan64. Ren reclined in the stiff chair by the medical wing room’s small desk, a laptop glowing faintly before him as his fingers continued to hover over the keys as he re-read the information about the lawyer he’d chosen: Akihiko Shindo, a legal powerhouse in Japan known for pulling the likes of CEOs, politicians, and celebrities from the depths of their worst scandals. His reputation was already on thin ice with the whole Hong Kong incident, it took a simple google search of his name to conclude the only people who had sided with him were the likes of teenage girls with an Asian fetish who simply found him attractive and Titan conspiracy theorists who’d somehow figured out the truth behind Mechagodzilla going rogue, all of that piled up made Ren realize he could not tread this lightly, the reality of the situation settling like a stone in his chest.
The man had saved careers, protected reputations, and crushed oppositions in the courtroom in such a theatrical style it made Ren think it was a clip straight out of Better Call Saul. Shindo’s name carried heavy weight— but so did the unavoidable headlines that would ultimately follow. If Ren hired him, the case would be dragged into the prying eyes of the public.. The press, always eager for a story, would feast on it like a swarm of vultures devouring a carcass. And Ren, already vilified, would be thrown into the wolves again.. The thought alone of cameras flashing in his face, swarms of reporters talking over each other to the point where all of them were incoherent while the world picked apart every detail of his life— that entire process made his skin crawl, he had no idea how Simmons basked in that attention like a cat in the sun. Paparazzi had always been miserable vultures, circling his family even during his father’s funeral. “Now, they’d have a field day.. The disgraced son of Serizawa returns, public enemy number one.” Ren bitterly grumbled, allowing a sigh to leave his lips as he clicked on the contact form for Shindo’s law firm, beginning to type as he crafted a formal email, though ensuring the email was also concise, explaining his situation. As he typed, he couldn’t help but let his gaze flick briefly to the dark reflection living in the laptop screen.
After hitting send, Ren sat back, rubbing his temples as fatigue threatened to pull him under.. His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. Mark Russell stepped inside, carrying the same calm-yet-determined energy he always did. “I take it you’ve made your choice?” Mark asked, though his ‘question’ was more of a statement than anything. “Shindo.” Ren replied curtly even if it was a simple question, he would much rather be in Mira’s arms right now.. Unable to take a hint, Mark gave a low whistle. “Big guns.. He’s good, though. If anyone can make this mess manageable, it’s him.” Mark carried on, causing Ren’s gaze to harden. “This ‘mess’ isn’t just trouble, Russell. It’s my life. My family's name.. And now, thanks to hiring him, it’s going to be on every damn headline across the world.” Ren spat, his bitterness seeping through like an overflowed bowl of porridge.. Mark only offered a shrug, so much for being a helpful director. “That’s the price of playing with Titans, Ren. You knew that going in.” Mark lectured, his tone pragmatic as if he were talking to a child and not a grown 36 year old man who made his own decisions.
Ren didn’t respond, his jaw tightening.. Mark let the silence stretch for a moment before carrying on. “Speaking of names in headlines.. Madison’s been following this case, my daughter.” Mark added, earning an eyebrow raise from Ren. “She’s in law school now, one of her projects involves studying a lawyer and their client.. Shindo’s on her radar, and—” Mark began, Ren didn’t even wait for him to finish talking. “No.” Ren cut in, his voice sharp as knives. “Absolutely not.” Ren snapped, though Mark’s tone didn’t waver as he was adamant Ren could be convinced, though Ren guessed it was really about keeping an eye on him to ensure he didn’t go off grid. “She’s smart, Ren, she’s been through things most people can’t even imagine.. Just saying, she might surprise you.” Mark pressed on, raising a brow and offering a smile. Ren could only let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need Toto trailing after me while I'm trying to rebuild my life.” Ren deadpanned, “She’s not just any student.” Mark continued, much to Ren’s dismay. “She knows what it's like to live in the shadow of Titans.. To be bullied, be judged, and torn apart for things she didn’t do. She’s been where you are— on a different scale, maybe, but she gets it.” Mark explained, causing Rens eye to narrow when he realized how much of his life his father had jotted down in his journal.
A moment of silence fell upon the room, Ren’s glare slowly softening into a displeased stare when he realized he couldn’t win, the words hitting closer than he cared to admit. “Fine.. So help me if she gets in my way—“ Ren began to say after he’d finally bit the bullet and relented. “She won’t, I'll make sure of it.” Mark assured, Ren muttered something inaudible under his breath and stood, rounding up his belongings that really only consisted of his wallet and phone as someone had stolen his flash drive.. Before Ren could leave, Mark extended a hand, blocking his path. “Promise me you’ll stay in touch, Shindo’s good, but for lack of a better word— you’re in deep shit and you’re going to need more than a lawyer to get through this.” Mark stated, Ren assumed this was his best effort at a pep talk, but all Ren did was meet his gaze. “Sure.” He deadpanned, his tone flat. “Whatever you say..” Ren trailed off as he brushed past Mark.
Notes:
did yall catch the reference in shindos name??
Chapter 4: yellow beneath the sunglasses
Summary:
Falling further down the rabbithole, San decides to have a bit of fun with Madison, resulting in Bernie Hayes now on Ren’s case.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
From a distance, Madison Russell lingered around Monarch’s headquarters, shifting awkwardly as Ren, after taking his sweet time and delaying meeting her, approached with Mira by his side. Mira didn’t hesitate— lack of hesitation was a trait she and Ren shared in their own ways, nonetheless, she didn’t hesitate to throw her arms around him the moment he stepped out, tears glistening in her eyes. “I thought I'd lost you.” Mira confessed in a whisper, her voice trembling, despite his hatred for PDA, Ren wrapped his arms around her, pressing a thumb to her cheeks as he wiped the tears away. “I’m here.” Ren muttered in the most reassuring way he could, though the moment was short-lived as the voice of a reporter reminded him there were other people in the world.
“No way, Ren Serizawa! Is it true you’ve been in a coma since the Hong Kong incident?” The reporter demanded in a cynical tone as if Ren owed him an answer, the only reply Ren offered was pressing the sunglasses closer to his face and his lips pressing into a thin line.. He turned to meet the mans face, caught off guard by the dishevelment in his appearance when reporters were usually so well put together— but this rare cases camera was dangling from his neck, his suit was wrinkled— the formal shirt beneath the blaser was unbuttoned, showing his fat gut underneath the wifebeater while his tie was tossed over his neck like a towel after the gym, his hair grease shining off the sun, and what really made Ren’s nerves dance on his skin was his yellow-tinged eyes, gleaming unnaturally. “Why the sunglasses, Mr. Serizawa?” The reporter pressed, stepping closer, for lack of better terminology, he reeked of boiled onions and liquid ass. “Hiding something? Or is it the fact you can’t face any of the 4,000 families in Hong Kong affected by your actions?” The reporter continued to demand, trying his best at an authorative tone but all Ren could do was look away after getting a face full of his rancid breath.. Ren’s mouth opened as if he had something to say, but no words left his mouth, his train of thought running at several miles per second as the man’s gaze bore into him.. As much as Ren tried to tear his gaze away from the yellow glow in the reporter’s eyes, it only seemed to intensify and pulse— faint and sickly, like a distant echo of something ancient, something he couldn’t quite place. Luckily, Mira was there to pull him out of his train of thought, tugging on his arm with some sense of urgency. “Ren, let’s go.. He’s not worth it.” Mira catuonied, to both of their suprises, Madison stepped forward. “That’s enough, he’s not answering your questions.” The young-adult snapped, her voice sharp as nails.. The reporter hesitated, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach his glowing eyes. “I’m just trying to get the truth.” The reporter muttered in a faux-offended tone, puttiing on an exaggerated frown, only further empthazied by his trout mouth, however, Madison didn’t seem to notice as she didn’t falter. “Try gerting it somewhere else.” She spat, Ren realized he only looked more guilty if he needed Director Russell’s daughter to stick up for him, but she’d come to his rescue regardless.
With that, the trio hurried to the waiting rental car, content with leaving the reporter behind. Ren had a hard time shaking the image, surely he was lucid enough by now to stop hallucinating— it was no concidence.. The glow of that man’s eyes seared into his mind. As they began the road to the Pencsicola international airport, Ren glanced at Madison from his spot in the passenger seat.. For the first time, he saw a faint reflection of himself in her— the quiet resilence, the scars left by public scrunity, and the determination to survive despite it all. “Thank you.” Ren muttered, his voice low.. Madison was clearly proud to not be the one to initate an interaction from Ren and him instead be the one to converse with her, a difficult feat. “Don’t mention it, just don’t make me regret tagging along.” Madison sneered, a faint smirk on her lips while she didn’t look up from her phone. Ren’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but the weight of the glowing eyes and whats to come lingered and ultimately made him just want to go back to sleep.
Quite some time had passed as the car hummed steadily against the ashplat of the road, the infant night wrapped around the vechile like a Mothra cocoon, moonlight glinting faintly off the windows. Ichi sat quietly within Ren’s mind, taking advantage of his slumber to take the wheel, observing through the single eye half-lidded in exhaustion.. Ichi thought the amount of sleep Puppet got scandalous, his body slumped against the passenger seat, his head resting against the window, breaths shallow but just as steady as he drifted into a fragile sleep. “How pitiful..” Ichi mused to himself and his dormat brothers, his tone its usual disdain. “To think this mere vessel once had the audacity to believe he could control us..” Ichi sneered.
The conversation between the two women in the car drew his attenion.. The beloved consort— Mira, Ichi made a brief note to eventually get rid of her, he had no desires for Puppet to live a happy life when King Ghidorah had to be born again, though for right now, all he did was watch as she kept her hands clasped on the wheel, occasionaly glancing through the rearview mirror where— it couldn’t be, could it? Madison Russell, Ichi didn’t forget nor forgive easily, he knew this cockroach from anywhere, she carried an air of unguarded curiosity, her words laced with the same petty, flippant humor that masked deeper wounds caused by yours truly. “So,” The beloved consort began, her tone light. “How’s law school treating you? Bet it’s a step up from chasing Titans.” The beloved consort gently pried, Ichi didn’t understand why she didn’t make demands instead. The lousy one only huffed a small laugh, leaning against the backseat. “Yeah, let’s just say it was a different kind of wild, less dodging debris, more dodging professors who think they’re Godzilla.” The lousy one quipped, earning a chuckle from the beloved consort. “Sounds like you’re holding your own.” The beloved consort noted. “Trying to, anyway.” The lousy one continued, Ichi sensed her hesitation before she continued the conversation, words that once felt foregin and jibberish to him he could now understand perfectly. “What about you? Three years.. That couldn’t have been easy.” The lousy one asked cautiously as if she wasn’t sure if that were a sore subject, Ichi could feel her gaze drift to Puppet.
The beloved consort’s cheeky smile faltered, her gaze briefly clouding as her fingers ever so slightly tightened on the steering wheel. “It wasn’t.. But, he’s here now, and that’s what matters.. I know how others feel about him, standoffish, supervillain— he was doing what he thought was right, nothing bewildering about that and worth being labeled a terrorist over.” The consort firmly grumbled, Ichi noted she’d read pretty much every forum that remotely mentioned Puppet, Puppet seemed to have landed a jackpot the same way Ichi and his brothers hit a jackpot when someone with as much technological knowledge as Puppet became their unwilling vessel. The lousy one nodded slowly, her expression one of the ridicolous feeling cockroaches called remorse. Ichi observed, abeilt silently, his disdain for their small talk tempered by curiosity.. Cockroaches were predictable creatures, driven by fragile connections and fleeting emotions. Yet, even he couldn’t deny the faint pang of intrigue as he listened in on the beloved consorts way of being unapologetically herself, and disgusted by the lousy ones general presence.. Why was she still alive? San couldn’t do that one thing, after she and her bowling ball friends had screwed them over, not once, but twice now.
Shortly after Ichi allowed the unsuspecting Ren the wheel to his own body back as Mira pulled into an unassuming hotel, a roadside stop softly bathed in an amber glow of dim parking lot lights. Ren hardly registered the check-in procress, his biggest concern keeping his ‘mutilated’ face conceled while his body operated on autopilot as Mira led him and Madison to their room, a one-room hotel room equipped with two queen sized beds and the obvious hotel finds. “Dibs on the first shower!” Madison declared, leaving Ren and Mira to their devices,.
Ren collapsed onto the bed without giving it much thought, leaning against the wall while Mira sat at his side, flipping through televison channels. “My back hurts.” Ren deadpanned, watching as Mira continued to absentmindely flip through channels. “Maybe you’re just getting old, thirty six is creeping up on you.” Mira cooed, leaning in to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Don’t say that, it’s too early for an existental crisis.” Ren grumbled, running a thumb across Mira’s cheek. “It’s three in the morning..” Mira sneered, a smile spreading across her face. “Right.” Ren deadpanned, raising brow, Mira ran a hand across his thigh, but before they could get any further Madison came out of the bathroom, Mira opting to go next to freshen up.. Ren lay still, staring at the textured ceiling, his train of thought consisting of guilt, longing, and dread. He couldn’t shake away the image of the reporter’s yellow eyes, nor the subtle glint of pity in Madison’s gaze for the life of him. Eventually, exhaustion got the best of him and won out, his breathing deepened, and his body sank into the mattress.
Though, somewhere in the void of sleep, the darkness stirred.
San stretched lazily within Puppet’s mind, seizing the oppurtinity Ichi had allowed. The eldest head— the mastermind behind Ghidorah’s reign of terror often postured about control, about discipline... But, San, despite his shortcomings and need for constant reminders to stay focused, knew when to strike. Puppet’s dreams were now quiet as a mouse, his mind nowhere near as guarded as he believed it to be, and San grinned as he reached out, his influence coiling like smoke.
It started with a single twitch of Puppet’s finger, his singular eye opening, glowing with a faint golden hue. His lips curled into a smirk that wasn’t his own, and his fingers continued to twitch, moving as though guided by invisible Puppet strings. It didn’t take San long to bring Puppet’s hand to his face, the expierence nowhere near as disorienting for San as it was for Ichi and Ni as San had more expierence being in bodies that weren’t his own. San used Puppet’s two fingers to mimic wide, watchful eyes, and then pointed one finger toward the lousy one— San remembered her face like a wasp would, he recalled meeting her small gaze when she thought she could outsmart the trinity back at the sports stadium.. The lousy one sat cross legged on her bed, her face faintly illuminated by the screen of her Nintendo Switch.. How easy would it be to grab a lamp and chuck it at her, but he held back that urge, looking forward to see what psychologial torture of revenge Ichi had in mind.
San tilted Puppet’s head, the grin spreading wider as he watched her through the dim light. Her focus lingered on the game, oblivious to the predatory gaze aimed her way. “She’s sharp, this one.” San mused to the spectacting Ichi and Ni, his tone light and eerily friendly to the point where his tone was dripping with malice. “But not sharper than I.” San declared, watching as the lousy one finally paused her game and glanced up, her eyes narrowing as though sensing something. She froze in her tracks as if paraylzed when she her gaze zeroed in on Puppet, his eye gleaming and his grin unnatural, almost feral. Her breath hitched, her grip tightening on the console. “Ren?” The lousy one whispered cautiously, San chuckled softly— yet the chuckle held nothing short of a pure evil undertone, a sound that never left Puppet’s lips.. As if he were never there to start with, he retreated back into the depths of Puppet’s mind, leaving the outline of a man’s body to slump back into sleep as though nothing had happened.
Madison sat frozen in place, her posture comparable to paraylzation. “It’s just a nightmare..” She muttered to herself, swallowing hard. “Just.. PTSD messing with me.” Madison continued, trying to ratonalize what had just happened.. Though, just in caas, she pulled out her phone and sent the one person who would validate what she just saw a quick text: none other than a conspiracy theorist Ren had bad blood with, Bernie Hayes.
The next morning, Madison was unuusally quiet during breakfast in the hotel lobby, absentmindely picking at a plate of scrambled eggs, her gaze occasionally darting to Ren, who sipped his coffee in silence. “Why aren’t you eating?” Mira pried, earning a glare ffom Ren. “I’m just not hungry, you’re not my mother, Mira.” He grumbled, his gaze drifting to Madison, noting her out of character silence. “Something on your mind?” Ren finally asked, his tone neutral but not unkind.. Madison hesitated, her fork clinking against her plate. “No.. Just.. Didn’t sleep well.” She muttered, Ren frowned, it was easy to tell she was lying but truth be told? He didn’t feel like pressing the matter when he had so much of his own baggage to carry out.
By the time they arrived at the airport, the tension had eased— only ever so slightly, but it was a step. First-class seating offered them a reprieve from prying eyes, though Ren was adamant on keeping his sunglasses firmly in place. Mira sat beside him, her presence nothing short of calming as she rested her head on his shoulder. It felt like a rather quick flight, as when they landed in Japan and stepped into the familar streets of Tokyo, Ren felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Home.. The word felt foregin but comforting, like slipping into an old coat. As they approached the house, their Akita, Akari bolted toward them, barking excitedly. Ren crouched down, letting the dog leap into his arms, her tail wagging furiously. Mira laughed, the sound bright, warm, and most importantly— normal.. Day to day, Ren felt a sense of normalcy returning.
Deep into that night, after Madison had gone to the guest room Mira assinged her to and Akari settled at the foot of their bed, Ren and Mira sat together in the quiet. The intimacy of the moment was palable, unspoken words hanging in the air like fragile glass. “I missed you.” Mira whispered softly, her fingers tracing the lines of his face. “Every single day.” Mira continued, she was the one person Ren didn’t doubt. “I missed you, too.. But I.. I can’t stop seeing what i’ve become.. What i’ve done.” Ren muttered in a tone laced with with obvious shame, his gaze dropped while his face was slow.
If only Ren knew then what he’d go on to become.
Mira cupped his face, forcing him to meet her inviting gaze. “You’re still you, Ren.. You’re still my husband, And you’re still handsome.. Even with everything.” Mira trailed off, again, if only she knew Ren wasn’t himself— not entirely.. He huffed a weak laugh. “You’re biased.” Ren grumbled, running a hand across his temples. “Maybe.” Mira admitted, smiling faintly. “But I mean it, you’ve been given a second chance, we have.” Mira pressed, her expression growing softer, almost shy.. That was odd, Mira was always unapologetically herself. “Maybe we could think about… A family, someday.. We’re not getting any younger, and we agreed to start trying at 35 if everything with Mechagodzilla ran smoothly.” Mira trailed off, placing her hand over Ren’s, whom only stiffened. “I don’t think I can.. I don’t want to—” Ren began to say, being cut off by Mira as they had this dance nearly a thousand times before. “Turn out like him.” Mira quietly finished, her hand slipping into his, squeezing gently. “You’re not your father, Ren.” Mira stated reassuringly as if Ren needed the reassurance, he was already well aware besides the surface level of having the same last name, both being male, and both being Asian, Ren and Ishirō couldn’t be more different.. His forever strained relationship with Ishirō wasn’t something he liked bringing up in conversation nor crying about it to Mira when he needed support, it was tiresome— the son forgotten by his father. “I can’t take that risk.” Ren deadpanned, refusing to meet Mira’s gaze.. Mira didn’t press, instead resting her head against his chest and drifting to sleep.
Ren awoke to the strong stench of rot.
His chest was heavy, his arms pinned as if something had strapped him down. The bed beneath him sagged, the fabric rough and cold, reeking of mildew. His eye fluttered open, but the world was wrong, horribly wrong. The soft moonlight that usually spilled through his bedroom window was gone, replaced by a sickly yellow glow that seeped through the cracks in the walls, casting grotesque, shifting shadows across the room.
And Mira— moreso where Mira’s warmth should have been sat something else entirely.. Ren’s breath caught in his throat as he dared to gaze downwards, pressed against his chest was a skeletal form, its ribs hollow and charred, fragments of decayed flesh clinging stubbornly to bone. The skull tilted upward, empty sockets staring past his singular eye and deep into his soul, as if mocking him. The remains reeked of burnt hair and sulfur, and Ren’s mind reeled, desperately trying to make sense of what the hell was going on.
Outside was no better, the unmistakable screeches of King Ghidorah echoed through the air, each cackle rattling the fragile structure of the house. Beneath the beastly cries, the agonized screams of people rose like a chorus of the damned. It was nothing short of a concert of terror, and Ren could hear it all.
Every scream.
Every plea.
Ren’s pulse only thundered in his ears as he shoved the skeletal remains aside, stumbling backward out of bed. The floorboards groaned and creaked beneath his weight, soft and damp like decayed wood. His chest heaved as he tried to make sense of the alternate world..? He’d just woken up in, but before he could dwell on the chaos, a sudden, violent wave of nausea washed over him.. He barely made it to the goddamn bathroom.
The once prorcelain sink was cracked, the surface stained yellow with age and grime, but Ren didn’t have time to dwell on the rotting sink, he leaned over it, gripping the edges as his stomach violently twisted. A guttural retch escaped him, and shortly following behind it came a torrent of thick, black liquid. It splattered against the sink’s basin, viscous and gleaming like oil, reeking of copper and decay. Ren coughed and gagged as the vile substance poured out of him, followed by something solid. The clink of teeth hitting porcelain sent a shiver down his spine, he hated how he could only helplessly stare at them— small, jagged fragments coated in the same inky sludge. With a shaky hand, he reached for the faucet, deseperate to wash it all away, but his hand stopped in its tracks as his gaze locked on the liquid.
It was moving.
As if taunting Ren, the black liquid slithered across the sink’s surface, coiling and pooling as though alive. It began to form letters— jagged, uneven strokes that seemed to be written with talons rather than fingers spelled out something he didn’t want to understand. His eye widened, but before he could dechipher the message and hopefully crack the code on whatever the hell was happening to him, a sharp, grating sound shattered the scene.
Ren jolted upright in bed, the blare of his alarm clock harshly yanking him away from the nightmare, he ran a hand across his face, his chest heaving as cold sweat soaked his shirt. The familar sight of his bedroom greeted him, but it did little— if anything to soothe the storm in his mind. He sat up on the edge of the bed, running a trembling hand through his dark hair. “Just a nightmare..” Ren muttered, the scientist in him desperate to find a logical way to explain the bordering supernatural events occuring. “That’s all it was.” Ren told himself, though the platinum taste of copper lingered in his mouth like a bad omen.
The kitchen was quiet save for Ren’s footsteps, the distant hum of the shower water a constient sound as Mira occupied the shower.. His hands still shook as he downed the glass of water in one go, the cool liquid soothing in his dry throat which was a relief as he was willing to lick the bathroom floor if it meant the vile taste of whatever that black muck was would be out of his mouth. With a shaky sigh, he set the glass down and leaned against the counter, closing his eye, the nightmare still clung to him like smoke, though it felt awfully real. A rustle from behind drew his attention, fully expecting to see the grim reaper or something of the sorts, but it was just Madison standing in the doorway, watching him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. “What?” Ren grumbled, his voice gruff, Madison only responded with a shrug of feigined nonchalance. “Nothing. Just thought i’d see if you were okay.” Madison chirped, clasping her hands together.. Ren was no idiot, narrowing his eye at her with obvious suspiscon. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Ren pried, “No reason.” Madison replied quickly, though her gaze lingered on him for a moment too long, she stepped into the kitchen, opening the fridge and rummaging through its contents. “You’ve just been through a lot, y’know, people tend to crack under that kind of pressure.” Madison gently pressed, causing Ren to turn away and roll his eye. “I’m fine, I don’t need a twenty-two year old to babysit me.” Ren shot back before continuing, “This conversation’s over.” He deadpanned, walking into his and Mira’s bedroom. “Sure.” Madison lightly chirped, though her condescending tone betrayed her doubt. She grabbed a yogurt and retreated to the living room, where her phone buzzed faintly. Unbeknowst to Ren, she was sending another update to Bernie Hayes.
He’s still acting strange, something’s not right, I know what I saw.
Ren didn’t trust Madison’s sudden interest in his well-being, but he didn’t have tthe time nor energy to dwell on it. After showering and dressing in a crisp black shirt and slacks, he made his way into the living room, where Mira was waiting with Akari at her feet, she offered a warm smile, though concern flickered in her eyes.. However, Akari— oddly enough, wasn’t as thrilled to see Ren when she had become his shadow ever since they’d adopted her, growling when he held out his hand for her to sniff. “Akari!” Mira scolded, the dog’s ears remaining perked. “It’s a new cologne, probably what set her off..” Ren grumbled, a bit offended his dog growled at him. “Ready to meet Shindo?” Mira aaked, clasping her hands in her lap.. Ren only nodded, adjusting his sunglasses. “Let’s get this over with.” He replied, leaving Mira to go round up Madison.
When they arrived, the granduer of the building was enough to briefly pull him out of his haze, Shindo’s office was immaculate, sleek and modern, carrying an energy of power and influence that left Ren semi-confident he’d chosen the right guy, though he could only hope the lawyer’s skills matched the reputation. As the trio waited for the appointment, his phone buzzed in his pocket, he furrowed a brow, unsure who would be reaching out, he pulled it out to find a text from an unknown number.
Have you been seeing anything strange?
Ren felt his blood run cold, his heart lumping in his throat, he glanced around the room, his paranoia spiking. The nightmare, the black muck, Madison’s watchful eyes— all of it rushed back from that very text. “Ren?” Mira pried, running a hand across his arm. “You okay?” She asked softly, Ren forced a nod, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Yeah, fine.” Ren stated in a monotone voice.
“He’s ready.” The voice of a receptionist chirped, the trio stepping into Shindo’s office, despite the reassurance of a lawyer with a reputation of Shindo’s, Ren couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Notes:
thanks so much for 40 hits :) omg the things i would do for fanart of this fic
Chapter 5: the court of jackals
Summary:
Piloting a rogue robot doesn’t come without consequences, Ren Serizawa, somewhat of a nepo baby, learns that the hard way.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Shindo’s office was exactly what Ren had walked in expecting— a shrine dedicated solely to ego, wealth, and influence. The walls were adorned with polished mahogany bookshelves, each shelf meticulously arranged with legal tomes and decorative artifacts meant to impress, the centerpiece, however— consisted of a framed photo of Shindo himself, shaking hands with Japan’s former prime minister, his grin as wide and smug as a cat that had just swallowed the canary. At Shindo’s gesture, Ren took a seat in the leather chair across from his oversized desk, his sunglasses firmly in place despite the dim lighting. Mira, his anchor by this point, sat beside him, her fingers curled tensely against the fabric of her slacks. Madison, on the farthest chair, had her phone face down resting on her thigh, it didn’t take an idiot to see she was recording, adamant Ren was hiding something the way she was staring him down as if she was expecting him to sprout a second head. Shindo leaned back in his chair, hands steepled beneath his chin, eyes gleaming with calculated interest, he was a man who had seen the worst of humanity and somehow managed to profit from it, just like Simmons. “So,” He began, voice smooth, polished like a politician's, but they do say one begins to talk like the people they surround themselves with. “I have defended corrupt CEOs, disgraced politicians who got their sticky fingers in some hush money, and actors who don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves— but I must admit, Mr. Serizawa, you’re a first.” Shindo deadpanned, causing Ren’s jaw to clench. “A first?” He asked, raising a brow.. Shindo only gestured vaguely, his expression some middle ground between amusement and challenge. “Oh, you know, Most of my clients have only ruined their own lives.. You? Four thousand people in Hong Kong.. That’s… Unprecedented.” Shindo trailed off, clasping his hands together, causing Mira to exhale sharply, crossing her arms. “Some lawyer you are.. You’re supposed to be on his side.” Mira pointed out, Shindo only grinned in response. “And I am, Mrs. Serizawa, that’s why I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve.. Your husband is, to put it mildly, public enemy number one.” Shindo stated the blatantly obvious, already unclasping his hands to tap his fingers against his desk, clearly enjoying the tension in the room. “But, that also means this case will define my career. The courts, the media, the government— they’ll all be watching, and trust me, I love an audience because I know how to keep the curtains from ever closing.” Shindo insisted, leaving Ren to fight the urge to slam his fist on the desk while watching Shindo treat his free will like a game of monopoly. “Do you think I actually stand a chance?” Ren demanded, his gaze narrowing, Shindo only tilted his head as if weighing both the possibilities and probabilities. “You’re not getting out of this clean, that much is certain.. Japan’s courts don’t operate on theatrics like the U.S. You’re guilty until, well.. Proven less guilty.” Shindo stated, his gaze drifting to Madison to ensure she was hearing it for her little law project while he leaned forward, his grin sharpening. “Rest assured, I'm damn good at my job.. I risked my life to keep the former prime minister’s daughters safe during the 2019 attack, and earned my reputation amongst the elites for that one.” Shindo boasted, gesturing to the framed photo. “If I can protect politicians, I can protect you.” Shindo ensured, contradicting himself as he’d just said he wasn’t sure if he could ensure Ren’s freedom.
Ren hated him instantly, thinking of Shindo the way he thought of Simmons as they were pretty much the same archetype: chattering baboons.
Madison, however, was taking mental notes. If Shindo was as good as he claimed, this trial would be long, and she would have plenty of time to watch Ren— really watch him. She still hadn’t forgotten the other night, the way his eye glowed, the way he had glared at her with something that was most certainly not human.
Shindo didn’t spare Madison’s train of thought, continuing. “The process will be slow.. You’ll first appear before a summary court, they’ll determine whether this proceeds to a full trial. Given the severity of your case? There’s no question whether it will proceed, it will. From there, we move to district court where we’ll face a panel of professional judges and lay judges.. They don’t care about sympathy, so save the ‘daddy didn’t care about me’ sob stories because they care about evidence.” Shindo trailed off, seamlessly slipping into his pitch, his gaze flickering with interest. “Which, honestly, is in your favor.. I was hoping you’d come to me, I've been intrigued with the Hong Kong incident pretty much ever since it aired. There’s a lot of missing information regarding your involvement in Mechagodzilla’s rampage, that’s where I come in.” Shindo added, Ren rolled his eye when Shindo mentioned his father, but exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay composed. “So what now?” Ren pondered, Shindo smirked as if he’d been waiting for that question. “Now? We are going to make our first appearance.” Shindo dictated, standing up and straightening his tailored suit.
The summary court building loomed before them, its modern architecture cold and imposing. A crowd had already gathered outside, a sea of reporters and onlookers eager to witness the disgraced son of Ishirō Serizawa step into the flames. “Y’know, you’re trending number four on Twitter, be glad you aren’t overweight otherwise the public opinion would be way different.” Shindo snarked, nudging Ren’s elbow.. Ren’s stomach twisted as he stepped out of the car, Shindo leading the way with a confident stride that insisted he’d done this dance many times before, the moment Ren set foot on the pavement, the flash of cameras blinded his one good eye, the world exploding in sound.
“Ren Serizawa! Do you have any remorse for what happened in Hong Kong?”
“Are you pleading guilty?”
“Do you blame Monarch for your involvement in Mechagodzilla?”
Ren’s pulse pounded in his ears, each question clawing at him like vultures picking apart a carcass. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms while Simmons’ media advice replayed over and over again in his head: “Find your good angles and deny, deny, deny, don’t be afraid to blame others.” Though it wasn’t much help right now, he had expected the humiliation, but the sheer force of it— the way they gutted him with their words was unbearable.. Beside him, Shindo smiled and waved for the cameras, a master at playing the game. “Mr. Serizawa has no comment this time,” He sneered smoothly, it was like Simmons had never died. “Rest assured, justice will be served.” Shindo promised, raising a hand to silence the reporters. Ren had barely heard him, his eye daring to dart through the crowd, avoiding eye contact with any of the reporters, past the blinding flashes, past the microphones shoved in his face, he wasn’t sure what he was looking for— until he saw it.
A figure in the distance.
A man standing perfectly still, an anomaly amidst the chaos, his gaze boring past Ren’s physical appearance and directly into his soul. He wore a dark coat, his face shadowed by the brim of a hat, but it wasn’t the clothing that set Ren’s nerve ablaze— it was the eyes.
Glowing yellow, just as all the previous figures that had tormented him were.
Ren’s breath hitched, the world around him seeming to distort, the flashes of cameras stuttering like a flickering film reel. The man’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smirk. And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone. “Ren?” Mira’s voice broke through the static, gripping his arm with concern etched into her face. “Are you okay?” She gently pried, Ren swallowed hard, forcing a nod while he pulled away without any real malice, concerned for Mira’s career if she were seen with him. “Golden.” He attempted to quip despite his dry sense of humor, but as they entered the courthouse, his mind was spinning.
If Ren had to describe the courtroom in one word, it’d be suffocating.
Don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t the size— modern, sleek, with pristine white walls and rows of polished wooden benches. It wasn’t even the crowd, though Ren could feel their eyes drilling into his back, some with detached curiosity, others with barely concealed contempt.. No, the suffocation came from something unseen, a heavy presence pressing against his chest, coiling in the pit of his stomach like something alive.. Ren sat rigid at the defendants table, flanked by Shindo on one side and an uncharacteristically tense Mira on the other, Madison sat behind them, jotting notes down, looking deceptively casual but watching everything.. Ren knew she was waiting for something, he knew she thought she was Nancy Drew with the way she’d waltzed into Apex alongside her two bowling balls, she was waiting for a slip, a crack in the facade that could prove whatever the hell she suspected. The presiding judge, an older man with deep-set eyes and graying hair, called the session to order with a slam of his hammer.. His voice was level, experienced but carried something in it that sent a prickle down Ren’s spine— detached authority, the tone of someone who had already decided his fate.
Shindo was the first one to rise, the look behind his eyes ensuring a convincing performance had already unfolded in his mind, his smooth voice carried through the room, each syllable carefully crafted to sway, to deflect, to plant doubts in the judges’ minds. “Your Honors, we do not deny the tragedy of Hong Kong.. The destruction, the loss— those are undeniable, and our hearts go out to the families of first responders working and those who lost a loved one in the midst of the tragedy,” Shindo began, it didn’t take a genius to see he was buttering up the judges, folding his hands before him in a gesture of solemnity. “But what we must ask ourselves today is: Who holds the true responsibility?” Shindo pressed, causing Ren to shift uncomfortably, he’d heard this speech before, through emails, in whispered strategy meetings, in late-night discussions when Shindo had laid out his plan piece by piece, but hearing it spoken aloud, in the patronizing air of the courtroom felt surrell. Shindo gestured toward Ren, his expression shifting to one of trained yet measured sympathy. “My client was not the mastermind behind Mechagodzilla, he was the chief technology officer at the time, a pilot under the influence of forces beyond his control—” Shindo began to say, Ren didn’t bother pointing out the flaws in his statement, Ren was the mastermind behind Mechagodzilla; inventing the neurolink helmet, turning Ghidorah’s skull into an organic supercomputer, several of his engineering notes showed he had been the one to propose this project and willingly volunteer to pilot just so he could punch Godzilla in the face..
Ren stiffened as he replayed what Shindo had said, the phrase “Forces beyond his control.” ringing in his head like a bell, hollow and mocking.
The prosecutor, a woman in her early forties with sharp features and an unshakeable presence, leaned forward, her voice precise, capable of cutting through steel. “Beyond his control, Mr. Shindo?” She repeated, her eyebrow arching. “Are you suggesting that Mr. Serizawa here had no agency in his actions? That he— what, blacked out and woke up with 4,000 bodies in his wake?” She pressed, she and Shindo went back and forth, but Ren couldn’t properly register it, feeling a splintering headache coming on.. And then,
A flash of yellow.
Ren blinked, the judge’s desk blurred for a fraction of a second, the grain of the wood twisting into something darker, the shadows beneath it stretching unnaturally. The prosecutor’s voice distorted for the briefest moment, a reverberating hum beneath her words, causing Ren’s stomach to turn. Shindo remained unphased, letting out a smooth chuckle as his lack of reaction silently confirmed Ren was alone in what he just witnessed. “I would never insult the court’s intelligence with something so simplistic, but we must acknowledge the truth— Apex Cybernetics was experimenting with something beyond even their understanding, these news reports with sources from Monarch suggest such.” Shindo argued, his attempts fruitless as the prosecutor remained unmoved. “And yet, your client volunteered to be apart of it.” She sneered in an almost condescending, matter-of-factly tone.
This left the air in the courtroom feeling heavy.
Ren swallowed hard, he was supposed to remain silent— let Shindo handle it, that was the established plan, but the weight of the moment pressed against his ribs like a vice. “My father trusted Monarch.” Ren suddenly muttered, his voice quiet but firm, the room fell stil, much to the ease of his nerves. His hands curled against the wooden table, nails pressing into the surface, regretting opening his mouth almost instantly. “He believed Titans were part of the natural order, but what about the people caught in the middle? What about the ones who die because nature decides they don’t belong?” Ren pressed, the words spilling out like word vomit, he tensed up when a series of mutters rippled through the crowd, Mira’s fingers just as tense on against her lap. “I sided with Apex because I thought humans should be the ones in control, but I see now it ultimately doesn’t matter who’s holding the leash,” Ren continued, his voice lower now. “Titans are animals, they can’t possibly care, corporations don’t care, governments only care when they have to clean up the bodies.” Ren trailed off, causing Shindo to tilt his head slightly, as if considering whether or not this unscripted moment worked in their favor.. However, the prosecutor was far from convinced, tapping her pen against the desk. “And yet, you still slid into that cockpit, knowing exactly what Mechagodzilla was capable of.” She pressed, causing Ren’s jaw to tighten and him to fall silent.
A sound that wouldn’t belong to the setting of a courtroom— a static hum pressed in his ears, the lights overhead flickered, the air growing colder. Ren’s breath hitched in his throat as something slithered at the edge of his mind, an unknown presence that had somehow become familiar, coiling, grinning, waiting.. And then, just for an instant, the courtroom was gone.
He was back in the cockpit, feeling his full vision return, though he was not thrilled, he wasn’t supposed to be here.. The metal cold sat beneath his fingertips, the glow of the wires casting a pretty purple hue across his face, he sat inside Ghidorah’s towering skull, wires threaded through its hollow sockets, the false king of the monsters reduced to a puppet in Apex’s grand illusion.
The whispers.
“You were never meant to control us, it is pitiful to watch you give it your best shot to mimic our song.”
The sensation of being drowned in another mind, horrible alien thoughts that weren’t his own flooding through him, warping reality—
Ren’s breath came in short gasps as the vision? Hallucination? Snapped away, the courtroom settled back into focus while his brain pounded against his skull. Shindo was already speaking again, smoothing over the moment with effortless charm and charisma. “Your Honors, my client is not a monster, he is a man who made a choice in extraordinary circumstances— one that, like so many others before him, he now has to live with.” Shindo explained, so much for telling Ren not to tell a sob story as logos worked over pathos here, here Shindo was.. However, it worked like a charm as the judge slowly nodded, taking notes before finally looking up. “Given the severity of the case, this will proceed to the district court.” The judge concluded, it wasn’t unexpected as Shindo had predicted this exact outcome, but it still felt like a lead weight dropping into Ren’s stomach.
The crowd outside was worse than before.
Ren stepped out of the courthouse, pressing his sunglasses to his face and keeping his gaze locked on his shoes, doing his best to ignore the flashing cameras like a thousand tiny explosions in his periphery. Reporters shouted over each other, their voices colliding into an incoherent blob. Shindo basked in the attention, offering vague reassurances and well-crafted soundbites, while Mira kept a protective hand on Ren’s arm.. Ren had barely registered it, his mind still in the back of the courtroom, in that moment of disorientation, of slipping. He exhaled sharply, trying to recollect himself, but then, he saw him.. The same man from before, lingering idly at the edge of the crowd, his face obscured by the shadow of his hat. Watching, waiting, causing Ren’s stomach to churn, his heart rising to his throat as if he could yack it up. The man only lifted his hand, his fingers forming something subtle— two fingers pointing to his own eyes, then turning outward.
“I see you!” He sneered in a cheerful voice that didn’t remotely match his stoic expression.. Ren’s blood ran cold, and for the first time since waking from his coma, he felt something far worse than guilt, he felt hunted.
Notes:
51 hits omggg 😭 i live in america so im not sure how courts in japan work, i did brief research and i can only hope i wasnt far off.
Chapter 6: blast from the past
Summary:
Forced to confront old faces and old actions, Ren concludes something latched onto him when he received a feedback loop in 2024.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The whiskey in Shindo’s glass swirled lazily, ice clinking as he leaned back in the dimly lit bar.. It had been his treat, a congratulations for Ren’s performance in the courtroom. The neon glow from the street outside painted the window in streaks of blue and red, Tokyo’s nightlife humming just beyond the glass. Ren sat across from him, his own drink untouched, fingers lightly tapping against the tabletop. The events that played out in the courtroom still lingered in his mind, the flashing cameras, the pressure in his skull, the man in the crowd.
Shindo exhaled, a small smirk tugging at the center of his lips, that was never good news. “You’ll love this one, Serizawa. The district court hearing? It’s happening sooner than expected.” Shindo stated, Ren’s eye flicked up from his glass. “How soon?” He dared to ask, Shindo took a slow sip to create suspense before setting the cup down with a dull clunk. “Next week, the 12th.” Shindo replied, causing Ren’s grip to tighten around the glass, though it didn’t phase Shindo. “The Chinese government is breathing down Japan’s neck.” Shindo continued, his tone annoyingly casual. “They want you locked away with the key thrown out yesterday, your involvement in Hong Kong? It’s political dynamite. China wants to see justice— or rather, vengeance.” Shindo deadpanned, Ren leaned back in the booth, exhaling sharply. “Great.” He grumbled under his breath, “Not so great.” Shindo corrected as if he couldn’t sense Ren’s sarcasm. “It means we don’t have much time to control the narrative, meaning you need to look good. No more dead-eyed stares, no more disappearing into your own head mid-conversation, the media will eat that for lunch.” Shindo remarked, Ren could only scoff. “So I'm supposed to act like I didn’t pilot a death machine?” He pried with a raised brow, it didn’t go against his morals, he just wasn’t sure how they could pull that off. “Exactly, and maybe— just maybe, we can convince a judge that you were just a poor, misguided engineer caught in Apex’s grand web, and hey, we can always say Simmons blackmailed you, the dead can’t correct us.” Shindo sneered with a grin, downing the rest of the whiskey and leaning forward. “But, let’s face it, Serizawa. This trial isn’t about guilt or innocence, it’s about who loses face first— you, or Japan.” Shindo urged, Ren dragged a hand down his face, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. “I should get home.” Ren grumbled, climbing out of the booth. “Yeah, you look like you need your beauty sleep.” Shindo remarked, Ren shot him a glare but said nothing, placing a hand on his shoulder as he made his exit.
Mira had always loved beauty stores, the sterile scent of fresh skincare, the rows of neatly arranged serums, the soft hum of pop music overheard. It was a ritual, something she did to unwind, but today, she wasn’t alone. Madison stood beside her, pretending to be interested in the shelves but clearly distracted. “Alright..” Mira began while examining a moisturizer, “Spit it out.” She playfully pried, flashing the younger woman a grin. “It’s about.. Ren.” Madison muttered cautiously, Mira raised an eyebrow but didn’t look away from the product in her hands. “What about him?” She gently asked, sensing the hesitancy in Maddie’s tone, who only chewed the inside of her cheek. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think he’s possessed..” Madison declared, Mira froze for a beat before settling the bottle down. “I’m sorry, what?” She asked, turning to meet her companions' gaze. “I’m serious!” Madison insisted, “Bernie thinks so too!” She added, causing Mira to pinch the bridge of her nose, Ren had kept her posted about the likes of this Bernie, some guy who thought he was so sneaky but in reality was too fat to fit in any of the top secret rooms. “Oh God..” Mira groaned, rubbing her temples. “Bernie? You brought Bernie Hayes into this mess?” Mira grumbled.
“I heard my name!” A voice declared, earning glares from the other customers.. Mira whirled around, and surely enough, Bernie Hayes stood in the middle of the store, looking comically out of place among the pastel-colored shelves. He was wearing a frumpy hoodie, dark sunglasses, and a tinfoil charm hung from his wrist like it was some holy artifact.. Mira let out a sigh, looking skyward as if seeking out divine presence, Bernie only stepped closer, dropping his voice to a confrontial whisper. “Listen, I've been tracking Serizawa junior since he woke up, strange patterns, erratic behavior, and let’s talk about the eye thing. The dude’s got Ghidorah energy, I'm telling you!” Bernie pressed, Mira only crossed her arms in response. “Ren’s always been quiet, standoffish, he doesn’t like company, he hates crowds, not exactly friendly, but you’re really going to sit here and tell me my husband is possessed by the same Titan that almost destroyed the world?” Mira deadpanned, though Madison stood firm. “I saw it, his eye glowed, not like a reflection— it glowed.” She insisted, Mira exhaled sharply. “I’ve known Ren since 2006, before you were even born, if there were something wrong with him, i’d be the first to notice.” Mira explained, Bernie sighed dramatically, clearly expecting her to be on board. “You say that, but what if—” Bernie began to say, “No.” Mira sternly interrupted, voice firm. “I get it, you two think you’re uncovering the next big conspiracy, but you don’t know him like I do, I'd much rather the two of you stay out of it or at least wait until his name is cleared before making a podcast episode about him.” Mira grumbled, her gaze landing on Bernie when she mentioned podcasts, Bernie opened his big mouth once more, but Mira grabbed her bag and turned toward the exit. “Come on, Maddie, we’re leaving.” She declared, grabbing her bag and turning toward the exit, Madison watched her go before reluctantly trotting after her, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
Back at the residence, it was worth noting Ren liked cleaning.
Akari, on the other hand, didn’t seem pleased about having to move from her spot every five seconds so Ren could vacuum, she trotted around the house, sniffing at the piles of laundry Ren had started to sort. The room smelled faintly of citrus cleaner, the soft yet unpredictable sounds of Tokyo’s nightlife buzzing just outside the window. He was folding a stack of clothes when something caught his eye.
A journal sat on the ground, a journal that he knew for a fact didn’t belong to him.
It was his father’s journal, the one he’d left Mark with, containing everything one needed to know about Godzilla.
Ren's fingers trembled as he touched the cover, the cover old and run down. This was where Ishirō Serizawa had jotted every last thing down, a documentation of sorts. He didn’t have much time to react nor rationalize the finding before the lights flickered, Akari whimpered, Ren turned sharply, his pulse hammering.
At the end of the hallway stood a figure.
His father— or what was left of him.. His skin was blackened, charred, his body still dripping with seawater that carried the miasma of rot, his eyes— god— were hollow sockets, scorched into the gaze of judgment and disapproval he always looked at Ren with.. Before he had much time, the figure moved— fast.
Ren stumbled backward, breath caught in his throat as Ishirō lunged. His hands— burnt, skeletal reached out, his face a twisted look of peace, the look of peace he wore when he died.
Ren’s fight or flight kicked in and he bolted, dashing down the hallway, he reached for the front door, yanking it open— and crashed straight into Mira and Madison, Mira let out a yelp as Ren staggered backward, chest heaving. She gazed behind him, eyes wide. “Ren— what the hell is going on?” She gently demanded, Ren didn’t answer as he didn’t quite know either, his grip tightened around the vase he hadn’t even realized he was holding, on instinct, Mira grabbed one too. They stood there, frozen, awkwardly holding vases like weapons, there was nothing but silence. Ren finally exhaled, setting his vase down, turning to scan the house.. There was nothing, no charred remains, no phantom father, just the hum of the heater, the confused gaze of his wife, and the ‘I told you so’ gaze on Madison, though Ren's heart was still racing. “..What the fuck?” He whispered, Mira, still clutching the vase, gave him a wary look. “Ren, what happened?” She pressed, Ren didn’t answer, instead, he moved toward her— fast, pulling her into a sudden, almost desperate embrace. Mira stiffened, caught off guard as Ren wasn’t affectionate. “…Okay.” She muttered hesitantly, “Now I know something’s wrong, what’s going on with you?” She asked, gazing at him, Ren just held her tighter.
Madison, watching from the doorway, frowned. Something wasn’t right— that much was obvious.. After a long moment, Mira sighed, brushing a hand through Ren’s hair. “You’re starting to scare me a little.” She scolded, Ren pulled back, his trembling fingers tracing her cheeks before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.” He stammered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Mira blinked in confusion, “Yeah, I love you too, why are you being weird?” She teased, Ren didn’t have an answer. “..Let’s just go lay down.” Mira suggested, filling in the gap for him. “You need rest.” She added, Ren nodded, taking her hand and leaving Madison alone save for the likes of Akari, the flickering light casting shadows that didn’t feel entirely natural.
Ren had a hard time going to sleep after his nightmare last night, but when he finally allowed his drowsiness to overtake him, he awoke to discover he was strapped in.
The cockpit of Mechagodzilla was dark, claustrophobic, the stale air thick with static and sweat. The screens around him flickered, warning symbols flashing red as power surged beyond capacity. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything except convulse as raw, unrelenting electricity and millions of years of rage tore through his body.
Pain, white-hot, consuming, vast, endless pain.
His spine arched against the chair, muscles spasming, his fingers twitching uselessly over the controls, he could hear himself choking on his own breath, the searing pain flooding through every nerve ending as the psionic uplink shattered. The sound— the inhuman sound— of Mechagodzilla’s roar echoed through the Apex facility, the distorted wall of something ancient and angry, something that had finally been giving a body— claws and teeth to call its own after being trapped in its own head.
Then, it stopped.. But, Ren didn’t move, his head slumped as if he had passed out, because he wasn’t in control anymore. His vision sharpened unnaturally, the once-blurred lights of the cockpit now crisp and piercing. The red warning flashes slowed, their pulsing rhythm strangely hypnotic. He felt himself exhale— not in relief, but in something disturbingly close to amusement.
Next, his hands released the controls, his body moved, calm and composed despite the chaos surging around him, the pain was gone, the paralysis was gone, he could move!..
No, don’t get ahead of yourself, Puppet.
They could move.
From somewhere in the hollowed-out shell of his consciousness, Ren watched, horrified, as his own body stood up, stretching as though waking up from a pleasant nap. His limbs felt weightless, fluid, the heavy hum of the Apex facility filled his ears, but it was drowned by something else.. Laughter, the sinister, low and rumbling at first, then sharp and clipped, like the sound of static. “Haaaah.” A voice purred, it sounded like his own English, carrying a heavy Japanese accent, but there was also a very present demonic edge as it rolled the syllable around as if tasting it. “Now this is interesting.” The voice sneered, his head tilted slightly, fingers flexing as if testing their strength. “Finally,” another voice, raspier, angrier. “I was getting real sick of waiting for that idiot to fry, it’s been too long since I've slit someone's throat.” The second voice hissed, a smooth, theatrical chuckle following. “Patience, dear Ni, you know as well as I do that our fool of a younger sibling lacks discipline. And predictably, he overestimated himself.” The one who called himself Ichi snarked, Ren felt his own lips curl into a smirk. “This.. Is unnatural.” Ichi commented, flexing Ren’s fingers yet again. “Limited, fragile, yet a curiosity nonetheless.” Ichi described, “Who gives a shit?” The second voice— Ni growled, rolling Ren’s shoulders with jerky movements. “We can walk, we can fight, that’s all that matters.” Ichi pointed out, Ren wanted to scream, to do something, but he was trapped, a prisoner in his own flesh, reduced to nothing more than a spectator in his own nightmare.
They waltzed out of the cockpit with eerie ease, not a single tremor or misstep betraying the fact that Ren’s body should have been electrocuted to death just now. The Apex facility was in chaos around them— alarms blaring, personnel running in frantic, unorderly, scattered patterns.. And Mechagodzilla— now fully under San’s strings, was on a rampage. Ni snorted, rolling Ren’s neck with an audible crack. “San’s making a mess of things, he’s going to lose.” Ni grumbled, Ichi sighed, exasperated. “Yes, dear brother, I had gathered as much, it appears that even with the machine's raw strength, San lacks the strategy necessary to make this victory last, I'm positive he’s having the time of his life firing jabs at the lizard.” Ichi grumbled, tilting Ren’s head to watch a panicked technician watch them, papers flying out from underneath their arm as a desperate attempt to salvage their notes.. Ichi only hummed in thought, unphased. “Had I been given control, I would have ensured this metal beast was truly unstoppable.” Ichi remarked, Ni snarled in response. “If I was in control, we wouldn’t need the tin can in the first place, I'd have ripped that overgrown lizard apart myself.” Ni vowed, Ichi barked a laugh. “Would you, now?” Ichi mused, a smirk playing at Ren’s lips. “With what body, Ni? This one?” Ichi snarked, he lifted one of Ren’s arms, wiggling the fingers mockingly. “So delicate.. So.. Breakable.” Ichi pointed out, Ni growled but didn’t argue.
They rounded a corner, the Apex facility trembling as Mechagodzilla’s battle raged just outside.. Then, Ren’s foot hit the first step of a staircase he had walked up and down countless times, and they nearly ate shit. Ren had never felt anything quite as bizarre as watching his own body almost tumble headfirst down a flight of stairs, only for Ichi to scramble for balance at the last second.. This left an awkward pause in the air, the both of them too prideful to admit their mistake. “..I hate this form.” Ni muttered, finally breaking the silence while Ichi cleared his throat. “Noted.” He grumbled, they continued onward, regaining their composure as they stepped outside into the chaos of Hong Kong. The city was a ruin, skyscrapers torn apart, the streets littered with debris and burning wreckage.. Both Ichi and Ni took a moment to admire San’s handiwork, but then—
Mechagodzilla fell.. Godzilla and Kong, their combined strength overwhelming, had torn the machine apart, reducing it to nothing more than scrap metal.. As for Ren’s body— no longer controlled— collapsed forward like a puppet with its strings cut, the world spun, concrete rushed up to meet him.. And for the first time since this nightmare began, Ren finally blacked out.
“Hey! I got a live one!”
Ren’s eyelids fluttered open to blinding fluorescent lights, his skull felt like it had been crushed in a vice, his muscles unresponsive.. He could only hear the voices just enough to register they were distant and panicked.
“He’s Apex personnel.”
“He’s alive? After all that?”
A Monarch agent loomed over him, their features blurred. Ren tried to speak, but his throat was raw, his voice nothing more than a croaked whisper. “..Where..?” Ren somebow found the strength to stammer, the agent exhaled sharply, lifting their radio. “We got Serizawa.” The agent stated in a tone Ren didn’t have the energy to register what kind of tone it was, his mind swimming, the edges of his vision darkening again.. But just before unconsciousness took him, he swore he heard something— a low chuckle, deep in the recesses of his own mind.. And three sets of golden eyes glowing in the dark.
Ren woke up with a jolt, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the city peeking in through the curtains. His skin was damp with sweat, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape, he had the eerie feeling something else was trying to escape, too. He slowly sat up, running a shaky hand through his hair, trying to steady himself. “Ren?” a soft, groggy voice— Mira’s voice asked, he turned to see her propping herself up on one elbow, concern flickering in her tired eyes. “Are you okay?” She gently pried, Ren swallowed, forcing himself to nod. “Yeah, just a dream.” He muttered reassuringly, more to himself than Mira.. Mira studied him for a moment before sighing, back laying down while Ren exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling in a daze before shifting onto his side to face her. “I’m sorry.” Ren began, Mira blinked, surprised. “For what?” Mira pondered, “For all of it.” Ren whispered. “For dragging you into this mess, for disappearing for three years.. For—” He paused, hesitating, his throat tightening. “For being the kind of bitter person who destroys everything out of jealousy.” Ren trailed off, glancing at Mira, whom frowned. “Ren—” She began to say, but he cut her off. “I don’t know why I do it,” Ren cut in, his voice barely above a whisper this time around. “Why I cave, why I make the wrong choices.. I.. I think something attached itself to me when I got that feedback loop right before I blacked out.” Ren admitted, his voice trembling.
The silence stretched between them until Mira muttered something under her breath, Ren barely caught it. “It’s because you’re a horrible person, you knew what Mechagodzilla was capable of, you hesitated before you got back in that chair, you shouldn’t have caved to Simmons’ demands, but you did..” She murmured, causing Ren’s breath to hitch, he dared to turn to look at her, his blood running cold..
She was fast asleep, her chest rose and fell in a steady, consistent rhythm, her features soft and peaceful. Ren’s stomach twisted, his pulse a sickening throb in his ears, he reached out cautiously, shaking her shoulder. “Mira?” He muttered, her eyes fluttering open.. Glowing yellow. Ren yanked his hand back like he had just touched a hot stove, his breath came in ragged gasps, his entire body tensing as she slowly turned her head, her glowing gaze locking onto him.. His throat went dry, then..
Ren’s eye snapped open again, and he was no longer in bed, he was standing in the kitchen like an idiot.. The sound of a mug being set down on the counter made him turn sharply, Mira was standing by the sink, stirring her coffee, “Look who’s awake.” Mira playfully declared, though she didn’t look up. Ren’s skin crawled, his fingers curled into fists as he took a slow, shaky breath. “..Mira?” He muttered, she finally turned to him, raising an eyebrow, meeting her gaze to see her eyes were still a pretty brown eased his nerves, though not nearly enough, his mouth still felt dry. “Nothing.” He muttered, rubbing his temples. “What time is it?” Ren dared to ask, Mira glanced at the clock. “Late. I let you sleep in.” Mira replied, Ren only frowned in response. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Ren questioned, Mira shrugged. “Oh, I thought I wasn’t your mother.” She quipped, referring back to what he said at the hotel. “Kidding, you looked peaceful, figured you needed it.” Mira replied, sipping her coffee.
..Peaceful, the term began to feel foreign in his ears with how hectic things had been.. Regardless, Ren went ahead and sat down at the table. “I’ve got to meet with Shindo again today, can you come with me? I don’t want to deal with him alone.” Ren asked, Mira let out a chuckle. “Nope, good thing you have Madison!” She replied, popping the ‘p.’ Ren did not find this amusing, glancing up at her. “Why?” He asked, raising a brow. “My friend's baby shower, I promised I'd be there.” Mira explained, Ren frowned in response. “Yes, Ren, I made a commitment.” Mira stated, shooting him a look. The words hit harder than they should have, “I made a commitment.” Like hadn’t, like he had always been someone who abandoned people. Ren exhaled sharply, looking away. “Fair enough.” Ren replied, Mira’s expression softened, stepping forward and pressing a kiss on the top of his head. “You’ll be okay.” She chirped reassuringly, Ren didn’t answer.
Notes:
thanks so much for 60+ hits :) remember to comment and leave kudos!
Chapter 7: a titan in humans clothing
Summary:
A series of mysterious texts plague Ren’s phone as he tries to clear his name.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The steady brightness of the fluorescent lights overhead did little to quiet the unease gnawing at the edges of Ren’s mind. The office-turned-lab was tucked away in one of the spare rooms, a callback to when he had still believed in structure, in the pursuit of knowledge rather than destruction. The sleek countertops had been left untouched, cluttered with various pieces of equipment— oscilloscopes, soldering irons, modified transceivers— all remnants of a man who had made the mistake of putting his life on the line so humanity could emerge victorious, just for humanity to label him a terrorist and a war criminal. The air only faintly smelt of metal and circuity despite its three years of vacancy, a scent that once helped Ren focus, but now it felt like a mockery just as everything else had become. Ren sat at his workstation, fingers tapping absently against the desk as his singular eye, finally not concealed by sunglasses darted over the scattered notes. He had nothing substantial from Apex, no classified files, no schematics detailing what exactly had gone wrong that day, though Ren could make an educated guess and say it had everything to do with the hollow earth energy source lacking proper testing, the very thing Ren warned Simmons about.
A sharp exhale left his lips, pressing his hands into the desk as a wave of nausea rippled through him. He was certain now— something had latched onto him when the feedback loop fried his nervous system, something that wasn’t just residual psionic energy, something that had stayed. Ren’s fingers flexed, and for a moment, he thought about the dream he had last night, the way his body moved that day— how he had gotten up from the cockpit without hesitation, without pain, how They had walked him out of Apex like he had never been electrocuted at all. His hands curled into fists, concluding he needed answers, not from Monarch, not from Apex, but from whatever the hell had latched onto him.
Ren didn’t know how long he’d worked tirelessly on the crude, but functional device, it was a modified transceiver— somewhat akin to the neural uplink Apex had used to control Mechagodzilla, but on a much smaller scale. Ren adjusted the frequency, watching as the dials flickered erratically. He set the device on the desk, its metal frame gleaming under the harsh light. Then, he felt a wave of caution wash over him, the same feeling he’d felt when he got ahead of himself with Mechagodzilla and the feeling prompted him to try to warn Simmons of the effects..
A tightness curled in his chest, something that felt dangerously close to fear, he didn’t have this second chance to fly too close to the sun yet again, he was a scientist, a rational man, he had spent his entire life trying to both understand and achieve the impossible, to quantify the things that others dismissed as myths.. But this? This was madness. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.. Ren exhaled shakily and pressed the switch. A low hum filled the air, the transceiver flickering to life. The screen displayed erratic waveforms, the static crackling through the speakers like distant whispers.. Then, a voice.. Faint. Distorted.
“We see you.” The voice rasped, Ren’s heart caught in his throat, pounding so violently he thought he might just puke it up. The waveform spiked, the static warping into something more coherent, a layered voice overlapping itself, familiar, wrong, impossible. “You finally wish to speak?” The voice pressed, Ren swallowed hard, his hands trembling. The laughter that followed was far from human, it wasn’t even one voice, it was three, distinct yet intertwined, vibrating through the air like an open wound in reality. “We suppose you’re well aware of who we are.” The voice continued, the lights flickering as Ren’s pulse thundered in his ears, forcing himself to steady his breathing as he gripped the edge of the desk. “Why me?” Ren asked, the response that followed was almost mocking. “Because you let us in.” The voice snarked.
Images flashed in his mind— golden eyes, electricity searing through his body, the feeling of his own limbs moving without him.. It dawned on him that he had never escaped that cockpit, not really. His stomach twisted, his mind screaming at him to turn off the device before he accidentally opened Pandora's box with the device, to stop. But then, beneath the voices, something else crackled through the electricity, a different signature, something colder, distant— yet eerily familiar in a way that made Ren tense up.
A language he didn’t understand, a single phrase— hidden within the static, a name..
The Xiliens.
The transciever’s hum still lingered in Ren’s ears, even after he’d switched it off, the words— we see you, you let us in, the Xiliens looped through his mind like a broken transmission, his pulse still hammering against his ribs. The universe couldn’t even give him the grace of just a second to process it, a sharp knock on the door making him jolt as a part of him thought death itself had finally come knocking on his door. He moved quickly, shoving the device under a stack of old schematics just as Madison’s voice filtered through the door. “Hey! You ready to go, or are you trying to get out of this?” She pried, Ren took a slow breath, trying to compose himself, the air in the room felt thick, like something unseen was still lingering. He shook it off, forcing his hands to steady as he yanked the door open. Madison raised an eyebrow, “You look like you saw a ghost.” She deadpanned, Ren shoved past her and grabbed his carkeys, he remembered the day he first laid eyes on Godzilla; when he thought to himself he didn’t believe in ghosts but rather consequences the dead left behind, but now he thought somewhat differently. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Ren deadpanned, the mere thought of Godzilla piled on top of everything else going on had soured his mood as he still hated the lizard more than anything after he robbed his chances of reconciling with his father, but he didn’t have time to dwell on such right now.
The car ride to Shindo’s office was uncomfortable. In addition to getting used to driving again after being in a coma for three years, Ren used to cherish the silence of the road and allowing his mind to wander while driving, but now? He could feel Madison watching him, the soft glow of her phone catching in his peripheral vision every so often. “Why are you recording me?” Ren grumbled, knowing any attempts at asking her to stop would be fruitless. “It’s for my project, remember? Gotta document everything.” She chirped, tapping her phone. This was exactly why Ren didn’t press, he knew it was bullshit, she was still looking for proof. Madison, ever perceptive, smirked slightly. “You nervous?” She asked, Ren turned to glare at her, but her expression remained light, almost playful— he couldn’t bring himself to hate her, though. She reminded him of himself in some sense, both of them had a terrible schoolyard life due to Titans, but she had Mark to lean on, Ishirō never did so much as offer a hand to Ren when he’d had the rug pulled from beneath his feet. “No.” Ren muttered, pulling into the parking lot of Shindo’s law firm, the weight in his chest only tightened.
Shindo’s office hadn’t changed a bit from when Ren was last there, which was a good thing, consistency was always great.. Shindo leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach but his eyes sharp with expectation, what a professional. “Alright, Serizawa, today’s your big shot.” Shindo began, he wasn’t lying when he said he was one for theatrics with how often he let his sentences hang in the air. “Big shot?” Ren asked, furrowing his brow. Shindo nodded with a grin, tapping his desk. “You, me, and Madison are doing an interview, and not just any interview— this is prime time with one of Japan’s most influential talk show hosts.” Shindo explained, leaning forward, his expression shifting into something more serious, hooking Ren’s undivided attention since Shindo being completely serious had grown to be a rare occurrence. “I busted my ass to get you this, this guy wasn’t exactly eager to have you on, considering, y’know—” He gestured vaguely, mouth agape as he searched for the words. “The whole Hong Kong thing.” Shindo finally said.
Ren’s stomach twisted, speaking in front of crowds was never his thing, on top of being a reserved person who would much rather be the one behind the curtain as opposed to the projection of Oz, the public's perception of him was never great.. Shindo raised an eyebrow when Ren fell silent. “What, you think you can just walk into court and expect sympathy? No, no, no. We need the public opinion on our side.” Shindo explained, he pointed an accusatory finger at Ren. “You? You’re gonna go out there, read off the teleprompter, and not screw this up.” Shindo declared, Ren let out a sharp exhale, his fingers pressing into the arms of the chair. His skin felt clammy, his nerves still raw from the transceiver incident earlier, but before he could protest, Shindo waved him and his concerns off. “Relax, all you gotta do is look apologetic, nod at the right moments, and stick to the script.” Shindo explained in his best attempt to reassure Ren, but to be completely honest, Ren could power through the talk show, his concern was what lies beneath his skin.
The combined efforts of the bright stage lights, sleek black flooring, and the heavy curtain separating Ren from the massive, unseen audience made Ren feel like the walls were closing in on him. He could hear the murmurs of the crowd, the hushed voices of producers running over last-minute notes, the air reeked of makeup powder and artificial cleanliness, but beneath it, something wrong lingered, ready to send another panicked text to Mira, he checked his phone one last time where a new, unsettling text sat on his lockscreen, from the same unknown number that’d been texting him strange, cryptic messages, this one read:
I know this is Ren Serizawa.
Ren’s stomach flipped violently, it had already been doing cartwheels from the anxiety of getting ready to go on stage, but it had just doubled down as Ren’s thumbs hovered over the opened text, trying to figure out what to say. “Phones,” A producer barked, stepping into the waiting area. “You can’t have them on stage.” The producer reminded, Ren barely had time to react before the producer snatched his phone from his grip, he clenched his fists, the curtain would be opening in seconds, the script was in place, all he had to do was follow the teleprompter. “We’re up.” Shindo muttered, clapping Ren on the shoulder as the trio walked out, Ren glanced around, bowing at the talk show host. As he took a seat, the screen to the teleprompter flickered, then it froze. He glanced at Shindo and Madison for help, but they didn’t seem to notice. “Great.” Ren hissed under his breath, realizing it was another hallucination, of course, the stage manager managed to hear that instead of see the tense in his gaze when the teleprompter froze.
Ren’s mind blanked, he was alone, no guidance, no script.. Nothing. His pulse thundered in his ears, the cameras were rolling, he had to say something, so he did.. Admittedly, he blanked on what he said, as when the teleprompter flickered back to life, Ren’s gaze roamed the room, puzzled to see people clapping and cheering for him, Shindo’s face one that read: “I told you it’d all work out.” And for the briefest moment, just beyond the studio light, a man in the crowd stuck out to him like a sore thumb.
A man with yellow eyes.
After taking some time to cool off, the cab’s engine rumbled beneath them, the city lights streaking past a jumble of neon and shadow, rain pattering softly against the windows, distorting the world around into vague shapes— people, buildings, things Ren couldn’t quite focus on. He sat stiffly in the backseat, arms crossed, rain sounds playing in his earbuds.. He didn’t even want to go into deep detail about his thoughts, to put it in simple terms: a tangled mess, consisting of panic, confusion, and the gnawing certainty that something was deeply, horrifically wrong. “So,” Shindo exhaled, breaking the silence. “I’d call that a win.” He stated, stretching his arms with a satisfied smirk. Ren met his confident gaze with a puzzled one, furrowing a brow. “What?” He asked, Shindo grinned, tilting his head at him. “The interview, you nailed it, the audience loved you.” Shindo explained, Ren blinked, his body going cold. “What are you talking about? I completely screwed that up.” Ren trailed off, his tone genuinely confused.. Shindo cast him a sideways glance, amused. “Did you? Because from where I was sitting, you had the crowd eating out of your hand.. You were sincere, emotional, even a little awkward— but in a relatable way, people like that. Where’d you learn that, anyway? Simmons?” Shindo pondered, Ren just nodded, unsure if he was playing a cruel joke on him. Madison, sitting beside Shindo, finally looked up from her phone. “Yeah, honestly, it was kind of weird.” She chimed in, Ren turned to glance at her, the unease deepening. “Weird.. How?” He asked with a raised brow, his tone cautious as he was still suspicious this was an elaborate joke they’d agreed on as revenge for his screw up. “I dunno, it’s just.. When you started talking off-script, I thought you were bombing, but then everyone started nodding, even the host.. It was like...” Madison began, shrugging. “Like something shifted.” She stated, finally finding the words.
Ren only felt a deeper sense of unease, if that was even possible, his mind flashed back to the frozen teleprompter, the distorted text, the mortifying silence in the studio. Hadn’t the entire audience stared at him? Hadn’t the host looked uncomfortable? Hadn’t he—? Ren’s train of thought abruptly ended when his phone vibrated, his fingers clenching around it as he pulled it from his pocket, his pulse hammering in his ears. He'd hoped it was a text from Mira, but he was greeted by another text from the unknown number.
You’re in serious danger.
Ren’s chest tightened, his lips pursed into a thin line as he helplessly stared at his lockscreen.
I can help you. We need to meet.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard, though his body felt wrong, like something was holding his body in place— restricting him from sending anything, it’d been established his limbs weren’t entirely his own, but now it felt like he was moving through a reality that was shifting beneath him without realizing.. He swallowed hard before finally typing a response.
Who is this?
The annoyingly vague reply came almost instantly.
Someone who knows what’s happening to you.
Ren let out a sharp exhale, his grip tightening on the phone like a lifeline, he knew he didn’t have time to dwell, typing a quick reply back.
Be specific.
You’re not imagining things, everything you’re seeing is real.
Ren’s pulse quickened, his mouth was dry and his skin was damp with sweat.
Prove it.
A pause followed, leaving Ren guessing this was a prank that only worked due to his paranoia.
I’ve been in contact with Madison Russell.
The breath he hadn’t even known he was holding left his lungs in a sharp exhale, Ren’s gaze snapped up to the girl sitting beside Shindo, casually scrolling through her phone like she hadn’t just been mentioned by a faceless identity who somehow knew everything, however, it soon dawned on him that’s why she had been recording every little thing he did.. He found his fingers moving before he could think.
Where do we meet?
A beat of silence, then, finally—
Somewhere public. You choose.
Ren gazed at the screen, his reflection faint in the glass— his tired face, his single eye shadowed with exhaustion. He could see the lights of Tokyo flickering outside the window, the rain washing the city clean. Something inside him coiled tightly, instinct warring with reason, he needed answers.
Shibuya crossing in an hour.
The response was immediate.
See you soon.
Ren set the phone down, his fingers feeling numb, Shindo glanced at him, noticing his discomfort. “You good, Serizawa?” Shindo asked, Ren forced a nod while he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah.. Just.. Need some air,” He trailed off, glancing at the Cab driver. “Change of plans, drop me off at Shibuya crossing, please, I know this is sudden.” Ren stated, Madison’s ears perked ar this, her attention suddenly hooked, Ren only scowled at this.. He wasn’t sure who he was meeting, but he knew one thing for certain: Madison and some friend of hers were onto him.
The cab slowed to a stop at the curb, the colorful glow of Tokyo’s underbelly reflecting off rain-slicked pavement. The city buzzed like a busy bee around him— distant sirens wailing through alleyways, drunken laughter spilling from bars, and the occasional rev of a motorcycle slicing through the night air. Ren took a deep breath, pulling his hood over his head before slipping on his sunglasses and facemask. The uncomfortable weight of paranoia settled on his shoulders, a cold, creeping thing that slithered beneath his skin, whoever had texted him knew too much— whenever someone knew too much, Simmons would have Hayworth dispose of them, but now Simmons was gone and even if Hayworth wasn’t, no Simmons meant none of Simmons’ billionaire connections.. And now, he was about to meet the individual who knew too much.
His pricey dress shoes splashed against the pavement as he walked, slipping through the throngs of people who paid him no mind, a nice refresher from being recognized and glared at everywhere he went. The deeper he went, the more the bright advertisements and polished storefronts faded into something less favorable— a part of Tokyo believe it or not, where the lights were dimmer, where the air reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap beer, where no one asked questions if someone disappeared.. In simpler terms? Yazuka territory. The bar was tucked into a narrow alleyway, its glowing sign flickering with an electrical hum. Ren found himself hesitating at the entrance, this could be a setup, Monarch, the courts, worse. Ren took a slow inhale, steeling himself, bracing himself for the absolute worst, and pushed inside.
The bar was dimly lit, the overhead lights strained with age, casting the room in a murky amber glow. The air reeked of alcohol, grilled meat, and something stale Ren couldn’t quite place his finger on, like spilled bear soaked into the wooden floors over decades. A low hum of conversation filled the space, patrons hunched over drinks, some engaged in quiet conversations while others betted on the latest sporting event or horse race.
Ren’s eye swept the room, his gaze zeroing in on him, in the farthest booth, glaring at him yet waving at him, Bernie Hayes. Ren’s stomach twisted, for a moment, he didn’t move, contemplating letting Ghidorah take over him if it meant he wouldn’t have to speak to Bernie, after all, Apex— Hayworth had killed his wife because she seen something she wasn’t supposed to ever lay eyes on, Ren clenched his jaw. “Of all people..” He muttered under his breath, Bernie’s angry, unamused gaze didn’t falter, it was a rare look for the comedic Bernie Hayes, but Ren had a hand in the death of the guys wife, so.. “What, you gonna stand there looking like a chernobyl survivor all night, or are you gonna have a drink?” Bernie asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from him, Ren forced his feet forward, his muscles wound tight. He slid into the booth, every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave, Bernie leaned forward. “Long time no see, Serizawa junior.” Bernie sneered, his voice dripping into something low and knowing, though it was hard to take him seriously when spit flew out of his mouth like that.
Notes:
thanks so much for 70 hits im absolutely floored wtfff ! anyway, i fell behind in school so i probably wont update as frequently, heres to a lengthy, suspenseful chapter to keep yall interested !
Chapter 8: leaving tonight
Summary:
It's like a bunch of broken picture frames
But the photo still remains the same
And I, and I
I thought it'd be easy to run but my legs are broken
All alone
All we know
Is haunting me
Making it harder to breathe, harder to breathe, oh
I'm leaving tonight
I'm leaving tonight
I'm leaving tonight, yeah
I'm leaving tonight
I'm leaving tonight
I'll be gone in the morning
I saw it from afar
But my eyes have always fooled me
It looked to me like all the sidewalks started walking
I swear to God the voices wouldn't shut up,
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The tension between them was wide, wider than Bernie, believe it or not! Ren sat stiffly on the booth, arms crossed, the dim overhead light casting deep shadows over his face. Bernie, on the other hand, lounged comfortably against the torn leather seat, stirring a drink with one finger, his grin nothing short of smug. The bar hummed with distant conversation Ren was content with tuning out, in their little corner, the air felt electric—volatile, waiting to ignite. “So,” Bernie began, breaking the silence with a smirk. “Serizawa Junior crawls out from under his rock.” Bernie sneered, Ren’s lip curled, his fingers tapping against the table in an erratic, irritated rhythm. “Still alive, I see.” Ren muttered, eyeing Bernie’s gut. “Figured all that junk food would’ve killed you by now.” Ren shot back in response to Bernie’s jab, who only chuckled, unphased. “You wish I’d drop dead, but you know me! Tough to kill, unlike some people.” Bernie snidely remarked, Ren’s fingers twitched, what a cheap shot..
“You dragged me out here.” Ren deadpanned, voice flat. “So get to the point.” He grumbled, having no desire to speak to Bernie any longer than he had to. Bernie’s grin faltered, though only slightly. “Fine. I’ll be blunt— you’re cursed.” Bernie pointed out, Ren blinked once, then again. A slow, exasperated sigh left his lips. “Oh, for fucks sake.” Ren muttered to himself, rubbing his temples. “No, no! Hear me out!” Bernie pressed, leaning in. “I know what’s happening to you, you think it’s just stress, PTSD, whatever scientific crap you wanna call it, but it’s not.. Ghidorah’s got his claws in you, man. You’ve seen it.” Bernie urged, Ren stiffened, thinking back to the glowing eyes, the voices, the flickering reality.
Ren’s expression darkened, his lips pursed into a thin line. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ren protested, Bernie snorted. “Yeah? The nightmares? The hallucinations? The fact that people around you— your wife— are saying shit they don’t remember saying?” Bernie elaborated, Ren’s jaw clenched, but Bernie continued regardless. “The way I see it,” He trailed off, leaning back with an ‘I told you so’ look written all over his nine-chinned face. “Those things in your head? They feed off negativity, off of you, and trust me, Serizawa Junior, you’ve got a shitload of it.” Bernie nagged, Ren could only roll his eye beneath his sunglasses. “Yeah, sure. Let me just think positive and suddenly, no more Ghidorah. Great plan, Bernie, real groundbreaking. Why haven’t you won a Nobel prize yet?” Ren ventured, Bernie gave him a look. “Mock all you want, but I know how to fix this.” Bernie enunciated, Ren scoffed, motioning for the waitress. “Oh, this I gotta hear. Please, enlighten me.” Ren snarked, Bernie’s grin returned just as Ren’s sneer faded, noting there was something in his eyes— something deadly serious. “We kill him.” Bernie concluded, Ren paused just as the waitress arrived, but he barely registered her voice as she asked if he wanted anything, his fingers flexed slightly against the table before he waved her off.
Bernie mistook Ren’s silence as a cue to keep voicing his nonsense. “I want your help,” Bernie pressed, his voice lower now, more urgent. “To destroy Ghidorah, for good.” Bernie urged, Ren let out a sharp exhale. “You’re insane.” Ren grumbled, “No, I'm right! You think this stops with just nightmares? Hallucinations? You’ve got a big storm coming if you think that’s the case, he’s gonna keep worming his way into your head, digging deeper and deeper until one day, you wake up, and you’re not you anymore. You’ll be a meat puppet for a giant space hydra with a hard-on for world domination.” Bernie explained, causing Ren’s eye to twitch, Bernie only leaned in even closer, causing poor Ren to get a mouthful of his rancid breath. “I know a way to get rid of him before you snap and kill someone.” Bernie practically whispered, Ren’s skin prickled, he didn’t respond. Bernie, stupidly— took that as encouragement. “Exorcism.” Bernie deadpanned.
A pause followed, Ren slowly turned his head to meet Bernie’s gaze. “You’re full of shit.” Ren deadpanned, unamused to see Bernie treating his life like a horror movie. Bernie dramatically tossed his hands in the air. “Oh, I'm the crazy one? Bro, you literally have three alien warlords setting up shop in your head, and I'm the one who sounds nuts?” Bernie protested, Ren pushed himself up from the booth, not in the mood for games. Bernie’s stupid grin finally faltered, “What?” Bernie uttered. “I’m figuring this out my way,” Ren muttered, adjusting his jacket. “Not yours.” He added, Bernie let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up one morning with your wife’s blood on your hands.” Bernie snarked.
Ren froze, Bernie knew he had hit a nerve, his fingers twitched like they wanted to wrap around Bernie’s neck, hidden somewhere beneath all those chins— but he forced himself to stay calm, with one last glare, he turned on his heel and headed for the door. But before he could reach it— a damned voice. “Hey.. Isn’t that?—” The voice trailed off, causing Ren’s blood to run cold, the murmuring spread like wildfire, recognition, people turning, whispers rising, phones being pulled out, all that jazz. Ren shoved his hood further over his head and pushed past the first person who tried to approach him, the bar was too small, the crowd too thick, he had to get out.
A camera flashed his way, “Yo! It’s Ren Serizawa, his face was all over the Mechagodzila news!” A voice called out, followed by more flashes, more voices, his breathing quickened, his one objective in mind to get the hell out of there. With a sharp pivot, he pushed through the exit, the chilling night air hitting him like a slap in the face. The streets outside were no better, if anything, they were worse— too many people, too many eyes, too many ways for things to go from bad to worse.
Ren had left his car parked at Shindo’s law firm, taking a cap to get there and then drive home, the air was crisp as Ren pulled into the driveway, closing the car door shut and being greeted to the scent of rain lingering from an earlier shower. The dim porch light flickered against the nighttime gloom, casting Mira’s silhouette in shifting shadows. She was leaning against the railing, cigarette between her fingers, her expression unreadable as she exhaled a slow plume of smoke into the night. She didn’t turn when she heard her husbands footsteps, a voice in the back of Ren’s head telling him she could be upset with him, but when she simply held out the pack to offer him a cigarette, the worries eased as Ren momentarily hesitated before taking it, placing it between his lips. Mira let it for him without a word, her eyes finally flicking towards him, scanning his face like she was searching for something. “You look like hell.” She playfully pointed out, Ren scoffed, taking a slow drag. “Yeah, well, you’d be surprised how many people have said that to me lately.” He grumbled in response.
A silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint hum of cicadas and the distant rumble of traffic. Ren exhaled through his nose, deciding to wear his heart on his sleeve. “Madison’s not studying law,” he finally came clean, voice low. “She’s a spy, Monarch sent her to watch me.” Ren fumed, Mira lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed. “No shit.” She deadpanned, causing Ren to sharply turn to her. “You knew?” he asked, Mira smirked, tapping ash onto the ground. “Not exactly, but I was wondering why Mark would trust you with his daughter and why she suddenly had a legal fascination with you when the entire Russell family is all about silence.” Mira corrected before adding, “We could always just have really loud sex, make her so uncomfortable she leaves on her own.” Mira suggested in a tease, well, Ren sure hoped it was a tease, he coughed, glaring at her. “Jesus, Mira.” Ren croaked, Mira laughed, nudging him with her shoulder.
For a moment, the weight pressing down on Ren’s chest eased, just slightly, but then Mira’s smirk faded, her face softening. “I actually do have something to tell you..” She trailed off, Ren tensed. “What?” He pondered, his mind running through a million different scenarios.. To add to his ease, Mira fell silent for a moment, taking another drag before flicking the cigarette into the grass. “I ran into Bernie while I was taking Madison to a beauty store, of all places.” She confessed, Ren’s fingers tightened around his cigarette, his muscles going rigid. Mira glanced at him, “They think you’re possessed.” Mira deadpanned in a flat tone, Ren’s eye twitched. “I swear to god—” He began to say, “They think Ghidorah’s inside your head, influencing you.” Mira cut in, crossing her arms with a clank of her bracelets. “Bernie wants to do an exorcism, of all things.” She snarked, her own tone filled with disbelief, Ren didn’t blame her. “Unbelievable. First, they spy on me, and now they’re trying to drag you into their insanity?” Ren droned, “I wouldn’t call it insanity just yet.” Mira pointed out, Ren shot her a small glare, but she simply held up a notebook. His stomach dropped, to put it simply, it was his journal, the one where he had been jotting down every impossible thing he’d witnessed, every flicker of reality bending under something wrong.
Mira flipped through it, eyes skimming through the frantic notes, the messy handwriting when Ren’s handwriting was usually neat and put together, “You’re documenting it..” Mira echoed, “That means a part of you knows it's real.” Mira stammered, Ren turned away sharply, taking another drag to steady himself. “It doesn’t matter.” He grumbled, it wasn’t unlike him to push her away, “I’ll figure it out on my own.” Ren croaked, Mira took a step closer, grabbing Ren’s free arm and running her palm up and down his wrist. “Ren, we’ve talked about this, let me in.” She bargained, meeting his gaze.
Ren tensed up, a part of him wanted to tell her, but the other part of him was urging him not to get her involved. “Bernie said those things in your head— they feed off negativity.” Mira trailed off, her pry gentle though firm. “But if that’s true, then maybe.. I could help, I want to help.” Mira lightly pressed, her tone holding an underlying sense of urgency. Ren swallowed hard, his throat dry, for a moment, he considered lying, pretending everything was fine, that he wasn’t seeing things, that he wasn’t unraveling.. But this was Mira, lying to her would be pointless as she’d always seen through him. “..It started after Apex.” Ren bit the bullet and admitted, his voice hardly above a whisper. “After Mechagodzilla, the electrocution, the feedback loop— something latched onto me. I see things, I hear things, and I feel like I'm not alone in my own head.” Ren lamented, he doubted Mira knew anything about a ‘feedback loop’ but she nodded along regardless, “Then we fight this, together.” She pressed, her fingers tightening around the journal. Ren paused before shaking his head, “No.” Ren spat, Mira’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean ‘no?’” She asked, “It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.” She added. “You can’t be here.” Ren insisted, his voice crackling to some extent. “Madison sure as shit can’t be here, if I stay, I'll put you in danger, I love you, Mira, but—” Ren rambled on, exhaling shakily. “I can’t be here, not for your sake.” Ren concluded, Mira’s expression hardened. “So what? You’re just gonna disappear again?” She demanded, raising a brow.
Glancing toward the house, “I still own my father’s home in Janjira.” Ren muttered, gazing at his palms. “I haven’t touched it since my father died, but it’s empty, no one else there but me..” Ren affirmed to himself, Mira took a sharp breath. “Ren—” She tried to press, but he’d already made up his mind. “I have to go.” He insisted, Mira’s jaw clenched, but after a long moment, she exhaled through her nose. “Fine.” She muttered, “But if you leave, you stay on the phone with me. 25/8.” Mira lectured, her tone showed there was no room for arguing but Ren tried his hand nonetheless. “That’s—” Ren grumbled, “I’m serious.” Mira cut in, “I don’t care if you’re taking a piss, I want to hear it. If I hear anything weird— if you start sounding like you’re slipping, I'm coming over, whether you like it or not.” Mira declared, Ren hesitated, then finally nodded. “Okay.” He relented, Mira narrowed her eyes. “Swear it.” She pressed, “I swear.” Ren muttered, dramatically raising his hands as if Mira were a cop who just told him to put his hands up. Mira sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Good, and in the meantime, I'm letting Mark know we don’t appreciate being spied on.” Mira grumbled, Ren huffed a laugh, “That should be fun.” He snarked.
After a two hour bullet train ride from Tokyo to Janjira, the house was dead, though they say home is where the heart is, so when the heart stopped beating, the home went along with it. Ren’s childhood home smelled of old books and dust, the air thick with the scent of left something untouched for far too long. He didn’t bother turning on the lights nor picking away at the cobwebs in the corner as he moved through the familiar space, heading straight for his makeshift lab. He was gathering supplies, stuffing them into a bag when a tsunami of dread washed over him, the atmosphere of the room had visibly shifted in the worst way possible, Ren dared to look up, unsure what to expect.
A group of people stood at the far end of the room, silhouetted in the dim light. His stomach dropped when he came to the sickening conclusion they weren’t just any people and he knew their faces, very well, in fact— they were Apex employees, employees all who died in someway when Mechagodzilla went rogue, their skin was pale, waxy, wrong.. Their eyes— glowing yellow— bored into him with silent intensity. Ren’s breath hitched, before his fight or flight could kick in, they beat him to the punch and moved.
Not like people, not like anything remotely humanoid, they dropped to all fours in unison, their limbs bent wrong, their heads tilted at unnatural angles— and then, they crawled, they crawled fast. Ren dashed down the hallway, his heart slamming against his chest as he bolted down the hallway, but the figures showed no signs of stopping, scuttling after him, their nails scratching against the wooden floor, their bodies jerking in violent spasms. Ren turned a corner, only to be met with more— at least a dozen of them, eyes shining, crawling toward him. The walls warped, the air crackled as the things began to fade away, but before he was fully free, a familiar whisper slithered through his mind: “You let us in.”
Ren laid on the carpet, his breath coming out ragged, for a brief, fleeting moment, he felt nothing. No more looming presences, no flickering lights, no whispers gnawing at the edge of his mind.. Just.. Cherished silence. He stood up, taking in the house he’d spent his childhood in, the scent of dust lingered in the air as he ascended down the hallway— old books, aged wood, and the faint, lingering memory of his father’s cologne. The house was untouched ever since the day he left it behind, it was like stepping into a mausoleum, a shrine to the past that refused to stay buried. Ren walked through the dimly lit hallways, his footsteps echoing against the wooden floors. Every corner held fragments of his childhood— most bitter, very few sweet.
The couch where he’d sat for hours watching cartoons, back when his biggest worry was whether his mother would notice she hadn’t sent him to his room for the night yet, oh how he missed simpler times.
The kitchen where she used to hum to herself while cooking, her presence nothing short of warm and comforting.
The damned study Ren used to envy since Ishirō spent more time gouging over Godzilla than he ever did with him.
The memories felt layered, oddly enough— stacked upon each other like sedimentary rock, pressing down on his chest.. Before Ren could get sentimental, his gaze zeroed in on the photographs, they were everywhere.. Framed photos lining the hallway, the shelves, the fireplace mantel. His father’s stoic face staring back at him from every angle, his expression forever unreadable.. And then— Instead of any of Ren’s rather impressive schoolyard achievements sat Godzilla. Photos of the Titan, of the very thing his father had given his life for when Ishirō could never be bothered to even help Ren up, let alone give his life for him. Ren’s stomach curdled with rage at the sight of them, one photo in particular caught his eye— a picture of Ishirō shaking hands with Dr. Vivienne Graham, the woman who made Ren realized Ishirō didn’t spend time with him not because he wasn’t a hideous lizard, but because he didn’t like Titans— the two of them looked so proud in the photo, seeing Ishirō look at Vivienne with a look Ren longed for his entire life made his blood boil. “He never even came to his own wife— my mothers funeral, but he could play house with her.. He had time for this, he had time for a fucking lizard..” Ren seethed, his words coming out sharp, uneven, and nowhere near as stoic nor put together as he presented himself to be.
The rage suddenly came violently crashing down, a flood that crashed through him before he could stop it. His finger curled into fists as his body tensed, his breaths coming out ragged. His gaze darted around the room, desperate to calm himself down only to see it, in the farthest corner of the room, sitting on the shelf like some goddamn religious relic— his father’s old baseball bat, his fathers grandparents had taught him about baseball when Eiji was too busy with Monarch, but Ren never got into it, regardless, he grabbed it without any caution.. And then, he swung.
Glass shattered, fragments of pictures frames rained down onto the floor, glittering like the broken memories they were. He smashed one after another, sending the likes of splintered wood and paper flying, he didn’t stop to think as he struck a photo of Ishirō at a Monarch press conference, he struck a framed newspaper headline clipping: “Serizawa deems Godzilla a force of nature.” He struck Godzilla’s face, over and over, imagining it was the real thing up until the bat cracked in his hands. His chest heaved, his fingers numb. The room around him was wrecked— shattered frames, torn photos, fragments of his past scattered at his feet like debris after a city was attacked by the creatures his father just loved so much! Ren stood idly, trembling as he stared at the destruction he had caused, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction while reveling in the chaos of the room. A low, distant chuckle slithered through his mind. “Not bad, Serizawa Junior.” Ren’s eye twitched, his grip tightened around the broken bat— he wanted to scream, but he instead sank to his knees, hands in his hair, the weight of everything pressing down on him like an iron vice.
Ren supposed he’d fallen asleep at some point after that, the first few hours of the next day were a blur, his body on autopilot up until he found himself in a constricting courtroom once again. The finality of it all settled over Ren like a noose, tightening with every passing second. The mixed murmurs of the public, the flashes of cameras, the cold stare of the judge— it was a lot to take in at once. It didn’t help that as Shindo sat beside him, his usual confidence was replaced with something grim, something bordering on defeat. Come to find out, the growing public support hadn’t mattered in the slightest, the televised interviews, the humanization efforts, the speeches carefully crafted by Shindo— it had all meant nothing.. Because the verdict had already been decided before he even set foot in the courtroom.
The judge’s voice was steady, void of emotion. “Ren Serizawa, you have been found guilty of crimes against humanity for your involvement in the Hong Kong disaster. Given the severity of the case, the court has determined you are to serve life in prison, without the possibility of parole.” The judge declared, the words struck like a gunshot, though Mira sure did. From the audience, she stood abruptly, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?!” She demanded, Shindo muttered a sharp curse under his breath.
The courtroom erupted, half the crowd roared in approval, the other half in protest. Reporters were already scrambling for their microphones, commentators preparing their takes. But to be honest? Ren hardly heard any of it.. Life in prison, it sounded unreal, like someone else's nightmare. The guards stepped forward, preparing to escort him out. Shindo turned to Ren, his voice low. “This is bullshit, the Chinese government is interfering with the judges decision, we’ll appeal, we’ll—” Shindo began, Ren could only roll his eye. “Don’t.” Ren cut in, his voice hoarse, hollow, and numb. Shindo’s mouth barely opened, but he hesitated, watching Ren closely, “Ren—” Ren didn’t know what he said after that, he didn’t care as he turned to Mira. She looked devastated, she had always been strong, always had some smartass remark up her sleeve, always ready to fight tooth and nail, always unapologetically herself, but right now— she just looked hurt, he didn’t blame her, if the roles were reversed and he’d just gotten her back after a three year coma only for the courts to rip her away from him, he’d lose his shit. Ren swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to meet her gaze when he saw her mouth: “Run while they’re distracted.”
Ren didn’t need to be told twice, even after being chased by demonic manifestations of his past twice now, he had never run so fast in his life. He didn’t need to look back to see the courtroom was in complete and utter chaos— shouting, flashing cameras, the heavy footfall of guards chasing after him. His pulse pounded in his ears, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, and every muscle in his body screamed at him to keep moving. He barely registered Mira’s voice cheering him on, barely registered the chaos outside as he shoved through the heavy courthouse doors and ran into the open air of Tokyo’s streets.
He needed out, he needed help, and unfortunately, he knew exactly who to call.
Bernie’s apartment was a disaster, stacks of newspapers, conspiracy theory boards crookedly pinned to the walls, photos taped on the wall of important figures surrounding Titans— he saw Alan Jonah, Emma Russell, and even his father. Besides the series of photos, there was also an entire shelf dedicated to different brands of bottled water. (tap or no tap?) The place reeked of cheap air freshener and a concerning amount of bleach, and Ren couldn’t decide if that was meant to cleanse spirits or just Bernie’s paranoia about government tracking.
Speaking of Bernie, the bowling ball paced in front of him, rubbing his sweaty hands together. “Alright, alright, so now you believe me, took you long enough.” Bernie pointed out, Ren sat stiffly on the cleanest spot of the couch he could find, hands clasped between his knees. “Just shut up and do whatever weird exorcism you were talking about.” Ren grumbled begrudgingly, “Finally! Some trust, this is progress!” Bernie beamed, Ren exhaled sharply, the scent of bleach making his nose itch and debate walking out. “Are you going to do it or not?” Ren spat, Bernie held up one of his big, fat fingers. “Hold that thought, I gotta grab my ouija board and holy water.” Bernie chirped, Ren pinched the bridge of his nose, partially out of annoyance, the other part being his nose growing irritated with the overwhelming scent of bleach. “I swear by it, man!” Bernie insisted, Ren scowled when Bernie started referring to him in a way that made it seem like they were friends, but he let him keep talking as he grabbed his coat. “Don’t wander off, don’t do anything you wouldn't do in a horror movie, just stay here and let the energy settle.” Bernie nagged, Ren waved him off, a mixture of too tired and too desperate to argue. “Fine, just hurry up.” Ren consented, Bernie gave him a thumbs up and disappeared out the door.
The room was too quiet to the point of eeriness once he was gone, Ren sighed, leaning back against the torn leather couch and rubbing his temples. Ghidorah seemed to take his distaste for the quietness into account as a bone-chilling sound rang throughout the room; soft, broken— somewhere between a groan and a sob. Ren’s body tensed, his breath hitching as he slowly lifted his gaze. Then, across the room… Was him..? Without a doubt, it was Ren Serizawa, circa 2024.. Two intact eyes, the Apex neurolink helmet Ren recalled had become his favorite toy around the time still strapped to his head, electric volts flickering off his skin, pulsing through his body in erratic bursts. He stood unnaturally still, his arms limp at his sides, his face obscured by shadows.
The sobs— or were they laughs? Echoed through the dimly lit room, crawling under Ren’s skin like insects. His old self twitched, then— it moved. Not with human hesitation, not with the weight of someone merely shifting positions— no, it lunged. Ren barely had time to react before it slammed into him, sending him rolling across the floor. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and before he could scramble away, his old self vanished—
Only to reappear directly behind him, cold, clammy fingers gripped his inky colored hair and yanked his head back, slamming him against the wall. Ren choked, struggling, but he was clearly no match as the thing held him still, its grip too strong, its fingers digging into his scalp like talons. The electric hum of static buzzed in his ears, the scent of burning flesh filling his nostrils. Then— it spoke: “We’ve been waiting for you for such a long time.” It sneered, the voice was wrong, warped, layered, as if three voices spoke in unison, tangled together like a discordant melody. Ren’s heart pounded, his old self’s fingers pressed against his cheek, running along his jaw in a mockery of affection. Ren’s pulse spiked. “Bernie—” He tried to call out, the thing only chuckled darkly, tilting its head in an unnatural manner. “Bernie can’t help you anymore.” It snarked, Ren gritted his teeth, protesting against its grip. “Let go of me!” He demanded, the thing leaned closer, its lips twisting into a grin— Ren’s grin, but twisted, cruel. “We like wearing your skin.” It chided, then it tossed him across the room as if he weighed nothing, which would’ve been an ego boost if it weren’t for the circumstances.
Ren crashed into the side table, sending papers and empty water bottles flying. He groaned, pushing himself up on shaky arms, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. His eye darted around, searching for something— anything to use as a weapon. He caught sight of a pencil, just barely out of reach. His old self twitched again before lunging forward, electricity cracking off its skin, the scent of scorched air following it. “You can’t get away from us, we’re inside you.” It muttered, stepping closer. Ren refused to look at it for his own sake, but it didn’t stop there. “You can’t escape who you truly are on the inside.” It pointed out before it tackled him again, pinning him to the floor, grin too wide with a black muck pouring out of its mouth, forked tongue flicking in and out of its grin, its body convulsing with sharp, erratic movements. The yellow glow of its eyes burned into his skull, Ren grunted, straining against the weight pressing down on him. His fingers stretched— almost reaching the pencil— The thing noticed, grabbing his face with its razor-sharp nails. “Look at us.” It demanded, Ren clenched his jaw, refusing. “Look at us, Serizawa!” It hissed, voice rising while its fingers pushed into his mouth, prying it open. Ren gagged, choking, his mind screaming as the thing held him there, its thumb pressing against his tongue, sharp nails making it bleed. A series of rage burst through him, Ren snatched the pencil and stabbed it straight into the things ear, the thing loosening its grip on him, albeit only slightly. “Fuck you!” Ren spat, a demonic shriek ripped through the crummy apartment.
The thing, clearly unaffected, let out yet another dark chuckle. “Ren…!” The voice sang his name, the distortion layered with an ancient sinister, mocking. His old self simply grinned, electricity flickering wildly across its body. “It isn’t real.” It whispered, sending chills down Ren’s spine. “And you’re too far gone to stop it!” It sneered, Ren shook his head violently as though in disbelief. “No.” He muttered, more to himself than past him. “No?” The thing chuckled, stepping back. “No, no, no, Ren. You’re not in control, we are, and we always will be.” It vowed, causing Ren’s breath to hitch, the thing’s grin only stretched. “Break a leg out there.” It whispered, the room collapsed, darkness— literally and figuratively, swallowing Ren whole.
Notes:
89 hints ohh my god !??? it means so much that this many people took the time to read something i thought of at like 2 in the morning 💀 anyway.. is ren dead after that encounter, surely?
Chapter 9: wrecking ball
Summary:
It takes a dedicated hand
To put it through the wall
You gotta wanna break the heart
Of all those pretty porcelain dolls
You gotta wanna be the drummer in the band
You gotta wanna be a battering ram
You gotta see the artistry
In tearing the place apart with me, baby
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Everything was a discomforting pitch black. Ren closed his eye as he drifted into the abyss, weightless, his senses dulled like he was submerged in ink. No walls, no floor, no sound— just an endless void stretching in all directions.. All pointing to the theory that Ren had blown his second chance and truly bit the dust this time, but the one key factor that combated the theory was it was not silence, something was humming beneath the emptiness, like the remnants of a song long lost to time. Then, light followed, golden and violent, tearing through the black like a wound. The crackling heat of raw energy engulfed him, his skin tingling, his breath catching in his throat as his vision shifted.. He wasn’t in the darkness anymore, he was seeing through another set of eyes he wasn’t born with, just as they had done with him.
A barren wasteland stretched endlessly before him, a planet swallowed in dust and storms. The sky churned with black clouds with static cackling through the atmosphere like a breathing, living thing— unlike anything Ren had ever seen before, the ground trembled beneath their golden talons, their massive talons sinking into the alien soil they surveyed the battlefield before them. A colossal form loomed in the distance— an armored behemoth, its flesh a metallic sheen, its eyes glowing with unnatural light. It stood still, calculating, its jagged maw split open as if tasting the air.
Ni, the rightmost head, growled low in his throat. “That one would take effort to kill.” He remarked, sparks of electricity flying off his forked tongue. San, the leftmost head and the one who hijacked the mech— tilted his head, grinning. “Effort? I think you mean fun, brother. Look at all that shiny metal, think we could wear it?” San snarked, Ichi, ever composed, let out a slow, measured breath. “An unnecessary battle, this one serves no kingdom for us to usurp— it is a parasite on the stars, scouring worlds for its own hunger. Wasteful.” Ichi dictated, the metal beast roared in response, its entire body shifting, recalibrating. A sickening crunch echoed through the air as it lunged, its massive claw swinging down with the force of a falling moon. Ni met it head-on, the impact was cataclysmic, the ground split apart beneath them, the sheer force sending shockwaves across the barren land. Ren could both feel and envy it— the raw, unbridled power of Ni’s strength, the sheer fur behind it.
The metal beast proved itself a worthy opponent as it did not fall, it adapted, it learned. Ni snarled as the creature’s wounds began sealing themselves, the fractured plates of its body searing, changing. San merely laughed. “That’s new.” He pointed out, Ichi remained eerily silent and idly still, watching, calculating. “We need not waste our time with something so.. Insignificant.” He mused, Ni scoffed in response. “You just don’t want me to kill it before you get the chance to lecture it.” Ni droned, another impact— another clash of forces too great for any mortal being to withstand, Ren’s mind reeled as the memory skipped, jumped to—
A New battlefield, this one a world of filth and poison. A grotesque, slithering horror emerged from the swamps, its body composed of writhing sludge, its eye hollow pits of glowing red that Ren had to admit resembled a vagina, though that didn’t matter as the land around it withered with every step, the air itself turning sour in its wake. “Oh, I hate this one. Smells like something Ichi would keep as a pet.” San mused, a grimace on the left head's face. Ichi ignored him, his crimson eyes narrowed in deep thought. “It is not to be underestimated, it is not alive in the way we are— it is a force, it does not think, simply is.” Ichi equivocated, Ni scoffed, unphased. “And yet, it dies all the time.” He muttered, for all living things eventually kneel for King Ghidorah.
Another leap through time, another world. This time around, a mechinical thing stood before them now, blades for hands, a red visor glowing with artifical malice. It moved too fast to be anything biological, slicing through the air with precison, the sound of metal against shrieking itself filling the air. San whistled, “Fast little thing, huh? Bet I could charm it.” San venutred, Ni lunged first, predictably. Ichi sighed, glaring at his right hand man. “You’re embarassing yourself.” He hissed, the creature retiailited— sharp movements, razor-like strikes, a symbol representing pure malice that rivaled Ghidorah’s very own, but they were not weak, they were King Ghidorah in all their glory, and nothing, nothing could stand in their way.
Then— something shifted, the battlefield was gone, Ren’s vision blurred, twisted, then focused— and suddenly, he was standing beneath a sky not of earth. A planet stretched before him, its landscape a perfect balance of technological advancement and eerie desolation, something Earth would surely envy. Massive spires reached toward the heavens, their obsidan surfaces pulsing with unnatural energy. The air shimmered with the faint hum of power, the gravity slightly off, making his momsnts feel lighter than they should.. Ren somehow concluded this was Planet X, home of the Xiliens. He saw them— tall, imposing figures clad in sleek, black armor, their faces obscured beneath silver visors. They moved with caluclated precision, their presence radiating something ancient. something deeply unnatural.
At first, Ren initally thought it was a voice, but it wasn’t a voice— it was a presence.. The Controller of Planet X, Ren didn’t know how he knew him, but he did. He stood at the center of it all, draped in dark robes, his head clean bald, and his eyes concealed by black armor. Power radiated from him like heat from a dying star, his voice, when he spoke, was neither kind nor cruel, it simply was. “The prophecy will be fufiled.” The Controller of Planet X stated matter-of-factly, Ren saw him now— the one they spoke of.
The pupil, he was not born to the Xiliens, he was chosen, a warrior not of their world, but one who would be shaped into something greater, something worthy. The visions flickered— flashes of training, of battle, of power beyond comphrehension, the becoming of something new. Ren’s breath caught in his throat, “No..” He thought to himself, but The Controller’s voice echoed again, unwavering. “The pupil will become the harbringer, the one who will lead our forces into the next age, the one who will bring balance to the chaos.” He vowed, the Xilien warriors bowed, and the figure at the center of it all, the pupil— turned its head slightly, staring directly at Ren.
Ren staggered back, his pulse pounding in his skull, his breathing ragged, the golden haze of the vision starting to crack around him. Ichi’s now familar voice curled through the air, soft and knowing. “You are seeing the inveitable, Serizawa.” Ichi pointed out, Ni laughed darkly as if Ichi had said something funny. “You can fight it all you want, but we know you better than you know yourself..” Ni snarked, San didn’t need a physical form to let Ren know his grin had widened— whereever it was. “And let’s be honest— aren’t you the teeniest bit curious?” San pressed, Ren didn’t even notice the figure stepping forward as his body seized, the void was closing in, the vision crumbled and then— darkness, Ren embraced the darkness this time around, hoping to be consumed by it as it was better than what the light had in store for him.
If only he had died right then and there, though he knew deep down Ghidorah would never be that generous. Instead, he woke up to restriant, thick straps bound his arms against his chest, the pressure of the straitjacket suffocoating. His breath was shallow, his pulse sluggish but present. The cold of the cell seeped into his back, and the dim fluorescent lights above him buzzed like a swarm of lights, each flickering hum drilling into his skull. His body ached, his mind swam. For a brief, disorienting moment, he thought he was still in the visions— still trapped in Ghidorah’s memories, watching planets burn, watching a faraway planet plot domination on Earth.
But his vision finally cleared, and Ren realized he was in a prison cell. The walls were a sterile, patronizing white, padded and unyielding. The only break in a monotony was a reinforced steel door with a thick glass window, through which a lone Monarch guard stood, watching. The weight of nothingness pressed in on him— no buzzing voices in his head, no flickering distortions in reality, just him and his beloved silence.. Only for a slow, amused voice to break the short-lived silence that was quite frankly, gone too soon. “Well, well. Serizawa Junior.” The voice cooed, Ren’s head snapped toward the source of the familar voice, lounging lazily on the cot across from him, legs crossed and with an infruating smirk plastered on her face, was somehow Maia Simmons.
Ren stared at her, his breath slow and measured, she was alive. Maia’s smirk only widened like this was the most fun she’d had in weeks, stretching out her arms as if lounging in a luxury suite rather than a prison cell. “Suprised? Yeah, so was I. Last thing I remember, a certain oversized monkey crushed my HEAV like a soda can. Thought I was dead.. Turns out?” She recalled, shrugging. “Hollow Earth’s got great real estate.” Maia quipped, Ren didn’t respond, but she continued regardless. “Stranded down there for months. Months, Serizawa. You ever had to eat Hollow Earth wildlife to survive? No? Didn’t think so.” Maia sneered, grinning, though her voice dropped slightly, losing its playful edge. “Then along comes him.” She grumbled, tilting her head to the third occuptant of the cell Ren hadn’t even noticed at first. The man sat in the corner, hunched forward, arms resting on his knees. His right arm was normal, though his left— metal. A sleek, high-tech prosthetic glinted under the sticky light, its flickers flexing absentmindely.. Raymond Martin. Ren had heard the name before, seen glimpses of his work— Titan Hunter mechs, anti-Titan propoganda.. Martin didn’t acknolwedge him at first, then slowly, his cold, steely gaze lifted. “You’re awake.” Martin muttered, his voice was deep, tired— like a man who had long since run out of things to lose.. Ren met his stare but didn’t utter a word, his train of thought not quite coming to a stopping point.
Martin flexed his prosthetic fingers, leaning against the wall. “I found her,” He muttered, nodding towards Maia. “She was barely alive, brought her back up to the surface.” He droned, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. “Not that it mattered.. Soon as we got back, Monarch arrested both of us.” Martin observed, Maia rolled her eyes. “Yeah. ‘Crimes against humanity’ or whatever, like I wasn’t just doing what was necessary.” She vouched, Ren clenched his jaw, he sure as shit knew the feeling. Martin finally straightened up, his gaze zeroing in on Ren. “And you?” He pried, his brow raised. Ren let out a sharp exhale, shifting against his restraints. “Lost my trial.” He deadpanned in a tone of rare admitted defeat. Maia chuckled, running a hand across her bottom lip. “Public enemy number one, congratulations.” She taunted, Ren ignored her for his own sake. “You—” He began, nodding toward Martin’s arm. “You fought Kong, didn’t you?” He alleged, Martin’s jaw tightened. “I did… And lost.” He confirmed, his fingers curled into a fist, the mechinical servos whirring softly. “He destroyed my mech, took everything I spent thirteen years rebuilding after Godzilla took everything I had before.” Martin added, his voice taking a dark edge.
Ren’s fingers twitched against the straitjacket, he knew that hatred, that burning, all-consuming hatred for Titans. They all sat in silence for a moment, the three of them— former elites, reducing to nothing more than has-been prisoners, it was quite humbling. Maia scoffed, crossing her arms. “You realize how ridiculous this is, right? The three of us? We should be ruining Monarch, not rotting in one of their cells.” Maia reminded, Martin gave a dry laugh. “Maybe if we’d played nice.” He decreed, Maia’s smirk faltered slightly, her fingers drumming against her knees. “I just wanted to make my father proud.” She pledged, Ren’s gaze flickered to her, for the first time, she looked almost human— almost, he still had a strong disdain for her. “Didn’t work out.” Ren muttered, he knew the drive to please a distant father all too well. Maia huffed a laugh, “Yeah, no shit.” She grumbled, maybe she’d kept talking and Ren just tuned her out as he leaned his head back against the wall, his mind still foggy, still processing everything.
The dim light flickered in the prison cell, the sterile walls humming with the low buzz of unseen electricity. The air was drenched with the scent of cold metal and the distant musk of disinfectant, giving the space a patronizing, suffocating weight. Ren felt his fingers tugging at the restriants around his torso, loosening the straitjacket inch by inch. He wasn’t sure whether it was Maia or Martin helping him, probably Maia, given the occacsional muttered curse as she struggled with the straps. “Hold still, Serizawa.” She snapped, yanking at the buckles. “You’re not exactly easy to work with here.” She pointed out, from the other side of the cell, Martin smirked, watching with his arms crossed. “Thought you’d be more greatful, Ren.” He chided, the two seemingly having an unspoken agreement to make Ren the shared punching bag. “Yeah, yeah.” Ren muttered, rolling his shoulders as the fabric loosened, his muscles ached from what felt like days of restriction, but was only a few hours in reality. “Try being tied up this long and see how grateful you feel.” Ren grumbled, “Not my thing.” Martin replied dryly.
Before Ren could retort, the sound of boots echoed down the corridor, and yet another familar voice called out— calm, almost amused. “Y’know, I think we’re assembling the Sinister Six down here.” The voice teased, the three of them turned toward the cell door where Ilene Andrews stood, arms crossed with Jia peeking out from behind her, a group of Monarch mercenaries flanked them, hands resting on their weapons, their stoic expressions cold and unreadable. Maia groaned, dramatically tossing her hands up. “Great. What now?” She droned, Ilene gave her a pointed look before settling her gaze on Ren. “You’re not in jail, yet,” She started, her voice even. “You’re here because we need to figure out what’s going on with you.” Ilene explained, causing Ren to scoff. “Generous.” He grumbled, “Lucky.” She abrutbly corrected, “Very lucky.” She added, stepping closer and giving Jia a nod, the young Iwi girl remained quiet but observed Ren carefully, her deep eyes sharp. “She’s here.” Ilene continued, “because she has a connection with Titans. You know that, I know that, and right now, we need to figure out what Ghidorah wants.” Ilene explained, the name sent a shiver down Ren’s spine, he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain still. Ilene tilted her head slightly, though ultimately shrugged him off. “Which is why it’s time for an evaluation.” Ilene enunciated, Ren tensed as the mercaneries moved forward, he knew better than to resist— not in his current state, with one last glance at Maia and Martin, he allowed himself to be let out of the cell, dragging his feet.
The interrogation room was nothing special, white walls, a metal table, a chair bolted to the floor, the soft hum of cameras in the corner with a red recording light blinking like a heartbeat. Ren sat stiffly across from Ilene while Jia stood off to the side, watching, her hands tucked close to her chest. Ilene placed a folder on the table and sighed, “Let’s make this simple, Ren, I have other shit to do.” Ilene grumbled, he remained silent, his gaze fixated on the table. Ilene frowned, though pressed nontheless. “When did this start?” She asked, Ren didn’t respond, wow, what an interesting table in all its glory.
Ilene leaned forward slightly, “What does Ghidorah want?” She pried this time around, Ren’s hands twitched against the cuffs securing him to the chair, he could feel his pulse hammering against his skull. “Ren.” Ilene prssed, “We need your cooperation.” She urged, Ren’s fingers curled into fists, his breath came out unsteady, his mind felt foggy, slipping, drifting toward something— “They’re not the only ones.” Ren blurted out, Ilene’s brow furrowed. “What?” She asked in a puzzled tone. Ren inhaled sharply, he didn’t know how much more direct he could be, but he repeated himself anyway. “Ghidorah wasn’t the only one, they weren’t alone.” Ren croaked, Ilene glanced at Jia, then back at him. “You’re going to have to be more specific.” She noted, Ren’s breaths quickened. “You think Ghidorah is the end of it, but he’s not, there’s more, there’s a whole race.” Ren stammered, his frantic words coming out like word vomit. Ilene’s lips pressed into a thin light, too calm for comfort. “A race?” She gently pried with a raised brow, Ren’s eye twitched, “The Xiliens.” He pledged, a tense silence followed. Ilene exhaled through her nose, “Ren, listen to me—” She began, “You don’t get it!” Ren snapped, his body tensing against the restraints. “They’re coming! We have to prepare! We—” Ren trailed off, the words suddenly stopping.
Ren’s body jerked— his back arching slightly before slamming against the chair, his breath hitched as his limbs locked into place, something shifted in the air.. The room darkened, just slightly, like the lights had dimmed without actually flickering. Jia took an uneasy step back, Ilene’s brows knitted together. “Ren?” She dared to ask, nothing, Ren fell silent until his eye glowed yellow, Ilene immediately motioned for the mercanies, but before anyone could move, Ren twitched— a sharp, unnatural jerk, his body fighting itself. Then followed the voices, disjointed, layered, and most importantly? Not his.
“—Control is mine—”
“—We should kill them while we have thechande—”
“—-Oh, I like her.. Can we keep her?—”
The words warped, tumbling over each other as if all three heads that made up King Ghidorah were fighting for control. Ren’s fingers flexed against the chair, his head snapped to the side, his neck twisting to an angle that shouldn’t have been possible— before casually shifting back. Ilene held up a hand, keeping the mercaneries at bay while Jia stared, wide-eyed. Ren’s body twitched again, his lips parting as a guttural, distorted laugh crawled up his throat. “You really thought we could be destroyed?” The voice asked, the voice in question was warped— wrong, cycling between tones, never settling into one. Ren’s eye flickered, the yellow hue pulsed, then a sharp spasm overtook his body, and he lurched forward with a strangled gasp, the glow in his eye snapping out.
And just like that— Ren collapsed back into the chair, his body dead weight while the room was silent, nobody sure to make up of what just happened, the air was thick, heavy.. Then, Ren inhaled— a slow, shaky breath, his fingers twitched, his muscles ached. Hesitantly, he lifted his head, Ilene was still watching him, expression carefully neutral. Jia took a hesitant step forward, her fingers forming slow, deliberate signs that translated to: Are you okay?
Ren’s throat was dry, unable to stop his hands from shaking as he exhaled sharply, his voice barely above a whisper. “..No.” He admitted, Ilene leaned back slightly, “Well, at least you’re honest.” She muttered flatly, Ren swallowed hard, he could still hear them, still feel them, still know they were there, waiting for him to crack under all this pressure and lose his shit. Ilene studied him for a moment as if he were an animal meant to be looked at instead of a human being before finally speaking: “If you won’t cooperate,” She began, her tone cooling. “Then you will be sent back to your cell.” She deadpanned, her best attempt at an ultimatium that Ren had no interest in, his fingers curled, his breathing was still ragged, his body still trembling. “You’re making a mistake.” Ren managed to state in a grave, unwavering tone despite all the aches in his body.. Though, Ilene’s expression didn’t waver in the slightest. “That’s not up to you.” She simply put.
Ren barely registered the guards dragging him back to his cell, his head was pounding, his vision blurred at the edges, every muscle in his body stiff from the epiosde in the evalution room. The fluroscent lights above flickered as his boots scrambled against the cold, sterile floors. The padded walls of his new, private room felt tighter than the last cell, almost as if it was designed for him to suffocate in their silence. The guards shoved him inside without a word, the heavy door slamming shut behind him as the guards walked off, likely to go find a spot to throw away the key.
Before he had a chance to relax, a sharp spike of pain shot through his skull.. Ren let out a ragged breath, stumbling forward before his knees buckled beneath him, his vision further blurring, the pain behind his eye sealing like white hot iron. And then— a voice, not human, not distant, not inside his head, it was speaking to him. “We are talking to you.” The voice deadpanned, the words vibrating through the air, warping the very fabric of reality around him. Ren’s breath hitched, his body stiffening.
A chuckle— a low, guttural one coiled through his mind like a whisper of static. “Oh, little Serizawa.” The voice cooed, the patronization was the cherry on top to Ren’s already god awful last few days. “They have you locked away, kept from your beloved Mira. Mark Russell sent his own daughter to spy on you. Monarch sees you as nothing more than a dangerous animal.” The voice listed as if Ren didn’t already come to that conclusion himself, his jaw clenched, but he honestly didn’t have a retort. “But we?” The voice hummed, “We see what you truly are. We understand you.” The voice sneered, another voice chimed in, this one was different— casual, playful. “And, lucky you, we’re offering you a way out.” The voice teased, just based on personality, Ren concluded this one was San. Ren’s breath came uneven, his hands trembling. “I.. I don’t know if I can do this.” Ren stammered, “Sure, you do.” San taunted smoothly, “C’mon, Ren, some people just deserve to die.. Your dad’s little succesor, the ones who underestimated you, the ones who turned their backs on you.” San cajoied, leaving room for a third cold and steady voice. “The entire world has turned its back on you.” Ichi simply put, “So why not give them a real reason to do so?” Ichi pointed out, Ren squeezed his eye shut. “Monarch is full of self-righteous, animal rights activist assholes,” Ni snarled, “Always on their high horses, thinking they’re above the rest of us.” Ni snapped, Ren exhaled sharply, his thoughts unraveling for Ghidorah to see. “I always knew they were.” He croaked, his voice was distant, like he was speaking in a dream. “I just.. Never said anything.” He grumbled, regrettinf his choice not to do so.
Ren could feel the smirk in their silence, “And that makes you just wanna..?” One of the thirds of King Ghidorah pried, Ren’s fingers twitched, teeth clenched. The air was thick, his breath shallow, his mind swirling. “Just want to what?” The voice pressed, acting clueless. Ren swallowed once more, clearing his throat. “I don’t know if I can do it.” He uttered, San tsked. “Ren, Ren, Ren. We’ve had your back before, haven’t we? Saved your life, we’d do it again.” San offered, “We’ll do it again.” Ichi corrected, “All you have to do.. Is say the word.. An eye for an eye, if you will.” Ichi dictated, “Say the word.” Ni echoed, his voice curling like smoke. “And this entire place burns.” Ni marveled, Ren’s breathing became shallow, his fingers curling into fists. “Round up Simmons and Martin.” San purred. “Let’s start a little riot!” He pressed, before he could finish..
The air in the room shifted, a sudden, deafening blare Ren quickly registered as the Titan alarms as he had heard a similar sound during his days at Apex, he could only watch as the walls trembled, the ground shaking beneath him. Ren’s breath caught in his throat, then came the roar he despised so much— a deep, earth shattering sound that rattled every bone in his body.
Godzilla, the one Ren viewed as the older brother who got all the attenion.. He had sensed it, Ghidorah’s presence. “Looks like the big man showed up to crash the party.” San taunted, “This is your moment, Ren.” Ichi muttered, “Your one chance, make your choice.” Ichi hissed urgently, Ren’s pulse pounded in his ears, the building shook once more, distant shouting through the halls while he was left behind like chopped liver.. Maybe it was the constant rage the mere presence of Godzilla sent him in, or maybe he finally cracked under the psychological torture, but Ren clenched his fists and made his decision.
Notes:
im terrible at summaries so expect previous chapters summaries to be changed to song lyrics and chapters moving forward, anyway, i know its a stretch for maia to be alive, but the monsterverse has a thing with comically killing all their villains and i wasnt going to use alan jonah because of how different his and rens worldviews are
Chapter 10: everybody wants to rule the world
Summary:
Welcome to your life
There's no turning back
Even while we sleep
We will find you
Acting on your best behaviour
Turn your back on mother nature
Everybody wants to rule the world
It's my own design
It's my own remorse
Help me to decide
Help me make the most
Of freedom and of pleasure
Nothing ever lasts forever
Everybody wants to rule the world
There's a room where the light won't find you
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down
When they do I'll be right behind you
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The entire room shook beneath Godzilla’s steps, the padded walls groaned under the tremors, the patronizing lights flickering wildly as the alarms blared overhead. Ren barely had time to brace himself before a violent tremor rattled through the facility, sending him crashing onto his side. His gaze snapped toward the observation window— the thick, reinforced glass that seperated his white prison from the rest of the world. Ren’s breath hitched as a jagged fracture ran down the center, another tremor, another deafening roar from outside as the crack spread, a third tremor.. And then, the glass shattered.
Ren didn’t think— he moved, lunging towards the opening, he had no idea where he was going, but he was out. “Oh-ho! And just like that, the beast is loose!” San cheered, his voice practically singing in Ren’s head. “Go now, Serizawa,” Ichi urged smoothly, “You won’t get another chance.” He added as if he didn’t already know. Ren stumbled into the dimly lit hallway, his boots skidding against the cold tile floor. Red emergency lights bathed everything in a pulsing glow, sirens screaming in every direction, though they were nothing compared to the roar— a deep, thunderous bellow that made the walls vibrate and Ren’s very bones tremble with rage.
Godzilla, in the flesh. “Damn.” Ni growled, “He’s pissed.” He sneered. “As per usual.” Ichi muttered begrudgingly, “Ooooohh, wait, wait, wait—” San chimed in, his voice shifting to a playful tune. “We can buy time. Ren, lick your hand and rub it on the walls. Spit on the floor, too.” San nagged, causing Ren to skid to a stop. “What?” He muttered in disbelief, “Just do it, trust me.” San insisted, “And you haven’t run out of time yet, have you?” Ichi chimed in, his voice carrying an edge of malice. Ren groaned, putting his dignity aside as he begrudgingly raised his hand to his mouth, running his tongue over his palm before smearing it on the walls. The taste was awful— like sweat and regret, he winced before leaning forward and spitting onto the floor. “Atta boy!” San cheered, “Now keep moving.” He spat, Ren took off down the corridor, his breathing sharp and ragged. “Why did I just do that?” He muttered under his breath, “You’re throwing off his scent,” Ichi explained matter-of-factly. “The lizard tracks with more than just sight, his senses extend beyond human comprehension, your scent, your presence— it is tainted with ours.” Ichi articulated, “Gross, right?” San sneered, “But now? He thinks you’re everywhere, sooo..! Congrats! You just spit all over your own wanted poster!” He taunted, Ren didn’t have a chance to process his words before another earth-shattering roar rang through the facility. And this time..? He somehow understood it.
“̶̡̨̮͈͓̣̞̳͍̜̱̖̥̰̐̅̓̿͋̉͊͂͒͐͒̈́̉̂̇̓͌͒̀̅̐̋͐͠͝ͅĢ̸̤̺̪̳̺̠̱̦͔̭̩̙̬̯̺͓̗̿̍̑̎̏̀̽̐͊̑̐̈́͘͜͠h̶̼̮̙͔̲̲̣̩̺̯̞͍̖̠̣̲͎̠̬̰̻͇̏̄̄͜į̵̢̧̡͕̠̲̺͍̣̦̮̯̹̟̣̥͖͉͈̾̅̃̌̎̀̃̾̄̎̄̈́̀̅̌͂͗̚͝͝d̴̨͚̗̫̼̣̱͖͎̼͊͆̾͐̒̔̚͝͝ͅo̸͎̘͖̜̪̖̫̳̯̗̬͓͖̞̹͈͖͈̪̰̭̔̾͜͜ͅŗ̶̡̢̢̢̛̛̬̙͎̻͍̲͓̪͇̺͇̤̹̫͕̳̼̎̇͆̀͌̋́͌̂̌͑̇̕͝a̵̧̢̛͇̖̘̩̥͕̤͔̘̪̘̳͉̘̜̖̙̋͂̌̆̔̃͗̊̈́̊̈́̀́̄̿͘͘͜͝͝h̴̢̧̢̛̛͕̖͔̼̤̖̳̳̺̳̯̠̱͆̐̐̐͑̑̌̋͋̈̍͑̇͐̂̊̒͜͝͝,̴͔̣̙͈̳̟̤̭̻̭̭̠̆̑̽̐̀̓͋̿̚ ̸̧̨̛̙̜͕̘̝̭͇͒̿̆̑͌̓͐̅̃̚ͅÿ̷̻̗͈͔́́̾̕o̸̺̪̣̟̦͓͜͠ǜ̵͍͖̥̘͊̒͌ ̸̨̟̩̖̓̇d̵̢̢̡̛͚̥͍͕̝̜͕̾͆̌͗̔̎̏̔́̇̕͘̕̚͠ơ̸̼̻̼̠͙̠͖̻̻̘̤͕͕̗̬̜̩͉̲͕̲̖̈́̄̔͊̓̽̊͑̈́́̈́̿̏̄͂̋̕͝͠͠ͅ ̶͈͉̦͔̖̺̯̦̖̠̝͆́̇͗͋͆̎̈́̉́̊̐͊̚̚͝͝n̴̨̢͔̰͎̯̬̻̭̪̳̟͕̺͇̍͗̅̒̋͛̿̈͋̒̿̔̒́̌̈́̽̀͘͘͘͝͝o̵̢̧̺͖̰̮͔͎̝̬̮̗̱̯̻̘̺̦͆̃̉̆͜͝t̶̡̛̛̯͚̻̯̠̗͚͙͖͔͇̲̖͈̥̭̒̈́̆̿̂͒̓͘͘͘ ̴̧̥̆̊̽̐̽̐͐̍̃̃̽̓͛̐b̸̛͍͍̬̖̭̰͉̙̲̼̠̾̇̈̋̍̄̀̓̆ͅe̴̡̨͚͚̼̣̮͐͗̌͜l̸̡̡̨͈̟̝̻̫̘̣̯͚̻̱̲͗̉̉͐͒̌̊̀̆̚̕͜͝͠͝͝ͅơ̷̥̣̟̾̓̒̐̿͂̓̌͆̈́̒̒̚͠͝͝͝ņ̷̨̨͕͕̫̖̠̟͙̟̯̬̼̟͚̦̤̬̺̞̖͒̓͆̕͜ģ̷̛̛̱͖͆̍̒̿͆̔̏͛̋́̈́́͌̾̾̇̍͆̈̅̑͝ ̴̛͍̟͈̥͎͍̮̤͖̜̤̺͈̠̏̉̇̾̆̆̏̔̄̑͒̀͊̆ȟ̶̦̳̺͊͠e̶͕̥̥̰̭̙̓̈̔̐̈́͌̅͌̇͂̀̓͝͝ȑ̶̻́̇̀͑̚͝͝ȩ̵̥̽̈͋̅̽̋̉̓̓͋͝.̸̨̢̢̮̟̼͕͚̹̝͙̣̟͇̺̤͚͎̙̫̓͊̎̑̚”̴̨̨̪̬͓͉͎̣͚̞̟̆́̔
Ren stumbled, his blood turned to ice. “What the hell—?” He stammered, “Oh, forgot to mention.” San mused casually, “We can translate for you now, you’re welcome.” San snarked as if Ren was supposed to appreciate him for such. “He is pissed.” Ni muttered, “Naturally.” Ichi added, Ren’s heart pounded, he could understand Godzilla, his roars weren’t just noise anymore— they were words. Godzilla’s presence was titanic, his energy radiating through the facility. “By the way, what is with him? He’s… Skinnier? And.. Pink?” San hummed in amusement, Ni scoffed. “He looks stupid.” He deadpanned, Ren had to agree, he looked like he came out of a breast cancer awareness advertisement. “Something has changed.” Ichi mused, his tone unreadable. Another roar soon tore through the halls, sending yet another tremor through the walls. “You do not belong here.” The voice hissed, Godzilla knew, Ren swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming in his ears. “This is it, Serizawa.” Ichi purred, “You make your choice now.” He dictated, the sirens blared as the walls trembled, Godzilla was coming, Ren clenched his fisst, and he dashed down the hallway.
Sprinting down the dimly lit corridors, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as alarms blared throughout the compound. The walls trembled under the weight of Godzilla’s presence, red emergency lights casting eerie shadows that flickered and danced like restless ghosts. The scent of burning wiring and concrete dust thickened the air as cracks snaked along the ceiling, dust trickling from above the first warning of impending collapse. For right now, Ren had one goal— escape, nothing else mattered.
Up until his gaze zeroed in on them, Maia Simmons and Raymond Martin, trapped behind reinforced bars, their cell situated at the intersection of two hallways. Both were on their feet, hands gripping the bars as they watched the chaos unfold outside their prison. Maia’s face twisted into frustration when she spotted Ren, waving a hand at him. “Serizawa! You son of a bitch, get us out of here.” She bellowed, Ren barely slowed, barely considered them— he could keep going, he could leave them behind and never look back.. But would that be the best idea? He was alone, and alone, he wouldn’t make it far. Ren cursed under his breath, skidding to a stop before kneeling beside the unconscious guard slumped against the wall. The man had been knocked out cold from the tremors— his radio cackled with static, his key jingling at his belt.
Ren swiped up the walkie-talkie first, turning the volume down before lifting it closer to his ear. The damned transmission was broken and garbled from the interface, but a voice barely managed to cut through the static. “—Yashiro to Kiryu team, report to the hangar! We don’t have a choice, I'm taking manual control!” The feminine voice exclaimed, Ren frowned. Kiryu? The name tugged at something deep in his subconscious, a fragment of a memory he didn’t have time to place as another tremor shook the walls, Ren dropped the radio in his pocket, his focus shifting back to the guard’s belt. He yanked the keys free and approached the cell, Maia stepped back just in time to avoid getting hit in the face as Ren shoved the key into the lock and twisted. The heavy mechanism clicked open, and the door swung onward. Martin exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Figured you’d leave us.” He grunted, Ren didn’t meet his gaze. “So did I.” He admitted, Maia wasted no time snatching the unconscious guards gun, checking the magazine before shooting Ren a sharp grin. “Well, Serizawa, I gotta say— this is probably the first smart decision you’ve ever made.” She jeered, “Don’t make me regret it.” Ren grumbled, glancing down the hallway. Maia tossed him a side-eye, “No promises.” She nagged, before Ren could retort, Martin cracked his knuckles, flexing the fingers of his metal hand. “We need to move. Fast.” He urged, the three of them darted into the corridor, moving in tandem as the structure groaned around them, the air pulsed with static electricity, the distant roars of Godzilla vibrating through the walls like a living heartbeat.
They stuck to the shadows where they could, navigating the crumbling labyrinth of corridors as the facility reeled from the impending Titan. Monarch personnel were either running for cover or manning emergency defenses— no one had time to focus on three escaped prisoners. The emergency lights flickered overhead, giving everything an unnatural, almost dreamlike quality. Ren’s mind was racing, he had heard that name: Yashiro.. And Kiryu— he knew what that was, a weapon, a countermeasure.. And if someone was getting back inside to pilot it manually, then things were about to get much, much worse.
Maia, keeping pace beside him, gave a humorless laugh. “Gotta say, I don’t love the idea of running toward a Godzilla fight.” She snarked, Martin huffed. “Wouldn’t be my first time..” He grumbled, Ren didn’t add anything to their little conversation, his attention sharp as they neared an intersection, he held out a hand, signaling for them to stop. They waited, letting the sound of boots pounding in the distance close in on them, guards sprinting in the opposite direction, not after them just yet. Ren exhaled slowly, nodding forward. “Now.” He gestured, the three of them moved again, slipping through the window corridors as the alarms screeched overhead. Another roar tore through the compound, deep and ancient, the very sound of inevitability. Ren felt Ghidorah hum in response, the trinity's presence curling in the back of his mind like a coiled serpent. “You feel that?” Ni sneered. “He’s getting closer!” He taunted, sounding like a dog ready to pounce. “Which means,” Ichi muttered smoothly, “Your window is closing.” He cut in, San chuckled, far too amused by the situation. “Tick-tock, Serizawa—” He snarked in a sing-song-like tone, Ren ignored them, urging himself to focus and escape as they turned the next corner..
And came face-to-face with a pair of guards, for a split second, both sides first, then Maia, not in the mood to take any chances, shot first. All it took was a single, precise shot to drop the first guard before the second one even had time to react, hardly having time to raise his rifle before Martin slammed his metal fist into the man’s jaw, sending him crashing against the wall with a sickening crack. Ren wasted no time grabbing another gun off one of the fallen bodies, checking the safety before nodding down the hall. “Move.” He urged, no time to waste, no room for hesitation, they were getting out of here, one way or another.
Meanwhile, the compound was falling apart, emergency sirens howling through the corridors, the walls trembling with every distant roar, the air thick with tension, pulsing with the static hum of something unnatural. The smell of concrete dust and burnt wiring mixed with sweat, fear, and the distant scent of ocean salt— a reminder that Godzilla was getting closer.
Madison Russell pushed through the chaos, her grip tight around the walkie-talkie, static crackling through the speaker. “Dad, Dad! Do you hear me?! Godzilla would never just attack Monarch, he’s here for Ren! It’s Ghidorah’s energy! He’s been carrying it this whole time!” Madison urged, failing to notice the three figures approaching from the side, didn’t notice the shadow creeping up on her until it was too late. A vice grip clamped around her arm, she barely had time to gasp before she was yanked back, spun around and came face-to-face with Ren Serizawa.
A chill ran down her spine, much to Ghidorah’s glee. “You’re awfully chatty, Russell.” Ren muttered, his voice calm, even bored— but his grip tightened, Madison struggled, her fingers fumbling for her walkie-talkie before she was interrupted by a grunt and scuffle, turning around just in time to see Josh get grabbed by Raymond Martin, the older man’s metal fingers digging into his shoulder. “Dude— let me go!” Josh yelped, eyes wide with panic. Martin only sneered as if this was the most fun he’d had in months, “Not a chance, tubby.” He grumbled, Josh’s face burned with humiliation. “I’m not even—” He stammered, Ren yanked Madison forward. “Move.” He demanded sternly, his voice showing no room for argument, though Madison didn’t go down easily, glaring at him. “Ren—” She started, “Move.” He spat, his grip tightening as the yellow glow in his eye flickered with warning. And with that, he dragged her down the corridor, Martin shoving Josh along behind them.
The metal door slammed shut, the bunker was small, reinforced, built for containment. Dim overhead lights weakly buzzed, casting long shadows against the steel walls, a single metal table sat vacantly in the middle of the room. Ren let go of Madison just as she tried to yank herself free, sending her stumbling forward.. As for Josh, he hit the ground hard, Martin releasing him with a rough shove. “You psychos! You absolute psychos!” Josh exclaimed, scrambling up to his knees. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” He demanded, how naive he was to think he was in any position to make demands. Maia scoffed, leaning against the doorframe, gun casually resting on her shoulder. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe we’re just tired of being locked up in cages and treated like animals?” She sarcastically pondered, tilting her head and placing her index finger on her chin to appear as if she were lost in thought. Josh glared at her, “Maybe you should’ve stayed in one!” He spat, Maia’s smirk twitched. “I’d watch it if I were you, Pilsbury.” She shot back, “Maia.” Ren grumbled, his voice was smooth, cold, measured. She turned towards him, eyebrows raised.
Ren had taken a seat at the table, his expression unreadable as his fingers drummed against the metal, his silence wasn’t long, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Sit.” He barked, Madison stared in disbelief. “What?” She stammered, he tilted his head. “I said sit.” He pressed, a lump formed in Madison’s throat, but she took a seat. “You too, Rarudasu.” Ren spat, Josh’s face burned with rage. “What the hell is your problem?” He pried, Ren simply smirked. “You, apparently.” He snarked, Josh glared at him but hesitated when Martin cocked his gun, grumbling, he sat beside Madison. Ren leaned back, exhaling slowly. “You, know, Josh.” He started, “I always had one person in school who would talk to me.. Someone who actually acknowledged me.” Ren mused, his thoughts wandering towards Mira. “At least she wasn’t someone with no goals poking her nose where it didn’t belong.” Ren pointed out, tilting his head.
Josh’s fists clenched under the table, “Go to hell, Serizawa.” He countered, Ren’s smirk widened. “Why don’t you make me?” He vaguely pressed, then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a revolver. Madison stiffened, Josh froze in place, Maia raised an eyebrow, “Oh, we’re doing this?” She raved, Ren spun the cylinder, the click-click-click of metal echoing through the silent room. Then, he set the gun on the table, pushing it toward Madison. “Russian roulette.” Ren deadpanned, Madison’s blood turned ice cold while Josh made a strangled noise. “What?!” He exclaimed, Ren leaned forward, his eye glowing and sending a chill down Madison’s spine. “Let’s play a game.” He repeated, Madison’s jaw clenched. “…You’re insane.” She uttered, Ren’s smirk didn’t falter. “No, I just like having options.” He corrected, Josh was shaking his head violently as if in disbelief and waiting for the horrible nightmare to end. “No, no, no way, no fucking way.” He fretted, Martin sighed, leaning against the wall. “Kid, I'd shut up if I were you.” He grumbled, Madison’s hands trembled, her reality settling in. “Ren—” She stammered, her throat dry. “Ladies first.” Ren gestured toward the gun, “Go on.” He pressed.
Madison’s gaze darted from Ren to the gun to the madness flickering just beneath his eye, she could feel the hum of something unnatural in the air, then— “Tick tock, Madison.” A voice that wasn’t Ren’s, but at the same time was impatiently hummed.. And it was laughing, Madison swallowed hard, and reached for the gun, she’d beaten Ghidorah when he was in his three headed dragon glory, she’d beat him when he was in the body of a has-been with a raging hate boner for Godzilla. Madison’s wrist burned against the thick zip ties that bound them to the metal chairs, the restraints bit into their skin, cutting off circulation, but struggling only made it worse. Across from her, Josh was in the same predicament— his breath shallow and his eyes glued to the gun on the table beneath his foggy glasses. Ren had made sure they weren’t going anywhere, the revolver sat between them, its cylinder now containing a singular bullet, its weight too heavy for something so small.
A sharp turn ran throughout her stomach when she looked up at Ren, he looked… Wrong, to put it simply. The dim bunker lighting cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the unnatural flicker in his remaining eye. His expression was relaxed, almost bored, but there was something in the way he tilted his head, the way his fingers tapped against the metal— like a predator savoring its kill before the bite. Behind him, Maia and Martin proved themselves to be loyal henchmen as they guarded the door, their expressions ranging from amused to indifferent. Maia, in particular, looked far too entertained. “You know,” She mused, crossing her arms, “I thought this was just a metaphor, but Dr. Andrews was right, we really are assembling the Sinister Six. Look at you, Serizawa— Electro in the flesh.” Maia quipped, Ren rolled his shoulders, the faintest crack of electricity sparking across his fingers. He barely acknowledged it, as if he wasn’t even surprised by its presence. Madison’s stomach somehow dropped deeper, Josh’s mouth fell open. “Dude,” He muttered.
Ren smirked, turning his palm over, watching as tiny arcs of golden energy danced between his fingers. “Huh,” he muttered, his head tilting in fascination. “Would you look at that?” Ren pointed out, “Ohhh, this is so much better than just talking to you, we’re in you now, we’re with you now.” San nagged, “A gift for our loyal host.” Ichi hummed in agreement, his voice smoother and more composed. “Took him long enough.” Ni scoffed, Ren flexed his fingers, a static hum crackled through the air, the hair on Madison’s arms standing on end. Josh swallowed thickly, “So, uh, not to be that guy, but— does that mean you’re the bullet now?” Josh pondered, Ren tilted his head with amusement. “Guess we’ll have to find out.” He simply put, Madison’s stomach twisted. “Ren, stop this.” She pleaded, Ren sighed in annoyance, tapping the table impatiently. “You keep saying that like it’s an option.” Ren extolled, San cackled in his mind, “C’mon, kiddo, make it interesting! Spin the damn cylinder already!” He chanted, treating it like a sporting event he’d placed a hefty bet on. Ren reached for his gun, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal, and he spun, the cylinder whirred, clicking in place, he soon slid it across the table— toward Madison, taking a weirdly sadistic glee in her breathing hitching. “Your turn.” He simply put, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, eyes glinting with something vicious.
Notes:
110+ hits oh my god im so grateful i cant thank you all enoughh !!
Chapter 11: the room where it happens
Summary:
I wanna be in the room where it happens (I've got to be, I've got to be)
The room where it happens (Oh)
The room where it happens (That big old room, oh)
The art of the compromise
Hold your nose and close your eyes
We want our leaders to save the day
But we don't get a say in what they trade away
We dream of a brand new start
But we dream in the dark for the most part
Dark as a tomb where it happens
I've got to be in the room (room where it happens)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Moments earlier, the hallways were a continuous blur of steel and flashing red emergency lights as Captain Akane Yashiro sprinted towards the hangar, her combat boots slamming against the floor, her breath measured and sharp, her heart pounding with the weight of what she was about to do. “Yashiro to Kiryu Team— report to the hangar! We don’t have a choice, I'm taking manual control!” She ordered, the walkie-talkie crackled in her hand, voices shouting back and forth, but truth be told? She barely registered it, she had bigger fish— or in this case, bigger lizards to fry.. Godzilla was here, and he was angry. The compound shook with every roar, every tremor sending dust raining from the ceiling.
People without any real idea of where they were going dashed in opposite directions— scientists, engineers, Monarch operatives all fleeing to their designated shelters.. But Akane? She was running toward the danger, just as she always had. It was why she joined the military, it was why she’d spent years training, pushing herself beyond her limits, hoping to carve out a purpose in a world dominated by monsters.. Ultimately, it was why she had failed. The memory seared through her mind like an old wound reopening, the accident, the training exercise gone wrong.. The life she had taken because of a single miscalculation, it led to a stain on her record she could never wipe away: dishonorable discharge.
But, she had always been lucky.. They hadn’t thrown her in prison, they had let her live. And Monarch? They had given her a second chance.. Not as a soldier, not as a killer, but as a pilot. And now, as she reached the hangar, she knew— this was her moment. A colossal titanium-white frame loomed over her, incomplete yet imposing. They had dubbed it Kiryu, a machine meant to be an ally to Titans, built around the skeleton of Dagon, Godzilla’s ancient ancestor. Even unfinished, even untested— Kiryu was alive in ways she couldn’t even explain.
The engineers scrambled around the mech, shouting over each other, but Akane ignored them as she dashed toward the cockpit, gripping the ladder and hauling herself up. “Yashiro—” One of the techs stammered, reaching for her, but she was already climbing. “If we don’t do this now, we’re looking at another Rio!” Akane barked, the battle of Rio de Janiro had been a nightmare— destruction a scale no one had prepared for. The President of the United States had been desperate for a solution, anything to keep humanity from repeating the mistakes of Mechagodzilla, that was why Kiryu had existed, not as a weapon, but as a peacekeeper and a way to bridge. A way to speak to Titans, rather than destroy them.
Akane reached the cockpit, throwing herself inside. The interior was cramped, filled with exposed wires and unfinished components, the displays flickering with uncertainty. She strapped in, gripping the controls as the neurolink hummed to light. She inhaled sharply as the weight of Kiryu settled into her bones, “Come on, old ghost.” She muttered, “Let’s do this.” She urged, and with that, Kiryu’s eyes lit up, the hangar doors groaned open and the metal Titan stepped into the light.
Back in the bunker, the tension in the air could be cut thick with a knife— from the Russian roulette, the taunts, the fear— all of it vanished as everyone’s gaze zeroed in on the camera feed. The screen flickered, grainy at first, before revealing a towering, silvery white-figue, its yellow optics glowing as it faced the undeserving King of the Monsters. Ren, still gripping the revolver, felt a shudder crawl down his spine. “Kiryu..” He uttered to himself, recalling what he heard on the walkie as it was still fresh as a daisy in his mind. Maia let out a low whistle, seemingly unphased. “Well, shit. That’s a hell of a thing to wake up to.” She commented, Martin’s grip tightened around his rifle. “What the hell is Monarch thinking?” Martin grumbled, “They aren’t.” Ren simply put. Josh, still bound to his chair, stared at the screen in awe. “Oh my God.” He raved, Madison’s eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
The screen soon shifted, the camera zeroing in on Godzilla, his massive, battle-scarred form standing rigid, dorsal plates pulsing with that strange pink glow.. He was seething, good, feeling what he made Ren feel his whole life. He barely had time to register the deep, guttural sound that rumbling from Godzilla’s throat before Ghidorah’s voices whispered through his skull. “Ohhh, well, this is interesting.” San cooed, always the first one to run his mouth. “So,” Ni sneered, “They dug up the corpse of one of his ancestors and turned it into a puppet.” Ni pointed out. “Hmmph.” Ichi hummed, making his presence known in a contemplative voice. “I suppose it was inevitable, humans cannot help but disturb the dead.” Ichi mused, Ren’s grip on the gun tightened. On the screen, Kiryu raised a hand— slow, deliberate. Not in challenge, but in acknowledgement.
Inside the cockpit, Akane’s voice cracked over the Monarch comms. “Godzilla.” She began, the monster's gaze narrowed. “I know you can hear me.” She added, a low snarl rippled through the air as Godzilla’s claws flexed against the ground, his tail lashing behind him. “This isn’t a fight. You don’t want that, I don’t want that.” Akane’s voice remained steady, but there was an edge of urgency to it. The tension was thick, the air between the two Titans charged with an energy that could either explode or dissolve at any moment, Ren cringed when he noted Akane’s gentle parenting of the beast. To add insult to injury, Ghidorah’s laughter slithered into Ren’s mind. “Oh, he wants that.” San giggled, “He reeks of it.” Ni growled, “This is an insult to him.” Ichi muttered, “A mockery of his lineage, they have made his kin into a machine, a tool, a fitting fate for such heinous creatures.” Ichi mused, Ren’s pulse pounded. He knew Godzilla’s hatred ran deep, Mechagodzilla had been the embodiment of human arrogance, Ren let himself get carried away and even recalled referring to himself as top of the food chain when he tore that skull crawler in half, Simmons’ enabling didn’t help much either.. Mechagodzilla was a Titan killer designed to be the undeserving King’s superior. And now, Kiryu stood with an entirely different purpose, not as a weapon, but as a ghost of the past.. A reminder that humans refused to leave things buried.
Ren let out a sharp exhale, gripping the gun in his lap, his mind splitting between the scene on the screen and the whispers curling inside his skull. Ren’s train of thought ended when the bunker shook once more, the steel walls groaning under the force of another tremor. On the monitors, the battle outside was teetering on the edge of catastrophe, typical for the creature who his father had been so foolish to give his life for.
Godzilla’s form loomed against the backdrop of the compound, his massive form drenched in the eerie glow of the emergency lights. His dorsal plates pulsed in hues of pink and violet, the bioelectric energy surging through his body like a living storm, his tail lashed beneath him, carving deep furrows into the earth as he took a single, heavy step forward. Kiryu stood tall and unmoving, though there was a war going on inside the cockpit as Akane Yashiro clenched her fists around the controls, her breathing steady despite the sweat trembling down her temples. “Godzilla.” She repeated through the speaker, voice firm as if she was scolding the beast.
The monster’s throat rumbled, but his response— at least from Ren’s perspective, wasn’t a roar, rather words. “I am not here to harm your kind.” Godzilla simply put, his deep voice reverberating like rolling thunder. “But I will not depart until I find the puppet of Ghidorah.” Godzilla reiterated, Ren stiffened, his fingers twitched, he understood. The words weren’t just the guttural, primal sounds of a wild beast, they were words, fully coherent words belonging to a language Ren somehow learned. “Ohhh, he really wants you, Serizawa~” San purred in amusement, his voice dripping with mirth.. Ren didn’t know how everything was just so funny to him. “Of course he does.” Ichi droned, calculating. “We have haunted his battles since the dawn of this world, he feels our stain upon you, and he will not rest until it is washed away.” Ichi speculated.
Ren swallowed, finding his eye unable to move from the screen as Godzilla’s voice continued to roll throughout the bunker like an earthquake of meaning. “I have held back. I have kept my rage from tearing this structure apart.” Godzilla postulated, followed by a pause— a warning. “But I will not hesitate to destroy if you stand in my way any longer.” Godzilla lectured, Kiryu’s optics flickered, its metal fingers curled into a slow, mechanical fist. “Stand down, we don’t need to do this.” Akane urged from inside Kiryu, her voice sharp over the comms. Godzilla’s eyes narrowed, Ren could feel the tension twisting into something inevitable up until—
Mark Russel’s damned voice cut through the walkie-talkie. “Ren, listen to me.” Mark urged, causing Ren’s fingers to tighten around the radio, he had forgotten Mark even had a direct channel to Monarch’s systems. “You don’t have to do this, I know you won’t tell me where you are, but if this is about Maddie spying, it was protoc—” Mark began, “Of course this is about Madison.” Ren cut in, Mark exhaled in exhaustion through the radio. “Ren, please. Don’t let Ghidorah turn you into something you’re not. Your father— he sacrificed himself because he loved you.” Mark stressed, causing Ren to freeze and the only sound in the room being an “Ohhh, shit.” From Maia as Ren’s grip on the walkie-talkie tightened, then, his expression twisted into something cold, something venomous. “You really believe that, don’t you?” Ren chided, his voice was quiet, almost amused. “He did.” Mark insisted, “Ishiro loved you, Ren.. He gave his life so that—” Mark disclosed, cut off by a rare laugh from the usually stoic Ren Serizawa, a sharp, bitter sound. “No, Mark.” He corrected, his fingers curling into a fist against his knee. “If your ex-wife never released Ghidorah in the first place, my father would still be alive.” Ren snapped, causing silence to crackle over the radio.
Considering the silence a cue to continue, Ren leaned back, letting out a slow exhale. “So if you really want to see your daughter again, Russell, you’d better do what’s right.” He began, tilting his head and briefly admiring the suspense he’d created. “Fire missiles at Godzilla.” Ren demanded, the silence on the radio spoke several volumes. “You wouldn’t hurt Maddie.” Mark pressed, his voice quieter, firm. Ren’s smirk faltered, grip tightening on the revolver. “This isn’t you, Ren. This is Ghidorah— this is them corrupting you.” Mark pledged, Ren’s fingers twitched, cracking with faint sparks of yellow energy. “I know you,” Mark continued, though he really didn’t, they’d interacted perhaps three times. “Beneath all that resentment, beneath all that pain, you’re still a good man.” Mark nagged, San snickered. “Oooh, Serizawa, he’s tugging on your heartstrings, how sweet..” San jabbered, “You know what he really means?” Ni’s voice snarled, “He thinks you’re weak, that you’ll cave to his idea of what you should be.” Ni barked, “What a waste of words.” Ichi chimed in with disdain, “You already know the answer, Ren. You always have known.” Ichi affirmed, Ren exhaled, his fists drumming against the table, before he could retort, Godzilla’s roar split through the air again, and on the monitor, the Titan lunged forward, Kiryu reacted instantly.
The battle erupted, Kiryu’s massive metal frame launched forward with a speed that belied its size, servos and hydraulics hissing with precision. Godzilla’s dorsal plates blazed as he opened his maw, violet energy crackling in his throat— only for Kiryu’s rocket boosters to ignite, the mecha twisted, dodging the blast before being forced to retaliate with a thunderous strike, its armored fist colliding with Godzilla’s skull with a force that sent a shockwave through the battlefield.
Godzilla stumbled backward, snarling, but recovered infruitangily fast. His spiked tail lashed out, colliding with Kiryu’s side— metal groaned under the impact, but the mech held firm. Inside the cockpit, Akane gritted her teeth, forcing Kiryu to realign. “He’s testing us.” She muttered, “He’s not going all out yet.” She added, followed by another roar, another charge. Godzilla clashed with Kiryu once more, this time attempting to grapple, his claws tearing against reinforced plating. Sparks flew as the metal resisted his grip, the skeleton of his ancestor refusing to bend beneath his strength, but the King of the Monsters did not need patience, he needed dominance. His dorsal plates flared once more, this time around, the glow was brighter, sharper as he unleashed a point-blank atomic pulse. The shockwave exploded outward, sending Kiryu skiddling back, metal plating searing under the intense radiation.
Inside the bunker, Ren watched intently, his breathing slow and measured as he made mental notes of any potential weaknesses Godzilla had— or at least tried to over Ghidorah’s whispers. “This is your moment, Serizawa.” Ichi mused, “Your choice.” He added, Ren exhaled, his eye flickering towards the walkie-talkie, Mark was waiting, Madison’s wrists were still bound, Godzilla was ripping the battlefield apart, and in his head, Ghidorah grinned despite currently lacking a physical form.
The walls continued to groan in dismay as the compound trembled under Godzilla’s thunderous footsteps, the bunker was thick with tension, the air heavy with static. Madison’s breath was shallow, her wrist raw from struggling against the zip-ties. Josh was wide-eyed, darting glances between her and Ren, his face pale with barely controlled panic. Ren, seated at the table, rolled his shoulders, his fingers tapping idly against the revolver. The whispers in his skull were delighted, curling around his thoughts like smoke. “Look at them.” San purred, “So weak. So helpless.” He went on to sneer, “And yet, they still defy you.” Ichi observed, tone cool and calculating as it's (presumably) always been. “They still think they can save you.” Ni growled, Ren exhaled slowly, gripping the revolver with one hand, the other sparking with the gift Ghidorah had given him for being such a good sport.
The bunker’s lock beeped, snapping Ren out of his train of thought as the metal door slid open, a figure stepped inside, the red emergency lights casting sharp shadows over his face: Mark Russell, he didn’t hesitate, he stormed inside, his Monarch head ID card still in hand, eyes locking onto Ren with fierce determination, perhaps he’d finally realized Ren was a lost cause. “Oh great, the cavalry's here.” Maia groaned from behind him, Mark ignored her, his gaze never wavering from Ren. “You won’t do it.” Mark fumed, Ren tilted his head, feigning amusement. “Do what?” He pondered, Mark took a slow step forward. “You won’t hurt Maddie.” He simply put, “Because no matter how much Ghidorah twists you, no matter how much you pretend to be his, I know you’re not a murderer.” Mark affirmed, Ren’s fingers twitched as Mark exhaled, his expression firm but not unkind. “Ishirō sacrificed himself so Ghidorah couldn’t destroy the world.. Giving in to them, doing what they ask— it goes against everything he stood for.” Mark disclosed, but to Ren, it was like he’d pointed out the sky was blue..
Maybe it was Ghidorah’s influence, but something snapped inside Ren, his chair scraped against the floor as he rose abruptly, the revolver slamming onto the table. “You really think I'm that cliche?” Ren pondered, his voice was low yet seething, Mark just blinked, seemingly unaware the topic of Ishirō would set Ren off so much.. Ren stepped forward, his body quite literally crackling with restrained energy. “You think I pulled all of this—” He gestured wildly to the bunker, to the chaos outside, to himself. “—because he forgot about me?” Ren pried, his voice dripping with venom, Mark opened his mouth, but Ren wasn’t finished. “This isn’t about him.” Ren snapped, his tone bordering on viscous. “This isn’t about some petty grudge over being overlooked, this is about revenge.” Ren disclosed, shaking with rage as electricity cracked between his fingers. “Godzilla robbed me of my one chance to reconcile with my father, one chance. And you expect me to just forgive that?” Ren demanded, “Ren, listen to yourself—” Mark exhaled sharply, “No!” Ren shot back, his voice cracked as his eye flashed with a petrifying golden light. “You, listen, Russell. I don’t just want to go against everything Ishirō stood for— I want to tear it apart.” Ren explained, taking another step forward wearing an expression twisted with contempt. “Ishirō never cared for human life, he didn’t care for me.. All he ever cared about was them.” Ren simply put considering it was a fact he’d accepted long ago.
The room was silent, nobody knew what to say after Ren’s one of many outbursts that were growing increasingly common.. His gaze slid to Madison, deciding if Mark went below the belt by bringing up his father, he’d go for the goddamn kill, literally. Something dark curled in his chest, something bloodthirsty. “Do it,” Ni whispered, his voice eager. “She deserves it!” San cooed, “A lesson, show them what a Serizawa truly is.” Ichi muttered, despite his voice being the quietest, it spoke the most volume to him.
Ren grabbed the flower pot from the center of the room, Mark’s eyes comically widened. “Ren, no—” He pleaded, but Ren had already made up his mind. The ceramic shattered against Madison’s skull, she cried out, her head snapping to the side as blood trailed down her temple. The petals of the wilted flowers scattered across the floor, tainted red. “MADISON!” Josh shrieked, “STOP IT!” Mark added, lunging forward, but Martin grabbed him, holding him back with brute strength and forcing him to helplessly watch his daughter get her skull kicked in. Josh on the other hand, thrashed, but Maia easily shoved his lardass against the wall, pinning him down. Ren didn’t show any signs of stopping, grabbing the jagged remains of the pot and slammed it down again— this time with Madison’s shoulder, who let out a choked scream, the ceramic digging deep in her skin just as Mark’s words had tried to do with Ren. Josh’s eyes burned with horror. “STOP— PLEASE!” He begged, but Ren’s breathing was uneven, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Madison slumped forward, her head lolling, blood dripping onto the pristine floor. For a moment— just a moment— Ren’s vision blurred, his hands trembled as the adrenaline kicked in, only for Godzilla’s roar to tear through the air, a low, rumbling voice filled Ren’s head. “You are lost, Serizawa.” It simply put, Ren stiffened when he realized Godzilla’s words weren’t a threat, rather a statement. This caused his pulse to spike, his hands balling into fists, he turned toward Maia and Martin. “We need to move, now.” He urged, his voice snapping like a live wire.
Martin hesitated before releasing Mark, stepping back while Mark rushed to Madison’s side, Maia pushed Josh away. “Aw, and I was just getting warmed up.” She sneered with a smirk, Ren ignored her, his mind racing as he realized just how close Godzilla was. They needed a way out, his mind raced with scenarios until his gaze landed on their getaway ticket— a forklift, abandoned near the corridor, leading into the facility's underground exit. It was stupid, insane, but it was fast enough, and that’s what motivated Ren to bolt towards it, Maia and Martin on their heels, he jumped into the driver's seat, the controls familiar enough from past experience. “Get in.” He snapped, Martin hopped onto the back, gripping the frame, while Maia leaped onto the side. Ren slammed the controls forward, causing the forklift to twitch to life, wheels screeching against the floor as they tore through the compound.. Though, just as they burst through the exit, Godzilla’s massive form loomed overhead, his glowing eyes zeroing in on Ren. “You cannot run forever.” The son who got all the attention vowed, Ren gritted his teeth, gripping the controls tighter, he didn’t have time to run forever, just long enough— and with that, the forklift tore into the night in search of a car to hijack.
Notes:
i hope i wrote the first of many action scenes okay ! it would mean a lot if anyone could promote this fic on subreddit, twitter, tiktok, etc as id love to build a community for ghidorahs voice but dont feel forced !
Chapter 12: ancient dreams in a modern land
Summary:
What's your purpose, why were you put on Earth?
You could be lost but you belong to the world
We're now living in a seminal age
The walls are being broken and we're ready for change
Ancient dreams in a modern land
I'm trying to get back as fast I can
Back to a time before I had form
Back to a time before I was born
You don't have to be like everybody else
You don't have to fit into the norm
You are not here to conform
I am here to take a look inside myself
Recognize that I could be the eye, the eye of the storm
I am not my body, not my mind or my brain (ha)
Not my thoughts or feelings, I am not my DNA
I am the observer, I'm a witness of life
I live in the space between the stars and the sky
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The night air was stocky with humidity, the scent of saltwater clinging to every surface as distant sirens wailed in the background. Monarch’s compound was in chaos— flood lights beaming through the shattered infrastructure, daring voices barking out orders, the remnants of Godzilla’s wrath still carved into the earth.
Luckily, none of it mattered to Maia Simmons.. Her breath was slow, measured, her fingers curled tightly around the butt of her stolen rifle. The weight of the weapon was familiar, a grounding weapon that let her have a taste of the life of luxury she lived as the daughter of one of the richest, if not the richest man on earth. Her pulse barely spiked as she dragged the two struggling figures through the darkened corridors, their muffled protests drowned out by the wailing alarms overhead. She didn’t bother acknowledging them, the taller one— the one she had bad blood with was dead weight, resisting every step, making the process unnecessarily difficult. “What, you don't like the taste of your own medicine? this is just payback for our little catfight in the Hollow Earth.” Maia snarked, on the other hand, the smaller one— the asset was light, almost insignificant if it weren’t for her connection to the Titans. Maia’s jaw tightened as she launched them forward, her mind already racing forward as she tossed them into a trailer Martin had stumbled upon.. This wasn’t about revenge, it wasn’t about settling scores, it was about playing the long game.. And in the end— Maia always played to win, she never strived for anything less than first.
The hospital room was silent, save for the steady, constient sounds of the beeping heart monitor. Mark Russell sat in the stiff, uncomfortable chair beside the bed, his fingers resting against the pages of an old, worn leather journal. His gaze, however, was not on the faded ink scribbled across the paper, it was on Madison. She was still, her face unnaturally pale against the sheets. The bandages around her head and shoulder stood out starkly against her skin, symbolism of the savagery she had endured. Tubes fed into her arm, pumping fluids into her system, keeping her alive— even if they barely did their jobs.
Mark’s throat tightened, his fingers pressing against the journal’s edges until they turned white. The final moments in the bunker played on repeat in his mind, Ren— the son of Ishirō Serizawa, but the apple had fallen so far from the tree and rolled down a hill, landing in the stream of resentment.. He couldn’t shake away the image of Ren standing over her, crimson-slicked, his face a twisted reflection of the false king himself, the way he laughed— the way he enjoyed it was all too familiar, Mark himself had witnessed it in Ghidorah’s eyes so many times.. Even then, Mark had never felt so helpless, so furious.
Then came a soft knock on the door, though it barely registered, but a voice broke through the haze. “Sir,” The voice simply put in a tone of all business, Mark turned, his Monarch employees standing in the doorway, their expressions grim. “You’ve been summoned to court.” One of them stated, Mark inhaled sharply, of course he had— introducing Kiryu to the world too soon up against Godzilla caused it to fail, anything man made was bound to have its imperfections, and someone had to answer for Kiryu’s failure. He didn’t respond— not immediately, instead he gazed down upon the journal, at the scribbled handwriting, the taped photographs tucked between the pages.. Ishiro’s journal, for the first time since he the journal was given to him, Mark forced himself to read it— not out of admiration for the author, but for answers.
August 17, 1998
“Ren is quiet, as he always is. He prefers to listen, to observe. But when I am home, he follows me like a shadow. It is not suffocating— it is simply who he is, children are curious and I find it comforting, in a way. I see so much of his mother in him.”
March 9, 2003
“Ren has started secondary school. It is difficult for him, he does not say it outright, but I am not clueless. I see the way he grips the straps of his backpack too tightly when he watches the news. I see the way he tenses up and his hands clench when I speak on television. The children at his school mock him for my words. It pains me, but I do not know how to fix it.”
Mark let out a slow exhale, glancing at one of the taped photographs, a young Ren, maybe twelve or thirteen, his hair messy, his expression hesitant but trying so hard to remain neutral.. There was a dawning realization when Mark noticed he recognized that look, he had seen Madison wear the same look so many times before.. That same exhaustion, that same reluctance to be tied to Titans, that same quiet anger.. And yet— Ren had been so much quieter than Maddie, he had swallowed it, bottled it up until it had turned into something else entirely. Mark’s hands shook as he flipped to the next entry.
September 27, 2009
“I missed the funeral, I did not want to, but I did. Am I a coward for that? Making Ren arrange it all himself, he was only eighteen, he should not have to. But he did, and Walter Simmons was there, waiting, ready. It is my fault, I should have been there.”
Mark swallowed hard, he hadn’t known, he’d always skimmed over these pages and never truly took them into account, he hadn’t known, he had never bothered to ask. Ren had been a teenager, burying his own mother alone, while Ishirō had been off chasing Titans.. Of course Simmons had seen the opportunity, of course Ren had been ripe for the taking— Mark’s grip on the book only tightened.
May 4, 2017
“He hasn’t spoken to me directly ever since the day I told him his mother would understand my absence, I only hear of his life in fragments through his girlfriend, Mira. His projects, his ambitions. I wonder if he resents me, I do not ask.”
April 12, 2019
“Mira forced him to invite me to the wedding. He did not want to, she says he wants to reconcile but still hates me for what I did to his mother.. My wife. I understand why, I was going to, I truly was. I bought the plane ticket, I had my suit prepared, but then the reports came in.. Godzilla was moving, and I had to see him. I had to know, and so I did not go.”
Mark shut the journal, his hands were trembling as his guilt sat like a lead weight in his stomach.. Ishirō had been too blinded by his purpose, leaving Ren left behind in the aftermath. And now? Madison was in the hospital bed because of it.. Because of Ren’s rage, because of Ishirō’s absence, because of Ghidorah’s corruption. Mark reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her bandaged forehead. Then, he let out a sharp inhale, pushing himself to his feet. He turned to face the Monarch employee’s. “Let’s go.” He commanded, if they wanted him in court, they could have him. But first? He was going to make them listen, because the real issue wasn’t Kiryu or the governments building distrust in Monarch, it was about the growing danger that was Ren Serizawa.. And Mark wasn’t going to let the world ignore him again, not with when the stakes were this high.
The black SUV cut through the morning traffic, heading straight for the Senate building. Inside the near-past speed limit SUV, the atmosphere was tense. Mark sat in the passenger seat, his jaw tight, his eyes distant as he gazed out the window. His mind wasn’t there— it was still at Madison’s bedside, still replaying Ren’s twisted laughter, the blood, the hatred that had burned so deeply into his gaze.
Across from him, Akane Yashiro, Ilene Chen, and Rick Stanton sat in silence— at least until Rick, ever the jester who left others wondering why the circus hadn’t hired him yet, opened his big mouth. “So, let me get this straight.” Rick mused, leaning back, a flask pressed to his lips. “Serizawa’s boy is Ghidorah’s cockwarmer now?” He blurted out, the entire car froze. “Tough crowd.” Rick added, Akane shot him a glare so sharp it easily could have skinned him alive, Ilene’s expression twisted into absolute disgust, while Mark turned so slowly it actually got Rick to hesitate. “What?” Ilene snapped, Rick blinked, lowering the flask after a sip of encouragement. “What? I mean— look at him! The guy’s a full-blown kaiju puppet now! Makes you wonder if Ghidorah gives him handjobs while he’s at the wheel of his body and that’s why he’s so damn willing to help him—” Rick continued despite the joke clearly not hitting, “Rick!” Ilene hissed, “Stanton.” Akane snapped, her fingers clenched into a fist. Mark didn’t say anything— not at first, he just stared at Rick, his expression unreadable up until Rick cleared his throat and awkwardly shifted in his seat. “Right..” Rick muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe.. Maybe that was in poor taste.” He admitted, Ilene scoffed, crossing her arms. “You think?” She grumbled, Rick sighed— shaking his head. “Look, I get it— Ren’s in deep. Probably past the point of no return, but c’mon, even you guys have to admit this is bad.. And not just failed to contain a Titan bad, this is ‘World governments are about to rip Monarch apart from the inside’ bad.’” Rick warned, his tone shifting to seriousness after realizing the grand stakes.
Mark let out a sharp exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We just need to get through this hearing. If we can present Kiryu as a viable asset, we might have a chance too—” He trailed off, “Kiryu failed.” Akane cut in, the flatness and utter defeat in her voice making Mark tense, he knew she wasn’t wrong, Kiryu had been their last, best shot at getting through to Godzilla, and it clearly had been a bust as now they were heading to a courtroom where the U.S government was waiting to gut Monarch alive.
Outside the senate chamber, anti-Titan protestors stood on one side of the building while pro-Titan protestors yelled back at them on the other, a series of exhausted-looking cops holding them back from attacking each other. The senate itself chamber was packed, Politicians lined the rows, flanked by aides and military officials, the tension clear. News channels were perched in the corners, their lenses trained on the Monarch representatives as they sat on the long table before the Senator’s podium.
Mark sat in the center, flanked by Akane, Ilene, and Rick. His fingers tapped against the polished wood as the session began. The lead Senator, a tall, puffy-haired man with a face permanently set in a sneer, cleared his throat. “Let’s get straight to it,” He announced, leaning forward. “Monarch was entrusted with the containment and study of Titans, and yet, time and time again, you’ve failed.” The Senator deadpanned, Mark’s fists clenched from beneath the table. “Let’s go down the list, shall we?” He continued, gesturing to a screen which flickered to life, displaying a timeline of Titan incidents. “San Francisco, 2014. The public learns the Titans are real after your organization fails to stop Godzilla and the MUTOs from leveling the city.. Boston, 2019. Ghidorah is unleashed— by one of your employees, no less.. And it takes Godzilla and Mothra to clean up your mess.” The Senator came to a pause, allowing each occuptant time for a reaction.. Mark tensed up at the mention of Emma. “Hong Kong, 2024. Mechagodzilla, a weapon enabled by a former Monarch director’s son, goes rogue and slaughters thousands before Godzilla and Kong put the machine down.” The Senator elaborated, Ren’s name wasn’t mentioned, but Mark felt it in every word. “Rio de Janeiro, 2027. A Titan rampage nearly destroys half the city, and now? Your very own compound— and by extension, Pensacola, Florida is under siege thanks to your inability to contain your own damn experiments.” The Senator accused, the chamber falling in collective silence, even the flashes of the camera seemed to stop for the moment to settle in. Mark opened his mouth to speak, but the Senator cut him off with a wave of his hand. “This goes far above you.” The Senator added, his voice laced with finality. “The President has already made up his mind. Monarch’s era is over.” The Senator concluded, Ilene straightened. “You can’t just—” She objected, “We can and we have.” The Senator cut in, leaning back. “You’re being replaced, all government funding is being dropped in favor of a new government company to take over Titan management immediately.” The Senator concurred.
The screen flickered again, revealing the logo of a new organization: a simple, almost corporate-looking emblem with two words beneath it: PEST CONTROL. Rick blinked, taken aback. “Seriously?” He grumbled, Akane frowned. “What the hell is this? She demanded, the Senator only smiled, spreading his hands. “Pest Control is the solution Monarch never could be. The plan is simple— seal all Titans away in the Hollow Earth.” The Senator simply put, Mark stared at him in disbelief. “You’re talking about locking every Titan underground?” He uttered, the Senator nodded. “If they’re truly here to maintain balance, what better place than a paradise untouched by humanity?” The Senator smugly pondered, Ilene shook her head. “You can’t do this! Hollow Earth is a functioning ecosystem, it’s not just some Titan dumping ground. We have no idea what could happen if we start—” Ilene protested, “Monarch has had decades to figure that out,” The Senator interrupted, “And what do we get instead? Billions in damages, thousands of deaths. It’s time for something new since this clearly isn’t working.” The Senator asserted.
Just as Mark gritted his teeth, prepared to demand who exactly was leading it, the doors at the back of the chamber opened, a man stepped inside, adjusting his tie, his face tense but composed. Mark’s breath hitched, Dr. Nathan Lind, one of Monarch’s own. Ilene stiffened beside him, “Nathan?” She wondered, the geologist cleared his throat, offering a tight, nervous smile before taking a seat at the opposing table. “Dr. Lind has graciously agreed to assist Pest Control,” The Senator imputed smoothly, “Given his expertise in Hollow Earth, we couldn’t ask for a better consultant.” The Senator commented, Mark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Nathan, you can’t seriously be going along with this.” He lectured, leaning forward. “Mark—” Nathan hesitated, “They’re manipulating you!” Ilene chimed in, “You know damn well this isn’t about balance! It’s about control!” She elaborated, Nathan looked away, unable to meet their shocked and disappointed gazes. “I just want to make sure they don’t screw this up.” He simply put, The Senator smiled. “As you can see, Mr. Russell, your services are no longer required.” The Senator ended the hearing there, the gavel slamming against the podium. The trial of Monarch was over, and the new age of Pest Control had just begun.
Meanwhile, the stolen trailer rumbled down the highway, its rustled frame groaning with each bump in the road. The humid Florida air clung to everything, thick and insect-central, but the further they drove, the closer they came to crossing the border into Mexico, where the heat would only grow more suffocating. Inside, the cabin was a mess of old fast-food wrappers, half-crushed beer cans, and the lingering aroma of sweat and gasoline.
Martin kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the window, fingers tapping idly. His prosthetic arm glinted under the dim glow of the dashboard, he looked relaxed— almost too relaxed, but Ren knew better.. Martin was far from relaxed, rather focused and determined. The man had lost everything to Titans, and now, he was hellbent on revenge by any means necessary. In the back of the trailer, Maia Simmons sat on crossed-legged on the mattress, flipping a butterfly knife between her fingers with casual ease. Her gaze flickered toward the two captives, her expression unreadable. Ilene sat with her arms crossed, her expression stone-cold, her entire body rigid silent defiance. Her adoptive daughter, Jia, on the other hand, gaze was fixated on Ren. Speaking of Ren, he was watching his hands because something was happening.
Ren flexed his fingers, feeling the hum of electricity dancing along his skin, it wasn’t like before— this wasn’t just Ghidorah’s raw bioelectricity crackling through his veins, this was something deeper, something psychic. He reached for the discarded phone he’d discovered in the trailer’s glove compartment, it was old, probably abandoned by whoever had owned the trailer before, and dead as hell.. But when Ren touched it, it turned on without a charger or external power source, just himself. He watched as the screen flickered, going from 0% to 100% in an instant. Maia, who had been watching out of the corner of her eye, let out a low whistle. “Damn. You gonna start levitating next?” She teased, Ren didn’t answer as his gaze was still locked on the phone, his breath slow, measured because suddenly the idea of calling Mira clawed its way into his mind, he hadn’t spoken to her since she mouthed for him to run when he’d been sentenced, since everything had changed. His thumb hovered over the dial screen, his heart pounding against his ribs. He could hear Ghidorah’s voices in the back of his mind— always there, lingering like an endless storm, whispering, laughing, waiting.
“What would you possibly say?” Ichi mused, his tone smooth, knowing. “That you miss her? That you regret not contacting her as soon as you can?” Ichi pressed, “She won’t answer,” Ni sneered, “And even if she does, what makes you think she’ll still want you?” Ni added, “Ohhh, but if she does pick up—” San trailed off, “Imagine the look on her face when she hears you in her head instead of on the phone.” San cooed, Ren froze, coming to a both scary and fascinating realization— the phone wasn’t just a battery trick, Ghidorah’s blessings were expanding, he wasn’t generating power, he was reaching out— something, somewhere— was eventually going to answer.. He thought back to when he put together a device in his lab to reach Ghidorah upon realizing he’d latched onto him— the Xiliens, he could feel them now, watching, waiting for him to make the first move.
The phone shook in his hand as the static from Ghidorah’s presence deepened, warping the digital screen, distorting the numbers until they turned into symbols he didn’t understand, the edges of reality itself wavering.. For a split second— just a glimpse— Ren saw something beyond the trailer walls. A starless sky, a towering citadel of obsidian metal, a flicker cloaked in shadows, waiting atop a throne of blackened steel. Then, as fast as it came— it was gone, the phone shut off in his hand, the screen cracking down the middle. A sharp exhale left Ren’s lips, Maia raised an eyebrow. “You good there, Electro?” She pried, Ren’s fingers tightened around the broken phone. “Keep driving.” He muttered, Martin hadn’t stopped driving in the first place but didn’t question him.
The stolen trailer continued to rattle like a dying beast as it rumbled south, the Florida swamps giving way to the vast, open highways that stretched toward the Mexican border, the miasma of gasoline mixing with the lingering scent of sweat and old fast food wrappers. In the passenger seat, Maia flipped her butterfly knife between her fingers, her expression unreadable. Martin, hands steady on the wheel, finally broke the silence. “Alright, Simmons, humor me,” he began, eyes locked on the road. “How the hell does a rich girl who used to be the face of Apex— plastered on magazine covers and walking around in designer heels end up in a stolen trailer, wanted by every government on the damn planet?” Martin pried, Maia chuckled, twirling her knife once more before snapping it shut. “Fell from grace.” She mused, “Happens to the best of us.” She added with a shrug, Martin snorted. “Bullshit, you weren’t just some intern at Apex— you were Simmons’ heiress apparent.” Martin shot back, Maia leaned back against the window, gazing at the blur of headlights in the opposite direction. “Dad sent me to oversee the Hollow Earth mission.” She droned casually, as if talking about a bad business trip. “Forgot to mention that Kong was gonna be the elephant in the room— or, in this case, the monkey on the boat.” Maia simply put, Martin smirked. “So, what? You figure you couldn’t kill him, you’d join the people who want to?” Martin pried, Maia only scoffed. “Hell no, you think I give a damn about ‘there can’t be two alphas’ bullshit?” She shook her head, “Please tell that to every alpha male podcaster ever, I'd love for there to only be one alpha so those insufferable men are gone.” Maia grumbled, Martin actually laughed at that.
Behind them, Ren sat in silence, fingers resting against the burnt-out phone on his lap.. Because there was something happening inside him, something growing. Jia noticed first, she had been quiet the entire ride, watching him out of the corner of her eye, now she nudged Ilene Andrews and quickly signed sometime.. Ilene’s eyes darkened, her gaze now fixated on Ren, studying him as if he were under a magnifying glass. Ren didn’t acknowledge them, he was too focused on the static buzzing behind his eye, his thoughts hadn’t been just his own in quite some time now, but now they were stretching outward— reaching, searching for someone— something that could hear him.
The Mexican border crossing was a slow, agonizing ordeal, made worse by the fact their trailer looked as if it had been through ten different crimes before breakfast. The border patrol officer, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and an unimpressed expression, leaned against the driver's side window, flashlight in hand. “Business in Mexico?” He asked flatly, eyes flickering over Martin, then Maia. “Sightseeing.” Maia deadpanned, the officer didn’t buy it. “You got papers?” He pried, Martin forced a smile. “Look, man, we’re just trying to—” He pleaded, the officier held up a hand, already bored.. Then, his gaze flickered toward the back of the trailer. “What’s in there?” He demanded, Ren didn’t breathe, Maia, ever the professional liar, grinned. “Just some camping supplies!” She simply put, forcing a viper smile. The officier narrowed his eyes, shining his flashlight through the back window. “Looks like you’ve got people back there.” He pointed out, Martin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, look, if I slide you a couple hundred bucks, can we speed this thing up?” He dared to bargain, the officier raised an eyebrow. “Bribing a federal agent?” He asked flatly, his tone showing he’d done this dance many times before. Martin shrugged, “It’s Mexico.” He shot back, to everyone's surprise, the officer sighed, rubbing his temples. “God, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” He muttered before waving them through, Martin smirked. “Have a good one, amigo.” He waved off, the officier glared at him as the trailer lurched forward, crossing into Mexico under the cover of night.
The compound was hidden deep in the Mexican desert, tucked between crumbling cliffs and jagged rock formations. It wasn’t just some back-alley hideout the cartel would operate in— this was an operation, built from remnants of Apex’s old supply chains and Jonah’s growing network of fanatics. As they pulled up to the gates, Alan Jonah was already waiting for them, standing with his arms crossed, his face as emotionless as ever. His loyal henchmen lingered behind him— armed, silent, and waiting for orders. “Bit far from home, aren’t you?” Jonah mused, his voice dry and deadpan, like someone who had long stopped being surprised by anything.
Ren was the first to step out, his expression blank. “We need to talk.” He simply put, Jonah studied his features. “And here I thought I was retired.” He grumbled, Maia smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself, we’re just borrowing your expertise.” She snarked, Jonah exhaled through his nose, looking completely unimpressed, but gestured for them to follow regardless. He led them to the winding corridors of the compound, past rooms filled with maps, stolen Monarch data, and weapon caches until they eventually reached a sealed metal door.. Jonah paused before opening it, glancing at Ren. “You’re gonna love this.” He voiced, and with that, the door slid open.
Inside, sitting on a massive alien platform was a severed head, it was alien, massive, brutal-looking— all serrated metal and biomechanical plating, a singular red visor where its eyes should have been. Ren’s breath hitched, he had seen this before in Ghidorah’s memories, the head twitched, then, it spoke. “Ahhh,” It purred, its mechanical voice smooth, amused, and in perfect english. “I was wondering when I'd get some company.” It sneered, Ren stiffened, “Meet Gigan.” Jonah stated. “The one and only— with a working Wi-Fi connection.” He proposed, Ren’s hands curled into fists as Gigan’s visor flickered, as if scanning him. “Ohhh,” The severed head mused, “You’re the one they’ve been whispering about.” It acknowledged, causing Ren’s blood to run cold. Jonah raised an eyebrow, gazing at Ren. “They?” He pondered, Gigan chuckled, the sound like a blade being sharpened. “The ones who sent me here.” He articulated as if he were grinning beneath the metal, “The ones who are waiting for him to return.” He continued, casting a long silence in the room. “They call it a prophecy.” Gigan mused, his robotic voice dropping to a mockingly gentle one. “They call it a prophecy.” He sneered, “A new ‘X’ will rise, they say.” He foretold, his visor flickering. “And something tells me..” He trailed off, his gaze locked onto Ren. “—That’s gonna be you.” He theorized, Ren didn’t breathe, Jonah’s expression remained unreadable, Maia leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Well,” She muttered, “This just got a whole hell of a lot more interesting.” She jeered, Ren said nothing, because in his head, Ghidorah was laughing, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stop.
Notes:
this chapters a bit of a filler chapter as i wanted to focus on developing the side characters, rest assured, this is still a ren serizawa centric story through and through, just wanted to develop the world around him a bit !
Chapter 13: counting stars
Summary:
And I feel somethin' so right
Doin' the wrong thing
And I feel something so wrong
Doin' the right thing
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The door slid shut, leaving Ren alone in the dimly lit chamber with nothing but the whirring hum of outdated machinery and the severed head of the one they dubbed ‘Gigan.’ The cybernetic Titan couldn’t do much but sit motionless, its red visor flicking intermittently, like an old television struggling for a signal.
Ren’s fingers twitched at his sides, the static in his skull growing sharper, more present. “Well, well, well.” The voice slithered through his mind like oil seeping through cracks in concrete. “Finally someone who speaks my language.” Gigan’s visor brightened, as if he were narrowing his eyes. “I was wondering when you’d stop sulking and start talking.” The severed head mused, “You were starting to bore me.” He noted, Ren’s lips didn’t move, but Ghidorah spoke for him. “You recognize us.” Ichi droned, Gigan chuckled, the sound a glitching metallic scrape— as if nails on a chalkboard were a voice. “Please. You could be nothing but ash in the wind and I'd still recognize your stench.” He jeered, followed by a pause, then Gigan's tone darkened. “You’re vulnerable.” He simply put, Ren’s body stiffened. “We are not weak, King Ghidorah is not weak, and you best never forget that, Gigan.” Ichi spat, “Oh, pardon me. You’re only physically vulnerable.. Does that ice the bruise on your ego a bit, Ichi?” Gigan amended, his voice dripping with amusement. “But let’s not pretend you’re anything close to the unstoppable terror you once were.” The remnants of a cybernetic monster sneered, letting out a low, static-infused hum. “Your body is gone, your influence is fractured, you’re trapped inside a sack of flesh that doesn’t even belong to you.” Gigan echoed, Ren’s hands clenched into fists, his eye flashing gold. “At least we can walk freely.” Ichi shot back, the light from Gigan’s visor flickered once more— like a heartbeat, then he laughed, a deep, buzzing, almost delighted sound. “Oh,” He dramatically sighed, more capable of emotion than Mechagodzilla and Kiryu ever were. “How the mighty have fallen.” Gigan sneered with mock-sympathy.. Ren’s body tensed, but he didn’t utter a word.
Instead, the presence of Ghidorah withdrew, slithering back into the depths of his mind like the retreating storm they were.. Gigan didn’t call after him, he simply sat there, the whir of his machinery the only sound in the room, he was content with waiting because he knew— Ghidorah was far too stubborn to stay gone for long.
Meanwhile, the Monarch war room was drowning in tension, the massive circular chamber— once a point of joint research, military cooperation, and global strategy now felt more like a battlefield. On one side of the room, Monarch officials, scientists, and military personnel stood stiffly, their faces set in grim expressions. On the other side, government representatives who look displeased that this took time out of their day— some from the U.S, others from Japan, and a few from European nations held themselves with that signature, corporate polished detachment. At the center of it all, standing before the long, illuminated strategy table, was Mark Russell, wearing an expression of storm and exhaustion, his hands braced against the table’s surface as he surveyed across the room. “Let’s be honest with ourselves.” Mark began, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. “We all knew this was coming.” He told the group, the air shifted.
Monarch had spent decades operating as an independent force, a joint effort between the American and Japanese governments, originally intended to study, contain, and understand Titans.. But now? Now, the entire world had turned against them, Pest Control wasn’t just a new initiative, it was a takeover— leaving everyone in the room to decide: fight or comply. “We should accept government oversight.” An older Japanese scientist muttered, “Monarch began as a joint operation between Japan and the United States— perhaps we can still convince them to keep some of us in advisory roles..” He trailed off, “This isn’t an oversight.” Ilene Chen cut in, her voice sharp. “This is a hostile acquisition.” She chided, Rick Stanton scoffed, arms crossed. “They’re not interested in advice, doc. They want leashes.” He corrected, Akane Yashiro, standing near back, crossed her arms. “And what exactly do you think happens when Pest Control locks every Titan inside Hollow Earth?” She pressed, sending the room into a rare moment of silence. Mark let out a slow exhale, rubbing his temples. “We don’t even know if Hollow Earth can sustain that many Titans,” He added, trying to keep a measured voice but also visibly affected by the events that were his daughter being the victim of attempted murder and now the government demanded replacement of Monarch. “For all we know, sealing them in one place could start a chain reaction that destroys the entire ecosystem.” Mark elaborated, “And even if it doesn’t.” Akane chimed in, “Godzilla won’t let it happen.” She simply put.
Everyone knew it was true, Godzilla would never stand for it.. And the world governments? They’d try to kill him for it. Mark looked around the room, exhaling sharply. “We all knew the day would come where we had to pick a side,” He announced, “Monarch isn’t a scientific organization anymore, it hasn’t been for a long time.” He simply put, casting a tense air across the room, some nodded, others shifted uncomfortably. “We can’t just start a war.” One of the senior officials shot back, “We won’t, we’re not attacking anyone, we’re not going rogue, but we sure as shit aren’t bowing down.” Mark cleared up, he straightened, shoulders squared. “We’re going to prove that humanity isn’t a threat.” He simply put, a few exchanged glances, others looked unconvinced, likely getting deja vu to Ishirō’s speeches.
Mark’s gaze darkened, “And if anyone has a problem with that,” he began, voice slow. “You’re free to leave.” He concluded, silence followed his rather bold statement.. Until a single voice spoke. “Kiryu.” The room turned toward the speaker, it was a younger scientist standing near the strategy table.. Everyone knew what he meant, Kiryu— the unfinished mech, built from the remains of Godzilla’s ancestor, Dagon. It had failed in Florida, but if they could fix it.. If they could get Godzilla to understand that humanity wasn’t his enemy, Kiryu could be the final argument that turned the tides.
Rick let out a low breath, rubbing his wrinkled temples. “So, just to be clear,” he muttered, “Our plan is to take the half-finished metal corpse of Godzilla’s long-dead grandpa and try to convince him we’re cool?” He asked, “Yes.” Mark replied without hesitation, silence once again took over the room until Rick let out a dry laugh. “Well, shit. Guess I'm in.” He grumbled, Akane gave a sharp nod, her gaze steel-sharp. “I’ll pilot.” She declared, the room shifted as sides were clearly being drawn, some would fight for Monarch’s independence, others would walk away.. And deep beneath the surface, where Titans ruled, where Godzilla listened, and where something far, far worse was beginning to wake— the world’s Final War was already taking shape.
Back during some semblance of simpler times, the medical wing of Monarch’s air was drenched in the scent of antiseptic and dying flowers. Nathan Lind adjusted his jacket, the fabric stiff against his shoulders as he walked through the sterile white halls of Monarch’s private medical wings.. The room number burned in his memory, he’d read it three times just to make sure: Room 417, Ren Serizawa’s room, the man who had nearly wiped out Hong Kong, the man who was now nothing more than a breathing corpse in a bed. Nathan found himself hesitating at the door for some odd reason, he thought back to the brief interaction— himself, Ren, and Walter Simmons, Apex’s kingpin, back when all of this was still just a theory. When Hollow Earth energy was the miracle fix Simmons had promised, when Mechagodzilla was just a contingency plan rather than a name that would go down in infamy.. Back then, Ren had been.. distant. The kind of guy you’d assume had nothing going on behind his eyes, but the second he spoke, you realized he was five steps ahead of you and just didn’t care to explain.. Nathan recalled the way Simmons had treated him— like a glorified tech support employee, a means to an end, nothing more, nothing less.. Maybe, in a different world, Nathan would’ve felt bad for him, but that had gone into flames the moment Mechagodzilla stepped into Hong Kong, with a shaky sigh, he finally stopped lingering like an idiot and pushed the door open.
Nathan wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this. Ren looked like hell, his face was pale, sickly, his right eye gone with a stitch wound in its place. The monitors beside his bed beeped slowly, the only sign there was still something human inside that husk of a man, but what caught Nathan off guard wasn’t Ren, it was the woman sitting at his bedside.. She was delicately arranging a bouquet of flowers, her fingers moving with an absentminded grace only artsy people possessed, a large Akita dog lay curled at her feet, its ears twitching as it regarded Nathan with sharp, intelligent eyes. The woman finally looked up, meeting his gaze. “Oh,” She started, blinking at him. “You must be Nathan Lind.” She guessed, Nathan cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh—” He paused, “And you are..?” He asked, she only smiled softly. “Mira Serizawa, Ren’s wife.” Mira introduced, Nathan blinked in admitted shock.. Wife? He had no idea Ren was married.
Mira gestured for him to come closer, “You can sit.” She offered, turning back to her work. “I was just finishing up.” She added, Nathan took a cautious step forward, hesitantly lowering himself into the chair across from her. Mira continued arranging the flowers, pausing to sketch something in the notebook beside her. “You’re the geologist, right?” She mused, not looking up to meet his gaze, Nathan quickly nodded, still struggling to wrap his head around this whole ordeal, Mira smiled, “Ren mentioned you.” She simply put, Nathan’s eyes widened, blinking. “He did?” He pondered, she nodded, turning the sketchbook toward him and revealing to him a charcoal drawing of himself.. His own face, looking utterly exhausted, distressed— lines unders his eyes, shoulders sagging. He stared at it, puzzled.. Mira tapped the page. “You looked like this when you walked it.” She sneered, Nathan forced a laugh. “Great. That bad, huh?” He affirmed, Mira chuckled, closing the sketchbook. “Well.. You said it, not me.. Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to go.” She jabbered, reaching into her bag and pulling out a scrap of paper and pen, jotting something down and then handing it to him— her phone number. “If he even twitches, call me.” She urged, her voice gentle though left no room for argument, Nathan took the paper hesitantly. “Yeah, sure.” He assured, watching as she gave Ren one last look before she grabbed her bag, whistled for her dog, and walked out.
The room felt colder the moment she left, Nathan finally let out a slow breath he’d been holding, running a hand down his face. That was when the door opened again, but this time— it wasn’t Mira, it was Ilene Andrews, whom stopped in the doorway, her expression unreadable as she took in the sight before her, letting out a scoff. “Wow,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Didn’t expect to find you here.” She observed, he sighed, already exhausted. “Nice to see you too, Ilene.” He grumbled, watching as she stepped forward, her gaze sharp as nails. “Why are you sitting at his bedside?” Ilene demanded, “I don’t know, Ilene, maybe I was just morbidly curious about the guy who nearly got me killed.” Nathan exhaled, Ilene’s gaze darkened. “Ren is the reason thousands of people are dead,” She coldly shot back, not allowing him the time of day for reality to set in before she continued, “And you’re sitting here like he’s some kind of—” She trailed off, but he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture and rather desperate for a topic change. “How the hell did he even make it out?” Nathan pondered, Ilene paused, he took it as a cue to continue, gesturing at Ren’s motionless body, his missing eye, his bandaged arms. “The guy was piloting that thing,” He added, “We saw it go rogue, how the hell did he make it out alive?” Nathan asked, Ilene exhaled. “Well, somehow, he walked out.” She simply stated, “Walked out?” He asked with a raised brow and newly found frown, Ilene nodded, her expression shifting to an unreadable one. “He climbed out of the cockpit and waltzed right out of Apex, made it all the way outside before he face planted in front of Monarch personnel.” She elaborated, tilting her head. “Madison and Bernie said Simmons had a flask that night, maybe Ren had too many and they got drunk enough to release an unfinished, unauthorized death machine.” Ilene theorized.
Nathan fell silent, his mind was still stuck on what he’d witnessed that night, the way Mechagodzilla had ripped itself free, the way Ren apparently moved in the cockpit like a puppet with broken strings, and the way he clearly walked out— as if he wasn’t in control of his own damn body, Ilene, however, didn’t seem to care. “You shouldn’t be here.” She recited, her voice sharp. Nathan met her gaze, his jaw tightening. “Why? Because I don’t feel like kicking a guy while he’s in a coma?” He shot back, Ilene scoffed. “No, the coma has nothing to do with it, the guy doesn’t deserve sympathy.” She pointed out, Nathan didn’t mean for his temper to snap at that, but it did. “Oh, I'm sorry— Should I just go ahead and spit on him while I'm at it?” He snapped, Ilene’s eyes flashed. “Don’t act like he’s a victim.” She enunciated, Nathan stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “Maybe he’s not.” He admitted, “But you know what? You should at least pretend to give a damn.” He barked, “This man—” Ilene’s jaw clenched, “Was someone's son.” Nathan cut in, a tense silence fell over them. “Jesus, Ilene. I just saw Kong crush Maia’s HEAV with her inside, she couldn’t have been older than 27 and now she’s gone, you ever think about it?” He pried, watching as her expression shifted— only for a second, but it was enough. “I watched it happen,” Nathan continued, “And I can’t stop thinking.. Maia was someone’s daughter.. And Simmons— for all we know, some poor woman out there lost her husband and daughter on the same damn day.. You know how Jia felt losing her parents, imagine that woman.” He croaked, Ilene’s face was hard, unreadable, she let out a breath and turned to leave, Nathan was preparing to follow her, but he turned to gaze at Ren. “Even if you and Simmons were most definitely manipulating me, you believed in me when nobody else did, I'll believe in you when nobody else does.” Nathan vowed, turning on his heel and walking out alongside the choice he already made.
Even with his vow, Nathan never expected to end up here, standing in the vast wilderness of Wyoming, dressed in a Pest-Control issued containment suit, surrounded by military-grade machinery, tasks, and government operatives ready to execute the first step in humanity’s final solution. The wind hustled through the open plains, a sharp contrast to the chaos unfolding up ahead.. Nathan let out an exhale, adjusting the radio earpiece obviously located in his ear. “All units, prepare for engagement.” The voice of a commander whose name Nathan couldn’t remember for the life of him, though the commander was one of Pest Control’s top field officers, crackled through the comms. Nathan’s grip tightened on his tablet, which displayed a heat signature so massive it nearly overwhelmed the screen.
The ground beneath them rumbled— subtle at first, like the tremor of a passing freight train. Then, with a deafening, guttural screech, the earth split apart Abaddon rising between the split cracks. Nathan had seen his fair share of Titans before, but Abaddon was different, it emerged from the burrow in a violent spray of soil and shattered rock, its eight massive, fleshy legs digging into the land like twisted pillars of muscle and bone. Its dark cephalothorax, grotesquely shaped like a human skull, gleamed under the sunlight, its eight pale teal eyes glowing like dying embers. And then— it screamed, a piercing, unholy shriek that sent an icy dagger down Nathan’s spine.
Pest Control’s soldiers moved like clockwork, fanning out, their trucks and mechanized units advancing with cold, calculated precision. The containment rigs, massive metal scaffolds lined up with electromagnetic pulse emitters were positioned in a perfect semicircle around Abaddon’s emergence point. “Jesus Christ,” Nathan muttered under his breath, watching as the arachnid Titan reared back, its massive fangs dripping with saliva, its chitinous spikes tearing through the earth.. He couldn’t put his finger on his feelings before, but now he concluded felt a sick sense of deja vu.. He had been in this position before— watching something colossal, something beyond humanity’s control, rise from the depths.. But last time— last time, he had been watching Godzilla and Kong in Hong Kong, watching Godzilla fight for his life. “Commander, Abaddon is fully surfaced,” one of the operatives reported over the radio. “All containment units, commence suppression.” The commander ordered, Nathan’s breath caught in his throat as the soliders opened fire.
The initial volley was meant to stun, not kill. Nathan could only helplessly watch as bright orange energy nets fired from massive cannon rigs, designed to disrupt Titans nervous system, tangled around Abaddon’s legs, forcing the monster to stagger backward. High frequency sonic disruptors followed, blasting the air with pulses designed to confuse and disorient. Abaddon shrieked, its massive body thrashing, crushing trees and sending waves of dirt cascading into the air. Nathan forced himself to stay focused, this was working, it was working.. Pest Control was doing what Monarch had never been able to do, containment and control without killing the Titan— humanity was finally winning, and yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, Ren’s face flickered into view.. That empty, sunken expression, the half-lidded stare the last time Nathan had laid eyes on him, though never speaking it outwardly, Ren had always believed humanity could conquer the Titans just as they’d conquered diseases, and now, for the first time— Nathan was standing on the side that was making it happen.. Was this what Ren had wanted, or had Nathan become what Ren could have been if he wasn’t swallowed by his own demons? “Nathan, you still with us?” The Commander’s voice snapped him out of it, Nathan cleared his throat. “Yeah.. Just.. Processing.” He trailed off, “Then process later. We’ve got company.” The Commander simply put, Nathan blinked, company? And then, he saw it, a glint of silver in the sky, descending fast, a shape— sleek, metallic, and armed to the teeth— Kiryu.
The Mechagodzilla prototype, still unfinished, but Monarch only cared if it was functional, which it was, landed with an earth-shaking impact just meters away from the containment operation. Dust exploded outward, momentarily obscuring the battlefield. Then, through the haze, the titanium frame of Kiryu emerged. Nathan’s breath hitched, “This is Akane Yashiro.” The pilot’s comm came through the channel immediately, “Pest Control, disengage.” She demanded, her voice was firm, edged with a hardness that left no room for negotiation. The Commander cursed under his breath, “Oh, for fucks sake—“ He hissed, Kiryu’s glowing yellow optics locked onto Abaddon, but the stance wasn’t hostile, Nathan could see it— Kiryu was postioning itself between Pest Control and the Titan.. Trying to de-escalate. “Godzilla has already sensed what you’re doing.” Akane’s voice came through the comms once again, Nathan’s blood went cold— of course he had, of course Godzilla would. “You people don’t understand.” Akane pressed, her voice urgent. “This isn’t about Abaddon, you don’t care what happens after, you think you can just round them up like stray animals? You think Godzilla will let this happen without retaliation?” She demanded, The Commander’s response was as blunt as it was chilling. “We don’t answer to Godzilla, we are not his pets.” He simply put, Kiryu’s head tilted slightly, as if calculating. “Neither do we, but we understand what happens if you push things too far.” Akane shot back, Nathan’s hands curled into fists, this wasn’t going to work, they weren’t going to back down, Akane had to know that.. And Godzilla wasn’t going to stand by forever, he felt like he was standing at the edge of something irreversible, like everything was about to collapse.. And then— before Akane could get another word out, the containment rigs fully activated, the electromagnetic pulses surged, locking Abaddon in place as a gaping Hollow Earth breach opened beneath it, with one final, piercing shriek, the arachnid Titan was swallowed whole. The ground rumbled silently, the calm after a storm as silence followed with Abaddon’s disappearance so abrupt one could think he wasn’t there in the first place. Nathan looked toward Kiryu, expecting an attack or some kind of retaliation, but instead, Akane just stood there, silent and watching, then, without another word, she turned and left, Kiryu launched into the sky, disappearing into the clouds. Nathan didn’t know whether it was a warning or a surrender.. But he knew one thing, Akane was right that Godzilla had just been given a reason to fight back.. And the next time Pest Control did this? It wasn’t going to be this easy.
The hideout was nothing more than a fortress of shadows, built from crumbling Apex supply chains and the remnants of a dying ideology. The walls were lined with stolen data, maps of Titan migration patterns, and Apex cybernetics blueprints, all pinned to the wall like the fevered conspiracy of a madman, comparable to Bernie’s apartment.
And at the center of it all, sitting in the dim glow of a flickering oil lamp was Alan Jonah— a man who had seen the world burn, even had a hand in releasing Satan and declared it wasn’t enough. Across from him, Raymond Martin leaned idly against the wood.. The two men were similar in only one way— they had both lost everything, but where Jonah had lost his daughter to the sheer hebris of humanity, Martin had lost his entire family to the horrors of Titans. The air between them sat in silence, both men studying each other like two predators sizing up the weakest link in a dying ecosystem, Jonah finally broke the silence. “You realize, of course,” He began, voice quiet, measured. “That keeping Jia here is going to provoke Kong.” Jonah pointed out, Martin let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the stump of his arm absentmindedly. “Yeah? Good.” He muttered, Jonah’s gaze narrowed slightly. “You want him to come out.” He stated, more of an accusation than a statement. Martin shrugged, the movement slow, deliberate. “Let’s just say I got a bone to pick with that overgrown chimp.” He simply put, Jonah exhaled through his nose, leaning back. “You and Simmons both.” He pointed out, Martin’s jaw tightened. “Look,” He began, voice law. “Maia’s got her reasons, and I've got mine. The attack in San Francisco cost me my wife, my kid.” He grumbled, clenching his metal fingers into a fist, their joints creaking under the pressure. “And Monarch? Pest Control? Even Ren.. They’re all busy worrying about Godzilla.” Martin let out a slow breath, his expression hardening. “Kong’s been hiding out in Hollow Earth since the day it got discovered, nobody’s made him pay for what he did in Skull Island.” Martin pointed out, Jonah tilted his head with interest. “So you intend to drag him out?” He affirmed, Martin scoffed, his smirk cold and void of humor. “Damn right.” He confirmed.
Jonah regarded him for a moment before reaching for the whiskey bottle on the table, pouring himself a slow, measured drink. “You know, Martin. I used to think like you.. Once upon a time.” He muttered, swirling the liquid in the glass. Martin raised an eyebrow, “That so?” He pried, Jonah’s gaze darkened. “I lost my daughter because of what humanity is capable of. Not Titans.” He admitted, taking a slow sip, his expression unreadable. “And you lost your family because of what Titans are capable of, in a way, we are two sides of the same coin, aren’t we?” He mused, Martin let out a bitter laugh. “Sure, except one of us isn’t a tree-hugging eco-terrorist.” Martin muttered, Jonah raised his glass in mock salute. “Touché.” He digressed. Martin exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “You ever notice how Ren and Maia are about living like this?” He suddenly asked, Jonah arched an eyebrow as Martin leaned back, popping his boots onto the table. “Ren was born into money, right? Not Simmons’ level of money, but close. I figure Maia was private jet rich while Ren was more second car wealthy.” Martin pointed out, Jonah chuckled. Martin smirked. “You shoulda seen them in that damn trailer, Maia kept complaining about the heat, Ren wouldn’t touch a damn thing that wasn’t bottled water, and the whole time I'm sittin’ up front like some god damn chauffeur.” Martin jested, Jonah shook his head, amusement flickering across his otherwise stoic face. “They’ll get used to it, or they won’t.” Jonah muttered, finishing his drink. “Either way,” Martin muttered with a scoff, glancing towards the far end of the hideout, “This war’s just getting started.” He added, Jonah exhaled, gaze flickering towards the maps spread across the table. “I’ve seen war, it's not a war, not yet.” Jonah corrected, “Give it time.” Martin concluded with a smirk.
The room was dark, lit only by the dim blue of a dusty computer screen. Ren sat hunched over an old chair, his hair still damp from the shower, a towel draped over his shoulders. The air reeked of mildew and old circuitry, the computer wheezing like it hadn’t been turned on in years. It didn’t matter, Ren didn’t plan on staying long.
Ren’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, the glow reflecting in his one remaining eye as he hesitated, staring at the login screen. GHIDORASTAN64: The old username stared back at him, a relic from a different life, a different Ren Serizawa— a Ren who was 15 and stupid and didn’t have big dreams, just a keyboard and way too much free time. He let out a slow breath then logged in, the page loaded sluggishly, but when it finally pulled up— the account was still active, posts had been made, interactions had happened. Ren felt his stomach tighten, Mira— she had kept the account alive while he was in a coma, a part of him wanted to smile at that while another part of him wanted to die. “You know, this whole ‘showering in the dark’ thing is getting sad,” San mused, his voice slithering through Ren’s skull like a static radio signal. “You do realize we’ve seen everything already, right? Thirty-three years of your pathetic little life, Puppet. Every fight, every time fish scales fell out of your eyes, every time you and your wife—” San began, Ren knew exactly where this was going and shut it down. “Be quiet.” Ren muttered, “Oh, don’t be shy.” San teased, “Ichi even took notes— didn’t you, Ichi?” San queried, “I refuse to engage in this idiocy.” Ichi muttered, “But you took notes.” San shot back, “Strategic analysis is not the same as voyeurism, you insipid child.” Ichi hissed, “Damn, that’s rough.” Ni snorted, Ren gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate all of you.” He grumbled, “We know!” San chirped, Ren clicked on the search bar, typing out one name: Titan Truth live.
The page loaded, revealing Bernie’s live podcast feed.. Much to Ren’s dismay, the title at the top read:
🔥THE SERIZAWA CONSPIRACY: WHAT MONARCH ISN’T TELLING YOU, THEY WON’T ADMIT IT, BUT REN IS POSSESSED🔥
Ren let out a low exhale, rubbing his temples. “Oh, for fucks sake.” He grumbled, he clicked the screen, taken aback by how Bernie’s animated and passionate face, his Titan Truth hoodie loose around his shoulders as he gestured wildly. “..and I’m TELLING YOU, the guy is possessed by Ghidorah!” Bernie exclaimed, he was ranting, eyes wide. “You all saw the footage! His eye glows yellow! He’s got electric powers! And look— I know possession sounds crazy, but this is Apex technology we’re talking about! They were messing with telepathic links to Ghidorah’s skull! What’s to say that thing didn’t just— hijack his brain?!” Bernie added, the live chat was a mess.
KaijuKing420: bro u sound crazy rn
JonahWasRight: nurse hes out again
Mothra_Stan99: no but fr he was acting WEIRD in the court clips
TitansAreGods: nah bernie gotta point
BernieRules: 🔥🔥🔥 PREACH BERNIE
Gojira_61: possessed or not, ren still a nepo baby asshole
Ren’s fingers twitched, a slow malicious smirk crept onto his face, and then— he started typing away, his focus dead set on the keyboard.
GhidoraStan64: you are so full of shit
Bernie squinted at the chat, “Look, chat, another Apex sympathizer.” He announced.
GhidoraStan64: i dont even like apex, i just think youre a dumbass
GhidoraStan64: next youre gonna say im a lizard person
Bernie groaned. “Okay, first of all? There ARE lizard people, they run hollywood!” Bernie pressed, only giving Ren more ammo to be quite frank.
GhidoraStan64: cry about it
San wheezed in Ren’s head, “Oh my God, I love you.” San jeered, “Go for the weight jokes, it always works.” Ni snorted, Ren grinned, he needed this feeling of being superior after how hectic his first few weeks out of a coma had been.
GhidoraStan64: you ever consider godzilla hates you because u shower in bleach and smell like a chemical spill
Bernie scowled. “I DO NOT—” He began defensively.
GhidoraStan64: yeah. yeah u do. ur making this way too easy.
MothraStan_99: LMAOOO
KaijuKing420: GHIDORASTAN GOATED
BernieRules: STOP LAUGHING THIS IS SERIOUS
Bernie rubbed his temples, looking tired as hell. “Okay, can we get back on topic?” He pried, Ren leaned back in his chair, feeling a rare yet cherished flicker of amusement.. He almost forgot he was in a compound full of terrorists, operative word being almost. “You know,” Ichi mused, “for a man on the run, you seem to have time for childish nonsense.” Ichi pointed out, “Let him have this.” San gleefully snarked, “Our puppet’s been through a lot.” He sarcastically added, Ren didn’t want their pity.. He let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders.. It was true. If he had to live with the three most annoying parasites in existence, he was going to at least have some fun.. Even if the world was falling apart.
The glow of the screen dimmed as Maia walked into the darkened room, arms crossed, expression unreadable— the moment Ren heard her footsteps, he pulled the computer's plug. “What do you want?” Ren asked, not getting up quite yet. “Jonah and Martin want to talk about next steps.” Maia simply put with a sigh, Ren exhaled slowly. “Can’t they plan without me?” He pried, Maia narrowed her eyes. “Do you want to kill Godzilla or not?” She shot back, that made Ren pause, for a moment, he just gazed at the screen, his own reflection faintly visible in the black void.. His missing eye, his scarred face— the Thing that gazed back at him wasn’t the same man that had walked into Apex all those years ago, and it never would be thanks to Godzilla. Without another word, Ren stood up, Maia didn’t say anything as she led him out the door, she didn’t have to.
As they walked out of the crumbling corridors of Jonah’s hideout, Ren barely spared a glance at the cell doors they passed. Jia and Ilene sat behind the bars, the dim light casting long shadows across their faces, Ilene’s gaze snapped up when she saw them, her gaze tightening. “Oh look, the cowards.” She pointed out, clearly not wanting Jia to hear since she didn’t translate. “Oh look, the prisoners.” Ren shot back without missing a beat, Jia’s hands curled into fists, but she didn’t say anything. “They’re gonna be a problem.” Maia muttered under her breath, glancing at the pair and then Ren.. He didn’t answer because he knew.
Jonah and Martin were waiting for them outside, standing near a makeshift planning table surrounded by old Titan schematics, maps, and intercepted Pest Control data feeds.. The Mexican air was cool for a change, the scent of distant rain lingering in the sky. Jonah barely looked up as they approached, his fingers tapping idly against a hollowed-out Apex data pad. “Took you long enough.” He muttered, Ren ignored him, scanning the maps spread out before them.
On one of the screens, a grainy feed played, showing two creatures Ren didn’t recognize causing havoc in a city alongside Godzilla and Kong, Ren could imagine the foolishness in his fathers phrase ‘let them fight’ if he were still here today. One was a massive, ice-covered Titan, its long dragon-like form writhing through the city, the other was a hulking, ape-like creature, frozen solid by the time the clip finished. “What the hell are we looking at?” Martin demanded, narrowing his eyes. Jonah gestured at the screen, “That’s Shimo and that was Skar King, two new players on the board.” He explained, Ren frowned, but didn’t say anything. “I just wanted to remind the three of you— this is bigger than all of us.” Jonah simply put, reminding Ren that even despite developing abilities no human had before, he was still human in a world with Titans. “Remember you’re here because I allow it, not because you deserve it, not because you’ve earned it, but because I have a use for you.” Jonah added, Maia’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, the feeling was mutual, Ren had a use for Jonah as well. Martin simply huffed, crossing his arms. Jonah smirked at the trio's shared silence, Ren didn’t flinch, “And what exactly is your grand plan, then?” He pried, Jonah gestured at the maps. “We let Pest Control do the heavy lifting.” He simply put, Maia frowned. “You mean we just sit back and let them bag Titans?” She pondered, Jonah gave her a look. “What, you suddenly care about Titan welfare? That’s not very ‘toss the monkey’ of you.” Jonah queried, Maia clicked her tongue, but didn’t argue. “We let them round up the Titans, let them clear the field, and then— when the time is right.. We take what's left.” Jonah sneered, Martin exhaled through his nose. “And we get what we want?” He demanded, Jonah tilted his head. “You’ll get your shot at Kong.” Jonah corrected, “And you’ll get your shot at Godzilla.” Jonah stated, his gaze sliding to Ren. “Of course, none of that will matter when the real game begins.” Jonah continued in a vague, ominous tone. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” Martin pried, “No Titans will be left to protect humanity, they will have no defense against what happens next.” Jonah simply put, Ren whirled around to shoot Ilene and ‘I told you so’ gaze but said nothing.
Notes:
hihi! feel free to chirp ideas and predictions for whats next in the comments!
Chapter 14: hi ren
Summary:
When standing in-front of my solar eclipse
My name it is stitched to your lips, so, you see
I won't bow to the will of a mortal, feeble and normal
You wanna kill me? I'm enteral, immortal
I live in every decision that catalysed chaos
That causes division
I live inside death, the beginning of ends
I am you, you are me, I am you, Ren
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Hollow Earth pulsed with life, an ancient, untouched by man world beneath the surface, where colossal creatures roamed under a sky of swirling, luminescent mist. Towering crystalline spires jutted from the landscape, and rivers of molten energy slithered throughout the veins of the land like the beating heart of a forgotten kingdom.
Atop a craggy outcrop, Kong sat, his massive form sat still, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths., he could feel the weight of something unseen pressing down upon him like the pressure before a storm. Suko crouched beside him, the youngling’s blue eyes flickering with curiosity as he gnawed idly on the remains of a Drownviper bone. The juvenile ape had taken well to Hollow Earth, its hidden pathway perhaps— but he had never seen Kong like this before. Kong’s fingers dug into the rock beneath him, his mind elsewhere, he was unable to shake away the feeling something was wrong. His instincts— finely honed through centuries of battles, through surviving Skull Island, through the war against the Skar King— were screaming at him.
Jia.. Kong had not seen her since she left with the humans. She was safe— he had convinced himself of that, she had the others, she had Monarch, she, just as he had, found her place among her kind. And yet, despite that ressaurence, a heavy unease twisted in his gut. Suko let out a questioning chuff, his head tilting. Kong glanced down at the juvenile, then reached over, resting a massive hand atop Suko’s head, a silent reassurance. No matter what, Kong would protect his own, even if it meant going to the surface again, even if it meant Godzilla wouldn’t like it. Kong let out a sharp exhale, his decision made. He rose, shaking the dust from his fur, his muscles rippling beneath the scars of countless battles. Suko scrambled to his feet, still chewing on his bone, his expression half curious, half excited.
The ground trembled as a new scent filled the air, one that Kong recognized immediately. His lip curled, his sharp canines glinting in the dim light, Suko tensed beside him, his small body instinctively bristling.. From the shadows of a towering rock formation, a grotesque form emerged. Eight crimson legs, each ending in massive chitinous spikes, moved in slow, deliberate steps, its dark grey abdomen pulsing with unnatural energy. A grotesque cephalothorax, shaped like a humans skull, turned towards them, its eight glowing eyes locking onto Kong with an eerie, intelligent hunger.. Abaddon, in the flesh.
A sharp snarl left Kong’s mouth as he stepped in front of Suko, muscles coiled, his mind flashing back to their last encounter— the night Abaddon had emerged from the depths, trapping humans in his webbed prison, consuming them, reveling in their screams. The two Titans had fought before, and Kong had made sure Abaddon knew his place, yet here he was— in Hollow Earth, in his domain. Kong’s fingers curled into twists, his massive frame tensing. Suko let out a small, guttural noise, clambering up a rock for a better view, but Kong never lifted his gaze from Abaddon.
The arachnid Titan let out a low, guttural hiss, clicking its massive peg-like teeth together, its fangs dripping with venomous saliva.. Then— it laughed, a distorted, chittering sound, almost as if the vile creature was mocking him. Kong roared, his deep, guttural bellow shaking the very ground beneath them, a crystal clear warning, but Abaddon didn’t retreat, it lunged forward, and the battle began anew.
Nathan Lind sat in the sterile, ivory halls of the Pest Control facility, elbows resting on the cold metal of the cafeteria table, flingers clasped together, eyes trained on nothing in particular. The room buzzed with distant conversation, the hum of overhead fluorescent lights mixing with the quiet clatter of utensils against trays. The air reeked of processed food and disinfectant, a scent so artificial it made his stomach churn.. He wasn’t hungry, not after what happened in Wyoming with Abaddon. The Titan had fought like a cornered animal, not some mindless beast, it had screamed, its agony shaking into the battlefield as it was forced into Hollow Earth against its will.. And Nathan had just stood there, watched, let it happen. He had told himself, over and over, that the people the Titans killed were someone’s sons, someone’s daughters.
That’s why Pest Control had to do this, that was why it was necessary, but if that was the case.. Then why did Nathan feel like the real monster in the room? And why— when he closed his eyes— did he keep thinking of Ren Serizawa? He hadn’t seen the guy since he visited him in the hospital room all those years ago, back when Ren had been wasting away in a coma, before he’d turned into whatever the hell he was now. Nathan thought about that conversation a lot, Ren had always believed humanity needed to conquer the Titans, not coexist with them.. And now Nathan was standing on the side that was making it happen, but it didn’t feel like a victory, it felt like a loss.. His train of thoughts were interrupted as a shadow fell over him, Nathan glanced up, Commander Douglas Gordon stood there, his broad frame clasp in a crisp military uniform, the Pest Control insignia gleaming on his shoulder like a bad omen. His scarred face was unreadable, but his steel-grey eyes held the weight of someone who had seen too many battles to count. “Lind,” Gordon greeted, voice gruff, like he’d spent years yelling over the sound of gunfire. “Get up, there’s something I want to show you.” He snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. Nathan let out a slow exhale, pushing himself up. “This about Abaddon?” He pondered, Gordon shot him a look. “No, it’s about the future.” He simply put, Nathan had heard that statement time and time again and learned to never like the sound of that.
The deeper they ventured down the facility, the more Nathan felt his stomach twist with dismay. The halls were darker, colder— there was also a sheer lack of windows, only reinforced steel doors with coded locks, security cameras tracking their every movement. “This isn’t exactly the VIP tour..” Nathan quipped, Gordon didn’t respond, making Nathan feel like an idiot for even opening his mouth. They reached a large viewing window, overlooking a massive training chamber below.. And that was when Nathan settled his gaze on them— a group of Iwi warriors, moving in perfect synchronized formation, their lean, muscular frames clad in high-tech combat gear, their expressions unreadable.. Except they weren’t just training, they were fighting against machines.
Metallic drones zipped around them, firing stun rounds, forcing the Iwi to dodge, counter, and evade with inhuman speed. One leapt into the air, twisting through a gravitational anomaly, flipping mid-air in a way that disobeyed every last law of physics itself. Another caught a drone with one hand, crushed it like a soda can, then signed something to his comrades, the others responded instantly, moving in tandem, as if they were all thinking with a singular mind. Nathan’s blood ran cold, glancing at Gordon in disbelief, who only crossed his arms, watching the display with approval. “You already know what the Iwi are capable of.” Gordon pointed out, “Their enhanced physiology, their telepathic communication, their ability to exploit gravity anomalies..” He trailed off, “Yeah, I know..” Nathan muttered, swallowing. “Pest Control realized their potential early on,” Gordon continued, “We recruited them, trained them, integrated them into our very own elite forces.” He elaborated, Nathan’s jaw clenched. “You enslaved them.” He muttered in disbelief, Gordon turned to him, his brow furrowing. “I wouldn’t use that word.” He shot back, Nathan let out a sharp breath, gesturing toward the training chamber. “They’re being used as weapons.” He protested, “They’re being used as soldiers.” Gordon corrected, his gaze narrowing. “Just like any other military force. And they’re damn good at it.” He hissed.
Nathan looked back at the Iwi, they were young, strong, and efficient.. But their eyes— their eyes were empty. “You’ve seen what Titans do, Lind. You know what happens when we don’t fight back.” Gordon reminded, his voice was calm— too calm.. Nathan tightened his fists, yeah, he’d sure as shit seen it, he’d seen cities leveled, seen people crushed under rubble, screaming for help that never came— he’d seen children orphaned in an instant, but he’d also seen what Monarch was trying to do, and this wasn’t it. He let out a slow exhale, his heart hammering against his ribs.. He couldn’t just stand by, his morals would never allow him to do so, if Pest Control was going this far, if they were willing to enslave an entire race of people to use against the Titans— then he needed to warn Monarch, he needed to make things right even if it meant betraying Pest Control from the inside. “I get it, it’s impressive..” Nathan carefully stated, looking at Gordon, forcing his expression into something neutral.. The man in question studied him for a moment, then nodded. “It is.” He affirmed, Nathan turned back to the training room, watching as the Iwi moved in perfect unison like a silent, deadly hivemind.. He felt sick, but he kept his expression neutral, kept his voice calm, and kept his real intentions buried deep for now.
The dim glow of the television screen cast flickering shadows across the cracked walls, the only light in the otherwise suffocating darkness. Ren sat in the chair, elbows on his knees, one hand idly holding a glass of something he wasn’t even drinking. The ice had long since melted, the condensation pooling against his fingers, but he barely noticed as his eye was trained on the news broadcast. “Pest Control has successfully relocated their first Titan to Hollow Earth, solidifying their position as humanity’s greatest line of defense against these colossal threats. The public response has been overwhelmingly positive—” The reporter continued to ramble on and on, but Ren tuned her out, exhaling sharply through his nose, leaning back.
The footage shifted to cheering crowds, a staged handshake between a Pest Control official and a government representative, to the looming shadow of containment machinery, and for a moment— Ren swore he could hear Ni sneering from the back of his skull. “I hate this,” He muttered, “These cockroaches get one victory and act like they own the planet.” Ni snapped, “They are predictable.” Ichi chimed in, “They conquer what they fear, they always have.. Explains why the lizard is so protective of them, they think quite similarly.” Ichi observed, San let out a mock gasp. “Oh, but brothers! Don’t you see?” He drawled, his voice constantly dripping with the same jest it always carried, as if he didn’t care for world domination and was just there for the thrill the ride brought. “This is progress. This is humanity triumphant.” San sneered, Ren ignored them, rubbing his temples, he wasn’t in the mood for their commentary— he never really was, he was just an unwilling listener. “Hey, wanna see something cool?” San randomly asked, before Ren could answer, the world twisted beneath him, a force— undoubtedly Ghidorah seized his body, dragging him backward into something deep, something cold, something endless.. He felt as if he were being pulled into the vast ocean by a sea creature, drowning as everything went black.
Ren was floating, or maybe he was falling.. It was hard to tell when there was no ground, no sky— just an endless abyss stretching in every direction, vast and infinite.. And in the darkness, towering like a god of ruin, was King Ghidorah.. The three-headed demon loomed above him, each head watching him with predatory amusement, their massive golden scales faintly illuminated by the eerie glow of.. Snowflakes? Ren frowned, instinctively reaching out as one of the delicate shapes drifted him, the moment it landed on his palm, the void rippled, and suddenly, he wasn’t here anymore.
Rain.. It was pouring, cold droplets slipping beneath the collar of his suit, soaking into the fabric, clinging into his skin. Ren stood at the front of the gathering, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, gazing down at the wooden casket in front of him— the wooden casket housing his mother, and his father was not here. He had been forced to organize everything all by himself at the ripe age of eighteen, from the guests, to the flowers, the priest— every agonizing detail. Eighteen years old and already burying his mother, alone. He wasn’t allowed to seethe for long as someone touched his shoulder, Walter Simmons. “Your mother was a remarkable woman.” He had said, with a practiced smile, his presence casual yet deliberate, his voice silk wrapped in steel.. Ren knew because he lived this day before, before Simmons could hand him the internship letter he hid beneath the sleeve of his suit, Ren blinked and the memory shattered into pieces like broken glass.
This time around, it was through Ishirō’s eyes.. His office at Monarch was small, filled with the scent of old books and freshly brewed tea. Ishirō Serizawa sat at the cluttered desk, fingers tracing the rim of his cup, eyes carefully neutral beneath the glass spectacles as he stared at the invitation in front of him— his son’s wedding, Ren hadn’t invited him personally, it had been Mira, his future daughter-in-law, who had gone out of her way to say: “He won’t say it, but I know he wants you there.” Ishirō let out a slow exhale, he reached for a pen— and then the memory shifted before Ren could even process it, he was now witnessing a battlefield consisting of fire and smoke, to his fathers hands pressing on the detonator, to the light of the bomb engulfing him, and Ren’s voice when Ilene Chen had showed up at his doorstep to break the news to him: “He wasn’t there for me, so why should I care that he’s dead?” Both Ilene and Ren had known he didn’t mean it, it was one of the early five stages of grief— anger, as by the time Mechagodzilla was up and running, Ren would do anything to get Ishirō back, and to this day, that hadn’t changed.
As the second memory fractured, this vision was warmer than the others.. A home, unfamiliar yet somehow familiar, soft morning light filtering through sheer curtains, the smell of coffee and rain in the air. Ren, who (thankfully) by this point had gotten a glass eye, sat at a kitchen table, watching Mira hum as she knitted away at one of her projects. What really caught Ren by surprise was the unmistakable laugh of a child coming from somewhere in the house, small feet padding across the wooden floors. A little girl with Mira’s smile and Ren’s eyes came into view— running into the room while holding up a toy, babbling about something she wanted to show him. Ren leaned forward attentively, smiling despite himself— just for the vision to crack like broken glass, the child, house and the stability were gone and Ren was left with the three Ghidorah heads laughing.
Ren was back in the black, endless abyss, his breathing unsteady, his body trembling from the sheer weight of what he had just seen.. The snowflake-memories continued to fall, drifting lazily around him. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to exhale the breath he’d been holding. “Does it make you feel helpless?” A voice hissed, smooth and mocking, like a blade dragged along glass.. Ren didn’t answer because he didn’t have to, the look was written all over his face. “That is how we saw you, you know.. Helpless. We had to watch your entire life unfold like a movie for three years while you rotted away in that coma.” Ichi scoffed, “Three years of being a passenger in your miserable existence, it was excruciating.” Ni added, “Though, I've gotta admit, it was pretty interesting.” San sneered, Ren’s jaw tightened. “Then why keep watching?” He pondered, San’s grin widened— he could see it across the left head's snout, rows and rows of jagged teeth. “Because, Puppet,” He leaned in, his voice a whisper, a promise, a curse. “We had nothing else to do.” San simply put, and in the void— the snow continued to fall.
For the first time since being dragged into this black abyss, Ren became aware that there was a floor beneath him. Smooth, cold, stretching out in all directions.. The slow and deliberate footsteps echoed, Ren whirled around, meeting the gaze of a figure approaching from the darkness. Unlike Ghidorah, unlike the behemoth presence of the golden dragon, this figure was humanoid, yet there was something so unearthly about him. The Controller of Planet X emerged into the dim light of the falling memory-flakes, his form draped in ornate, high-collared robes, his features sharp, refined— unmistakably human in appearance, yet the visor over his eyes were undeniably alien.. But his expression— his expression was calm, measuring, and intrigued. “Ren of the Serizawas.” The Controller greeted, his voice smooth, echoing in the void. He lifted a hand, letting a few of the falling snowflake-memories land in his palm, studying them for a moment as his lips quivered upward in a faint smile, “You have lived,” He began, “A rather interesting life.” He muttered, Ren’s jaw tightened. “I’d rather you not go through my head.” He snapped, The Controller lifted an eyebrow, then, with a simple flick of his wrist, he let the memories drift away. “Understandable, allow me to return the courtesy.” He mused as he extended his other hand— and suddenly, Ren was no longer seeing his own past, he was seeing the Controller’s.
The visions were faster, flickering in and out like a reel of a half-burned film. It took place on a world beyond Earth, black skies laced with endless stars— the halls a grand, towering citadel. Ren caught glimpses of figures— other Xiliens— standing in perfect formation, their gazes sharp and unreadable.. His gaze shifted to a younger version of the Controller, standing before a council of elders, their faces shrouded in shadows. “You were not born among us.” one of the elders intoned, “And yet, you have risen above all others..” They added, the younger controller knelt, his head bowed. “Because I understand what must be done.” He simply put, “Then rise.” The elder demanded without missing a beat, the vision flickered—
The Controller now stood alone in a vast chamber, a holographic projection of Earth standing before him.. His expression was hard to make out beneath the visor, but Ren managed to gather it was neutral, his hands were clasped behind his back, deep in thought. “A world of boundless potential..” He began, “But they are.. Unrefined.” He mused, the image of Earth twisted, morphing into something different— a vision of the future not yet realized, Xiliens and humans standing side by side, no war, no destruction, just unity.
Ren took a sharp inhale as he was pulled back into the present, the memories fading around him like mist in a meadow. The Controller stood before him, watching him. “Would you like to become my apprentice?” He suddenly asked, his tone neither demanding nor pleading— simply offering.. Ren hesitated, for a moment, he could feel Ghidorah stirring in the back of his mind, coiled and awaiting an answer, slowly, Ren exhaled. “I’ll do it.” He affirmed, The Controller’s expression did not change, but there was a glimmer of approval in his gaze. “A wise decision.” He complimented, extending a hand. Ren reached out, shaking it. The moment their hands touched, something shifted— an invisible force pulsed through the void, a strange, electric sensation thrumming in Ren’s chest.. But before he could dwell on it— “I must warn you, Ghidorah will only hinder you.” The Controller lightly spoke again, Ren’s brow furrowed. “He saved my life.” He shot back, watching as the Xilien tilted his head. “And he will take it, if you let him.” The Controller pointed out, Ren’s fingers tensed around the handshake. “He’s not going anywhere.” Ren repeated, the Controller studied him for a moment, then merely nodded. “Very well.” He simply stated, and with that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps silent against the unseen ground, vanishing into the darkness.
Ren gasped as he was ripped out of the void, his body jolting back into the real world.. His pulse hammered against his skull, his vision was swimming, the room spinning slightly— but something was different. He could feel something in his mind— something that hadn’t been there before, perhaps his psychic abilities had developed further? As he slowly sat up, catching his breath, his gaze flickered toward the reflection in the darkened window: the Xiliens.. Ren had never seen them up close before, but now, staring at his own warped reflection, his heartbeat slowed.. Because for the first time, a thought crept into his mind: were they ever human?
Notes:
this is a bit of a shorter chapter as its mostly setup, keep commenting ideas, reviews, and thoughts tho!! the reason i pump these out so quickly is because i know theres someone out there looking forward to reading this :)
Chapter 15: bloody mary
Summary:
I won't cry for you
I won't crucify the things you do, do, do
I won't cry for you
See, when you're gone, I'll still be Bloody Mary
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kong made a note to himself that the surface air was different as his massive frame rose from the Hollow Earth, his fur matted with the remnants of his battle with Abaddon, fresh scars tracing across his colossal arms where Abaddon’s fangs had sunk too deep. The roar of the ocean greeted him first, followed by the chill of the wind, a stark yet not unwelcome contrast to the heat and gravity shifts of the world below.. And waiting for him? Godzilla.
The great Titan stood in the shadows, the ocean barely reaching his knees, steam rising from his dorsal spines, glowing pink and violet in the rising sun, his sapphire eyes bore into Kong, unblinking, unyielding— a warning, a challenge? “You have no business here.” The saurian simply put, Kong let out a sharp exhale, his nostrils flaring as he stomped forward, the ground trembling beneath his weight. “I came for Jia.” Kong shot back, Godzilla’s head tilted slightly, his tail dragging through the surf, sending waves crashing against the shore. “He is safe.” He assured his fellow king, “Then tell me where she is.” Kong demanded, a volume speaking silence followed.
The ape bared his fangs, his massive hands flexing, fingers curling into fists. “I see how it is, I will find her myself.” He grumbled, a low, rumbling growl built in the lizard's throat, his spines flaring brighter, illuminating the water around him in eerie, shimmering hues. “Do not test me, ape.” He hissed, the air between them grew tense, heavy with the weight of their ancestors' ancient rivalry.. Before they could get handsy, a soft flutter followed by a sudden breeze carrying the scent of the earth after rain filled the air. The tension broke as Mothra descended, her radiant wings glowing softly, casting dappled light across the waves. She landed between them, the delicate patterns on her wings shifting slightly— her large, intelligent eyes glancing between the surface and underground alphas respectively. “Enough.” She demanded, Kong let out a huff, but stepped back.. Godzilla’s glow dimmed only ever so slightly, but he did not break his gaze. “He has no place here.” The saurian rumbled, “And yet,” The moth’s voice was calm, soothing. “Here he stands.” She pointed out, turning to meet Kong’s gaze while her antennae twitched slightly. “Jia is in trouble, indeed.. But we have a greater problem.” Mothra vouched, Kong narrowed his eyes. “What problem could possibly be greater than an endangered family?” He pried, Mothra’s wings fluttered once, the golden dust from her scales drifting like glowing embers. “We must find Ghidorah’s puppet.” She urged, for the first time, Kong felt a new kind of unease settle into his bones, because if Ghidorah’s influence still remained— then war had never truly ended, and even if himself and Godzilla found middle ground, the battle for dominance had only just begun.
Back in 2024, San awoke to chaos. The moment he surfaced, the very second he felt his presence snap into place within the mechanical Titan— he knew. “I fucked up. Again.” He admitted, if Ichi and Ni had bodies at that moment, they’d be furious, not because of what was happening, but because San— the so-called weakest link was the reason it was happening at all. They had bit the dust in Boston, quite literally. Ichi and Ni had been silenced, buried under the weight of death and decay.. But San? His tendency to lose his head was the reason King Ghidorah lived on, what Ichi dubbed as foolishness had saved their asses.
And now, here he was inside Mechagodzilla, piloting the most advanced Titan-slaying weapon ever built, and not a single soul even realized it was him.. Sure, Godzilla had a feeling, but he was never able to put his claw onto it. “Oh, they’re gonna be so pissed when they find out.” San sneered, the moment the neurolink severed, he had seized full control with ease, his thoughts overrode Ren’s, the pathetic human slumped forward— a puppet with its strings cut, smoke curling from his spine like fried circuitry. San would have laughed if he wasn’t operating out of a machine, instead opting to crush Walter Simmons like an ant.
The cockroach barely had time to utter an “Oh shit—” before Mechagodzilla’s drills slammed into him, blood splattering against the monitors. The control room shook, alarms blaring, the Apex employees screaming in horror. “Oopsie-daisy.” San jeered, tilting Mechagodzilla’s head, relishing in the feeling of having teeth, steel, and a goddamn body moving under his will.. This was his body now, and there was one last loose end to tie up, and it had everything to do with his old rival, his killer, his biggest mistake.
San’s mechnical red eyes that he hadn’t taken his first breath with locked onto Godzilla, who was still recovering from his fight with Kong. The ‘great’ reptilian Titan’s chest heaved, his spines flickering with dwindling blue light, his breath ragged, labored, and best of all? Weak. San flexed Mechagodzilla’s drills, rolling his shoulders, and letting out a metallic snarl that rumbled throughout the place they dubbed ‘Hong Kong.’ “Don’t you recognize me, scalescum?” San pondered, revelling in the way Godzilla’s eyes snapped toward him and the way they narrowed in fury upon settling their gaze on him. San jabbered, an eerie, metallic one that sent a nails-on-chalkboard feeling down Godzilla’s spine. “Oh, so you do remember me!” San exclaimed, letting Godzilla roar in rage as his tail slammed against the rubble beneath him. “Come on, lardass, round two!” San jested, and with that, Mechagodzilla charged, marking the beginning to the disrespectful beatdown we all know and love.
To put it simply, the impact was instantaneous as Mechagodzilla slammed into Godzilla, sending the almighty king of the monsters skidding backward, his claws digging trenches into the ruined streets of Hong Kong. San didn’t give him so much as a second to breathe, his superior metal tail lashing out, striking Godzilla across the face, sending the reptilian Alpha crashing through a row of buildings. “Oof. That’s gotta hurt. You good, superstar? You wanna tap out?” San sneered, Godzilla roared in response, he was never a fan of San’s jokes— his spines flaring bright, charging a blast of atomic breath only for San to rush him. “Yeah, no thank you.” San raved, kicking Godzilla square in the gut, knocking the breath out of him before he could fire, San took pleasure in the way the energy in his throat fizzled out, and Mechagodzilla was quick to seize the chance, grabbing Godzilla by the throat and dragging him across the ruined city, sparks flying as metal ripped against scales. “Y’know,” San began, his voice laced with mockery. “I spent a lot of time watching you while your pets trapped me in my own head, but thanks to you? I know all your weaknesses.” San declared, watching as Godzilla lashed out, his claws raking against Mechagodzilla’s chest, sparks erupted, but San barely flinched. “It’s okay, old friend, I won’t tell anyone about your soft spot for the moth who had to kill herself for you to pay her just a little bit of mind!” San jested.
Godzilla twisted, slamming his tail into Mechagodzilla’s side, sending San staggering back, though he only snickered. “Ooo, feisty. That’s what I love about you, onesnout, you just have no idea when to quit!” San snarked, Godzilla charged, his jaws parting, fangs flashing— all that effort just for San to duck, bringing up Mechagodzilla’s drills, effectively blocking the bite, with a gleeful snarl, San activated the jet boosters in the elbows. The servos screamed, driving Mechagodzilla’s drills forward with increased velocity fueled by millions of years worth of rage directly into Godzilla’s ribs, followed by a sickening crack.. Well, sickening to most, San laughed as Godzilla staggered, his roar choking into a pained growl. “You felt that one, huh?” Sam jeered, Godzilla whipped his head around, his eyes just blazing with fury. “Alright, alright, I'll give it to you, you’ve got some fire left in you.” San chided, his spine-mounted weapons clicked, the proton scream charging, energy building at a rapid rate. “Let’s fix that!” San announced, getting so carried away he failed to notice a blur in the distance, he was so used to having three sets of eyes and ears to see every attack coming he grew shortsighted, San barely had time to register before Kong’s axe into him.
The impact knocked San off his feet, the ground shuttering beneath the trio as Kong’s damned axe rained down like meteors. “Oh, come on—” San managed to get out followed by a fist to the face. “I was in the middle of something that didn’t even concer—” He tried to press, taking a fist to the gut this time around, how he missed his regeneration. San snarled, having enough of letting Kong toss him around like a ragdoll and began grappling with the overgrown cockroach, thrusters igniting, forcing them into a deadlock. “You just love ruining my fun, don’t you?” San hissed, Kong roared in his face, leaving poor San to somehow get a whiff of his randid breath despite not currently being equipped with nostrils, Kong gripped Mechagodzilla’s arm, his muscles straining— and then, he tore it off. San’s admittedly not very bright mind blanked, for a full second, all he could think was: “Wait..” While Godzilla lunged, Kong swung the severed Mechagodzilla arm like a club, slamming it into San’s head.. This caused circuits to overload, San’s vision flickered, his grip on Mechagodzilla’s body weakening, Godzilla and Kong pushed forward, Kong’s grip on his head became rather firm as the world tilted, his mechanical body losing function— “What a team of rejects..” He managed to croak as everything went dark.
San felt himself slipping, his grip on Mechagodzilla failed, the artificial Titan’s body toppling, crashing through the ruins.. The last thing he registered was the feeling of Puppet’s body being dragged, Ichi and Ni securing their backup plan.. For the briefest moment, San considered reaching out, only for the darkness to swallow him as if he knew nothing more.
Taking a step back to Boston in 2019, Ni saw her first.. A tiny and fragile fleshing running like a rodent through the skeletal remains of a city once drowning its own neon. She was fast, but not fast enough. Ni’s pupils narrowed, his crimson eyes tracking her movements as she darted toward the announcement room in the hollowed-out stadium below. “Look at this.” He sneered, baring his teeth to reveal rows of jagged fangs that had the pleasure of swallowing Dr. Graham whole, “A little roach, scurrying to safety.” Ni commented as he pressed his eye against the window, ensuring he saw her. Ichi, perched regally at the center, did not immediately respond, his gaze was fixated on the burning horizon, the barron and still battlefield beneath them, save for the smoldering husks of petty human war machines. San, however, perked up, his curious tongue flicking out as he followed Ni’s gaze. “Ooh, what do we have here?” He cooed, Ghidorah’s tail lashed violently, his body thrumming with anticipation. “A bug who thinks she’s clever.” Ni replied, craning his serpentine neck, baring his razor-sharp teeth in a wicked grin. “Ichi.” Ni repeated, frustrated with how the eldest head looked down upon him, but the center head in question finally turned, his glowing golden eyes landing idly on the tiny figure in the booth below. “Kill her.” He demanded, though his expression did not change.
To think Ni had to be told twice was absurd, Monster Zeroes chest swelling as his golden veins lit up beneath the trinities scales as he inhaled sharply— firing a violent storm of golden lightning erupting from his maw, searing through the air, followed instantly by Ichi and San’s own gravity beams, the combined force of three apocalyptic blasts converging on the press box. The sheer heat and lack of mercy in their wrath turned the metal into boiling slag, the windows exploding outward, sending a shockwave through the empty stadium seats.. Ni’s gaze narrowed when he realized she wasn’t there anymore, he snarled, his scarlet eyes darting wildly, searching for the little flesh worm who possessed nerves the size of a Titan. “Where the hell did she—” Ni began, his gaze zeroing in on a flicker of motion outside now, running for her life, and.. “Oh, what’s this?” San asked as she threw something, a metal device to be exact, its circuits sparking as it clattered across the field. Ni’s pupils narrowed, his focus snapping to it. “The ORCA,” Ichi noted, Ni let out a growl, Ghidorah’s claws scraping against the ruined concrete below. “Enough of this.” Ichi hissed, Monster Zero descended, golden wings flaring wide, the turbulence from his movement shaking the ground beneath them.. The girl had the audacity to stop running, “Die.” Ni hissed with a grin, his throat took a molten gold glow, energy building for the final killing strike— then, blue.
A massive wave of atomic fire slammed into King Ghidorah like a tidal wave, the force hurling the trinity backward, their combined screeches of pain shaking the heavens.. The impact burned, it ached, it hurt, for crying out loud.. Ni’s vision flashed with red. “HIM.” He declared, The Devil With Three Heads vision blurred, heat rippling across their scales as he recovered, his body thrumming with static agony. Ni shook himself off, his pupils dilated in pure, unfiltered rage, his gaze snapping to the figure emerging from the firestorm: Godzilla, the bastard had miraculously survived the oxygen destroyer, his spines burning with renowned fury, his sapphire gaze locked onto them, his chest still smoldering from the nuclear boost he’d received from the foolish one. A guttural snarl left Ni’s snout, “You always have to ruin everything, don’t you?!” He demanded, jaws snapping.. Ichi was eerily silent, Ni had known his older brother long enough to know that meant he was calculating a plan.. San for once in his goddamn life was serious.
Godzilla’s roar tore through the air, his massive form charging forward, the very earth trembling beneath his weight. Ni didn’t hesitate, he never did. King Ghidorah flared their golden wings as a display of dominance before gliding toward Godzilla at full speed, their bodies collided midair— a clash of titanic forces, shockwaves shattering the remains of the city below. Without a second thought, Ni struck first, his fangs sinking into Godzilla’s shoulder, the claws on Ghidorah’s wings raking deep into thick hide. Godzilla roared in protest, twisting violently, slamming his tail into the false king’s ribs, sending the golden dragon reeling. Thanks to their regenerative capabilities, Ni recovered instantly, snarling, his instincts overriding thought— “YOU ARE WEAK!” Ni exclaimed as the battle raged, they tore into each other in a maelstrom of ferocity and devastation, their colossal strikes sending fire and debris into the air.
Admittedly, none of the heads of King Ghidorah noticed Mothra’s arrival at first, not until strands of silk suddenly wrapped around his face. “The hell?!—” Ni thrashed in fury, his vision blinded as he felt Ichi and San being restrained beside him, a trap.. Ni’s fury boiled over. “GET OF ME!” He demanded, biting at the silk, Ghidorah’s wings flaring wildly, but the restraint held firm.. As if matters couldn’t get worse, Godzilla’s reflection loomed in the glass of the building they were stuck in, Ni’s breath caught in his throat as he hissed in warning at Godzilla, whom slammed into them, the sheer force of the impact sending them crashing through the building, glass and steel raining down like jagged meteors. The world spun as King Ghidorah hit the ground, pain blossoming in their limbs, Ni’s vision flashing white from the sheer force of the damned blow.. And then— a familiar screech rang throughout the area, Ni’s eyes snapped open, fury boiling in his and his brothers shared chest: Rodan, about damn time that burning fool made himself useful, Godzilla was distracted, this was their chance and they best capitalize on it.
Ni ignored the pain, his shared chest heaving, his shared body trembling as King Ghidorah pushed himself up. He could feel Ichi and San struggling beside him, still tangled in Mothra’s silk, their roars of frustration grating against his ears. Ni ground his teeth together, his mind racing— he needed to change the tide, turn the tables.. Luckily for him, his gaze zeroed in on the power box.. A surge of wild, reckless inspiration coursed through him. “I have an idea..” He muttered, “Ni.” Ichi hissed, his voice was sharp in warning, but Ni had no intentions of listening as he was certain Ichi would thank him later for pulling them out of their predicament. He lunged, his jaws unhinging, sinking his fangs deep into the power lines as the world exploded into light.
Electricity surged through Ghidorah’s veins, the raw energy blazing through their form, their golden scales illuminated like a living storm: it was power at last, power beyond anything they’d ever felt, Monster Zero spread their golden wings, energy crackling along the membrane, their entire form radiating with nuclear energy. “I told you so.” Ni hissed, unable to resist the urge as his glowing yellow eyes snapped to the sky, where petty jets consisting of the lizard's pets were still firing at them. “Here’s a real show for you!” Ni exclaimed as he unleashed his wrath, a massive wave of electric destruction erupted from his wings, striking every jet in sight, explosions rippling throughout the air, turning the battlefield into a storm of falling debris. Godzilla staggered back, momentarily blinded by the burst of power. “NOW WE’RE TALKING!” Ni screeched, all three of the Ghidorah brothers laughing in unison as their wings flared, though they should have known better than to get too cocky.
About six minutes later, a wave of unfathomable, unbearable heat washed over Monster Zero, which was saying a lot as they’d destroyed their fair share of scalding planets, the heat surged through the battlefield like a living storm, devouring everything in its path. The air itself screamed as it ignited, warping and twisting under the sheer force of the energy being unleashed.. Godzilla was changing, Ichi’s crimson eyes widened, watching in mute horror as the Titan before them began to glow, his form shifting from the deep blues of atomic fire to an angrier, deeper orange. His spines crackled like a dying star, raw nuclear energy spiraling around him in waves, each pulse more violent than the last.
The first shockwave hit like a hurricane of fire, Ichi had been prepared to brace for it, calculating the spread, the angle— but what he failed to realize is his wings never stood a chance, they ignited instantly, the membranes disintegrating into embers, leaving behind nothing but the charred remnants of their once-mighty frames. The sheer agony of it sent a surge of rare yet raw panic through Ichi’s core, a feeling he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before. “No.” Ichi muttered in sheer denial as a second wave came rippling through— Ichi dared to turn from left to right, just in time to watch as Ni and San burn. Ni shrieked, his defiance turning into a guttural scream as the flames tore through his scales, his portion of the body collapsing into the storm of burning radiation. San— San barely had time to react before he was gone, his final fleeting thought cut off in a burst of cackling light. Ichi lunged forward, jaws pathetically snapping at the ash that had once been his brothers, trying— foolishly and desperately to pull them back. “No—NO!” Ichi screeched, not that he felt remorse at the loss of his brothers, but the overwhelming realization he was a goner.. The embers crumbled, weightless in his mouth, slipping through his fangs like sand through fingers.. They were gone, his brothers were truly gone, he was now alone.
The third and final wave engulfed him, searing through what remained of his once mighty form, he screeched, the sound piercing as it shook the sky itself.. But it was not just pain in his voice, it was rage.. Pure, unfiltered, seething, vast rage.. Ichi had made the mistake of underestimating Godzilla and his pets, Ichi had played the long game— he had waited, he had planned, he had calculated every possibility and yet he had not foreseen this: the humiliation, the absolute ruin.. Despite it all, Godzilla still wasn’t finished. Through the heat haze, Ichi barely registered the Titan’s hulking form, stepping toward him with slow, deliberate steps.. The so-called king of the monsters did not gloat, did not savor the victory, he simply reached down— and clamped his jaws around Ichi’s throat.
The pressure was immediate, fangs dug deep, piercing muscle, bone, and soul. Ichi thrashed like a fish out of water in protest, his body now useless, broken, but his mind burned brighter than ever before. “So this is how it ends..?” Ichi mused, it felt like the perfect ending to a story— the great and mighty King Ghidorah, reduced to nothing more than a struggling corpse in the mouth of his enemy.. But no, this was not the end, Ichi would not allow it. Even as Godzilla’s fangs crushed tighter, even as his vision blurred at the edges, even as his body failed— “You think you’ve won?” Ichi pondered, a smirk spreading across his jagged teeth.. He could feel Godzilla’s sapphire eyes narrow, Ichi just laughed— a ragged, wet, broken sound yet filled with something more dangerous than hatred.. Certainty. “You and I are two sides of the same coin..” Ichi rasped, his voice a whisper against a rising storm.. The heat raged, the fire consumed, but Ichi still held on. “As long as you exist—” The jaws tightened. “—So shall I.” Godzilla’s tail slammed down, the force shaking the city ruins as Ichi felt his body begin to tear apart, but even as the darkness closed in, even as his vision faded, even as his body crumbled into dust— he was grinning for he and Godzilla both knew this was far from the last of him.
Back in the present day, the Monarch control room was a beehive of tension.. Monitors flickered, reports piled high on every available surface, and the air buzzed with radio chatter from field teams scrambling to clean up the latest catastrophe despite the government making it clear they no longer needed Monarch.. However, when a call came in— everything stopped. Rick Stanton, slumped in a chair with a half-empty coffee cup, squinted at the flashing notification on the main comms feed. “Oh great, another poor bastard calling to tell us what a shit job we’re doing.” Rick grumbled, Mark Russell, seated at the end of the war room tables, rubbed his temples in exhaustion. “Who is it?” He pondered, Rick tapped a few keys, bringing up the ID tag. “Uh.. Nathan Lind..?” He muttered, eyebrows shooting up.
Bernie Hayes, leaning against a console, suddenly perked up. “The Hollow Earth guy?” He affirmed, “That’s the one.” Rick confirmed with a nod, Mark exchanged a glance with Ilene Chen, who sat stiffly beside him with her arms crossed.. Nathan Lind had vanished after the Hong Kong battle only to show up working for Pest Control, but now he was calling. “Patch him through.” Mark reluctantly allowed, brows furrowed with caution. There was a beat of static, followed by Nathan’s voice cutting through. “Is Ilene Andrews here?” He asked, his voice slightly distorted but coherent enough.. Everyone in the room froze, Ilene Chen narrowed her eyes, sitting up straight. “Why are you asking about Dr. Andrews?” She pried, there was a pause on the other end— then: “Because I discovered something only she’d know how to solve.” The voice simply put.
The room snapped into motion, and within moments, footage was brought up— a comprehensive review of everything Monarch had missed in the past twenty four hours.. And unfortunately, what they found was worse than expected. Ilene Chen’s gaze hardened as she watched the playback of Maia Simmons ambusing Andrews and her adoptive daughter, Jia. The audio was garbled, but the image was crystal clear— Jia’s terrified expression, Ilene’s attempt to resist, and the unmistakable faces of their kidnappers: “Maia Simmons,” Mark muttered, his jaw tightening.. Beside him, Bernie folded his arms, shaking his head. “Man, y’all ever think we should screen these rich nepo babies before we let them ride along on Titan missions?” He pondered, “Next time.” Mark grumbled dryly, his gaze shifting back to the screen.. The footage kept rolling— and the situation that fell under their noses up until now kept revealing itself to be worse. Footage from Pensacola revealed Ren Serizawa, Maia Simmons, and Raymond Martin breaking out of Monarch containment together.. “That’s a hell of a trio, what do you even call that? Billionaire, Soldier, and the Possessed?” Rick whistled, breaking the silence. “Sounds like a sitcom that would get cancelled after one season.” Bernie chimed in under his breath, “And we have no idea what they’re doing now,” Mark cut in. “Alright, enough sitting on our asses.” Trapper finally added his two cents, adjusting the straps of his flight harness as he leaned forward. “We’ve got three very anti-Titan fugitives out there and two kidnapped personnel, maybe it’s time we send in some firepower.” Trapper suggested, “I don’t want to escalate things..” Mark grumbled, rubbing his temples. “Buddy, I think we passed that point— oh, I dunno— ten disasters ago?” Trapper scoffed, Mark hesitated while Ilene Chen took the lead of the meeting, “We don’t have a choice.” She muttered, “If we don’t act now, we may lose all of them.” Ilene added, her voice measured with an undeniable edge to it. There was a heavy pause until Mark finally nodded. “Deploy Kiryu and Jet Jaguar.” He conceded, “Now we’re talking.” Trapper sneered, Akane Yashiro, who had been silent the entire exchange, finally stepped forward. “I’ll take Kiryu.” She stated, Mark nodded, “Trapper, you’re taking Jet Jaguar. You find Ren, Simmons, and Martin, and you detain them, if you get a lead on Jia and Dr. Andrews, you call in immediately.” Mark affirmed, “Aye-aye, Captain.” Trapper jeered, giving Mark a mock salute.
Meanwhile, Monarch’s forensic lab was a sterile, windowless room, the kind that reeked of old paperwork and artificial lemon cleanser. Under the glare of the overhead lights, everything Ren Serizawa had left behind was neatly arranged on a metal table— his possessions condensed into a few small objects, consisting of a smartphone with a cracked screen with the edges worn from use, two silver earrings he wore on his right ear— subtle but expensive, the kind only someone with old money could pull off effortlessly, a watch— not gaudy, but unmistakably high-end with an intricate mechanical design that whispered of wealth and precision, a wallet stuffed with hefty amounts of yen, several black credit cards, and—
Rick let out yet another whistle, holding up a faded photograph, slightly crumpled from being kept in the wallet too long. The photo was of Ishirō Serizawa, Rick turned it over, noting the Kanji characters scrawled on the back, likely Ren’s own handwriting. “None of my three ex wives hate me this much, what the hell did Ishirō do?” Rick muttered, Mark stood beside him, ignored the comment, his gaze fixated on the phone. “Ohh, you wanna see what’s on his phone, don’t you?” Rick pried, “Rick—” Mark sighed, “C’mon, it’s gotta be good, what do we think? Burner contacts? Pictures of the wife in lingerie? Some real weird porn? Y’know how the Japanese are, all the tentacle stuff.” Rick trailed off, “Can you take this seriously?” Mark grumbled, shooting him a glare. “I am taking this seriously, I just have a sense of humor about it.” Rick shot back with a shrug, digressing and setting the phone down. “Just pull the data, I need to make a call.” Mark muttered, Rick smirked, “Oooh, calling the wife, that’ll go well.” He sarcastically jabbed, Mark didn’t dignify that with a response as he picked up the secure Monarch phone and dialed.
Mira Yamane or Mira Serizawa, depending on who was asking, was in the middle of perfecting a winged eyeliner look on an actress who was about to start filming before her phone buzzed. With a curious gaze, she glanced down, catching the name on her screen: Mark Russell.. With a gritted-teeth smile, Mira tapped the actress gently on the shoulder. “Gimme a minute, babe, gotta take this. Don’t move too much, you look like a million bucks.” Mira declared, stepping away from the makeup station, weaving through the bustling set, ignoring the chatter of production assistants. The moment she reached the hallway, she answered. “Mark.” Mira simply put, her voice cool and measured. “Where is he?” Mark demanded, Mira’s jaw clenched. “Hello to you too.” She grumbled, “Mira, don’t play with me right now, is Ren with you?” Mark pried, Mira’s fingers tightened around the phone, “No.” She muttered honestly, a beat of silence crossing the two. “Are you sure about that?” Mark asked, “You think I'd lie?” Mira shot back, “I watched the courtroom footage, Mira. You mouthed ‘run’ to him.” Mark pointed out, “And?” Mira exhaled sharply, “And I can have you arrested for aiding and abetting.” Mark decreed, “Oh, that’s rich. Coming from you.. The guy who sent his own daughter to spy on us? Who threw Ren in a straitjacket and called it ‘help’? Monarch can kiss my ass for all the trouble it caused him.” Mira laughed, though her laugh was far from present. “This isn’t about Monarch.” Mark snapped, “Then what is it about?” Mira grumbled.
There was a long silence, then— “Ren beat Madison.” Mark croaked, Mira froze, her breath caught in her throat as her grip on the phone tightened. “What?” She uttered in disbelief, “Under Ghidorah’s influence,” Mark continued, “He beat her with a flower pot, she’s in a coma, Mira.” He croaked, Mira felt the blood drain from her face, she leaned against the wall, her vision tunneling for a moment, heart hammering against her ribs. “No, no— he wouldn’t.” Mira stammered, “It wasn’t him.” Mark cut in, “It was Ghidorah.. And if he’s with you, we can help.. But you have to tell me the truth.” Mark added, his voice was sharper now.. Mira placed a hand over her mouth, swallowing hard— her mind racing, Ren was cold, distant, he had anger towards him— but violence against a child? That wasn’t Ren, that was something else. “He isn’t with me, but i’ll find him, and when I do..” Mira trailed off, but Mark had already hung up, seemingly just reaching out to Ren’s acquaintances and making the same threat.
Speaking of Ren, his fingers hovered over the dusty keyboard, his vision fractured between the tangible and the intangible. The run-down computer screen flickered, but beneath it— more so beyond it, he could see more.. Not just the digital conversation unfolding in front of him, but the energy currents running through the air, the distortions in space, the pathways awaiting an individual to open them. “You’re in California?” He typed.. Mira’s reply came fast.
mira_srz: yeah. backstage, just finished touching up an actress, where are you?
Ren paused in hesitation, unsure if he wanted to get her involved in all this but he’d rather her be aware and be on his side than have Monarch reach out and twist the story in their favor.
GhidoraStan64: Mexico.
mira_srz: where in mexico? ill get a cab. it's not that far.
Ren gazed down at his fingers, noting the involuntary twitching.. That was never a good sign, “It isn’t far.” A voice purred, Ren was too tired to identify which head it belonged to. “But you don’t need a cab.” One of the heads— San, likely, was prodding on his consciousness, his tone casual and amused as usual. “You can bring her here.” San simply and ominously put, Ren frowned, hands tightening into fists. “Don’t bullshit me.” He grumbled, “No, seriously, you’re thinking too small.” San sneered, “That’s not how it works.” Ren exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Oh, but this is how it works. Distance? Laughable. You’re one of us now, space is just a.. Suggestion.” San cooed, Ren’s stomach twisted, “No, that’s—” He began, “Fine, be a pussy, i’ll do it.” San cut in, as per usual, before Ren could even object and get a say on what went down with his own body, his vision split apart, his counsincess fracturing like shards of broken glass.. And the air itself bent at his will, a shimmering distortion appeared before him, light bending, warping into something unnatural, like a ripple in reality itself— a portal, and through it: Mira, standing in her makeup trailer, holding her phone mid-text, her eyes widened in shock as the next second, the portal pulled her through— and she was there, in the flesh, right in front of him. The air snapped back into place, the distortion vanishing as quickly as it had came. For a long moment, Mira just stared, “What the fuck?” She finally muttered.
Ren blinked, his own breath shallow as if he had just run miles. Mira— still stunned, slowly whirled around on her heel, taking in the run-down computer station, the dim lighting, the lingering energy in the air.. Ren opened his mouth to explain, only for the computer monitor to flicker violently, a loud blaring noise erupting from its speakers: A National Emergency Alert. The screen displayed multiple locations, each flashing red with growing urgency. It read: Rodan: New York City, Yamata no Orochi: Mount Fuji, Behemoth: Ontario.. Ren’s breath caught in his throat when he noticed the last one, reading: Godzilla, Kong, and Mothra: Mexico City. The air in the room shifted at this, it was no longer just the static hum of an old machine, it was something bigger, something watching. “Ah,” San muttered in his head, “The big man and all his goons coming for little ‘ol us.” San cooed, Ren’s hands clenched, his gaze remained fixated on the flashing emergency bulletin— on the three names, Godzilla, Kong, and Mothra all being in Mexico was no coincidence, they were coming for him and he had no way of defending himself, Mira must’ve said something by now as she was never silent this now, but Ren had tuned her out, just gazing at the screen, his mind buzzing with a single, undeniable truth.. The hunt was over, and now— The Final War was about to begin.
Notes:
thanks so much for 200 hits!! im a bit conflicted on what to do w maddie, on one hand she can inherit the ghidorah ‘curse’ but i dont see ghidorah having a reason to torment her the way ghidorah sticks w ren due to his knowledge on technology and plenty of anger to feed off of, but on the other i was thinking she could become bio since the flower pot weapon was foreshadowing but i also worry im moving too fast , js lmk yalls predictions, what yall wanna see, that kinda stuff
Chapter 16: brutus
Summary:
I always knew I could be the one
Though I feel the endless pain of being
And I am scorched by the Sun
Of humble origins and born of the cursed sex
My name is Ren, but the people will call me X
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Apex Titan-proof shelter was dead silent save for the muffled chaos outside its reinforced walls, containing those not fortunate enough to find shelter. The ground rumbled every few seconds— Monster Zeroes cackles and screeches splitting the sky like the wrath of some ancient, deliberately forgotten god. The reinforced steel groaned with each impact, but Apex had spared no expense in building a bunker that could withstand the end of the world.
Inside, Ren Serizawa sat in a dimly lit corner, twirling a small, crude voodoo doll between his fingers.. It was a poorly-stitched effigy of Godzilla, tiny pins stuck into its limbs and torso like a child’s tantrum given form. He adjusted one of the needles, shoving it deeper into the fabric chest, then leaned back against the cold wall, content with the voodoo for right now. “Pathetic.” A voice hissed, Ren didn’t need to look up to know it was Hayworth— Apex’s security chief, Apex’s attack dog, Apex’s resident bastard standing near the entrance to their portion of the bunker with his arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “You really think that’s gonna do anything? The voodoo?” Hayworth pried, Ren twirled the doll doll again, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. Hayworth rolled his eyes, “I’m going somewhere else, can’t even watch this crap.” He grumbled, the heavy door hissing open behind him, and Hayworth stepped into the next room, disappearing into the hallway leading to where Walter and Maia Simmons were sheltered. Ren barely acknowledged his absence, if anything, he was somewhat relieved, he continued stabbing a pin in and out of the voodoo doll up until he heard voices. “—We’re going to make it out alive.” Ren had partially made out the steady and certain voice of Walter Simmons, a voice that didn’t waver even as the sky was falling apart directly above them. “But what if—” A smaller, uncertain voice cut in, Maia Simmons. “No ‘what ifs,” Walter interrupted, “I promised you, didn't I? We’re going to survive this. And once we do, we’ll build something better.” Walter vowed, Ren heard Maia exhale sharply as if his words actually meant something to her, causing his grip on the voodoo doll to tighten as he pondered how someone like Walter Simmons, a power-hungry megalomaniac, could still manage to be a competent father?
Ren felt something in his chest twist— something he didn’t really want to name.. Without giving it much thought, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Of course, there was no signal, Apex’s bunker was cut off from the outside world, its systems routed through internal servers.. Though, he still had one option, his thumb hovered over one contact: Ishirō Serizawa, the contact had formerly been ‘Dad’ only for Ren to change it in a fit of rage, they hadn’t called in months and the last time they spoke he had the blanat audacity to say: “Your mother would understand.” Ren swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away from the screen until he finally pressed dial, watching as his phone rang, rang, and rang.. His heart caught in his throat when he heard his fathers voice, “This is Dr. Ishirō Serizawa, leave a message.” The beep sounded louder than the Titan roars above, Ren closed his eyes, taking a slow, shaky breath. “Dad.. it’s me.” Ren began, shifting to his native language as if Simmons discovered he reached out to Ishirō, he’d accuse him of being a spy for Monarch. “I don’t know if you’ll ever hear this, but I just.. I wanted to say I'm sorry.” He muttered, noting his voice came out tighter than he’d intended as he ran a hand across his temples. “I was an angry teenager.. When you came back two days after Mom’s funeral, I—I shouldn’t have said what I said.. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.” Ren trailed off, the words felt alien on his tongue, but he was wearing his heart on his sleeve for once in his life. “I miss you.. I..I’m getting married, Mira wants you there. I—I want you there.” He stammered, his hand tightening around the phone. “I want you in my future kids’ lives, Dad. I don’t— I don’t want this distance anymore, I don’t think I ever did.” Ren trailed off, followed by a long pause and later a loud boom from above, shaking the bunker and effectively cutting the call off.. Ren gazed helplessly at the screen, his jaw clenched as the words ‘CALL FAILED’ flashed in front of him as if mocking him.. We all know how the story goes, Ishirō Serizawa would never hear that voicemail, Ren would never get to hear him respond, the world would never get to see them reconcile.
The familiar weight of his house keys pressed into Ren’s palm as he stood in front of his home for the first time in days— but it may as well have been years, he felt like a soldier returning from war with how unnaturally quiet the city of Tokyo was. Perhaps the world was still reeling from witnessing Boston being brought to its knees, and now that the war was over, there was nothing left but the eerie silence of a world trying to breathe again, but Ren could care less about the city, his thoughts occupied with the phone call that never went through, the one his father never answered, the one he would never answer again. The weight in his chest sat idly like a stone, before Ren could push the door open himself, and Mira was standing there.. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun, her face free of makeup for once, but she looked exactly the same: warm, steady, and reeking of home. For a second, Ren just stood there until Mira’s eyes welled up as she launched forward, arms wrapping tightly around his frame, clinging to him like she was afraid he’d slip away again. “Ren.” She muttered, it wasn’t just his name, it was everything— a sob caught in her throat, but she held it in, squeezing him tighter. “I thought— I thought you were—” She stammered, Ren’s body came out of autopilot as his arms found their way around her waist, pulling her closer. “I’m here.” He muttered, his voice hoarse.. Mira pulled back just enough to cup his face, her thumbs grazing over the bruises and dirt still smeared on his skin. “Jesus, Ren,” She whispered, searching his face as if she was trying to make sure he was real.. Ren tried to find something to say, anything that didn’t feel hollow, but before he could find the words, there was a knock at the door, causing both of them to stop what they were doing.
A sigh left Ren’s lips as he rolled his shoulders back before glancing at Mira. “I’ll get it.” He grumbled, Mira hesitated but nodded, taking a step back as Ren moved toward the door, he pulled it open and just stared blankly, standing on the porch was a woman he had never met before. She was calm, composed, and equipped with sharp eyes that looked at him like they had already deciphered him in a thousand ways. “Ren Serizawa?” She affirmed, Ren narrowed his gaze. “Who’s asking?” He muttered, the woman tilted her head slightly. “My name is Ilene Chen.” Ilene simply put, the name meant nothing to him. “Okay?” He deadpanned, “I knew your father,” She continued, his stomach twisted, effectively grabbing his attention. “Right, what do you want..?” He exhaled through his nose, Ilene studied him for a moment before speaking, “I came to tell you about his sacrifice.” She added, the words hit like a gunshot, Ren’s fingers twitched, nails pressing into his palms. “Sacrifice.” He repeated in flat disbelief, “He gave his life to save Godzilla, to restore balance, he died a hero, Ren.” Ilene confirmed what Ren didn’t want to believe was true, causing something inside him to snap. “A hero?” He pondered, voice sharp and bitter with every syllable cutting knives. “Yes.” Ilene replied, not wavering, Ren let out a short and humorless laugh before the smile faded just as quickly as it’d appeared. “He wasn’t there for me,” His jaw tightened, pulse pounding against his skull. “So why should I care that he’s dead?” Ren demanded, Ilene blinked in disbelief, but before she could say anything else, Ren’s hand shot forward and unapologetically slammed the door shut in her face.. The echo of it reverberated through the apartment, sharp and final just as Ren’s words to Ilene were. Mira stood near the couch, watching him with an expression that was equal parts consisting of understanding and concern.. By contrast, Ren just stood there, glaring at the closed door, Mira stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry..” She muttered, his jaw only clenched. “He— he was supposed to—” Ren stammered, Mira pulled him in again, not speaking, just holding him.. And Ren, for all his anger, all his bitterness, all his rage— let her because the world had taken far too much from him and he had every intention of ripping it back from the world.
The sky over the funeral wasn’t cloudy, but it should have been, it should have been storming, should have been dark, should have been angry. Instead, the sun hung in the sky like it hadn’t even noticed what had happened. Ren adjusted the cuffs of his black suit, jaw clenched so tightly it ached as he and Mira stepped into the crowd of mourners.. His eyes scanned each and every one of them, some curious, some sympathetic, and some— like Ilene Chen’s, who gave Mira a subtle, yet playful ‘I told you so’ gaze— were just smug, Ren ignored her, he wasn’t here for her, he was here to remind the world he was Ishirō’s one and only son, Mira squeezed his hand lightly, a silent yet reassuring reminder that she was thee, that she always would be, it was the only thing keeping him from turning on his heel and departing.
The first person to approach him aas Rick Stanton, Rick was holding a half-empty flask, looking just as smug and vaguely annoyed as always. “So, Serizawa Jr.. Didn’t peg you for the type.” He stated, gesturing vaguely to Ren’s right ear, Ren barely blinked in response. “And yet, here I am.” He muttered, Rick smirked. “Well, if you ever get a nose ring, let me know. Maybe we can start a club.” He jested, Ren didn’t even dignify that with a response as he watched Rick take a sip of his flask and wander off, muttering something about how it was so hard to connect with the youth.. Next came Houston Brooks, the man who offered a hand, and Ren, who held more respect for Houston than he ever did for Rick, took it after a beat. “I didn’t know Ishirō had a son.” Houston admitted, “But I'm sorry for your loss.” He expressed, “Thanks.” Ren muttered, giving a stiff nod. Diane Foster, Sam Coleman, and other blurs of faces came next, all polite, professional, and offering condolences.. None of them knew what to say, Ren didn’t blame them, because what the hell was there to say?
And then, finally— Mark Russell. Ren knew who he was, familiar with his name in passing. But now, standing face-to-face, there was something about Mark’s expression that made Ren feel like he was being sized up. “I—” Mark hesitated, “I got Ishirō’s journal.” He cleared his throat, Ren’s stomach twisted in the frequent feeling of envy. “Oh?” He mumbled, “Yeah,” Mark shifted slightly, “He handed it to me before he.. I’ve been reading it.” He trailed off, Ren’s gaze slowly yet surely shifted into a glare. “And?” He grumbled, Mark studied him carefully before speaking, “It’s.. Interesting.” He replied, despite Mark’s careful studying, he failed to notice Ren’s sheer disinterest. “I bet it is.” Ren exhaled sharply through his nose, a bitter laugh bubbling up at the fact Ishirō had left it with Monarch, why would he ever want to leave it for his one and only son? And yet— Ren wanted to see it just to tear through the pages, know everything his father had written down about him, about his mother, about everything.. But he sensed his presence wasn’t needed so he didn’t ask, instead opting for a curt nod and turned away.
Ren sat through the funeral, eerily silent as Mira’s hand lightly rested on his thigh, the pair listening to speech after speech about what a great man Ishirō Serizawa was, what a brilliant scientist, what a selfless hero, what a loss to the world, never what a great father.. Ren didn’t say anything, didn’t stand up, didn’t speak for what would he even say? That his father had been so devoted to Godzilla he had let his own son slip through his fingers? That he had sacrificed himself for a Titan instead of trying— just once— to fight for his family instead? Ren stared at the empty seat beside him, the one that should have been Ishirō’s at his wedding later that year, a part of him had wanted to rebuild the bridge, to let his father back in— to give him a chance to explain himself just as Ishirō had done with Eiji, but now that chance was gone and it was never coming back.
Back in the present, the ground trembled beneath Ren’s feet as distant alarms blared across the compound. “Move now!” Alan Jonah barked, “Kong is coming for the girl, and Godzilla is coming for Serizwwa. We need to leave this instant!” He demanded, the tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight. “Leave?” Maia pried, sharply whirling around. “You’re seriously bailing on us?” She spat, “You have a death wish?” Jonah shot back, “Ghidorah’s energy is like a lighthouse beacon for Godzilla.. And you—” His gaze briefly settled on Ren, filled with something between contempt and amusement. “—are the one holding the torch.” Jonah deadpanned, “Ren’s the reason we even got out of that Monarch prison, Jonah, we owe him.” Martin scowled, “Perhaps you do, but I don't. We take the girl, we take the scientist, and we go. You want to die fighting Titans? Fine. But don’t drag me down with you.” Jonah snorted, Ren’s hand clenched into fists at his audacity. “You’re serious?” He spat, his voice came out low and dangerous as his eye flicked golden. Maia avoided his gaze, but she and Martin moved anyay— hauling Jia and Ilene into the trailer, slamming the door shut behind them as the engine roared to life, the tires kicking up dirt and smoke.. And just like that, they were gone, effectively ditching him. Ren’s gaze narrowed, all the trouble he went through freeing them when he was seriously considering leaving them behind just for them to.. “Those ungrateful—” He began, whirling around. “Ren!” Mira’s voice snapped him back to reality. “What the hell is going on?! Why would you— why would you kidnap a child?!” She demanded, he turned to her, his heart pounding— but something felt off. His head throbbed, something pulsed in the back of his mind, an ache that felt wrong, twisted, “I—” He didn’t have time to answer as the sky split open with a roar and Godzilla stepped onto the scene.
The ground shook violently, a tremor that rattled Ren’s very bones alongside the familiar rage he always felt upon settling his gaze on Godzilla, who was looming over him, scales gleaming with that unnatural pink glow, his dorsal plates flickering like heat lightning— he was glaring directly at Ren, No.. Not at Ren, at the thing he’d become a vessel for, the Ghidorah energy that pulsed beneath his skin, Godzilla’s eyes narrowed as he leaned down and roared. The force sent Ren stumbling back, his ears ringing, his vision swimming but then— then he found himself understanding the roar wasn’t just noise, it was words. “I won’t kill you.” The voice rumbled through Ren’s skull, shaking every cell in his body. “You’ll find a way back, Ghidorah. You always do.. The human prison is well deserved.” Godzilla hissed, his ancient and knowing gaze bored into him. Ren’s breath caught because for the briefest second, he swore he could feel his father.. Something familiar, something woven into Godzilla’s presence, something Ren had spent his whole life resenting and chasing the affections of in equal measure, and it was driving him insane. “Shut up!” He exclaimed, voice cracking, nails digging into his palms. “You don’t know anything about me!” He spat, Godzilla only watched as if he was looking straight through him— seeing Ghidorah where Ren stood, the final insult was when Ren’s hand shook, his vision blurred at the edges, his heart pounding, his pulse screaming— “Oh, Ren.” Mira’s voice pulled him out of his trance, Ren whirled around to face her only for the world to split apart.
It soon dawned on Ren that Mira wasn’t there, she had never been there.. His breath caught in his throat, realizing the Mira he had been talking to— the Mira who had touched him, held his hand, looked him in the eye had never existed. She flickered like a mirage, like a dying signal on a broken screen. a hallucination, a trick, a cruel joke played by Ghidorah. “No.” Ren stammered, staggering back, chest heaving as he shook his head in sheer denial. “No, no, no—” He repeated, but the truth was right in front of him: he had never opened a portal, he had never brought her here, the real Mira was still in California, probably still doing makeup for some actress who was clueless on the fact that her makeup artist’s husband was unraveling at the seams.. The Mira he had just spent the last hour talking to? Nothing more than a cruel test of his resilience, and Ghidorah was laughing— a deep, cruel, echoing laugh. “Oh, Ren,” San purred, his voice like honey dripping off a knife. “You didn’t really think you could do that, could you?” He sneered, Ren’s stomach churned, his entire reality tilted on at its axis, “Be quiet..” He whispered, his voice hollow.. San just laughed and laughed.
“Enough.” Godzilla demanded, Ren barely had time to react before Godzilla moved, the Titan’s claws shooting forward, grabbing Ren in a grip that compressed his ribs and caused his vision to spark white. “No—!” Ren thrashed, panic gripping his throat, but his attempts were useless as Godzilla roughly lifted him off the ground, his massive frame blocking out the sun, causing Ren to realize in that moment: there was no way in hell he was getting away, he wasn’t escaping this, Godzilla had no intentions of letting him go. “No, no, no— let me go!” Ren had the audacity to demand, struggling against the Titan’s grip as Godzilla’s eyes met his— and for the first time in his life, Ren felt small, he had run so far, fought so hard, and yet..? He still had the drive to get out of this lizard's grip. Ren sure as hell put up his best struggle, he kicked, he fought, he even tried biting at the thick, unyielding scales of Godzilla’s claws— but nothing worked, the undeserving king of the monsters didn’t even acknowledge him, something he’d learned from Ishirō. Godzilla moved with deliberate ease, his massive strides sending tremors through the earth as he carried Ren somewhere, somewhere far away, somewhere Ren had no control over.. And that— that— was the worst part, Ren hated Godzilla, hated him in the kind of deep, bone-aching way that sat in his gut like a festering wound.. He hated him for being the thing Ishirō had chosen over him, hated him for existing when his father didn’t. And now? Now Godzilla was carrying him like an insect, dragging off to who-knows-where, deciding his fate like it was something he had the right to do. “Let me go, you bastard!” Ren ordered, thrashing, his voice raw with unfiltered rage.. Godzilla’s eye twitched at the insult, with a low, rumbling growl, he squeezed his claw just tightly enough to make Ren’s breath hitch as a very clear warning. “Keep talking, see what happens.” The Titan seemed to say, Ren’s lip curled, but he swallowed his words, for now, this wasn’t over, oh— it was far from over!
After who knows how long, Godzilla let go, sending Ren to hit the ground hard. The wind rushed from his lungs, pain shooting up his spine as he tumbled across rough, rocky terrain. He groaned, his vision blurring, the salty sting of ocean air hitting his senses as he forced himself upright, concluding he was on an island. The sky above was endlessly gray, the sun barely visible behind the thick clouds.. The ocean stretched around him, vast and unbroken, the waves crashing violently against the cliffs. Godzilla loomed ahead at the shoreline, his massive form casting an imposing shadow over Ren— watching, and worse— judging. “You think this will stop me?” Ren demanded, his voice dripping with venom, Godzilla didn’t respond, didn’t react, just let out a low, final rumble and turned away, his tail sending a tidal wave to soak Ren in seawater.. Ren’s fists trembled, his teeth ground together. “This isn’t over,” He vowed under his breath, golden eye burning with fury. Godzilla wasn’t threatened in the slightest, disappearing beneath the waves as Ren stood there, panting, seething, and worst of all? Spiraling. He had been abandoned, left to rot on some forgotten rock in the middle of the ocean, like a prisoner— like a goddamn mistake. His nails dug into the sand, electricity crackling at his fingertips as his rage consumed him. “I will make you all pay for this.” Ren vower, beginning to write a hitlist in the sand, writing down the names of Raymond Martin, Maia Simmons, Alan Jonah, Ilene Andrews, Mark Russell, Bernie Hayes, Ilene Chen— just to name a few on a very large list, his breath was heavy, his mind fractured, his soul twisting into something new, something darker, something to be feared. He would tear Godzilla apart, he would burn the world down if it meant that lizard would burn with it, he had nothing left to lose, nothing except vengeance.
Quite some time had passed, the moon now hanging high over the forsaken island, its pale glow casting silver streaks across the endless expanse of ocean. The tide rushed in and out, waves crashing against the jagged cliffs, whispering secrets to the wind. Ren sat on a ledge, staring out the horizon, at the place where Godzilla vanished beneath the waves.. And holy shit, did he mention how much his body ached? His mind churned from how miserable the pain was, his fingertips sparked with electricity, the only faint light in the darkness. For hours, he had sat there— thinking, unraveling, and stitching himself back together into something new..
Because Ren Serizawa was dead, the world had made sure of that.. And maybe— just maybe, it was always meant to happen that way as they would never see him as anything more than a bitter son lashing out at a father who had already left him behind. They would never understand what had really driven him to this point— the resentment, the grief, the betrayal, the rage. Instead, they would call him petty, they would call him a dissapointment, they would call him a villain.. And perhaps they were right.. But what they would not do— what he would now allow— was for his name to be chained to those lies. “Ren Serizawa.” Ren spat the name like poison, like it had never belonged to him in the first place. “A name for a man who never existed..” He grumbled, a name for a ghost, a name for a man who died screaming, alone in the violet light of the cockpit, electrocuted in the skull of the devil, trying to control something that was never meant to be controlled.. That man was gone, and in his place— a new name, a name that meant nothing and everything all at once, a name that would leave his past in the dirt where it belonged, he lifted his gaze into the sky, the cold and silent stars stretching endlessly above him. “X.” He muttered, the word felt right, no legacy, no chains, just a letter that marked erasure and rebirth.
He would carve that name into the bones of the earth and when the world laid eyes upon him again, they would not see Ren Serizawa, they would see the end of everything they had ever known, and they would call him—
X.
Notes:
thanks so much for 220 hits i never thought the fic would get that much traction! anyway heres to all the buildup of making a hybrid character between ren serizawa and X from godzilla final wars, were yall shocked ab this reveal?? how r we feeling ab this??
Chapter 17: take a slice
Summary:
Stewing in the black dope
I'm filthy and I love it
Studebaker all gold
Got a shotgun in my pocket
You've gone with the thick rims
Big look with the lip ring and things
Wake me when the bell rings
I'm gonna sleep 'cause you live in my daydreams
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The world was in complete and utter chaos, the Titans were disappearing— one by one, vanishing into the sky as if they’d never been there in the first place.. This left every government, every military branch, every facility scrambling for answers, but there was none— only a broadcast, one that played simultaneously across the globe, projected into the minds of millions.. It was an eerie, melodic voice— smooth and poised, like a diplomat’s well-rehearsed speech. “People of earth, we are the Xiliens. Do not freight, we come in peace.” The voice had proclaimed.
Nathan Lind watched the holographic projection in stony silence, his stomach twisting. The Xilien envoy was perfectly human in appearance— almost too human as opposed to the pale green, aliens with oval-shaped heads that frequented sci-fi media, this one was a man with striking features, sleek black attire, and a practiced smile stood in the center of the screen, addressing the world like a benevolent savior. Behind him, Xilien ships hovered above the ruined cities of Earth, and containment fields shimmered around the Titans that had once roamed freely. “Your world has been on the brink of collapse for far too long,” the envoy continued. “We have witnessed your suffering, we have watched as your creatures waged war upon your cities.. And so, naturally, we have acted. The Titans are no longer a threat.” The envoy simply put, hands clasped behind his back.. The words sent a chill down Nathan’s spine, “This is bad.” He muttered. Beside him, Commander Douglas Gordon— a burly man with a scarred face and unlit cigar clenched between his teeth grunted in agreement. “No shit,” Gordon scoffed, “They came outta nowhere, round up Titans like cattle, and now they wanna play babysitter? Sounds like a goddamn invasion to me.” He hissed, Nathan ran a hand through his hair. “It gets worse,” He grumbled, hitting a button on the console and bringing up a new image— the asteroid dubbed Gorath.. A mountain-sized rock, supposedly hurtling towards Earth, the asteroid was the reason the Xiliens claimed they were here. “They say Gorath is going to hit us unless we work with them— that every weapon should be aimed at it.” Nathan explained, his gut twisting in horror as he stared at the projection, Gordon only chewed on his scar. “And?” He pried with a raised brow, then, with a deep breath, he pressed another button.. The asteroid flickered, glitching out of existence and revealing empty space where Gorath should have been.
Gordon stared in awe at the blank screen for a long moment, “Those sneaky, goddamn bastards..” He finally muttered in a low, growling voice, “It’s a hologram, the asteroid doesn’t exist.” Nathan exhaled sharply, the two sharing a tense stare as the realization settled like lead in the room, the Xiliens hadn’t come to save Earth, they had come to conquer it. “We’re looking at a full-scale takeover, they’re manipulating world leaders, making them believe they’re humanity's last hope.. And if we don’t act soon..” Nathan trailed off, forcing himself to stay calm. “We’re screwed.” Gordon bluntly cut in, Nathan nodded as a thick and heavy silence stretched between them. “Well, guess we’ll just have to ruin their day, won’t we?” Gordon finally broke the silence with a wicked, battle-worn grin. “You’re in?” Nathan pondered with a smirk despite the circumstances, it felt nice to have a witness, so he was confident he wouldn’t be dismissed as a crackpot this time around. “Kid, I was born for this shit.” Gordon snarked, letting out a gruff chuckle as he rolled his shoulders.. Nathan had spent years searching for the truth beneath the Earth’s surface, now? He was staring at a war on the surface and he was certain he could trust no one.. World governments were falling in line with the Xiliens, Monarch was crippled, and Pest Control was more focused on containment than resistance.. But Gordon? Gordon was a wildcard, despite being a commander, he had no allegiance to anyone but himself.. And right now— that made him the only man Nathan could trust, they had one shot at stopping this and neither of them were going to let the Earth fall without a fight.
Nathan found himself thinking back to darker— and frankly, times where he truly felt helpless.. The cheap bar reeked of regret, Nathan sat hunched over a glass of bottom-shelf whiskey, the dim neon lights casting his haggard reflection back at him in the cracked mirror behind the bar. The whispers of old country songs hummed along the radio followed by the murmurs of tired men drowning their pasts out with liquor filled the air like static.. The weight of reality pressed down on Nathan like a thousand weights at once, his brother was gone— swallowed whole by the depths of Hollow Earth, his dream of discovering its secrets paid for in blood.
A shaky sigh left Nathan’s lips as he rubbed his temples, there was no more expedition, no funding, no goddamn hope.. Just an aching hole where his brother used to be. A figure slid into the stool beside him, moving with the kind of wealth that didn’t belong in a run-down dump like this, Nathan had initially hardly spared a glance up, until he caught a glimpse of him in the mirror— he was too clean, too polished, too expensive.. Clad in a tailored blazer, a crisp black dress shirt, and a white gold watch that looked stupidly out of place against the chopped wooden bar, was he trying to get robbed? Nathan frowned, suddenly feeling wildly underdressed in his sweat-stained button up and battered leather jacket.. Who the hell walked into a shithole dressed like that? Nathan was about to shrug it off until the man spoke. “I believe you knew my father.” The man finally proved he wasn’t mute in a smooth, deliberate, tapping at something just beneath the surface.. Nathan whirled around, blinking at the man beside him and getting a real good look at him.
Sharp Japanese features equipped with cold, calculating eyes.. Fingers tapping against the counterpart as if he was measuring something. “What?” Nathan muttered, the man finally met his gaze, his expression unreadable up until he offered a slow, almost practiced smile. “My name is Ren Serizawa.” He simply put, Nathan blinked, then blinked again in disbelief. “Serizawa? As in… Dr Serizawa?” Nathan pondered, Ren didn’t answer at first, just flashed a small, polite smile, extended a hand, and shook Nathan’s firmly. “I see my father left quite an impression.” Ren mused, his voice was light as feathers but his eyes were razor sharp.. Nathan huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Impressions an understatement, pal. Your old man was a legend.” Nathan pointed out, Ren’s smile faltered— just for a second.. It was subtle, a flicker of something dark and bitter beneath the surface, then— just as quickly— it was gone. “So they say..” Ren muttered, pulling his hand back and curling his fingers idly.. Nathan studied him for a moment before continuing, “Can’t imagine what it’s like losing a father like that.” Nathan sympathized, Ren hummed, tilting his head slightly. “I imagine it’s a lot like losing a brother.” Ren vouched, Nathan stiffened, though Ren was not alarmed, instead leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. “If you could do something to get him back, wouldn’t you?” He pondered, his fingers tapped against the bar counter again, seemingly a deliberate beat. Nathan exhaled slowly, he didn’t answer immediately because he knew the answer, knew that if there was even a sliver of a chance— he’d jump at the opportunity, no matter the cost. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love, I also know that what we’ve seen— what you’ve seen— is only the beginning.” Ren continued, his gaze didn’t waver, Nathan frowned. “What are you getting at?” He asked, Ren finally broke into a proper smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m saying, I have the means, and you have the knowledge.. Together, we could do something truly historic.” He recited, Nathan narrowed his eyes. “You want me to go back to Hollow Earth.” He deadpanned, Ren lifted a single brow. “No, I want us both to go back.” Ren corrected, leading to a long silence stretching between them, Nathan felt his stomach twist, because part of him knew this was a bad idea— knew this was the kind of offer that came with consequences.. But the other part? The part that still heard his brother’s laugh in his dreams? The part that still saw his hand slipping away from the void? That part was listening. Nathan licked his lips, his grip tightening around his glass. “Tell me more..” He blurted out, Ren’s smile widened— like a predator sensing blood in the water.. And just like that, the bargain was struck, of course, Ren had failed to mention he’d be inside the skull of Monster Zero and his boss's unqualified and entitled daughter would be in his place.
In the present, the trailer rattled over uneven dirt grounds, its rusted frame groaning with every bump. Outside, the Mexican night stretched endlessly, the only light coming from the moon as it bathed the desert in an eerie silver glow.. However, despite the peacefulness of the outside, the inside of the trailer was an unspoken warzone. Jia sat huddled against the wall, her fingers tracing shapes into the dust-covered window. She couldn’t hear the hum of the engine or the voices around her, but she could feel the vibrations beneath her fingertips, could sense the wrongness in the air— something wasn’t right. “Something is wrong.” Jia turned to Dr. Ilene Andrews as she signed urgently. Ilene’s brow furrowed as she watched Jia’s hands move rapidly. “What do you mean?” She signed back, Jia hesitated before continuing, her fingers trembling slightly. “The Iwi.. I can feel them. They’re afraid.” She signaled, Ilene’s expression darkened, she had long since learned to trust Jia’s instincts— especially when it came to the Iwi..
Before Ilene could press for more, an uninvited sharp voice cut through the tension. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, would you two shut up?” Maia Simmons demanded, sitting kicked back against the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily against the door, though she still had time to shoot them a glare through the rearview mirror. “I swear, if I have to hear one more cryptic hand-wave conversation, I'm throwing one of you out.” She spat, Jia stiffened at the hostility in Maia’s body language, her fingers tightening into a fist. “She’s trying to tell us something important, maybe you should listen.” Ilene shot back, fighting the urge to punch Maia in the boob, but she knew if they had to make a sacrifice, it’d be Ilene since they needed Jia. “Listen? To what? Some mystical gut feeling? Let me guess— Jia has some sixth sense about how we’re all doomed right? Yeah, really helpful.” Maia scoffed, letting out a dry laugh and shaking her head. “They are in danger! The Iwi! Something is happening to them!” Jia’s hands move fast, her frustration boiling over. Maia rolled her eyes, slamming the gas pedal harder and making the trailer lurch forward. “Well, tough shit. We’ve got bigger problems.” She hissed, Ilene clenched her jaw but said nothing, arguing was pointless when she was treading on such dangerous grounds.
In the front of the trailer, Raymond Martin leaned against the dashboard, watching the headlights carve a path through a desolate road. He glanced over at Alan Jonah, who was flipping a rusted switchblade between his fingers, his expression unreadable. “So,” Martin finally said, breaking the silence. “We’re just gonna pretend we didn’t ditch Serizawa back there?” He pried, Jonah didn’t look up. “Serizawa’s a big boy, he’ll figure it out.” Jonah simply put, Martin frowned. “He broke Maia and I out of Monarch’s prison, feels a little cold to leave him in the dust, don’t you think?” He grumbled, Jonah smirked, finally meeting Martin’s gaze. “Oh, you’re worried about him now? Does he remind you of your son?” Jonah sneered, Martin clenched both his metal and flesh fists, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “I just don’t like loose ends.” Martin grumbled, Jonah exhaled, shaking his head. “Let me tell you something about Ren Serizawa,” He began, leaning back. “He’s a survivor. Always has been. You don’t grow up under a man like Ishirō Serizawa without learning how to claw your way out of the deep end.” Jonah cleared up, Martin didn’t argue, but something about this didn’t sit right, there was something off about Ren— Something Jonah wasn’t saying, but before he could press further, Maia slammed the brakes, making the entire trailer jerk forward violently. “What the hell—” Martin started, but then his gaze zeroed in on it— a roadblock, no— not just a roadblock, a welcoming party, figures stood in the darkness ahead, shadows stretching long under the headlights.
The sterile glow of fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, sharp shadows across the cold metal tables of the Pest Control facility. Scientists and military officials stood huddled around the Xilien corpse, their murmurs a tangled mess of both speculation and apprehension.. Nathan Lind could feel the chill of the room seep into his bones, the body was too human, if it weren’t for the silver-black veins tracing across the skin, the pitch black eyes, or the unnerving, glassy stare, it could’ve passed as just another man— Nathan supposed that’s what was most unnerving, the idea that they looked human enough to have been living among them all this time.
The Controller of Planet X stood at the far end of the room, his expression serene, hands folded neatly behind his back. “I do not understand why you insist on resisting.” the Controller decreed, his voice was calm, measured, and bordering on fatherly. “We have done what no human government could. The world is stable, no wars, no Titan threats, no corrupt politicians bleeding your people dry..” The Controller trailed off, Nathan gritted his teeth. “You abducted the Titans, you manipulated world leaders, that’s not peace— it’s conquest.” Nathan pointed out, the Controller tilted his head. “Enlighten me, Dr. Lind.. What exactly do you believe your leaders would have done in our place? Would they have chosen a different path?” The Controller pondered, Nathan opened his mouth— but not a word left it.. Because, if he was being completely honest with himself, the Controller had a point..
The room fell silent, but one should know by now silence never lasted in such tense situations. A low hum filled the air, it started off as a whisper, a ripple through its surroundings— the lights dimming, the air crackled.. And then— a black rift tore itself open in the middle of the room. Nathan stumbled backward, his heart slamming against his ribs as the air turned thick with static electricity. From the void, a figure emerged.. The figure in question was tall, cloaked in flowing obsidian fabric that rippled like liquid shadow— though the cloak held the occasional gold intricate, symbolizing the wearers connection to the golden demise, his one remaining eye burned gold, a singular, searing light against the darkness of his form. Lightning crawled along his fingertips, dancing up his arms like living veins of power. The moment Nathan settled his gaze on his face, his blood ran cold. “No way.” He croaked in complete and utter disbelief.
The figure raised a hand, and in an instant— a golden bolt of energy pierced through the Controller’s chest.. The poor Controller couldn’t even let out a single sharp gasp before he staggered backward, staring down at the smoking hole where his heart should have been, his mouth agape— perhaps to protest, to plead— but no sound left his mouth as he collapsed, lifeless and dead. The silence that followed was absolute, Nathan felt as if he couldn’t breathe. The figure tilted his head, his golden eye flickering as he watched the Controller’s body hit the floor with a thud.. Then, slowly yet surely, he turned to face the room. “A peaceful takeover was never going to work,” he pointed out with a low, resonant, and disturbingly familiar voice. “Humans are greedy, selfish, predictable.. I, of all people, would know that very well.” The voice trailed off, Nathan felt his stomach drop to his legs. “Jesus christ..” He managed to croak, the figure smirked. “Not quite.” He corrected, and for the first time in three years, Nathan looked upon the man who once called himself Ren Serizawa.. Now? He was something else entirely. “You..” Nathan stammered with a hoarse voice that hardly reached above a whisper, daring to take a step forward. X sneered, “I haven’t heard that name in a long time..” He muttered, rolling his shoulders, the electricity in his fingertips only flaring brighter. “You were dead,” Nathan pointed out, still struggling to process what he was seeing. “We thought—” He rambled, “You thought wrong.” X deadpanned, his tone flat as he took a slow step toward him, his golden eye flickering with something unreadable. “I was very much alive, and as it turns out, I had a front-row seat to everything.” X mentioned, Nathan narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about..?” He hesitantly asked, X’s smirk widened. “You really don’t remember? Do you?” He chuckled, tapping a finger against Nathan’s temple. “I was in a coma, Nathan. For three years.. And do you know what’s funny about being in a coma?” X pondered, Nathan said nothing— he couldn’t. “You can still hear.” X reiterated, the words sent a chill down Nathan’s spine. “I heard everything.” X elaborated, his voice dropped to an almost fond, twisted tone. “I heard the doctors talk about how I'd never wake up, I heard Monarch debating whether or not to pull the plug— on one hand, I was my fathers son, but on the other, what was to say I wouldn’t finish what I started when I awoke? I heard my wife cry over me, I heard you.” X observed, his smile fading as he pressed a finger to Nathan’s chest, Nathan honestly thought he was going to get electrocuted right then and there, but X tilted his head. “You were the only one who ever sat at my bedside and talked to me like I was still there.. Didn’t patronize me. Everyone else either cried, pitied me, or ignored me. But you? You just ranted about your miserable life.” X grinned, though there was something bitter underneath it.. Nathan swallowed hard, had he known Ren— no, whoever this was in his shell could hear him.. “You listened.” He muttered, “I had no choice.” X corrected, letting out a soft chuckle. “At first, I found you annoying.. But, after a while.. Well.. You were the only person I could consider a friend.” X confined, his golden eye flickered once more, leaving Nathan to feel like the air had been sucked from his lungs.
This was Ren, but at the same time? It wasn’t. The man before him had shed his humanity like a second skin. “Ren—” Nathan muttered, trying to get him to see reason. “It’s X now,” X corrected, Nathan hesitated, searching for something— anything— of the man he used to know. “You don’t have to do this,” Nathan finally managed to get out, X only scoffed in response. “I already have.” X chided, he sharply turned on his heel, walking toward the corpse of the former Planet X Controller, with casual ease, he ripped the visor from its face, examining it curiously before placing it over his own.. It fit perfectly, to an eerie degree. Nathan took a shaky breath. “You're serious about this, aren’t you?” He muttered, X turned back to him, his smirk widening. “Was I not serious enough during my first attempt to take down Godsilla? Though.. I think the better question is..” X began, intentionally leaving his statement hanging in the air as he took a step closer, electricity dancing up his arms. “What are you going to do about it?” X demanded, Nathan clenched his fists, his answer? He didn’t know, and that’s what scared him more than anything.
Notes:
wow that was a rollercoaster 😭 i had a friend of mine review the chapter and she said ren/x and nathan were worse than lovers LMAOO anyway X may be a little less comedic unless san is at the wheel of the body, ren has always been dead set on killing godzilla so i dont see him pouting when his monsters lose.. with that being said, he still has a humorous edge with ghidorastan64 and what not so he’ll still be X and Ren Serizawa at their cores!
Chapter 18: devil eyes
Summary:
You've got the devil in your eyes
You went and took me by surprise
Say what you wanna say I won't go back
If you wanna hit the road then let's go then
Let's just go and see the world and just show them
What it really means to live life golden
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ren drifted in a place that was neither here nor there— an abyss where time twisted into an unrecognizable shape, where thoughts came slow and muddled like a whisper underwater.. He knew he was alive.. Well, he thought he was alive, the sensation of his own existence felt distant as though his mind floated untethered in an endless, static void.
Fortunately, after being trapped like that for an uncertain amount of time, something had changed. It started as a ripple through the darkness, a sensation so faint he almost missed it. A weight— no, a presence against his temple, the gentle press of something soft. He could feel a whisper of warmth trace against his skin, the ghost of fingers adjusting something over his ears— it was rain, soft and steady, the sound of delicate drumming of raindrops on leaves, the patter against rooftops, distant thunder rolling through the atmosphere like a god exhaling. The sound felt so real and so visceral that it cracked through the suffocating silence that had trapped him for what felt like an eternity. “I don’t know if you can hear me.. But if you can, you're going to be okay. You’re going to wake up, and when you do, I'll be right here. I swear it, Ren. ‘Til death do us part, remember?” It was Mira’s voice, Ren was grateful she was there, but he was frustrated with how she was speaking in a gentle and hesitant way..
Regardless, Ren felt it then, the crushing weight of his own existence pressing down on him, the aching grief of being locked inside his own skull.. He wanted nothing more than to move, to reach for her— to let her know he was listening by any means necessary.. But the void held him still, leaving his body a husk and his mind a prisoner.. And yet— the void had been generous, or perhaps cruel enough to let him hear.. For the first time since he had fallen— since the storm of pain and fire had swallowed him whole, he could hear.
The rain continued, but new voices seeped into his reality.. Some were familiar, others were foreign, nearly all were cold. Nathan Lind visited often, more often than anyone else except Mira. Ren hadn’t known what to make of him before, mainly just a mere stepping stone just as Simmons was.. But here, in this strange, bodiless purgatory, Nathan became an anchor. He would ramble on, speaking as though Ren was merely resting and not trapped in the torture that one referred to as a coma. “You know, Serizawa, you remind me of some of the explorers I used to study. Guys who chased the impossible.. The type that people called crazy until either their theories were proven right or those calling them crazy were proven right.. Hell, I bet if you were awake, you’d probably tell me how full of shit I am.. But I think you’d like me, eventually.. Maybe.” Nathan trailed off, his voice carried an easy warmth, a stark yet welcome contrast to the patronizing emptiness of his own head. At some point, Nathan’s voice shifted from surface-level musings to something deeper. “I get it, you know? Carrying the weight of someone else’s expectations. The whole damn world expects you to be something because of your name.. I think your old man did too.. And I think.. I think he’d want you to come back.” Nathan echoed, Ren wanted to respond, to tell Nathan he had no idea what the hell he was talking about, that he didn’t understand the agony of being his father’s son.. But— perhaps some part of him needed to hear it.
Over time, other voices slithered in— less kind voices. Monarch officials whispering crude words in rooms just beyond his reach. “The truth is, if he wakes up, he’ll be a problem.” One voice brought up in a clipped and professional manner. “You’re suggesting we just.. Pull the plug?” Some other voice pondered hesitantly. “No one’s suggesting anything. We’re just discussing contingencies.” The first voice defensively snapped, “It’s unethical, and it’s suicide.” Another voice fumed, filled with barely restrained frustration. “That’s Ishirō Serizawa’s son, the grandson of Eiji Serizawa, the man who founded Monarch, might I add. Do you have any idea what kind of storm that would bring down upon us?” The voice pondered, typical that they didn’t care for Ren’s wellbeing, only cared for how this would make them look in the long term.. There was silence, followed by a sigh. “Even so, we have to consider the consequences of keeping him alive.” One of the voices chided, “The consequences?” It was now Mira’s voice, sharp as a blade. “Do you hear yourselves? You’re talking about a person, about my husband. You don’t get to decide whether he lives or dies just because it’s convenient for you.” Mira barked, the argument raged on, but Ren couldn’t hold onto it— the words blurred, slipping away as the rain swelled around him, effectively drowning them all out.. And then there was nothing, the world fell silent once more, even the rain had stopped. Ren strained, desperate to hold onto the one thing that had tethered him to the waking world, but it was already gone, leaving him alone in the void once more. His hearing, the fragile gift Mira had unknowingly returned to him, had slipped right through his fingers.
Back in the present with the gang of misfits in Mexico, the road ahead had changed. The sky above twisted unnaturally, the stars warping like ripples on a pond, shadows stretched too far across the pavement, blending in ways that defied logic. All of a sudden, in the middle of the highway, they appeared. At first, they looked like mirages— distorted silhouettes wreathed in heat haze. Then, with a shimmer that sent the air crackling with unnatural static, the Xiliens materialized in sleek black bodysuits that hugged their willowy frames, their eyes masked by reflective visors that shimmered like oil-slicked glass, the desert wind kicked up around them, but they stood unnaturally still, as though the very concept of motion was beneath them.
The trailer headlights put up a brief fight of flickering before they ultimately died, Maia slammed on the brakes, cursing as the vehicle skidded to a stop. Jonah with all his military background was already moving, shoving the door open with his gun drawn, but before he could take aim— ZAP! A bolt of neon-blue energy struck him dead in the chest, sending him crashing against the side of the trailer like a discarded puppet, he slumped, groaning as smoke curled from his shirt. “Shit!” Martin hissed, scrambling for his own weapon, but two more bolts of energy struck home— one to his shoulder, another to Maia’s side, the two hitting the ground hard. Ilene barely had time to process it before the trailer doors were wrenched open, gloved hands reached inside, yanking both her and Jia into the cold desert air. Jia didn’t struggle, but her entire body was trembling, her small fingers digging into Ilene like a vice.
One of the Xiliens, standing taller and with his chin held higher than the rest, took a single step forward with movements so smooth it felt unnatural. “You have all displeased our new boss.” He hissed, when he spoke, his voice was synthetic, distorted, with the words dragging through the air like the screech of metal against metal.. Maia, still on the ground, “Yeah? Tell him to take a number.” She sneered, spitting blood on the dirt while grimacing. The Xilien tilted his head in something almost resembling amusement, then the portal opened— the sky split apart behind them, a jagged tear in the very reality itself. Cold, suffocating darkness yawned from its depths, laced with violet energy that flickered like dying embers, the wind roared, pulling them forward with a force that deemed resisting pointless. One by one, they were dragged through.
When Maia came to her senses, her entire body ached like hell. She pushed herself upright, blinking against the sterile white glow of the cell she’d been thrown into, watching as the walls pulsed faintly, humming with energy as though the room were alive. Across from her, Jonah was already awake, pacing like a caged animal. Martin sat slumped against the opposite wall, head tilted back, muttering curses under his breath. A separate cell held Ilene and Jia, the latter curled against the woman’s side, her expression unreadable. “So, this is new.” Maia exhaled sharply, effectively breaking the silence. “Indeed.” Jonah scoffed, shaking his head as he turned toward the glass-like barrier that sealed them in, rapping his knuckles against it with no give nor any seams. “We need to figure out where we are.” Jonah dictated, a low, artificial chuckle echoed through the chamber at such a statement. The Xilien who led the ambush stood just beyond the barrier, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his visor reflected the dim glow of the room, obscuring any trace of expression. “Welcome to your new reality.” The Xilien announced, though his voice was devoid of any warmth.
The chamber of the House of Representatives was a monument to history, its towering columns and aged wooden desks carrying the weight of centuries’ worth of political discourse, of decisions that shaped the very fabric of the world. Tonight, however, it was not the past that loomed over the gathered officials— it was the future. The massive screen flanking the chamber flickered with the sleek, disturbingly human visages of the Xiliens, their holographic projections standing tall before the speaker's podium. Their representative, a striking figure with a face as smooth and unreadable as polished obsidian, regarded the assembly with a practiced air of diplomacy. “Honored representatives of Earth,” the Xilien representative began, her voice both soothing and calculated as if it were a melody woven with subtle undertones of command. “We come before you not as conquerors, nor as oppressors, but as allies. The asteroid Gorath, a celestial force beyond our understanding— threatens the balance of your world. If left unchecked, it will bring about cataclysm, one that even your titans can’t prevent.” The Xilien representative continued, falling silent to allow murmurs to ripple throughout the room, a mix of feigned skepticism and feigned concern. The Speaker of the House, an older man with silvered hair and deep-set eyes, leaned forward, fingers steepled before him. “You’ve already provided us with data on Gorath’s trajectory,” He started, his voice carrying the weight of someone who knew very well where the conversation was headed. “But what you haven’t explained is why we have to repurpose Pest Control to stop it.” He elaborated, in which the Xilien envoy offered a small, calculated tilt of her head. “Gorath is no ordinary asteroid, it is laced with energies unknown to your world.. Traditional methods of planetary defense will fail. However, with a unified offensive— your forces, alongside ours— we can eradicate the threat before it reaches your solar system. To do so, your world must unite its warriors under one banner and strike first.” The Xilien envoy countered, a brief silence followed up until another Representative, a woman from the west coast with a reputation for ruthless pragmatism.. “And let me guess— this banner just so happens to be one you control?” She pondered with a raised brow, the Xilien smiled in response— or at least, imitated the motion well enough. “Not control.. We prefer the term guiding and assisting as your nations, as they currently stand, are fragmented and vulnerable. The Titans of your world proved such time and time again. Monster Zero was merely the first warning, it raises the question of who will come next? How long before another force beyond your comprehension arrives at your doorstep? You cannot keep relying on your unpredictable Titans.” The Xilien envoy pointed out.
The screens shifted, now displaying footage of the destruction in Hong Kong, of Boston in ruins, of ancient murals depicting monsters even Monarch had yet to name. “You’re saying this is inevitable..” The Speaker affirmed, letting out a slow breath and shaking his head. “I am saying that this is preventable.” The Xilien corrected smoothly, “And what do we get out of it?” A Representative from Texas, a man who rarely wasted words demanded with a lean forward. The hologram flickered, shifting to display sleek, foreign machinery, starships that defied the limits of human engineering, and cities of silver and gold. “A future.” The envoy replied, her voice deepened, resonating with something unnatural. “A future where your people no longer fear the unknown, but instead embrace it.. Where your science leaps forward by centuries, your weapons become tools of preservation rather than destruction.. Where your place among the stars is secured.” She continued, the Speaker took a moment, gauging the room, reading the expressions of his colleagues— some were wary, some eager, and some hungry. He turned towards his colleagues, lifting a hand to signal for silence. “We stand at the precipice of history,” He began, his voice carrying through the hall, reverberating off the chamber walls. “For centuries, we have governed under the belief that the fate of this planet lies within the hands of its nation. But the world has changed— our enemies are no longer each other, instead they are forces beyond our atmosphere, threats beyond our understanding..” He trailed off, leaving an intentional, careful, deliberate pause to let the statement sink in. “The era of the United Nations is over.” He added, a hushed silence fell over the room. “From this day forward, we usher in a new age, the era of the Space Nations begins now.” He finally concluded, turning to look up at the Xilien envoy. His words were followed by rounds and rounds of applause, Democrats and Republicans alike, old rivals and new alliee all clapping as one.. Some out of excitement, others out of expectation, but all caught in the momentum of something they barely understood. Above them, the Xilien envoy watched, behind her dark visor, hidden from the eyes of humanity, she smiled.
The screen flickered to life, broadcasting live from the heart of Washington, D.C, where the Xilien mothership loomed over the National Mall like the monument to the future it was. Its surface was just as sleek and reflective as liquid mercury, pulsed with soft light, a hypnotic beacon against the twilight sky as it hovered just above the ground, defying physics just as effortlessly as it had defied doubt.
In the foreground, a news reporter, immaculately dressed in a sharp navy blazer, stood with an eager expression, gripping her microphone as the camera zoomed in. “Good evening, I’m Rachel, live from the National Mall, where history is unfolding before our very eyes.” She greeted, behind her, a massive crowd had gathered, their cheers louder than any of their previously made protests against Titans, complete with banners and holographic signs flickering with messages of welcome: XILIEN BROTHERHOOD! EARTH UNITED! OUR FUTURE IS HERE! “A moment once confined to science fiction has since become reality as thousands gather to welcome our visitors from beyond the stars, the atmosphere is nothing short of a global celebration of unity, progress, and the dawning of a new era!” Rachel exclaimed, her voice was steady, but beneath her professionalism sat the same breathless awe seen on the faces behind her.
The cameras panned over the crowd— young couples clad in Xilien-branded merchandise, families lifting their children onto their shoulders to catch a glimpse of the impossible, influencers live-streaming their excitement, their faces illuminated by the glow of their devices.
The feed cut, seamlessly transitioning to a concert hall where blonding spotlights carved through a haze of artificial smoke, a deafening wage of screams erupted as a figure emerged from the darkness— an iconic pop star clad in a sleek, futuristic ensemble, her golden hair shimmering under neon lights. “Are you ready for something out of this world?” She pondered to the crowd, raising a mic to her lips with a voice as smooth as silk, the stadium quaking with approving applause. The star of the show smirked, savoring the anticipation before leaning in. “I’m calling my new album.. X.” She announced, the cheers exploded into something deafening, nearly drowning out the reporters waiting in the wings, which one managed to push forward, microphone trembling in hand. “A bold title! Mind letting us know what inspired it?” The reporter pried, the popstar flipped her hair, her expression playful yet unwavering. “To show my support for the Xiliens, of course! To celebrate the collaboration between humanity and our cosmic brothers and sisters, this album isn’t just music— it’s a movement, a symbol of the unity we’ve all been waiting for.” She chirped, the camera panned across the stadium, capturing a sea of fans waving glowsticks shaped like the sleek Xilien emblem, the world was no longer just watching— it was embracing.
The feed cut once more, now a rapid fire montage: in Tokyo, neon billboards flashed “XILIEN TECH—THE FUTURE BEGINS NOW!” as people gathered around a holographic projection of the Xilien envoy bowing in respect. In Paris, street artists painted murals of humans and Xiliens standing side by side, their hands reaching for the stars. In what remained of Rio, fireworks painted the sky in violet and silver, the colors of Earth’s new “partners.”
The camera shifted one last time, settling inside the newsroom of Global Watch, where a panel of anchors sat behind a glossy, curved desk. The holographic backdrop displayed an imposing image of the Xilien mothership, its sleek form almost too pristine and calculated. “Ladies and gentleman, the arrival of the Xiliens has dominated headlines across the world.. But the debate still stands— should we be celebrating.. Or questioning?” The lead anchor, who was a sharp-dresser man with graying hair, adjusted his tie with an exhale and began, “Are you kidding me, Paul? This is historic! We’ve made contact with extraterrestrial life, and they come in peace! This isn’t some conspiracy theory— this is happening, and it’s the best thing to happen to humanity since the internet!” A younger anchor to Paul’s left interjected in a beam filled with enthusiasm. “And yet, we’re supposed to take them at their word? What scientific proof do we have that they’re from another planet? How do we know they’re not just some long-lost offshoot of humanity? Or worse— what if they aren’t here for our benefit?” Another anchor, a no-nonsense woman in a wine-colored blazer raised the question, the younger one scoffed in response, throwing his hands up. “Oh, come on, Lisa. Are we really going to sit here and pretend this is some kind of trick? Wake up and smell the coffee— there is no dream, this is real. For once, we have peaceful contact— we should be embracing it, not celebrating it like paranoid lunatics.” He gushed, Lisa wasn’t at all convinced. “Peaceful until they're not,” She muttered, causing Paul to cut in before an off-topic argument broke out. “We’ve all seen the footage— the House of Representatives cheering as they declared the end of the United Nations and the rise of the Space Nations.. That doesn’t strike anyone as.. Suspicious?” Paul pried, “You’re overthinking it. Humanity needs to evolve, the Xiliens are giving us that push, we’ve spent centuries fighting over land and resources— now we have the chance to unite, a true global alliance.” The younger one shot back, Paul folded his hands. “Maybe, or maybe we’re in for a very, very bad experience.” He grumbled, the broadcast continued, but the screen flickered, cutting to static before the network regained control.
The dim glow of LED panels cast a blue haze over the cramped recording studio, the walls lined with soundproofing foam that did little to muffle the energy buzzing in the room. A neon sign flickered in the background, reading: TITAN TRUTH: WITH BERNIE HAYES, a beacon for those still willing to question the world’s official narrative. The man, the myth, the legend himself— Bernie Hayes adjusted his headset, eyes locked onto the monitor in front of him. His podcast guest, Josh Valentine, leaned forward with matched intensity, fingers hovering over the pause button. Between them, the screen displayed a still frame from a few weeks back— a clip of Ren Serizawa, now going by “X,” sitting in a pristine Tokyo studio, his expression beneath the sunglasses was cool, almost charming— which was not normal.
Bernie let out a sharp exhale, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Alright, trust seekers. Y’all know I don’t like to jump to conclusions, but what we’re about to show you?” He began, pausing for dramatic effect, tilting his head toward the screen. “It’s weird.. Like, ‘government-sanitized-history-book’ kind of weird.” Bernie trailed off, “I mean, we’re watching a war criminal do PR. That’s pretty weird in itself.” Josh pointed out, Bernie ignored him and hit plat.
The video resumed, showing X— formerly Ren Serizawa, seated beside legendary defense attorney Akihiko Shindo and Madison Russell. The set was sleek and minimalist, a gleaming black table reflecting the soft studio lights, a massive screen behind them displaying ‘JAPAN TOMORROW’ in elegant kanji. The host, a polished man with the sharp confidence of someone who’d interviewed world leaders, smiled warmly. “Mr. Serizawa, many people were surprised to see you re-enter the public eye so soon after your.. Well, let’s put it simply and say an eventful past. How do you respond to those who still question your actions in Hong Kong?” The host pried, “Oof. Coming out swinging.” Josh commented, letting out a low whistle. But, X barely flinced. Instead, he smiled— a slow, confident, almost amused smile that held none of the standoffish demeanor Ren Serizawa was known for. “Ah, a fair question,” X began in a smooth and deliberate voice. “I’d like to be clear, what happened in Hong Kong was a tragedy, one in which I had no control over.” X vouched, his Japanese was perfect— well, obviously, it was his native language, but his tone was rich with an ease that didn’t belong to the stiff, brooding man the world remembered. Madison, to his left, nodded along, her posture relaxed but with something else beneath it, her presence a guiding hand for whenever the conversation turned too sharp. Shindo, on the other hand, gave a knowing smirk. “My client has endured enough misrepresentation. This is a new era, like the world, he is moving forward.” Shindo smoothly chimed in, Bernie abruptly paused the video, the image froze on X mid-gesture, his sunglasses slipping ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose.
..And there it was, for a fraction of a second, caught at just the right angle, the lens shifted enough to reveal his eye, not raven, not even close. A golden hue burned behind the glass, faint, but unmistakable. Josh leaned in, his gaze locked on the golden hue. “Okay.. What the hell is that?” He pondered, Bernie grinned like a man who’d just cracked the Da Vinci Code. “Exactly.” He added, pointing aggressively at the screen. “Do you know anybody with naturally yellow eyes? Because I sure as hell don’t.” Bernie grumbled, Josh frowned. “Nope. No way. Unless he got some freaky-ass contacts.. But why would he? That's how he looked when he..” Josh trailed off, his frown deepening, Bernie seemed to notice as he tapped his temple. “Because that’s not Ren Serizawa.” Bernie concluded, silence hung between them for a beat, the weight of the claim settled in the room like an uninvited guest. “You think it’s.. what? Ghidorah mind controlling him?” Josh asked hesitantly, his voice lowering when he said ‘Ghidorah’ as if he were talking about the boogeyman. Bernie exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nah, man. It’s deeper than that. Listen— Ren Serizawa was my boss once upon a time, I was a technician, he was the chief of technology— he doesn’t talk like that, he doesn’t charm people. Hell, dude was a social brick before he got half-fried by Mechagodzilla. And now, suddenly, he’s some smooth ass politician? Nuh-uh. I think Ren is still around in some sense, the thing with him is he’ll stop at nothing to kill Godzilla, even become the devil's advocate.” Bernie marveled, “And if you’re right?” Josh swallowed, glancing back at the screen.
Bernie’s fingers tapped anxiously against the side of the monitor as the Titan Truth livestream racked up thousands of viewers by the second, the chat scrolled at an unreadable pace— some spamming alien emojis, others screaming “FAKE NEWS” or “BERNIE’S GONNA GET KENNEYED.” “Okay, okay, okay— listen up, truth seekers,” Bernie muttered, glancing around the dimly lit alley behind the recording studio, his paranoia ratcheting up by the second. “We just caught something on camera, and I don’t mean your grandma’s UFO sightings.” He began, tapping the frozen frame on his laptop— displaying Ren Serizawa’s— X’s golden eye, staring back at them like some demonic revelation. Josh stood beside him, shifting uneasily. “Dude, maybe we should—” Josh stammered, “LEAVE?!” Bernie cut in, tossing his hands in the air. “Oh yeah, Josh, great idea! Let's just walk away from hard proof that the world’s biggest war criminal is possessed by the very thing that tried destroying the world! What’s next? We pretend the Xiliens are just friendly space tourists?!” Bernie demanded, Josh sighed, rubbing his temples. “No, I was gonna say maybe we should be careful—” Josh trailed off, “Careful? Careful got Mark Russell’s wife killed! Careful got Monarch covering up Titan battles while we’re supposed to just—” Bernie began, “Mr. Hayes.” A voice hissed, causing Bernie to freeze mid-rant.
The voice was crisp, too perfect, like that of a politician who practiced in the mirror wall until every syllable was sterilized. Two men stood at the alley entrance, silhouettes dark against the neon haze of the city, they were clad in sleek suits, almost too sleek— pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. Their skin was just as immaculate, no blemishes, no stubble, no signs of ever having been real people with real lives.. The dead giveaway was their eyes— cold, depthless pools of something off. “You know too much.” One of them stated, adjusting his tie as he took a step forward. “Oh. Oh, shit.” Josh’s breath hitched, “You must die.” The second man croaked, tilting his head with eerily smooth, inhumanly precise movements. Bernie felt his stomach lurch. “Okay, nope, that’s a hard pass—” Bernie stammered, but the first Xilien was having none of it, lunging— too fast, like a glitch in reality. However, it was followed by a BANG! A gunshot tore through the alley, a clean hole erupting in the Xilien’s chest. For a moment, nothing happened— then there was convulsions.. Violent, unnatural spasms wracked with the Xilien’s body as if something inside it was rejecting reality. Its disguise flickerer like a busted TV signal, revealing glimpses of its true form— obsidian exoskeleton, elongated limbs, a mouth that split far too wide with rows of needle-like teeth. Its partner shrieked, a high pitched screech that shattered the alley’s silence.
Both Bernie and Josh staggered backward, eyes wide in horror followed by another BANG! Another shot rang out, silencing the second Xilien mid-screech. Bernie’s camera was still rolling, thousands of viewers now watched in real-time as the Xiliens’ disguised fully disintegrated, revealing their grotesque, spindly forms twitching against the pavement, limbs contorted in unnatural angles. The smell of burnt ozone filled the alley, standing over them, smoking pistol still in hand, was a man who looked like he had been ripped straight out of a war movie. A rugged, brunette bastard with a trench coat flapping behind him, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a distinct ‘I shoot first, ask questions never.’ kind of vibe— it was none other than Commander Douglas Gordon, he exhaled smoke, blowing it towards the steaming corpses at his feet. “Goddamn roaches never learn.” He grumbled, “Holy shit, you’re—” Bernie’s brain short-circuited, resulting in a rare moment of silence from the chatterbox. “Commander Douglas Gordon, yeah, yeah.” Gordon waved him off, reloading his pistol like this was just another Tuesday for him. “And you two idiots were about five seconds from getting yourselves vaporized.. Congrats! You just made yourselves enemy number one.” He grunted, “Wait— how did you even find us?” Josh uttered, still trying to process that they’d just been attacked by aliens, just gazed off in disbelief. Gordon smirked, tapping his earpiece. “Got friends in low places, kid. Monarch’s too slow to see the big picture, but me? I keep my ear to the ground.. And you boys? You just blew the whole damn lid off this operation.” Gordon sneered, nudging one of the Xiliens’ corpses with his boot. “S-So what now?” Bernie uttered, gripping his still-streaming phone.. Gordon flicked his cigarette onto one of the bodies, watching as it sizzled. “Now? We burn their whole goddamn empire to the ground.” He declared, cracking his knuckles.
The chamber was a cathedral of alien design, consisting of sleek, towering walls pulsing with an eerie, bioluminescent glow, casting elongated shadows across the floor. The lifeless body of the Controller of Planet X lay sprawled at the base of the dais, his ornate robes stained with his own black muck blood.. And standing over him, boots planted firmly in the widening pool, was X..
X tilted his head as he admired his handiwork, his fingers flexed at his sides, as though testing the sensation of his own strength, the new weight of authority settling onto his shoulders like that of a comfortable coat. Then, a smirk curled at the corner of his lips— low at first, before cracking into laughter, a jagged, grating sound that was unnatural and full of something unhinged. He turned his gaze downward, addressing the corpse with a mockingly soft voice. “Well, that’s it, isn’t it?” He sneered, spreading his arms. “Your history? Over. Mine? Just getting started.” He jested, savoring the moment. Behind him, violet energy pulsed through the room as Xilien henchmen shimmered into existence, teleporting to his side in synchronized formation, their faces blank beneath the dark visors.
And from the shadows— “I knew it.” Commander Gordon’s voice had rang out like a gunshot, he emerged from the shadows, flanked by Nathan Lind, Bernie Hayes, and Josh Valentine; each carrying varying degrees of disbelief, fury, and— at least in Josh’s case, mortal terror. Bernie’s hands tightened around his camera, “Oh hell no, we are not walking past the part where you just murdered an intergalactic dictator like you’re ordering a damn coffee.” Bernie snapped, Gordon, however, didn’t blink, his gaze remained locked onto X, his hand resting on his gun, but he didn’t draw— not quite yet. Instead, he let out a sharp exhale through his nose and shook his head. “It ain’t him.” Gordon declared, Nathan, having just watched X murder his superior in cold blood, stiffened. “What do you mean, ‘it ain’t him’?” He pondered, Gordon took a simple step forward, his sharp as a knife gaze raked across X’s posture, his smile, the way he carried himself in a way that was far too smooth and relaxed.. In addition to the laughter, the way it rattled in his throat like it wasn’t used to human lungs. “That ain’t Ren Serizawa talking, it’s San.” Gordon pointed out in a gravel voice laced with certainty, his gaze narrowed.
The thing inside X’s skin stilled, then slowly tilted his head toward Gordon, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Well, well, well,” X— no, San sneered, the smirk deepening into something deeply sinister. “Seems like we got ourselves a sharp one, boys!” San declared, perhaps in another life he was a talk show host with how much of a natural he was when it came to jeers during serious situations, much to his brother's annoyance. “Cut the act. Show your real voice.” Gordon snapped, his jaw clenched. For a moment, the room was silent up until X’s gloved fingers lifted to his visor. With an agonizing and deliberate slowness, he peeled it away, revealing his full face beneath. A singular golden eye gleamed with amusement, the eerie glow casting an unnatural light against his sharp features. “You know what?” San mused, rolling X’s shoulders. “I kind of like this face.” He declared, nodding to himself as if genuinely impressed. “Not bad for a cockroach, don’t you think?” He jeered, Bernie made a choking noise. “Okay— does anyone else feel like we are way out of our depth here? Because I am having an existential crisis right now.” He pondered, glancing around the room. On the other hand, Gordon wasn’t rattled in the slightest, he even went as far as to taking another step forward, his fingers twitching against his holster. “Enough games. Where’s Ren?” He demanded as if he knew the man X once was personally, though ultimately, something did shift.
There was a flicker of hesitation, a tension in the fingers, a twitch in the jaw, the smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before X— no, Ren inhaled sharply, his eye flickering with something foreign, and when he spoke, it was far from San. “Any resistance is useless,” X’s voice returned in a calm and measured voice, but filled with something deeply wrong and unsettling. His gaze locked onto them, analyzing and dissecting their every move to search for the slightest sliver of weakness. “Our technology surpasses yours by centuries. We are far beyond you, fighting will accomplish nothing.” X lectured, Gordon exhaled, finally drawing his pistol with a slow, deliberate motion. “See, kid. I like to play the odds.. Wanna try?” He demanded as he cocked the gun, but before X could respond there was a THUD-THUD-THUD!
Heavy boots pounded against the floor as Pest Control mercenaries stormed into the room with their rifles raised, their armor glinting under the eerie Xilien glow, gazes locked onto their target. “Now what do you do, kid?” One of them, a stocky man with a voice rolling like thunder demanded, glancing at Gordon and smirking. X merely chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You, of all people, should know the answer to that.” X began, his voice dipping lower as something alien curled beneath his words. “Humans are foolish.. And sometimes.” He paused, his fingers flexing. “They need to be taught a lesson.” X finally said, before anyone could react— the sound hit: a high pitched, gut-wrenching frequency slicing through the air. The Pest Control mercenaries barely had time to register the attack before they dropped to the floor— weapons clartering, hands desperately flying to their helmets, their screams strangled beneath the sonic onelaugh. “What the hell is that?!” Josh pried, stumbling backward with wide eyes, Nathan winced but quickly realized— the sound wasn’t affecting him nor Gordon and Bernie, only the mercs. X’s smile turned razor-sharp. “A gift.” He explained, voice dripping with amusement. “One of many.” He added, watching as Nathan’s fists clenched, fury boiling over. “Bastard!” He exclaimed, and then he charged— well aware of how stupid and reckless it was, of course, it was over before it even started. X had barely moved, one simple step followed by an even simpler flick of the wrist, and Nathan was gone.
The air rippled as an unseen force struck Nathan mid-sprint, hurling him across the floor like a discarded ragdoll. He hit the ground hard, skidding to a stop, coughing as the wind was torn from his lungs. X tilted his head, seeming genuinely disappointed. “A shame,” X mused, stepping forward. “I would have spared you.” He admitted, Nathan wheezed, glaring up at him, rage and humiliation burning behind his eyes. X turned his attention back to the Xilien henchmen, nodding and turning toward the writhing mercenaries. “Take care of the rest.” He dictated, raising a single hand with the air twisting at his command, violet energy rippling outward as a portal slashed open in front of him, he stepped through, the Xiliens following behind in perfect synchronization.. Just like that, they were gone, silence following with the groans of the Pest Control soldiers remaining. “Uh. So.. That just happened..” Bernie uttered, breaking the silence while still holding onto his phone, “We are so screwed..” Josh muttered, still frozen in place, Commander Gordon exhaled, cracking his knuckles, “Not yet we aren’t.” He assured, his gaze remained fixed on the place where X had vanished.
Despite X’s departure, the air inside the facility remained thick with something unnatural, a sterile hum of machinery drowned out by the eerie silence that followed the Xilien’s departure. The Pest Control soldiers, who had moments ago been writhing on the floor in agony, now stood deathly still in a perfect circle around Gordon, Nathan, Bernie, and Josh.. Their heads were tilted ever so slightly, blank eyes locked onto them like predators studying prey. Josh was the first one to take a step back, lacking any words, Bernie, who was still livestreaming, zoomed in on one of the soldiers' faces. “Oh, hell no, this is some straight up horror movie—” He stammered, falling silent when one soldier twitched, just a tiny movement, then another, and another.. Until suddenly— they all stepped forward at once. “MOVE!” Gordon barked, drawing his pistol and firing a warning shot into the ceiling, though it hardly registered to them. “GET OUT OF HERE— NOW!” He demanded, Nathan— not known to be practically heroic or selfless, was already reaching for the nearest exit, but Bernie grabbed Gordon’s wrist, yanking him back. “Oh no, no, no, you’re not pulling that ‘heroic sacrifice’ crap! We need you!” He lectured, Gordon’s eyes burned into him, but Bernie held firm. “You’re the only one who actually knows how to fight these bastards.. So how about we make it out alive together?” Bernie hissed, his tone shifting to a rare one of seriousness. “Fine, but if you die, I get to say ‘I told you so.’” Gordon caved, Nathan and Josh had already thrown open the nearest metal door, the four of them rushed inside, Gordon slamming the control panel as soon as they cleared the threshold, the thick steel doors slammed shut, locking the possessed soldiers behind them. “Okay, WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT TERMINATOR SHIT?!” Josh demanded, hands trembling, Bernie, still rolling, turned the camera to his face. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think it’s safe to say we’re officially beyond screwed.” He deadpanned, and with that, they bolted.
The facility’s emergency exit led them into a vast stretch of a moonlit desert, the asphalt road stretching into the distance like a dark vein against the pale sand. And there, as if it were divine intervention, sat a truck. “Oh, I have never been more grateful for irresponsible vehicle storage in my life.” Josh let out a breathless laugh, Nathan didn’t waste any time in wrenching open the door, hot-wiring the engine with a desperate sense of ignition. The four of them piled inside, Gordon in the passenger seat, Bernie and Josh scrambling into the back. With a roar, the truck peeled out, tires kicking up in a whirlwind of dust as they sped into the darkness. Bernie turned the camera to himself, “Alright, folks, update— our truck is NOT stolen.. It’s just.. Permanently borrowed.” He trailed off in an adrenaline filled voice, “You’re insane.” Josh snorted, “Say’s the guy who willingly follows me into situations where we almost die.” Bernie shot back, Josh had no retort. For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the engine, the steady bumps of the road.. Then—
A shadow streaked across the windshield, the unmistakable silhouette of a motorcycle— to make matters worse, the rider was decked out in Xilien tech, silent, sleek, and moving far too fast, the rider was a blur of dark armor and a flowing black coat, twin pistols raised to a: BANG-BANG-BANG! “SHIT!” Nathan gaspd, swerving as the bullets shredded through the tires, the truck jerked violently, losing traction, skidding off to the road in a flurry of screeching metal and dust. The world spun as the truck crashed down an embankment, slamming into a dry ditch, throwing them forward in their seats. The engine sputtered, giving one last final groan before dying entirely.. Before they could even get a good look at the attacker, the Xilien motorcyclist was already long gone. Gordon coughed, pushing open the door. “Everyone still in one piece?” He asked, “Physically? Yeah. Emotionally? Not even close.” Josh replied, Bernie peered into the night, gripping his phone. “Where the hell did that guy go? That was some Metal Gear level hit-and-run bullshit.” Bernie documented, Nathan staggered upright. “We don’t have time for this.. We need to get moving before—” He began before being interrupted by frantic footsteps, a figure sprinted past the crash sight, illuminated only briefly by the flickering remains of the truck's headlights— it was a woman Nathan knew all too well. “Wait.. is that—?” Nathan stammered, freezing in place and unable to believe his eyes. “Well, well, well.” Gordon sneered, stepping forward with a slow grin spreading across his face.
The woman was none other than Mira Serizawa, X’s wife— the bargaining chip they needed. To her credit, she was fast, but Gordon was faster, in one swift motion, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back before she could escape. Mira whirled around, immediately striking out, her knee aimed at his ribs. Gordon caught her mid-motion, twisting just enough to deflect the hit without hurting her, she sure as hell wasn’t about to go quietly. With a swift movement, she used the momentum to break his grip, slamming her elbow toward his face, Gordon had barely dodged. “Feisty, good. That means you can handle yourself.” He sneered, his grin widening, Mira, by contrast, was not amused, glaring at him. “Let me go, or I swear to God—” She began, her gaze shifting toward Nathan when he held up his hands. “Mira, wait! We’re not here to hurt you!” Nathan stressed, she hesitated, just barely. “Y’all, we are about to get our asses handed to us.” Bernie declared to his phone, Mira turned her gaze to Nathan, something unreadable flashing across her face until she took a deep breath and stopped fighting. “Fine.” She grumbled, pulling away from Gordon and fixing her jacket. “I’ll go with you.” She decided, “Wait, seriously? Just like that?” Josh stammered, blinking in surprise. “If Ren is really gone.. Then maybe there’s still a chance to reach what’s left of him.” Mira simply put, “Good, because we’re gonna need you to remind him what it means to be human.” Gordon snarked, holstering his weapon, Bernie sighed, flipping the camera back to himself. “Well, folks. Looks like we just kidnapped the warlord’s wife. So if you don’t hear from me in twenty-four hours, assume the worst.” Bernie declared, with Mira now in tow, the five of them disappeared into the night.
The throne room of the Xilien mothership pulsed with a deep, violet glow, the very walls thrumming like a living thing. Below its towering archways, the war chamber stretched outward like a temple, vast and immaculate, every inch of its alien metal humming with unseen energy. The air reeked of charge ozone, thick with the weight of something ancient reawakening. At the center of it all stood Gigan, his new form gleamed under the cold light— a monstrous fusion of organic brutality and cybernetic perfection. Twin scythes extended from his arms, razor-sharp and polished to a mirrored shine, while his serrated chest buzzed faintly, a hidden chainsaw blade waiting to tear through flesh and steel alike. His tail, segmented and wickedly barbed, twitched with anticipation, and his crimson visor burned like a demon staring through the veil.
X watched him with a slow, satisfied grin, getting deja vu to the love at first sight reaction he had when he’d first settled his gaze on Ghidorah’s skull. “Beautiful.” Not a word spoken aloud, but the thought curled within his mind like smoke, lingering, tainted by something not entirely his own. “A worthy beast.” Ichi rumbled, his voice by far the deepest and the most commanding. “Quite the improvement of what he once was.” Ichi observed, “A toy,” Ni chimed in, far less impressed. “One that only obeys because it knows who its master is.” Ni sneered, “Let’s test him.” San’s playful voice had slithered in, “Let’s watch the humans squirm.” He declared, X chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. He lifted a gloved hand, gesturing toward the Xilien command center, where dozens of soldiers stood in rigid formation, awaiting his command. “Release them.” X ordered, the Xilien Commander hesitated, just for a moment, even a species known for cold, calculating obedience, this order was monumental. X’s golden eyes flickered with something dark and sinister, “Do you need me to say it again?” He grumbled, he was reminded of when he tried to warn Simmons of the Hollow Earth energy regarding the mecha and was shut down immediately, except this time he was the one giving the orders— and he knew what he was doing! The Commander snapped into action, “At once, my lord.” He stated with a bow, the holographic display above them flickered, revealing Titans that had been sealed away in Hollow Earth, and now, X would set them free.. The command was given, massive energy pulses surged through the Xilienn control panels, sending cascading waves of violet through the network. One by one, the Titans who’d been sealed away stirred, ancient monsters awakening. X watched it unfold from the throne, his fingers laced together, his laughter growing beneath his breath. “Yes.. That’s it, rise, burn, destroy.” Ni snarked, “Burn it all,” San purred, “Make them suffer for underestimating you.” He chimed in, though X doubted how genuine he was. “Make them all see that the so-called gods they worshipped will be their end.” Ichi muttered, X exhaled, lifting his chin, drinking in the sight of entire cities about to be torn apart.. His fellow humans would know their sins, the species— his own father included, had made the mistake of welcoming the Titans, believed they could live alongside them, could tame them, they thought nature would balance itself out.. They were all wrong, so very wrong. X chuckled, stepping forward, placing a hand against the cold glass of the observation deck, glancing down at the cities below. “I want them to watch..” He declared, his voice like velvet, curling with amusement. “I want them to understand what happens when you embrace monsters instead of conquering them like you would with any other threat.” X elaborated, “They will beg,” Ichi rumbled, “They will regret,” Ni sneered, “They will break.” San finally whispered, satisfied. X’s golden eye glowed, burning brighter as he looked upon his world— the world he would shape. A slow, cruel smirk spread across his lips. “Let them fight.” He sneered in a mocking whisper, a cruel echo of words once spoken by his spawn.. And with that, the age of Titans began anew.
Notes:
hihi! heres to the longest chapter yet ! there most likely wont be an update tomorrow as the site will be down for the majority of the day and i have plans with a friend, anyway let me know what yall think!
Chapter 19: change
Summary:
I watched a change in you
It's like you never had wings
Now, you feel so alive
I've watched you change
Now, you feel alive
You feel alive
You feel alive
I've watched you change
It's like you never had wings
Aah, aah, aah, aah
Aah, aah, aah, aah
Aah, aah
You've changed
You've changed
You've changed
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The sky above Cancún split apart with fire and steel, beneath the neon-lit skyline, the battlefield erupted in chaos. Streets once lined with bustling life were now reduced to craters, the remains of cars and buildings were twisted into charred husks as the ground shook beneath the weight of something monstrous. And at the center of it all, a Titan of chrome and carnage, reborn in the fires of war— Gigan stood. Gigan’s scythes gleamed, polished to surgical precision, each edge so sharp they seemed to slice the very air around them. His red visor burned like a molten core, tracking his prey with a cold, calculated hunger. Beneath his bladed chest, the chainsaw built into his torso roared to life, vibrating with a piercing shriek that sent dust and debris scattering around him.
A voice cracked over Monarch’s comms, cutting through the static of battle: “All units, be advised— Gigan is fully operational and advancing! We need to hold the line!” Mark Russel’s voice was tight with urgency, his usual calm now edged with something dangerously close to panic. Across from the cybernetic nightmare, two metal Titans stood in defiance. Kiryu, the mechanized dragon, his silver frame unfinished yet unyielding, his yellow optics flashing with cold determination as he braced for impact. Within the cockpit, Akane Yashiro tightened her grip on the controls, sweat dripping down her brow as the peace machine adjusted its stance.. And beside Kiryu, Jet Jaguar, the warrior of legend, his sleek, humanoid form shifting fluidy, his metal fists clenching in preparation. Inside his control rig, Trapper let out a sharp exhale, adjusting his visor. “He’s gonna be a problem..” Trapper muttered, “That’s an understatement,” Akane responded in a flat, unreadable voice. “Oh, I don’t know, guys.. Maybe— just maybe! We should all be a little worried about the giant chainsaw-wielding murder cyborg walking straight at us?” Rick Stanton’s voice crackled in through the comms, “Less talking, more fighting! Jet Jaguar, Kiryu— engage now!” Ilene Chen’s voice chimed in.
And then— Gigan moved, faster than he had any right to.. One moment, he was still, the next— his visor pulsed with scarlet light, sending a bolt of crimson energy lanced across the battlefield. The laser struck Kiryu first, blasting against his shoulder and sending the massive machine staggering backward, metal screeching from the impact. Jet Jaguar lunged, leaping high into the air, barely avoiding the next shot, his arms twisting into blades as he descended toward Gigan’s head.. Though Monarch’s tech was impressive, it was nothing compared to the Xilien tech, Gigan was already tracking him, his scythe whipped up, catching Jet Jaguar mid-strike, and with a single, brutal motion, he flung the mech across the battlefield. “Oh yeah, this is gonna suck.” Trapper grunted as the cockpit rattled from the inside, “Then let’s make him bleed first.” Akane vowed, gritting her teeth as Kiryu’s optics locked onto Gigan once more.
Far above the settlement on Earth, aboard the monolithic Xilien flagship, X watched it all unfold with the war room’s massive viewport displaying the carnage below, a vast holographic screen reflecting the destruction raining down upon the city. He leaned back lazily in his throne, one gloved finger tapping idly against his temple, his golden eye alight with amusement. “Ohh, my poor, foolish fellow man,” X cooed, voice dripping with faux sympathy. “They fight so hard, don’t they? It’s almost sad.” He pointed out, “Pathetic, they throw their scraps of metal against the inevitable,” Ichi sneered in his mind, “Delusional, still clinging to their broken ‘gods.’” Ni spat, “But fun to watch, look how they squirm.” San chimed in, X let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. His golden gaze flickered to Gigan, watching the cybernetic demon carve through metal and earth alike, his chainsaw roaring like the grim reaper’s scythe itself. “They still think this is a war they can win.” X sighed dramatically, his smirk widening, “But I already know how this ends.” X added, his voice lowering into something nothing short of dangerous and sinister.
The entrance to Pest Control’s underground headquarters was hidden beneath a crumbling warehouse, the exterior long since abandoned— just another casualty of a world teetering on the brink. The city above had been reduced to ghosts, nothing but shattered buildings and the lingering miasma of smoke and ozone from Titan destruction. Gordon led the way, boots heavy against the rusted metal staircase as they descended into the shadows below. Nathan, Bernie, Josh, and Mira followed, the latter still radiating hostility but begrudgingly moving forward. Bernie’s camera light cut through the darkness, illuminating the cold, industrial hallways beneath. The further they moved, the more obvious the devastation became— bodies, way too many bodies.
Enhanced Iwi soldiers lay scattered across the corridors, their weapons still gripped in stiff fingers, their blood staining the steel floors. Signs of a desperate battle littered the space, evident by the scorch marks along the walls, claw marks raking through reinforced doors, and bullet castings strewn everywhere. “Jesus, it’s a massacre..” Josh swallowed thickly, watching as Nathan knelt beside one of the fallen, guilt weighing heavily in his chest.. These weren’t just soldiers— they were warriors, guardians of a dying cause.. And now? Most of them were gone. “They wiped out almost all of them.” Gordon noted, jaw tightening. His eyes swept the ruined corridor, the bodies of men and women who had been trained to take down Titans reduced to nothing. “You act like you didn’t see this coming.” Mira scoffed, standing stiffly behind them, “And what? You think rolling over and accepting this is the better move?” Gordon shot back, eyes narrowing and turning sharply to meet Mira’s gaze, who just folded her arms with unreadable dark eyes. “I think you’re playing checkers against a man playing chess with a loaded gun.” She grumbled, “None of this matters if we don’t move. Xilien bastards are gonna find this place sooner or later, I'd much rather not be here when they do.” Bernie chimed in, shaking his head while adjusting his camera’s angle. “I second that, preferably before we all get turned into alien meat puppets.” Josh grumbled, nodding and adjusting his bag strap. “So what’s the plan? We’re outnumbered, outgunned, and running out of places to hide.” Nathan pondered, glancing at Gordon. “We get the attention of Biollante.” Gordon replied without missing a beat, causing silence to follow, but one could always trust Bernie’s big mouth to break said silence. “Uh.. The hell did you just say?” He muttered, blinking. “Biollante?.. Look, man, I've studied Titans for years, and I've never heard of that one.” Nathan pondered with a frown, running a hand through his hair. “That’s ‘cause she’s new.” Gordon sneered, leaning against the nearest control panel. “Oh, fantastic. So the plan is to go knocking on the door of a newborn Titan? One that, might I remind you, we know absolutely nothing about?” Josh grumbled, throwing up his hands. “Not to mention, there’s no guarantee she’ll even listen to us.” Nathan chimed in, crossing his arms. “She will. Because Biollante’s more familiar than you think.” Gordon simply put, his smirk never wavering. Mira’s expression finally shifted— something flickering in her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?” Bernie demanded, squinting. “Means we got one shot at this. Biollante can handle the other Titans.. But me? I’m looking to kick X’s ass.” Gordon sneered, pushing off the console and cracking his knuckles.
Darkness.. For a long time, there was nothing— only a void, thick and inescapable, stretching beyond where thoughts could reach.. Followed by pain, a crushing, suffocating ache that wrapped itself around her like tangled roots, twisting deep into her bones— expect she had no bones anymore, Or did she? No skin, no hands, no voice. Just weight, just presence, just something vast that shouldn’t be her.. Before she could ponder what happened to her, a light blinded her vision— golden shimmer, breaking through the void like a dawn over a storm sea. It was warm and familiar, it was wings— Mothra. Madison’s new eyes— massive, unblinking, alien to her— opened to the world, only for the world to be wrong.
Gone was the comfort of human limbs, of fingers and skin, of everything she had ever known. Instead, she felt.. Massive. Her body stretched beyond what she could comprehend, roots anchoring deep into the earth, vines slithering like living veins. Her arms— no, tendrils shifted, glowing faintly with bioluminescent green, slick with dew and bristling with thorns. The ground beneath her was soaked, rich with moisture, the air thick with the scent of soil and blooming flora. She tried to breathe— but her lungs didn’t respond, okay, how about trying to move? Nope, the earth trembled beneath her. And above her, in the night sky, Mothra hovered— her colossal wings pulsed with iridescent light, scattering golden scales that drifted gently through the air, illuminating the darkened swamp surrounding them. Madison tried to speak, but the sound that left her was not human, rather a deep guttural groan that shook the trees around her. “What is this? What happened to me?” She demanded, panicking. “You’re awake.” Mothra’s voice rang through her mind, soft as a breeze yet heavy with something eternal. Madison fought against the riding confusion, her vision blurring at the edges in her best attempts to adjust to this impossible form. “What..?” She pondered, her voice wasn’t really a voice anymore— it was a thought, a vibration, something primal being transmitted through the very air. “What happened to me?!” She demanded, Mothra’s glow flickered, her massive form circling above. “You died, Madison.” She simply put, the words hit like a stone to the chest— Madison stilled, the vines of her new body curling inward as the realization struck.. She remembered— pushing Ren over the edge, the bunker, the flower pot.. The cold. She had felt herself slipping and then— nothing. “No—no, I can’t be dead, I— this isn’t real—” Madison’s stammers came fast and disjointed, “It is real and you are not lost.” Mothra corrected.
Madison’s new body trembled, the swamp water rippling as her massive form struggled against itself. “I don’t— why am I like this?” She pried, Mothra hovered closer, her golden glow softening in sympathy. “Because it would have been too much pain for him to lose you.” Mothra whispered. Madison froze, she didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was, it was Godzilla.. A deep silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sounds of night critters, the rustling of wind through the winds. Madison’s new heart— whatever it was now, ached. “I don’t understand, why am I like this?” She admitted, her voice no longer frantic but hollow. “Because you are needed.” Mothra decreed, her wings pulsed once more. Madison let the words sink in, her tendrils brushing against the earth as she tried to ground herself— to feel something familiar in a body that wasn’t hers as she came to the conclusion that she was alive, she was something new, and whether she wanted it or not, she had been given a second chance.
The jungle trembled beneath the weight of something colossal, Commander Douglas Gordon stood at the edge of the overgrown battlefield, his trench coat billowing in the hot, humid air. The massive green glow of Biollante loomed ahead, vines twisting like serpents, her bioluminescent body pulsing with an eerie, unnatural light. She was still adjusting to her form— young, but powerful.. And the poor thing was about to be thrown into a war she barely understood. Behind Gordon, the Iwi soldiers— the ones who had survived, anyway, stood ready, weapons raised, their weapons unreadable beneath their facial markings. Gordon lifted his radio, “Alright, boys, listen up, we’re calling this one Operation Final War.” Gordon declared in a sharp voice, “Sounds dramatic.” Nathan who stood beside Gordon muttered, exhaling sharply. “Damn right it does, let’s just hope it doesn’t live up to the name.” Gordon affirmed, tightening his grip on his holster. But before anyone could respond— static crackled through the comms. One of the Iwi soldiers tensed, his dark narrowing as he turned to Gordon. “Commander— Gigan is here.” He signed, “Of course he is..” Gordon grumbled, his jaw clenching.
Aboard the Xilien Mothership, X lounged in his throne, fingers drumming lazily against the armrest. His golden eyes gleamed as he watched the battle unfold from the viewport, lips curled into something between amusement and mild irritation. “Ahh, my poor, desperate fellow humans,” X muttered, tilting his head. “They still have their toys, don’t they?” He observed, “They still think they can win,” Ni sneered in his mind, “They still fight,” Ichi rumbled, unimpressed and clearly displeased with being on the sidelines instead of calling the shots on the front line, “Good, it makes it more fun.” San whispered eagerly. X chuckled softly at their comments, “Well, if they’re so determined to struggle..” He trailed off, lifting a single gloved hand. “Gigan.” X began, the war beast stood at the center of the war chamber, motionless yet terrifying, his crimson visor burning like a furnace waiting to be unleashed. X grinned, “Get it.” He simply put, at his command, Gigan lurched forward, his wings unfolding. The Xilien flagship trembled as he launched from the war chamber, breaking through the atmosphere with a sonic boom.
From above, Gigan descended like the iron-clad demon he was, his spine cutting through the clouds, his chainsaw chest roaring to life. His scarlet visor only had to flash once, and then, laser beams lanced through the air, hurtling toward Biollante followed by a BOOM! The first impact sent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield, vaporizing trees in an instant. Biollante roared, the sound deep and unearthly, signaling a mix of rage and confusion. Nathan shielded his eyes as the blast rocked the ground beneath them. “We need to move, NOW!” He exclaimed as the Iwi scrambled into position, some raising rifles while others signaled their readiness with silent nods. Gordon didn’t flinch. “Hold steady! We're Almost there!” He assured the group. From the smoke, Gigan shot forward, moving faster than something his size had any right to. Ropes shot from his mechanical arms, wrapping around Biollante’s tendrils like constricting snakes, with a mechanical whirr, he threw a chain around her neck. The metal links tightened, yanking Biollante’s massive head downward, crushing vibes beneath her own weight. “Oh, this is some horror movie bullsh—” Bernie cursed under his breath, being silenced with a shove from Gordon. “She’s not going down that easily.” He growled adamantly, and she didn’t— because as Gigan tightened his hold, as his chainsaw screeched to life, Biollante stilled, her golden bioluminescence dimmed until it ultimately flared. Gigan jerked back, his head twitching as something unseen lashed out. Biollante’s body pulsed with an unnatural energy— her vines twisting, reshaping, and her very essence shifting. From her open maw, something monstrous began to form— a ball of acidic sap, glowing green and churning with deadly force. Nathan’s eyes widened in shock and amazement at this, “What the hell is she doing?!” Nathan pondered, “Fighting back.” Gordon sneered, watching as she spat— the acidic blast surged forward, a massive jet of corrosive liquid aimed directly at Gigan’s face.
Aboard the Xilien mothership, X stood before the war room’s massive viewport, his golden eye locked onto the massive green behemoth raging below— Biollante, her vine-like tendrils coiled like serpents, glowing with golden bioluminescence as she loomed over the battlefield, her monstrous form shifting with every breath. The ground beneath her had turned into a living jungle, roots splitting the earth as if it had never belonged to humans in the first place. X narrowed his gaze at the sight of this, tilting his head in puzzlement. “Now, what the hell is that?” He demanded, hoping for answers from the death song of the three storms in his head. “New,” Ni muttered, unimpressed, “Unnatural,” Ichi added, his voice a slow, calculating growl, “She’s hideous, and she's not on our side.” San purred, the amusement in his voice curling at the edges of X’s mind. Before X could respond, the holographic screen in front of him flickered, the Xilien encryption overridden by an unexpected intrusion, Gordon’s face filling the screen.
The older man smirked, leaning casually against whatever terminal he’d hijacked, his signature cigar clenched between his teeth. “Listen, kid.. There are two things you failed to see.” He began, exhaling a slow puff of smoke, eyes gleaming with defiance. “Me. And Biollante.” Gordon sneered, X’s fingers twitched at his side, his expression a mix of amusement and irritation as his gaze flicked back toward the massive plant-like Titan. “Well, well,” he muttered, “Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me.” He sneered, then his smirk sharpened. “It’ll be a pleasure dealing with you, Gordon.. But your little pet? She’ll have to handle a trick I’ve been saving up.” X avowed, turning to his Xilien subordinates, golden eye flashing. “Prepare the drop pod. Let’s see what she’s made of.” He commanded.
The sky above Biollante darkened, the Xilien mothership casting its shadow across the battlefield, there was a deafening screech as the air rippled with a sonic boom as a drop pod tore through the clouds, plummeting toward Earth like a fallen star. The ground shuddered violently as the pod impacted, sending shockwaves of dust and debris blasting outward. The metal casing hissed as it split open, steam rolling out in thick waves.. And finally— Zilla emerged, a sleek, low-to-the-ground predator, his deep navy scales shimmering under the moonlight. He was fast, comparable to Godzilla’s species if Godzilla were a Tyrannosaurus and Zilla a raptor, his spines crackling with violet energy enhanced by the Xilien augmentation. He snarled, locking his gaze onto Biollante as he lunged forward, his massive claws slashing through the air, aiming straight for Biollante’s core. However, she did not flinch. The moment his claws connected with her bark-like flesh, Biollante’s veins shot up like striking cobras, coiling around his limbs and effectively dragging him backward. Zilla screeched, thrashing, his tail whipping violently, but it was to no avail as more tendrils wrapped around him, tightening like an anaconda crushing its prey. X watched, his smirk twitching downward— Zilla hadn’t even lasted two minutes, he watched as Biollante opened her jaw, the golden glow intensified, and before Zilla could even react, a blast of acidic sap erupted from her mouth, coating him in a thick, corrosive slime. Zilla screeched in pain, his scales sizzling, flesh melting beneath the onslaught. And then, with one final shake, Biollante tore him free from the earth and slammed him down with a force that cracked the battlefield beneath them. X exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Well, that was disappointing.” He declared, though he ultimately shrugged it off, his indifference stemming from his hatred for all things Godzilla adjacent. “Next.” He dictated.
The Xilien warship trembled once more, and X tapped his fingers against the control panel, gazing away as another drip pod prepared for deployment.. This one was smaller than Zilla, the chamber shuddered, and then— a monstrous roar belonging to none other than Abaddon shook the very sky. An arachnid beast of legend, long hidden, now fully under Xilien control. His tendrils spread wide, chitinous armor gleaming under the ship’s violet lights. His multiple glowing eyes locked onto the battlefield below, fixated on Biollante. X’s smirk returned to his mouth once more, tapping his chin. “Let’s see how she handles this one.” He sneerer, with that, Abaddon descended like a meteor, tendrils cutting through the night, his screech splitting the air like tendrils against glass. Biollante braced herself, her tendrils rising like defensive walls as the arachnid-like Titan swooped low, claws extended— though the moment he got close, she struck. Her vines shot forward, latching onto his several legs and locating his throat in order to latch onto that as well, Abaddon shrieked, twisting violently, desperately trying to shake her off— but she was relentless, her glow changed as a sudden pulse of energy surged through her, and in an instant, the vines began to bloom— massive, glowing flowers bursting open along their lengths. Abaddon screeched in confusion just for Biollante to detonate them, a shockwave of golden spores erupted, engulfing Abaddon in a cloud of bioluminescent death. The moment the spores made contact, his screeches soon became agonizing howls, his flesh burned, his tendrils disintegrating as the corrosive energy ate through him like wildfire. Within moments— Abaddon had collapsed, and like that, Biollante stood victorious once more.
Aboard the mothership, X’s amusement faded into mild irritation.. Two failed attempts, his golden gaze flickered downward, watching as Earth’s greatest Titans regrouped— Godzilla, Kong, Biollante, Kiryu, Jet Jaguar, and Mothra. They were rallin, cutting through the Xilien-controlled Titans one by one.. Rodan, Behemoth, they were falling. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne, for the first time since declaring himself X, a sliver of doubt crawled into his mind. “They are resisting.” Ichi observed, “And winning,” San added, gleefully in order to rub salt in the wound, “What now?” Ni hissed, his impatience clear as day. X narrowed his eyes, the tension in the air had shifted— subtle, though undeniable. X remained seated in his throne, one leg draped lazily over the other, golden eye half lidded as he watched the earth the war unfold below.. He should have been pleased— the Earth that had been foolish enough to turn his back on him when he was still Ren Serizawa and willing to put his life on the line to stop Godzilla, but instead, something gnawed at him— a whisper in the back of his skull, a disturbance in his focus.
Then the screen flickered once more, another unauthorized transmission cutting through Xilien encryption. X’s bored smirk faltered as his gaze fell onto Gordon, who had appeared. The old war dog stood against a dimly lit concrete wall, the underground shadows barely hiding the unmistakable figure beside him— Mira. Her dark eyes were defiant, shoulders squared despite the clear frustration in her posture, her hair was slightly disheveled, but her breath was steady. X froze, for the first time since claiming his throne, since ascending to something more than human, since stepping fully into the identity of X— He felt like Ren once more. “Alright kid, let’s cut the bullshit.” Gordon hissed, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You want to play warlord? Fine.. But you forgot something.” He paused, taking a slow drag of his cigar, exhaling smoke through gritted teeth— the camera tilted slightly, zooming in closer on Mira, Gordon’s grin was all teeth. “We have her.” He recited, there was silence as X’s breathing slowed, the chamber was so quiet he could hear the distant hum of the Xilien engines, the faint whisper of Ichi’s presence stirring in his mind. “…Mira?” Ni’s voice curled in rare curiosity instead of his usual anger, “Fascinating,” Ichi mused, “Ohhh, now this is interesting,” San chuckled, his amusement like oil in X’s brain, thick and taunting. X’s hands tightened into fists against the armrests of his throne, Gordon leaned forward toward the screen, his grin never fading. “Wasn’t expecting that reaction.. See, I thought, maybe, just maybe— you’d laugh this off, call out bluff, but judging by the look on your face? Looks like I hit a nerve.” Godon observed in a cool, measured tone.
X’s teeth clenched, his golden eye burned, and his fingers twitched at his side. Mira’s gaze remained locked onto him through the screen lacking any words or fear, only that same quiet, unwavering fire. The Xilien soldiers in the chamber exchanged glances, their own curiosity growing. One of them, standing just beside the control console, finally broke the silence. “My lord.. Who is this woman?” The soldier pondered in a careful and measured voice, another Xilien, further back, tilted his head. “She caused you to shift priorities entirely. Why?” He chimed in, X snapped his gaze towards them, his eye flashing between ebony and golden dangerously. “That’s none of your concern.” X snapped, the Xiliens didn’t press further, but their curiosity lingered in the air like static. X turned back to the screen, unable to help his mask of indifference from slipping, however, Mira’s expression hadn't changed. Gordon leaned in closer to the camera, ensuring X saw the blackheads on his nose. “See, the way I figure— if you don’t care, you let us keep her.. But if you do care? Then I just gave you a brand new priority.” Gordon exhaled sharply, taking a final drag from his cigar. X’s breathing was slow, controlled— but beneath it sat something else entirely, something trembling, something unraveling, something dangerously human— Mira. Mira was still alive and she was in enemy hands, no.. She was in Gordon’s hands. In one fluid motion, X rose from his throne, his coat swirling behind him as he turned to the Xilien commander at the console. “I want her back in one piece.” X dictated, his voice was sharp, final, and absolutely certain. The Xilien commander bowed slightly, nodding. “At once, my lord.” He affirmed, X turned his gaze back to the screen one last time where Mira met his eye— no words were exchanged, but in that moment, for the first time in a long time, X wasn’t certain who was winning.
X thought back to 2013 in Tokyo, the rooftop garden smelled like jasmine and fresh rain, the scent mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of coffee from the café below. The city stretched out beneath them, neon lights shimmering in the puddles from the earlier storm. X had still believed the world could one day understand Ren Serizawa back then, so he still went by Ren, he sat with his back against the railing, knees drawn up, cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. Mira stood nearby, her arms crossed with her gaze locked on the city, “You’re brooding again,” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I don’t brood.” Ren shot back, taking a slow drag from the cigarette before glancing up at her. She raised an eyebrow, stepping closer and tilting her head. “Mmm, you definitely brood.” Mira protested, Ren allowed a rare smirk, tapping ash over the side of the railing. “So what if I brood? Are you here to fix me?” He sneered, raising a brow. “Please, you’re unfixable.” Mira scoffed, a comfortable and warm silence stretched between them until she spoke up. “I’m just here.” She added in a softer tone, Ren studied her— the way the wind pulled strands of her then bleached hair free from her braid, the way the city lights reflected in her eyes, something in his chest tightened.. He hadn’t asked her to come here, but she had, and somehow..? That was enough.
Letting out a slow exhale, X reminded himself he was no longer Ren Serizawa as the world didn’t deserve the mercy Ren had, they deserved the hubris of X and shook off the memory like a snake shedding its skin.. Mira. Mira was still alive, that changed the entire game— his war against earth, his war against Titans— none of it mattered as much as this, he knew when he called himself Ren he loved her more than anything, that was possibly the only thing he’d carried from Ren to X.. He would get her back, he vowed to do so no matter who stood in his way.
The Xilien mothership loomed in the darkness of the night, a monolithic construct of shifting black metal and pulsing violet lights, its very presence an offense to the natural order. The surface rippled like liquid obsidian— adapating, evolving, and anticipating.. And from within its abyssal depths— the swarm emerged, hundreds of sleek, razor-winged Xilien fighters short forth in a sudden burst of violet energy, breaking formation like a school of mechanical piranhas. Their engines whined at an unnatural frequency, their serrated edges gleaming under the distant sun’s light.
Inside the Pest Control warship, Gordon gritted his teeth as alarms blared through the cockpit. “We got incoming!” Nathan shouted, gripping the control panel as the ship rattled from the sudden atmospheric shift. “Hundreds of them!” He added as if the group were blind. Bernie, still recording everything, let out a strained laugh. “You know, I knew this would happen! Why did I know this would happen?!” He called out, “Uh, yeah, slight issue, they’re faster than us!” Josh pointed out, staring at the radar with wide eyes and pointing frantically. Gordon leaned forward in his seat, eyes locked on the approaching death swarm. “This is it,” He muttered, adjusting his grip on the controls so tightly his knuckles turned white. Mira, standing near the back of the cockpit, gazed out the window at the oncoming battle, her jaw tight with her arms crossed. “You better not get us killed.” She grumbled, keeping her steady but edged with something unreadable. “No promises, sweetheart.” Gordon assured, flipping several different switches. The ship jerked hard to the right, thrusters roaring as Gordon veered sharply through the wave of oncoming fire. Bolts of violet energy sliced through the darkness, barely missing the hull as he maneuvered them through a gauntlet of enemy fire. Nathan grabbed onto the dashboard for support, “Please tell me you actually know what you’re doing!” Nathan bellowed, “We’re alive, aren’t we?” Gordon shot back, steering them into a sharp drive, “For now!” Josh muttered, clutching onto his seat for dear life..
But then— a new alarm blared.. A massive structure extended from the side of the Xilien mothership, unfolding like a mechanical flower made of pure, shifting darkness. “Oh, son of a bitch,” Gordon growled, on the screen before them, a holographic display of the enemy ship updated itself, the new structure glowed with violet circuitry, pulsating in eerie synchronization with the rest of the mother ship. “What the hell is that?” Nathan pondered, squinting. “Interceptor.” Gordon grumbled, “Like.. As in, it intercepts things? Like us?” Josh asked, blinking. Bernie let out a strangled laugh, “Oh, great! We’re literally knocking on Satan’s front door, and they just added a turret system?” Bernie jeered. The ship shook violently as energy cannons locked onto them, blasting pulses of pure violet destruction into their path. Mira grabbed onto the nearest console for support, scowling. “We’re not getting through that.” She grumbled, Gordon’s grin turned razor-sharp. “Watch me.” He challenged, jerking the controls hard, sending the ship into a barrel roll, narrowly dodging another barrage. Nathan’s fingers flew over the controls, “We need to find a weakness in that thing now!” He exclaimed urgently, Josh, scanning their limited database, squinted at the schematics. “Uh, yeah, about that— there’s nothing! It adapts to enemy fire, meaning it learns how to counter every attack we throw at it!” He proclaimed, “Oh, fantastic. A death trap that gets smarter.” Bernie groaned, in which Gordon smirked. “Not if we don’t let it.” He jeered, with one sharp maneuver, he steered the ship downward, skimming just beneath the structure. “What are you doing!?” Nathan demanded, his eyes widening. “Finding a blind spot,” Gordon muttered. “Every machine’s got one.” He added, sure enough— as the interceptor adjusted its trajectory to track them, a narrow gap between its rotating plates was exposed. Gordon fired everything they had, the blast ultimately tore through the weak point, and in an instant— the interceptor shuddered and detonated, a violet explosion rippling across the structure. Bernie tossed his arms in the air, “Hell yeah! Score one for the good guys!” He exclaimed, Mira rolled her eyes and seemed even more eager than before to get the hell away from them, Nathan let out the breath he’d been holding, “That.. Actually, it worked.” He muttered in astonishment, Josh still looked like he might puke, Gordon simply grinned. “Told you.” He chided, straightening, “Alright, pretty lady and gentlemen— get a grip, ‘cause we’re going in!” Gordon shouted.
The moment they breached the hangar of the Xilien mothership, alarms shrieked through the metal halls, pulsating with a deep, consistent pulse. Before anyone could react, Xilien henchmen shimmered into existence, teleporting onto the ship’s bridge with blinding flashes of violet light. Nathan barely had time to react before two of them seized his arms, slamming him into the nearest console. Josh yelped, diving for cover, while Bernie held up a camera like a weapon. “Oh, we are so screwed!” He exclaimed, Mira, to her credit, managed to elbow one in the face before being forcibly restrained, and then— X appeared on the main screen, his golden eye gleamed with amusement, his expression an infuriating mix of smugness and boredom. “You people are nothing if not predictable.” He purred, resting his chin on one hand. “Well, hell. I was hoping you'd at least pretend to be surprised.” Gordon spat on the floor, who had been forced to his knees. X smirked, admiring his handiwork. “Oh, I am surprised. Surprised by how arrogant you all are.. Did you really think you could just walk into my ship?” He pried, his voice dipping into something low and cruel. “I mean.. Yeah.” Gordon exhaled, unbothered. X tilted his head in amusement, “You never change, do you?” He paused, his smile fading as his expression darkened. “Bring him to me.” X dictated, the Xilien soldiers yanked Gordon to his feet, shoving him forward. This time, it was Mira who spoke up, likely realizing she was the only one X might listen to. “Don’t you dare—” She began, her gaze narrowing though quickly falling silent when X’s gaze flickered to her, watching as for a split second— something crossed his face, something almost human, but this quickly faded as his smirk returned, waving lazily at the screen. “Oh, don’t you worry, Mira. I have special plans for him.” X sneered, Gordon’s jaw tightened, but his grin never wavered. “Kid, if you wanted a date, you could’ve just asked.” He quipped, earning a chuckle from X who leaned back in his throne. “Take him.” He ordered, and with that— the transmission cut.
Meanwhile, the city suffocated under a toxic haze. Hedorah— the walking pollution oozed through the streets, its gelatinous body pulsating with a sickly green bioluminescence, every inch of it a writhing, acidic nightmare. The smog it exhaled turned the air to poison, corroding buildings, eating through steel like it was made of paper. Humans fled in droves, choking on their own breath as the sludge Titan crawled forward, leaving nothing but rot in its wake. The air soon split apart with a familiar roar, a beam of blazing magenta atomic energy screamed through the smog, cutting through Hedorah’s monstrous frame like a goddamn blowtorch. Hedorah screeched, its gelatinous flesh sizzling and popping, massive chunks of its body melting away on impact. The city shook as Godzilla emerged, his dorsal plates still burning with residual atomic energy. His massive frame cast a shadow over the ruined skyline, his frustrated gaze locking onto Hedorah with merciless fury. Another blast ripped through the battlefield, exploding through Hedorah’s midsection and splattering and splattering molden sludge across the pavement.
From the Xilien mothership, X watched in growing frustration, his golden eye twitched, his fingers curled into fist with the occasional electric volt dancing off them. “Pathetic.” He muttered, voice low. “Weak,” Ni scoffed, “Frail,” Ichi agreed, “Embarrassing, you really let this species tame the monsters of old?” San sneered, X let out a sharp exhale, rubbing his temples. He shouldn’t be this irritated, he had the upper hand— he had the army, the technology, and the advantage.. And yet— his kaiju were dropping like flies.. First Zilla, then Abaddon, now Hedorah. How the hell was this war still going? His train of thought ended when he finally acknowledged Gordon being hauled into his throne room, “Alright, kid, what’s the game plan here?” He demanded, X snapped his gaze toward Gordon, “You tell me, Gordon. You’re the one who’s standing on borrowed time.” X decreed, Gordon was not impressed. “Yeah, yeah. Listen— let’s cut the theatrics, you want your girl back? Fine. But I want something in return.” Gordon lectured, X’s jaw tightened. “Name it.” He demanded, Gordon’s grin was all teeth. “Jia. Ilene. You give ‘em back, I give you Mira.” He offered, X’s entire body tensed.. For a moment— just a mere moment, he considered it.. But the voices came. “GIVE THEM NOTHING!” Ichi snarled, his voice rippling through X’s mind like a storm, “TAKE EVERYTHING!” Ni urged, “GIGAN RISE!” San screeched, his excitement shaking X’s bones. X was about to agree to Gordon’s bargain when he suddenly clenched his head, gaining a migraine from all the yelling, his golden eye flashed between gold and black violently, his body seizing as a wicked, manic grin tore across his lips. “GIGAN RISE! GIGAN RISE! GIGAN RISE!” His voice— though not his own words— echoed across the ship in a deafening chant.
The battlefield trembled— in the distance, the horizon cracked apart with a single, blinding scarlet light. The sky warped as Gigan returned from the depths of the Xilien command bay. Gigan descended like a metallic angel of death, his body sharper, sleeker, and deadlier than ever before. Gone was the damaged husk of his past defeats, this was something new, something faster, something built to slaughter. His scythes gleamed under the fire-lit sky now lined with plasma edges that crackled with unstable energy. His crimson visor pulsed, burning brighter than ever before, and his chest-mounted chainsaw roared like a beast starved for blood. He hit the ground with a seismic impact, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Before any of the Earth defenders could react— he moved fast, faster than he ever had prior.
Gigan rushed Kiryu first, his scythe carving a molten arc through the air. The blade screeched against the Mechagodzilla’s metal plag, sending sparks cascading throughout the battlefield. Kiryu staggered, attempting to counter, but Gigan twisted mid-air, wrapping his tail around Kiryu’s throat, yanking him off balance. Jet Jaguar was next to lunge, his metallic fists igniting with plasma energy, Gigan ducked and then he retaliated. A beam of crimson energy ripped from his visor, blasting Jet Jaguar straight through the chest. Jet stumbled back, circuits flickering, his body momentarily stunned from the sheer force of the blast. Kong roared, slamming his fisys together. Gigan turned his head sharply, calculating as the great ape charged, axe in hand, bringing it down in a devastating arc.. Only for Gigan to sidestep at the last second, the axe narrowly missing him as he quickly countered, his scythe caught Kong in the side, carving a deep wound across his ribs. Kong howled in pain, staggering backward.. Gigan was holding his own, one against six, and still standing— still fighting. Godzilla snarled, tail lashing violently against the ground. His dorsal spines lit up, charging another blast— but Gigan was a cyborg, far more intelligent than Godzilla had anticipated, before the king of the monsters could fire, Gigan unleashed his grappling chains, the barbed tendrils wrapping around Godzilla’s throat, yanking the saurian off his feet. Godzilla tumbled toward the ground with a THUD, his atomic blast discharging wildly into the sky. X laughed from his throne, “That’s it! That’s the power of a true war machine!” X jeered delightfully, however, he spoke too soon as Mothra moved, she descended from above, her massive wings shimmering, scattering golden scales through the air. Gigan turned sharply, readying his plasma scythes. Mothra’s eyes flashed, and then— she let herself be struck, Gigan’s blade connected, carving through her wing— but that was the mistake, Mothra’s golden scales clung to him and they soon detonated. Gigan let out a metallic screech, his own energy turned its back on him, his plasma edges destabilizing as the explosion consumed him. His arm severed almost instantly, scythe falling uselessly to the ground. He staggered, his systems failing, his body crackling with golden embers. Lastly, his own chainsaw, now corrupted by Mothra’s scales, activated against him, with one final, terrible shriek, Gigan’s own weapon betrayed him— the roaring blade carved through his own neck, slicing clean through. His head tumbled to the ground, followed by an explosion; a massive shockwave of blue and gold fire consumed the battlefield, sending debris flying with the ground shattering beneath it, when the smoke cleared— Gigan was gone. X stared at the screen in disbelief, his laughter had abruptly stopped. “Oh.. That’s disappointing.” San hissed in his mind, X hands clenched into fists. “They’re getting too strong.” He admitted, rising from his throne when he realized he had to stop them himself.
The Xilien mothership pulse with an eerie violet light, its biomechanical corridors shifting like a living organism as alarms blared through its halls. The ship felt aware— as if it knew intruders had breached its core. And in the depths of its prison sector, a storm was brewing. Gordon moved quickly, his gun raised as he and the others stormed through the detention block, Mira and Nathan flanking behind him. Bernie and Josh had stayed back, hacking into the Xilien security systems while the others advanced. The cell doors hissed open, releasing their captives. Maia, Martin, Jonah, Jia, and Ilene all stumbled out, dazed but alive. Nathan froze at the sight of Maia, “You— ” He stammered, his breath catching in his throat. “No time. We are moving now.” Maia grumbled, barely meeting his gaze. It was too much to process, too many ghosts resurfacing at once. Ultimately, Maia was right— there was no time, Nathan gritted his teeth and pushed it aside.
Because at that movement— the Xiliens arrived, the Xilien henchmen shimmered into existence, their weapons humming with violet energy. “Don’t let them leave.” X’s voice dictated through the ship’s comms, his words no longer entirely his own, following his order, chaos erupts like an explosion of sound and motion— Maia and Martin grabbed discarded Xilien weapons, Jonah swinging wildly, Gordon shooting with brutal efficiency. Nathan moved on instinct, dodging a plasma blast before driving a sharp elbow into an enemy’s throat. The battle spread through the corridors like wildfire.. Then— a gunshot. Gordon staggered, a violet stain bloomed across his chest, he exhaled sharply, eyes widening as the weight of the wound sank in. Nathan turned seconds too late as Gordon’s body hit the floor, “No, no, no—” Bernie let out a strangled yell, Josh lunged forward, trying to drag Gordon back— but the honorable commander was already gone. Mira stood still, breathing har, her knuckles white as her gaze flicked upward.
X stood on the upper balcony, watching the carnage unfold while his golden eye burned with something unreadable— he blinked, and the madness faded. Ghidorah’s presence slipped from his body like a shadow retreating into the depths of his mind, for the first time in minutes, he was himself again, and boy, was he furious. X descended the steps slowly, the Xilien henchmen parting for him as he approached the group, his gaze flicked to Mira first, relieved she was still alive, he exhaled, looking back at Nathan. “You used her as a bargaining tool.” X pointed out, his voice was calm, but beneath it, a storm brewed. Nathan was still kneeling beside Gordon’s body, deep in grief, finally found the strength to look up with a gaze burning with hatred. “And you didn’t?” He shot back, X stilled— the hypocrisy burned, Jia and Ilene were still prisoners.. And yet— this felt different. He let out a sharp inhale, shaking his head before looking directly at Nathan. “Do you remember back in 2024? At the bar?” X pondered, Nathan’s brow furrowed, though X didn’t elaborate, instead directing his attention elsewhere. “Round them up.” He demanded, the Xilien soldiers moved instantly, seizing Maia, Martin, Ilene, Jia, Nathan, and Bernie.
Jonah snarled, trying to fight back only for X’s hand to shoot forward, making a sickening CRACK against Jonah’s neck as his body collapsed lifelessly to the ground, X let out a sharp exhale, shaking his fingers as if snapping a man’s neck had been no more difficult than breaking a twig. “That’s for leaving me behind.” He spat, Josh stood frozen in horror, though X barely bothered to spare him a glance. “Keep Mira safe, I don’t care what happens to the other one.” X dictated, Josh swallowed hard as the Xilien guards dragged them all toward the waiting HEAV, shoving them inside. X paused, turning to Mira as she stared at him with an unreadable gaze, though X’s golden eye softened just by a fraction, he stepped closer, lifting her chin with two fingers. “This is who I am now, we could rule together— Planet X. The way it was meant to be, you and me..” He trailed off, his lips brushed against hers and it was hard to tell whether or not he was manipulating her, “We could still have the family you wanted.” He added, she still didn’t answer, even as he searched her face for anything— a flicker of agreement, of hesitation, of hope.. But there was nothing. His jaw tightened, turning toward his captives. “Get in the HEAV.” X demanded, the HEAV rumbled to life, the cockpit filled to the brim with tension as X settled into his seat, Nathan gripped the controls, his knuckles white. “Where the hell are we going?” Bernie whispered from beside him, X leaned back, his golden eye gleaming. “Hollow Earth.” He deadpanned, Nathan’s breath hitched while X’s smirk widened. “There’s something down there, something San is certain we lost.” He exhaled, satisfied. “A skull.” He sneered as the HEAV descended, disappearing into the abyss below.
Notes:
sighhh my wrist hurts like a bitch from writing allthat.. once this story finishes i plan on writing a ‘ghidorahs voice: what if’ so please leave what ifs in the comments!
Chapter 20: ballad of the witches road
Summary:
I have known the power
Of midnights in the wood
I've danced inside the circle
Of all that's bad and good
The dangers grеat, the trials wait
For those who seek the prizе
Tame your fears
A door appears
To love that never diesAs we go
Down, down, down the road
Down the Witches' Road (Down the Witches' Road)
Down, down, down the road
Down the Witches' Road (Down the Witches' Road)
Down, down, down the road
Down the Witches' Road (Down, down, down)
Wherever it may bend
I'll see you at the end
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The HEAV rumbled through the void, the only sound inside the cockpit being the low hum of the engines as they tore through the Hollow Earth entryway. Outside, the fabric of reality distorted, light warping and twisting as they passed through the gravitational inversion. It was like falling through liquid time, the world stretching and snapping back into place all at once.
Inside, the tension could cut through glass. Nathan gripped the controls, his jaw locked so tight it ached, his knuckles white against the console, his every muscle coiled with rage and unease. The cockpit was thick with unspoken words, but all of them were too stubborn to be the first to speak.. All expect Bernie, Bernie— who had never been good at keeping his mouth shut. “So, uhh..” He cleared his throat, “How about a little in-flight entertainment? I got conspiracy theories, dad jokes, or an existential crisis about how we’re all probably gonna die. Dealer’s choice.” Bernie nagged, nobody responded, “Tough crowd.” Bernie added, crossing his arms. “Why are you even here?” Maia demanded from her seat near the back, arms folded. “You mean, like, in an existential sense? Or—” Bernie pondered, “I mean,” Maia sharply cut him off, “How the hell did you end up on a suicide mission with the rest of us?” She pondered, “Oh you know. Wrong place, wrong time. Typical Tuesday.” Bernie jeered, “Welcome to my life.” Nathan muttered, not breaking his gaze from ahead. X sat in the co-pilot seat, completely and utterly relaxed as if he was flying first class instead of dragging them all into the heart of the unknown. His gaze was fixated on Nathan for a moment, then he tilted his head slightly. “You haven’t asked why yet.” X simply put, “Why what?” Nathan grumbled, his grip tightening as if he knew not to engage with X, but his curiosity got the best of him. “Why I left you alive.” X sneered, leaving the space in silence. Maia’s eyes flicked between them, sensing the tension coiling beneath the surface. “You wanna hear the truth? I don’t care.” Nathan snapped, X furrowed a brow. “Oh? You don’t?” He taunted, “No. Because whatever reason you have, whatever justification, it doesn’t matter. You’re not Ren anymore.. You’re just.. Something wearing his skin.” Nathan pointed out, “Oof, damn, worldstar.” Bernie let out a low whistle, X chuckled, his golden eye gleaming. “And yet, here we are.. Together again, it’s like fate has a sense of humor.” X marveled, Nathan didn’t meet his gaze this time around. “Fate didn’t do this. You did.” He grumbled, for the first time, X’s smirk faltered. For a fraction of a second— a ghost of something passed behind his gaze, then as quickly as it came, it was gone. “So serious. This is supposed to be a fun little adventure.” X sighed dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. “Oh, yeah. Real fun. I always dreamed of being kidnapped and dragged into a monster-infested hellhole.” Maia scoffed, “You wound me, Ms. Maia.” X shot back, Martin, who had been sulking in silence up until now, finally spoke up. “You know, I’ve been thinking.. And, call me crazy, but it almost seems like you want us to get under your skin.” Martin observed, X raised a brow, “Do I?” He pondered, “It’s just an observation. You act all holier than thou, but the moment Nathan, or Mira, or anyone else from your past calls you out, you engage.. You poke, you prod like you want them to remind you of who you are.” Martin pointed out, the cockpit fell silent up until Nathan blinked. “Huh.. That’s.. Actually a good point..” Nathan trailed off, Bernie nodded in agreement, “Yeah, dude. That’s like, psychology 101. The villain monologue, the dramatic posturing— you want someone to challenge you. Deep down, you want to be questioned.” Bernie chimed in, X gazed at the group, his eye twitching as if he were about to lash out, but instead— he burst out laughing, it wasn't his usual, low smug chuckle.. It was genuine, full-bodies amusement, the kind that almost sounded real. “Oh, that’s rich,” He sneered, shaking his head in disbelief. “You think this is some kind of identity crisis? That I need a heart-to-heart to remind me of who I used to be?” X pondered, his golden eye gleamed, but there was now something cold in his gaze. “I know exactly who I am.” He declared, the laughter soon died, the warmth vanished, and for the first time in conversation, he wasn’t smiling.
The HEAV shook violently as they finally broke through the gravitational barrier, the Hollow Earth opening up before them. The cockpit flooded with light as the landscape below stretched into view— a land untouched by time, an ecosystem carved from chaos. Towering rock formations twisted into impossible shapes, glowing rivers cut through the terrain, and massive bioluminescent trees cast an ethereal green glow over the landscape. In the distance, Titan footsteps rumbled like distant thunder, leaving the air thick with primal energy. “Man.. It doesn’t matter how many times I see it, it’s still insane..” Bernie muttered, leaning forward. “We’re here.” Nathan announced, still gripping the controls. X’s golden eye scanned the terrain. “And now, the real fun begins.” He declared, “You really think you're just gonna find a lost Ghidorah skull down here?” Nathan grumbled, X smirked. “Oh, I don’t think, Nathan, I know.” He recited, “Closer… Closer.. We can feel it.. Waiting for us..” San whispered eagerly through his mind, X exhaled sharply, golden eye flickering with anticipation. “Take us deeper.” X demanded, Nathan hesitated, but he ultimately gripped the controls as the HEAV descended further into the Hollow Earth, disappearing into the shadows of a world not meant for man.
The jungle pulsed with unnatural life, bioluminescent vines writhing like veins in the earth. The air was thick, humid, carrying the distant echoes of something vast shifting in the unseen depths. Hollow Earth was not a world for humans, it even went as far as to rejecting them, watching their every move with unseen eyes.. And X hated it. This place was wild, unconquered, a constant reminder of why humanity was weak— because they allowed places like this to exist untouched. They let Titans roam unchecked, ‘gods’ walking the earth while men bowed their heads and prayed they wouldn’t be crushed beneath their feet.. That was never X, he used to scoff when he passed by others leaving their offerings to Godzilla by the ocean shores.. He vowed to change this place, he would claim it.
And yet, despite it all, it felt familiar.. The longer they ventured, the more he felt something he couldn’t quite place.. A pull, or a whisper, or hell— even a memory. Regardless of what it was, it placed him on edge. Nathan had clearly noticed, watching X carefully. They had been walking for hours, carefully navigating through the terrain, the group tense with the knowledge that at any moment, something could decide they weren’t meant to be there. “I feel like I'm in a horror movie, I'm fat AND black, I'm so dead!” Bernie whisper-exclaimed, adjusting his camera. “Oh my God, will you shut up?” Maia snapped, rolling her eyes. “I would if I weren’t stuck in an underground death dimension with a guy possessed by a three-headed space dragon!” Bernie gestured wildly, the guy possessed by a three-headed space dragon in question had been walking ahead of them, whirling around to meet Bernie’s gaze. “I like you, Bernie.” X declared, he was lying through his teeth, in all actuality, he couldn’t stand Bernie and never could. “That’s the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Bernie blanched, Martin, who had been silent for most of the journey, suddenly crouched over a patch of disturbed ground, running his fingers through the soil with an unreadable gaze. Nathan was quick to notice, “Find something?” He pondered, Martin didn't bother meeting his gaze. “Tracks— large ones.” He noted, “Titan?” Nathan pried, his stomach tightening. “But not one I recognize.” Martin confirmed, Ilene placed a protective hand on Jia’s shoulder. “We need to be careful.” She stated, breaking her silence. X, still looking entirely too entertained by all of this, tilted his head as if Ilene had sprouted a second head. “Careful? No, no, let’s go find it!” X declared, “You want to run straight toward an unknown Titan?” Nathan grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation and exhaustion from X’s antics, he found Ren far more tolerable. “I want to know what kills you first.” X shot back, grinning.
Jia suddenly stopped walking, her small hands clenched into fists, which Ilene immediately caught wind of. “Jia?” She signed, Jia’s head turned slowly, her wide eyes locked onto something in the distance, “Something is coming.” She signed, Ilene swallowed hard, “How big?” Ilene signaled, Jia hesitated before simply signing “Big.” The group tensed up, all but X, who instead of preparing for a fight, laughed softly to himself. “Finally.” He muttered. Regardless of X’s lack of reaction, they moved fast, taking shelter in the hollow of an enormous tree-like structure, its bark pulsing faintly as if it had a heartbeat. Nathan stayed near the entrance, carefully peering out into the world outside. X stood beside him, looking completely at ease, as if he weren’t leading them straight into the belly of the beast— though, perhaps he was thrilled leading them there. “You’ve been quiet.” Nathan observed, glancing at X, who didn't respond. “This is your first time here, isn't it?” Nathan pressed, X finally turned to meet his gaze. “Observant.” He commented, “So what do you think?” Nathan asked, prompting X to finally turn and meet his gaze, his own golden gaze flickering from black to gold. “Of what?” He pondered, which Nathan replied by gesturing outward. “Of all of this. Of Hollow Earth. You’ve spent your whole life trying to control the uncontrollable, but now you’re standing in a world where humanity means nothing.” Nathan elaborated, X’s fingers twitched, a small spark of yellow energy dancing off them. Nathan saw it, realizing he’d hit a nerve, “Your father would’ve loved this place.” He pushed further, X froze— the shift was immediate, the way his muscles tensed, the way his easy smirk twitched at the edges as if something ugly was bleeding through.. Though Nathan did not falter, “He saw the Titans as something we could learn from.. Not as monsters, but as humanity's punishment for draining the planet of its resources, as part of the natural order. He gave his life to prove that.” Nathan continued, keeping his voice level even as X’s breath came out slower— controlled and calculated, but dangerous. Nathan narrowed his eyes. “And what did you do?” He demanded, his voice sharpening. You joined Apex. You tried to erase everything your father stood for because you couldn’t handle the fact that he chose something bigger than you.” Nathan accused, X had enough, moving fast, in an instant, he had Nathan shoved against the tree, his cold hands clenched around his throat, golden eye burning. “You’ve got it all wrong, I will erase everything he stood for.” X vowed, but Nathan hardly flinched. “You hate being reminded, don’t you? That you weren’t always like this.” Nathan observed, X’s grip tightened. “You really think you’ve got it all figured out..” He sneered, this was why X had distanced himself from his human roots, they were all just so arrogant and swore up and down they understood Ren Serizawa when they never did. “I understand you weren’t born a monster. You made yourself one.” Nathan shot back, holding his gaze. This was clearly getting to X based on the way his teeth clenched and his breath growing shaky— for a moment, only a moment, Nathan saw it.. The crack in the facade, the part of Ren that still existed beneath all that rage and madness he’d dubbed X, but it faded just as quickly as it came, X released him abruptly, taking a step back with uneven breathing. Then, as if nothing had happened, he laughed— a sharp, maniac burst of amusement that bordered on histeria, his golden eye shining with something dangerous. “You always did talk too much, Nathan.” X quipped, Nathan rubbed his throat, letting out a slow exhale.. He wasn’t wrong. X turned away on his heel, composing himself, though his fingers still twitched ever so slightly. Maia, having watched the whole thing, raised a brow. “Touchy subject?” She pried, X’s smirk returned, though it didn’t reach his eye. “Oh, you have no idea.” He jeered, the jungle rumbled again, the unseen Titan was getting closer, much to X’s delight, who rolled his shoulders. “Shall we?” He sneered, and with that, they kept moving deeper into the unknown.
The temple’s jaws had closed behind them, the torches lining the massive stone walls flickered with unnatural violet flames, casting shifting, distorted shadows along the floor. The air was thick— humid and suffocating, yet tinged with something electric and ancient. X stood at the center of the chamber, his golden eye drinking in the carvings as his smirk stretched wider. The carvings of each of them loomed ahead, etched into their walls with disturbing detail. There was no ambiguity, no guesswork— the temple knew them, which meant it knew their flaws, knew their failures, knew how to kill them. Wow, it was almost poetic. X couldn’t help but chuckle, a sharp, low sound that echoed through the cavernous hall. He turned, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the group like a school teacher amused by misbehaving students. “Look at all of you, a crackpot geologist, a corporate brat, a washed-up soldier, a girl who doesn’t belong..” X paused in his statement, his golden gaze settling onto the conspiracy theorist. “I honestly don’t even know why you’re here.” X deadpanned, Bernie tossed his hands in the air. “Believe me, I ask myself that every day.” He grumbled, Nathan, tense with barely restrained frustration, glared at X. “You’re enjoying this.” He declared, X tilted his head. “And why shouldn’t I? This place knows you.” He sneered, gesturing to the walls. “Knows exactly what buttons to push.. Exactly how to break you, I just can't wait to watch.” X elaborated, his smirk curling. Maia crossed her arms. “You’re the one who dragged us here.” She pointed out, X’s smile abruptly faded, sending chills down the group's spines. A flicker of something dark passed through his golden eye, and then, he laughed. A far cry from his usual low, mocking chuckle, but a sharp, manic burst of hysteria. “Oh, I was a fool to do so.” He taunted, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest and shaking his head in amusement, but there was something off in his expression now, something dangerous. “I figured you’d be useful, that you’d play your roles properly. But really, you’re just ants stumbling toward a fire and I get to watch you all burn.” X jeered, taking a step forward toward Ilene and Jia with a sharpened grin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Ilene demanded, X turned to her, his eyes glinting with something too bright, too wild. “Oh, doctor, if only you knew.” He marveled, Ilene seemed like she wanted to retort, but Jia suddenly stiffened, grabbing Ilene’s sleeve and signing rapidly. Ilene’s face was drained of all color, “She says we have to move. Now.” Ilene ordered.
At her words, the walls shifted— a deep, grinding sound rumbled through the temple, like stone breathing. The carvings around them began to move, rearranging, twisting into new shapes, new meanings. Bernie took a sharp step back, “No, no, no, no—” He stammered before the floor split open, six separate pathways unfolded, yawning like open graves. Above each entrance, a carving shifted— now directly mirroring its intended victim. X’s golden gaze flicked back to his own pathway, where the carving of a man with two faces stared back at him. One face was his own, grinning. The other was, without a doubt, his former self— Ren Serizawa, hollow-eyed and screaming. His fingers twitched, the moment X stepped through the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him.
The air changed, gone was the damp humidity of the Hollow Earth, replaced with something sterile and artificial, X’s element. The walls— if they could even be called such, seemed to be pulsing with a faint, sickly light, shifting like living tissue. Something was wrong, that much was obvious, but X just let out a sharp exhale, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, let's get this over with.” He grumbled to himself, rolling his shoulders.. But the chamber didn’t respond with a puzzle, or some predictable death trap. No spikes, no collapsing floors— instead something far worse, his past.
The walls shuddered, the dim light stretched outward, forming shapes— shadows becoming figures, voices bleeding through the silence. X’s smirk twitched, with all the psychological torture Ghidorah put him through to get to who and where he was now, he knew a hallucination when he saw one. Yet, as the shape stepped forward, his breath hitched in his throat, it was clear whoever was behind this was going for the kill as Ishirō Serizawa stood before him, just as he had in life— calm, distant, and unreadable. His white coat fluttered slightly, as if caught in a breeze that simply did not exist. His expression was not one of anger, nor disappointment, simply acknowledgement. X’s fingers twitched at his sides, balling in and out of fists. “This is ridiculous.” He sighed, in typical Ishirō fashion, his father did not respond, instead, another figure materialized— his mother. What was left of X’s smile vanished completely, she looked as he last remembered her, with that quiet warmth in her eyes, the kind that used to make him feel safe even when the world outside felt too loud, too much. She wasn’t supposed to be here— none of them were. X clenched his jaw, “You’re all dead.” A sharp breath hissed through his teeth, his mother tilted her head. “Aren’t we?” She stared blankly, X swallowed the anger bubbling in his throat, having no desire to lash out at his mother— hallucination or not. “This is a trick.. A pathetic attempt at—” He stammered, “At what” His father finally spoke up, “At forcing you to confront yourself?” Ishirõ pried, X’s eye twitched. “I know who I am.” He shot back, “Do you?” His mother’s voice was softer, but it cut deeper. “Or do you only know who you’re pretending to be?” She pried, X let out a sharp, forced laugh. “Pretending?” He gestured broadly. “I am the one standing here, not you. I won. You all lost.” He spat, his father said nothing, while his mother let out a sigh, shaking her head. “You were such a lonely boy.” She muttered, X’s stomach twisted with fury, he despised the absolute patronization. “Stop.” X snapped, his mother stepped closer, tilting her head. “Always trying to prove yourself.. Trying to be seen.” She continued, his father watched him carefully. “Tell me, Ren—” He began, X’s jaw locked. “Don’t call me that.” He demanded, but Ishirō ignored him. “—do you remember the night you built that machine?” He pried as the walls trembled, and suddenly— X was no longer in the chamber.
The smell of solder and metal filled the small workroom, the soft hum of electricity crackled in the air as a child’s hands carefully pieced together circuits, wires, and tiny moving parts. X was still Ren, six years old and as ready to prove himself as ever, and in his hands was something incredible.. A small, spider-like machine, a little clunky but operational. It clicked and whirred, its tiny legs moving hesitantly, then with more confidence as Ren’s own confidence built up— he had built something, something to call his own, something he thought his father would be proud of. And so he waited, and waited, and waited.. Until finally, footsteps approached. Ishirō stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room. “Look what I made!” Ren beamed, Ishirō stepped forward, his gaze passing over the tiny creation, then, without a word, he ruffled Ren’s hair and walked away. Ren sat there, frozen in defeat as the machine whirred on the desk, its tiny metal legs clicking softly, Ren’s hands trembled— without thinking, he smashed it into bits even if it bruised his knuckles.
X snapped back into the present, his breathing more uneven than he cared to admit. Even after leaving the identity of Ren Serizawa behind, the memory still clung to him, thick as smoke. His mother watched him with quiet sadness, “You always wanted him to look at you, but when he finally did.. It was too late, wasn’t it?” His mother pondered, X’s breathing slowed, the air around him felt too thick, the walls were too close. He turned sharply to his father, rage bubbling up through his skin. “Why are you here?” X demanded, his father only slightly tilted his head. “That is not the right question.” Ishirō simply put, X’s breath hitched, he never liked hearing that, but Ishirō took another step forward. “Why are you?” He shot back, X’s fingers trembled, and then, in that moment— he saw it. For the first time since arriving, he truly looked at and analyzed the walls, realizing that the carvings weren’t just his past, they were something else.. Because there, hidden among the images of war and destruction, were familiar faces.. Not just his, but his Xilien subjects. X’s golden eye widened, the carvings weren’t just depicting their past, they were showing their creation.. And there— etched into stone like an unspoken truth was a mushroom cloud, it was The Hiroshima bombing, and rising from its ashes were the first Xiliens. His breath hitched as the implications sank into his bones, burning through his skin. He staggered backward, hands gripping his head in disbelief. “No. No, that’s—” X stammered, “Truth does not require your belief.” His father stated in a soft tone that caught X off guard as he hadn’t heard such a tone since his very early childhood, but he couldn’t dwell on it for long as the ground soon lurched beneath him.
The chamber shuddered with anticipation as X stood before the Ghidorah skull, its vast, weathered structure bathed in an eerie light just as the neurolink room was, it had been here for centuries, a relic of something ancient, something hungry.. And now? It belonged to him. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, a static charge ruppled up his arm, crawling into his veins like whispering electricity. “Took you long enough.” San’s voice had slithered into his mind, despite his snark, he was pleased at the end of the day. X exhaled sharply, gripping the bones tighter. It was still warm— alive in ways it shouldn't be. Regardless, he lifted it with ease— too much ease. Ghidorah’s gifts had made him stronger, faster, and something beyond human.. He had known this for a while, but feeling it so plainly— feeling the weight of something so massive, yet finding it effortless to carry only cemented the truth. He was not the boy who once dreamed of proving himself, he was something far greater.
The temple trembled around him, as if the very act of taking the skull had upset the blue planet. He turned toward the exit, stepping through the dust and fading illusions of the past; he had no desire to look back as he’d wasted enough time with the demons of his past. He left the temple to find the others waiting outside, and from the looks on their faces, they had been through their own trials. Nathan’s clothes were damp with sweat, his expression hard but weary. Maia’s usual smugness had been stripped away, replaced with something sharp and bitter. Martin was tense and alert like a man still expecting an attack. Ilene stood protectively near Jia, the girl clutching her hand so tightly her knuckles were white. Bernie was pacing, rambling anxiously under his breath. When X emerged, all eyes snapped to him.. When their shared gazes zeroed in on what he was carrying, the air changed. “Is that—” Nathan pondered, his voice low and horrified, but X only grinned in response. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He sneered, Martin tensed, “You’re insane.” He spat, “I prefer ‘ambitious.’” X shot back, though, before they could continue bickering— the ground shook violently, a low, earth-rattling growl rumbled through the jungle. Jia inhaled sharply, turning toward the distant treeline.. And there— in the horizon, moving like an oncoming storm was Kong, his massive form loomed, fur bristling, fangs bared in a snarl that shook the heavens. His deep eyes burned with fury, his fists tightening at his sides, and beside him, emerging from the mist— Shimo. The ice Titan moved with calm, controlled rage, her massive draconic form slithering with chilling elegance. Her breath misted in the air, each exhale bringing frost that crept across the ground. X exhaled, tilting his head in slight fasinication. “Well, that’s unfortunate for you.” He sneered, resulting in Nathan’s stomach dropping. “They’re after you, you idiot.” He hissed, X only laughed. “No, no, dear Doctor Lind.. They’re after you.” X countered, “You kidnapped Ilene and Jia. Of course they’re coming for you!” Nathan protested, X pretended to consider this, “Right. What a predicament.” X let out a mockingly sympathetic sigh, then— he raised a hand, fingers curling as reality ripped apart at his command. A tear in space cracked open before him, swirling with violet-gold energy. The wind howled violently as the portal expanded, distorting the air around it. “Oh, come on! You can just do that?!” Bernie gaped, X grinned in response. “Ghidorah’s gifts keep giving.” He jeered, Maia took a step forward, seething. “You’re leaving? You’re just going to abandon us?!” She demanded, “Abandon? That’s such a strong word.” X sighed dramatically, “You son of a bitch!” Martin snarled, “No, no, correction— his dad was actually a good guy. Ren’s just a dick on his own.” Bernie stated without missing a beat, holding up a finger. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” X quipped, his smirk widening. Kong let out a roar that nearly knocked them off their feet, while Shimo hissed, the temperature plummeting as ice began to creep toward them. X stepped backward into the portal, still grinning like the madman he’d become. “Good luck getting out alive!” X ventured, and with that, he vanished, the portal effectively snapping shut.
Notes:
poor bernie didnt do anything and is catching strays left and right 💀 with the agatha all along elements of this chapter did yall catch onto the fact san is based off agatha harkness in terms of personality? anyway let me know if yall would rather see mecha king ghidorah or keizer somehow
Chapter 21: look what you made me do
Summary:
I don't like your little games
Don't like your tilted stage
The role you made me play of the fool
No, I don't like you
I don't like your perfect crime
How you laugh when you lie
You said the gun was mine
Isn't cool, no, I don't like you (oh)
But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time
Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time
I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined
I check it once, then I check it twice, oh
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The portal spit him out into darkness. For a moment, X was weightless, the sensation of Hollow Earth’s crushing, alien gravity still clinging to his skin. Then, with a sharp breath, he landed on solid ground— his boots scraping against cold metal, the stale scent of rotting bodies and rusted technology filled his lungs. He was back, the ruins of Apex’s Hong Kong facility stretched before him, no longer the crowned jewel of technological ambition, but a rotting husk that had been swallowed by time and failure.
Collapsed walls jutted out like shattered ribs, wires hung from the ceiling like exposed veins, and the floor was littered with the remains of those who had died screaming. It reeked of rot, blood, and the feeling of abandonment X knew all too well. The corpses left behind in 2024 had not been given the mercy of a burial. Monarch had claimed the outpost when they usurped Apex’s technology, but they had left the dead where they fell, their bodies strewn across the wreckage like discarded tools. X let out a low exhale, it was perfect. He adjusted his grip on the Ghidorah skull, still warm against his fingertips, still thrumming with power waiting to be unleashed.
And yet— “What are we waiting for?” Ni’s voice snarled through his skull in the form of a sharp, impatient growl. X’s eye twitched, he had barely been back five minutes. “Calm yourself, we have only just returned to the battlefield.” Ichi reprimanded, “It’s not a battlefield anymore.” X uttered, stepping over a half-rotted corpse slumped against the control panels. The screen next to it flickered weakly, barely clinging to life. “It’s a graveyard.” He elaborated, “And yet, here we are. Back from the dead.” San chuckled darkly, “We aren’t dead.” X shot back, his jaw tightening. “Aren’t we? You are not Ren Serizawa. We are not whole, and yet, we continue.” Ichi mused, “I don’t care what we are! I’m sick of being trapped in this cockroach's head and I want a body, NOW.” Ni snapped, X rolled his eyes. “Well, if you’re so impatient, you’re welcome to try your hand and build one yourself.” X grumbled, he used to be intimidated by Ni, but the comfort of knowing he wasn’t a five hundred foot tall three-headed space dragon helped X grow a spine when talking to Ghidorah. “I will rip open your ribcage and crawl open inside if I have to.” Ni hissed, his voice crackling like static. “Ni, the living tumor. How poetic.” San yawned lazily, “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you, you giggling parasite!” Ni snapped, X pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a migraine coming on. “For fucks sake..” He grumbled, the voices never stopped, not since the electrocution, not since he accidentally welcomed them with open arms when he’d first dawned the helmet.. At first, it had been a whisper, a curious static crawling at the edges of his thoughts, something he could easily swipe under the rug until they had taken root. And now, they would never leave. “Enough. Do not behave like children. We must be patient. A new body will come.” Ichi echoed, “Patience is for pray.” Ni snorted, “And yet, here we are, waiting on the carcass of a failed empire.” San sighed dramatically. X moved deeper into the facility, stepping over the broken remnants of Mechagodzilla’s severed cables, he could see where it all ended— where his masterpiece had turned on him, where Godzilla and Kong had shattered everything he had built. His fingernails dug into his palms, not again, he would not allow another failure, not now, not when he was so close.. He would finish what he started.
X soon reached what was once the central command room. A massive, circular chamber with shattered screens lining the walls, the Apex insignia barely visible beneath the dust and dried blood. X exhaled, stepping forward, letting the weight of the moment settle in his chest before setting the Ghidorah skull onto the console. The moment his fingers left the beauty, a pulse of violet light rippled through the room. The remaining screens flickered to life, static crawling over the broken monitors. The skull hummed, the contents of its brain being used as a supercomputer once more. “Finally.” Ni let out a pleased growl, “Third times the charm.” San quipped, X tilted his head to the side, watching the way the light flickered, how the room itself seemed to bend toward the skull’s energy. “Let’s begin.” X finally spoke up as the dead facility shuddered to life, and in the silence, X smirked with the knowledge that this was only the beginning.
Allowing himself to think back to his past, it was 2015 when Ren Serizawa kept his head down as he walked the halls, ignoring the stares— it had been like this since day one. From the whispers to the murmurs, “He wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for his last name.”, “What has he actually done?”, “Fifty bucks he’s not even that good and Walt only hired him to spite his daddy.” Ren had pretended not to hear, he’d learned long ago that pretending was easier— pretending he wasn’t enraged by their words, pretending it didn’t remind him of the boys at his old school in Janjira, who had laughed at him for being the son of a man who cared more about Titans than his own family, pretending he wasn’t thinking about all the ways he could prove them wrong. His father’s name was both a blessing and a curse, it had gotten him into Apex, but it had also ensured no one would take him seriously. All they would see is a nepotism hire, Ren clenched his jaw, he wasn’t here to make friends, he wasn’t here to be liked, he was here to make a difference. As he reached a window at the end of the hall, his gaze drifted to the streets below. Across the road, nestled between two towering buildings, was a small flower shop. The sight of it pulled him from his thoughts, Mira had mentioned wanting fresh flowers for their place, his grip on the tablet loosened slightly as he considered that after word he’d—
His train of thought ended abruptly when he heard laughter erupt from down the hall, a loud, familiar, and mocking laugh. Ren’s stomach dropped, he dared to turn, his pulse spiking as he witnessed Walter Simmons laughing his ass off.. And in his hands— Ren’s laptop, more specifically, Ren’s twitter account. Oh shit, he had fucked up horribly.. He had been in a rush that morning, barely awake when he checked his emails, switching tabs too fast— how had he been so careless to forget to log out? Of all accounts, it had to be that one. Walter leaned back in his chair, wheezing with laughter as his expensive watch glinted under the fluorescent lights. “Oh, this is gold.” He muttered, wiping a tear from his eye as he scrolled through the timeline. “‘Godzilla fans should touch grass?’ ‘Vivienne Graham is what happens when you let Monarch nepotism run unchecked?’ Holy shit, kid.” Simmons jeered, Ren’s nervous system couldn’t tell the difference between death and being outed as GhidoraStan64. “That’s not—” He paused, forcing a chuckle as he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking. “That’s not mine.” Ren added, “Don’t insult my intelligence. This is so you.” Walter snorted, Ren’s pulse pounded— shit, what the fuck was he supposed to do in this situation? He had made that account when he was fifteen. Fifteen, furious, and stupidly desperate for the attention his father hadn’t given him. It had been a stupid, childish attempt to get his father to notice him— figuring if he’d trashed Monarch enough, maybe Ishirō would finally say something to him, even if it were a lecture.. But in typical Ishirō fashion, he never did, though Vivienne Graham had, she DM’d the account once, saying: “I don’t know who you are, but I hope you find peace.” Ren had blocked her instantly, and he was now frozen in place as Walter scrolled further, his laughter getting louder with each tweet he read— Ren had never fancied himself a comedian, but Walter was laughing his ass off. “Oh, my God. ‘People who think Titans are gods should have their internet taken away, that’s worse than the mormons.’ You were relentless.” Simmons gestered, “I was fifteen. It’s not a big deal..” Ren attempted to defend himself, his entire body burning with humiliation. “Oh, it’s a huge deal. This is comedy gold.” Walter taunted with a grin, “So, what? Are you going to fire me?” Ren shot back, gritting his teeth. “Fire you? Kid, I'm gonna pay you.” Walter barked another laugh as Ren blinked in disbelief, unsure if his laughter meant the casual statement regarding a raise was a joke. “What..?” He uttered, “How’d you like a raise? I’ll pay you extra to keep pissing off Monarch’s little cult following.” Walter offered with a lean forward and smirk. Ren’s mouth opened, then shut.. He had joined Apex to make a difference, to prove himself, not to.. Troll Monarch pages for sport. “I didn’t come here for that.” Ren grumbled, “You didn’t come here to get publicly humiliated, either. And yet, here we are.” Walter shot back, furrowing a brow as if shocked Ren would deny easy money. Ren’s jaw locked, he could feel the room closing in on him, he could feel his father’s shadow looming over him, even now. He wanted to tell Walter to shove the money up his ass, but that would mean admitting weakness. So instead, he signed sharply. “Fine.” Ren obliged, “That’s the spirit!” Walter sneered, Ren whirled around on his heel, dashing toward his office before he lost whatever dignity he had left. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he let out a slow breath, pressing his hands against his desk. This isn't what he wanted, he had told himself for years that he was different, that he was far from some angry kid looking for attention.. Yet, here he was, still the same. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus, he wasn’t here to dwell on the past, he had a future to build regardless if no one else saw it yet.
After relieving.. That terrifying experience, X had expected it to be gutted and erased just like the rest of Apex’s remnants, but it miraculously wasn’t. Everything was still here, down to the desk, the blueprints, the scattered notes written in precise, practiced strokes of kanji. His old self had been so meticulous. He stepped forward, brushing a layer of dust from one of the notebooks, his fingers trailing across the inked pages consisting of Ren Serizawa’s thoughts, frozen in time. The first page he flipped to— worth noting it was dated before Ishirō’s sacrifice — and at the bottom of the page, neatly written in his younger self’s hand: “これで、パパが僕を見てくれるようになるといいね。” Translating to: I hope this makes you see me, Papa. X gazed at his former selves writing in sheer disgust, his stomach twisted, a mixture of disgust and something colder, something unnamed.. How pathetic. He flipped to another page, this one written after Ishirō’s death, the handwriting was the same, but the words had changed. “神父様、私はあなたのためにやっているのです。あなたが私を見ていてくださることを願っています。” Translating to: I am doing this for you, Father. I hope you are watching me. X let out a sharp exhale, was this seriously what he had been? A boy begging for scraps of recognition? Had he ever done anything for himself? No. He had spent his entire life chasing a statue, and humanity had never understood him, instead opting to laugh at him, ridicule him, and ignore him.. He had killed Ren Serizawa for that reason, and yet— reading these words, written by hands that once trembled with purpose— he hated it, hated the reminder of who he had once been, hated that some small, buried part of him still felt the sting. He shoved the notebook aside, breathing unevenly. “This is revenge.” X made clear in a low, sharp voice. “Not for him. Not for anyone but me.” X hissed, the skull on the table hummed with energy, as if listening. “Are you convincing me? Or yourself?” San’s voice slithered into his head, darkly amused. X’s fingers curled into a fist, but before he could snap back, a sound cut through the silence— a voice, muffled, distant, and gamilar. X froze, his head tilting toward the half-broken telecom screen. The signal was weak, barely holding up, but the voice came through clear as day.
Sam Coleman’s voice carried a hurried energy, though it still held that awkward edge to it— like someone trying to sound a whole hell lot more confident than they truly were. “Yeah, I know it’s a long shot, but I need a full diagnostic on the old Apex sites, just— just in case, okay?” Sam blurted out, X’s smirk twitched, it came as no surprise Coleman was still doing cleanup, the man who had always been one step ahead of him, the one who had taken everything after Apex’s fall. Director of technology at Monarch— a position that should have been his, as Ren, X had been Apex’s Chief Technology Officer before everything burned down, Coleman had been his direct competitor. And now, he was in charge of the very thing X had spent his human life trying to destroy, the irony was disgusting. The feed crackled as Sam continued. “Look, I just have a bad feeling, alright? We've been on the defensive for too long. If something’s coming, I want to know before it hits us in the face.” Sam pressed, X’s eye narrowed, something about his tone— a nervousness beneath the urgency, Sam knew something. And for the first time in a while, X felt something other than the several emotions under the anger umbrella, he felt curious. He stepped closer to the console, his golden eye gleaming in the dim light. “What are you afraid of, Coleman?” X pondered aloud as the screen flickered, Sam’s voice fading in and out, earning a smirk from X. “Let’s find out, shall we?” He sneered.
The static of the telecom screen twisted and warped, struggling against the decayed circuits of the long abandoned Apex facility. The signal had barely held together for the last few minutes— just enough for X to listen, to watch. Sam Coleman was clueless, just as he liked it. X tilted his head, his golden eye glinting in the dim light. His fingers hovered over the interface, and with a flick of his wrist, he overrode the system, forcing a direct connection. The screen cleared, Sam’s face into focus, and the instant he saw X, his entire body went rigid. For a moment, there was nothing but silence as X felt a particular satsficiation soaking in his fear, then— “Holy shit.” Sam stammered, “Not quite, but close.” X corrected with a grin, Sam stared, his mouth agape, like his brain was scrambling for a response. “You— You’re supposed to be dead.” Sam pointed out, X rested his chin on his hand with a particular sense of amusement. “I’m well aware.” X extolled, “Monarch, the GDF, Pest Control, every major world government—” Sam rambled, running a hand through his hair, voice picking up in urgency. “You’ve got Titans hunting you down, Ren.” Sam noted, his heart sinking as the amusement in X’s face flickered. “Call me that again.” X testified, Sam hesitated while X leaned forward, his golden eye gleaming. “Go on. Say it.” X dictated, Sam licked his lips, watching him carefully. “…Ren.” He croaked, a pulse of static shot through the screen as X’s fingers dug into the metal console. For a brief moment, his smirk vanished, replaced by something colder. But then, just as quickly, he went from zero to one hundred and laughed, a low, breathy chuckle. “How predictable.” X commented, watching attentively as Sam’s shoulders squared slightly. “I don’t know what happened to you, but you don’t have to do this.” Sam pressed, X raised a brow. “Don’t have to do what?” He pried, feigning genuine curiosity. “Whatever you’re planning, it’s not too late.” Sam exhaled, steadying himself, whereas X sighed dramatically. “You’re trying to appeal to my humanity, aren’t you?” He sneered, “Because I know it’s still in there.” Sam shot back without missing a beat, his expression hardening. “No, you don’t.” X chided, his grin widening. The air between them had since stretched thin, Sam swallowed, X leaned back as if he’d already lost interest. “Enlighten me, Sam.” His tone shifted to a lighter, almost casual one. “You’re good with technology, aren’t you?” X pried, “What?” Sam stammered, his brow furrowing. X tilted his head, “You’re Monarch’s director of technology.. Smart, competent.” He paused, his grin curling at the edges. “Or at least, that’s what I’m told.” X sneered as if he doubted Sam’s abilities, Sam stiffened, X’s golden eye gleamed as he took Sam’s silence for a yes. “Excellent.” He acknowledged as the static flickering once more. “Because you’re going to be helping me.” X sneered, “Yeah? And if I refuse?” Sam barked, his jaw tightening. X’s grin widened, teeth gleaming under the dim lights of the Apex ruins. “Oh, Sam.” He exhaled in mock sympathy. “You don’t have a choice!” X assured, and with that, the screen cut to black.
As Sam Coleman attempted to retreat from the decaying remnants of the facility, a sudden, oppressive energy filled the air. Emerging from the shadows, X revealed himself, his singular golden eye gleaming ominously in the dim light. Tendrils of golden energy, Ghidorah’s gifts, danced menacingly at his fingertips, casting eerie patterns on the walls. “Going somewhere, Sam?” X pried, his voice carrying an obvious edge of menace. Sam froze, his face draining of color. “Ren.. The world is searching for you.. You can’t possibly think—” Sam began, “I’m well aware.” X cut in, a sneer curling at his lips. “But their search is futile. Now, you’ll assist me. Take me to the remains of my masterpiece.” X dictated, watching as Sam’s eyes darted nervously, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “You can’t be serious. Monarch is—” Sam began, “Occupied.” X finished, his tone dripping with disdain at the sheer mention of Monarch. “They’re too focused on the Xilien invasion and the distractions I’ve left in the Hollow Earth. They won’t be looking for me. So, don’t entertain any foolish ideas.” X assured, the patronizing atmosphere, combined with X’s intimidating presence left Sam with little to no choice. Swallowing hard, he nodded, leading X through the corridors to the chamber where Mechagodzilla’s parts were stored, the metallic scent of machinery mixed with the lingering miasma of decay became all the more apparent as they further explored the abandoned facility. As they entered the chamber, the dim lighting cast long shadows over the remains of the short-lived Titan. X’s eye gleamed with a mix of nostalgia and ambition. “With your expertise and my vision, we’ll create something unparalleled.” X declared, his voice echoing ominously. Sam, feeling the weight of X’s gaze and the gravity of the situation, could only nod in reluctant agreement.
The ruins of the Apex facility trembled as the dormant machines roared to life, their long-silent systems obeying new and old masters. Sparks danced along the air like fireflies, the metallic scent of coolant mixed with the stagnant decay of a graveyard-turned-workshop. At the center of it all, bathed in the violet glow of flickering monitors and exposed wiring, stood X, and before him— the skeletal remains of Mechagodzilla, its once-mighty frame was headless, dismantled, scattered, broken, but not useless. No, he would make something greater from these pieces, something divine, he’d dub it Mecha-King Ghidorah, but first, he had to deal with Sam Coleman’s incompetence.
Sam’s hands trembled violently as he struggled to fasten a bolt into the titanium plating, his breathing was uneven, shallow, like that of a man trying not to hyperventilate. His palms were soaked in sweat, making the wrench in his grip slip uselessly. X, perched lazily on a console, watched in thinly veiled irritation. “You’re pathetic.” X concluded, Sam didn’t respond, only flinched as he tried— and failed— to tighten the bolt again. X sighed, dragging a hand across his temple. “Let me put this in words even a Monarch bureaucrat can understand.” X grumbled as he slid off the console, striding forward, the glow from the overhead lights illuminating the sharp angles of his face. His singular golden eye glowed faintly, the aftereffects of Ghidorah’s gifts crackling at his fingertips like ghostly embers. Sam swallowed hard as X came to a halt beside him, “If I were the director of Monarch, I’d have you fired by now.” X vowed, his voice low and slow like a blade being sharpened. “Yeah? What makes you think you ever had the right to be the director of Monarch?” Sam exhaled shakily, his grip tightening on the wrench. X smirked, there it was. He leaned in only ever so slightly, the weight of his presence suffocating. “Because it’s my birthright.” X replied, “What?” Sam wondered, his brow furrowed. “My father was the director of Monarch.” X began, his grin sharpening. “And before him, my grandfather, Eiji Serizawa. Monarch belongs to me, if I had simply followed the red carpet life laid out for me, I’d be the one sitting in Russell’s precious little chair, making the decisions.” X mused, his voice was almost amused and even bordered on gentle. Sam’s breath hitched, largely due to the fear, but partly because he knew X wasn’t wrong. If he had chosen Monarch instead of Apex, if he had embraced his lineage instead of spitting on it, he would have been untouchable.. And the worst part? He would have torn Monarch apart from the inside, X knew it too, his smirk was unbearable. “You should be grateful,” He continued, golden eye glinting. “That I chose Apex. If I had chosen Monarch, you wouldn’t even exist in your position,” X concluded, Sam forced himself to breathe. “You don’t know that.” Sam spat, gritting his teeth while his own frustration cut through his fear. X let out a breathy chuckle, “Oh, but I do.” He insisted, gesturing toward the hardly-assembled Titan before them. “I am a builder, Sam. Unlike the bureaucrats at Monarch, I actually create things. I don’t just study Titans, I shape them, I command them, I pilot them.” X explained, “..You mean you control them.” Sam hesitated, “Semantics.” X sneered, letting out a laugh. The mechanical husk of Mechagodzilla lay dismantled before them, its missing pieces waiting to be reassembled into something new. The Ghidorah skull rested nearby, humming faintly with untapped power. Sam’s gaze flickered between the mess of tangled wires and cybernetic remains. “This is going to take time.” He exhaled sharply, “Your point?” X pondered, arching a brow. “I’m just saying. It’s not going to happen overnight.” Sam swallowed his frustration, X tilted his head slightly, studying him. Then, much to Sam’s surprise, he simply laughed. “Good.” He replied, Sam blinked in puzzlement. “…What?” Sam pried, X rolled his shoulders, golden energy crackling faintly at his fingertips. “If something this great could be built overnight, it wouldn’t be worthy of me.” X explained, Sam swallowed thickly, this was far from just a machine to X, it was a throne, a monument to his power, and God help them all when it was finished.
Notes:
putting the chapter title as a taylor swift song was intentional, i dont even like football nor do i understand jack abt it but seeing taylor get booed by OTHER WOMEN on top of men is js so aggravating cus yall only hate her bc apparently her 3 seconds on screen ruin football but the same ppl dont bitch at all when a convicted felon who found his way into office through stupid people is on screen. anyway, back to the topic of ghidorahs voice, iirc theres a godzilla film where an individual is kidnapped and forced to partake in a mech project so i decided to do that w sam, there being a san and sam now is going to be confusing but i digress! anyway be sure to follow my tumblr @acelestialcraze ill be posting art, memes, and sneak peaks of this fic there.
Chapter 22: send me down (to hell)
Summary:
I told you "I’d come back around"
I’ve been searching for so long (So lo-o-o-ong)
You may not recognize me at first, but I assure you it’s me (It’s me it’s me)
Be careful not to let the monsters in
The worst of them are the one’s in your head
Memories restored, can’t turn back now (Now, now, now)Ignite the walls, set me ablaze
You know I can feel no pain
Send me down to Hell, I dare you
I dare you, I dare you, send me down to Hell, I dare you
I dare you, I dare you, send me down to Hell, I dare youForgot morals, rejected humanity
All I have is insanity and a passion for pain
I sacrifice others, I did it all in vain
There’s a monster inside me and he’s screaming my name
I never count on others to save me, I was too gone to be set free
From the shackles I’ve been living in, the demons that crept in my skin
The thoughts that always made me sin, the hatred I’d been bathing in
I couldn’t possibly get away!
So I twisted and manipulated, tainted and depreciated. betrayed, devastated
Tasted blood and I didn’t hate it, realized I could never get enough!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sam’s hands were still trembling, sweat still clinging to his skin. His mind was racing with the pressure of if he made one wrong move, he was dead. So, he did the only thing he could currently think of, he stalled. “You know,” Sam began, forcing his voice to sound significantly more casual than he felt. “Saturday Night Live did a whole bit on you.” Sam mumbled, watching as X, who had been running a diagnostic scan on a salvaged Mechagodzilla limb, paused in his tracks. Sam felt a chill run down his spine as his singular golden eye flickered toward him, genuine curiosity, maybe..? “Oh?” X mused, arching a brow, and then, to Sam’s relief, he smirked. “Play it.” He dictated, Sam hurried to the nearest still-functioning monitor, praying to God that this wouldn’t backfire and end in his immediate execution. Putting his anxieties beside, he pulled up the clip.
The screen flickered to life, revealing the bright and glitzy SNL stage filled with a cheering audience. The camera panned to the Weekend Update desk, where the host— an overly enthusiastic comedian in a fake newsman suit flashed a grin at the camera. “Big news in the world of international crime this week—” The host began, “Former Apex Cybernetics chief technology officer and Mechagodzilla pilot Ren Serizawa has been spotted on the run after a mysterious prison escape. Monarch officials are scratching their heads, wondering how a guy who got his ass handed to him by his own robot malfunction managed to break out of their high-security facility.” The host mockingly pondered, earning laughter from the audience. X’s brow twitched as the screen cut to a terrible reenactment of Ren’s escape, a man who looked absolutely nothing like him besides the bare minimum of being Asian— though he was too tale, too pale, and wearing an eyepatch for the wrong eye was shown ‘sneaking’ past Monarch guards in the most cartoonishly ridiculous way possible. He literally walked past them while they were on their lunch break, Sam bit back a laugh, “They couldn’t even get a Japanese guy?” X scoffed, “SNL isn’t exactly known for their accuracy.” Sam stated with a shrug, the two falling silent as the clip continued. “In other news, Japan has been set back eighty years, no more of the cute, high-tech country, back to being the war criminals they were during WW2, thanks to Serizawa. We reached out to Prime Minister Ishiba for a comment, and he just sighed and hung up.” The host sneered at the camera, following another cutaway— this time to an actor playing the Prime Minister, who dramatically took a long sip of sake before putting his head in his hands. X rolled his eyes, then, the screen flickered back to the host, who’s grin never faded to begin with. “Of course, Serizawa still insists he was trying to help humanity.” The host jeered, cueing another bad reenactment to the same awful actor playing Ren stood in front of a fake courtroom, dramatically pointing at a prop Mechagodzilla head, “I WAS TRYING TO SAVE YOU, PAPA!” He had put on his best theatrics to exclaim, going as far as to sobbing in his hands.
X blinked in disbelief, Sam stiffened once more. For a moment, the tension in the room sharpened until X broke it by exhaling sharply through his nose and letting out a chuckle, the chuckle quickly shifting to a full blown laugh, leading to Sam ultimately letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. X leaned back against the console, shaking his head. “Idiots.” He remarked, “It’s SNL. What did you expect?” Sam stammered, X waved a hand dismissively. “If they were going to mock me, they could have at least gotten the facts right. I didn’t ‘get my ass handed to me by a malfunction.’ The Mecha was hijacked by a Titan’s leftover consciousness.” X corrected as if the writers were in the room with them, “You sound like a guy trying to explain his bad gaming K/D radio.” Sam pointed out, “Oh, shut up.” X grumbled, but there was no malice in X’s voice, leading to Sam actually relaxing for the first time in this nightmare— albeit only slightly. For the first time since this ordeal began, the conversation felt almost.. Normal, operative word being almost. The atmosphere remained somewhat lighter as the two returned to their work, Sam, though still nervous, wasn’t shaking as much.. And X— despite his usual signs of insanity seemed in a better mood, at least for now. As Sam continued to work, he shot X a sideways glance. “…So, you’ve seriously watched SNL before?” He pondered, X rolled his eye. “I’m not a caveman, Sam. I had a life before this.” X grumbled, “Yeah? And what was that like?” Sam asked, X hesitated, the words were there. The memories— glimpses of a past where he was just Ren Serizawa, a man who still believed the world could understand him— were right there. Then, just as quickly, he shoved them back into the dark where they belonged. “Irrelevant.” X snapped, his golden eye glowing in warning, Sam got the message and didn’t push further, instead he backed down and returned to the work before them.. The Titan was far from finished, but soon— oh so very soon.
X’s fingers worked methodically, twisting wires, reinforcing the mechanical frame, assembling something greater than what he thought his masterpiece had been. Sam, on the other hand, was much less efficient— his movements were hesitant, unsteady. He wasn’t an engineer, at least, not compared to X’s expertise, he wasn’t a builder, a creator, or a conqueror.. But, he was useful, and for now, that would have to suffice. The glow from Monster Zero’s skull nearby pulsed faintly, energy coiling through the remains of Mechagodzilla like a heartbeat returning to a corpse. Due to this, the air began to shift in an unsettling manner. A faint, wet sound rang through the room, a sickening crackle of bone and sinew reforming, cells knitting themselves together from nothing. X lifted a hand to his face to hide the smirk that had formed with the knowledge it had begun.
Slowly, yet surely, San’s skull began to rebuild itself. At first, it was nothing but fragments— a jawbone reforming, golden scales creeping up the length of a regenerating spine. Then, vertebrae snapped into place, ligaments stretched over newly formed bone, and finally, the left head of King Ghidorah fully returned. The first thing San did upon having a competent physical form again was blink, his forked tongue flicking in and out, tasting the air, feeling the weight of existence once more. His long, serpentine neck curled lasily over X’s shoulder, as if he were a tame pet rather than one-third of the Titan who once sought to bring Earth to ruin, truth be told, X was San’s pet, not the other way around. X raised a hand, scratching beneath San’s chin. San let out a low, pleased chuff, crimson eyes narrowing as he leaned into the touch. “You have no idea how much I missed having a spine.” San mused, X finally lifted his hand from his mouth to show his smirk, his fingers idly tracing the newly formed scales. Sam, meanwhile, was frozen in horror.
From his perspective, San was only making low, predatory screeches— an unsettling, otherworldly sound that sent a primal chill down his spine. “H-He’s talking?” Sam stammered, his voice cracked. “He says he likes you.” X ventured, “What.” Sam deadpanned, his face draining of color. X tilted his head in amusement, “Because you have similar names.” He elaborated, “That’s—That’s not even remotely the same.” Sam babbled, blinking rapidly. San grinned, rows of razor-sharp teeth flashing. “I think it is.” He commented, earning a quiet laugh from X. However, Sam wasn’t laughing, his eyes flicked between X and San, his mind racing. “How can you willingly aid the Titan who tried to destroy the world?” Sam finally spoke the question that had been festering in his mind since the moment he got wind Ren and Ghidorah had become intertwined, though he instantly regretted it when the air shifted. X’s amusement vanished, his posture stiffened, and for the first time since this conversation started, his golden eye darkened. “Because humanity turned its back on me first.” X replied, his voice hardly above a whisper, Sam stilled. “As Ren Serizawa, I spent my entire life trying to prove myself. I was willing to die to stop Gojira, just as my father was willing to die to save him.” X let out a slow, deliberate exhale, pausing as his fingers tightened against the metal surface. “And for what?” He momentarily pondered as his voice grew sharper, meaner. “To be ridiculed? To be labeled a failure? To be thrown in a cell like an animal? I was content with my name being forgotten like dust in the sand when the final Titan fell, but I hoped my fellow man would one day come to understand why I did what I did.” X added, Sam didn’t speak because he had no argument against that. X’s golden eye gleamed with an emotion colder than fury. “But Ghidorah—” He began, his gaze flickering to San. “Ghidorah gave me gifts and he promised me something no one else would.” X continued, his voice lowering as he ensured to make eye contact with Sam. “He promised me a world without Titans.” X confessed, “What..?” Sam’s breath hitched, though X only hummed and tapped his fingers against the metal frame. “All the Earth Titans have submitted to Godzilla. They pathetically kneel before him, groveling like the mindless beasts I tried telling everyone they were.. But Ghidorah doesn’t need Earth’s Titans.” X’s grin stretched. “He will summon his own.” X explained while San let out a pleased rumble. “And humanity will be spared, so long as they stay out of the way.” X attempted to assure Sam, but he didn't see the vision, nobody did.. But before Sam could respond— X’s body tensed.
A sudden, violent pulse of static crackled through his skull as X’s fingers began to twitch involuntarily, a sign he lost control and for the first time in quite a bit, he wasn’t the one moving his own limbs. His head tilted— not by his own will, followed by his lips parting and another voice slipping through. “Cousin.” The voice was like X’s heavy Japanese accent, though it carried a horrible demonic edge. Sam’s expression darkened as he came to the realization that Ichi and Ni had fully taken control, X was locked inside his own body— a mere passenger along for the ride. His fingers curled against the metal as Ichi’s smooth and calculating voice slithered from his throat. “We will have to face him again.” He hissed, glancing at the intact head of San or input. “So it seems.” He grumbled, letting out a low growl. “Tch. I was hoping he was dead.” Ni, who was now fully present, let out a sharp. angry hiss. Meanwhile, X’s mind spun.. Cousin? He wasn’t a fool, he knew Ghidorah wasn’t born from Earth, he knew there were others, creatures from beyond the stars, Titans that made even the likes of Godzilla look small.. But, this was different. Because if Ghidorah had a cousin, that meant there was something equal to him, Something that wasn’t just another Titan, something strong enough to challenge them, and then, due to Ghidorah’s thoughts overlapping his own— a name slipped through his thoughts, Monster X, or at his worst, Keizer Ghidorah. If X had any control over his body, he’d grit his teeth, but Ichi only chuckled, his grip over X’s body unwavering. “No matter, we have waited long enough. We will deal with our kin in due time.” Ichi assured. X's fingers— Ichi’s fingers flexed, and in the depths of his own body, X could only watch.
Venus— a world before ruin. The skies of Venus were golden, vast, and endless. Swirling clouds of amber and deep violet rolled above an empire built upon war, bloodlines, deception, and dominance. Towers carved from obsidian and bone stretched toward the heavens, reflecting the twin suns in jagged, hungry splints of life. And sitting directly in the heart of it all was the royal palace, a sprawling fortress adorned with crimson banners and engravings of the Ghidorah lineage, depicting their conquests across the cosmos. Inside, the halls echoed with tension as two great hydras sat upon a throne of carved stone and molten gold, their voices hushed but sharp, weighed down with anger, grief, and possibly sorrow.
Before the devil with three heads was known as King Ghidorah, he passed by the hall without stopping, he had no interest in whatever pathetic discussion his parents were having, but against his will, the words drifted to his ears. “..We must find him. He is still our son.” Mother argued, “He is lost to us. They have taken him. The Xiliens do not return what they steal.” Father conceded in guilt and defeat, two emotions Monster Zero laughed at. “But if we—” Mother attempted to protest, “Enough.” Father growled. Ichi tilted his head slightly as they walked past the throne room. “How exhausting.” Ichi sneered, “Why do they care? If he was weak enough to be taken, he was weak enough to die.” Ni snorted in agreement, “Would be one less cousin to step over.” San let out a mocking chuff, his crimson eyes gleaming. Their missing kin, the one who had been stolen, had never been of any concern to them. To the three heads of King Ghidorah, family meant absolutely nothing.
It was years later, or perhaps centuries? When they met him again, they had concluded he was changed before he even spoke. Their cousin— no, not their cousin anymore.. Something else, Monster X. The Xiliens had taken him, twisted him, and rebuilt him in their own image— stronger, sharper, different. And for the first time, Ichi actually considered him. “Tch. He’s fatter.” Ni noted as he sizen him up with unapologetically unhidden disdain. “You have gotten thicker, haven’t you? What did they feed you, big cousin? Rocks?” San snickered, attempting to egg him on. In response, Monster X’s crimson eyes flashed, but he didn’t react, not outwardly, anyway. “Ohhh. You’re trying to hold back. How cute.” San jeered, clicking his forked tongue and tilting his head. Monster X did not smile, he never did, but Ichi leaned forward with a steady and measured gaze. “And what did they do to you, cousin?” He began in a smooth, mockingjay regal voice. “Did they make you better? Or did they break you?” He pondered, Monster X remained silent, but his claws curled slightly, a gesture— Ichi, ever having the eye of detail, did not miss. The message was clear, he was still holding something back. “What a waste of time.” Ni droned, “No matter. We’re leaving soon anyway.” San quipped, “Where.” Monster X finally demanded in a voice that implied he was constantly in pain, but King Ghidorah notoriously lacked compassion. “To a battlefield worthy of our name.” Ichi replied, without missing a beat, they left him behind, for what was family compared to conquest?
King Ghidorah’s golden wings unfurled, catching the violent pull of space as they latched onto the asteroid. “This is going to be fun.” San jeered, golden energy crackling across his jagged teeth. “Hope this planet puts up a fight.” Ni grunted, as for Ichi, he remained silent, scarlet eyes fixed ahead, thoughts already spinning toward the future, the conquest, and the inevitable domination. “You’re thinking again, Ichi.” San pointed out, more as a statement than anything as he craned his long neck toward his eldest brother. “I always am.” Ichi replied, tilting his head to get a view of where they were headed. San chuckled, taking view of the blue planet growing larger below them, it was their battlefield, their kingdom to claim. And far behind them, in the depths of space, Monster X watched and said nothing.
The ruins of the Apex-turned-Monarch facility trembled with the hum of machinery, the scent of scorched metal thick in the air. The beast was nearly complete— towering over them, bound together by both flesh and steel, stood the unfinished yet terrifying form of Mecha-King Gnnidorah. San and Ni had long regenerated enough of their bodies to be anchored to the half-metal Titan, their long necks twisted with anticipation, their eyes glowing with the energy of the devil reborn once more.
Although Ichi had refused to regenerate— his skeletal remains were still visible, golden scales refusing to mend, sinew and bone still exposed— for he had demanded something different, something he deemed better. “I do not wish to regrow my old flesh.” Ichi dictated in a calm, unshaken, and absolutely certain tone. From his throne of half-formed limbs and reinforced alloys, he gazed down upon them, his partially missing form making him no less imposing. “You want.. What?” Sam muttered, feeling his stomach twist in dismay. The eye sockets in Ichi’s skull gleamed. “I want to be steel. I want my mind in a mechanical skull.. For flesh is fallible, data is eternal.” Ichi elaborated, X let out a low and pleased breathy laugh. “Magnificent.” He sneered, “This is insane.” Sam grumbled, his hands clenched into fists but aware of how helpless he was in this situation. X tilted his head in Sam’s direction, golden eye glinting with unrestrained excitement. “No, Sam.” He began, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “This is evolution.” He chided.
Sam found himself gazing away at the controls, his fingers twitching with anxiety. This was a mistake— Emma’s mistake in creating a nightmare he was being forced to recreate, he had already done too much.. Allowed himself to be dragged too far into this madness, and yet? He had no choice. X was watching his every move alongside San and Ni, and Ichi, even in his half-formed state, radiated an air of menace so suffocating that it made Sam feel like an insect standing before a storm. “I.. I don’t think this will work.” Sam swallowed, forcing his voice to remain even. “There are too many risks involved. The transfer might—” He stammered, X was reminded of his days as Ren, when he attempted to warn Simmons only for the electrocution to be the best thing to ever happen to him, next to Mira. “Spare me the cowardice,” Ichi cut in, “We both know you are capable of this.” Ichi hissed, “You heard him.” X added, his lips curling in amusement. Sam hesitated, his fingers trembling over the controls, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead when he felt the four monsters gaze bore into him. “Come on, Sammy. Don’t keep him waiting.. Ichi’s been looking forward to this.” San sneered, lounging against the half-formed body with a grin. “Hurry it up. The longer we wait, the longer I have to hear him talk.” Ni huffed impatiently, X chuckled. “Don’t keep the devil waiting.” He added, Sam would die to be anywhere else, but he has no choice. So, with a shaking breath, he pressed the command and the process began.
The facility shook as sparks erupted from the steel-bound skull, marking the initiation of the neural transfer. The glowing remnants of Ichi’s organic mind pulsed, his golden consciousness flowing into the vast digital infrastructure of the machine. Data streamed, circuit fused, and finally— Ichi’s new, mechanical eye flickered to life. It was a pale green, brighter, sharper— not just a Titan’s gaze, but something far more, something infinite. The screen next to Sam flickered violently, filled with cascading lines of alien code as coherent text finally formed: [CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.] “Exquisite.” Ichi’s new voice emerged from the speakers in a smoth, synthetic tone, yet still undeniably the centerpiece of King Ghidorah. “You’ve outdone yourself, Sam.” X complimented, much to Sam’s dismay— because this was wrong, because Ichi had just become something far worse than he already was, because now— he could access every little thing. Ichi’s new metal head turned slowly, adjusting to its new form. The glow from his new cybernetic eye pulsed with intelligence. “Fasinicating.” Ichi remarked in a voice both silk and steel. “The digital pathways are.. Intoxicating. Monarch's firewalls are embarrassingly fragile.” Ichi sneered, “Wait— You’re already hacking Monarch?” Sam uttered, his eyes widening. “Of course. I am already inside their systems. Their databases are nothing short of disappointments.” Ichi snarked, “He really did it. Made himself a walking mainframe.” Ni growled in amusement, “And now we’re unstoppable!” San finally added, X clasped his hands together and laughed hysterically, however, Sam felt sick to his stomach at the realization he had just helped unleash something that could no longer be contained— the poor world had no idea what was coming for it.
The Apex facility trembled, bathed in the cold glow of artificial light as sparks rained from the freshly completed Mecha-King Ghidorah.. And in typical King Ghidorah fashion, Ichi was at the center of it all, no longer bound by the weakness of flesh and blood, his mind had expanded beyond the constraints of mortality, stretching into the digital veins of the world.. And now— Monarch was his playground. Sam’s fingers tightened into fists as he watched the monitors around him flicker violently, lines of incoherent alien code surged through Monarch’s network, bending it to Ichi’s very will. The alarms in Monarch’s underground headquarters in Janjira and Antarctica all failed in an instant, cameras dying and security feeds going dark in unison. As if things couldn’t possibly get worse, they did. Kiryu and Jet Jaguar— Monarch’s strongest weapons, built as safeguards to unite Titans and humanity— stood ready for war. Their metallic forms gleamed under the storm-laden sky, their eyes glowing with determination.. And all of a sudden, they froze in place. Kiryu, in mid-step, suddenly locked in place. The mechanical dragon let out a distorted whine, servos grinding to a halt as its systems were overridden. Jet Jaguar, which was built with adaptability in mind, faltered mid-flight, its propulsion systems failing as its joints seized. One by one, their lights dimmed. “Oh my God.” Sam whispered, his breathing hitching, on the other hand, X let out a breathless laugh from beside him. “Beautiful.” He remarked.
Inside the Monarch command centers, chaos erupted as if a bomb had just gone off, but at this point? That would be the best case scenario. “What’s happening?!”, “Systems are failing! We’ve lost control of Kiryu and Jet Jaguar!”, “No, no, no— get them back online, NOW!” But it was too late. Ichi’s sage, mechanical eye flickered with cruel amusement. “I expected resistance, this is disappointing.” He mused, his consciousness now merged seamlessly with Monarch’s infrastructure, tore through their firewalls like wet paper as security teams scrambled, Monarch’s best minds tried in vain to counteract him, but how could they fight something that had already infected them? How could they outthink a mind that now existed beyond time, beyond limits, and most certainly beyond humanity? Kiryu let out a glitching, broken roar, its body twitching as if trying to resist while Jet Jaguar’s optics flickered, the artificial intelligence struggling to reboot. And then— they collapsed as the battlefield stood eerily silent, coming to the conclusion that the world’s greatest defenses were now nothing but empty shells. Sam could only stare in horror, but X exhaled, his golden eye gleaming with absolute delight. “No interference, no Monarch, no distractions.” X concluded, his lips curled into a sharp grin. “Now.. Nothing stands between us and that scalescum.” Ichi let out a low, artificial hum of satisfaction.
The air inside the Apex facility was lingering with the miasma of scorched metal and burning circuits, the light flickering erratically, struggling against the sheer power that pulsed through the resurrected form of Mecha-King Ghidorah. Sam stood, frozen as a statue in place, his breath shallow as he watched the three-headed devil, part flesh, part steel— stretch its wings for the first time. X, standing at the edge of the portal, smirked as he glanced back at him. “Break a leg out there, Sam.” X wished him well, Sam’s mouth opened then quickly shut when he realized there was nothing he could say, no protest would change what had already been set into motion. X tilted his head, grinning like a specter bathed in golden light. “Oh, don’t look so horrified. You got to witness the reshaping of the world firsthand.” X implored, the portal behind him swirled violently, shimmering with alien energy as he stepped through without a care in the world that he’d just left Sam alone in the ruins of a world he had just helped destroy.
Mecha-King Ghidorah unfurled his titanic wings, the wind screaming as he lifted from the crumbling remains of the Apex-turned-Monarch facility. The ground shuttered beneath his weight, golden talons gouging deep scars into the earth before he launched skyward in a single, devastating movement. Of course, a storm followed in Monster Zero’s wake, thunder snarled through the heavens as dark clouds twisted unnaturally, warping to form an abyssal crown above the beast. The air itself felt wrong—charged with something unnatural, and more importantly, something unholy. The sky, once clear, bled into a sickly yellow hue. Lightning danced along the clouds, not white, but gold.. And beneath the Titan’s shadow, the land writhed in response.
The beast landed in a field untouched by man, a place where the land had been left to the forgotten and the damned. A sea of black-furred goats and twisted-horned rams stood motionless beneath the beast’s presence, their eerie, unblinking eyes staring forward. They did not scatter, nor did they flee, instead, they bowed before Satan. Mecha-King Ghidorah let out a low, guttural growl, the sound reverberating through the air like a hymn sung by the abyss itself. Vultures circled above, drawn to the stench of inevitable death. A murder of crows perched on the twisted branches of a dying tree, watching with a cruel fascination. Snakes slithered between the hooves of the goats, their scales shimmering like liquid shadow— and the earth trembled as the Devil called for his army.
Mecha-King Ghidorah lifted its central head toward the heavens, its steel jaw parting, exposing a throat lined with unnatural circuitry and lingering remnants of its former flesh.. And then— it let out its terrifying screech, the two organic heads following not long after. The Alpha Call rang through the sky, tearing through the clouds, rippling into the cosmos itself as it was not a call for Earth’s Titans, they had already bowed to Godzilla, this call was for those who had not— for those who still lingered beyond the stars, waiting for their King to return, for those who heard the name Ghidorah whispered in the void long before the Earth was ever born. The goats bleated in unison, their voices merging into something almost ritualistic alongside the vulture's cries, the crows cackles, the snakes coiling tighter. And the sky— the sky itself seemed to darken in anticipation. Somewhere, beyond the reach of human eyes, something answered, something that had been waiting, something that had heard the call of the Devil and had answered to their lord, and was on the way.
Notes:
wheww lord where do i unpack? to start, i know ghidorah being a younger son in the kotm novelization was prolly js a metaphor but this is fanfiction. iirc in final wars mx was kgs brother but i imagine only ichi ni and san view eachother as brothers and their other siblings as cousins. i did allude to the xiliens having time travel technology so ill see if i can fit ren/x going to the past or future into the storyline, lmk where yall would wanna see him travel to. anyway, i decided to lean into kotms religious themes a little with the goats and what not representing satan (ghidorah), and i imagine ren/x would be the antichrist to ghidorahs satan since he displays some of the traditional antichrists traits, in the gvk novel he refers to himself as ‘god’ or ‘apex predator’ while piloting mechagodzilla and used deceit to gain nathans trust as well as using simmons to further his own gain, and lastly, similarly to how jesus was anointed by god, the antichrist will be anointed by satan, just as ren/x was anointed by ghidorah. let me state that im an atheist and dont practice any religion, i js wanted to use the elements, this is not a religious fic by any means !
Chapter 23: hell’s comin’ with me
Summary:
First there was fire, then there was smoke
Then the preacher man was hanging by a rope
And then they all fell to their knees
And begged that drifter, begged him please
As he raised his fist before he spoke
I am the righteous hand of God
And I am the devil that you forgot
And I told you one day you will see
That I'll be back, I guarantee
And that hell's coming, hell's coming
Hell, hell's coming with me
And it is well with my soul
You line your pockets full of money
That you steal from the poor
And on your way down the hill
You hear me ringing that bell
And I say
Hell's coming (hell's coming) with me
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The world split at its seams as Mecha-King Ghidorah’s Alpha Call thundered through the skies, the very foundations of Earth trembling beneath its weight.. This call caused something to shift, something unnatural to plague the planet.
In New York, the CDC headquarters erupted in flames, a monstrous explosion consuming decades worth of research in an instant. Vials of deadly, long-contained viruses shattered, their contents spilling into the air like invisible phantom. Doctors who managed to escape the explosion collapsed in the streets, their bodies wracked with coughing fits, blood pooling from their mouths and noses. In Tokyo, bodies piled up faster than they could be buried. Hospitals overflowed, leaving the air thick with the miasma of death. The sky itself seemed to sicken, turning a pale, corpse-like yellow. And in the midst of it all, a tide of insects rose— locusts, roaches, wasps with stingers the size of knives, they all flooded the streets in great numbers, writing swarms, devouring crops, crawling into homes, claiming what little was left of civilization. “They scream so beautifully.” San purred, his voice laced with amusement as he watched from above, perched upon his throne of steel and flesh. “Pathetic creatures. Just so fragile.” Ni scoffed, “As it should be. The weak have no place in our new dominion.” Ichi hissed, falling silent as governments crumbled overnight. In Russia, civil war erupted as factions turned on one another.. In the United States, riots engulfed Washington, D.C., flames that made January 6th look like child's play licking at the Capitol as military forces fired upon their own citizens. In France, executions were left on live broadcast, a grim and unwelcome return to an age of terror.. The alliances that had once held nations together shattered into dust, it was as if some unseen force had whispered into the ears of men, feeding their hatred, twisting their loyalties, erasing reason itself. “Look at them,” Ichi pointed out, his mint mechanical eye gleaming with satisfaction. “They do not even need our help to destroy themselves.” He elaborated, “Puppet helped us learn that cockroaches love to kill each other. We’re just giving them an excuse.” San chuckled, dragging his forked tongue across his fangs. “I’d rather kill them myself.” Ni had let out a growl in irritation. “Patience, Ni. Their ruin will be far more delicious if they believe they had a choice in it.” Ichi hissed, his metal gaze remaining fixated on the crumbling world below.
Across the globe, crops withered away, the very earth refused to yield. In South America, entire farmlands blackened overnight, the soil turning to ash. In Africa, water sources drained to nothing, rivers once flowing with life reduced to barren, cracked wastelands. Fisheries emptied, grass silos burned, the wealthy hoarded what little remained, turning their backs on the starving masses, leaving the poor, in desperation, to then to violence, and through it all, Mecha-King Ghidorah loomed above, a golden specter against the storm-ridden sky. “Their prayers are hollow, they beg for salvation, but none will come.” Ichi observed, tilting his mechanical head with a ‘WHIRR’ noise. “Good. Let them suffer.” Ni rumbled, his voice low, and for once, satisfied. “Maybe they should start praying to us instead since their dear ol’ lizard has yet to show up.” San jeered, despite the jest in his remark, perhaps in the wake of their devastation, some already had. Lightning split the sky in jagged veins of gold, searing the heavens like cracks in reality itself. In the midst of it all, tornadoes carved through cities, hurricanes swallowed entire coastlines, earthquakes rippled across the continents, swallowing skyscrapers, splitting highways, single handedly reducing entire civilizations to rubble. And, the crows gathered, their black wings intentionally blotted out the sun, their calls echoed like a thousand mocking laughs, the omen had been given, the Devil had promised he’d return, and the world was ending following his return.
The cosmos split apart as the call was answered. From the farthest reaches of dead galaxies, from the ruins of civilizations, swallowed by the void, from the depths of worlds where suns no longer shined— they came at their king's call. The first to arrive was Spacegodzilla, a rift in the heavens torn open, spilling a storm of glittering cosmic debris into Earth’s atmosphere. A jagged, crystalline form descended like a meteorite, glowing with malevolent energy. When he struck the ground, the very planet seemed to recoil— spires of alien crystal erupted in an instant, carving into the land and effectively corrupting the soil. The air shimmered with raw, cosmic power, and the sky itself darkened as crystals drew energy from the sun. Spacegodzilla rose, his massive, spiked shoulders pulsing with nothing short of celestial fury. He surveyed the broken world before him— the wreckage of civilization, the filth of humanity struggling to survive, and he smirked. “Pitiful creatures,” He mused, his voice like a whisper of black holes collapsing. “This world was always destined for monsters, not men.” He paused, his gaze turning skyward, locking onto Mecha-King Ghidorah. “You have called, and I have answered.. Where is the dear brother of mine? I’d love to give him a knuckle sandwich.” He greeted mockingly, his fanged maw twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
The stars themselves trembled, something ancient, something forgotten, something stolen and reforged in darkness, emerged from the abyss— Monster X. He fell like a dying comet, his body wreathed in burning light, a harbinger of ruin. His glowing eyes narrowed as he landed, his skeletal form standing amidst the ruins of mankind, and he stared— he stared at Mecha-King Ghidorah, looking past the malice and what his kin had become.. A mockery of flesh and steel fused into something unnatural, his hands clenched, claws grinding against each other like stone against bone. Initially, he didn’t utter a word. “So. You live.” He acknowledged in a rumble, his voice low, measured, and diplomatic. “And you look like you’ve been crying about it.” Ni snapped, his impatience flaring. “He’s mad we didn’t invite him sooner.” San snorted, “We have much to discuss, cousin.” Ichi simply stated, his mechanical eye gleaming with unreadable calculation, tilting his head in acknowledgement for Monster X, who said nothing, but his fists remained clenched.
From the void of space, something glinted, and then Gigan fell. His new, gleaming body in all its glory cut through the clouds, his revamped chainsaw arms roaring to life. His scarlet red visor scanned the battlefield, processing and calculating. The space chicken’s metallic claws flexed, his sharpened tail twitched. “Alright, I’m here,” He announced, “Who am I killing?” Gigan was quick to pry, “Finally, someone with the right priorities.” Ni grumbled, “All in due time, Gigan.” Ichi had barely acknowledged him, Gigan rolled his shoulders, his saws whirring. “Yeah, yeah. Just making sure you actually have a plan.” Gigan droned.
Before Gigan could make another petty remark, the ground trembled— the earth split apart once more, a deep chasm forming as something ancient stirred beneath the surface. A pair of massive, glowing yellow eyes opened within the abyss, signaling Megalon climbing forth. His massive drills twisted as he pulled himself into the light, his insect-adjacent form twitching with confusion. He stared blankly, not a thought behind his eyes, even as he let out a shriek, clicking his mandibles violently. “Megalon! Buddy! Looking as lost as ever, I see.” He pointed out, Megalon merely twitched, stomping the ground in response. “As directionless as always.” Ichi sighed.
The air soon grew thick, poisoned, and soon, from the depths of pollution itself, Hedorah reformed. The smog in the air thickened, congealing into something grotesque, pulsing and writhing with sludge-filled life. Hedorah dragged forth, its rotting, toxic form oozing filth as it moved. It gazed blankly at its comrades, blinking its massive, dripping red eyes. “That thing’s still alive?” Ni sneered, almost taken aback. “Barely. But hey, he’s trying.” San sneered, his curiosity getting the best of him as he leaned forward to get a good look at Hedorah before being swatted away by Ichi, Hedorah only gurgled as the air itself corroded around him.
The skies split once more, making way for something massive to descend, a creature not born, but corrupted— Orga. The hulking brute landed heavily, his grotesque, misshapen form twitching as he took in his surroundings. His glowing eyes locked onto Mecha-King Ghidorah, then— he lunged forward into a bow. “Hey, big guy. Still trying to eat everything that moves?” San snickered, Orga only snarled in response, baring his misshapen fangs and causing San to grin wider.
And then, finally— the earthquakes ceased, sending humanity into a brief false sense of security as the sky fell silent in anticipation, only for something far worse to arrive: Magita, a shadow unlike any other, a huner beyond comprehension. She towered above them all, her sheer gargantuan size making even Ghidorah appear small. And yet, despite her impossible scale, she barely moved. There was no rage, no boastful declaration, no gloating, only hunger. “And so, the final piece falls into place.” Ichi declared, studying her carefully. “Ooo, she’s creepy.” San shuddered dramatically, “Perfect.” Ni sneered.
With the final player arriving, The Legion was assembled. Mecha-King Ghidorah stood at the center, his mixture of steel and scaled wings stretched to the heavens, his golden energy crackling like divine wrath. Surrounding him, monsters born from the void of space, from the depths of nightmares, from hunger of worlds long lost.. And united they stood, they all collectively turned their eyes to Earth, to the throne that had been denied by its inhabitants, to the King who cared to defy them, to Godzilla. “Shall we begin?” Ichi pondered.
Meanwhile with the only people who could possibly put this nightmare to an end, the HEAV was wrecked. Its once sleek Monarch exterior was now a crumpled ruin, smoke billowing from the crushed engines as it lay half-buried in the rubble of old Hong Kong. Sparks spat from severed wires, and the emergency lights inside flickered in erratic bursts. The crash had been violent, but they were somewhere still alive as if something preferred them to suffer through this nightmare rather than be granted the peace of dying. Sam Coleman wasn’t handling it well, he sat underneath a scattered table, his knees pulled to his chest, his hands shaking violently while his breath came out in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he tried— and failed— to get a grip. The harsh reality settled in, he had done this, he had helped Mecha-King Ghidorah, he had helped shut down Monarch’s great weapons, he had helped unleash the apocalypse after barely surviving it last time. He wanted to mutter ‘Oh God, oh God’ repeatedly, but God— if a God existed, was not going to help him.
Sam’s vision blurred as panic tightened around his throat like a noose, he barely registered the sound of Nathan Lind cursing as he pried the HEAV’s door open, or Mark Russell dragging a barely conscious Rick Stanton onto solid ground, he didn’t even pay mind to Jia clinging to Ilene Andrews, signing something rapidly while Ilene Chen scanned the area, how could he? All he could hear was his own breathing, his own guilt— “Jesus, is he crying?” The voice of Maia Simmons cut through his downward spiral, taking a seat on a half-broken metal crate, arms crossed, looking a lot less than sympathetic. Raymond Martin stood beside her, looking equally unimpressed as he adjusted his torn jacket. “I think he’s hyperventilating,” Ilene Andrews muttered, kneeling beside Sam in an attempt to console him. “Yeah, well, so am I, but you don’t see me making a scene about it.” Maia grumbled, rolling her eyes, reaching into her bag and pulling out a portable screen. “What’s that?” Martin pried, raising a brow. “Something to pass the time while everyone else has their emotional breakdowns.” Maia replied, “We just survived a crash, Simmons. Could you at least pretend to have priorities?” Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. Maia, in typical entitled fashion, ignored him, tapping through the menu. “Oh, would you look at that? Found something funny.” She sneered, and just like that, she pressed play.
The screen flickered to life, displaying a broadcast that seemed old and grainy with how fast things happened, but in reality was two months old at most. A late-night comedy show, something in the vein of ‘The Daily Show,’ with a sharp-dressed host standing in front of a massive screen. On the screen behind him— a mugshot, no ordinary mugshot, no, this was Ren Serizawa’s mugshot. The audience cheered, jeered, and clapped as the host smirked, pacing the stage. “Oh-ho-ho, folks, we’ve got a good one tonight.” The host paused, pointing at the mugshot. “That's right— Ren Serizawa! You know him, you.. Well, actually, you don’t love him.” He quipped, earning laughter from the audience that only fueled his fire. “So, for those of you living under a rock— or in an Apex Bunker.. This fine gentleman here woke up from his coma, and Monarch with the help of Xi Jinping took about five seconds to throw him in prison.” There was more laughter as the host continued, stepping out of the screens view to allow a cut to a clip of Ren exiting a court building in handcuffs, his expression unreadable behind a pair of dark sunglasses. “I mean, seriously, this one-eyed-wonder opens his eye and immediately gets arrested. That’s gotta be a record.” The host jeered, the audience roared before the host stepped back into view. “And, of course, he had the legal defense of the century— Japanese super-lawyer Shindo, aka the only guy on Earth who thought, ‘Yeah, I can totally get this man off the hook.’” The host stated flatly, following another cut— Shindo standing alongside Mira in front of reporters after Ren’s sentencing, looking completely unfazed as if he knew the courts would change their opinion. “My client is innocent.” Shindo deadpanned, back to the host, he stared at the camera with just as much of a deadpan expression that was in Shindo’s tone. “My brother in law.. He built a robot lizard and it also went rogue.” He jested, even if the joke wasn’t all that funny, the crowd exploded, “Oh my God.” Maia also snorted, even Martin let out a breathy chuckle, so it must’ve been a joke only rich people found funny.
With that, the clip came to an end, and for a moment, there was silence. “Well. That aged like milk.” Mark droned, Nathan, who was sitting nearby, ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, except now he’s not just a guy in legal trouble. He’s—” He trailed off, trying to find the word. “The goddamn Antichrist,” Martin bluntly cut in. Jia, sitting between Ilene Andrews and Ilene Chen, gazed upon them all with wary eyes, tapping her adoptive mothers’ arm and quickly signing something. “she wants to know.. If Ren was always this bad.” Ilene hesitantly translated, there was silence as Mark shifted uncomfortably. “…No.” Mark croaked, “He wasn’t.” Nathan added, shaking his head. Sam, still pale but finally pulling himself together— at least enough to form coherent sentences, “I mean, look at his notes. He wrote them in Kanji to keep them to himself, but I read some.” He stammered, swallowing hard. “Before his dad died, he just wanted Ishirō to notice him.” Sam uttered, Ilene Chen frowned, “Doesn’t change the fact he’s gone too far now.” Mark spat, his tone holding some resentment. “No.” Nathan’s jaw tightened, “But it explains how he got there.” He explained, Ilene Andrews shot him a glare, unsure why he was making excuses for X, but he was uncertain himself. Jia watched them all in silence, and finally, she signed something else, something else her adoptive mother was quick to translate. “…She thinks he’s too far gone.” Ilene deadpanned, another silence, but this time— no one argued, because deep down, they all knew it was true.
X stood at the edge of the Xilien mothership’s observation desk, gazing at the planet below writhe— war, plagues, famine.. It didn’t have to be like this, but his fellow man had been foolish to turn their back on him when he wanted to help them, to protect them, so now? It was a grave they dug, time to lie in it. The world had begun to break— fractured by forces it could never hope to control. Tsunamis swallowed coastlines, cities burned in riots, pestilence slithered through the streets like that of a biblical curse. And above it all, Mecha-King Ghidorah stood triumphant, calling forth his brethren from the stars. “Perfect.” X sighed contentedly, placing his hands behind his back. With a flick of his wrist, X tore open a portal, Xilien henchmen moved in behind him, clad in their sleek armor, weapons in hand. The others— Monarch, the so-called ‘last hope’ of humanity had all gathered in one place, and that meant they were vulnerable.
Stepping through, X emerged into the wreckage of Hong Kong’s abandoned Apex-turned-Monarch facility, the air thick with dust and decay. Immediately, the room went silent, every head snapping toward him— Nathan Lind, Ilene Andrews, Jia, Ilene Chen, Maia Simmons, Sam Coleman, Bernie Hayes, Rick Stanton, and Mark Russel. Mark’s entire body tensed, blazing with fury, whereas X’s golden eye gleamed with amusement. “Now, now. No need for that look.” X sneered, but him pushing the other man's buttons only sent Mark leaning toward him, backing down only when the Xilien guards instantly leveled their weapons. “Careful, Mark. You wouldn’t want to make this even worse for yourself.” X clicked his tongue, “You killed my daughter!” Mark exclaimed, shaking with rage. The room felt heavier, suffocating under the weight of that truth, but X only tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Did I?” He sneered in a sing-song like tone, playfully placing his hand under his chin and rubbing it in a mock ponder. Mark’s fist curled so tight his knuckles white, since he was usually the peacekeeper, this was out of character for him. “For what it’s worth, she’s not really dead.” X droned, “What?” Mark stammered, stilling in place. “Well, not in the way you think, anyway.” X added, his smirk deepening. “What the hell does that mean?!” Mark demanded, his face twisted with grief and puzzlement. “You’ll figure it out eventually, but in the meantime—” X began, going from one hundred to zero as his smile shifted into a flat expression. “I’m pleased to see you finally know what it feels like to have your last remaining family member taken away from you, all you had? Gone.” X spat vengefully, Mark went deathly silent, leaving the air thick with tension, the weight of grief and fury pressing in on every side, not a soul dared to speak, and X? He drank it in, he had no intention of leaving just yet, not when those who made him feel helpless were finally feeling what he’d felt in June of 2019.
Everyone turned their heads as a horrific, shrill whine filled the air, a sound that made every screen in the ruined Monarch facility flicker with static.. The nightmares continued, Kiryu and Jet Jaguar jerked violently, their optics flashing a sickening gold as if something had slithered into their very circuits. Inside them— Akane and Trapper screamed from their respective cockpits, “Something’s taking control—!”, “I can’t override it! It’s like it’s alive—”, Their voices came through the comms in panicked and desperate bursts of static. Bernie stared wide-eyed at the monitors, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. He’s in!” Bernie yelped, “Who’s in?!” Maia snapped, “Ghidorah! The metal head’s hjacking Monarch’s tech!” Bernie shouted, “No, no, no—” Ilene Andrews muttered, voice trembling. The screen flickered once more, “Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” A cold, slithering voice filled the room, it was Ichi. “Don’t be dreadfully boring, I shall not stop at this petty resistance cockroaches dub ‘Monarch.’” Ichi hissed, at hjs words, a new feed popped up— a live map of self-driving cars all over the world. One by one, the signals turned red, Tesla after Tesla veering off roads, slamming into walls, colliding into each other in horrific domino effects. Mark froze as the horrifying realization sank in. “He’s hijacking everything.” He muttered, “Holy shit.” Nathan stammered in a shaky breath, the monitors switched again— a live feed inside Kiryu and Jet Jaguar’s cockpits, Akane was slamming her fists against the console, trying to regain control. Trapper was struggling against his harness, his breathing too fast but more alarmingly, too shallow.. And all around them— the mechs’ oxygen levels were dropping. “Oops. Looks like your pilots don’t have much air left.” Ichi’s mocking laughter slithered through the speakers. “We have to get them out of there— now!” Nathan ordered, whipping around, Jia signed something so fast that Ilene barely caught it— “Can’t they eject?!”, “If they could, they would’ve by now.” Rick grumbled, shaking his head. “Then we cut them out.” Martin, who had been grimly silent, finally inputted, having prior experience piloting the Titan Hunter. “We don’t have the equipment for that.” Maia muttering, still gazing at the flickering screen. “Correct, you don’t.” Another voice cut through the chaos, a voice filled with delighted malice.. Everyone's heads snapped toward the source, remembering X was still there, still watching, still enjoying every last second of their helplessness. “But please— do go on.. I’d love to see you try.” He offered.
However, they were unable to do anything, the room and the world beyond was falling apart. Kiryu and Jet Jaguar thrashing in their restraints, pilots suffocating inside, Tesla crashes racking up by the second, the world burning under Ghidorah’s very touch.. And it couldn’t be done without the one standing at the heart of it all— X, standing calm, unshaken, admiring his handiwork like a lainter admiring a masterpiece. Nathan steeled himself, well aware he was the only one who had any shot of getting through to him, he didn’t have time to stand and look helpless— they were running out of time. Nathan took a sharp step forward, “Ren.” He called out, snapping his fingers to get the man's attention, X didn’t react, Nathan’s jaw tightened but took it as a sign to continue nontenless. “You’re the only one who can stop this.” Nathan pointed out, “That so?” X pondered. “You know how it is, you’re a genius, Ren. Monster Zero— he’s using you.” Nathan pressed, trying his best to butter X up by complimenting his intellect. X, however, let out a short, sharp laugh. “Using me? No, no, Lind. We’re in perfect agreement.” X corrected, his golden eye gleaming. “Then why are you letting him win?” Nathan demanded, his hands curled into fists, that demand made X pause, leaving Nathan to see a flicker of something, a crack in the armor, so he pushed. “You still have a choice.. You’re not Apex, Ren. You're not a Xilien, you’re not even Ghidorah. You’re human, act like it.” Nathan snapped in desperation, X’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitched in his temple.
Slowly and deliberately, X reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen was cracked, old, barely functioned as the device had been rendered useless compared to the Xilien technology X gained access to, but the case— the case had always stayed the same. Nathan’s gaze landed on it, a photo of Ishirō Serizawa sat tucked between the plastic. X gazed at it, tilting his head as he allowed a long, pregnant pause to fall over the room until he ripped the photo out and tore it clean in half. Nathan flinched, as did everyone else, the pieces of the once-cherished photo fluttered to the floor as X stared at them. Then, he cleared his throat, turning away and walking towards the observation scene. “The only way to combat evils such as Godzilla..” X began, his voice was eerily calm as he made a point to make eye contact with Nathan, lifting his golden gaze to the sight of Mecha-King Ghidorah standing triumphantly, bathed in the glow of burning cities. “..Is to be more evil.” He concluded, Nathan’s breath caught, Mark cursed under his breath, Jia’s hands shook while X smiled as he began to understand, maybe Ren Serizawa had just been a shell X was always meant to tear his way out of, perhaps Ghidorah had seen that and that was why he told him to claw his way out of his coma, to become X and reshape the world that’d been so foolish to turn its back on him.
Notes:
nobody ever learns not to try to appeal to what little is left of ren/x’s humanity it seems! anyway at some point down the line i wanna see if i can introduce ford brody, ren was born in 91 while ford was born in 89-90 and they were both in janjira in their childhood so i can easily say they knew each other
Chapter 24: dead to me
Summary:
I don't know what you been told
See, I am not your enemy, ooh-oh
But if there's one thing that I know
Is that you ain't a friend to me, ooh-oh
So don't come for me
Unless I send for you
Know you're dead to me
Just don't come for me
I won't send for you
Know you're dead to me
You're dead to me, oh
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The year was 1999, in the wealthier part of Janjira, Japan, the quiet hum of a small desk lamp filled the room. Ren Serizawa, no older than eight, sat hunched over his workbook, a pencil clutched tightly in his hand. The pages were filled with English phrases and their respective Kanji translations, his small fingers carefully tracking over the letters. He didn’t mind school— he liked learning, but he liked getting school over with even more. That way, he could go back to building robots and watching TV without the worry of unfinished assignments looming over him. He was midway through copying down a sentence when he heard his bedroom door creak open. “Ren, sweetheart.” Mrs. Serizawa’s voice gently called for his attention, Ren quickly turned his head, his gaze zeroing in on who was standing beside his mother, a boy who was slightly taller, slightly older, with light brown hair and dark curious eyes that mirrored Ren’s own. “This is Ford,” His mother began, smiling down at the American boy. “His parents work at the power plant near your father’s work. We’re doing them a huge favor by watching him today.” She elaborated, Ren blinked, taking a moment to process it all while his mother’s smile didn’t waver. “Can you show him your robots?” Mrs. Serizawa asked, Ren paused, hesitating. He glanced at his workbook, then at Ford, as if weighing out his options— he really wanted to finish his assignment, but his father always told him to be polite to guests, and maybe, just maybe, if he played nice, it would make his father happy. So, reluctantly, he closed his workbook and slid off his chair. “Okay,” Ren agreed in a mumble, his Japanese accent thick.
Ford followed Ren further into the room, his eyes widening at the shelves lined with small, hand-built robots. Some had moving arms, others had tiny blinking lights. There were half-built models scattered across the desk, wires and screwdrivers neatly arranged beside them. “Whoa,” Ford breathed in awe, Ren stood awkwardly beside his collection, watching the American boy take it all in. “You made these?” Ford examined, eyes darting from one bot to another. Ren nodded, watching as Ford reached out, carefully poking one of the tiny mechanical arms. “That’s really cool.” He observed, genuinely impressed. Ren fidgeted with his fingers, unsure if Ford was serious or not, he wasn’t used to compliments from kids his own age. “You like robots?” Ren pondered, his English a little broken but impressive for his age. “Yeah, but I could never make them like this.” Ford mentioned with a grin, Ren shrugged, unsure how to respond. Ford didn’t seem to mind Ren’s lack of a verbal reply as his gaze drifted toward his desk, where his English workbook still sat. “Why are you studying?” Ford pried, squinting at the neat handwriting. Ren’s brows furrowed while Ford gestured to the robots. “If I had these, I wouldn’t be doing homework.” He elaborated, dragging out his words slowly in case the language barrier got in the way. “I like school.” Ren stuttered with a frown, “Huh, why?” Ford wondered, Ren paused, thinking. “I like.. finish work fast. So I can build robots. And watch TV. No worry.” Ren answered in slow, careful english, Ford gave a nod of understanding. “That’s smart.” He chirped with a grin. Ren perked up slightly, watching as Ford pulled out a small plastic toy from his pocket, it was a tiny action figure, and held it up. “My dad’s always busy too,” Ford confided, Ren tilted his head as if shocked to hear he wasn’t the only child who felt like he wasn’t apart of his father's life. “…Too?” Ren cleared up, Ford nodded. “He’s always working. Always on the phone. Doesn’t even notice when I try to surprise him.” Ford trailed off, his voice dropping slightly. “At least you have your mom.” Ford noted, Ren’s shoulders stiffened, the other boy was right, his mother was kind, she always made sure he ate, always reminded him to wear a jacket when it was cold.. But his father— his father barely looked at him, and Ren wanted so badly for that to change, so he nodded slowly, once again finding himself unsure what to say. Ford looked at the robots again, “They’re really cool.” He empathized, Ren felt something warm build up in his chest.. Maybe it was pride? He hadn’t a clue. “…Thanks.” He raved, rubbing the back of his neck. A small, quiet moment passed between them, before Ford turned back to him. “Wanna play?” Ford implored, Ren hesitated, he wanted to get the schoolwork done, but then, he thought of his father— how pleased he’d be if Ren actually made a friend, so finally, he nodded. “…Okay.” He decided, Ford grinned, and for the first time in a long while, Ren let himself smile too.
In San Diego during the year 2024, the soft glow of the television illuminated the Brody family’s living room. Ford Brody sat on the couch, arms crossed with an unreadable gaze. His wife, Elle, still clad in her blue scrubs sat curled up beside him, while their fifteen-year-old son, Sam, slouched in a chair with his phone in hand, only half-listening. “Following the catastrophic Mechagodzilla incident, Apex Cybernetics is officially shut down with Monarch taking over all its outposts, with its CEO Walter Simmons and his daughter who was also his would-be successor, Maia Simmons, confirmed among the casualties. Apex’s former security chief, James Hayworth, has disappeared and is currently on the FBI’s most wanted list for his involvement in the disaster.” The news anchor’s somber voice filled the room, the screen shifted accordingly to a photo of Walter Simmons standing alongside the then-president, a photo of Maia Simmons at a red carpet event, and a photo of Hayworth, a grizzled, scowling man. “However, perhaps the most surprising revelation is that Apex’s Chief Technology Officer and Mechagodzilla pilot, Ren Serizawa, survived— albeit barely. According to Monarch reports, Serizawa attempted to flee the Apex facility after Mechagodzilla went rogue. Despite suffering what appears to be severe electrocution in the cockpit and shrapnel lodging itself in his right eye, he somehow managed to exit the building before collapsing in front of Monarch personnel. He was taken to a secure Monarch facility, where he remains in a coma and will face charges if he recovers.” The anchor paused, clearing her throat from all that word vomit and shaking her head. “It’s insane that he even made it out. Mechagodzilla’s neural link must have fried his brain, but somehow he walked out of there with— well, one working eye. Makes you wonder what kind of willpower the guy has.” The anchor added.
Ford felt his jaw tighten upon hearing that name— Ren Serizawa. It had been years since he last heard that name, and now, it was flashing across the screen like a ghost from another life. “—Dad? Hello?” Ford realized he must’ve been staring off into space for quite some time as Sam’s voice snapped him back to reality, he blinked, realizing both Elle and Sam were looking at him expectantly. “You okay?” Elle gently implored, running a hand down his arm “Yeah.. Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting to hear that name again.” Ford muttered, “You knew him?” Elle pondered, tilting her head in genuine puzzlement. “Yeah. A long time ago. Back when I lived in Japan, before the power plant collapsed.” Ford confirmed with a nod, Sam raised a skeptical brow. “Wait— you knew that guy?” Sam pried, finally looking up from his phone to gesture to the TV, where Ren’s old Apex ID photo was displayed. Ford leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah. We were just kids. Our parents worked near the same place, so his mom used to babysit me sometimes.” Ford admitted, Elle’s brows furrowed, unable to contain her curiosity. “What was he like?” She asked, Ford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Quiet, smart. Probably the smartest kid I ever met. He was really into building robots—even back then. I remember sitting in his room, looking at all these crazy little machines he made. He was serious about it too— like, didn’t want to waste time on anything else.” Ford trailed off, clearly he didn’t put it simply enough as Sam had gone back to scrolling through his phone. “Well, guess he stuck with it. Built a killer robot in the end.” Sam scoffed, Ford shot his son a sharp look. “Not funny.” He reprimanded, Sam held up his hands in defense. “I’m just saying— kinda wild how he went from building little toy robots to y'know, piloting Mechagodzilla.” Sam protested, Elle glanced back at the screen, which was now showing footage of Mechagodzilla’s rampage through Hong Kong. “He must’ve really gone off the deep end.. I mean, working for Apex.. Piloting that thing..” Elle muttered, placing a hand on her chest in a tone laced with sympathy. “It’s a shame.” Ford added, shaking his head. “That he survived?” Elle asked, moving her gaze from the screen to her husband. Ford hesitated, no, that wasn’t it. He didn’t wish death on Ren, but.. He wished he’d been different. “He was talented, really talented, but.. I uh.. I guess he got caught up in the wrong stuff.” Ford admitted, Sam leaned back in his chair. “So, what, is Monarch gonna lock him up forever if he wakes up?” Sam asked, Ford opened his mouth to answer, only for Elle to chime in instead. “Chances are he suffered brain damage after being electrocuted like that, if he wakes up, he won’t be the man he fell unconscious as, he’ll need an assisted living facility.” Elle cut in with her medical knowledge stemming from being a nurse, “Yeah.. I don’t know, but if he’s anything like his dad..” Ford trailed off, catching both Elle and Sam’s looks of puzzlement. “His dad died for Godzilla.” Ford simply put, Elle was the first to process such, “And Ren tried to kill Godzilla.” Elle added, Ford nodded in agreement, a silence casting in the room, Sam didn’t seem to notice as he was still looking at his phone. “Well, sucks to be him.” Sam muttered, breaking the tension. “Sam.” Elle scolded, shooting her son a warning glance. “What? Dude tried to pilot an evil Godzilla robot and got his face blown off. Not really Monarch’s fault if they wanna make sure he doesn’t wake up and try it again.” Sam nagged with a shrug, Ford didn’t respond— he didn’t have anything to add, because deep down, he wondered the same thing. With or without the families peanut gallery, the news broadcast continued. “For now, Ren Serizawa remains comatose under Monarch’s custody. The world waits to see whether he will wake up— and if so, what consequences await him.” The anchor concluded, Ford let out a sigh, rubbing in his temples. He was in awe at the fact that once upon a time, Ren Serizawa had been a quiet boy in a room full of robots, but now, he was a comatose war criminal with one eye and the world watching.. Ford supposed some things are better left in the past.
In the present day, the air in the ruins of Hong Kong was thick with ash and rot, a stagnant reminder of the battle that had reshaped the world. The sky was perpetually gray, not from natural clouds, but from the lingering effects of war, pollution, and whatever other residual energy still pulsed from the fallen Apex facility. Fires still flickered in the husks of collapsed skyscrapers, and the distant sound of skittering rubble echoed throughout the empty streets. It reminded Ford Brody of when he and his father returned to Janjira for answers, but he had no time to be sentimental as he adjusted the strap of his rifle, scanning the ruined cityscape ahead. His team was moving in silence, boots crunching over shattered glass and twisted metal remains of what had once been a thriving metropolis. “No movement,” Haruo Sakaki muttered, his voice low and his grip on his weapon was so tight his knuckles were white. “Either they don’t know we’re here, or they’re waiting.” He added, Ford gave a small nod with peeled eyes. “We stick to the plan. Get in, extract the Monarch group, and stay alert. Xiliens aren’t going to make this easy.” Ford explained, “If they even care about our definition of ‘easy,’” Harrison chimed in from behind, his voice carrying an amused edge that had no room in a time like this. Something about his tone put Ford on edge, he had an unsettling way of speaking, like he was in on a joke no one else understood. Ultimately, Ford ignored it, telling himself maybe Harrison’s way of coping was taking it with a jeer.
The mission parameters were simple— find and extract the Monarch operatives trapped in the ruins, all the while keeping an eye out for any Xilien forces that might be lying in wait. But, what complicated things was the Xilien narrative still being pushed, things including but not limited to: “We came to save you,” “Monarch upset our lord and forced our hand,” And can’t forget the constant instience of— “We wanted to help.” Ford had heard the propaganda enough times to nearly laugh at it now, the Xiliens hadn’t come to save Earth, they had come to conquer it. As they moved through the skeletal remains of a toppled skyscraper, a strange humming sound crackled through the air like static. “What is that—” Haruo demanded, he was quick to tense up and whirl around on his heel. A tear in reality rippled open before them, the air distorted, heatwaves shimmering as a figure stepped through.. It was Ren Serizawa— or what was left of him, no, that wasn’t anything close to Ren, not anymore. The man who emerged was menacing, his sharp features illuminated by a golden glow that pulsed from the single, piercing eye in his otherwise shadowed face. The right side was still concealed under his eyepatch, but the crackling ‘blessings’ from Ghidorah’s power flickered at his fingertips. His trenchcoat— black laced with gold accents, billowed slightly as the portal sealed behind him, an unnatural stillness filling the air. However, he wasn’t alone. Behind him, several Xilien henchmen stepped forward, their movements eerily synchronized, their expressions blank. Ren— no, X smiled. “Ford Brody.” He greeted Ford, the man of the hour, barely had time to raise his weapon before X lifted a single hand. The gun was wrenched from his grip, as if an invisible force had yanked it away, regardless, it clattered to the ground, a tense silence following as the trio realized the true extent of X’s abilities. Ford was a soldier, trained to stay stoic in even the most horrific situations, this was no different, so he stared, unblinking. X tilted his head, amused by the silence. “Nothing to say? Come now, we go way back, don’t we?” X taunted, Ford’s muscles locked, he hadn’t seen the man in decades— not since they were kids, not since his life got turned upside down by the Janjira disaster, not since the news reports plastered Ren’s face on every screen in the world, labeling him as the mad scientist who piloted Mechagodzilla and nearly brought his fellow man to their knees, clearly, this ‘X’ persona was here to ensure he got the job down.
And now, here he was, standing in front of him, not even looking Human anymore. “What the hell happened to you?” Ford demanded, finally finding his voice. X let out a laugh, a sharp, mocking sound. “Oh, Ford, let’s not act like you don’t already know. The world turned its back on Ren Serizawa. Humanity made its choice, it’s only fair I get a turn to make mine.” X raved, his golden eye gleaming. “You’re seriously standing here, acting like you’re the victim?” Ford spat, his jaw clenching. X sighed dramatically, pacing back and forth, arms clasped behind his back. “Victim? No, no, no. Survivor. And now? A savior.” X corrected, Ford couldn’t help but bark a laugh of disbelief. “A savior?! You call this saving?!” Ford pointed out, gesturing at the ruins around them. “Ah-ah, let me finish. I call it cleansing.” X countered, Ford took a sharp step forward. “You killed thousands of people.” Ford fumed, X didn’t flinch, well aware Ford was powerless against him. “You don’t get to justify this.” Ford argued, X paused abruptly in his pacing to grin at Ford. “Oh, but I do. Because unlike you, Ford, I understand what has to be done, you all cower under the shadow of Titans, letting them shape your world like you’re nothing more than ants at their feet.” X paused, his expression darkening. “I refuse to be an ant.” He swore, his tone losing all humor it previously held. The words hung in the air, acting as an opportunity for Ford to notice something then, Harrison. The exchange of glances between him and X, it was brief and almost unnoticeable, but it was there, and Harrison.. Wasn’t reacting, no tightening grip on his weapon, no sudden twension, no nothing. Ford’s gut twisted, something wasn’t right, X seemed to notice Ford coming to a realization he simply couldn’t have and broke the silence, his adamant gaze returning to a sharp grin. “I just wanted to see you, Ford, to catch up, to see what’s become of my childhood friend..” X trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward the others. “But you have your mission, and I have mine.” X added, Ford’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” He demanded, he knew he couldn’t give it to X, so he wasn’t sure why he asked, maybe just curiosity. “Nothing you can stop.” He sneered, with that, he lifted his hand once more, the portal shimmering open behind him. Ford hardly had time to react before X took a slow, deliberate step backward, disappearing through the swirling vortex, the Xilien soldiers trailing behind in eerie unison. The portal sealed shut, leaving the air deathly still, Ford’s heart pounded as he turned towards Harrison— but the soldier's expression was perfectly neutral, like nothing had happened.
The trio continued their quest of rescuing those trapped in the Apex-turned-Monarch facility, dragging themselves through the thick, unbreathable air consisting of ash, duat, and something that smelled like burning copper. The ruins of Hong Kong stretched around them in every direction, jagged skyscraper skeletons leaning against one another like broken bones. In the distance, the occasional crackling of fire and the distant wail of sirens that had been there since 2024 served as the only reminders that life still clung stubbornly to this city.
All of a sudden, a crackle of energy split the air once more, warping the space a few feet ahead as X stepped through the portal, the shimmering edges collapsed behind him, leaving behind only the lingering scent of ozone and the faint hum of something unnatural. He dusted off his trenchcoat, golden eye scanning the group with something bordering on genuine curiosity. “Ford,” He directed in a casual, almost friendly tone. “What have you been up to?” X asked, Ford stared him down, jaw tight, he had no plans on answering because he knew X wasn’t really asking. And surely enough, X tilted his head, Ford felt it immediately— that sickening, slithering sensation in his skull. A cold, invasive grip prying open his mind, digging into the memories he fought to keep buried. Against his will, images of the past flashed through his mind— Elle, Sam, their shared laughter and warmth, then— fire, screams, and finally a frightening silence. Gone. X hummed in amusement, fidgeting with his earrings as he sifted through Ford’s grief like he was flipping through pages of an old book. “If they weren’t killed by the Titan attacks, then, rest assured, the waves of disease and war did the job.” X digressed, Ford exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to contain his temper despite his fists being clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. What set him off was X’s casual tone, the complete lack of empathy as if his family’s possible deaths were nothing more than an unfortunate footnote in the grand scheme of things. Ford’s vision blurred with rage, but he forced himself to stay still, he wouldn’t give X the satisfaction. X, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered, instead opting to let out a low, amused chuckle. “You having an eighteen-year-old son makes me feel old.” X commented, Ford almost laughed at the sheer audacity, X didn’t care, tapping his temple with a shake of his head. “Mira and I agreed to start trying at thirty-five, but.. You know, coma, war, divine destiny tends to throw your plans off course.” X trailed off as if he were having a casual conversation, maybe this was all good fun to him, but Ford narrowed his eyes. “Mira,” He began slowly, piecing it together. “She’s your wife.” Ford pointed out, hoping it was an ex-wife by now since he sure hoped there was enough good in this world for this Mira to lack the basic decency to divorce her war criminal husband. “Took you long enough.” X subtly confirmed with a widened smirk, Haruo, who had been restlessly shifting his weight, finally broke his silence. “I still don’t get it, where the hell are the so-called good Titans? They’re supposed to be protecting the world.” Haruo cut in, “Yeah,” Harrison added, arms crossed. “All I see is death and destruction, and Big G is nowhere in sight.” He grumbled, X rolled his shoulders lazily, as if the question barely deserved a response. “Oh, they’re still here.. Just busy is all.” X chimed in despite none of the trio thrilled for his input or his presence as whole, really. “You did something to them.” Ford spat, his statement more of a statement than an accusation, as accusatory as it sounded. X shot him an exaggerated gaze of mock offense. “Moi?” He pressed a hand to his chest, sighing dramatically. “Come now, Ford. Don’t blame me just because your beloved Titan protector is off licking his wounds while the world crumbles.” X sneered, Ford took a step closer to X, his temper getting the best of him. “You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” Ford grumbled, X wasn’t at all alarmed, in fact, his smirk only curved sharper. “I don’t think, Ford.. I know.” X proclaimed, taking a step closer, the two standing just a foot apart.
The air between them was thick enough to cut with a plastic knife, Ford could feel it pressing down on his skin, an invisible weight humming with power, with something not of this world. His pulse was steady, trained into him after years of navigating war zones, but his gut screamed at him to move— to do something, anything. Ren wasn’t human anymore, or maybe, he never was to begin with. X stood before him, golden eye gleaming in the dim light, framed by the swirling dust and distant fires that painted the horizon in shades of hell. The long coat he wore shifted in the wind, the edges flickering like the wings of a carrion bird. One thing worth noting was he wasn’t standing like a man ready for a fight, he stood like a king surveying his kingdom. “I have to say, I expected you to be more.. Talkative, is something wrong?” X mused, tilting his head just so, studying Ford like a curious scientist examining a specimen. “What the hell do you want, Ren?” Ford demanded, fingers twitched at his side. “Oh, Ford—” X cut in with an exaggerated wince. “Ren? Come now, we’ve been over this. That man died three years ago, call me X.” X corrected, “You’re still him, it doesn't matter what you call yourself.” Ford protested, X scoffed, waving Ford off. “Ah, the desperate clinging to sentimentality, I was once like that. Truly, you and Mark Russell would get along famously.” X sneered, Ford paused, the name ‘Mark’ twisted something in Ford’s chest, his daughter was dead because of X, but X hadn’t even flijched, hadn’t shown a single scrap of remorse. The thought alone made Ford’s stomach churn. “You’re wasting time with him,” Haruo pointed out, shifting on his feet, eyes flickering between the two men. “We should be figuring out what the hell happened to the Titans— what you did to them.” Haruo grumbled, his accusatory gaze landing on X. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, I didn’t do anything to them that they wouldn’t have eventually done to themselves.” X assured, waving a dismissive hand. Harrison’s brow furrowed, being the one to break the silence this time around. “You sound pretty confident about that.” Harrison muttered, “Because I am.” X confirmed, lips curled into something a tad too amused and self-assured. “You humans love your gods, don’t you?” X continued, stating humans as if he weren’t one of them, pacing a slow, lazy circle around them. “You build myths around them, sing their praises, weep at their feet.. And yet—” X paused, tilting his head. “They never save you.” X pointed out, his voice dropping to a whisper.
The words were left hanging in the air like a guillotine blade, Haruo’s fists clenched at his sides. “That’s not true.” He hissed, “Oh?” X sneered, “Godzilla protected us, I used to think like you until Boston.” Haruo argued, his words proving to be a waste of breath as X only laughed, not just a chuckle, not even a smirk, a full-bodied, sharp-edged burst of hysteria that echoed into the sky. “Protect you? Is that what you tell yourself at night?” X wheezed, wiping his grin away as he stepped closer. “The same creature that flattened cities with his battles? The one who kills and destroys indiscriminately? You call that ‘protection’?” X pondered, “He kept worse things away.” Haruo protested, his nostrils flaring. “Yes, because only he was allowed to be the one doing the killing.” X began, “You don’t need a protector, Haruo. You need a god that bleeds.” X simply put, his voice a whisper of poison. Ford had had enough, he’d watched Godzilla save his family from the MUTOs and wasn’t about to let X drag his name through the mud. “And I suppose that’s you, huh? You’re the god we’re supposed to bow to now?” Ford demanded, taking a step forward. X held his gaze, “I never said you had to bow, nor do you have to spend your Sundays worshipping me in a temple.” X pledged, the words were surprisingly soft and genuine, but something in them sent ice down Ford’s spine, it was the way he said it.. Like it didn’t matter if they did or didn’t, like the war was already won, like they were already dead. “Okay, so let’s say you’ve got everything figured out,” Harrison droned, breaking the silence with his arms crossed. “Let’s say you win. The. what?” Harrison pried, X furrowed a brow. “‘Then what’? My, such a dull question, Harrison.” X tsked, shaking his head. “The answer is simple. Humanity will finally learn its place. No more pretending to be gods. No more arrogance. No more Titans.” X listed as if that were an ideal world, “You’re going to wipe them all out.” Ford stammered, staring at the shell of Ren Serizawa. “Of course.” X replied, like it was obvious— like it was inevitable. “And what about us?” Ford pried, X smiled. “That depends on how well you behave, but as of right now? It’s not looking good for the three of you.” X noted, doing a cut-throat gesture on Ford’s neck like a Total Drama villain. “You know, it’s funny,” Ford began, ensuring he had X’s attention when he arched a brow. “I used to wonder what happened to you,” Ford admitted, his gaze flicking over the scars, the cold golden eye, the inhuman aura pulsing off him like heat from a dying star. “After your dad died, after Janjira, I always wondered if you were okay.” Ford explained, X tilted his head, as if considering the thought. “And now you have your answer.” X sneered, the smile refusing to leave his face. Ford hated that it was true, because standing before him wasn’t Ren Serizawa, not anymore, the boy who had once sat in his room, building robots, talking about schoolwork— it was a harsh reality being that the boy was dead. X turned slightly, gazing up at the sky with an unreadable expression. “The stars are watching, and they’ve already answered.” X muttered, at his words, the sky rumbled, something shifted in the distance, something coming. Ford felt it in his bones, glancing at Harrison and Haruo who were also feeling particular senses of unease, as for X? X just smiled.
Notes:
hmmm i wonder why ren/x and harrison seem almost cordial! any ideas?? anyway be sure to ask away in my ‘ask me anything’ on tumblr @acelestialcraze if yall have any questions ab the story or js wanna ask the characters smth and ill answer in character on tumblr ! random but i was watching the office (only bc my dad had it on, dw i have a sense of humor) michael and ryans dynamic gives exactly how i imagined walter and rens dynamic LMAOO
Chapter 25: the walk
Summary:
No response on any level, red alert, this vessel's under siege
Total overload, all systems down, they've got control
There's no way out, we are surrounded
Give in, give in and relish every minute of it
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The ruined city stretched before them like the ribs of some long-dead beast, buildings gutted, streets cracked and splintered, the air thick with dust and the distant wail of sirens.
X walked at an infuriatingly relaxed pace, hands clasped behind his back, golden eye glinting with something between amusement and superiority. The others— Ford, Haruo, and Harrison— trailed behind him, tense, weapons at the ready as if it’d do them any good. “I still don’t know why you three insist on playing soldier.” X mused, rolling his shoulders as if this entire situation was a mild inconvenience. “Your little rebellion is just that— little. Your species is outmatched, your weapons are obsolete, and yet, here you are. Marching through the ruins of a dead city, pretending you have some kind of control over what happens next.” X observed as a clear attempt to get under the trios skin. “At least we’re actually fighting for something, unlike you, who just wants to watch the world burn because Daddy didn’t hug you enough.” Haruo shot back, stepping over a collapsed power line with a sharp gaze. X’s grin twitched, but he didn’t stop walking. “Well, first off, Haruo, the story of the father who forgot his son is so tiresome.. Though, you call this fighting?” X scoffed, gesturing to the wreckage of the city, which was hypocritical, as he caused it. “You’re playing catch-up. You’re running damage control. You’re a few steps away from being crushed under the weight of a war you’ve already lost.” X paused, scratching his mustache. “I, on the other hand, am thinking beyond your little chessboard. Beyond this planet, if you will.” X continuined, “Yeah, yeah, we get it.. You think you’re some kind of god now. Real original.” Harrison muttered, adjusting the grip on his rifle. X let out a low and knowing chuckle, “Not a god. A harbinger.” X corrected, Ford had remained silent, but his grip on his weapon tightened. Each time X spoke, it felt like nails dragging against his skull— like some part of him was being peeled back and examined.
The air had an abrupt shift as the wind died, the ruined city blocks falling into a suffocating silence, all of a sudden, the sky cracked open to make way for a violent burst of red light erupting from above, jagged crystals stabbing through the earth like spears, shattering concrete and impaling the husks of old buildings. The sound was deafening— a deep, reverberating hum that rattled bones. Haruo was the first to react, cursing under his breath as he lifted a hand to shield his face from the upcoming dust and debris kicking around them. “Tell me that’s not Godzilla,” Harrison muttered, Ford swallowed his fear, eyes locked on the swirling energy above. He wanted to believe it was Godzilla, he really did, but.. Emerging from the light, its body sleek and jagged, adorned with crystalline spikes that pulsed with unnatural energy, came something else that was far from Godzilla. X exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head in similar admiration to his fathers gaze when it settled on the real Godzilla, but there was something sinister resting in X’s gaze as if malicious intent had grown comfortable lying in his eye. “Ah,” He murmured, his golden eye glinting. “There you are.” He mused, confirming he had something to do with this.
The sky cracked open like a shattered mirror, spilling eerie red light over the broken skeleton of Hong Kong. Spacegodzilla’s crystalline spires surged from the ground, twisting the already devastated cityscape into a jagged hellscape of raw power. Each structure hummed back to life with energy, pulsing the steady ruins of an unseen cosmic force. On the ground, X watched with an almost reverent awe, his singular golden eye reflecting the ethereal glow of the invader’s power. He exhaled a slow, satisfied breath. “Finally, a Gojira species worthy of its own existence.” X sneered, paying no mind to the tremor shaking the ground, sending fissures through the already crumbling earth. Then, the roar came.
It was a deep, guttural bellow— one of challenge, displaying ancient dominance. The kind of sound that forced lesser creatures to bow, to submit, but Spacegodzilla had no intentions of submitting, having already chosen Mecha-King Ghidorah as his king. He turned his crowned head to meet the oncoming forces gaze, eyes gleaming with something between irritation and amusement. He had been expecting his dear brother, instead he saw a king of a different land, Kong. The great ape leaped over a collapsing building, landing with a ground-shattering impact. His fur bristled under the unnatural glow of Spacegodzilla’s crystals, his massive fists clenching. There was no hesitation in his stance, only readiness— preparation to fight, more than willing to kill. He lifted a hand, and with a mere thought, the crystalline structures surrounding him convulsed. Sharp, jagged shards broke free, hovering in the air, and then— they launched. Kong just barely dodged, the projectiles instead slamming into the ruins behind him, sending debris flying in all directions. He didn’t wait for another volley, instead opting to charge. And then— there was ice, the air grew frigid as a massive, reptilian figure clad in ivory scales erupted from the earth, ice and mist cascading off her glistening scales, it was Shimo. She stood between Kong and Spacegodzilla, her bright eyes locking onto the crystal Titan. She recalled the pain of being controlled— of being used, and she recognized the same malevolent intelligence behind Spacegodzilla’s gaze.
A bolt of freezing ice breath shot from her maw, colliding with one of the floating crystals, encasing it in ice before it shattered. Spacegodzilla let out a sharp snarl, unable to retaliate before a goddess descended. Mothra swept down from the sky, her radiant wings slicing through the darkness like divine fire. She emitted a chirping cry— a call to arms, to unity, that made Spacegodzilla laugh, an unnatural, low, resonant, alien laugh. “You insult me with these creatures?” He rumbled, his voice carrying through the city like a whisper to the wind, yet somehow deafening. “A failed king, a mindless beast, a moth fluttering toward oblivion. Where is my darling brother?” Spacegodzilla jeered, in all actuality, he and Godzilla were not siblings, this was his attempt to antagonize the rather patient king and crawl up his nerves. Mothra’s wings flared, Kong pounded on his chest with a roar, Shimo’s tail slammed against the ground, cracking the pavement. However, Spcegodzilla did not wait. With a flick of his claws, the crystals on his back surged with power, and suddenly— the city came alive. The crystalline spires exploded outward, forming jagged barricades, forcing his opponents into a chokehold of terrain they did not control. More crystalline shards shot toward them, this time laced with electrical energy, scorching the air. Kong roared in frustration, smashing through one of the barriers with sheer brute force, but another instantly grew in its place. Shimo took this as an opportunity to lunge, her ice colliding with Spacegodzilla’s corona beams, the elements warring against each other. Mothra dove through the air, the ground she flew over momentarily cleansed of the disease and hostile insects, attempting to knock Spacegodzilla off balance. But, he was immovable, a mountain given life— a conqueror at Ghidorah’s aid. “Beautiful.” X muttered with a smirk.
Meanwhile, those trapped inside the ruined Apex-turned-Monarch base were stunned. Mark Russell had been fixated on the battle, his fingers gripping the rusted edge of a metal console. He had been so sure— so certain that Godzilla had changed, evolved once more into something monstrous. But this— this was different. “That’s.. Not Godzilla.” Nathan stammered in a hoarse voice, “Then where the hell is Big G?” Bernie swallowed, glancing around the ruined room, it was no secret no one had an answer, as one thing was clear, if Godzilla didn’t show up soon, they’d all be toast. The air was thick with static, a tension not just from the colossal battle outside, but from the sheer, suffocating presence of the Xilien soldiers standing in eerie silence around the room. Their cold, black eyes scanned every movement, their faces unreadable with rigid postures, the soldiers watching and waiting for so much as an attempt to escape. To put it simply, chaos was just barely being held at bay. Sam sat against a rusted console, his knees pulled to his chest, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts. His skin was clammy with sweat, fingers trembling so violently he could barely clutch the fabric of his own jacket. Bernie knelt beside him, his own panic masked behind an awkward attempt at reassurance. “Okay, buddy, just— big breath in, yeah? You wanna go full Vader? Try it with me.” He took an exaggerated breath, gesturing for Sam to follow in his steps. Sam’s eyes darted around wildly, barely registering Bernie’s attempts to comfort him. “This is— oh, God, this is my fault, this is all my fault.” Sam stammered, Mark let out a shaky breath, trying to contain his frustration before ultimately boiling over. “No, this is Ren’s fault. Ren and those goddamn Xiliens.” Mark snapped, Nathan let out a shaky sigh, hesitating before leaning against a cracked control panel. “Well, screaming about it won’t get us out of here, now will it?” He grumbled, Martin let out a humorless chuckle, crossing the arm he was born with over his prosthetic one. “Then let’s hear the big plan, Lind. You got one?” Martin demanded, Nathan opened his mouth— only to abruptly pause, glancing and Ilene Andrews and Ilene chen, both of whom had their eyes locked onto the battle raging outside. The roars, the ice, the sheer destructive force of Titans waging war just beyond the unstable walls of a long abandoned facility. “We don’t have a plan because we don’t have any good options.” Andrews muttered, Jia clung to her, wide eyes darting between the adults. She raised her hands in frantic sign language: What about Godzilla? A bitter silence cast upon the room, Ichi had stripped them of their technology, they were unable to locate Godzilla, meaning no one knew where the king of the monsters was.. Surely he wouldn’t abandon them, right?
The crumbling streets of Hong Kong shuddered beneath their boots. Ford Brody, Haruo Sakaki, and Harrison walked side by side, each of them painfully aware of the Xilien soldiers flanking them on either side. X strolled just a few paces ahead, hands folded behind his back, his gait too casual and confident, in his days as Ren Serizawa, he always had baggage on his back, was never quite happy despite having a gorgeous wife, born into wealth, and all the funding he could possibly need for his revenge project, but here? He was completely at ease as if he weren’t leading three soldiers to what could very well be their deaths. “Why the hell are the good Titans losing?” Haruo demanded, gritting his teeth. X hummed in amusement, “‘Good’ Titans? A matter of perspective, isn’t it?” He paused, tilting his head and spinning his visor against his wrist. “What is good? What is evil? What is anything? Oh wait, I remember—” X sneered, flashing Haruo a mocking grin. “The good Titans are supposed to protect humanity, how’s that working out for you?” X pondered, not bothering to give it any real thought, even before declaring himself X, he was very much anti-Titan and clearly had no plans on changing that. “You’re one smug son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Harrison scoffed, his tone bordering on amusement. “I’m effective.” X shot back, barely sparing him a glance.
All of a sudden, a blinding blue light cut through the ruined skyline. Spacegodzilla was giving earth a run for its money, slamming Kong into the rubble, sending the great ape skidding through what remained of a collapsed bridge. Crystalline spires exploded from the ground, forcing Shimo to leap forward, her ice colliding midair with Spacegodzilla’s corona beams, creating a violent storm of warring elements. Mothra dove from above, her bioluminescent wings slicing through the smoke-choked air, but Spacegodzilla hardly flickered his tail in order to do as much as send a shockwave that threw her into a crumbling skyscraper. The planet’s protectors were struggling, Ford tightened his grip on his weapon, all too familiar with being caught in the crossfire of Titan battles. “We need to move. Now.” He ordered, X simply watched the carnage unfold, a slow, sinister smile creeping across his lips. “Why rush? It’s not every day you get to witness your so-called gods fall up close.” X protested, Haruo took a step forward, his rage barely contained. “You want to talk philosophy while people are dying? While the world burns?” Haruo spat, X chuckled, pleased with his success of getting under one out of the three’s skin. “You make it sound like the world wasn’t already burning before I got here.” X simply put, leaving Haruo unable to rebuttal as without warning, a massive crystal projectile— launched by Spacegodzilla tore through the city, smashing into a building just behind them. The shockwave sent them all sprawling. Dust and debris rained down upon them, the air choked with smoke and shattered glass. “That’s it. We need to move. Now.” Haruo groaned, pushing himself up. “Harrison, get your ass up.” Ford coughed, wiping blood from a fresh gash on his arm. “Yeah, yeah. Still breathing.” Harrison grumbled, dusting himself off. X, still sprawled on the ground, simply laughed as if anything about the world’s current condition were funny. “You still call yourselves soldiers?” X jeered, Ford grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up. “Call us whatever the hell you want. But if you get in our way, I will put you down.” Ford spat, seeming pretty set in stone about his ultimatum, but X— in typical X fashion, the grin he was wearing only widened. “I’d love to see you try.” He droned. Above them, Spacegodzilla let out a piercing shriek. His crystals pulsed, his body radiating enough energy to send shockwaves rolling through the battlefield. Mothra, struggling back into the air, chirped desperately, Kong roared in defiance while Shimo slammed her tail against the rubble, trying to steady herself. And yet— Godzilla was nowhere to be seen, everything was going according to X and Ghidorah’s plan, based on the way his golden eye gleamed. “This is getting fun, don’t you all agree?” X pondered, the ruins of Hong Kong continued to stretch around them like the skeletal remains of a world long lost. Smoke curled from shattered skyscrapers, the scent of scorched metal and ash thick in the humid air, the remnants of the once-bustling city were reduced to hollowed-out husks, buildings standing only as broken monumenta to the chaos Titans had wrought.
And amidst the destruction and ongoing battle, X was skipping, of all things to do during an apocalypse. Not literally, but his steps were far too light, his posture far too relaxed, as if he were merely strolling through a park rather than a war-torn graveyard. Occasionally, he paused here and there, crouching beside debris, sifting through rubble and twisted metal seemingly in search of something. Whatever he was searching for, he found them— a small patch of half-buried flowers, their petals somehow still clinging to life despite the devastation. With an almost delicate touch, he plucked them, carefully dusting off the dirt before tucking them into the folds of his coat, presumably for Mira. “What kind of woman marries something like that?” Ford muttered under his breath, watching X’s odd satisfaction as he pocketed the flowers. “I dunno, maybe he’s a tourist.” Haruo scoffed, “No. He’s a psycho.” Harrison corrected with a dry chuckle, X— still admiring the poorly put together bouquet, smiled and nodded. Haruo rolled his eyes with a groan, finding himself tired of the theatrics. “Jesus. And what’s with the whole ‘X’ thing? You're not a Bond villain, dude. You’re just some asshole with a god complex.” He pointed out, X gave a mock gasp. “Just some asshole?” He muttered, using his free hand to place a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “That stings, Haruo. Truly.” He remarked, Haruo ignored him, instead opting to elaborate. “You could’ve at least made it sound cooler. Something that actually makes sense. Bernie was right about you being possessed by Ghidorah— you should’ve just gone all in and renamed yourself ‘Ghidoren’ or some shit.” Haruo continued, “Nobody’s calling him that either.” Harrison snorted, X’s smile faltered, for the first time since stepping into this ruined city littered with destruction he’d caused, his amusement dimmed. He turned on his heel slightly, his golden eye catching the dim light of a flickering street lamp, making it glow like molten gold beneath his dark brow. “The world never once tried to understand Ren Serizawa.” X muttered, his voice was quieter now, less mocking, less animated— just-matter-of-fact. “The world turned its back on him, and when the world throws you away, you can either beg to be let back in or you can find something greater.” He elaborated, glancing down at his own hands, flexing his fingers as if marveling at them, before looking back at the others. “Ghidorah had faith in me. The world was happy to let me die in that cockpit—” He paused, showing off the spark of electricity crackling in his fingertips, it was faint, but an unmistakable warning. “But Ghidorah saved my life.” X simply put, leading to a beat of silence casting upon the trio. Ford, still eerily quiet, was staring at the ground, his jaw clenched so tightly it might snap. Haruo shifted uncomfortably, Harrison’s expression remained disturbingly unreadable. X rolled his shoulders, his smirk returning— but it didn’t quite reach his eye this time around. “I am X,” He began, as if that was the only explanation they needed. “Because Ren Serizawa was much too complicated for humanity’s liking.” X explained, then, with an almost lazy flick of his wrist, he gestured ahead. “Now, let’s get moving. I’d just hate for you all to die before the real fun begins.” X sneered, watching the sky light on fire.
Spacegodzilla’s corona beams had left their mark— skyscrapers reduced to molten slag, the air heavy with static charge, glass melted into pools of shimmering liquid. The mutant abomination let out a guttural snarl, his crystalline spines pulsating with an unnatural light, but something was wrong— he had hesitated. Shimo’s frozen breath had weakened his armor, Mothra’s silk had slashed at Spacegodzilla’s face, forcing him to stagger backward. As if realizing he had served his purpose, he turned tail and fled— not defeated, not even wounded beyond repair, just.. Leaving. Was Spacegodzilla a mere distraction? Haruo saw it first. “That bastard wasn’t here to fight, he was covering for something—” He concluded, voice barely audible over the roar of retreating energy.. He didn’t need to finish, they all knew what, the real threat wasn’t just Spacegodzilla, it was Mecha-King Ghidorah, his other henchmen, it was whatever the hell X had up his sleeve. Haruo didn’t waste another second, he pivoted, breaking into a sprint toward the abandoned Apex-turned-Monarch facility, where the others were still trapped, likely still surrounded by Xilien soldiers with their cold, lifeless stares and unnerving stillness. “Cover me!” He barked over his shoulder, barely giving Ford and Harrison a moment to process before he was gone, weaving through the rubble with the desperate speed only a man who had already decided he wasn’t going to die today carried. Ford instinctively raised his weapon, scanning the area for incoming threats, his heart pounding— Elle, Sam, where the hell were they? If they were dead, they had—
Click.
The sound was deafening in the sudden silence, it was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked, Ford froze, something cold pressed against the back of his skull. He knew better than to move nor breath, “..Harrison.” Ford’s voice was tight, “What the hell are you doing?” He demanded, X’s smirk widened from a few feet away, watching like a delighted child witnessing a game unfold. Harrison— no, Hayworth.. That realization crashed over Ford like a goddamn tidal wave, Hayworth had been playing the long game this entire time. “Oh, Ford,” Hayworth sighed, his voice drenched in mock sympathy. “You’re smarter than this. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it coming?” He pondered, Ford’s fingers curled around the grip of his own gun, but he didn’t sare move. “Oh, I saw it coming.” X chimed in as if his input was needed, he turned toward them, idly twirling a small piece of debris between his fingers. “But then again, I see everything.” He added, Ford gritted his teeth, Haruo had gone to save those trapped, the facility was still locked down, Spacegozilla had left— but only because he had already done what he needed to do. And now? Now he had a gun to his head and a madman smirking at him like this was all some great joke. “You son of a bitch.” Ford hissed, “Takes one to know one.” Hayworth chuckled.
Notes:
im slowly learning how to write fight scenes 😭 poor haruo was really feeling like the smartest person in the room.. how do we feel ab the hayworth debut?
Chapter 26: christmas kids
Summary:
You'll change your name or change your mind
And leave this fucked up place behind
But I'll know, I'll know
I'll know, I'll know
I'll know, I'll know
I'll know, I'll know
Appearing unsightly with devils inside me
If you ever try to leave me, I'll find you, Ronnie
If you ever try to leave me, I'll find you, Ronnie
If you ever try to leave me, I'll find you, Ronnie
If you ever try to leave me, I'll find you, Ronnie
I'm leaving, Phil, I'm leaving now
I'm going to escape, but you won't know how
Or where to find me when I'm gone
I'll drink myself to death inside this prison cell
This prison cell
So get me out of here
Get me out of here
Get me out of here
Get me out of here
You'll change your name or change your mind
And leave this fucked up place behind
But I'll know, I'll know
I'll know, I'll know
I'll know, I'll know
I'll know, I'll know
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Apex Charity Ball was nothing but a capitalization on desperate, grieving individuals wrapped in tight wrapping paper consisting of evening silk gowns, expensive scotch, and hollow sympathies for the families shattered by Ghidorah’s rampage. The chandeliers overhead dripped with golden light, casting reflections across the sea of power players mingling beneath them. Waiters weaved between clusters of business executives, elitists, and military higher-ups, their trays heavy with imported wine and champagne that cost more than some of the victims’ funeral expenses. At the center of it all stood none other than Walter Simmons, wearing his usual viper’s grin as he addressed the room from an opulent stage, the Apex logo glowing behind him. “We at Apex— unlike ahem, a certain other company.. Understand loss,” Walter purred into the microphone, smirking at the subtle jab he’d thrown in Monarch’s way. “We understand tragedy, but just as importantly, we understand the significance of progress. Tonight, in honor of those lost to Monster Zero’s rampage, we look forward, for what is humanity if not resilient?” Walter pressed, the audience offered polite applause, the kind that said they weren’t truly listening but knew their reaction was expected.
Hayworth took a slow sip of his whiskey, standing near the bar with Maia Simmos under his arm. She looked stunning as always, draped in a sleek green dress that hugged her curves like sin, but her expression was the perfect mirror of his— bored, disinterested, and waiting for the night to be over. “My father, always the showman.” Maia sighed, swirling her champagne lazily in her glass. “That’s one way to put it,” Hayworth muttered, scanning the room for anything interesting. Most people knew him as Apex’s Chief of Security, but in truth, he was far more than that.. A hitman in the shadows, Walter’s personal reaper, tied to the billionaire since they first crossed paths years ago at a Skullcrawler egg auction. Walter had been drawn to him immediately— saw the value in a man with nonpast, no conscience, and no hesitation to do what needed to be done. Now, he was here, playing his part among the elites, pretending he wasn’t already planning his next job.
Then, Hayworth’s attention snapped towards a new arrival: Ren Serizawa, the Chief Technology Officer walked in with his wife, Mira Yamane-Serizawa, and it was almost comical how different they were. Ren was all sharp angles and brooding disinterest, his suit crisp but slightly unkempt, as if he’d barely tolerated putting it on. Mira, on the other hand, radiated warmth and effortless glamour. She was striking— long, dark hair styled in soft waves that cascaded over her shoulders, her fair skin glowing under the chandelier lights. Her burgundy dress clung to her in all the right places, highlighting a figure that could have easily belonged to a movie star. Which made sense, considering she was one, Ren had mentioned Mira was an actress, somewhat well-known in Japan but only moderately famous in the States. More than that, though, she was artsy— the type to spend hours making intricate jewelry, styling the hair and makeup of co-stars just for fun. In short, she was everything Ren wasn’t— bubbly, expressive, and social. And right now, she was effortlessly keeping a conversation going with Maia while Ren.. Well, Ren was standing beside her, muttering in Japanese under his breath as he dumped his champagne into a potted plant. “Ren,” Mira sighed, elbowing him lightly. “What?” Ren deadpanned, “The plant likes it.” He insisted, “Is he always this charming?” Maia stifled a laugh, “You have no idea.” Mira jeered with a grin before turning to meet the gaze of Hayworth and Maia. “It’s nice to meet you both. Ren’s mentioned you.” Mira noted, “Has he?” Hayworth affirmed, arching a brow. “Not really.” Ren grumbled, exhaling through his nose. Mira rolled her eyes, “He’s just being grumpy because he wants to go home. He’s always like this at social events. I told him I’d make it worth his while, but apparently, he’s still suffering.” Mira exaggerated, clearly bordering on a topic Ren didn’t want her to approach based on the wary glance he cast upon her. “Mira—” He began, “What?” She pried, blinking at him with faux innocence. “All I said was that I’d blow you if you powered through it.” She shot back, her tone matter-of-fact as if recalling a memory. Hayworth choked on his drink while Maia’s jaw dropped before she burst into laughter, gleaming with delight. On the contrary, Ren looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. “Jesus Christ, Mira,” He muttered, rubbing his temple. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t love me,” Mira teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Regretting it every second.” Ren uttered, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Liar.” Mira accused. Hayworth smirked, amused despite himself, Maia nudged him with her elbow, giving him a knowing look. “Shame he’s married, he’s cute.” Maia commented, “You already said that.” Hayworth pointed out, “And I stand by it.” Maia nagged, Ren shot her a flat look. “I’m standing right here.” He muttered, “I know!” Maia chirped sweetly, her gaze shifting to Mira. “You sure you don’t want to share?” She pondered, “Nope,” Mira replied cheerfully, tightening her grip on Ren’s arm. “All mine.” She added, they eventually went their separate ways, Ren and Mira disappearing into the crowd. Maia watched them go with a wistful sigh before taking a sip of her drink, “He’s cute.” Maia remarked, “You still—” Hayworth quickly cut him off with an exasperated sigh, having no intention of being in trouble with Walter for arguing with his daughter. “Relax, I'm joking. Mostly.” Maia teased.
Hayworth was about to make a sarcastic remark, but then his sharp gaze zeroed in on her: Sarah Hayes, she was standing near the exit, looking like a rabbit caught in a snare, her breathing was too fast, her fingers clutching the strap of her purse like a lifeline. The very moment their eyes met, she panicked. She turned sharply on her heel, moving toward the doors with quick, clipped steps, her body stiff with fear.. Much to her surprise, Hayworth didn’t move to follow because he didn’t have to, he’d already slashed her car tires earlier that night. Hayworth had killed so many people he knew the pattern— she’d step outside, realize she couldn’t leave, and in her desperation, she’d start to believe she had more time than she really did. It was nothing more than a false sense of security, every competent hitman knew the best way to trap a mouse was to let it think it escaped.
The following morning, the sunrise news droned on in the background, the screen displaying the wreckage of a black sedan twisted around a streetlight, shards of glass glittering like spilled diamonds across the pavement. “Late last night, a fatal car accident claimed the life of two individuals, including Apex Cybernetics employee Sarah Hayes, leaving conspiracy theorist and Titan truther Bernie Hayes—” The reporter droned on, however, Hayworth barely heard the rest, he leaned back in his chair, nursing his corfee as the news anchor went on and on. Walter, standing beside the massive glass window of his office, sipped his scotch— because of course the man was drinking before noon. His expression was unreadable, that viper’s smirk nowhere to be found. Hayworth had known the man long enough to know that indicated he was pleased, “A shame how accidents happen, isn’t it?” Walter uttered, Hayworth exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Mm, real tragedy.” He hummed in agreement, they both knew it wasn’t an accident. Sarah had been marked for months, far too nosy for her own good, sniffing around to give her husband's podcast content, coming across several things she was never meant to be. She tried to go public once— Hayworth made sure she didn’t get the chance to try again, Walter had called it loose ends, Hayworth just called it a job. The elevator doors soon slid open across the room, and in strolled Ren Serizawa. Much to Hayworth’s irritation, the nepo-baby looked as put together as ever— not a hair out of place, tie perfectly knotted, not a single sign that he and Mira had likely spent the entire night doing exactly what she’d implied at the gala. Hayworth felt a smirk tug at his lips, time to poke the bear at the asscrack of dawn! “Late night?” He asked, arching a brow. “You look too good for a guy who got bribed into staying at a party.” He added, Ren didn’t even blink, he just shot Hayworth a flat glance, looking about as interested in the conversation as a man watching paint dry. “I ignore things beneath me.” Ren simply put, “That why you married up?” Hayworth snorted, Ren paused mid-step, there was a beat of silence before he turned his head just enough to shoot Hayworth a look that said, ‘You are exactly three words away from a funeral, and the flowers won’t be nice.’ Hayworth raised his hands in mock surrender. Walter unknowingly broke the tension when he finally tore his attention from the city skyline, swirling the stitch on his glass. “Ren, my boy. Glad you could make it.” Walter noted, Ren exhaled through his nose, barely containing his irritation. “You asked me to come in early.” He pointed out, “Did I?” Walter recalled, feigning suprise as if he hadn’t specifically called him in at the crack of dawn. “Must’ve slipped my mind.” He guessed, Ren stared in annoyance. “Then why am I here?” He pondered, Walter shrugged. “You’re free to do whatever you want. Apex HQ is yours.” He offered, there was a brief silence as Ren’s left eye twitch. “Great, i’m going to sleep in my car until my paid hours start.” Ren deadpanned, Hayworth nearly choked on his coffee. “You came all the way here just to nap in your car?” Hayworth affirmed, “I woke up for nothing,” Ren muttered, already walking away. Walter merely chuckled in amusement, Hayworth, however, wasn’t convinced. He waited until Ren had disappeared down the hall before turning back to Walter. “Alright,” Hayworth began, crossing his arms. “I’ll bite, what’s with keeping Serizawa on a leash all of a sudden?” Hayworth pried, Walter took a leisurely sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. “Insurance.” He simply replied, “Against what?” Hayworth pressed, frowning. Walter’s gaze finally zeroed in on him, that viper’s smirk returning. “Against Monarch giving him a change of heart.” He surmised, and there it was, Ishirō Serizawa’s death had changed things— a lot of things, Monarch was watching.. And Walter? Walter was making sure Ren didn’t start watching back.
The hotel room in 2024 was dark, save for the dim, flickering light of the neon sign outside bleeding througj the blinds, painting everything in a seedy red glow. Maia Simmons lay tangled in the silk sheets beside Hayworth, her chestnut hair spilling over the pillow, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The smell of expensive perfume, sweat, and sex lingered thick and heavily in the air. Hayworth sat at the edge of the bed, half-dressed, lighting a cigarette with the same indifference he gave to everything in life. “You always gotta brood after?” Maia jeered in a husky and sleep-drenched voice, Hayworth chuckled, “You want me to write you a love letter instead?” He shot back, exhaling a slow curle of smoke. Maia snorted, stretching out like a lazy cat, the sheets slipping lower. “God, no.” She jeered, they both knew what this was— it wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t serious, all it was was convenient. Apex was too full of vulture for either of them to trust anyone else.. Besides, Maia was being paraded around like a prize horse, her dear old dad trying to marry her off to some billonaire heir to another empire— someone rich enough to merge fortunes and strengthen legacies. However, Maia simply wasn’t interested.. As for Hayworth, he just didn’t give a damn. “So,” Maia drawled, rolling onto her side, watching him with those sharp hazel eyes. “Are you gonna actually stay this time, or you gonna sneak off and do your little hitman thing?” She pried, Hayworth barked a laugh. “You say that like you don’t love it.” He shot back, Maia flashed him a wicked grin. “I like my men dangerous, not pathetic.” She simply put, Hayworth turned, leaning in close, pressing his mouth to the hollow of her throat, feeling the way her pulse jumped beneath his lips. “Good thing i’m both.” He muttered against her lips, Maia’s laugh was breathy, hands sliding over his shoulders, nails scraping lightly his back. “You’re such a bastard.” She jeered, biting his ear, “Never stops you.” Hayworth shot back.
After the Hong Kong masacre, the hotel TV flickered with the breaking news: “Apex Cybernetics CEO Walter Simmons has been confirmed dead after his own creation, Mechagodzilla, turned against him. Meanwhile, Monarch’s Hollow Earth exploration team has verified that Simmons’ daughter, Maia Simmons, perished when her HEAV was crushed upon impact—” The Anchor began, Hayworth leaned forward, elbows on his knees— Maia. He didn’t expect it to hit liie this. Walter? The self-important bastard had it coming. No part of him felt even a twinge of regret for Apex’s downfall or its leader being torn apart by its own arrogance. As for Ren, Serizawa’s boy? The golden bot turned out to be just as disposable as the rest. Apex’s prodigy engineer, swooped in by Walter when Mrs. Serizawa passed, now rotting in a coma somewhere in Monarch’s custody. Maybe he’d wake up, maybe he wouldn’t it didn’t matter.. But Maia— Maia was really gone.. She was the only thing in Apex that felt real, the only person who got it. Now? He was alone? And, apparently, on the goddamn FBI’s most wanted list. “Authorities have issued an immediate arrest warrant for Apex Security Chief—” The news anchor went on to say his name, his real name, the name he’d shed years ago in the underbelly of this world. He allowed a small and humorless smile to spread across his face, they thought they knew who he was, they thought he was Hayworth. “You got it all wrong, pal.” He muttered under his breath, getting up and pulling a duffel bag from under the bed. Inside— a new passport, new ID: Harrison Cross. Born May 3rd, 1995, complete with a fabricated social security number and military records about to be written. The best place to hide? Right in plain sight. He ran a hand through his hair, giving himself a final once-over in the dirty mirror, Hayworth was dead, in the grave just as his last few aliases were, but Harrison had just been born.
The first thing Maia Simmons registered after blacking out was pain, a sharp, searing ache lanced through her ribs as she gasped awake, her lungs burning as if they’d been crushed alongside the HEAV. The stentch of burnt wires, blood, and crushed bone filled the cockpit, mingling with the eerie, electric hum of Hollow Earth’s ecosystem. She tried to move, proving to be a big mistake as her left arm screamed in protest, the pain so visceral it made her vision swim. Her ribs weren’t faring much better, at the very least cracked. She tilted her head, wincing at the effort. The twisted wreckage of the HEAV surrounded her, its once-sleek frame now nothing short of a metallic carcass. Sparks crackled from exposed wiring, dancing like fureflkes in the dim glow of bioluminescent floria. And then, there was the bodies of her mercenaries— her men laying sprawled, their forms twisted and mangled beyond recongition. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, the goddamn monkey did this, but not without help.. Ilene, Nathan, that brat, Jia. They left her here, they let that oversized monkey crush the HEAV and didn’t even look back. Maia’s fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into her palm. “Son of a bitch.” She hissed, thinking of her father and the goddamn empire she was supposed to be the succesor to— of the wealth and power she was meant to inheirt, the only reason she agreed to oversee any of this in the first place. She was Maia Simmons, she wasn’t supposed to be rotting in a godforsaken prehistoric nightmare, Maia forced herself to let out a slow and steady breath, she had to get the hell out of here.
Maia learned quickly that Hollow Earth didn’t care she was Maia Simmons, the heiress of Apex Cybernetics. It didn’t care she grew up in mansions, that she rode her own damn pony as a kid while the rest of Medico starved outside her estate’s gates.. Hollow Earth had significantly more rules than she did, growing up, the only rules were ‘Don’t touch Papá’s powder’ and ‘Don’t bother Papá when he’s talking to the likes of the Cartels and Politicans’ (though those men had no problem talking to her, sniffing thirteen year old Maia’s hair, going on and on about what a well-formed lady she’d grow up to be.) No, Hollow Earth took one look at her and said: Survive, or die. So, she survived, she learned what berries wouldn’t kill her, how to carve meat from fallen creatures, how to use sharp bones as makeshift weapons, she learned how to move through the terrarin like a ghost— most importantly, how to avoid becoming prey. Though, just because she adapted didn’t mean she hated it any less, she still hated every secod of it. But when the Titan-hunting mech finally found her— three years later, she was still alive. The first thijg Maia saw when she stepped back onto the surface was Raymond Martin’s grim expression, the second thing she saw was the Monarch soliders waiting for her. “Maia Simmons, you’re under arrest.” One of the soliders barked, taking a sharp step forward. “Excuse me?” Maia spat, her blood turning to ice at the very thought. “You are being charged for your direct involvement in the 2024 Hong Kong incident which led to catastrophic destruction, mass casulaities, and the activation of a rogue AI Titan.” The solider continued, Maia turned sharply on her heel to glare at Martin, rage bubbling up like magma. “You didn’t think to mention this?” She demanded, Martin shrugged. “Thought you’d figure it out yourself.” Martin grumbled, Maia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She spent three years fighting to survive, and for what? For this?
In the present day, the air inside the ruined city of Hong Kong was thick— thick with dust, thick with tension, thick with the weight of far too many unspoken words. And yet, admist the chaotic din of flickering monitors and the distant hum of collapsing infrastructure, he could hear him. “You’re a hard man to track, Hayworth.” Harrison, no, Hayworth— didn’t so much as flinch. To the outside world, he and X had merely exchanged a glance, nothing more than a brief, wordless acknowledgment. But in his mind, it was a different story. “Harrison’s a cute name,” X mused, his voice slithering through the walls of Hayworth’s consciousness like smoke, coiling around his memories, his past, his secrets. “Not as charming as Hayworth, though. Has a nice, old-world elegance to it. Almost makes me feel bad about pulling it out of your skull like a loose tooth.” Damn telepath, Hayworth gritted his teeth, refusing to give X the satisfaction of a reaction. “Relax,” X drawled, his presence flickering like static behind Hayworth’s eyes. “I’m not here to blow your cover. Not yet, anyway.. But I have to ask..” There was a pause, a beat of silence that stretched into something bordering on dangerous, even for a man who’d killed people. “What exactly is your game?” X pried, Hayworth remained stone-faced, eyes locked onto Ford like a predator circling prey, worst of all? He could feel X sifting theough his memories, the late nights spent under Apex’s employ, the charity gala where he and Maia had laughed at Ren— now X, dumping champagne into a plant, the way her body had felt tangled with his under dim hotel lights, the cold realization that Walter Simmons was dead, that Apex was gone, that he was alone. X had seen it all, and based on the condescending look on his face, he was enjoying it. “You miss her,” X noted, his tone almost amused. “How sentimental.” X added, Hayworth exhaled slowly through his nose in irritation, stablizing his grip on the gun resting at his hip. “You miss your father,” He shot back in his mind. X’s presence shuddered, then laughter. It was soft at first, a low chuckle skating across Hayworth’s nerves like a dull knife, then it grew. “Oh, that’s adorable.” X cooed in a mocking daccharine. “Tell me, does poking at my daddy issues— which, aren’t even daddy issues, my father was the one with the issues make you feel better about your commitment issues?” X pried, Hayworth didn’t answer, because in the real world, Ford was watching, and Ford was too sharp not to notice the way his eyes had lingered on X for a secnd too long. “Careful,” X whispered, the warning a slow, deliberate thing. “Woildn’t want our dear military friend over there getting any ideas, would we?” He pondered, Hayworth turned his attenion back to Ford, slipping into character like a second skin— Harrison was cold, professional, detached, and took nothing seriously. He just had to hold out a little longer, just a few more moments, and then, when the time was right.. He’d pull the trigger.
X’s golden eye gleamed with a sadistic amusement he’d likely gotten from Ghidorah, but there was no doubt Ren Serizawa would also get a kick out of this, the golden glow casting eerie reflections against the ruins of Hong Kong. “Well, this has been fun.” X mused, clasping his hands behind his back like a king admiring his throne of wreckage and despair. He tilted his head at Ford specifically, drinking in the solider’s barely-contained rage. “But I have places to be, people to see.. Your wife and son, for starters.” X sneered, Ford’s entire body tensed, muscles coiled like a spring, eyes sharp as the blade of a combat knife. His breath was steady, but the way his fingers twitched near his sidearm betrayed him. “You touch them,” Ford began in a voice low and tight with warning. “and I swear to God, i’ll—” Ford vowed, “Swear to God?” X cut him off, mocking disbelief laced in his voice. He let out a light, cruel chuckle, stepping forward until he was just within arm’s reach. “Ford, Ford, Ford.. Haven’t you heard?” X paused, leaning in just enough for his whisper to slither into Ford’s ear. “God is dead. I made sure of it.” X hissed, his tone losing its playfulness. And with that, he pivoted in his heel, turning toward his Xilien henchmen. “Ensure neither of them go anywhere,” He instructed lazily, waving a hand in their direction as if they were a mere inconveinence rather than two highly trained military men. The Xilien soliders responded with a synchronized nod, their unnatural stillness making them appear more like wraiths than men. Then, X turned toward Hayworth, a smirk toying at his lips, his gaze lazily sweeping over the man who had so carefully hidden in the shadows all these years. “You remember who you work for now, don’t you?” X muttered, his words a silken noose tightening around Hayworth’s throat. To his credit, Hayworth held his ground, his expression a mask of indifference, but it was useless, as X could hear the static hum of defiance creeping at the edges of his mind.. A challenge, a little ember just waiting to be snuffed out, X’s grin widened. “That’s what I assuned.” X stated, before syeppinf backward into a swirling portal of violet energy, the fabric of reality folding around him like rippling water.. His parting words lingered like the taste of poison on the air. “Wish me luck, family reunions can be so emotional.” X cooed, and just like that— he was gone, leaving behind only the echo of his laughter and the tightening of Ford’s clenched fists.
On the other side of the world, San Diego was dying. The sky, once a brilliant California blue, had turned the color of old bruises— dark putple clouds churning with unnatural smog. The air itself was a weapon, thick with disease, laced with the acrid stench of decay and chemicals. Hedorah slithered across the ruined landscape, leaving pools of bubbling sludge in his wake, each breath he exhaled spreading an invisible plague that sent civillans crumpling like discarded puppets. Above, Gigan’s saws screeched through the air, slicing into Behemoth’s thick hide as the Titan bellowed in pain, trying desperately to swipe the cybernetic menace away. Queen MUTO lunged at Monster X, only to be caught mid-air by a gravity beam straight to the chest, his armored plating crackling under the assault. Rodan, fierce and unyieling, dove at Mecha-King Ghidorah, but the machine-monster hybrid barely even flinched, quite the cruel devil consisting of metal and malice.
And in the middle of all this, Elle and Sam Brody dashed through the ruins. They had no weapons, no protection beyond the gas masks strapped to their faces, no direction beyond their survivial insticts. Around them, humans dropped like flies, the airborne disease rotting their lungs before they even hit the ground. Sam, now eighteen, clutched Elle’s wrist as he guided her past an overturned bus, flames licking hungrily at its shattered windows. His mother’s breath was harsh, ragged from exertion, but she kept moving, kept pushing forward because stopping meant dying. “The shelters are full, where the hell are we supposed to go?!” Sam panted, Elle scanned the horizon, her pulse a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. A Titan shelter loomed in the distance, its entrance barricaded by desperate civillains banging on the doors, pleading for a sliver of safety, however, the guards inside didn’t budge. She felt her stomach twisted, coming to the realization that they were out of options. Though, things could always go from bad to worse, the air began to crackle, reality bent, split apart like tearing fabric. A violet portal ripped itself into existence before them, swirling with unnatural energy.. And out stepped a nightmare, stepping onto the nightmare-packed scrne was none other than X, draped in his usual dark ensemble, his singular golden eye gleaming like a predator catching sigjt of prey. He strode forward withbthe arrogance of a mannwhonbelieved himself untouchable— because he was, or at the very least, he sure thought he was. The moment he took a breath, he doubled over, coughing violenly. Elle and Sam froze, watching as X’s choking hacks shattered the illusion of his invulnerability, his body convulsed as his lungs rejected the foul air. Hedorah’s toxins, an airborne plague, clawed at him from the inside. He pressed a hand to his mouth, his gloved fingers coming away slick with darkened spit. For a moment, he looked furious— disgusted that his body still reacted like that of a human. But then, a slow, cruel grin spread across his lips.. It was proof, after all. Proof that he wa leaving his humanity behind, proof that soon, he wouldn’t be human at all. Straightening himself, he finally turned his attention to Elle and Sam, his grin widening like a wolf sizing up its cornered prey. “You must be Elle and Sam Brody, I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but, well.. Let’s not start this relationship off with lies.” X mused, his voice a silken, oddly venomous purr. Elle instinctively moved in front of her son, “Who the hell are you?” She demanded, her voice sharp despite the fear clawing at her throat. “You can call me X.” He introduced with a polite bow, allowing the name to hang in the air for a moment— letting it settle in their bones like a sickness. “I would’ve said Ford says hi, although..” X added almost absentmindently, trailing off and intentionally leaving the sentence unfinished. Elle’s blood ran cold while Sam stiffened beside her, the weight of that incomplete thought was heavier than any outright threat. Elle’s breath caught in her throat, “Where is she? What did you do?” She demanded, X simply smiled, unbothered, unconcered, utterly delighted at her panic, but he didn’t answer because he didn’t need to, her mind was already filling in the blanks. The remnants of San Diego stood like a graveyard, a city of dying embers and hushed whispers of what once was. Smoke curled from collapsed buildings, dancing like ghosts in the toxin-choked air. Despite the devastatin, the earth had begun to claim the ruins, wildflowers blooming defiantly through cracked pavement, their petals stark against the ash and blood. X walked leisurely among them, plucking a handful of delicate blossoms as if he wasn’t standing in the middle of an apocalyptic battlefield. His gloved fingers traced over the petals, a rare softness in his otherwise merciless demanor. “These should do.” X muttered, mostly to himself. Elle watched him like a hawk, her hands curled into tight fists. “You’re picking flowers with everything going on, that’s what you’re woried about?” Elle snapped, though X did not look up. “They’re for my wife.” He simply stated, as if that explained everything. Sam, standing slightly behind his mother, crossed his arms. “You’re out here committing war crimes and still simping for your wife?” He grumbked, at that, X finally turned, tilting his head with an almost amused expression. “Would you rather I commit war crimes and be single?” X grumbled, Sam opened his mouth, then quickly closed it, as if stating X had a fair point. “You’re unbelieveable.” Elle sighed, shaking her head. X merely smirked, but the amusement was short-lived, watching as Elle’s gaze flickered to the black leather of his eyepatch, the skin around it slightly swollen, tinged red. She’d seen enough battlefield wounds in her life to recongize an infection festering beneath. “How long has your eye been like that?” She asked, arms crossed. X clicked his tongue, clearly not interested in discussing his own mortality. “Oh, I don’t know. Since it got impaled by shrapnel, perhaps?” He pondered, though Elle wasn’t having it. “If it’s infected, you’ll lose more than just the eye. You might not care about dying, but you should care about your wife seeing you rot.” Elle protested, that made X pause, the smirk twitched, then faded. After a beat if silence, “Fine. Fix it.” X sighed, rolling his singular golden eye.
The clinic was long dead, its walls covered in grime, the air thick with the scent of decay and dust. Broken medical equipment littered the floor, shattered glass crunching beneath their boots. Sam trailed behind them, his gaze darting around uneasily. X dropped to the edge of a rusted hospital bed, sitting like a king expecting his wounds to be tended to. Elle rummaged through a half-ransacked supply cabinet, pulling out a half-empty bottle of antiseptic, some gauze, and a set of forceps. Elle turned back to him with a look of pure skepticism. “Take off the eyepatch.” She ordered, X hesitated, then, with a sharp exhalec he peeled it off, revealing what was left of his right eye socket, Sam let out a wince at the sight alone. It wasn’t just an empty socket— it was a battlefield. Raw and inflamed scar tissue stretched over where his eye once was, and there was clear swelling beneath the damaged tissue, infection had set in, darkening the surronding skin. Elle didn’t say anything, she just got to work, she pressed a cloth soaked in his antiseptic against the wound, and X hissed through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into the cot. “Don’t be such a baby.” Elle grumbled, “Don’t stab my face with alcohol, and I won’t be.” X shot back, Sam watched from the doorway, still grimacing. “Man, you really lost that thing, huh?” Sam muttered, X’s good eye flicked to him, golden eye boring into his soul. “Astute observation.” X grumbled sarcastically, Sam didn’t get the clue and rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, Ren Serizawa lost his eye back in 2024.” Sam pointed out, failing to notice when X stilled. “And I mean— look, I don’t know if this is just racial profiling, but two Asian guys losing their eye in Titan-related accidents?” He paused, gesturing vaguely. “Kind of a weird coincidence..” Sam muttered, Elle shot Sam a glare of warning. “Sam, stop.” Elle demanded, but X.. Much to the mother and sons suprise, laughed, it wasn’t his usual mocking cackle, but something softer— darker. He tilted his head, studying Sam like a puzzle. Then, after a beat of eerie silence, he spoke, his voice lower— quieter. “I’ve told many people before, the world didn’t want to understand Ren Serizawa.” X put simply, letting the words hang in the stale air.
The cot groaned beneath X’s weight as he leaned back, still feeling the sting of rubbing alcohol, he had half a mind to give her some sarcastic remark— until her eyes hardened into something colder, something cruel. “Sam, hold him down.” Elle demanded, before he could procress the shift in atmosphere, Sam lurched forward, his full weight slamming against X’s shoulders, effectively pinning him to the cot. X’s golden eye widened in shock, but before he could react or retiliate, a sudden, searing pain ripped through his skull. Elle had plunged a pair of rusty medical scissors deep into the already mangled pit where his right eye once was, X felt the world fracture, the sound of X’s groans of pain rippling through the abandoned clinic like the wail of something inhuman, a tortured, raw noise full of rage and agony. It wasn’t pain that enraged him, it was the sheer audacity. With a snarl that curled his lips back to reveal his teeth, X’s fingers snapped upward, and suddenly— the air shifted. A black hole of energy ripped through the space behind him, a swirling vortex of blue and violet flames, crackling like a wound in reality itself. Elle and Sam had no time to react before a sudden cold and unnatural force wrapped around their limbs, an invisible grip dragging them helplessly forward. Sam let out a startled yelp, his sneakers scraiping against the tile. “Oh, hell no—” He stammered, Elle clawed at the edges of the cot, but both attempts proced to be fruitless. X, face contored in murderous fury, flung them into the gaping mouth of the portal.
The air inside the Xilien cell was creepily unnatural, the metal walls hummed softly, pulsing like a living thing. Elle and Sam hit the ground with an unforgiving thud, groaning as they scrambled to their feet. “Well, look who decided to join the party.” Josh Valentine muttered, slumped against the wall with his arms crossed, looking only mildly suprised as if this were a typical Tuesday. “Great, you’re here too?” Elle exhaled, rubbig her temple. “Yep. Been here for awhile. Welcome to X’s house of fun.” Josh declared, gesturing to the glowing forcefield sealing the cell. “Try not to touch the walls. I did, bad time.” Josh warned, Sam huffed, still catching his breath. “I’d ask how we’re getting out, but I feel like that answer involves pain.” Sam grumbled, “Lots of it.” Josh confirmed. Meanwhie, X strode through the silver halls, still feeling the ghost of pain throbbing— his eye still burning, and more importantly, his rage still boiled. But for now, he had other priorities. Mira stood at the far end of the throne room, arms crossed, she didn’t turn when he entered. X approached, his boots echoing softly against the floor before he held out the bundle of dead and battered flowers. Mira’s gaze flickered downward, and then back up, lacking any warmth in her expression. “..You’ve been gone for a while.” Mira pointed out, X smiled, “Busy making the world understand.” X stated, though, Mira didn’t reach for the flowers, he sighed, setting them down on the consile. “I was thinking, maybe it’s time we start trying for children.” X mused, Mira’s fingers visibly tensed, “I don’t want to bring a child into a world like this.” She grumbled, X’s smile faltered, but he still looked at her with love with his one good eye. “Once I’m finished, once the humans understand—” X insisted, Mira shook her head, continuonsly shutting him down. “You’re not ‘finishing’ anything. You’re destroying everything.” Mira snapped, X’s jaw clenched. “We’ll leave.. We’ll go to Planet X, start over.” He muttered, his eye gleaming with something almost desperate. Mira let out a sharp exhale, placing her hand over X’s. “I wanted a family, but with Ren Serizawa. Not with X.” She admitted, the words hit harder than Elle’s blade, X’s fingers tightened at his sides, his breath slow and measured. “You had no way of knowing what would happen in Hong Kong.” Mira paused, “But this time? You know exactly what you’re doing, and you’re enjoying it.” Mira pointed out, her eyes meeting his.. A tense silence soon stretched between them, X broke it by slowly tilting his head, the gold in his eye fading. “You understood Ren Serizawa, but I can help you understand X.” X promised, Mira didn’t move nor spoke, but the look in her eyes said it all— she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.
Notes:
a lot of this chapter was to fill in the gaps for relatively minor characters such as maia and hayworth— give them backstories so i can help my audience care for them, are there any characters whos backstory yall would wanna see moving forward??
Chapter 27: not
Summary:
It's not the energy reeling
Nor the lines in your face
Nor the clouds on the ceiling
Nor the clouds in space
It's not the phone on the table
Nor the bed in the earth
Nor the bed in the stable
Nor your stable words
It's not the formless being
Nor the cry in the air
Nor the boy I'm seeing
With her long black hair
It's not the open weaving
Nor the furnace glow
Nor the blood of you bleeding
As you try to let go
It's not the room
Not beginning
Not the crowd
Not winning
Not the planet
Not spinning
Not a rouse
Not heat
Not the fire lapping up the creek
Not food
Not to eat
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Typically, the first thing anyone ever noticed about Mira Yamane was her presence, her ability to fill every room she entered, not because she tried to— but because she simply was. She spoke with her hands, with her eyes, with her entire being, a force of life so bright and electric that people often forgot to ask where that light came from, and that? That was just how she liked it.
Mira was born in a hospital that smelled like cheap disinfectant and cigarette smoke, the kind of place where the doctors worked too many hours and forgot to smile at the blessing of a healthy baby being born. Her mother, Yukari Yamane, was exhausted but relieved, fingers brushing back damp strands of Mira’s hair as she cooed softly in reassurance, her father wasn’t there, Genshiro Shiragami was always somewhere else. As a result, Mira grew up learning how to pretend, pretending she didn’t hear the shouting, pretending her mother’s face wasn’t always tired, pretending that the name ‘Shiragami’ didn’t come with whispers in the streets.. But Yamane— that name had no baggage, the name gave her a clean slate. Yukari had insisted on it, “Erika is already tied to him, I won’t make that mistake again, you deserve a life of your own.” She had muttered one night in a voice laced with regret.. And at her mother’s string-pulling, she was never a Shiragami, never tied to Genshiro’s failures, his illegal experiments, his name staining every headline. Instead, she was Mira Yamane, a girl with too much energy and a wild imagination, who drew on walls when no one was looking and wore plastic jewelry like it was treasure. She was a girl who learned early that the only way to drown out the past was to be louder than it.
As she got older, Mira became a spectacle, she talked too much, laughed too hard, threw herself into every conversation like it was a stage. She was the kind of girl who could charm an entire room without trying, the kind of girl who would paint one's nails while gossiping, throw glitter on their shoes, leave a piece of herself in everything she touched. One thing she hated was silence, hated the way it made her think too much, made her remember the father she never wanted to acknowledge, the sister who had died too young. Was that selfish? Maybe, but regardless, she kept moving— kept creating. She knew from the moment she was old enough to understand what her father did that science wasn’t for her, Mira wanted pops of color, expression, emotion, she sketched on napkins, painted murals in alleys, starting doing her classmates’ makeup at sixteen just because she liked the way it made them feel, she got into acting because it let her be anyone but herself, got into jewelry-making because it let her craft something from nothing. Everything she did, everything she touched— it was hers, hers to create, hers to control, hers to shape into something wonderful. For once, she wasn’t running from her past, instead, she was building her own future. And nobody— not her father, not her name, not her ghosts— could dare to take that away.
The school Mira attended in Tokyo filled to the brim with the offspring of CEOs, celebrities, and the occasional lottery winner who got it just so the school couldn’t be called classist— reeked of old money and polished wood, the kind of place where students walked through the halls like they already owned half the place. Mira could care less, she strode in wearing chunky silver jewelry and with her hair styled in a way that would’ve made her mother sigh. She took the whispers and stares with a grin, assuming they never saw style before as she adjusted the multiple rings on her fingers, surveying the room. She noted that everyone here looked like they came from a factory that only produced the highest caliber of rich kids, complete with tailored uniforms, perfect posture, that distinct air of entitlement that only came from the knowledge of their last names holding more power than most people’s entire existence. Mira wasn’t one of them, she was here by lottery— a fluke, some of them called called it, but Mira didn’t care, she let them talk as she was used to standing out anyway.
In the sea of entitled rich kids, Mira saw him— a boy sitting alone near the window, hunched over his desk with a look that suggested he wished he could phase through it. His uniform was perfect, pristine— but he didn’t flaunt it like the others, Mira noted a sheer lack in a designer watch or arrogant smirk, swapped out for a quiet presence, as if he were trying to make himself smaller. She liked that, so, naturally, she sat next to him. “Hey, I’m Mira.” She greeted, despite the silence, her smile did not fade. Even when the boy glanced at her like he wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or someone behind him. “…Ren Serizawa.” He muttered, his voice was quiet and almost reluctant, noticeably dropping to a lower pitch when he said his surname. Mira tilted her head, examining him— there was something heavy in his gaze, something distant, like he’d already given up on people before they even had the chance to know him, and then she noticed the way the other students were looking at him.. The smirke, the whispers, the barely-concealed laughter, she caught a few phrases that suggested the jeers stemmed from his name— Serizawa, ohhhh! The crazy scientist’s kid, right, how could she forget? She had seen his father on TV before, talking about gods and monsters, Titans and balance, looking too passionate, too eccentric for the polished world of academia. Mira had grown up in chaos, eccentricity didn’t scare her, to be frank, it drew her in, but not everyone was as open-minded as her, such as her schoolmates.. They fed on it, she caught snippets of their snide remarks: “Bet he talks to Rodan in his free time,” “Maybe he’ll bring his dad’s tinfoil hat to class,” “Serizawa probably thinks the dinosaurs are coming back next.” However, Mira didn’t laugh, instead opting to prop her chin on her hand and grin at Ren. “So, you’re famous.” She observed, “Not the good kind..” Ren muttered, avoiding eye contact as if he was unsure if she was making an elaborate jap at him. “Good, bad— it’s all the same, people are talking.” Mira countered, he finally gave her a look, trying to decide if she was mocking him, though, she really wasn’t. Mira liked outcasts, she liked people who didn’t try to be like everyone else, and Ren Serizaw? His surname ensured he couldn’t do anything of the sort even if he tried, so she decided, right then and there— they were going to be friends.
Of course, befriending someone who would much rather his own company as opposed to a group of people proved to be a challenge, but Mira was determined, which brought her to the library that reeked of old paper and stale ambition, filled to the brim with students who either actually wanted to learn or were just killing time before their next class. As for Mira? She was a special case as she wasn’t here for either reason, she was here to bother Ren. She spotted him immediately, he was hunched over a clunky early-2000s computer, fingers furiously flying over the keyboard, completely absorbed in whatever he was doing. A smirk tugged at Mira’s lips at just how easy this was, with silent steps, she snuck up behind him, about to say something— then she saw him suddenly slam the tab shut, huh, that’s suspicious.. “Oh my God,” Mira began, her smirk widening. “Were you watching porn?” She demanded, grinning as if she just found gold. Ren froze in place, slowly coming out of his trance to turn to meet her gaze, eyes wide with a blank face. “What?!” He hissed under his breath, “No! I wasn’t— why would you—” He stammered, Mira crossed her arms in amusement, flashing him a knowing look. “That’s exactly what someone watching porn in the library would say.” She shot back, Ren made an exasperated noise, running a hand through his inky hair. “Okay. Fine. Look.” He caved, minimizing the browser and hesitantly reopening the tab. Mira leaned in, at first, she had to squint at the screen— then her eyes widened upon realizing it was a Twitter page, GhidoraStan64. Despite being in a library, she unapologetically burst into a fit of laughter. “No way.” Mira muttered in disbelief, leaning on his shoulder as she scrolled through the account. “This is you? You’re GhidoraStan64?” She affirmed, “Don’t say it out loud.” Ren groaned, but Mira’s smile only widened as she scrolled through the countless sarcastic, rude, and downright deranged tweets belonging to the early days of the internet.. Most were directed at Monarch and, more specifically— “Damn, you have it out for Vivienne Graham.” Mira obderbed, reading one of his tweets.
GhidoraStan64: Monarch’s new discovery: Behemoth breathes air. Amazing work, guys. I’m sure a lot of you masurbate to the sounds of his groaning.
Ren raised his hands defensively, “She’s practically my dad’s kid. He likes her more than me, not that that’s a high bar..” He trailed off, Mira only snorted, still scrolling away.
GhidoraStan64 replying to MonarchOfficial: Wow, another useless Titan update. Tell me something interesting, like Graham's salary. She must be making a fortune to be that insufferable, I seriously think I developed a hatred for the British because of her and her alone.
Mira hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time, nearly falling out of the chair before she caught herself. “Ren. Ren, this is the funniest thing I have ever seen.” Mira commented, surprised that the constantly brooding Ren Serizawa spent his free time harassing Vivienne Graham, Ren flashed her a rare half-smile. “Yeah?” He muttered, “Oh, absolutely.” Mira confirmed, cracking her knuckles. “Let me tweet something.” She pestered, Ren seemed hesitant, but sighed. “Fine, don’t make it stupid.” He grumbled, despite his lack of encouragement, Mira cracked her knuckles and began typing just as furiously as Ren was moments ago.
GhidoraStan64: BREAKING NEWS: Monarch scientists confirm that Titans, despite being responsible for destruction, are nature's protectors. We here at GhidoraStan64 are absolutely shocked by this revelation and are curious to know if Abaddon would like to join us next time we cook crack.
Mira pressed post excitedly, Ren blinked at the screen, then to her delight— he actually chuckled! What a feat, getting someone as stoic as him to show any emotions, let alone positivity. “Okay, that was good.” He begrudgingly admitted, Mira nudged him. “See? You should let me do this more often.” She pressed, “Absolutely not.” Ren was quick to shoot her request down, but there was a lingering smile on her face, enduring that for the first time since they crossed paths, he didn’t seem like the ghost of a person waiting to disappear.
Mira had always known Ren was rich, that much was obvious in the way he carried himself— not quite flaunting the wealth, but never experiencing the same struggles she did. Still, knowing Ren was rich and seeing the sheer size of his house were two very different things. She tilted her head back, eyes wide as they took in the grand architecture. “This is a house? Looks more like a small palace.” She muttered under her breath, “It’s just a house, Mira.” Ren grumbled with a sigh, “Yeah, and I’m just a girl,” She shot back, stepping through the doorway. The first thing Mira observed about the house was her whole apartment could fit in his living room alone, and the decor— everything was an old mural of sorts likely passed through generations, it was the type of house that made her feel guilty for breathing too hard. Before Mira could make any more perky comments, a woman’s voice rang out. “Ren!” She greeted, Ren flinched, whereas Mira turned toward the voice, only to see a woman approaching with a warm smile. She was beautiful— elegant, poised, and unmistakably Ren’s mother. Her smile widened when she saw Mira, “Oh, you must be Mira!” She greeted, taking a step forward. “Ren’s told me a lot about you.” She added, “All good things, I hope.” Mira beamed, “Of course.” Mrs. Serizawa chuckled, Mira could feel Ren shifting awkwardly beside her. “Come, come sit down,” His mother offered, gesturing toward the living room. “It’s lovely to finally meet one of Ren’s friends. His father took much longer to introduce me to his family.” She paused, flashing Ren the kind of smile that meant she was about to tell one of his most humiliating stories just to get a chuckle out of Mira. “So at least you have more social skills than Ishirō did. Albeit slightly.” She added, “Okaachan..” Ren muttered, cutting her off. Mira grinned, she already liked Mrs. Serizawa, even as the conversation stayed light, consisted of surface-level pleasantries, small talk about school, and how they met. Ren’s mother was engaging, kind, and so different from how Ren carried himself. Mira couldn’t help but wonder if he got his demeanor from his father as opposed to his mother.
After a while, Ren nudged her arm. “Come on, let’s go to my room, we have a project to do..” He mumbled, avoiding his mother’s gaze when she arched a brow. “Leave the door open.” She urged, “I know.” Ren grumbled, Mira had to bite back a laugh, though she still followed him down the hall to his room, and when they got inside she let out a gawk. “You’re kidding,” Mira muttered, spinning in a circle as she took in the bookshelves, neatly arranged engineering projects, and an entire desk dedicated to technological projects. “Your room is bigger than my entire apartment.” She observed, unsure how anyone with this much resources at their fingertips could ever be as broody as Ren constantly was, “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m rich.” He grumbled, rolling his eyes. Mira went on to flop onto his bed, patting the spot next to her. “Alright, let’s pierce your ear.” She declared with a grin, Ren stiffened as if taken aback. “What?” He stammered, “You heard me,” Mira repeated, sitting up. “You’ve got the perfect face for it. An earring would look good on you.” She added, Ren gazed at her in a mixture of disbelief and irritation, then quickly narrowed his eyes. “No.” He declared, “Come on. What, are you scared?” Mira pressed, “Yes.” Ren deadpanned, “Oh my God. Don’t be such a baby.” Mira snickered, Ren crossed his arms. “I don’t trust you with a needle.” He argued, Mira shrugged. “Fair enough.” She admitted, “But come on, live a little!” She persuaded, Ren let out a sharp exhale and reluctantly sat down in front of her. “This is stupid..” He muttered, “You won’t regret it.” Mira assured, with quick hands, she took the needle she brought (of course she brought one— she was Mira!) and lined it up with his earlobe. “On three,” She warned, Ren nodded, “One—” Mira began, stabbing the needle through his ear. “OW— WHAT THE HELL—” Ren yelped, barely audible over Mira’s witch cackling. “You said on three!” Ren protested, grabbing his ear, eyes wide in betrayal. “Yeah, but then you would’ve tensed up, this was better.” Mira countered between laughs, “This was NOT better!” Ren shot back, glaring at her, but Mira only grinned in response to the glare. “Pick one.” She offered, holding up a small earring. Realizing he’d lost, Ren grumbled something inaudible under his breath but took the earring regardless, Mira could tell even though he’d never admit it, he liked it.
Since Mira had met Ren’s family, it was common courtesy he’d meet hers. Though, Mira had never been nervous to bring a guy home. She figured, why would she? Most of the guys she dated weren’t serious enough to introduce to her parents, and the ones who were never stuck around long enough to make it past the front door. But Ren— Ren was different, he wasn’t just some boyfriend-of-the-month, he was here. And now, as they climbed the stairs to her family’s cramped apartment, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye— he looked like he wanted to bolt. “You okay there, champ?” Mira teased, Ren shoved his hands into his coat pockets as if he was worried he’d get mugged. “Fine.” He muttered, “Liar.” Mira snorted, Ren didn’t argue, opting to instead exhale through his nose. Mira knew him well enough by now— he wasn’t scared. Just quiet and very reserved, but she also knew meeting new people outside of his circle soured his mood, and unfortunately for him, her family was a lot of people. Putting on a grin, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. Immediately, the scent of curry and paint thinner hit her nose. “Okaachan, I’m home.” Mira called out, from the kitchen, her mother appeared, drying her hands on a towel. “Ah! Mira— oh! Who is this?” She asked, Mira turned to gesture at Ren, who was standing awkwardly near the doorway, clearly debating whether he should take his shoes off or not. “This is Ren.. Ren, this is my mom— Yukari.” Mira introduced, “Nice to meet you.” Ren stated, bowing politely. “Oh, he’s polite!” Yukari beamed, turning toward the hallway. “Erika! Genshiro! Get in here— Mira brought home a polite one!” Yukari announced, Ren stiffened whilst Mira snickered, then came Erika. Erika, her older sister— tall, miserable, and with a sharp gaze that could strip paint off walls. “So, this is the infamous Ren.” She muttered, Ren blinked, turning to Mira. “You’ve talked about me?” He asked, “I may have mentioned you once or twice.” Mira replied with a shrug. “More like a hundred times.” Erika muttered, Before Mira could argue, the sound of a door slamming open made both her and Ren tense. Then, a man stumbled into the room, his hair unkempt, glasses slightly crooked, a lab coat over his turtleneck like he had forgotten to take it off before coming home. “And that would be my dad.” Mira sighed, Dr. Genshiro Shiragami looked at Ren with wide, dare Mira say delighted eyes. “You,” He began, pointing a dramatic finger. “I know you.” He declared, “..You do?” Ren muttered, “You’re Ishirō Serizawa’s kid! Your dad and I went to Oxford together! I swear, Tokyo is the smallest city in the world!” Genshiro exclaimed, Mira watched as Ren visibly struggled to process such information. “You… Knew my father?” Ren asked carefully, “Knew him? I got wasted with him! Brilliant man, little uptight, but hey, Oxford does that to people.” Genshiro added, Ren looked stunned to hear his statue of a father touched alcohol, let alone got wasted. Mira leaned in, “Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?” Mira whispered, Ren just shook his head as Genshiro clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Any son of Ishirō’s is a friend of mine.” He declared, “Well.. Good thing I’m his only son.” Ren muttered, “Tell me, are you a scientist?” Genshiro asked, “Engineer, actually.” Ren confirmed with a nod, Genshiro lit up. “Good! We need more engineers! We’ve got too many damn scientists running around, it’s topical!” Genshiro gushed, Yukari rolled her eyes. “You are a biologist, dear.” She gently reminded, “Exactly my point!” Genshiro added, Mira watched as her father and Ren fell into easy conversation about formulas Mira couldn’t understand even if she tried to, Ren was still reserved, though engaged. And— surprisingly, he seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to her father, that was new, even Erika seemed mildly impressed. And when Ren finally got up to leave, her mother stopped him at the door with a smile. “You’re welcome here anytime.” Yukari warmly assured, Ren bowed again. “Thank you for having me.” He stated, Mira walked him out, smiling the whole way out. “So?” She asked once they were outside. “Your family is.. Lively.” Ren observed, “That’s one au to put it.” Mira laughed, then she nudged him. “But they liked you.” She honestly added, Ren was momentarily quiet, then, finally— a small, genuine smile crossed his lips. “Good.” He muttered, leaning in to give Mira a kiss.
Mira could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen Ren cry. The first had been when he’d accidentally burned his hand with a soldering iron in the school workshop, the second was when she had pierced his ear and he swore up and down that she had tried to kill him. And now, here they were— third time’s the charm. Except this time, it wasn’t funny. This time, his mother was dead. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. She’d barely been able to get him to eat, and when she called him, all she got were long, empty silences in the few times he’d pick up. But Mira wasn’t going to let him rot in his grief, so she showed up at his house, kicked off her shoes, and climbed into his bed like she owned the place. Ren barely looked at her, still staring at an unopened letter from Apex cybernetics, expression blank and dull. “You know,” Mira began, sounding rarely uncertain as she tapped his forehead with her finger, trying to find the words. “You can’t stay like this forever.” Mira muttered, Ren didn’t react, resulting in Mira letting out a shaky sigh and rolling onto her stomach. “Hey, come on, I know something that’ll make you feel better.” She insisted, Ren finally turned his head, though only a little. “Mira, if you tell me to ‘just call my father’ I’m kicking you out.” He grumbled, Mira smiled softly, knowing he’d never do such a thing and acknowledging it as progress. “Nah, I got something better,” She simply put, grabbing his laptop off the floor and plopping it between them. “I’m gonna show you a lolcow.” Mira disclosed, Ren frowned, “What’s a lolcow?” He asked, the hostility in his tone shoved aside for brief curiosity. “You’ll see.” Mira acknowledged, already typing furiously. A few clicks later, she turned the screen toward him. “Meet Chris Chan.” She announced, the screen displaying an overweight man in his late twenties, clad in a red and blue striped polo shirt with what looked to be a clay medalin on his neck. “Who’s Chris Chan?” Ren pondered, “Only the biggest train wreck the internet has ever seen.” Mira chirped, and just like that, she threw him into the rabbit hole. Ren went from confused to horrified to fascinated all within the span of fifteen minutes, by the time they started reading the poorly-drawn degenerative Sonicchu comics, he was actually engaged. “This can’t be real, he has to be a genius playing a character for clicks.” Ren muttered in disbelief, “Nope! He’s as real as your daddy issues.” Mira teased, “For the last time, I don’t have daddy issues, my dad is the one with issues.” Ren shot back, though he let out a sharp laugh. And just like that— she had him, she leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. “Feeling better?” Mira gently pried, Ren paused, nodding slowly, which Mira seized as the opportunity to nudge him. “You should bring back GhidoraStan64.” She inquired, Ren blinked, “I don’t know..” He muttered, “Oh, c’mon,” Mira protested, “It was funny. And I know you have so much hate in your heart right now, may as well channel it into something, the Miscreants could use a new member..” Mira implored, Ren fell silent, seemingly giving it genuine thought. “Yeah,” He began, “Maybe I will.” He concluded.
Mira Yamane was not made for long-distance relationships. If it were up to her, she would have nailed Ren to the ground in Tokyo, but he had his own ambitions, he was in Sendai to attend Tohoku university, becoming an engineer, and surrounded by other scientists. Still, they made it work. Mira would send him voice messages of her reading out the worst casting calls imaginable, and in return, Ren would send her videos of Skullcrawler feeding sessions at Apex because he knew how much she hated them— they would banter, Ren would argue they were extreme to the point it was literally impossible for them to eat enough to sate their hunger, they were always starving, had no patience at all for stalking or hiding, evolution had designed them to eat, kill, and repeat.. He would add that it was surprising they found time to mate, even more so that they did not eat each other while doing so. Mira would argue back, stating that they eat people and humanity shouldn’t touch them. Regardless, it was all playful banter and Mira would still call him every night while making jewelry, balancing her phone on her shoulder as she twisted wire and arranged beads, all while Ren would listen while staring at his computer screen, half-tuned out, assembling Apex’s future weapons. “How’s your boss?” Mira had once asked, “Insane, money hungry as ever.” Ren snorted, “Sounds like your type.” Mira shot back, swearing up and down she caught the eye roll through the phone. And so, they went on like that, separate— but at the end of the day, still the same.
Rain streaked the glass like tears Mira refused to shed. She sat in the dimly lit hospital room belonging to Monarch’s medical wing, arms wrapped around herself as if that could hold her together. The consistent beeping of the heart monitor was the only indication Ren was still alive, tethered to the world by wires and machines. His face was unnaturally still, the place where his right eye once was wrapped securely in bandages, lips parted just enough for the breathing tube, his raven hair fanned out over the pillow like ink bleeding into fabric. The cruelest part was he looked like he was peacefully sleeping, he never looked this at peace when he was awake. Mira let out a shaky exhale, fingers curling against her jacket sleeves. She had worn this jacket on their last real date, one of the rare nights Ren let himself step away from Apex. It still smelled faintly of his cologne, crisp and woodsy, clinging to her like a ghost that had surely seen better days. Days before the arguments, the late nights, and the obsession with revenge. The click of her phone vibrating against the chair’s metal armrest snapped her from her trance, she already knew what it was before she glanced at the screen— another reporter, another damned leech sniffing for blood. She barely read the headline before her stomach twisted, ‘EXCLUSIVE: Alleged Mechagodzilla Pilot Ren Serizawa’s wife is more familiar than you think! C-list celebrity Mira Yamane breaks silence, is she hiding the truth?’ Mira let out a bitter laugh, sharp yet humorless. Breaks silence? How could she break silence when they never stopped hounding her? Shoving cameras in her face, twisting her words, digging up wedding photos from five years ago as if she owed them some goddamn fairytale ending. She would have turned off her phone, she should have ignored them, but the anger was a wildfire, too consuming to let go. She tapped the video attached to the article, her grip tightening as the footage played. A shaky camera focused on her outside the Monarch facility yesterday, surrounded by reporters shoving microphones in her face, flashes erupted like gunfire. “Mira! Does this confirm what we already knew, Ren Serizawa was piloting Mechagodzilla?,” “What do you have to say about the thousands killed in Hong Kong?,” “Is it true your marriage and life as an actress was just a cover-up for Apex’s illegal operations?,” “Did you know what he was doing?” Mira watched herself on screen, jaw locked, eyes hollow. She said nothing, she had just walked away. But the way they edited it? The way they spun her silence into complicity? They may as well have painted her as Ren’s co-conspirator who only went into acting so the media would turn a blind eye to Apex, how the hell did those two things even correlate? She turned her phone off before she could throw it across the room, God forbid she could even grieve in peace. A ragged breath left her lips as she turned back to Ren, he would have hated this, he hated attention, hated the cameras, hated the public dissecting every inch of his life. And yet, he had handed them everything on a silver platter the moment he stepped into that cockpit. Her nails dug into her palms as another memory slammed into her like a freight train, six months ago, set in the house they’d moved in together after getting married, the night it all fell apart.
Mira slammed the door harder than she meant to, but she didn’t care. Not tonight, Ren didn’t seem to care either, he barely glanced up from his laptop, seated at the cluttered kitchen table, but at least he wasn’t cooped up in his lab, though that didn’t change the fact he was bathed in the cold glow of the screen, blueprints of Mechagodzilla’s neural interface filled the display, lines and annotations bleeding together like a madman’s scripture. “You’re still working on that?” She demanded one night after a long, stressful day of filming, tossing her bag on the couch. Ren didn’t look away from the screen, “I don’t see why you sound surprised.” He muttered, his tone so monotone it nearly set Mira off. “Ren, it’s past midnight.” She grunted, fingers twitching at her sides. “So?” Ren grumbled, “So, I haven’t seen you in a week outside of the bedroom and the five-minute intervals where you pretend to listen to me before running back to your fucking robots.” Mira snapped, for someone who hated how much his father neglected him, he sure loved to neglect this relationship in the face of work. That got him, his fingers froze over the keyboard before he leaned back, rubbing his temple with the heel of his palm. “Mira, I don’t have time for this.” Ren stressed, “Yeah? Because you’re too busy getting yourself killed?” Mira spat, stalking closer, anger pulsing behind her ribs. Ren finally met her gaze, dark eyes flashing. “That’s not what this is.” He simply put, “Isn’t it?” She shot back, gesturing wildly to the screen. “You’re piloting a fucking death machine, Ren! Everyone at Apex knows it, Gojira knows it, and I know it! Do you have any idea what will happen if something goes wrong? If you—” Mira stammered, unable to finish as her voice broke, swallowing the lump in her throat, doing her chest to breathe past the terror. “Nothing will go wrong. This is for my father.” Ren assured, more so to himself than Mira based on the way his jaw tightened. Mira let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through her hair. “Your father? The man who didn’t even show up to your mother's funeral? The man who handed his life over to Monarch and left you with nothing?” Mira retorted, letting her anger get the best of her as she quickly regretted it the second the words left her mouth. Ren’s expression hardened like steel cooling under pressure, “You don't understand, Gojira stole from me, this is bigger than me and you, and it’s not about you, Mira.” Ren muttered, standing so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor. “I never said it was, matter of fact, Ren, you’re right, I’m wrong, it’s not.” Mira snapped in an icy voice she never spoke to Ren to up until now, folding her arms. “But don’t pretend it’s about him either. Because this?” She paused, jabbing a finger at the laptop screen. “This is about you, about proving something to yourself, about getting revenge on an animal because ‘he stole the father my wife encouraged me to call our entire relationship but I’m too stubborn so instead after he ultimately sacrifices himself for Gojira, I’m gonna pilot a three trillion dollar Mecha.’ and you’re willing to burn everything down to do it.” Mira snapped bluntly, Ren let out a sharp exhale, running a hand down his face. “You don’t get it.” He grumbled, “Then make me get it.” Mira shot back without missing a beat, a silence stretched between them, showing Ren had no intentions on helping her see his point of view despite her open mind. “I have work to do.” Ren finally scoffed, shaking his head, he turned away, reaching for the laptop. Mira frowned, that was the moment she knew she had already lost him to the feeling that could destroy all else: revenge.
The heart monitor’s steady beeping dragged her back to the oppressive present, Mira clenched her fists, ruby painted nails biting into her palms. “I told you,” She whispered hoarsely, voice cracking under the weight of months of unsaid words. “I fucking told you.” She snapped, Ren didn’t answer, there was a chance he never would and that ate at her like nothing else. Her breath hitched as her vision blurred, heat prickling at her eyes. She swallowed it down, forcing herself to stand. She refused to break here, not when the reporters were waiting, circling like vultures outside. Not when the world expected her to fall apart for the cameras, she brushed her fingers over Ren’s hand— it was brief and fleeting, as if touching him too long would make reality collapse around her. “You don't get to leave me like this, Ren.” She promised, her voice was barely above a whisper, lost beneath the storm outside. She hoped that maybe, just maybe, he heard her.
The world burned in a cacophony of flashing lights and distant chatter, the red carpet stretching out beneath Mira’s designer heels like a bloodstained path. The premiere was in full swing— a spectacle of dazzling gowns, perfectly curated smiles, and the underlying hum of thinly veiled judgment. It had taken her years to get here, years of clawing her way back up from the wreckage Ren had left behind. The Hōga elite had cast her out when her husband’s name became synonymous with ‘terrorist’ and ‘traitor.’ The phone calls had stopped, roles had disappeared overnight, directors had looked right through her like she was some kind of contaminated artifact from a bygone era. Luckily, the world was fickle, and so was its memory. Now, with a critically acclaimed film under her belt and a second chance wrapped in velvet and gold, Mira Yamane-Serizawa was finally stepping back into the light. Then, her phone rang, her eyes widening in anticipation when the caller read ‘MONARCH MEDICAL PHONE’ “Any updates?” Mira asked in a hesitant voice, unsure if she wanted to hear them incase they were a worst case scenario. “Ren..?” Mira added, “It’s me, I’m awake.” The voice that surely needed no introduction finally replied, the moment she heard his voice, everything stopped— from the flashing cameras, the low drone of interviews, the sound of her own heartbeat, she didn’t breathe, unsure if it was too good to be true. “Three years, Ren. Three years, and I.. I thought i’d lost you.” Mira muttered over the phone, her fingers tightening around the device like a lifeline. “I’m sorry.” Ren stated, Mira let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, the world shifted, the carpet under her feet suddenly felt unsteady, as though reality itself had warped. Her co-star turned to her with a polite, yet puzzled look. The cameras were still rolling, the reporters still waiting, the entire world still watching. But none of that mattered, not anymore. Mira shamelessly turned and walked away, slipping past handlers and assistants, ignoring the confused whispers and the paparazzi’s frantic attempts to capture whatever drama was unfolding. She barely remembered how she got to her car, the premiere, the film, the years of struggle— none of that mattered in that moment, all that mattered was Ren.
Even in adulthood, Mira had always thought her childhood home was too small. It wasn’t really, but compared to the massive house Ren grew up in, it had felt like a shoeback. Still, stepping inside was like stepping into another lifetime. Her father, Genshiro Shiragami, looked up from his cluttered desk, adjusting his glasses as he noticed them. Mira barely had time to greet him before he set down whatever barely-legal experiment he had been working on and grinned. “Mira!” He greeted, arms wide. “And— oh, you brought a friend!” He added, Madison shifted awkwardly. “Uh. Hi, sir.” She muttered, “Genshiro.” Mira’s father corrected, “Sir makes me feel old.” He jeered, Mira rolled her eyes but wore a smile as she set her bag down. “I just wanted to stop by, update you on things. Ren’s awake.” She mentioned, her father’s expression didn’t change all that much— he had always been hard to read, but he nodded, as if confirming something to himself. “Ah, good, good to hear.” He muttered, Mira let out a shaky sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. “He’s… Adjusting. It’s weird, I mean, of course it’s weird, he was in a coma, but it’s like.. I don’t know, he’s different.” Mira trailed off, “Three years will do that to a man,” Genshiro mused, “And what about you, Mira? Are you happy?” Genshiro asked, the question caught Mira off guard, she opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it, odd since she was usually so chatty. Was she happy? Before she could even attempt an answer, his father turned his gaze to Madison and frowned, a strange, unreadable expression crossed his face. “Something wrong?” Madison asked warily, Genshiro didn’t respond immediately, tracing the lines on her palm with his finger. He studied her with a quiet intensity that made Mira’s stomach twist, then, without warning he reached out and plucked a strand of Madison’s hair. “The hell?” Madison recoiled, swatting his hand away. “Dude, what—” She stammered, “You remind me so much of my oldest daughter.” Genshiro muttered, Mira’s breath hitched as Madison froze, oldest daughter, her father never talked about her, never, not since Erika.. And the way he was staring at Madison now.. It made Mira’s skin crawl.
The Xilien mothership hummed with an eerie stillness, its blackened walls laced with silver walls that pulsed like the heartbeat of something ancient. Beyond the vast windows, the clouds stretched infinitely, untouched by the turmoil X had caused on the surface. Speak of the devil, X stood near the console, arms folded, his golden eye glinting under the low, cold light. Mira sat on the edge of a sleek, obsidian-like table, arms crossed, lips pressed together in deep thought. The tension between them was thick enough to carve through with one of Gigan’s saws. “Go on,” Mira began, voice unreadable. “I’m listening.” She added, X let out a low exhale, rubbing the bridge of his nose before finally meeting her gaze, unalike anyone else, she didn’t recoil upon seeing the mangled mess where X’s right eye once was. “Gojira left me to die, Mira.” X began, pausing to gauge Mira’s reaction, who stiffened, but ultimately had nothing to say. “He didn’t kill me outright. No, that would’ve been merciful. Instead, he threw me like trash— dropped me onto some isolated, miserable island. No food, no shelter, no way off. I was left with nothing but my own rotting, useless body.” X stated, gesturing toward the mangled mess on the right side of his face, then down at his arm, where burns from abusing Ghidorah’s gifts marred his skin. “You know what I realized on that island?” X pondered, “What?” Mira’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. X’s lips curled, though there was no humor behind it. “That the world never wanted to understand Ren Serizawa.. Ren was.. Too complicated for humanity.” X continuined, now pacing with his trenchcoat swishing behind him. “Too human to fit into their neat little narratives. I wasn’t a hero like my father, nor was I some cackling villain like Simmons. I was somewhere in-between, somewhere people refuse to acknowledge.” X paused, his fingers flexing, glowing faintly with Ghidorah’s blessings. “So I left that island as X. Perhaps I was always wearing the skin of Ren Serizawa, just waiting to claw my way out.” X added, taking a step closer, lowering his voice. “You know what saved me?” X asked, “Not monarch. Not the so-called defenders of the Earth. No, they left me to rot just as much as Gojira did.” X bitterly grumbled, placing a hand over his chest. “Ghidorah’s gifts pulled me back from the brink. He gave me a purpose, if it weren’t for him, I would’ve died in 2024, Mira. Is that what you would have preferred?” X pondered, Mira stared at him, searching his face for something— anything, then she let out a shaky sigh. “You’re a drama king, you know that?” She muttered, shaking her head, following a laugh, light, although genuine slipping from her lips. “I mean it. You’re making this sound like some Greek tragedy. ‘The world never understood Ren Serizawa’— please. You make it sound like you were some misunderstood artist who painted with his own blood.” Mira jeered, X scowled. “That’s—” X stammered, resulting in Mira placing a hand over his, squeezing gently. “I get it,” She began, “Really, I do.” She added, quieter this time around. X’s expression faltered. For a second— just a mere second, she saw Ren flicker beneath the surface. Mira’s fingers trailed up his arm, reaching his jaw, her thumb ghosting over the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “You’re still my husband, even if you call yourself something else now. Even if you’re more Ghidorah than human.” Mira muttered, a rare flicker of something warm— guilt? Love? Crossed X’s features, he leaned into her touch, just slightly, before abruptly standing up. “Now that I have ensured you’re on board, I have some matters to tend to.” X muttered, standing up and motioning for Xilien soldiers to follow him down the hall.
The air inside the cell X was approaching was heavy, thick with the stench of sweat, rust, and something else that smelled like damp concrete. It was clearly a room designed for the forgotten.. Dim, flickering lights cast jagged shadows against the walls, stretching the silhouettes of three prisoners chained to the floor like distorted marionettes. Josh, Elle, and Sam sat in tense silence, each of them nursing their own wounds— both physical and mental. As if things couldn’t get worse, they miraculously did, he had arrived, evident by a hiss of hydraulic and the metallic clung of boots against the wall. X strode into the cell, his presence suffocating the room with an oppressive and knowingly patronizing weight that made the air itself feel heavier. He didn’t walk like Ren Serizawa, he didn’t carry himself like a man, he moved like something beyond human— like something that had willfully shredded the last threads of its own mortality. The Xilien visor obscured his eyes, though dried blood still stained where his right eye once was, initially lost by shrapnel, the condition only worsened when Elle stabbed him in the eye, but despite the visor, they could all feel his golden gaze boring into them, a silent, seething presence no longer bothering being hidden behind a mask. Josh swallowed hard, trying (and failing) to inject his usual levity into the situation. “Okay, I gotta admit— this whole evil overload thingy-majiggy? kinda badass.” Josh croaked, “Dude, shut up.” Sam scoffed from shackled behind him. X tilted his head, almost amused. “You always did have the survival instincts of a particularly dim moth.” X observed, voice smooth but laced with something volatile— like a spark waiting to ignite. Josh grinned in response, though there was an edge of unease beneath it. “C’mon, man. You gotta admit, you're basically the first real-life guy with superpowers. You’re like— like Magneto, or Vader, or, hey, what do I know? Some anime final boss. That’s kinda cool, right?” Josh rambled on, X’s lip twitched. For a moment, a brief, cruel moment, he almost laughed. But then his fingers twitched, and Josh’s body seized, locked in place like a puppet with tangled strings. The breath punched out of him as an unseen force squeezed his ribs, not enough to break them, but plenty enough to make his face twist in pain. X leaned in toward the cell, glancing at the soldiers occupying either side of him as if telling them to get a load of this guy. “And yet, despite all your idiotic commentary, you still cling to the notion that I’m human.” X snapped, “What, you’re saying you’re not?” Josh gasped as the pressure relented, his big body sucking in air greedily. “Josh, don’t.” Elle warned, taking responsibility as she was the only competent adult in the cell. X turned on his heel to meet her gaze, his grudge evident. “Ah, the little martyr.” He commented, the glare Elle returned was a dagger wrapped in ice, she said nothing for a long moment, then let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head. “You’re not human, not anymore.” She accused, “And what makes you so certain?” X scoffed, “Because you gave it up.” Elle replied without missing a beat, lacking any hesitation. “The most human thing anyone can do is struggle with their own humanity. Even artificial beings in movies-- hell, even robots show more humanity than you do.. Vision fought to be human, you threw it away. You don’t struggle, you don’t doubt, you just revel in what you’ve become. And that? That makes you less than human.” Elle snapped, the silence that followed was heavy, though X was quick to move. Elle barely had time to flinch before his hand shot forward, seizing her by the throat via his newly found telekinesis. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t choke— he didn’t have to. His touch alone radiated something wrong, something that crawled under the skin like a nasty infection. “You’re so desperate to believe humanity is some sacred, untouchable thing. That it’s something to be preserved. I used to think like you until I was pushed way past my limit, let’s test yours, shall we?” X sneered, with that, a wave of energy pulsed from his fingertips, and holographic screens flickered into existence.. The screen was simple, it displayed Mecha-King Ghidorah through the eyes of Ichi, flying toward Hong Kong to confront Godzilla’s allies. He hadn’t defeated those in San Diego as they were soaring after him, but he was leading them to their doom. X took a step back, his arms outstretched like a grand conductor. “You see, humans love hope. You cling to it like roaches scurrying toward a flickering light.. But in the end? There is no hope.” X deadpanned, his smile fading in a matter of seconds.
Notes:
this chapter was a little slow, updates will also be less frequent since my birthday is on monday the 24th if yall wanna celebrate at home 😈🤷♀️ next chapter will def focus on a titans pov, im thinking ni since he’s aligned with our mc (ren/x) and is also the least expanded upon ghidorah head in the entire fandom. thats not to say hes disliked, i js assume others find ichi and san more interesting, which is fine, gives me more room to expand upon ni! anyway these next few chapters wont be nearly as reliant on flashbacks now that i feel satisfied with the characters each having their own motivations and stories, i hope i helped yall sympathize with the likes of ren serizawa/controller x in the early chapters but he gets worse from here and its all his own fault
Chapter 28: castle
Summary:
Sick of all these people talking, sick of all this noise
Tired of all these cameras flashing, sick of being poised
Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it
Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it(Agnus Dei, Agnus Dei, Agnus Dei, Agnus Dei)
I'm headed straight for the castle
They wanna make me their queen
And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean
I'm headed straight for the castle
They've got the kingdom locked up
And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shutStraight for the castle
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hong Kong had already died once at San’s hand, Ni would say at least his youngest brother had done something right, but the lizard and his monkey pal were still walking. The bones of the city lay fractured and broken, skyscrapers reduced to gnarled steel ribs jutting into the storm-choked sky. The neon glow that once defined it had faded, leaving only the flickering remnants of what the cockroaches had built here. The air hung thick with the acrid scent of scorched earth, ozone, and the stink of a battle long since ended, only to reignited.
And at the center of it all? Spacegodzilla was waiting, the crystalline demon floated just above the wreckage, his massive, jagged form humming with cosmic energy. Black and blue carapace gleamed in the dim light, the massive shoulder crystals pulsating like the dying stars he’d once destroyed alongside Ghidorah. His tail coiled lazily around the remains of a toppled skyscraper, jagged crystals sprouting where his mere presence infected the land. His eyes— a deep, sleepless yellow locked onto the approaching forces. “About time.” He muttered in a smooth yet seething voice, laced with a regal disdain that mirrored Ichi’s. His corona beams crackled to life at his sides, twin spirals of energy coiling around him like a serpent awaiting the kill. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?” Spacegodzilla grumbled, his fanged maw curled into something right in the middle of a sneer and smirk. “And putting up with these fools?” He snarked, as if on cue, Monster X landed beside him with an earth-shattering crash. Where Spacegodzilla exuded effortless superiority, Monster X was nothing but unrelenting, brutal efficiency. His ivory exoskeleton was rigid, his hunched form tensed like a drawn bow, ready to be loosed upon the enemy. The red glow of his eyes pulsed like dying embers as he rolled his strangely humanoid shoulders, cracking the joints in preparation. “Complain less, fight more.” Monster X growled in a low, guttural voice of restrained violence. Hah, as if he had any authority over Spacegodzilla just because he was King Ghidorah’s cousin. “Or should I do all the work?” Monster X added, “You wouldn’t last five minutes— that’s how the Earthlings count time, right? Minutes? Anyway, you wouldn’t last five minutes on your own.” Spacegodzilla shot back in a scoff, shifting slightly, the crystal spires around him crackling in response to his agitation. A sharp whirring noise interrupted the back-and-forth as Gigan landed next, his massive blades slamming against the ruined concrete with a metallic hiss. His visor flickered wildly, scanning the battlefield as his buzzsaw stomach revved hungrily. “Bored already, are we?” Gigan sneered, his voice distorted in the way it was laced with static and with an odd, artificial humor. “I’d say we even the odds, but I like playing with my food.” He added, Mecha-King Ghidorah’s wings snapped wide, the trinity's own body crackling with golden energy. “Enough talk.” Ni snarled, stepping forward to stand before the gathered army. Lightning spiraled through the storm overhead, the wind carrying his boundless rage.
This was Ni’s war for Ichi had taken to his own devices, no doubt digging his claws into the humans’ pathetic technology, twisting their machines against them. A necessary task, one that had cost them everything the last time they fought these so-called protectors. But this? This was a war of Titans, and Ni got to decide how it played out. He turned his head slightly, silently addressing the others— Megalon, Otha, Hedorah, and the looming behemoth that was Magita, all standing at the ready. “Take what you want, kill who you wish. Leave none standing.” Ni ordered, his fanged maw twisting into something akin to an unapologetic grin. “But the lizard’s buddy is mine.” Ni snapped, at his insistence, thunder rumbled, though unfortunately, in the distance, a storm split— a colorful blur shot through the rain, wings ablaze with divine radiance, cutting through the darkness like a spear of light: Mothra. How the hell was she alive? They had succeeded in killing her, Ni knew that as he saw it with his own two eyes. Behind Mothra, the defenders arrived, Shimo surged forward, her icy breath freezing the rain as she charged, her yellow eyes burning with determination, Rodan screeched overhead, his wings sending shockwaves through the battlefield as he took his place above the war-torn city, the Queen MUTO emerged from the shadows, her claws clicking at a steady consistency as she stalked forward, muscles tensed for the kill. And finally, the man of the hour: Kong. Ni’s breath hissed through his gangs as the great ape stepped into the fray, his gauntlet humming with the energy of fallen gods. Kong cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders before pointing an accusatory gauntlet directly at Ni. “I don’t care how many heads you’ve got,” the Titan growled, his voice like rolling thunder. “You’re going down just the same.” He vowed, in typical Ni fashion, he was the first to lunge out of the trinity, at his lunge, the battle erupted.
Mothra dove at Spacegodzilla and Monster X, her silk bursting in rapid, golden threads as Spacegodzilla countered with a devastating corona beam. The impact sent the air spiraling into a vortex of energy, the very ground trembling beneath them. Rodan and Gigan spiraled through the sky, their aerial duel a dance of flame and steel, talons and scythes clashing with blinding speed. Shimo engaged Hedorah, her icy aura clashing against the toxic Titan’s acidic sludge. Every strike of her frigid claws sent steam hissing into the air as their elements battled for control. Behemoth and Megalon roared as they clashed, tusks against drills, raw strength against frenzied destruction. And at the heart of it all, Mecha-King Ghidorah and Kong. The ape attempted to deliver a sharp uppercut to Ni’s head, though he barely twisted away in time, the blade slicing past his scales, sending golden sparks into the storm. “Too slow, cockroach!” Ni roared, his jaws opening wide— a gleeful gravity beam exploded forth, engulfing Kong in a wave of searing energy. The target snarled in pain but pushed through, barreling into Ni with raw, unrelenting fury. The impact sent both crashing through the ruins of a skyscraper, concrete and steel crumbling around them. Ni’s vision flickered, rage boiling to the surface as he dug his jaws into Kong’s chest, driving him down into the rubble. “You think you belong among us?” Ni sneered, lifting his head and pressing the weight of his talon down, forcing the ape deeper into the shattered remains of the city. “You’re nothing! You—” Ni began, abruptly cut off by a flash of yellow light, Ni hardly had time to react before Kong’s glove proved its usefulness, absorbing the raw energy from his attack. “Right back at you.” The great ape grunted through gritted teeth, the force augmentation tore into Ni’s shoulder, sending arcs of golden electricity through his body. Ni screeched in fury, staggering back as he absorbed the energy. The several battles around them raged on, but Ni only saw red, Kong was going to pay— rest assured, they all were.
A sharp snarl left Ni’s snout as the ache of the gloves' impact seared through his shoulder, golden electricity still crackling around his scale. The scent of his own scorched flesh filled his nostrils— it was disgusting, infuriating.. But what was worse? Kong was still standing, not even just standing, grinning as if he’d already won. Ni’s muscles coiled, his constant rage boiling like magma in his gut, “Ooooooh, nice one, monkey! Almost makes me feel bad for you.” An all-too-familiar voice chimed in, San. Ni didn’t have to cast his gaze elsewhere to know his idiot younger brother was watching the fight like a spectator at a gladiator arena. The third head of Monster Zero slithered just within view, his scarlet eyes gleaming with amusement as he condensingly clicked his forked tongue. “You know,” San began, Ni knew it was one of his jeers to crawl up his enemies skin, figuring it’d benefit him, Ni fell silent to let his kin talk. “I was going to kill you last time. Back when I was in that shiny, ugly Mechagodzilla body. Remember that? Yeah, I had you down, right where I wanted you.” San continued, a grin spreading across his snout as he dramatically tilted his head. “But then I thought— mm, better not. That would be too easy, too.. What’s the word? Merciful.” San sneered, Ni watched as Kong’s expression darkened, yes, good. Let it sink in, let it burn! As if things couldn’t get better, San wasn’t done. “But look at you now! Still trying, still thinking you matter, gee-willikers, that must be exhausting.” San jeered, Kong let out a roar, drumming his fists against his chest in a gesture for dominance, King Ghidorah would put the monkey in his place, but all this displayed to the trio was he’d crawled his way right into their trap, it was poetic how perfectly things were falling into place. Ni had barely steadied himself before Kong’s fist slammed into his jaw, sending shockwaves through his skull.. Why him? He wasn’t the one making jabs at his expense. Regardless, the force cracked the pavement beneath them, debris flying in all directions. “Oh-ho-ho, he’s angry! He really is an Earthling, otherwise none of this would be nearly as dramatic.” San pressed, laughing his way through the pain as Ni reeled back, shaking off the blow, but his rage only grew hotter. His vision blurred with fury, teeth gnashing as his own ebony, oil-like blood dripped from his fangs. “You little—” Ni began, but before he could retaliate, something shifted— the air itself seemed to tremble as a sharp pulse of energy came out of seemingly nowhere, an eerie hum that made Ni’s scales bristle with rare unease. Ichi had arrived, Ni felt the shift in his elder brother’s focus, felt the calculated malice that radiated through their bond. Ichi had been.. Preoccupied, to put it simply, hijacking the humans’ technology, twisting their own creations against them. It was necessary, human interference had cost them their victory before, and it wasn’t like Ni minded, he actually welcomed the chance to lead the assault for once, a chance to show Ichi and San he meant what he said when he declared they wouldn’t have ended up in the mortifying ice prison if it Ni had led the assault, but now, for whatever reason, Ichi’s focus had turned towards Kong, and Ni knew exactly what was coming. The mechanical whir of Mecha-King Ghidorah filled the air, an unnatural, metallic screech reverberating through the ruins. The cybernetic head twitched, taking a yellow glow to symbolize the stored power as it released a surge of blinding energy, something similar to gravity beams, but not the ones they had known in life. These were something else— colder, greener, synthetic, and laced with an unnatural edge. The stupidly prideful ape barely had time to react as the blast struck him square in the chest, a thunderous crack echoed as the force sent Kong hurtling backward, smashing through a crumbling building. The structure collapsed around him in a cloud of dust and debris, swallowing the ‘great’ ape whole. Ni let out an exhale, the tension in his side of the body finally loosening. Ichi had decided to intervene, but not without kicking Ni while he was already down. “I had hoped to leave you to Ni, but you are dreadfully persistent, aren’t you?” Ichi snarked, his slow, deliberately dragged out voice crackling through the storm. Ni could practically see Ichi’s smug expression, even without turning. His elder brother’s voice always carried that same infuriating, overcomplicated arrogance. “Perhaps I should remind you where your place is, ape.” Ichi hissed, a silence fell upon them as neither Ni nor San had anything to add, from beneath the rubble, a low guttural growl managed to break through, showing the great ape was not done as he burst through the debris. His body was charred, smoking, his hairy chest burned raw from the gravity blast. His breath was heavy and ragged, but he was unfortunately still standing. Ni scowled, Earthlings and being unable to stay down. Kong wiped the ruby blood from his mouth, pantig. His eyes flickered between Ni, San, and Ichi’s looming cybernetic form, baring his fangs with a fire burning in his gaze. “Where’s Godzilla?” Kong demanded, Ni felt something twist in the air, something desperate he hoped. Mothra, still locked in battle with Spacegodzilla, heard the great apes' demands. Her head snapped toward Kong, her massive, luminescent eyes flickering with something akin to concern. Ni saw the hesitation in her movements, the slight falter of her wings as she considered the words. “Where. Is. He?” Kong demanded once again, his gaze bordering on desperate. Mothra didn’t answer right away, her wings beating slowly, the glow of her body dimming, albeit only slightly. “I don’t know.” Mothra finally confessed, Ni exchanged a grin with San, unsure if Ichi was grinning along with them due to the sheer unexpressiveness of his head. Oh, this was delicious, they didn’t know their so-called king was missing. Ni let out a low, rasping laugh, his forked tongue flicking between his fangs. “Oh, that’s rich,” Ni sneered, “You mean to tell me you came here ready to fight and didn’t even bother to check if your lizard king was still breathing?” Ni pondered as Kong’s grip tightened around his axe, his muscles coiled, but his stance had changed. No longer was he just angry, but he was also uncertain, and uncertainty was weakness. Mecha-King Ghidorah’s tail lashed as they prepared to strike again. “Face it, monkey,” San taunted, Ghidorah as a whole, wings spreading wide as an intimidation display, electricity crackling along their body. “You’re alone.” Ni added, and then the trinity lunged once more.
One thing Ni demanded out of this fight was for enemy blood to spill, the undeniable thrill of battle coursed through his veins like molten fire, his body thrumming with power as he lunged at Kong. The great ape barely had time to react before Ni’s massive scribe bone raked across his chest, sending fur and flesh flying. Kong grunted in pain but somehow didn’t fall, much to Ni’s frustration, he instead opted to twist his body, slamming his glove into Ni’s throat. The impact rattled through his skull, knocking the breath from his lungs, it was.. Infuriating. Before Ni could recover, something shifted in the air— it was a familiar presence, Ichi. His influence swept across the battlefield like a slow-moving plague, subtle yet suffocating. Where Ni left wounds and San left newfound insecurities, Ichi left something deeper, something that lingered. Ni let out a low growl, shaking off the impact, but even he couldn’t ignore the way the atmosphere shifted, the way the battlefield itself seemed to grow heavier under Ichi’s gaze. “Rodan.” Ichi simply greeted, the name slithered from his lips like silk soaked in poison. Ni turned his head just slightly, following Ichi’s calculated stare to Rodan, who had been mid-clash with Gigan, froze in place for just a moment, but a moment was enough. Rodan’s head snapped toward Ichi, his beady yellow eyes narrowing. “What?” He demanded, Ichi didn’t move, didn’t react to his hostile tone, didn’t lunge, he didn’t even attack for he didn’t need to. “You knelt before us once, do you remember that?” Ichi mused in a voice smooth as oil, seeping into every crevice of the battlefield. Rodan’s wings flexed, the twitch and flicker of unease was enough for Ichi— Ni and San realized that around the same time, sharing a grin. “You were once a loyal subject, and yet, when we fell.. You bowed to him instead.” Ichi continued in an oddly light tone for the mastermind behind this orchestration, Rodan’s beak clenched, the memories flashing behind his burning gaze, Ni knew that look— it meant Ichi was inside his head. “Tell me, Fire Demon, where is your so-called king now?” Ichi purred, Rodan didn’t reply, which brought Ichi to a pause as his mechnicial head twitched, as if reading something unseen, a ripple of energy moved through him. Ni tensed up, moving his head as far away as he could, he was very familiar with that look too, Ichi was digging— searching. And then, he found it, a slow, cruel chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Oh, this is interesting.” Ichi noted, his pale green eyes flashing. “It seems your king has been.. Busy.” He added, at his words, the battlefield seemed to still, if only for a moment. Mothra’s wings faltered, dust scattering in the air, Kong’s grip on his glove tightened, Rodan, despite himself, listened. “Tiamat is dead.” Ichi announced, almost lazily. “Scylla, too. Killed by the very thing you serve.” Ichi noted, his words curled like suffocating smoke wrapping them in a volume-speaking silence. Ni watched in fascination as the expressions around him shifted, Rodan’s wings twitched once more, that flicker of uncertainty— barely there, but present. Mothra was quick to defend her king, she’d go as far as to killing herself for him, this was nothing new. “They fell out of line,” Mothra quickly explained, her voice urgent and somewhat pleading. “He gave them time. He was patient.” She added in a delicious desperation, Ni flicked his tongue, reveling in the way Ichi sank his claws deeper. “How generous of him,” Ichi sarcastically remarked, of course, it was a lie wrapped in just enough truth to make it burn. Ni casted his gaze upon Rodan again, that uncertainty was growing, there was no doubt about it— Ichi was breaking him. Ni had always known Ichi was a master at this: manipulation, psychological torment, the art of unraveling the mind.. He’d done it to Puppet while lacking a competent physical form, San and Ni could break bones. But Ichi? Ichi could break souls. “How interesting,” Ichi mused, voice thick with false amusement. “Tell me, Rodan— when the time comes, when your king decides you are out of line.. Do you think he will be patient with you?” He pried, Rodan didn’t answer, and that, Ni knew, was answer enough, the cracks were forming and it had never been difficult to get Rodan to submit.
Notes:
this isnt my first time writing in ni’s perspective if you’ve been reading closely in earlier chapters, but this doesnt make it any less fun writing him. instead of him being the irrationally angry head, i always imagined he had a lot of pent up resentment from wishing he was in charge and blaming ichi for ghidorahs shortcomings whilst also acknowledging that ichi can do something he and san cannot, at the end of the day, ni realizes that he needs san and ichi just as they realize they need him as san in mechagodzilla showed ghidorah they fail if they arent together, anyway, that being said, ill dip my toes into ichi and sans perspective when the time is right and the next chapter will address why godzilla has yet to show up.. remember, ichi accessed all of monarchs technology, including their submarines he has every intention of using to slow godzilla down!
Chapter 29: all eyes on me
Summary:
You told me what to do and what to say
I couldn't escape
You got to choose the ending of my fate
You put me astray
But not anymore
I'm in control
I have the stage
You can't turn the page
Now all eyes on me
All eyes on me
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Fire Demon was hesitating, Ni could see it from miles away in the way his crimson wings faltered, the subtle shift in his stance— the ‘great’ Rodan they’d made their bitch the last time they crossed paths was now teetering on the edge of uncertainty. How pathetically Earthling of him. “What’s wrong?” Ni sneered, his voice coiling around Rodan like a serpent tightening its grip. “You look lost.” Ni mused, watching as Rodan’s beak clicked shut, his chest rising and falling in shallow, tense breaths. He was thinking— too much thinking when Ni wanted him angry. “You can hear him, can't you?” Ichi pressed in a silken and insidious voice, tilting his head in a manner nothing short of condescending. “That little voice in your head, the one whispering ‘what if he doesn’t come?’” Ichi continued. Rodan flared his wings, sending a gust of hot air rippling through the battlefield, getting defensive didn’t help his case in the slightest. “Shut up,” Rodan growled, Ni’s grin widened into pure teeth. “You want to believe him, don’t you?” San chimed in, his tone mockingly sympathetic. “Poor ‘ol Rodan, always kneeling, always following.. But never leading!” San jeered, the trinity watching as The Fire Demon’s claws dug into the shattered pavement beneath him. “He will be here soon,” Mothra’s voice cut in through the taunts, trying her best to be reassuring. The Queen of the Monsters hovered just above the battlefield, her golden glow dimming slightly as she turned to Rodan. “He won’t abandon us.” She assured, her voice unwavering despite the circumstances. Ni rolled his eyes, exchanging a judgemental gaze with San. “How touching,” Ichi echoed, his amusement thinly veiled behind layers of disdain. “His little bride still clings to hope. But tell me, Rodan.. Does that hope feel real to you?” Ichi pried, his metallic green gaze zeroing in on Rodan, who didn’t utter a word, and that? That was the most beautiful thing of all. Ni wanted to savor this, to watch the doubt take root, to watch the traitor unravel piece by piece, but the battlefield still raged.
Elsewhere, monsters clashed. Gigan howled with metallic glee as he pulled a fast one on a distracted Rodan, talons scraping against cybernetic scythes. Sparks burst with each impact, Rodan’s beak narrowly dodging the whirring buzzsaw embedded in Gigan’s gut. “You’re slowing down, bird brain!” Gigan cackled, his voice taking an eerie robotic glitch as he flipped midair, swiping at Rodan’s wing. The opponent let out a snarl and retaliated with a flap of his wings so powerful that it sent a shockwave through the air, tearing apart the storm clouds above them. “Eat ash, tin can!” He spat, Gigan reeled, but Ni could see it— Rodan wasn’t fighting like himself, there was a sluggishness in his movements, a hesitation where there should have been reckless abandon. Why? Because he was distracted, still lost in thought and unable to come to a decision for as long as Gigan kept him angry. Ni let out a rumble in rare satisfaction, his gaze drifting to down below where Kong and Monster X were tearing into each other. The great ape’s gauntlet swung in brutal arcs, the power-up crackling with raw energy as he slashed through the air, however, Monster X dodged with unnatural precision, his mutated form twisting and shifting with alien yet precise movements. “Sloppy,” Monster X grunted, his clawed hands lashing out, catching Kong across the jaw. Kong staggered backward but retaliated immediately, grabbing Monster X’s arm and twisting it, his muscles flexing as he slammed the skeletal kaiju into the ground, mother earth shattering beneath the alien’s touch. Monster X let out a sharp snarl, his crimson eyes flashing violently as he lashed out with his twin gravity beams, sending Kong skidding backward. Monster Zero’s tail flicked as they watched another fool clinging to their king. And yet, Kong fought like one who had already accepted the truth— he was alone, Rodan still hadn’t, Ichi knew it, too. “It’s funny, really.” Ichi noted, tilting his head with a nasty nails-on-a-chalkboard sound following. “You were one of us once, I'm sure you remember the power.. And then you bowed to him, tell me, Rodan— when he comes, will he still want you when you can’t even come to a decision on your own terms?” Ichi pressed, a grin spreading across his mechanical snout. “Shut up!” Rodan snapped his beak, his wings twitching violently, leaving a grin to spread across Ni’s snout next. “He abandoned Tiamat and Scylla, why wouldn’t he do the same to you?” Ichi demanded, however, his voice took a softer edge, shifting back to a condescending approach. “Watch this, my kins.” Ichi whispered to Ni and San telepathically, Ni’s gaze zeroed in on Rodan, who paused. “Godzilla is coming,” Mothra repeated, but this time around, there was something else in her voice, not certainty, but desperation, and Mecha-King Ghidorah relished in it. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” San snarked, allowing the storm above to rage despite the battlefield seeming to hold its breath.
Meanwhile, the entire building that once was home to Mechagodzilla shook. Nathan gritted his teeth as the vibrations rattled through the floor, sending dust cascading from the cracked ceiling. The flickering emergency lights cast long, jagged shadows against the walls, making the rusted metal and shattered monitors of the abandoned Apex facility seem more like a tomb than anything else. Outside was no better, monsters raged war as every roar and every collision of titanic bodies sent tremors rippling through the facility, the echoes of battle growing louder and worse, closer. “Oh yeah, this is fine.” Bernie muttered, pacing near a half-destroyed console, his hands flailing as he ranted, eyes wide with barely-contained panic. “This is totally fine! Just a bunch of giant world-ending monsters throwing hands while we’re stuck in a glorified coffin, waiting to get pancaked into history!” Bernie exclaimed, “Bernie, shut up!” Maia snapped before he could continue his ranting, arms crossed, though the tightness in her posture betrayed her own rising panic. “We’re not gonna die in here. They wouldn’t have kept us alive just to kill us now.” Maia explained, gesturing to the Xilien soldiers. “Yeah?” Martin scoffed, leaning against a rusted support beam. “Tell that to every other idiot who thought they were special right before they got stepped on, hey, like your old man.” Martin pointed out, “Shut up! My father would have succeeded if we used any other Titans remains.” Maia shot back, the mention of her father striking a nerve. “Can we all stop talking about dying for five minutes?” Dr. Andrews interjected, her voice was sharp, though her hands remained firm on Jia’s shoulders, the Iwi girl’s expression was unreadable, but Nathan could feel the tension in her small frame, Jia wasn’t afraid, but she was listening.
Another explosion of sound shook the room, originating from somewhere outside as a massive structure collapsed, the wail of twisting steel ringing through the air. Sam— who had already been hyperventilating into his hands let out a strangled whimper and pressed his back against the nearest still-standing console. “We are so screwed,” he whispered, his voice barely audible behind all that heavy breathing. “I helped build that thing, I helped make—” He stammered, “We know, Sam,” Rick muttered, rubbing his temples. “You’ve mentioned it constantly.” He added in a grumble, Nathan clenched his fists, they were wasting time.. Where the hell was Godzilla? this fight, no— this war, shouldn’t have lasted this long. Godzilla should have been here by now, tearing through the battlefield, balancing scales, but he wasn’t.. And Nathan knew damn well why that was. “Ren’s keeping him away..” Nathan muttered aloud, his stomach twisting as the realization settled in, the words had left his lips before he even fully processed them. Maia was the first to react, her brows mockingly furrowing. “You mean X,” she corrected in a voice laced with irritation, sounding too cool to care for this just as she had when she had to ‘babysit’ his Hollow Earth journey. “He doesn’t go by Ren anymore, remember?” She snarked, Nathan ignored her as his mind was already racing, piecing the puzzle together. Ren— X, Ghidorah— Godzilla’s absence, it all fit so perfectly it bordered on eerie, as if X wanted him to jump to this conclusion. Regardless, Nathan whirled to the two Xilien soldiers standing guard at the facility's entrance, they hadn’t spoken a word this entire time, their sleek, matte black armor gleamed under the dim lights, expressions unreadable beneath their visors. But they weren’t just standing there for intimidation, they were waiting for.. Something. Nathan took a sharp step forward, “Take us to him.” He demanded, lips pursed into a thin line, he could very well be reduced to a pile of ash with the laser-guns both of the soldiers were wielding, but he had to try. However, in an objectively worse outcome, the guards didn’t react, but fine, they wanted to act like statues? He’d make them listen. “I know Ren,” he pressed, his voice carrying over the lingering tremors of battle. “And if I know him, he’d rather see us alive and helpless than dead under rubble.” Nathan added, the Xilien guards remained still as if they were playing night at the museum. “So take us to him.” Nathan dictated with a glare, the Xiliens exchanged silent and unreadable glances, but more importantly, Nathan saw the consideration. After what felt like ages, one of them stepped forward. “Follow us.” It grumbled, Bernie blinked. “Wait—what, that worked?” He wondered aloud, “Shut up and move,” Mark growled, patience long thinned from X’s antics, already pushing forward. As they followed the Xiliens down the dimly lit corridor, Nathan felt the weight of what was coming settle onto his shoulders— they were walking straight into the den of the devil’s advocate, possibly crawling right into his trap. Nathan looked over at Maia and Martin who both looked relatively relaxed for a time like this, he swallowed the bile in his throat, glancing at the others who did not share the content gazes Maia and Martin wore.
Smoke, rubble, and silence. Haruo stood at the entrance of the abandoned Apex facility, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. The air was thick with dust, tinged with the acrid stench of burnt wiring and decay. The dim emergency lights flickered weakly, as if the building itself was on its last breath. And the people he’d come to rescue? Gone. His jaw clenched as his grip tightened around his rifle, knuckles going white. His boots crunched against the shattered glass as he took a hesitant step forward, scanning the ruined interior. The facility had been emptied in a hurry— papers scattered, chairs overturned, monitors flickering with static, he had been seconds— just mere seconds too late. “Damn it.” A bitter curse slipped through his teeth as he slammed his fist against the nearest wall, the impact dull against the cold steel. He had left Ford and Harrison behind to get here, convinced that if anyone needed extraction, it was the Monarch refugees, he should have known better. Haruo let out a sharp exhale, forcing himself to think— there were no bodies, no blood. That meant whoever had taken them wanted them alive, but why? Ren, No— X. Haruo hadn’t met him personally up until moments prior, but he had read the reports and heard the stories of a man who had abandoned his own name, his own species for the sake of something monstrous. And now? That very same man had Monarch in his grasp all because Haruo had arrived mere seconds too late. Haruo’s mind raced in a mixture of self-blame and frustration, he could chase them, track them down, fight his way through whatever Xilien forces stood in his way, but he was alone, he had no backup.. Hell, no plan or any guarantees. And right now, he had two people waiting for him in the depths of the debris. He turned on his heel, retreat wasn’t what he wanted, but it was the only move he had left, he needed to regroup, find Ford and Harrison, and come up with something that wouldn’t get them all killed because one thing was certain— this wasn’t over.
Something was wrong, Godzilla could feel the pulse of a long-dead enemy rippling through the currents, carried by a whisper of static and unnatural energy. It clawed at the back of his mind like a forgotten nightmare resurfacing: Ghidorah. But, it wasn’t just the faint echoes that had plagued his Earth since the battle in Boston. No, this was different, this wasn’t the presence of a ghost nor was it Ghidorah trapped in a human body— this was something far worse, the realization that he had found a new, competent body sent a deep, rolling growl through the ocean depths, shaking with skeletons of ships long claimed by the abyss. His massive dorsal plates flickered with brief pulses of bioluminescent violet, his agitation causing the water to churn violently around him. That was why the world had gone quiet, that was why he was still here— Ghidorah, more specifically Ichi had planned this. Godzilla’s massive form twisted through the deep, his powerful tail propelling him forward, cutting through the blackened void like a living torpedo. Every cell in his body screamed for him to reach the battle— fast.
Though, the ocean was not empty.. The man-made things, the ships and planes, should not have been there. And yet, they came anyway, not just a couple, but dozens of them, hundreds of machines moving unnaturally. The saurain’s sharp eyes narrowed as he surfaced, the crashing waves revealing the full scope of humanity’s madness. Warships advanced toward him in droves, their once-predictable patterns erratic and forced. Jets screamed overhead, diving toward the sea at impossible angles, their pilots long silenced— they were machines without will, Ichi had taken ahold of them, the King of the Monsters knew it had to be Ichi as the thought of hijacking the world around him didn’t even cross San’s mind while he was in a man-made machine, Godzilla’s dorsal plates flared to life, the vibrant violet glow illuminating the churning waves as his frustration boiled over. He let out a deep inhale followed by a bellowing, earth-shaking roar that sent shockwaves across the surface, splitting the water like an open wound. His warnings fell on deaf ears as the first ship crashed into him, then another, and another.
Metal groaned and buckled as battleships slammed into his towering form, exploding on impact and sending shrapnel scattering like insects against his hide. The planes were quick to follow, like mindless birds caught in a storm, they spiraled, diving headfirst into his snout, his shoulders, his gills. The taste of fire and metal coated his tongue, an irritant more than anything else, but relentless all the same. With a snarl, Godzilla swung his massive tail, crushing an entire fleet in one motion. The resulting waves swallowed the wreckage, dragging the broken vessels into the abyss, yet more and more came. He snarled once more in frustration, shaking the debris from his scales as another wave of hijacked machine rushed to meet their demises, Ichi wasn’t trying to kill him— Ichi was stalling him, keeping him from the battle, keeping him from finishing this all so he could either kill his subjects or turn them against him. Godzilla’s mind burned with fury, his instincts screaming for him to push forward, to break through— and then he felt her, not Mothra, not Shimo, this was something else— something ancient and vengeful.
The ocean quaked beneath the king as a long, serpentine shadow curled through the depths below, moving much too fast and too precise, as if the attacker had been planning this moment their entire life. Teeth like spears pierced the side of Godzilla’s throat, his body jerked violently as the sudden impact sent him crashing back into the waves, saltwater filling his open wounds. He whirled his head around, bellowing in fury, but she had already recoiled— slithering, shifting, a specter in the deep. Lahamu— the child of Tiamat, more specifically, the child of the one he had killed. “Murderer.” A familiar accusatory shriek tore through the water, distorted yet filled with venom. Godzilla’s eyes flashed a magenta hue, his entire form tensing as he turned just in time for Lahamu to strike again. Her massive, eel-like body coiled around his own, locking like a vice as she dug her talons into his side. Her bioluminescent body pulsed with an unnatural blue-green glow, her long, sinuous form wrapping tighter, trying to drag him downward. Godzilla’s dorsal plates flashed— and then he released a point-blank atomic pulse, the explosion of nuclear energy sent shockwaves rippling through the ocean, throwing Lahamu off of him and deeper into the abyss. But, the juvenile wasn’t done. As soon as she righted herself, her eyes burned with fresh hatred. “You took her from me!” Lahamu accused, however, Godzilla didn’t respond with words, only with another roar as Lahamu lunged forward. The saurian let out a low, guttural growl as his gills flared, Lahamu continued her assault on him, coiling around him once more, her claws raking deep into his scales. The bite of pain was nothing— but the decay was infuriating. Ichi’s hollow laughter still echoed in his mind, even across the distance. The coward was hiding behind stolen machines, behind whispers of old nightmares, intentionally wasting his time so he and his brothers could convert his subjects to their side. Godzilla’s dorsal plates flared with power as he twisted violently, sending a shockwave through the abyss, the pressure sent Lahamu hurtling back into the deep, her glowing eyes burning with hatred even as the currents dragged her further away. Before she could deliver another attack, the water shifted, signaling something else was coming, something ancient and massive. Godzilla stilled as much as hovering underwater allowed him to, his gaze zeroing in as a shape moved from the darkness of the abyss. It did not swim, nor did it glide, it simply existed.
The deep bent around it, the water rippling in slow, undulating waves that carried with them a feeling that even Godzilla— King of the Monsters could only describe as primordial. “Enough.” The voice hissed, it was a whisper in the water, a pulse in the currents— a presence that filled the ocean itself. Lahamu froze mid-strike, a rumbling sound left her throat, not a sound of fear, but recognition. And then, from the deep, something rose. It moved with the ocean, indistinct yet overwhelming, it had many eyes, or none at all, many mouths, or just one— it didn’t matter because it was Yamata no Orochi, and it was here. Lahamu let out a sharp hiss, her body twisting sharply as if preparing for another strike. “Still your anger, daughter of the slain.” Came the voice again, its tone slow and deep, like the rolling of the tides against unbreakable stone. “Your quarrel is not now.” It added, Labamu’s muscles coiled, her bioluminescence pulsing erratically. “You would defend him?” She hissed, her voice rippling through the depths like distant, furious thunder. Orochi did not respond right away, but the pressure in the water grew heavier. “The Death Song of the Three Storms has returned.” Orochi simply put, the words settled deep into Godzilla’s bones, there was no need to ask what the Death Song of the Three Storms was— Ichi, Ni, San: King Ghidorah. The three-headed devil had found himself a new body, and that was far more important than any grudge. Orochi’s form undulated through the abyss, the pressure of its sheer presence shoving Lahamu further back. “You, King, are needed elsewhere,” Orochi uttered, though its voice held no reverence nor submission, only exception. Godzilla was quick to understand, letting out a slow exhale, releasing a long trail of bubbles that spiraled toward the surface. His rose eyes locked onto Orochi’s gaze, “My thanks.” Godzilla muttered, Orochi did not bow, did not nod, simply existed. “Go, King and end the Storm.” It encouraged, Godzilla did not hesitate, with a powerful thrust of his tail, he surged forward, the water ripping apart in his wake as he ascended toward the surface for the battlefield awaited and Ghidorah would fall once more.
The floor to the Xilien mothership was cold metal, slick and unyielding beneath Nathan’s hands as he pushed himself upright. His muscles ached from being dragged through the halls of the Xilien mothership, but his discomfort was the least of his concerns. The room they had been tossed into was dimly lit, barely more than a containment cell, the walls were dark, pulsing with faint streaks of energy, alive in ways that metal shouldn’t be.. And they weren’t alone. “Oh, great,” Josh’s voice echoed from the corner of the cell, laced with sarcasm. “More friends.” He snarkily announced, Nathan’s head snapped toward the source of the voice, spotting Josh Valentine, Elle, and Sam Brody huddled against the far wall. Jesus, they looked like hell. Elle’s face was bruised, a cut running just below her temple. Sam was breathing heavily, his knuckles bloodied from what Nathan could only assume was a poorly thought-out escape attempt. Josh, though mostly unharmed compared to his cellmates, looked exhausted. His eyes had the hollow, sunken look of someone who had seen too much in too little time. “You guys look like you’ve had a rough time,” Bernie muttered, rubbing his wrists where the Xiliens had unceremoniously yanked the restraints off before shoving them inside. “Oh, you know, just another day in hell.” Josh deadpanned, before anyone could respond with a witty or snarky retort, the door slid once more with a shape hiss. Two Xilien soldiers stepped inside, clad in sleek, black and eerily organic armor. The visors of their helmets pulsed a faint violet, as if mirroring the ship’s unnatural energy. One of them raised a single, gloved hand— and the wall opposite them flickered to life, leaving a holographic screen to expand before them, illuminating the room in a cold, violet glow. And on the screen was the depths of hell, the ruins of Hong Kong were barely recognizable beneath the storm-choked sky, complete with fire, lightning, and blood. Mecha-King Ghidorah loomed above the chaos, his metallic wings casting an ominous shadow upon the battlefield. Kong was fighting like a demon, his fur scorched, his muscles shaking with exhaustion. Mothra’s golden glow flickered as she narrowly avoided a blast from Spacegodzilla’s corona beam, Rodan hovered nearby, uncertain and faltering. And still— there was no sign of Godzilla. Nathan felt his stomach tighten, he was lucky enough to be a prisoner away from the chaos, but what about the people trapped? “Admire your handiwork,” one of the Xilien soldiers intoned, pulling Nathan out of his thoughts in a smooth yet venomous voice. “This is the world you’ve created.” He added, no one spoke, allowing the soldier to step forward, the energy in his visor flaring slightly. “You provoked us,” he continued, “You forced our hand, our last lord was merciful.. But you?” The soldier paused, tilting his head as if considering them. “You have displeased Controller X.” He spat in a colder, harsher tone. Nathan’s fist clenched, but he was nowhere near as furious as Mark. “And what? You expect us to apologize?” Mark finally spoke up, his voice seething. The soldier let out a chuckle, finally proving the Xiliens could show emotion— and they even enjoyed the damage. “Oh, no, we expect you to watch.” He corrected, with a wave of his finger, the screen zoomed in on Kong, pinned beneath Monster X, his body heaving with effort, however, the great ape was losing and all they could do was sit and wait for a miracle that didn’t seem to come. The Xilien soldiers chuckled softly to themselves, the eerie, distorted laughter bouncing off the cold metal walls as they turned on their heels. “Enjoy the show,” one of them sneered as they exited, the door sliding shut behind them with an unsettling finality. Hong Kong still burned on the holographic screen, the flickering images casting long, sharp shadows against the walls. The battle raged on, their protectors bleeding— breaking, and losing. And as for them? They were locked in a cage, forced to helplessly watch. Maia let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through her already-disheveled hair. “Well, that was fun.” She snarked, pacing toward the back of the cell and seeming all too calm. “Any more great ideas, or should we just start taking bets on who dies first?” She added, gazing around the room. “Not helping.” Dr. Andrews snapped, her hand instinctively resting on Jia’s shoulder. The girl was silent, expression unreadable, but her fingers tapped anxiously against her leg. Josh rubbed his temples, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I almost miss being chased by Titans. At least then I could run.” He groaned, “No need for running, my man.” Bernie suddenly spoke up, his voice carrying that familiar, maniac excitement— the kind that usually meant trouble. Nathan whirled around, brow furrowing. “Bernie, now is really not the time for one of your conspiracy rants.” He grumbled, the one thing Nathan liked about Bernie was the crackpot label was taken off himself to be given to Bernie. “Who said anything about a rant?” Bernie sneered, pulling something out from his jacket— showing the room a small, sleek, hexagonal device: Xilien technology. A hush fell over the group, exchanging uncertain glances, besides Maia and Martin, of course. “Bernie, please tell me you didn’t just steal something off a superpowered alien soldier.” Sam wheezed, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “Would it make you feel better if I said no?” Bernie shot back with a widening grin, “No!” Came the chorus of voices, “Well, too bad.” Bernie muttered with a shrug, Nathan took a sharp step forward, eyes locked on the device. “How the hell did you even?—” He stammered, “Oh you know,” Bernie cut him off, flipping the device between his fingers like a magician with a deck of cards. “Slight of hand, distracted ‘em with my undeniable charm. Also, they’re way too cocky. You’d think an intergalactic empire would invest in better situational awareness.” He added, Martin, who had been quiet up until now, leaned against the wall with a skeptical look. “And what exactly do you plan on doing with that? Sell it on eBay?” He grumbled, Bernie’s grin dimmed slightly, replaced by something.. Sharper. “Oh, I’ve got plans.” Bernie muttered, turning the device over in his hands, studying it. “See, I may have dabbled in, you know, a little hacking here and there. And X?” He began, tilting his head, the flickering screen of Hong Kong reflecting in Josh’s cracked glasses. “I think I know something that’ll fuck with his head.” Bernie simply put, Nathan felt a chill crawl down his spine, coming to the realization Bernie wasn’t joking and he’d found a way for them to fight back.
The camera rolled, the lighting was perfect— crisp, artificial, and just cold enough to be unsettling. The backdrop behind him was sleek, minimalist, the kind of sterile, futuristic aesthetic that humans found both awe-inspiring and slightly unnerving. The Xilien insignia loomed in the corner of the screen, a silent reminder of who was in charge— his truly. X tilted his head slightly, his one remaining eye gleaming golden behind his dark visor. His gloved hands flexed as he reached forward, grabbing the laminated sheet of paper before him, bold black letters stretched across the top, reading: ‘Controller X Answers the Web’s Most Asked Questions.’ X let out a chuckle under his breath, directing his gaze toward the camera. “Let’s see what humanity has to say about me, hmm?” He pondered, with a swift motion, he peeled back the first question. “Who is Controller X?” He read aloud, a smirk spreading across his face as he drummed his fingers against the paper. “An interesting question. Philosophical, even. I suppose it depends on who you ask, if you ask my followers, they’d say I am their rightful ruler, their savior, the one who brought order to the chaos of their weak, divided world..” X paused, leaning slightly closer to the camera. “And if you asked my enemies..” He began, leaving a beat of silence. “They’d say I’m the end of them.” He replied, ripping away the next strip of paper. “What does Controller X want?” X read aloud, tilting his head and considering the question. “Simple, evolution, progress, a future where humanity is no longer shackled by its own weaknesses.” He explained, his gloved hand flickering toward the screen, a swirl of holographic images flashing to life— images of cities rebuilt under Xilien rule, humans and Xiliens living in harmony— adoration, fear, and devotion all in one. “And yet,” X muttered, watching the images reflect in his visor. “It is fascinating, is it not? The way you humans praise and revere your conquerors.” X snarked, tapping the edge of the screen, scrolling through comments, news articles, digital prayers to their so-called Controller, they loved him— loved the Xiliens, and yet.. X let out a sharp exhale, nostrils flaring as an old bitterness rose unbidden. “How amusing,” He muttered in his native language, more to himself than the camera. “That you so willingly bow to an empire that does not care for you.. Yet you case aside those who did..” He trailed off, his fingers tightening on the paper. The name Ren Serizawa never left his lips, but it didn’t have to, he thought of the ridicule, the disbelief— the way humanity spat on his efforts, branded him a villain, a traitor against humanity. He had wanted to save them, however, they had wanted him dead. And now? They celebrated their newly found contact with aliens, the irony tasted metallic on his tongue. X shook the thought from his head, moving to tear away the next question. “How powerful is Controller X?” He read aloud, his smirk returned, a glint of sharp amusement in his eye— not that the audience could see it. “I would say.. Beyond human comprehension.” X mused, flicking his wrist, and the air hummed with energy as a crackling orb of telekinetic power formed between his fingers. “I control your machines, your minds, your very future— just to name a few..” X trailed off, the orb flared slightly before vanishing into nothingness. leaving only silence in its wake. X leaned forward, voice lowering. “So tell me, dear viewer.. Does that answer your question?” He pried, his smile faltered when he heard a: BEEP! And the screen glitched, a distortion rippled across the holographic screen, the colors twisting unnaturally. A low, grating hum vibrated through the room, crawling beneath his skin like static on a dead channel. “Ren.” A voice that was faint at first, then slowly cleared up— made its presence known by speaking. X froze in place, his mind sharpened like a blade, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and raw, inhumane fury. That voice— It wasn’t possible, the transmission snapped back to normal, the hum fading as the room fell silent. X’s fingers curled into fists, his lips peeled back into a snarl— no, no, that wasn’t real, that wasn’t possible because Ishirō Serizawa was dead.
Notes:
officially one month ago today i thought of this at 2 in the morning and gave it my best shot, words cannot describe how grateful i am for all the support and traction this fic has gotten, i genuinely wouldnt have been this motivated to continue if it weren’t for all the support this fic has managed to get— considering 100 people can fit in a warehouse and this fic has 560 hits as im typing it, thats so crazy to put into perspective.. anyway, i tried to leave orochi as ambiguous (down to gender) as possible as we have yet to see them debut on screen
Chapter 30: king for a day
Summary:
You told me think about it, well I did
Now I don't wanna feel a thing anymore
I'm tired of begging for the things that I want
I'm over sleeping like a dog on the floor
Imagine living like a king someday
A single night without a ghost in the walls
And if the bass shakes the earth underground
We'll start a new revolution now
Now
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The voice— hell, the man standing before him entirely should not exist, he’d thrown his own existence away in the name of a monster.
And yet? It did, it existed loud and clear, slithering through the cracks of his mind like water seeping into fractured stone: uninvited, unwelcome, yet despite all, impossible to ignore. “Ren.” The voice echoed, X’s teeth clenched, feeling his electric-tinged fingers tighten around the armrests of his throne. X did not respond, he vowed he would not give that man the time of day after the shit on his shoes seemed more important to him than X’s entire childhood. But the voice— his father’s voice persisted in a low and steady tone, carrying that same infuriating patience that had once made X ache for his approval, but now? It made him seethe with fury. “This isn’t who you are.” He insisted, his tone was calm yet stern, overall extremely familiar. X let out a sharp inhale, his nostrils flaring as he gazed around the room and suddenly noted it felt smaller.
The holographic screens surrounding Controller X flickered, shifting from the glorious chaos of Hong Kong to something else, something objectively worse: his memories. Flashes of his childhood, fragments of rare warmth and common longing twisted into something sickening. X saw himself when he was still Ren, small hands clutching at the hem of his father’s coat, trotting behind as he walked through the halls of the organization Ren would soon begin to despise, though for now, he never slowed down nor did he look back. “Do you remember when you were little?” Somehow-Ishirō began, “When I showed you the stars?” He added as the image soon morphed before them— they were back in the decently sized Janjira residence prior to moving to Tokyo after the explosion, where Ishirō barely even inhabited in the first place. An even younger Ren, barely five years old, sat beside his father near the window, the city lights below shimmering like fallen constellations. “You were terrified of the dark,” Somehow-Ishirō pointed out as if X wasn’t the boy in the goddamn memory, “But I told you to look up. I told you that no matter how dark the world became, the stars would always be there watching over you, you said—” Somehow-Ishirō began, but X wasn’t in the mood for sentimentals— let alone from a man who couldn’t give less of a shit, even going as far as to passing down items that should’ve went to him to Mark and Vivienne respectively. “I said, ‘that’s stupid, I can’t reach them,” X chimed in, his voice cutting through the illusion like a blade.
The memory shattered as the stars bled into static, X felt his hands shake, but he forced them still. “You were a child,” Somehow-Ishirō elaborated, his voice unwavering despite X’s clear disinterest. “You didn’t understand yet. But you do now, don’t you? You understand why I—” Somehow-Ishirō trailed off. X nearly barked a laugh, how was he this wrong? Was this the reconciliation he had spent his whole life hoping for? If that was the case, forget it. “Why you what?” X cut in a cold, sharp voice. “Why you were never there? Why I had to fight your battles while you were nothing but Gojira’s PR team?” X added, taking a deep breath as he noted how thick and heavy the air suddenly felt, he always felt that way around Ishirō— like he couldn’t breathe, as if their worlds were never meant to collide, he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.. Was this the chance to yell at Ishirō for everything? “Don’t do this, I know you, you’re still my son.” Somehow-Ishirō pleaded, “Your son?” X affirmed, raising a brow, a harsh, bitter laugh tearing from otherwise dry throat. “Tell me father,” X spat, stepping out of his throne to pace around Somehow-Ishirō. “Did you consider me your son when you held Vivienne Graham’s hand through every Monarch disaster, stood by her side in San Francisco, but left your own flesh and blood alone?” X demanded, the moment Somehow-Ishirō displayed a rare moment of hesitance, X latched onto it just as Ghidorah had latched onto him and helped open his eyes, perhaps he could do the same to Somehow-Ishirō and have his father by his side. “Oh, what? No clever words this time?” He sneered, “I bet you have an excuse, you always do.” X bitterly added. “Vivienne was a colleague. I—” Somehow-Ishirō attempted to protest, leading X to regret even bringing Vivienne up since he’d always make excuses. “She was a replacement,” X cut in with a tone as sharp as broken glass. “Don’t pretend otherwise. You had time for her, time for Monarch, time for everything else but me and your own wife.” X corrected, his smirk only widened as the air crackled, it seemed the Earth itself was on his side. “Ren—” Somehow-Ishirō argued, but he’d already messed up. “Don’t call me that, only those who understood Ren Serizawa can still address me as such, you— my own father, did not.” X chimed in, casting a brief silence that had X hoping he got Somehow-Ishirō to see his point of view, but he didn’t, he still tried. “Do you remember your mother’s funeral?” Somehow-Ishirō gently pondered as if X were still a child, though in all fairness, he was a child when he was forced to lower his very mother into the ground all on his own. X stilled, his fingers curling into fists, “Of course you do,” Somehow-Ishirō continued, unalarmed by the golden electricity dancing around his son's fingers. “You were eighteen, you made all the arrangements yourself.. You were stronger than I was at that age, I was coming back as soon as I could but..” Somehow-Ishirō trailed off, both as Ren Serizawa and as Controller X, he couldn’t stand being pitied, he did not want sympathy, he wanted common ground. “But you didn’t, you didn’t even bother to show up until two days later because whatever expedition you were on was more important than saying goodbye to your own wife. Two days, but let’s not forget she was dead for a week before you showed up.” X snarled, he let out a sharp exhale, trying to steady himself— reminding himself he was no longer Ren Serizawa, what did it matter what Ishirō Serizawa thought of him if King Ghidorah thought him brilliant?
But much to X’s dismay, the memories refused to come to a halt. “Do you remember the call?” X whispered, despite his whisper, his voice had only dropped so it could shift to a tone of malice and danger. “Because I do. I remember calling you while you were on a Monarch plane, trying to tell you she was gone, trying to tell you that I was alone. And do you know what I got?” X paused, a smirk twitching at his lips despite nothing being funny. “Voicemail.” X added after letting the words sink in, Somehow-Ishirō had no reply as a familiar silence stretched between them. X’s breath came heavy, his body rigid with the weight of years worth of resentment, betrayal, and abandonment. “So no,” He finally said, voice cold as ice. “You don’t get to stand here and pretend you were ever my father. You don’t get to waltz into my head and tell me who I am.” X declared, letting out a sharp exhale, forcing his pulse to steady before he accidentally shocked himself. “Because Ren Serizawa is dead, and X does not need a father.. X is the beginning of a new age.” X whispered, leaning into Somehow-Ishiro’s ear to get his point across. “You don’t mean that.” Somehow-Ishirō stammered, for the first time in X’s life, he heard his voice waver. Regardless, X turned on his heel, effectively turning away from the holographic screen, declaring the conversation over. “You’re not real.” He muttered, shutting the hologram off.
The room plunged into silence, but even in the absence of sound, the voice of Ren Serizawa, not X’s father lingered.
The room should have been silent, X had severed the transmission, ended the hallucination— or whatever it was, and erased the illusion. Despite everything he’d done, Somehow-Ishirō Serizawa still stood before him, his former self's father, or something wearing his face. The holographic distortion flickered faintly, casting ghostly shadows against the sleek metallic walls of the chamber. Somehow-Ishirō was as he had always been— stoic, composed, calm, impossibly patient, and with that same, infuriating, knowing gaze. “Ren,” He repeated, voice low and steady as if he were talking to a child. This sent X into a rage, his hands curled into tight, trembling fists. “I told you,” He began, his voice low and venomous. “Don’t call me that.” X demanded, much to his frustration, Somehow-Ishirõ did not take his demands seriously and refused to falter. “You want me to stop, but you haven’t forced me to.” Somehow-Ishirō simply put, X felt his breath hitch, but his expression did not change. “Shut up.” X snapped, watching as his father tilted his head slightly as if examining him. “You have power over everything, don’t you?” Somehow-Ishirō alleged, taking a step forward, though X did not push him away, instead stilling. He didn’t have Ghidorah to take control of his limbs the moment he showed any sign of regret, so he was left to process all of this. “You bend machines to your will, you break minds as easily as glass, and yet— you haven’t erased me.” Somehow-Ishirō pointed out, X felt the words sink into him like hooks, gritting his teeth, he could feel the buzzing in his head grow louder and that really pushed him toward the edge. “You’re a glitch, an anomaly.. Nothing more.” X hissed, Somehow-Ishirō let out a shaky sigh, something close to sorrow flickering beneath his deep-set eyes, how lucky he was to have a pair of eyes.
“I know what you’ve become,” Somehow-Ishirō admitted, “But I also know what you are trying so desperately to bury.” Somehow-Ishirō pointed out, though his voice softened for his next statement. “Ren, my son—” He began, seemingly unaware of the volcano that would erupt in X because of his words. “I SAID DON’T CALL ME THAT!” X snapped, even as Ren Serizawa— someone who was so angry just beneath the surface, he hardly ever yelled so it was clear becoming Ghidorah’s puppet had taken a serious toll on his mental state, X was known for his fits of either eerie silence or maniac laughing, nothing in between, but being straight up furious was new. The room shook with the force of his fury, the very air distorting under the weight of his power. Screens flickered violently, lights pulsing erratically as if they, too, were struggling to withstand the storm inside him. Yet, as if X were simply a child who cracked under pressure, Somehow-Ishirō did not flinch.
Instead, Somehow-Ishirō opted to pull a string that made X’s entire body seize in place. He opened his arms, it was an embrace, nothing more than a simple, silent offer. Despite the simplicity of his father’s gesture, X felt his breath hitch and suddenly he couldn’t move, found himself unable to think even if his mind was screaming at him to lash out, to strike, to end this farce. But by contrast, his body betrayed him, before he even realized it, he had taken a step forward, then another, and another. His feet moved of their own accord, but it wasn’t Ghidorah seizing control of his limbs, it was something deep in his chest, something raw, something old, something broken dragging him toward that outstretched embrace. It soon became clear it was his much younger self reaching for something his father had never provided him: the warm, safe acknowledgement. X felt his hands twitch uncertainly at his sides, but despite this, he took another step forward, closer, and then— he stopped short in his tracks as he realized something was wrong, his stomach twisted alongside his eye narrowing, feeling an unsettling absence pressed against his mind. He couldn’t feel it, more specifically, he couldn’t feel him. X’s gift— Ghidorah’s blessings, his power, his dominion over all things living and mechanical, he could read thoughts, emotions, and the very currents of existence itself. With that being said, Somehow-Ishirō was empty— instead of being a mind or a presence, he was a shell, a thing, just a projection. X staggered back as if struck, his chest tightening with something cold and ugly. “You..” X whispered, gaze flicking from himself to Somehow-Ishirō. “Ren?” He pondered, X’s expression only twisted with fury. “I can’t read you..!” X came to the realization, lunging forward and gripping the front of Ishirō’s robes, his hands clutching desperately and angirly, shaking. “You said you uploaded your consciousness..” X pointed out, his electric-dazzled fingers digging into the empty light. “So why— why can’t I feel you?” X demanded, Somehow-Ishirō had nothing to say, this sent X into a frenzy when he realized he’d been tricked.. His father’s face— so familiar, so distant, watched him with that same unreadable softness.
It was a lie, all of it had been, and for the first time since he became X, since he had shed Ren Serizawa like a rotting skin, since he had sworn to never feel again— something inside him cracked.
X burst into a fit of hysterical laughs when the rage inside him burned hotter than any atomic fire, a seething, all-consuming inferno that gnawed at the edges of his restraint.
They dared.
They dared to use his father against him.
They dared to reach into the hollow pit of his past, scrape their filthy hands through the marrow of his grief, and mold it into something grotesque— a trick, a deception, a sickening attempt to turn him human again. How disgustingly pathetic was that?
X’s hands trembled at his sides as his breath came out in sharp and uneven chuckles, the edges of his vision blurred with static, his telepathic link to the ship's systems surging erratically, responding to his fury.
One of them had done this.
One of them had stolen from him.
And he would rip the truth from their throats himself. The moment the realization snapped into place, X didn’t waste moving. With a flick of his wrist, the ship’s corridors parted before him, doors hissing open in rapid succession, the metal walls shuddering as if even the vessel itself feared his wrath— it was a smart vessel, in that case.
Every damned step was thunder.
Every breath was lightning.
Every ounce of Controller X’s will crackled through the air, a predator hunting those who thought they could outwit the devil’s harbinger.
The prison chamber loomed ahead, the second X reached the doors, they exploded open with a deafening shriek, the reinforced metal crumpling inward like crushed paper under the force of his telekinetic fury. The prisoners rightfully flinched, some instinctively shielding their eyes from the cascade of sparks and shattered debris. There was a cold, heavy, and suffocating silence as X took a slow and deliberate step forward, his presence filling the space like an approaching storm.
The air itself was electric.
The lights flickered wildly, the Xilien technology responding to Controller X’s volatile energy, casting deep, jagged shadows along the walls. X brought a hand to his face, intentionally taking his sweet time to tear off his visor, leaving a single, golden eye burning in the dim light, its sickly glow searing into the prisoners like an unrelenting sun. Where his right eye had once been, there was only destruction; a mangled, scarred socket with twisted flesh stretching across the hollow wound. Gone was the eyepatch that he once used to conceal his dignity, symbolizing there was no veil of humanity left to soften the nightmare. This was what he had become, this was what they had tried to break. “Sooo,” X began, his tone like that of a parent trying to figure out which child broke the vase. “This is how you fight, then?” X added in a low, dangerous, and almost eerily calm tone despite his fit of hysterical laughter moments before. He paused, his eye scanning their reactions in a slow, predatory manner, observing how Sam was still hyperventilating, Mark’s jaw was clenched, Nathan was stone-still, Jia was staring— just gazing away just to name a few reactions, however, what stuck out the most to him was Bernie. X’s lips curled into a slow, humorless grin. “I see you, Hayes.” X sneered, watching as Bernie’s fingers tightened around the small, stolen device in his palm— Xilien tech, X had realized Bernie was behind this as his golden eye flared. “You thought you could play dirty games with me?” X demanded, his lips pressing into a thin line as the ship hummed ominously, responding to the raw power radiating from him, the walls seeming to shrink inward, suffocating the hostages. X tilted his head, grin widening. “Fine.” He began, his voice was like distant thunder, low and rumbling all the while promising catastrophe. “Let’s play dirty.” He declared, snapping his fingers.
The moment the sound cracked through the air, the entire room shifted. Cold, coiling restraints shot from the floor, wrapping around wrist, ankles, chests— metallic serpents slithering into place with an unnatural precision. The poor prisoners barely had time to react before they were wrenched backward into sleek, obsidian seats, each one locked into position like specimens pinned beneath glass. Mark jerked violently against the shackles, his teeth bared in rage. “You son of a—” He began, X clicked his tongue, rolling his one remaining eye in exaggerated amusement. “Really, Mark? I’d think by now you’d realize brute force gets you nowhere. But, then again, you were never the sharpest tool in Monarch’s little shed, were you?” X sighed, shaking his head.
The equilibrium stand soon hissed overhead, lowering into place, a sleek, mechanical structure suspended directly above the prisoners. Glass vials lined the interior, slowly filling with a viscous, yellow-gold liquid that shimmered ominously in the dim light: aqua regia, a concoction so potent it could dissolve gold itself. Bernie was the first to react, swallowing hard as his dark eyes flickered between the filling vials and X’s languid, leisurely form. “Alright, buddy,” Bernie started, doing his best to keep his voice level, “Not to nitpick here, but I gotta say.. Torturing us?” Bernie trailed off, falling silent when he noticed X’s lip curving upwards. “Oh, Bernie,” He sighed mockingly, strolling towards the raised podium at the front of the room. “I appreciate the note, but please, give the last Xilien lord his due. This cell? Not my design.” X cleared up, he was never one to care about credit, allowing Simmons to call the mecha his son and his project alone because it wasn’t about the glory for him, it was about getting the job done., X returned to reality, gesturing vaguely toward their surroundings. “He built it with practicality in mind. Simple, efficient, perfect for moments like this.” X sneered, at his words, the liquid in the vials rose higher. Jia sat completely still, doing what she did best— watching and waiting, Dr. Andrews, who was shackled beside her, had gone rigid, her eyes locked on X with a silent, burning fury. By the contrary, Sam— the manchild, not Ford’s son, was visibly trembling, sweat beading along his forehead. “You look pale, Sam.” X noted, expression showing mock concern. “Bad memories? Or just bad luck?” X sneered, when Sam didn’t answer, X’s smirk widened. “No matter.” He added, with a lazy flick of his wrist, a panel rose from the podium.. And there, sitting pristine and untouched, was a board— a simple, childish thing.
It was reminiscent of the ‘Guess Who?’ board game, only this one was far more.. Personal, to put it simply. To go into detail, each face in the room stared back from a snl plastic frame, every single one of them, their eyes, their expressions— frozen solid in time. X ran a finger along the edge of the board, letting the weight of it settle over his prisoners. “I didn’t play games often in my youth,” X mused, tilting his head slightly, as if deep in thought. “I spent all my youth expanding my knowledge in all things engineering, and the little time I wasn’t..” He trailed off, his golden eye landing on Bernie, he wouldn’t tell Bernie he was the one giving his podcast so much grief and the account had originally started as a Twitter troll meant for channeling his frustrations somewhere, just so it wasn’t bottled up, of course, this was all before X became the lord of the Xiliens overnight, hell, even before he joined Apex and gained the funding to build a robot motivated solely by jealousy and resentment.
X traced his fingers idly along the edges of the board, the small plastic frames awaiting his decision. The room was silent except for the deliberately slow tap of his nails against the podium. He didn’t need his heightened sense to feel them watching, he could feel their breaths hitch with every flick of his fingers. And, oh, how he loved gambling with their miserable lives. “Now,” X began, his voice smooth as oil, the tone he previously used when persuading Nathan into going to the Hollow Earth. “Let’s consider our options, shall we?” He hummed, letting the hostages watch as his golden eye gleamed, drinking in the way their muscles tensed and the way their pulses thrummed with fear. For a moment, X let the anticipation settle before quickly growing bored and getting to the point. “Who hesitated before leaving me to rot in Mexico?” X pondered, his fingers snapped forward with a click and Maia Simmons’ photo fell. The woman in question flinched, eyes widening by just a fraction, X actually found this amusing. “No biting remarks? No protests? Ah, that’s right— you only mouth off when there’s an escape route, don’t you?” He noted, not waiting for an answer as he continued. “Who visited me nearly as much as my own wife?” X reflected on, with a click, Nathan Lind’s image dropped, ensuring his safety. “Your loyalty is almost commendable, Doctor.. Pity it was wasted.” X mused, his dear pal, Nathan had nothing to say, but the way his jaw clenched? That was enough. X allowed his fingers to trail over the board, tapping against the next frame. “I won’t kill an easily influenced child.” X muttered with a click, Jia’s picture quickly knocked down.. The Iwi girl didn’t react— didn’t do so much as blink, but Ilene Andrews, shackled beside her, let out a sharp exhale she likely hadn’t even realized she was holding, relief battling the tension in her shoulders. X tilted his head in amusement, “How sweet. But don’t get too comfortable..” X hummed, without waiting for Ilene’s reaction, he moved on. “Who makes for good leverage?” X speculated, with two clicks, Elle and Sam Brody’s photos were gone, the mother and son both stiffened, their eyes darting toward one another in a silent understanding. “You’ll thank me later.” X assured with a shrug that showcased his lack of care quite well, his gaze instead drifting to the other Sam— the manchild who was shaking, sweating, and his breath coming in rapid gasps. Well, X figured might as well have fun with him. “Oh, don’t look so betrayed, Sam.” X chuckled, his voice still mockingly sympathetic. “We both know you were forced, but cooperation is cooperation.” X added, Sam’s lips parted, a desperate attempt at protest dying in his throat as he saw X was already moving on. “Now…” X muttered under his breath, his electric-tinged fingers hovering over Bernie and Josh’s photos.. The two bowling balls who had blown his entire operation, billions worth of Simmons’ money, and their inability to mind their business left Hong Kong in ruins. “Whose life is so miserable and worthless it’d be mercy to kill them?” X contemplated, a ‘click, click’ sound filling the room as both Josh and Bernie’s photos fell over. The podcaster let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Wow, man. That’s almost touching.” Bernie muttered, X arched a brow, what the hell had he done to make Bernie think he had any room to refer to him as ‘man?’ X was not a man, and he was most certainly not a friend of Bernie’s. “Would you prefer I reconsider?” X shot back, his patience wearing thin, Bernie was luckily quick to shut up, displaying a rare moment of silence. “I wouldn’t kill a mother..” X muttered after collecting himself, both Ilene Chen and Ilene Andrew’s dropping to the board.. Ilene Andrews exhaled in relief, however Ilene Chen barely reacted. X didn’t bother making any remarks to crawl up their nerves, instead tapping the last few remaining faces. “With that logic, I wouldn’t kill a father..” X noted under his breath, with a click, Rick Stanton’s face banished from the board.
With that, that left only two: Mark Russell and Raymond Martin. X’s grin slowly grew, a sharp sneer etched on his face. He leaned forward, one hand braced against the podium, his golden eye blazing with amusement. “Well, well.” X mused, golden gaze flickering between them. “Looks like it’s just the two of you..” He added, he let his gaze scan the two of them, Mark’s jaw was tight, his eyes hard whilst Raymond was unnervingly still. X straightened up, tilting his head. “I’m feeling generous,” he purred, “I’ll let you plead your case.” He paused, his smirk curling wider. “Make it count.” He sneered, X went on to rest his hands on the podium, leaning forward just slightly, his golden eye flickering between the last two faces left standing. Both of the men were silent but seething, he didn’t need Ghidorah’s blessings to come to that conclusion, he could see it etched in their expressions.. He could feel the bubbling rage, that deep, festering resentment— the kind that rots a man from the inside out, hollowing them into something sharp, bitter, and ugly. And oh, how he loved to press on wounds that never fully healed. “I’ll admit,” X began, drawing out each syllable just so he could savor the way their muscles tensed. “This was a difficult choice.” X added, tapping the podium, his fingernail clinking against the surface in a slow, deliberate manner. “After all, you two share such a.. Common flaw.” X pointed out, his grin sharpening as he lifted his head from the board to meet their gazes. “You both failed as fathers, there’s nothing I despise more than failed fathers.” X sneered, watching as Mark’s jaw clenched while Raymond’s expression darkened, lips pressing into a firm, unflinching lone. “Mark— your son, Andrew, gone. Just like that.” X chuckled in an almost delighted way, snapping his fingers. “A casualty in the 2014 San Francisco attack. And your daughter, Madison? Wellll..” X trailed off, his smirk widening, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “We all know how that ended.” He added, while Mark spent his time seething, X turned his attention to Raymond. “And you,” He hummed, “Your entire family, wiped off the face of the Earth. Your wife, your parents, your son, even your left arm.” X listed, gesturing vaguely to where the prosthetic that once held flesh. “Tell me, Raymond— did you ever wake up in the middle of the night reaching for them?” X snarked, Raymond didn’t react in the way he wanted him to, opting to instead stare what once was Ren Serizawa down, letting out a snort. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, you little yellow freak.” Raymond spat without shame as if he already knew his life was over, the air went still as Mark’s head whipped toward Raymond, his expression flickering between disbelief and instant regret, Bernie let out a low, barely audible: “Oh shit.” Even Sam, who was still trembling, stiffened in sheer terror.
For a moment— just a mere moment, X had said nothing until he started laughing, it was a low, quiet chuckle at first, his shoulders shaking with it, amusement curling at the edges of his lips. It didn’t take long for the laughter to grow into something louder and sharper, the sound echoing through the chamber— metallic, grating, and unnatural. It stopped short, abruptly and violently as if nothing had been funny to start with. His head snapped toward Raymond, his golden eye burned molten-hot, his expression now devoid of any amusement, replaced with cold, simmering rage. “Resorting to racism is so very American of you, Martin.” X grumbled, shamelessly flicking down Mark’s picture and leaving Martin’s as the only one standing. At the snap of his fingers, the aqua regia began to pour onto the man who couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
The moment Ren, no— X released the aqua regia, Raymond Martin didn’t scream, didn’t thrash, didn’t beg, nothing. He just sat there, a grin carved into his face, watching as the acid spilled free, hissing and bubbling like the breath of a dragon. Josh Valentine’s lungs felt tight, he could barely hear over the blood pounding in his ears, but what froze him— what truly rattled his bones wasn’t the sight of the acid, it was X’s face: his singular golden eye gleaming in the dim, sterile light, staring at Raymond with something unnatural, something petrifting, something Josh had the misfortune of seeing beforealook of pure, unfiltered amusement. He was having fun, he was enjoying this— getting a kick out of it. Josh’s breath hitched, his mind slamming back into the past, puzzle pieces falling into place, images overlapping.. The first occurence that crossed his mind was Madison, Josh being helplessly held back by Maia while Madison’s body was sprawled across shattered glass, X had been Ren back then, standing over her with a blood-slicked flower pot, his chest rising and falling with exterion, his eye had been a deep brown back then, but they still held that golden gleaming thrill.. He had seen that same look another time, in Mechagodzilla, the cockpit bathed in violet, Ren Serizawa’s hands gripping the controls as if they were an extension of his own body, his lips curling into a grin as he tore through the Skull Crawlers with savage, unrelenting glee.. In all of those occurrences, he wore the same look regardless of if he were Controller X or Ren Serizawa.
Josh’s stomach twisted violently, his mind screaming at him to look away, but how could he? He had come to the realization this wasn’t just a product of the assumed mental torture Ghidorah probably put Ren through to create X, no, it had always been there, lurking just beneath Ren Serizawa’s skin, Josh had spent so long rotting in this cell, telling himself that Ghidorah did this— that Ghidorah twisted him, that Ghidorah currupted him. But now? Staring into that singular golden eye, watching him revel in Martin’s flesh quite literally melting away— Josh realized the truth, Ghidorah didn’t create this, he simply brought it out.
Notes:
hiii i hope you all enjoyed the chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it ! i love writing ab other characters realizing even as ren, x was never a good person and always had this sense of hubris lurking just beneath the surface !
Chapter 31: doin’ time
Summary:
Evil, I've come to tell you that she's evil, most definitely
Evil, ornery, scandalous and evil, most definitely
The tension, it's getting hotter
I'd like to hold her head underwater
(Summertime)
(Ah, ah, ah)
Summertime, and the livin's easy
Bradley's on the microphone with Ras MG
All the people in the dance will agree
That we're well-qualified to represent the L.B.C
Me, me and Louie, we gonna run to the party
And dance to the rhythm, it gets harder
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The acrid scent of dissolved flesh still lingered in the air, mingling with the futuristic otherworldly atmosphere of the Xilien mothership. X stood at the center of it all, the faintest curl of a smirk flickering across his lips before vanishing entirely. It was a shame, he had expected Raymond Martin to scream longer.. That was the thing about people who thought they could get away with snide little comments— when faced with true power, they folded like paper, showing they could have never truly understood.
Aqua regia had reduced Martin: a billionaire who had gotten rich after the San Francisco attack but not without losing his family, was reduced to nothing but a foul stain on the floor, the last remnants of him still hissing as they ate away at the ship’s metal plating. Not a damn person spoke, the other prisoners who were nothing but pathetic remnants of the old world— could only watch in horrified silence. Some of them wore a gaze that implied they expected a speech, an explanation— maybe even a taunt, but X gave them nothing, after all, their fear was a reward in itself.
With that, Controller X turned on his heel and waltzed away.
Despite all, beneath the sharp, crackling hum of the Xilien’s technology in the distant whispers of something older and darker, X’s thoughts turned elsewhere: racism.
Raymond’s words had been meant to dent, but they barely scratched the surface. It was an amateur insult. Not a well-placed blade, rather a dull, rusted knife. It wasn’t that X was unfamiliar with racism— it was just rare. He had been bullied in school, but never for his race. No, they mocked him for his father, for Ishirō Serizawa’s bleeding-heart Titan sympathies, for the way his name was spoken like a curse on news networks whenever Monarch made a decision the public despised. The other children at his prestigious academy were just as Japanese as he was, wealthy, powerful, and equipped with surnames that could command entire boardrooms. The only thing setting him apart was the stain of his father’s reputation. Truth be told, it wasn’t until he left Japan that things changed, joining Apex came with traveling, from America, to Mexico, to Europe.. The first time he heard something truly venomous directed at him for his race, it hadn’t been in some back alley or from soe random idiot on the street, it was actually in the pristine halls of a private corporate event, murmured behind a champagne glass by an old-money American investor who thought X— well, he was still called Ren back then.. Regardless, they were under the impression he wasn’t listening.
“Smart for an Oriental. Walter Simmons must have lowered the bar.”
X recalled wanting to break a glass over the man’s head, though instead, he had taken another sip of the repulsive drink and let Simmons handle it— because as much as X couldn’t stand the man, he didn’t tolerate that kind of thing.. He really couldn’t, he was Mexican, and despite all his wealth and power, he had faced his own share of discrimination, the sort that made the other billionaires sneer behind closed doors, the sort that put a ceiling on how far Apex could go. “The construction worker with too much money,” X had once overheard someone call him, as for his daughter, Maia, she had never dealt with it firsthand since Simmons bought his way into America by the time she was born, but Simmons himself? He had been through it, maybe that was why he had never treated X like an outsider— at least not for his race.
If X were still used to accepting the bare minimum, he supposed he could have been grateful for such, but gratitude wasn’t in his nature, let alone for a man who was the indirect cause for the loss of his right eye.
The former Apex engineer stepped into one of the observation desks, the curved glass revealing a breathtaking, impossible view of the destruction on the blue planet. Storm clouds stretched out in a vast, endless sea, wildfires reduced to glowing embers in the distance. He pressed a gloved hand to the glass, feeling the power of the ship’s energy beneath his fingertips. In the back of his mind, the whispers stirred.
“You are thinking too much.”
“It does not matter.”
“You are not human anymore.”
They had stated a series of other degrading statements, but those were the only ones that managed to stay coherent between three overlapping voices. X’s lips parted slightly, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The air here was different, clean and precise, filtered and measured with the benefit of beings who did not need to breathe. He had no illusions about his place here, the Xiliens accepted him as their new lord despite his lack of experience in leading due to some prophecy stating someone who wasn’t born amongst them would rise above them all and lead them into victory.. And the humans? They weren’t sure what he was anymore, he had heard the thoughts of the prisoners, some claimed he was a monster, others a traitor, most deemed him a demon in human skin.
As if symbolizing something, the vessel of Gnidorah’s reflection in the glass momentarily flickered, his face remained his own— the same face he was born and matured with, but his eye, the one he had left, burned an eerie shade of gold. It was the hue of something ancient, something that had sunk its claws into his mind long before he had ever set foot on this ship.. X’s fingers curled against the glass, he had been many things in his life: son, husband, engineer, traitor, pilot, war criminal, failure.. But one thing he wasn’t was weak. Without another glance at the prisoners nor a single word to acknowledge Martin’s pathetic final moments, he turned and strode deeper into the mothership, his footsteps soundless against the gleaming floors.
Controller X settled into his throne with the languid ease of a man who had already won. The seat was forged from obsidian-like metal, sleek and unnaturally smooth, its structure twisting in ways that defied human architecture. It was not made for comfort, but that hardly mattered as the pilot seat wasn’t either, he belonged in both places regardless of comfort. A cigarette flicked between his fingers, the ember at the tip taking on a dim glow as he took a slow drag, the smork curled around him, filling the air witb the scent of burning paper and nicotine, it was so stupidly human, so human it didn’t have a place in the new world he was building.. When he was Ren Serizawa, he had smoked despite knowing of the consequences since he always told himself he was dying young and pretty, so what did lung cancer matter if he didn’t live to see it?
Before the exiled scientist, the screen flickered to life. It was no traditional monitor, lacking any human machinery as this was something far greater, Ichi’s mechanical head, the very center of Mecha-King Ghidorah projected the feed in midair, the visual dancing with static as if the signal struggled to bridge the gap between time, space, and whatever unholy connection still tethered X to the beast. Through Ichi’s artificial eyes, he saw everything: Hong Kong, or what was left of it. A city that had already burned, razed to the ground by his first attempt at ascension. Now, the long untouched ruins trembled once more, shadows shifting as something monstrous moved through them.. That ‘something monstrous’? Ghidorah, the real Ghidorah in the flesh, the one who had been taken from this world and dragged back through X’s own unholy machinations, this was no cheap limitation, not Mechagodzilla— that failure, that pathetic experiment doomed to fail. This was raw, ancient and admirable power, three heads snapping, golden scales overlapping mechanical scales.
And of course, wherever Ghidorah went, enemies followed.. The so-called protectors of this world, the ones who had survived long enough to crawl back from the abyss. Mothra’s latest incarnation, foolish as always, her wings cutting through the sky like painted glass. Rodan, that scavenging cretin, screeching as he dove through the wreckage.. Even Kong was there— pathetic, what was an ape to a hydra? X exhaled another drag of smoke, his good eye half-lidded as he watched the battle fold with detached amusement, he noted they were losing based on the way Ni’s jaws clamped down on Rodan’s wing, snapping like brittle wood. San’s maw wrenched Mothra from the air, slamming her against a crumbling skyscraper, the force of impact sending a shockwave through the ruins. Ichi, with all his effective torture methods, waited, watching, caluclating the exact moment to unleash a storm of mechinical gravity beams that carved neon death into the already burning skyline.
X felt everything.
Every kill, every scream, every feeble attempt to fight back.
However, it was not enough.
It would never be enough.
His fingers curled around the cigarette, his nails digging into his palm. The screen flickered as Ichi’s mechanical head fed him more sensory input, data streamed directly into his consciousness, blurring the line between observer and participant. For a moment, it felt like he was there, standing in the wreckage, his own hands tearing through flesh and bone, his own jaws sinking into warm, bleeding bodies.
But, he wasn’t.
That reality check soured the taste of smoke on his tongue. He was here, in his throne, watching from afar like some harbinger who completed his tasks, but not the god.
Not quite.
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he exhaled sharply, letting the cigarette rest between his lips as he steepled his fingers. He could hear Ghidorah’s laughter slithering through his mind like static on an old radio. “Enjoying the view, Puppet?” Ichi sneered, “Not quite.” X muttered, he didn’t say it aloud, but the sentiment was there, and Ichi felt it. “Greedy,” Ichi purred, “You always have been.” He purred, “You’re the one who taught me that.” X shot back, his lips curled, but the smirk never reached his eye— he knew Ghidorah hadn’t taught him greed, he was born with the sin. X leaned back in his seat, watching as Kong attempted to deliver a punch towards Monster X, trying to reach Mothra as she struggled to rise. Ni saw this first, the leftmost head always an eye for the pathetic ones, he linged, jaws snapping, and X watched the ache stumble— desperate and panicked like prey.
Good.
And yet, despite having everything he could have possibly wanted, something still gnawed at him.
His grip on the armrest tightened, fingers tapping against the cool metal in restless agitation.. It was not Gojira. This was fun— this was necessary, but it was not the fight, the real one, the one that mattered. He had been denied too many times, denied reconciliation with his father, denied revenge against the creature his father sacrificed his sacred time with his son for, it would not happen again. “You want it for yourself.” Ichi simply put in a tone that showcased it was not a question, however, his tone dripped with amusement, but beneath it, there was understanding. “You want to be the one to kill him.” Ichi pointed out while X took the opportunity to take another drag, the ember flaring like dying starlight. “I will be.” X shot back, for all the power he had gathered, for all the strings he now pulled, there was one thing he would never allow: that beast, that thing, the one who had stolen his father, the one who had stolen his purpose.
Gojira’s death would be at his hands.
He would discuss it with Ghidorah soon enough.
For now, he simply watched with his golden eye narrowed, awaiting the inevitable arrival.
Gojira would come.
And when he did?
Controller X would ensure he wished he never left.
The waters that cradled the ruined coast of Hong Kong churned with wrath, the waves cresting high before crashing against the jagged skeletons of buildings left standing from their last battle. Through Mecha-King Ghidorah’s mechanical eyes, Ichi beheld the familiar shape rising from the abyss, his form no longer as mighty as it had once been.
Oh, what a miserable state to crawl from.
The great Godzilla, the so-called King of the Monsters, had seen better days. Ichi’s efforts had seen to that, the world’s machines were his to command now, and he had used them well, hurling metal husks from land, sea, and sky against the creature’s path. Cargo freighters, submarines, drones— anything with circuitry and a crude intelligence, all repurposed as weapons in the service of their superior mind. Of course, Godzilla had endured, as he always did, but not without cost. His hide bore fresh wounds, his breath came in slow, heavy exhales, and his once-imposing entrance was dulled by the exhaustion radiating from his very core.
Pitiful.
“What a state you’ve let yourself fall into, O’ King.” Ichi sneered, his high-pitched voice slithering across the waves, the resonance vibration through the ruins, not spoken in mere sound but projected— a presence felt in the marrow. “He looks like a stray cat after a street fight.” San snarked in a low, amused coo. Ni, not known for his patience by any means, bristled, electricity crackling from his teeth as his growl reverberated through their colossal frame. “Doesn’t matter, he’s here. I say we rip him apart now.” Ni hissed, Ichi shot him a side-glance, but did not respond immediately, opting to instead simply watch— watch as Godzilla waded through the ruins of his last battle, past the corpses of creatures who had dared to side against him. Mothra’s latest rebirth, broken and struggling. Rodan, the traitor, torn apart. The foolish, insignificant ape who might’ve been spared had he not poked his nose in San’s affairs, his battered form half-buried beneath shattered concrete.
All of them, shattered beneath their return.
And yet, still, he came.
There was something to be said for that.
“Always so stubborn,” Ichi noted, his mechanical jaw parting in something akin to a smile. “You have not learned your place, even now.” He hissed, it was pathetic, his pets hated him and yet he still defended them. Godzilla’s glare cut through the haze of fire and ruin, his body rolling with the deliberately slow rise and fall of his breath. He did not growl nor did he roar, he merely stood there, his eyes boring into the all new Mecha-King Ghidorah with the weight of millennia. Ichi had seen that look before, oh, how it never failed to amuse him. “He’s not afraid of us.. Should we tell him he should be?” San chirped in a lifted voice, sing-song mockery laced beneath the weight of his words. “Won’t matter. We’ll make him afraid soon enough.” Ni barked in a laugh, his spines bristling. Ichi allowed them their banter as he’d learned long ago how to tune out their constant bickering, it was simple: let them chatter, let them hiss and taunt for it would not change the outcome..
What mattered now was control, for too long, Godzilla had dictated the order of this world. His pathetic balance and his rules would be nocmore. “I do hope you appreciate all the effort I went through to stall you,” Ichi continued, voice dripping with the false politeness a hostess would use. “It was such a chore rearranging your pet's technology to throw itself at you. And yet, here you stand.. Persistent, as always, predictable, as always.” Ichi hissed, his tone losing all faux diplomacy.. When his poorly hidden act faded away, the stillness that followed was rather palpable, the air charged with tension thick enough to choke the sky itself. Of course, Godzilla was predictable, he had to pull his signature move.
A low rumble echoed from the King's chest, deep, resonant, a sound that did not belong to something as simple as an animal, it was the sound of something older, something that had been waiting for their standoff. Ichi tilted his head, making note of the chuckle that rippled through his consciousness, though it did not come from his own thoughts— this laughter was deeper, layered, filled with resentment and the feeling of being robbed.
Puppet.
From his throne, the other head— one who did not wear scales but still bore the hatred for Godzilla was watching, he had felt this moment approaching just as Ichi had. “He still belongs to me.” Puppet’s voice slithered through their connection, not spoken, not even truly heard, but rest assured, Ichi understood him in the way one would carelessly understand a strays situation. “Do you plan to tell him?” Ichi pondered, lacking any real interest but humoring Puppet regardless. “No.” Puppet deadpanned, Ichi actually cracked somewhat of a smile at that. “Good, it will be far more amusing when he realizes.” Ichi jeered, his smile widening when Godzilla took a step forward, as for his brothers? Ni’s head coiled, as always, all too willing to launch, while San’s tongue flicked over his fangs, already anticipating whatever chaos came next. Ichi simply smiled. “Shall we begin?” He snarked as a means to rile his nemesis up. “Let’s give him a proper welcome, my dear kins.” Ichi added, glancing at Ni and San, whose respective reactions showed he did not need to say it twice.
With the simplest flick of his consciousness, the sky screamed.
From the ruins of Hong Kong, the shattered remnants of human ingenuity rose. Machines once meant to build, to transport, to protect— all of it now belonged to them. Freight carriers that had once glided through the sku with quiet dignity now howled toward Godzilla with metal screeche, construction drones, repurposed military craft, even the skeletal remains of Apex’s pathetic attempts at mechanized warfare— all now played their final role as weapons in the hands of their true masters.
Much to Ghidorah’s irritation, Godzilla did not flinch, instead opting to brace.
As the first wave of metal death hurtled toward him, his dorsal spines flared to life, the bioluminescence searing against the night like a beacon of war. He twisted his massive, dinosaur-adjacent frame, tail snapping out like a battering ram— a cargo ship split in half on impact, shattered hulls sent flying in opposite directions. But there were too many, for every machine he crushed, three to four more took its place. Godzilla let out a sharp exhale in frustration, his chest rising and falling like the tide. “For all your schemes, you hide behind scraps of metal and ghosts.” Godzilla rumbled, his voice as if an earthquake were given a physical personification. San let out a snicker, watching as another drone was obliterated beneath Godzilla’s claws. “Oh? And what were you resurrected by again? Not ghosts, I can tell you that much.” San jeered, Ichi could tell it hit a nerve as Godzilla refused to answer, either because he lacked one or did not want to dignify San’s jeers with a response. “See, that’s the problem with you.” San continued, his smirk widening, tongue flickering over his fangs in cruel amusement. “You had the father who you barely acknowledged up until he had to— y’know, die to fix your failure.” San added, barely biting back a laugh when Godzilla’s spines flared once more in warning. “And what do we have?” San elaborated, showing he wasn’t quite done as he could talk and talk for hours. “Oh right, his son, what a small world! And let me tell you, Onesnout, we hit the jackpot with Controller X.” San concluded, perhaps it was the mention of the human Ichi’s rival thought of so fondly that set him off, but he moved regardless.
With a roar that shook the earth, Godzilla surged forward, the patience of his wrath long thinned. “There it is,” Ichi mused, as for Ni, he was already moving before the thought could be spoken. The moment Godzilla reached striking distance, Ni struck like a serpent, his jaws clamping onto Godzilla’s shoulder with the force of a collapsing mountain. Electricity crackled from his fangs, the raw power of gravity beams surging directly into flesh, searing through even the thickest of hides. Godzilla snarled in pain, but he refused to come to a half. With sheer brute strength, he twisted, sending Ni staggering backward, tearing free from his bite even as molten flesh sizzled from the impact. “Not bad,” Ni growled despite the obvious ego bruise. “But not good enough.” He snapped, San was the next to move, quickly and cruelly, his jaws snapping at Godzilla’s throat— not to bite, but to taunt, to distract, to amuse himself. “You’re already tired, aren’t you? All that effort just to get here and you’re already—” San began, being abruptly cut off by Godzilla lunging, to add insult to injury, he barely had time to react before the King’s teeth found purchase. He howled as Godzilla’s jaws clamped down on his neck, the sickening crunch of metal and flesh intertwining, his body writhing in fury. “Oh, you BITCH—” San exclaimed, Ichi gritted his teeth, realizing this was his cue to intervene.
With all the elegance of a puppeteer pulling strings, Ichi moved their entire body, the sheer force of their combined weight sending Godzilla skidding across the battlefield. San ripped himself free, gasping alongside breathless and manic laughter. “See? You do care about me.” San sneered, Ichi did not dignify that with a response for he did not care for San, he had simply realized that if they wanted to kill Godzilla, it’d have to be all talons on deck since San’s embarrassing loss showed one third of them couldn’t get the job done. Instead, his focus shifted, calculations flicking through his consciousness as the battle expanded beyond their clash. Ichi turned his gaze back to the King before them, the old King. “You are outnumbered.” He muttered in a smooth, almost gentle voice— a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “I have been before.” Godzilla simply put.
As much as Puppet insisted they just get the job done and obliterate Godzilla just as quickly as the bomb had obliterated his father, dragging it out was the fun part.
A force of nature, a living cataclysm, every muscle and sinew carved from the old world’s stubborn refusal to die. His steps shook the ruins, the very earth recoiling at his fury. His eyes burned with the weight of a millennia— rage sharpened by pain, by loss, by duty.. But duty was such a tiresome thing, why not destroy for the hell of it instead? “Predictable,” Ichi noted, tilting their massive frame ever so slightly to the side. “He always leads with brute force.. No subtlety, no grace, just.. Instinct.” He added, “And instinct gets him nowhere.” Ni chimed in with a snarl, lunging forward with electricity flaring from his fangs as his jaws met Godzilla’s throat, forcing him backward, backward, backward until the rubble collapsed between them, sending them crashing into the ruins of what had once been a towering skyscraper, however it crumbled like sand beneath their weight. A cloud of dust and debris billowed through the battlefield, swallowing them whole, but Ichi did not need to see what was happening for he could feel it.
Claws tore through steel-plated flesh, teeth found purchase in any exposed weakness, his tail swung, a devastating force of destruction, catching San across the snout and sending his head staggering backwards. “—Oh, FUCK YOU—” The leftmost head yelped, but Godzilla had already directed his attention elsewhere, throwing Ni’s head aside like it was nothing. The rightmost head hit the ground hard, crackling pavement beneath his frame, but he was already up, already angrier, snarling with a wrath that sent lightning rippling through the ruins. “You wish to play rough? Fine.” Ni growled, his voice nothing but engaged static and venom, of course, without waiting for Ichi’s command, Ni attacked— faster than thought, faster than reason, he struck, his gravity beams carving through the air like divine retribution. Godzilla let out a furious roar in response, the beamd slammed into his chest, tearing into old wounds, sending molten scales flying in a shower of blood and fire. He stumbled— but only for a second, because of course he did, because he was Godzilla. “Still standing?” San crooned, preparing to circle his head around Godzilla’s form by now, his wounds forgotten in favor of amusement. “Shouldn’t you be on your knees by now? I mean, really, this is getting embarrassing.” San remarked, however, Godzilla had faced San enough to know better than to dignify the taunt with a response, instead, he moved.
In an instant, Godzilla surged forward— San’s words still lingering in the air as Godzilla’s claws raked across his throat, tearing into metal, into flesh, into something that should not bleed and yet still did. “OH, YOU SON OF A BITCH—” San screeched, trying to wrench himself free via a thrash, but Godzilla did not let go. “He’s always been dramatic.” Ichi sighed, glancing in Ni’s direction as the rightmost and centermost head shared an almost concerning carelessness towards the attempted murder of their brother. “HE’S TRYING TO KILL ME, ICHI—” San exclaimed, “Then stop letting him.” Ichi shot back, his unwillingness to help proving to help San in the long run as he let out a snarl, then bit once more. His fangs found Godzilla’s shoulder, sinking deep, drawing a violet blue ichor, but Godzilla did not relent, his grip tightened, his jaws clamped down harder, and for one brief, agonizing second— San felt fear. “ICHIIIIIIII—” San yelled, Ichi would have rolled his mechanical eyes if Ni hadn’t struck first, his jaws colliding with Godzilla’s ribs, forcing the Titan’s body to twist, to break his hold. “I hate him. I hate him so much.” San gasped, his head staggering back with a raw throat. “You hate everyone.” Ichi reminded him, “Not as much as I hate him.” San shot back, perhaps he had continued ranting about how Ichi and Ni were no help, but Ichi had tuned him out as he tilted his mechanical head tilted slightly, observing, calculating, adjusting.. Ah, they were not finished, not yet.
Above the trinity, the battlefield raged on.. From Gigan’s saws shrieking as they met Mothra’s burning wings, to Monster X’s laughter echoing through the ruins as Kong tried— and failed to land a hit, to Hedorah oozing across the ground, his toxic form leaving only decay in its wake, and Spacegodzilla— oh, Spacegodzilla watched idly, waiting for the moment to strike.. Everything was going as it should, except for one thing: Godzilla, the damned lizard was still standing, still defiant. “He refuses to die,” Ichi hissed. “Then we’ll make him.” Ni replied, spitting black, oil-like blood onto the rubble.
It was almost laughable, how stubborn the foolish lizard was. Even now— bleeding, battered, and outnumbered.. Godzilla refused to blow. But that was the thing about kings, wasn’t it? Their arrogance, their pride, their absolute, unwavering belief in their own authority.. They never knew when to quit and kick the bucket. “I tire of this,” Ichi declared, his mechanical jaw shifting into something resembling a sneer. “Then let’s end it.” Ni snarled, just as fed up as Ichi was, already moving, already hungry for more, always the first to dive headfirst into carnage.
The one who is many opted to strike as one this time around, Godzilla barely had time to react before they were upon him. Their talons wrapped around his tail, claws digging into molten scales, tearing past flesh and muscle with unnatural precision. The ground trembled beneath the sheer force of their wings as they lifted off, dragging the so-called King into the sky, whether he willed it or not. “PUT ME DOWN, COWARDS!” Godzilla snarled, thrashing around in Ghidorah’s grip, his dorsal spines flaring with radioactive wrath. “Oh we will, just not in the way you’d like.” San assured, his voice alight with glee.
The air grew heavier as they ascended, higher, higher, higher, until the ruined city of Hong Kong stretched beneath them like a corpse. Smoke curled from shattered buildings, firelight flickering like dying stars.. And then— there it was, what San had pointed out in his days as Mechagodzilla: the hole, a wound carved into the earth itself, the gery scar left behind from one of Godzilla’s early confrontations with Kong. Ichi felt something akin to satisfaction coil within his mind. “How poetic, your own destruction, written by your own talon.” Ichi mused, “Oh shut up and throw him in already.” Ni snorted, with a sudden, violent shift of movement, they hurled Godzilla downward with the intention of suffocating Godzilla in the very hole he’d created with his atomic breath.
Notes:
istg i’ve been anticipating this showdown since i decided it’d be mkg, i’ve had the most drafts for this specific chapter out of any of the chapters so far 😭 anyways please keep commenting on this fic and blowing up my tumblr asks (@acelestialcraze) because its those that really motivate me to continue this fic !
Chapter 32: wires
Summary:
We talked about making it
I'm sorry that you never made it
And it pains me just to hear you have to say it
You knew the game and played it
It kills to know that you have been defeated
I see the wires pulling while you're breathing
You knew you had a reason
It killed you like diseases
I can hear it in your voice while your speaking you can't be treated
Mr. Know-it-all had his reign and his fall
At least that's what his brain is telling all
If he said help me kill the president
I'd say he needs medicine
Sick of screaming let us in
The wires got the best of him
All that he invested in goes
Straight to hell
Straight to hell
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The streets of Tokyo were empty.
For the first time in Kentaro's life, Shibuya was eerily silent.. Even in the days following G-day, the occasional nervous chatters still lingered, but now?
The sheer lack of neon billboards flashing over scrambling crowds, students loitering outside convenience stores, tourists gawking at massive idols for they’d never heard of was all eerily distopoion. Kentaro had always appreciated tourists more than the average Japanese citizen, it was how he’d met his ex-girlfriend-turned-closest-ally, but he found the replacement of the lively city consisting of shuttered storefronts with their steel gates pulled down tight, as if metal and bolts could keep the disaster of biblical proportions at bay.
But inside one of those closed technology stores, six people ignored the apocalypse just outside. Inside, the air reeked faintly of plastic and fresh packaging that would ever be opened. As for the televisions along the wall that were usually set to a mindless variety of shows or looping product demos now played something far more interesting: the WIRED interview.
In the interview, Controller X sat in the center of the screen, a black visor obscuring his face, his voice distorted just enough to be unsettling. However, his relaxed and poised posture painted an entirely different picture: the picture of control. He answered questions with ease, his words carrying a casual arrogance that made it crystal clear he did not care about human mortality, only the results.
As per usual when it came to a conventionally attractive criminal, the internet was eating it up. “People are obsessed with him,” May muttered, arms crossed as she stared at the screen. “Look at this.” She grumbled, tapping her phone, holding it out so they could see the sheer flood of online reactions.
lynnesredlipstick: does he do weddings?? as the groom?
isolationinfinity: x is so badass
xxxibgdrgn: someone tell him to come to the studio
x1chopee: alexa play ET by katy perry while i go search controller x on ao3
missqho replying to x1chopee: ‘x marks the g-spot’ is pretty good
offiicalyopal: hed def talk u through it
May let out a dry, humorless laugh, effectively pulling Kentaro out of the rabbit hole that was the abundance of degenerative tweets about someone who quite literally unleashed hell upon the world, even if the world was too blind to see such. “People love a villain,” Kentaro started, shaking his head. “Especially when he makes them forget they’re supposed to be scared of him.” He concluded, well, he wasn’t really done, but his father cut in against his better judgment. “The question is, who is he?” Hiroshi chimed in, his voice heavy with thought. As much as Kentaro wasn’t fond of his fathers actions, that was the real debate as Tokyo, for whatever reason, had been largely spared the chaos that had gripped the rest of the world. The Xilien presence was strong here, but not overwhelmingly hostile; civilians had been forced underground, but not exterminated. It felt, dare he say, deliberate. “He’s gotta be Japanese, right?” Cate pondered, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself. “This city is one of the safest places right now, and X is obviously not some mindless brute. He has priorities.” Cate explained, “Priorities that don’t involve wiping Tokyo off the map, which means..” Hiroshi mused, “It means he’s connected to it. Somehow, he has to be.” Keiko finished in a sharp, precise, and certain voice. Shaw, finally making his presence known, grunted from his seat in the corner, arms folded across his chest. “Plenty of people have ties to Tokyo, doesn’t narrow it down much.” Shaw gave his input, breaking his silence. “I dunno,” Kentaro muttered under his breath, tilting his head as he watched the Xilien Controller speak. “Something about him feels.. Familiar.” Kentaro trailed off, he couldn’t quite place it, but there was something in the way X spoke, not the cadence— rather the precision. The way he chose his words, the way he let silence stretched between sentences, forcing the listener to hang onto every syllable.
Kentaro had met people like this before: people who grew up wealthy, people who had power long before they clawed their way into it. “He sounds like someone who’s always been important.” He noted, “He is intelligent and calculated.. This is not someone who stumbled into power— he was born to it.” Keiko hummed in agreement, “A politician?” Cate guessed, “No.” Hiroshi was quick to shut down before continuing, “He enjoys control too much. A politician would want influence, this man wants domination.” Hiroshi added, “A corporate figure, then?” Shaw inquired, May let out a sharp exhale, rubbing her temples. “Wouldn’t surprise me, half the people who actually run the world are sociopaths anyway.” May pointed out, Kentaro actually let out a humorless chuckle at that, despite the state of the word. “Yeah, well, if he’s one of them, they should’ve gotten rid of him when they had the chance.” Kentaro quipped, his lips pursing into a thin line when he realized it wasn’t quite as funny to the others as it was to him, a silence settling over the group as the video continued to play, X’s voice filling the space between them. “Let’s see what humanity has to say about me, hmm?” His voice rang out, seemingly guiding Kentaro’s gaze to another screen displaying the flaming internet, news headlines popping up every second.
funkoenthusiast186: WHO IS X??
freddy_frostbear07: Japanese?? American?? Mixed??
minecraftmoviemid: some ppl are saying he might be one of apex’s freakazoid mutations? any truth to that?
benshapiro: A plant of the radical left, if I had to guess.
“They’re worshiping him,” Keiko grumbled in a voice tight with disgust, “Do they not realize what he is and what he stands for?” She added, glancing around for the others' input. “They don’t care,” Cate began, “To them, he’s just a spectacle.” She pointed out, Kentaro narrowed his eyes at the screen, still trying to place his finger on just why Controller X looked so familiar. As if the universe was throwing him a bone, the screen flickered, Controller X’s distorted voice spilling into the dimly lit store like a specter lingering at the edges of a nightmare. His movements were precise and deliberate, the way he carried himself, the tilt of his head, the way he answered each question.. None of it was random. But, it wasn’t just his voice— his appearance, well, what little was visible, was oddly familiar. Kentaro stared at the screen so hard it made his eyes burn, but he ignored it due to something gnawing at the edges of his mind. The visor obscured his eyes, but the rest? The black hair, neatly parted to the side, the thin mustache and barely-there stubble, and most damning of all— the two earrings in his right ear.
Kentaro’s breath hitched, a distant and fragmented memory began to surface: a boardroom bathed in artificial light, Apex Cybernetics, he had been there once when he briefly worked for them. It wasn’t a position he had lasted long in, and honestly, he’d buried most of those memories out of sheer disgust, but he remembered one thing: there was only one guy in that entire goddamn corrupt company who looked like that. “Ren Serizawa.” Without thinking, Kentaro muttered it aloud, once again, the room fell into a silence up until Shaw’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing with disbelief. “You’re full of it.” Shaw was quick to declare in a voice consisting of shock and dismissal. “Ren Serizawa’s dead.” Shaw pointed out, Kentaro barely heard him over the sound of his heart hammering. “No, no, it makes sense, it makes too much sense.” Kentaro protested, shaking his head while his eyes remained glued to the screen. “Kid, I knew Ren’s father. Hell, I recruited Ishirō into Monarch. Me and Eiji were like this.” Shaw paused, crossing his middle finger over his index finger to emphasize just how close he and Eiji apparently were. “You’re telling me the son of Serizawa, the guy who was supposed to carry on his father’s legacy somehow turned into this..?” Shaw scoffed, but there was an edge to it as he gestured at the screen, where X sat like a warlord on his throne, speaking as if humanity itself was nothing but cattle to him. “Yeah, I am.” Kentaro confirmed, for a moment, he felt like he was crazy until May suddenly straightened up. “I can prove it.” May declared, it was a bold statement, but anything for Kentaro to feel any less crazy. Luckily, she was already working, fingers flying over the keyboard of her laptop with fierce determination Kentaro always admired her for. “Every public appearance Ren Serizawa made, pre-Apex disaster and post-Apex disaster, let’s see what we’ve got.” May muttered under her breath.
The screen flickered as she pulled up the footage, starting with pre-disaster: Walter Simmons stood at a podium, delivering some empty corporate speech, Apex’s chief of security was at Walter’s left while Ren was just behind him, always composed, always quiet, always the shadow at Walter’s side. “That’s him, same build, same posture.” Kentaro pointed out, gaze flickering from May’s laptop to the paused WIRED interview. Then, it was post-disaster, consisting almost entirely of paparazzi footage, Ren, bombarded by cameras, shoving through a sea of flashing lights, sporting the same black hair, the same elegant and effortless intelligence. Of course, one couldn’t forget the courtroom footage of Ren entering a courthouse, flanked by the ‘legendary’ lawyer, Shindo. Ren’s face was in a trained stoic expression, but his body language? Unmistakable. Finally convinced, Shaw let out a slow, measured breath. “It is him.” Shaw declared, breaking the silence.
The flickering screen cast harsh blue lights across their faces, Controller X’s digitized voice still curling through the air like smoke, but no one was listening as they had all concluded they were staring at Ren Serizawa, or at least, the possibility of him. “We do not know for certain.” Keiko affirmed, “Yeah, well, I’d like to believe the guy’s still rotting in some hole where he belongs, but—“ Shaw chimed in, gesturing vaguely to the screen. “I gotta admit, kid, you might be onto something..” Shaw trailed off, “There’s a way to be sure.” May cut in, she didn’t look up from her laptop, fingers still moving with precise efficiency. “The last public appearance Ren made was escaping Monarch's clutches with Maia Simmons and Raymond Martin.” May vouched, “You’re saying he’s out there?” Cate alleged, “More than that.” May continued in an oddly calm manner, “Regardless of whether or not he’s Controller X, if Bernie’s theory about him being possessed by Monster Zero has any truth to it, then he knows something we don't.. And if he knows something we don’t—” May began to conclude, “Then he had a hand in Mecha-King Ghidorah.” Kentaro finished grimly.
The weight over that realization settled over them like a suffocating fog, Hiroshi pinched the bridge of his nose. “So what are you suggesting? We just go find him? Knock on his door and ask if he’s planning on ending the world?” Hiroshi nagged, Kentaro shrugged before it hit him. “Actually.. Yeah, I know where he lives.” He confessed, the moment this confession left his lips, every head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?” Cate grumbled, raising an eyebrow. “You know where he lives?” Shaw repeated, flashing him a sharp look. Kentaro nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I worked at Apex, remember? It wasn’t a secret. Ren Serizawa’s got a place in the wealthy part of Tokyo— makes sense, considering his wife’s an actress and he was the CTO of a multi-million dollar company before, y’know.. He decided he wanted to destroy the world..” Kentaro trailed off, “Huh. All that because Ishirō—” Shaw began, Kentaro and Cate flashing Hiroshi a collective glare. “If I had those engineering skills..” Cate grumbled, glaring at Hiroshi while intentionally leaving her sentence hanging in the air. “Okay,” Kentaro cut in, already heading toward the door. “We should get moving. Ren’s house isn’t far, if he’s not home, we can at least find something that tells us what the hell is going on.” Kentaro concluded, he was well aware no one liked the idea of breaking into the house of a potential supervillain, but at this point? They didn’t have a choice. “Fine, let’s go knock on the devil’s door.” Shaw muttered, adjusting his jacket.
Tokyo had been quiet before, now it felt suffocating.
Kentaro led the group through the darkened streets, avoiding the patrol routes of both Xilien soldiers and Japanese military forces. It was a delicate balance— one trying to keep civilians underground, the other ensuring humanity didn’t get wiped out.
Didn’t mean they wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later.
“This feels familiar,” Cate muttered under her breath as she crouched behind an abandoned vending machine, waiting for a group of Xiliens to pass. “Yeah,” Kentaro agreed. “Reminds me of San Francisco.” He added, Keiko let out a sharp exhale, glancing between them. “Didn’t you guys almost die that night?” She affirmed, “Repeatedly.” Cate deadpanned, “Multiple times.” Kentaro chimed in, “But we didn’t,” Cate pointed out, “Which means we’re very good at this.” Kentaro finished, Keiko shot them an unamused look. “Or you’re very stupid.” Keiko grumbled, “That too.” May cut in as another soldier passed, leading to them moving again, ducking through narrow alleyways and cutting across empty intersections, they were lucky the plot armor was on their side.. Very lucky.
Eventually, they reached their destination and it was obnoxiously nice. Nestled in the wealthier district of Tokyo, Ren Serizawa’s residence was a modern, two-story masterpiece of steel and glass. It wasn't extravagant, Kentaro knew his country’s wealthly weren’t the type to flaunt in excess— but it was comfortable, a place built for someone who never had to worry about money. And most notably? There were two cars parked outside. “Well, somebody’s home.” May murmured, tilting her head. Shaw let out a scoff, eyeing the vehicles and running his fingertips across one of them. “Two cars? Most people in Japan take the bullet train. Let alone owning two cars.” Shaw muttered, “Well, Ren was Apex’s chief technology officer and his wife was an actress..” Kentaro pointed out, “Yeah, I think they can afford a couple of cars.” Cate scoffed, with that, they approached the front door cautiously. Kentaro was the first one to knock, followed by another knock after there was nothing but silence, not that anyone would open the door in a time like this. “Okay, great, nobody’s home.. Let’s leave before we get caught by the damn aliens.” Shaw demanded, “Or—” Cate began, rolling her eyes as she took a step back, wasting no time in diving her elbow through the nearest window. As a result, glass shattered and the group collectively froze, staring at the now broken window as silence stretched between them. “Jesus Christ, Cate.” Shaw muttered, blinking in disbelief. Cate dusted glass off her sleeve, nothing short of unbothered. “What? They can afford to fix it.” Cate shot back, “If we get shot, I’m blaming you.” Kentaro sighed, already climbing through the broken window. “Please, like you weren’t thinking about it.” Cate jeered. With that, they slipped inside, and if Ren was home, well, they were about to find out.
The moment they stepped inside, it was chaos, just not in the evil alien way they had anticipated, rather a blur of fur and muscle barrelling into Kentaro’s legs at full speed, damn nearly knocking him off balance. “Shit—” Kentaro hissed, the culprit: an Akita, barked furiously, tail raised in a protective stance. She was big, sturdy, and the kind of dog bred for loyalty and endurance, showcased by the deep growl rumbling from her chest, eyes locked onto the intruders. “Okay, uh.. Who let a bear loose in here?” May trailed off, taking an immediate step back. Kentaro steadied himself, glancing down at the dog’s red leather collar, the nameplate— reading ‘Akari’ glinted under the dim light. “Akari, that’s a cute name— OW, OKAY, chill—” Kentaro stammered. Despite his stammering, Akari didn’t bite, though she made it known that she was not pleased. Her ears twitched, nostrils flaring as she took in each of their scents. “At least we know someone’s living here,” Cate muttered in an attempt to look at the bright side, placing her hands on her hips. “Or was,” Shaw grumbled, rubbing his temple. “Between the dog and the cares, this isn’t looking like some abandoned hideout.” Shaw noted, “Yeah, well, we didn’t come here for tea, start looking.” Kentaro demanded.
Well aware time wasn’t on their side, they didn’t waste any time. The house itself was admittedly nice, not extravagant, but clearly lived in. It had all the hallmarks of a Japanese home— a genkan at the entrance with neatly arranged shoes, slicing fusuma doors leading to other rooms, a tatami mat dining area, and a small shrine tucked in the corner. As for the air, it reeked faintly of cypress and something floral. Overall, it didn’t feel empty, it was actually the complete opposite, it felt occupied. And the evidence for such was everywhere, the dining table had stacks of papers, official documents haphazardly arranged— court filings, legal notices, Monarch insignia stamped on some of them, one was in english, the heading reading: the People’s Republic of China vs. Ren Serizawa, leading to Cate raising an eyebrow as she flipped through another stack. “Looks like someone’s been fighting the legal system.” Cate thought aloud, “No surprise.” May added, moving away ever so slightly when Shaw peered over her shoulder. “Rich bastard probably had Japan’s best lawyers working overtime for him.” He grumbled, meanwhile, Kentaro wasn’t in the mood to listen to them bicker, so he instead opted to wander toward the hallway, pushing open a fusuma door that led into one of the guest rooms.. And yeah— someone was definitely living here.
The futon was messy, blankets half-thrown aside, a half empty cup of dusty tea sat on the low table, the liquid dark and cold. A phone charger was plugged into the wall, the cord draped over the nightstand.. This wasn’t staged nor was it some long-abandoned property. “Someone was here recently,” Kentaro muttered, May, still by the cabinets, pulled out something Kentaro couldn’t quite see from his standing point. “And whoever it was,” She added, holding up a Monarch keycard. “They had connections.” She concluded, the room went still upon laying eyes on a keycard to the very organization that gave them hell post G-day, Akari let out a soft huff, ears twitching. “..We are so getting shot.” Shaw muttered uneasily. Kentaro flipped through the papers on the dining table before his gaze drifted toward the wall calender, it was pinned neatly in the corner of the room, filled with handwritten notes— or rather, sticky notes stacked on top of each other, layered so thickly that some of the dates had been converted into a colorful mess of overlapping kanji. He stepped closer, peeling one off the top. “What is this..?” Cate asked, moving beside him. “Looks like a conversation.” Kentaro replied, frowning as he analyzed the way the handwriting varied— some notes were written with a steady, precise hand, while others took a more sloppy, hasty approach. “They were talking to each other like this?” May pondered, “Probably had to.” Kentaro chimed in, glancing at some of the sticky notes. “If Ren was always working and Mira was off filming, they wouldn’t have seen each other much.” He pointed out, pausing to read a few of the notes, consisting of an abundance of banter and a sheer lack of anything worth keeping. “Wow, he was so romantic.” Cate huffed a quiet laugh, “That’s him trying,” Kentaro muttered, peeling another note— this one was worth making note of, it read: ‘If you find a note that says ‘don’t touch the red folder in my office’, ignore it. — Ren’ Cate tilted her head, glancing over the note. “Oh, that sounds interesting.” She cooed, “We’ll get to it later,” Kentaro grumbled, moving on. “Let’s split up, see what else we can find.” He declared.
“Oh, this is pretty.” May muttered under her breath, noting she had wandered into what was unmistakably Mira’s art studio. The space was cluttered, but in an oddly deliberate way. Jewelry-making tools, paints, and sketchbooks were scattered across a wooden desk, a half-finished necklace still resting on a velvet display. Canvases leaned against the walls, some abstract, some realistic, all vibrant. Keiko ran her fingers across a silver bracelet laid out on the table. “She made all of this?” Keiko affirmed, “Yeah.” Kentaro confirmed, “She was into painting and jewelry design. Acting was just one part of it.” He explained, as an artist himself, he had to appreciate art when it was in front of him. “What do you think she saw in him?” Cate voiced, glancing at a nearby canvas and tilting her head. “Maybe she thought he was a fun little fixer-upper.” Kentaro sneered, “Yeah, well, she should’ve asked for a refund.” Cate shot back without missing a beat.
“Alright, what do we have in here?” Shaw muttered to himself as he stepped into the bedroom, arms crossed as he scanned the space. It was minimalist, but lived-in— a queen-sized bed with dark sheets, a bookshelf neatly stocked with various titles, and a few framed photos on the nightstand. Tilting his head in curiosity, he pulled open a drawer. “Nothing to see here, unless you wanna admire this guy’s taste in condoms.” He scoffed, “Jesus, Shaw.” Cate muttered, wrinkling her nose. “What? I’m just saying— oh, wait.” Shaw thought aloud, reaching past the box and pulling out something else: a fat stack of yen. Kentaro and May exchanged a glance before immediately moving closer. “Why the hell was he hiding that?” May pondered, there was a note attached— a note which Kentaro was quick to grab, scanning the words carefully. “‘In case of absolute failure, drop everything. Don’t look back.’” Kentaro read aloud, frowning. “He had a backup plan, meaning he knew Mechagodzilla might go rogue.” Kentaro concluded, “Smart guy. Too bad it didn’t work out.” Shaw chuckled dryly, Kentaro was quick to fold the note, tucking it into his pocket. “Let’s keep moving, I wanna see that lab of his.” He ordered.
Ren Serizawa’s lab was the kind of clean that suggested there was something to hide.
Kentaro had seen a lot of workplaces— especially back at Apex, but this? This was different, it was organized, even surgically so. Every tool, every device, every monitor was placed with intent. There were no stray coffee cups, no abandoned projects, no half-finished blueprints left lying around. But, there were signs of life: a whiteboard stood against the far wall, mostly covered in technical diagrams and formulas. But— among the precise handwriting and sharp calculations, there were doodles, nothing special, they were simple, lazy little sketches. Kentaro stepped closer, recognizing Mira’s handwriting that he had come to memorize immediately. “Well, he sounds like an absolute delight to live with.” Kentaro muttered, “Yeah, shame she didn’t get a refund.” Cate dryly added, if one had to ask Kentaro, Cate was sure to drag out the refund gag even if it wasn’t funny anymore. “So? We got anything useful in here?” Shaw grunted, having been eyeing the shelves up until now. “No Mechagodzilla files, that’s for sure.” Kentaro ensured, shaking his head. “And you know that because..?” Shaw pried, furrowing a brow. “Because Walter Simmons was paranoid as hell.” Kentaro replied without missing a beat, vaguely gesturing at the room. “Apex had rules— strict ones. No engineers were allowed to bring Mechagodzilla data outside of their offices, not on drives, not on paper, not even on their own phones. If Ren took anything home, he’d be signing his own death warrant.” Kentaro elaborated, “So much for finding answers.” Cate sighed, however, Knetaro’s gaze drifted to the monitors: noticing what appeared to be lines of Xilien script. May, noticing the same thing, moved forward. “Well, well, well.. Looks like someone’s been studying aliens.” May pointed out, leaving a silence to settle over them as they took in the implications, Ren Serizawa didn’t have Mehcagodzilla files here, but he had Xilien research. And that? That was just as dangerous, if not more dangerous.
While the rest of the group was still mentally processing the fact that Ren had contacted the Xiliens, intentionally or not— May had moved on, she found a crude, but functional transceiver tucked behind some equipment. It looked like a modified neural uplink device, similar to what Apex had used to control Mechagodzilla, but on a significantly smaller scale. “What do we think?” May asked, holding it up. “Looks like something he put together in a hurry.” May added as Keiko frowned, adjusting her sleeves for some reason. “If Bernie was right about Serizawa being possessed..” Keiko began, “Then this was probably his attempt at rationalizing it.” Kentaro finished for his grandmother, “And what happens if we turn it on?” Cate pondered, eyeing it warily. May hesitated, then adjusted the frequency, static crackled, followed by two voices: a familiar, digitized one, and another— clear, unimpressed, and female. “You left the dog in Tokyo?” The second voice spat, clearly frustrated. “I have other priorities, Mira.” The first voice argued, “So, what? You just abandoned her?” The second voice pressed without missing a beat, “I did not abandon her. She is a dog, she will adapt.” The first voice shot back, “Uh-huh. Well, I don’t care how important your little war is, you need to go get her. Use one of your stupid portals or something.” The second voice grumbled, “That is an absurd use of my resources.” The first voice protested, “Then consider it a decree, oh mighty Controller X. Get the damn dog.” The second voice demanded, with that, the transmission cut out.
Cate was quick to burst out laughing despite the absurd and life-threatening circumstances. “Mira’s still putting him in his place? Oh, that’s incredible.” She jeered, “She really does not give a shit that he’s some evil overlord now.” May taunted with a grin. “Okay, so we have confirmation that he’s alive, he’s Controller X, and he’s still listening to her.. So despite opening the gates of hell, he’s not entirely far gone.” Kentaro concluded, rubbing his temple. “Yeah, and apparently, he’s gonna be in Tokyo real soon..” Cate muttered, her smirk fading as she realized the danger of that scenario. As if Cate had jinxed it, the air shifted.
A low, unnatural hum rippled through the house, distorting the atmosphere like a heatwave rolling off pavement, followed by a deep and reverberating sound, like reality itself was being torn open. “Shit, he’s here.” Kentaro hissed, watching as a portal ripped into existence in the living room, its edges flickering with a mix of violet and golden energy, warping the light around it. And then, like clockwork, he stepped through: Controller X, or rather— Ren Serizawa. He moved with a calculated ease, his long trench coat billowing slightly as the portal sealed behind him. He didn’t seem hurried nor did he seem cautious, if anything? He looked annoyed. His gaze flicked around the room, searching for something, quickly finding it: Akari, the Akitas ears perked up immediately, tail wagging slightly as she padded toward him. Instead of vaporizing her like Kentaro initially thought, Controller X crouched, running a gloved hand over her fur. “You are lucky,” He whispered, voice quieter than usual. “I nearly left you to fend for yourself. But according to your mom, this is unacceptable behavior for an overlord.” Controller X trailed off while Akari let out a huff, leaning into the touch. Controller X shook his head, “This is ridiculous. I command an army, I control entire worlds, and yet, they want me to make talk show appearances once the dust settles..” X trailed off, followed by a humorless chuckle. “I will have to adjust to the spotlight.” He muttered, Kentaro, hidden just out of sight, barely breathing as his trembling hands raised his phone, adjusting the angle, slipping it under the door, lining up the shot: no visor, no sunglasses, just the obvious fact this once was Ren Serizawa.
Click.
The camera had captured everything, from the left eye glowing faintly, burning with an inhuman light, to the right side of his face: a mangled mess where an eye had once been, though now it was simply scarred, warped, and raw. He had ditched the eyepatch entirely, which was weird, as last time Kentaro checked, he refused to make any public appearances without sunglasses. “Holy shit..” Kentaro muttered under his breath, unable to tear his gaze away, even as Controller X stood, his gloved fingers scratching behind Akari’s ears one last time before tapping a few buttons on a small device on his wrist, at the click of a few buttons, another portal rippled open for the dog to waltz right through. However, the second the portal closed, X stilled, his head tilting slightly before his jaw set in conclusion. “…I am not alone.” X muttered, Kentaro felt his blood run cold as he watched the Xilien turn, heading for the lab while the shadows stretched as he approached.
X knew good and well.
He didn’t need to check, didn’t need to confirm, didn’t need to call for henchmen or issue a command as he knew they were here. He could smell it, not in a literal sense— though, given his current.. State, he wouldn't put it past himself to develop that particular skill eventually, but in the way a predator knows when something small and weak has wandered into its den. And yet, he didn’t go straight for them.
No, no, no.. What fun would that be?
Instead, the phantom in gold and black took his time, why? A multitude of reasons.. Because he could, because he wanted to, because fear was a delicate thing, and if he was going to be interrupted in the middle of a planetary conquest to retrieve his damn dog, he might as well make someone else’s night just as inconvenient. He could feel it, they were waiting, holding their breath, he could practically hear their hearts beating like rabbit paws against the inside of their ribs. But he wasn’t finished yet, he stopped at the falender, the sticky notes were still there— still layered, still waiting for a response that would never come. His hand hovered over them, his heightened senses were telling them they were close— in the lab. That's where they were, where they had been hiding, watching. X’s footsteps were deliberate as he approached, each one slow and calculated, make no mistake, they were far from cautious. Simply dragging it out, making them wait, making them wonder: would he open the door? Would he walk past? Would he laugh? Would he kill them? The answer was simple, he didn’t know yet, and how exciting was that?
Soon enough, Controller X reached the door, pausing and tilting his head. Despite having telekinesis, he opted to be a gentleman and knock, three times, actually. “I hope you’re comfortable there.” X began, his tone light and almost conversational. “I hate clutter, but I’ll make an exception just this once.” X sneered, falling silent for a moment. “You’re going to make this interesting for me, aren’t you?” He mused softly, reaching for the handle, resting his fingers on the handle, though not quite turning it because where was the fun in that? He wanted to savor this, like a wolf at the mouth of a rabbit’s den, sniffing, waiting, known damn well there was no escape as his presence was more than enough.. They knew he was there, and they knew they could do nothing about it. “Oh, don’t be shy, it’s only polite to greet your host properly.” X muttered in a smooth, gentle voice as if he was coaxing a nervous dog out from under a table. Of course, only silence followed, good, that much meant they were terrified. X exhaled through his nose, tilting his head, the dim glow of his one remaining eye casting faint, eerie light against the doorframe. “What’s wrong? Afraid? You should be. I would be, if I were you. Which, thankfully, I am not.” X mused, falling silent when he heard someone inside adjust their footing, trying their hardest to keep quiet. A smirk tugged at Controller X’s lips, “I wonder, how long do you think you can hold your own breath before your own lungs betray you?” X drawled, allowing the words to settle, letting them marinate in the stifling air, per say. “I can hear you, you know.” X added, leaning in slightly while lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hiding was smart, I'll give you that, but it won’t last.. Eventually, you will have to come out, you will have to run, and when you do, I will catch you.” X vowed in a playful tone as if this was the most fun he’d had in years, letting out a soft chuckle as his grip on the handle tightened, glancing at the flicker of golden energy sparking at his fingertips. For a moment, it looked as though he might tear the door clean off its hinges before he surprised them all by letting go and stepping back. “I can be patient.” He assured in a voice as clear as day as he walked away, he wasn’t leaving, but he was giving them time— letting them stew in it, letting them come to the realization that no matter what they did or where they ran, he would always be right behind them.
Aboard the mothership, Mira let out a slow breath as she watched the golden portal ripple open, Akari trotting through, tail wagging slightly, ears perked. “Good, he’s distracted.” Mira muttered under her breath, because if Ren— no, X had come back immediately, then something had gone terribly wrong, but he hadn’t, which meant he was still in Tokyo, toying with whoever had been stupid enough to break into their home, because that was what he did now, wasn’t it? He played cat and mouse, having learned such from the Titan who attempted to destroy the world out of all beings. Mira clenched her jaw, running a hand through her hair. She had learned to pick her battles long ago, even when they were younger, Ren had always been cold and detached, he could be sarcastic and even wryly funny in his own way, but there was something calculated about him.. A sense that he was always holding something back, back when he was just a man, she could reach him and ground him. But now? Now he had become something else, and she wasn’t sure how much of him was even left. Mira closed her eyes for a brief second, steadying herself, before turning sharply on her heel for she had work to do.
The holding area was sterile, far too bright and far too white, the walls were lined with containment cells, Xilien guards standing at rigid attention. The prisoners sat in silence, some glared, others shaken up from something X pulled— Mira didn’t even want to know what he’d done. She ignored their expressions as she approached, instead zeroing in on the Xilien soldiers. “Let them go.” she demanded, the words were delivered with such certainty the guards exchanged glances. “Controller X wants them gone. I know my husband better than you do, you think he cares about keeping hostages? Please.” Mira continued smoothly, watching as the guards' expressions contoured in hesitation and doubt, agreeing on an attempt as a faint pulse of psychic energy washed over her, the Xiliens trying to peer into her mind. However, Mira didn’t flinch as she had been expecting it, she had spent the weeks she had been here learning how to shield herself.. And more importantly, how to deceive them, she let them see what they wanted to see: a false memory, carefully constructed consisting of X standing in the command center, his tone clipped and dismissive. “They serve no purpose. Free them, I have more important matters to attend to.” It was vague enough, just detached enough, and against all odds, they believed it.
The soldiers stepped back, reluctant, but convinced nonetheless. Mira refused to let her relief show as she moved to the prisoners, her expression carefully neutral as she nodded for them to follow, as they walked through the corridors, she kept her voice low. “Stay quiet. Stay close.” She whispered, one of them— Maia Simmons (since when was she alive? X hadn’t told her jack.) narrowed her eyes, defiant even now. “Why are you doing this?” She demanded, Mira kept her gaze forward, “Because someone has to, i’ll fix this.” She vowed, she knew for a fact X wouldn't hurt her, so she had to— before it was too late.
Notes:
this took so much motivation to write 😭 pls blow my tumblr up w asks regarding this fic cus im tryna keep the motivation to work. anyway, i tried to leave the monarch love triangle as vague as possible and hide my bias for cate and may even if i def prefer them over kentaro and may but incase i ever come back to this fic when monarch season 2 comes out i dont want any messy retcons.. thanks sm for all the ongoing support on this fic i gen wouldnt have gotten this far wo yall!!
Chapter 33: venus fly trap
Summary:
Don't underestimate me
'Cause one day you're gonna see you're in a losing battle
Babe, you'll never stop me being me
I got the beauty, got the brains
Got the power, hold the reins
I should be motherfuckin' crazy
Nothing in this world could change me
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ren had always known this day would come, however he hadn’t expected it to happen as early in his adulthood as 2014.
The day his father’s life-consuming obsession was vindicated.
The day Gojira stopped being a myth, a secret whispered in Monarch’s corridors and instead became a reality broadcasted to every goddamn screen in the world.
And now, as he stalked down the hallways of Apex Cybernetics, he saw exactly what he had been expecting. There, on the massive screen, was his father, in case living under a rock, it was Ishirō Serizawa, standing beside Vivienne Graham— the one he actually gave a damn about. Ren’s fingers twitched at his sides, the bitter thought of how thrilled his father must be clouding his better judgment. Gojira had emerged from the depths, proving Ishirō’s entire life work right— his old man must have been weeping with joy. And Vivienne? She was right there with him, that ever-loyal replacement for the son Ishirō hadn’t even bothered giving a chance to show— to prove himself. Ren, despite how much it stung, would just have to accept the fact Vivienne was the one Ishirō chose to mentor, to bring into the fold, to share his knowledge and burdens with. Ren had been his son by blood, but Vivienne— she had been the one he actually cared about and devoted all his time to.. And what had Ren gotten? Nothing, not a single phone call, just white noise— static from his father since the last time they spoke, that time being mere days after Ren’s mothers funeral.
Even now, as the camera zoomed in on Ishirō speaking about balance and coexistence, his father’s eyes looked alive in a way they never had around Ren, whose jaw clenched, forcing himself to rip his gaze away as if he was ripping off a bandaid. He had better things to do than wallow in old wounds.
The meeting room Ren soon entered was filled with Apex’s most powerful minds: engineers, scientists, executives, and at the head of the room, lounging with his usual viper smile. The moment Ren stepped in, Walter’s gaze snapped to him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ah, Mr. Ren Serizawa,” He drawled, putting an intentional emphasis on ‘Serizawa,’ earning a few quiet chuckles throughout the room. Not willing to dignify Walter’s jeers with a response, Ren ignored them— he had gotten quite used to such when his surname used to get him picked on in school, instead opting to take his seat, back straight, gaze at a practiced stoicism. “Gentlemen, today is a day that will be remembered in history.” Walter began, leaning forward. “We have seen the impossible— the unimaginable, a walking nuclear powerhouse has risen from the depths of the ocean and revealed himself to humanity. And you know what I thought, the second I saw him?” Walter paused, a smirk tugging at his lips that indicated the pause was intentional. “I thought— this is a problem that needs a solution. You see, when I look at Godzilla, I don’t see a king, I don’t see a god, and God forbid— I don’t see a force of nature, I’m above that pagan crap. I see a challenge, and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I, for one, am not in the habit of letting overgrown reptiles dictate the course of human history.” He added, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other as he let the murmurs of agreement spread through the room. “I have a vision for the future, a better world.. A safer world, a world where my daughter, my future grandchildren, all of our families, can live without fear of the whims of a monster.” Simmons exhaled, intentionally dragging out the tension. “And that, gentlemen, is where we come in.” He concluded, with that, the screen behind him flickered, shifting from news coverage of San Francisco’s destruction to schematics— early, crude designs: a machine, a shape that, while rough, was undeniable in its intent. “We build a superior.” Walter declared, spreading his arms wide.
There was a brief silence before the murmurs turned into something else, something hungry that reeked of corporate greed. “Of course,” Walter continued as if it were an afterthought, “Not everyone is quite as.. Forward-thinking as us. Some prefer to cling to outdated methods, to put their faith in deterrence rather than progress.” Walter paused, his smile widening with pride. “Which is why the United States military has commissioned Apex Cybernetics to construct a failsafe.” He simply put, “The Oxygen Destroyer.” Walter added, his tone losing any previous humor it carried, his gaze locking onto Ren. “Ren, I want you to lead this project.” Walter confessed, for a second, Ren couldn’t move or breathe, the murmurs around him faded to nothing as he just stared at the screen. The Oxygen Destroyer, a weapon designed to erase life itself, and his name was being put on it.
His father’s legacy was a monster, his would be the means to kill one.
“I trust that won’t be a problem, Mr. Serizawa?” Walter’s voice cut through the silence, Ren swallowed, having already made up his mind. “No problem at all.” Ren assured, slowly and mechanically nodding.
Following his agreement, Ren Serizawa built the Oxygen Destroyer in silence. There was no triumphant declaration, no spark of inspiration, no real sense of accomplishment— just the dull, mechanical consistency of his own hands moving through the motions. Piece by piece, he assembled a weapon designed to suffocate life itself. He should have felt something— anything, but all he felt was a familiar emptiness, because this didn’t fill the hole in his chest his father left.
The hum of machinery surrounded him, but it might as well have been static as his thoughts had long since stopped being his own. Instead, they spiraled, tangled, and wrapped around his throat like an unrelenting vice. Mira frequently suggested Ren seek out a therapist, see if he could be diagnosed with any mental health conditions or just talk to a professional, but how was he supposed to tell a professional stranger he worried his father would even want to look in his direction after this? Would Ishirō Serizawa— the great Monarch Scientist, the devoted follower of Gojira, see his son as anything more than a disgrace?
Fuck that, to hell if it mattered. If anything, they were even now since Ishirō couldn’t be bothered to show up to his own wife’s funeral, hadn’t stood at her grave, hadn’t given Ren even a second of acknowledgment in his grief. And now? Now Ren was about to make sure the thing his father loved more than his own flesh and blood could never terrorize the world again.
Fair trade, wasn’t it?
Ren soldered the next component into the place, the acrid scent of burning metal filling the air. In theory, The Oxygen Destroyer was a simple design: a chemical reaction that would strip oxygen from an area, reducing all organic matter to nothing. It was Ren’s style of weapon, surgical, precise, and unforgiving— the perfect tool to remind the world who really held the power.
The military wanted it as a failsafe.
Walter Simmons saw it as a stepping stone, a temporary measure until his so-called superior was complete. Ironic, considering Ren saw Simmons as a mere stepping stone.
And Ren? Ren was the one who made it real, the mind that gave it form.. His father should have been proud, hell, Ren would settle for him being horrified, but with reality in mind, he wouldn't care at all. He never did.
Ren hated how much space Vivienne Graham occupied in his mind, she shouldn’t matter at all, but there she was— in every goddamn memory of Ishirō that should have belonged to him, his own flesh and blood. Instead, Vivienne was always there, hovering just behind him, hanging onto his words, being given the attention that should have been Ren’s by birthright. In his teenage years, he used to blame her, but as his frontal lobe developed, he realized it wasn’t really her fault. But God, he hated her anyway.
Hated the way Ishirō would look at her with approval.
Hated the way she would nod along with his every word, calling him sensei— a perfect student.
Hated how she had been the one standing beside him in San Francisco.
Not Ren, Never Ren. Instead, Ren was left to grit his teeth, fingers tightening around the metal casing of the device, his mind clouded with how it should have been him, his father should have been standing there with him, not her, not Monarch. But Ren had never been a choice in Ishirō’s eyes, his mind flashing back to his childhood and recalling the countless nights he spent waiting for his father to come home, only for him to disappear into his office without so much as a greeting or heads up, or the time he built a robot from spare parts at the ripe age of five, something Graham couldn’t do at thirty-eight, Ren was eager to show Ishirō what he had done, only for his father to glance at it, ruffle his hair, and walk away like it was nothing, or the miserable camping trip where Ren wasn’t even a consideration, forced to sit there and watch his father be more of a father to Vivienne than he had ever been to him.
The overall realization that no matter how much Ren expanded his engineering skills, he would never be worthy. And now? Now, Ishirō would look at him and see nothing but a murderer. That was fine, because Ren had long since accepted that love from his father was a fantasy, a dream he should have killed years ago, a ghost that still refused to let him go.
The final piece of the Oxygen Destroyer clicked into place, it was done. Ren let out an exhale, setting his tools aside, staring at the lethal weapon that was now a reality thanks to his hands. He thought he might feel a sense of closure, but he didn’t, just the same emptiness— the same hollowness. Ren ran his hands across his face, inhaling deeply before letting his head fall back, eyes shutting. Unfortunately, he could still hear the news playing in the background: his fathers voice, rambling about balance, talking about how Gojira was the key to humanity’s survival. Ren opened his eyes, his lips curling into a mirthless smile— he knew it was bullshit, Gojira being humanity’s protector, and in due time, he would prove that.
Ren’s train of thought abruptly ended, having heard her before he saw her: the sound of heels against tile, deliberate and unhurried, accompanied by the faintest hum of some pop song he didn’t recognize. A slow, sauntering rhythm that practically oozed entitlement. Out of caution for his job, he didn’t turn around or acknowledge her presence, but he knew exactly who it was. “Well, well.” Maia Simmons began as she waltzed into the lab like she owned the place— because in a way, she did. “You look like hell, Serizawa.” Maia pointed out with a grin, she had the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, mirroring her fathers. “You should be nicer to me, what if I end up being your boss someday?” She drawled, placing a mocking hand over her chest. Ren finally turned to meet her gaze with an impassive gaze, “Let’s hope I’m out of here before that nightmare comes true.” He deadpanned, turning back to his already finished work. In response, Maia laughed: a rare, genuine laugh. Ren hated that about her, the insufferable cockroach-like ability to thrive off pissing people off, she had her father’s arrogance-- but not a drop of his ability to put up a facade.
Maia strutted over to his workstation, glancing down at the schematics of the Oxygen Destroyer. “Ohh,” She mused in a sing-song-like tone, tapping the paper with one manicured finger. “Doomsday device? How very on-brand.” She sneered, Ren didn’t humor her with a response, instead opting to doodle on a blank sheet of paper to create the illusion he was working. To his dismay, his silence only egged her on. “Y’know, my father was so smug when he hired you.. Said it would drive your father insane.” Maia continued, picking up one of his tools and twirling it between her fingers. Ren’s jaw twitched, of course he knew that Walter Simmons didn’t give a damn about his talents, he only sought him out because hiring Ishirō Serizawa’s estranged son was the business equivalent of spitting in Monarch’s face. “Oh, don’t pout. I get it, nepotism is a bitch.” She teased, leaning in. “But, hey. At least we own it, unlike certain people who like to pretend they got where they were on pure, unfiltered genius.” Maia added, Ren finally met her gaze, finding it funny how they were both, in their own way, products of their fathers.. In Maia’s case, she was Apex royalty, their heiress to the billion-dollar empire. However, Ren’s case was different— he was just a reminder of a legacy Ishirō had absolutely zero interest in passing down. Essentially, they were two sides of the same coin, but Ren liked to think he’d passed the nepo-baby label because he was still a genius, with or without his surname.
Nowadays, the Xilien aircraft humed beneath Maia’s feet, gliding through the atmosphere as if untouched by the chaos unfolding in the distance. Not that she had to look to know what was happening— Hong Kong was a goddamn warzone.
Even here, miles away, the sky burned red with the fires of humanity’s final stand. Silhouettes of Titans clashed in the distance, Mecha-King Ghidorah’s mechanical screeches ripping through the air like the wrath of a metal god. It should have been terrifying, but Maia just felt numb after witnessing her only ally drown in acid.
Inside the plane, the hostages-turned-escapees were gathered in a loose, unstable circle, arguing about their next move. Nathan Lind— Maia still felt like she had to babysit that crackpot, pacing like a rat in a cage. “We need a plan, something, anything before this gets even worse.” He grumbled, rubbing his temples like that was going to summon one from thin air. Sam Coleman, that annoying jittery mess, was sitting with his head caged in his hands. “‘Worse,’ sure, let's talk about ‘worse.’” Sam muttered, laughing weakly. Maia rolled her eyes, here we go! “Sam—” Mark began, but Sam was far from finished. “I built that thing,” He snapped, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I built Mecha-King Ghidorah, I—I made this happen.” He stammered, “Oh my God.” Maia hissed under her breath, unfortunately, Sam was too busy feeling sorry for himself to hear her. “I thought—” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “I thought I was buying time. I thought if I just— If I went along with it, someone would show up and seize his operations.. But I..” Sam exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “It’s my fault.” He declared, Maia rolled her eyes so hard she thought she might strain something. Jesus Christ, someone get this guy a support group and a therapy dog. Bernie clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, giving him one of those annoyingly earnest looks. “Listen, man, it’s not your fault, you didn’t make this happen.” He reassured Sam— or did his best to.
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Oh, for crying out loud—” Maia snapped, crossing her arms and effectively losing her cool. “Can we please move past the pity party?” She spat, she felt their eyes on her, but she didn’t care. “You were forced to build it, weren’t you?” Maia affirmed, arching a brow. “They had a gun to your head, didn’t they? What were you gonna do, say no?” Maia demanded, Sam only opened his mouth, only to quickly close it. “..Exactly, spare us the self-flagellation. Nobody cares.” Maia scoffed, Sam looked like a kicked puppy, but Mark scowled. “Maia,” He began, tone warning. “Oh, please. I’m just saying what you’re all thinking.” Maia waved him off, of course, no one argued, which meant she was right— as always! “We need to figure out where to go next,” That bitch, Dr. Andrews began, clearing her throat and looking around. “Do any of you have people to get back to?” She added, the Brodys exchanged glances. “Yeah, safety, Dad would want that.” Sam stated, Maia barely contained her groan. “Alright, I think I can get the Xilien portals working, so we can get you to a Titan shelter.. I think.” Coleman trailed off, “Great. That’s reassuring.” Maia snorted. While Coleman fiddled with the controls, the portal soon flashed to life. Sam exhaled in relief, grabbing his mother’s hand. “Alright. Let’s go.” He muttered, the two paused before stepping through “Anyone else have somewhere to be?” Sam asked, glancing at the rest of them. “Well, if you ever see a bar in there, bring me back a drink.” Bernie snarked, Maia couldn't stand Bernie for a multitude of reasons, but she leaned back as they stepped through, arms crossed, gaze locked on the distant destruction.
Maia had overheard the Xiliens dub it: The Final War.
She supposed she should’ve been terrified, or devastated.
She wasn’t.
Because at the end of the day?
She didn’t care.
If Ren Serizawa— Controller X built the Oxygen Destroyer, she was absolutely certain he was capable of something even worse.
And honestly?
She hoped she was, because if there was one thing she truly, genuinely believed— it was that bitch Ilene and her monkey deserved it for leaving Maia Simmons, the richest heiress in the world, to die.
One thing a lot of people didn’t know about Maia was that she wasn’t some stupid bimbo who only wasn’t living off Onlyfans because of who her father was, no, Maia liked to think of herself as beauty and brains. An example of such was she knew the second she opened her mouth, the tension would snap, and she did it anyway. Because why not? Maybe she was just pissed, or tired, or here’s a bright idea! Because Raymond Martin was dead and the one who actually saved her from the Hollow Earth death trap was rotting six feet under because Bernie Fucking Hayes couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “This is your fault,” Maia hissed, dark eyes locking onto him like a target. “Martin’s dead because of you, because you just had to poke the bear, didn’t you?” She snapped, at her sudden attack, Bernie stiffened, for once, he wasn’t laughing. “Excuse me?” He muttered in disbelief, “You heard me.” Maia spat without missing a beat. “You just had to provoke Ren, you just had to make him your personal little vendetta— like you were gonna be the one to take him down, like you weren’t just some fat conspiracy nut with a shitty podcast and a death wish—” Maia trailed off, in which Bernie’s hands clenched into fists. “Oh, that’s rich.” He shot back, voice shaking with rare rage. “You wanna talk about getting killed? You wanna talk about whose fault it is?” He snapped, voice rising. “Your father is the reason my wife is dead.” He seethed, Maia blinked in some semblance of surprise.
So this was the Bernie Hayes people didn’t get to see, the side that wasn’t just quips and geeky rambling, the side that actually had a spine.
A sharp and humorless smile tugged at Maia’s lips, “Well, we’re even then, aren’t we?” She sneered, Bernie stared at her as Maia opted to lean in and press the knife in deeper. “Because your nosy lardass is the reason my father’s dead.” She snapped, “You wanna run that by me again?” Bernie spat, nostrils flaring. “Of course, no problem, your fatass has hearing issues. If you hadn’t stuck your nose where it didn’t belong, if you hadn’t played your little hero act, my father would still be alive.” Maia spat, Bernie took a step closer, though Maia didn’t flinch— what the hell was he going to do, sit on her? “You and your wife,” Maia decided to double down and continue in a mocking voice. “You two just can’t seem to keep your hands to yourselves, huh?” She spat, watching as Bernie’s entire body went rigid. God, this was too easy. Maia cocked her head, smirk far from gone. “I wish it was you instead of Raymond.” She confessed, “Besides, let’s be real.” Maia paused, casually glancing at his stomach. “You wouldn’t have lasted long out there anyway.” She added, Bernie was quick to lunge when Maia insisted it was Sarah’s own fault she died, she barely had time to react before Nathan grabbed him, holding him back. “Hey, hey—“ Nathan grumbled, struggling with his muscles tensing as he kept Bernie from biting her head off. “Jesus christ—” He grumbled, “Catfight.” Rick, the fucking peanut gallery, snorted from the corner. “Not the time, Rick.” Nathan snapped, shooting him a glare. As for Maia? She barely acknowledged it, she was still grinning because Bernie was seething, that was victory. “Enough, both of you.” Nathan demanded, looking between them. “Look, I lost my brother in the Hollow Earth, you don’t see me throwing blame around.” He attempted to help them find a common ground, voice edged with frustration. “Did your brother die because someone ran their mouth when they shouldn’t have?” Maia sweetly pondered, Nathan’s jaw ticked. She had already torn into Bernie, so she might as well keep going.
Maia turned on her heel towards Nathan, gaze sharp, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Funny,” She drawled, arms crossing over her chest. “You wanna talk about blame, but you had no problem letting Kong nearly crush me to death.” Maia spat, the pent-up fury she held towards her fellow teammates bleeding through. “Are you serious right now?” Nathan grumbled, his expression souring. “Dead serious.” Maia confirmed, gaze flicking toward Dr. Skank-drews and Jia. “And you two—” She paused, pointing lazily at them. “Don’t think I forgot about you.” She spat, Jia’s expression didn’t shift, but Ilene? Ilene’s was already hardening. “You really think you’re in a position to whine about that?” Ilene demanded in a voice of disbelief. Maia shrugged, “All I know is none of you seemed too upset when I was about to be a human pancake, kinda hard to hear a lecture about morals from people who were totally fine watching me get flattened.” Maia shot back, “Right, because you and your little band of mercenaries weren’t about to shoot us if we didn’t comply.” Ilene snorted, “Details.” Maia muttered carelessly. “You proved Kong, actions have consequences, incase you’ve never been told no in your entire life, which I don’t doubt. Maybe you should’ve thought about that before firing at a Titan.” Ilene spat, Maia just flashed a smirk. “You don’t get it, my father gets what he wants. That’s just the way it works.” She simply put, “Well, your old man’s dead, Maia. Guess that doesn’t work doesn’t work anymore.” Nathan cut in, “Yeah? Are you sure about that?” Maia sneered, with the amount of ‘dead’ people who had crawled out of their graves as of late, Maia assumed the sudden unease in everyone’s gazes made them think her father was going to claw his way out of his grave as a zombie. “Did it ever occur to you where all that money went?” Maia slowly pondered, that finally shut them up, but she wasn’t finished. “And once all this is over, I can easily buy you all out of jobs. Maybe I’ll buy Monarch, just to spite you jackasses.” She snarked, Nathan’s lips pursed into a thin like. Ilene exhaled sharply through her nose, and Jia just blinked. “Thought so.” Maia sneered sweetly, stepping back as if nothing had happened.
But, her mind was already elsewhere— Controller X. Maia rolled the idea over in her head, weighing the pros and cons. Surely, he’d let her in, they had worked in the same circles before, he had ambition.. And if there was one thing Maia Simmons knew how to do, it was align herself with power. She glanced back at the others, weighing her options, clearly, she wasn’t wanted here and quite frankly, the feeling was mutual. She opted to let them wonder, because when this was over, she’d ensure they never saw it coming.
Nathan watched the battle unfold from a distance— an inferno swallowing the ruins of Hong Kong whole, Titans clashing like gods in the ruins of a world that once belonged to them.
This wasn’t so much Sam’s fault as it was his. Maybe not entirely, but he had played a part, his nails dug into his palms as he let out a sharp exhale.
He had betrayed Monarch.. Not out of malice, not for money, not even because he thought Apex or Pest Control were right. None of that, he did it because he saw a man in a coma, hooked up to machines, abandoned by the world— and he felt bad for him. And now? Just take a mere glance at what that pity had cost him.
It wasn’t like the man in the coma was a good man, as Ilene had tried to tell him, but Nathan wasn’t thinking about good or bad, he was thinking about a man who was going to wake up and discover he had terrorist charges attached to his once prestigious name. In conclusion, Ren Serizawa had always been bad news, Nathan knew it, everyone knew it. And yet, when Ren and Walter Simmons had reached out to him that night in the basement of the university he used to teach at, he had listened. He thought about it often— the way they had looked at each other, Ren’s judgmental gaze and Simmons’ viper smile alongside his hollow condolences, like two people silently sizing each other up. It had reminded Nathan of high school, of that exact look being passed between ‘popular’ girls whenever he spoke in class, the same look his fellow scientists had given him when he defended the Hollow Earth theory, the same look that had defied his career. It was Nathan’s responsibility to fix this, not just for Monarch, not just for the people who had been dragged into this mess, but for Douglas Gordon.. He thought of the past-his-prime commander, gruff, stubborn, unwilling to stand down in the face of an invasion.. And now dead. Gordon had believed in something. Nathan? Nathan had made excuses, that had to change sooner than later, preferably right now.
As if some divine intervention had answered his prayers, Nathan caught movement out of the corner of his eyes— luckily, it wasn’t an Xilien ship or a Titan already in the fight, instead, this was something new. Nathan’s pulse spiked as he recognized it: Biollante, a monstrosity of vines and teeth, surging toward the battlefield like a force of nature, as if the warzone needed another horror in the mix.
Godzilla’s skull cracked against the edge of the Hollow Earth portal, the force sending shockwaves through the ruined battlefield. “C’mon, big guy, breathe in deep, we’re doing you a favor.” San cooed, voice oozing with false sincerity as Mecha-King Ghidorah shoved him harder. The undeserving King of the Monsters let out a sharp snarl, thrashing, his spines flaring with a violent atomic light.
Not that it mattered, the real king had him pinned. From his side of the shared body, Ni tightened his grip, golden servos groaning from the sheer power in his jaw. “Stay the fuck down, you overgrown gecko.” He demanded with a low growl, “That’s right, down the hole— where a failure such as yourself belongs.” Ichi hissed.
Fuck, San was practically jumping in excitement from his stance, they had waited so long for this— to see the so-called Alpha drown in his own domain. But of course, San and his elders couldn’t possibly forget how stupidly loyal his subjects were to him, the air shifted, thick with the scent of rotting plant matter, of something that had no place in this fight but was dragging itself into it anyway. San’s pupils contracted, Ni stiffened, and Ichi paused because it went without saying, they all knew and recognized it. San felt something crawl up their shared spine, something that would’ve been fear if he had any sense of self-preservation. Instead, he grinned, “Well, well, well—look who decided to show up.” San snarked, Ni was nowhere near as thrilled, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Ni hissed, “Puppet really should’ve finished her off when he had the chance.” San hummed, “He would have, had you two not talked him out of it.” Ichi muttered in a clipped and agitated tone. “Oh, don’t be harsh, Ichi. We egged him on a little, sure— but you saw how he hesitated. Like some dumb, weak little—” The word ‘lapdog’ hung off San’s tongue, but he choked on the word as a thick, thorned vine pulsing with an unnatural light whipped past his face.
Oh, she was mad.
“Easy there, Madison.” San purred, slithering around, craning his head to get a better look. “Or should I say Biollante? Kinda lost yourself there, hmm?” San snarked, watching as a low, distorted growl rattled through the air, somewhere between a beast and a cockroach scream. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Ni snarked, “And it won’t be the last.” Godzilla stated, taking the distraction hard, blasting a pulse of magenta light from his mouth— finally breaking free. Mecha-King Ghidorah staggered back, stabilizers screaming, and San clicked his tongue. “Ooooh, look at that. Big G’s still got some fight in here.” San jeered, “Of course he does, which leaves us with two problems.” Ichi growled, and from across the battlefield— “Oi, heads up!” Gigan called out from his clash with Rodan, but somehow found the time to yell at them. “Be careful, that thing killed Zilla!” Gigan found the caution to state, “And you’re just telling us now?” Ni snarled, “I was a little busy!” Gigan shot back. “Pfft, please.” San waved his brothers shared set of tails dismissively, grinning widely. “We’re King Ghidorah, she couldn’t even handle a flower pot to the face, what makes you think—” He began, another vine snapped through the air, this time, it cut their half-scaled, half-mechanical wing.
No biggie, they could regrow their flesh.
“Oh-ho-ho, you got some bite now, don’t you?” San taunted, to his dismay, Biollante didn’t give him any replies to further taunt off of, just opted to lunge head-first. San could feel her boiling hatred, could hear the echoes of Madison Russell, the same girl they had tormented, pushed, watched struggle beneath Puppet’s hand— and now she was one of them: a monster. “C’mon then,” San sneered, head lowering. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” He challenged.
What followed was chaos— the pure, unfiltered kind that San loved to drink in like the finest nectar. The battlefield was alive, a writhing, snarling, screaming mess of destruction. Mecha-King Ghidorah as a whole thundered forward, servis screeching, his golden heads snapping at the two monsters before them.
On one side— Godzilla, battered, burned, but still standing infuriatingly tall.
On the other— Biollante, a writhing tower of thorned vines. Her enormous maw dripping with an acidic bite San had no interest in tasting.
What was it Puppet’s spawn loved to say?
Notes:
i hope this chapter was enjoyed, once again, thanks so much for all the support this fic has gotten.. a lot of specific compliments i get on this fic is my ghidorah characterization, san specifically was extremely well received which i presume was due to my decision to make him a legit villain and threat who KNOWS what hes doing just as ichi and ni do, so i thought it was long overdue to get a snippet on his point of view .. anyway, go on and help san out, what was it puppets spawn loved to sayy??
Chapter 34: hermit the frog
Summary:
They call him Hermit the Frog
He's looking for a dog
Did you find your bitch in me?
Oh, you're abominable socially
You're just a little bit too much like me
She says, "She used to be so kind"
Well baby, I give you your dirty mind
Well I, I wanna tell you a secret
You can take your double standard love, and keep it
I can't help the devil likes to make my heart a double bed
And I can't help he sometimes likes to come, and rest his little head
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
There was no grace in being tag-teamed.
Absolutely no dignity in being shoved back, beaten down, outmaneuvered— but damn it if it wasn’t a little fun.
Mecha-King Ghidorah reeled as Biollante lunged again, her monstrous maw snapping shut just inches from San’s face. “Persistent bitch, aren’t you?” San taunted, barely twisting away before Godzilla’s claws raked across his half-scaled, half-metallic frame. Sparks flew, his shared body screeching in protest as circuits fried beneath his reinforced armor. “I’m gonna tear their fucking heads off!” Ni declared, “Oh yeah? That working out for you?” San quipped as he narrowly dodged another swipe from Godzilla’s claws, only for a vine to lash out, wrapping tightly around their shared body.
Oh, fuck his life.
Before San could react, Biollante yanked them forward, sending their heads snapping backward, metal groaning under the force, and for a brief second, the world tilted. San didn’t quite catch what Ni said, just a bunch of frustrated bloody murder while Ichi merely sighed. “Control yourselves.” He hissed, control? San nearly laughed, they were getting their asses handed to them.
Hell, for the first time in a while, San actually had to work to win, and he was revelling in the challenge it posed.
The thing about Ni was that he didn't think, Ni was all fire, all fury, all violence, like some half-feral thing with too many teeth and no leash to hold him back. He hated the idea of second place— loathed it, fought tooth and nail, San recalled several times Ni would try to convince him to aid him in usurping Ichi, San took full advantage of it— it was so easy to get Ni to blow up.
San would poke at his senior just right, and he’d explode like a landmine, burning through anything that got in his way. It was occasionally a useful trait, but mostly a fucking pain in the tails.
On the other hand, the thing about Ichi was he thought too much. San swore he could hear the gears turning in that arrogant, silver-plated skull— always planning, always scheming, always holding himself above them like some self-proclaimed king, always happy to dispose of himself and Ni despite them being the one who is many.. Though, that made it all the morw fun to fuck with him, San liked to imagine he had some say in things, that he wasn’t just the comic relief between a raging berserker and a power hungry-dictator.
And yet—
“San, stop laughing and bite something.”
Right.
Back to work.
“Y’know,” San mused, narrowly dodging a vine that nearly took his head off. “I’d respect me more if I were you two, if it weren't for me, we wouldn’t even be here.” San simply put, “The fuck are you talking about?” Ni snapped, “I mean— think about it.” San began as he dodged another sweeping attack from Godzilla, a gravity beam sparking from his jaws in retaliation, though to his frustration, it barely singed the ‘King’s’ shoulder. “If I hadn’t lost my head,” San continued nonetheless while twisting against Biollante’s thrashing vines. “They would’ve never been able to build the suit.” San pointed out, in response, Ichi went quiet— likely due to being locked in combat, but San took it as a win regardless. “Yeah, think about it.” San sneered, yanking against the vines, breaking free just long enough to snap at Biollante’s faces. “Mechagodzilla? That was all me. My head, my leftovers.” San cackled, twisting their shared metal frame to dodge a spray of acidic sap. “If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t even be fighting right now. Puppet would still be rotting in some lab.” San pressed, clearly, this conclusion he’d jumped to had given him quite the ego boost.
To further boost San’s ego, a silence stretched— for once, even Ichi had nothing to say. The grin across San’s snout only widened when he realized they hated it: they hated that he was right, X was just another puppet, San and his brothers never called him anything else.. Because that’s what he was, wasn’t he? A marionette on strings they had long since cut.
Oh, San found it amusing how Puppet thought he was in control, thought he had some grand purpose, but San could see it for what it was: he was nothing without them, just a stupid, bitter little human playing dress-up in their skin. Perhaps if San was anything close to the empathetic type rather than a sadist who happened to be funny enough to be dismissed as the ‘nice Ghidorah head’ (as much as San hated that label, it made him feel less than his brothers)— he would have pitied Puppet for being a genius, yet being so naive.
“Alright, enough talk, I’m ripping these two apart.” Ni declared, “Now that’s the spirit!” San whooped, with that, they launched forward, gravity beams screaming into the night— however, San never forgot what it was like to be trapped in that miserable, dull little skull.. He recalled how there was nothing to do but watch, as opposed to San’s usual tasks of destruction, carnage, burning worlds, in the place of those thrilling day-to-day tasks was Puppet’s life, played out in excruciating detail.. And honestly? What a life it was.
Don’t get him twisted, San hated the boring bits— the quiet resentment building in that tiny human heart, the nights spent staring at a phone, waiting for a father who never called.. Although, some parts San actually enjoyed. “You know,” San began as he took a brief charge and twisted their shared body to avoid another lashing vine from Biollante. “This reminds me of old times.” San snarked in a faux sentimental tone, “San, what could you possibly be on about this time?” Ni snarled in an exasperated tone, biting down on one of Biollante’s tendrils and ripping it free. “Puppet.” San simply put, even as Godzilla’s tail smashed into their side, sparks spat from their metal ribs, but San barely— if at all, noticed. “Ever think about how he spent his youth? Besides the building, he spent it being a little shit on the internet.” San pointed out, pausing to split the air with a gravity beam, sending Biollante reeling back. “God, I miss those days.” San added.
Incase San forgot to mention, they had seen everything, left with little choice as they were trapped inside Puppet’s head while his body rotted in a hospital bed, and San watched— with delight as Puppet’s teenage years played out like a slow-motion trainwreck.
Bullied at school, what did someone like Puppet do?
Cry? No.
Run to his father? Not a chance in hell, but San would hand it to one for thinking such, as that’s what most rich humans would do in their youth.
No, Puppet did what every little loser did in the golden age of the internet: he got online and he made other people miserable via the ‘GhidoraStan64’ handle, if San had a physical form the first time he accessed the internet through Mechagodzilla’s forms, he would have choked laughing upon laying eyes on that name on some ancient forum archive. “Puppet, you were one of those guys?” San had wheezed, by one of those guys— San meant the guys who lived on early 4Chan, KiwiFarms, Twitter, Mumble, etcetera.. Puppet had lived there, and he had been vicious, once again displaying the fact that all San and his brothers had to do was give Puppet the push. San could see the messages scrolling through his mind like an old film reel, terrorizing nobodies, cyberbullying Vivienne Graham of all people. “Loser.” San jeered, even as a blast of atomic breath slammed into their shared side. “San, if you would fight as much as you talked, we would actually be winning, get your shit together!” Ni snapped, once again taking his anger out on San instead of the enemy— did San mention how much he loved ticking Ni off? “I am fighting, I’m just also reminiscing.. Multitasking, does that ring any bells?” San shot back as another set of vines shot forward, San barely dodged, twisting their shared body out of the way. “You don’t get it, Ni. Puppet wasn’t some great mind back then.” San went on and on, intentionally blocking Ichi’s line of view to rear his head toward Ni. “San, do you truly in your heart of heart think I give a shit about Puppet? He played his part, I’d be happy to crush him if he got in the way.” Ni snapped, “San, focus.” Ichi demanded, but San wasn’t done.
That was the thing, they had broken Puppet because the trinity knew exactly where to dig— Ichi played with his intelligence, fed him paranoia, made him doubt his own reality, made him question what was real, what was delusion, what was Them.
Ni? Ni played into the resentment— the anger, the bitter, festering wound Puppet had been nurturing since childhood.. He’d whisper (San knows, Ni whispering? What a stretch.) things Puppet already had in the back of his mind, so in reality, he was simply making the noise louder—
“Your father never wanted you.”
“He loved Graham more.”
“You were nothing to him.”
And San? San played into the buried humor for Puppet had one hell of a twisted sense of humor. That was his foothold, the part of Puppet that had stayed up until four in the morning, whispering into a Mumble chat so his mother wouldn’t hear him laughing along with a group of bitter teenage losers. San had taken that humor, twisted it, sharpened it with a weapon, effectively turning every moment of Puppet’s suffering into a joke.
And Puppet? He had laughed, hell, he was probably on his mothership— still laughing, still revelling in the destruction he believed couldn’t have been done without him, he would keep laughing until it stopped being funny. In San’s case, it rarely stopped being funny, but not everyone could be winners like San.
San’s train of thought ended when Godzilla lunged once more, forcing San back into the present. “Ugh, he’s getting boring.” San droned, dodging while he barely avoided a swipe of claws. “Can’t he just fucking die already?” Ni growled in agreement, gravity beams screaming from his mouth. “Hey, Big Green,” San began in a sneer, twisting his neck to get a better look at Biollante. “I hear you killed Zilla. That’s adorable.” San jeered, while Biollante let out a monstrous, guttural snarl, San grinned at the thought of how fun this was going to be. “You know,” San mused, twisting their massive frame to dodge another snapping vine. “For someone with so many mouths, you don’t do a lot of talking.” San pointed out, Biollante let out a roar, slamming her vines into their metal-played side, though San barely felt it, Mecha-King Ghidorah was the best of both worlds— tougher than their old flesh-and-blood form, but also more practical than San’s previous metal form. “C’mon, Big Green, let’s have a chat. Catch up. It’s been, what? Two months since Puppet tried to take out your pathetic little human body?” San mockingly pondered, “San, shut your trap and fight.” Ni grunted, blasting another gravity beam at Biollante’s face. “I am fighting, I’m just also having fun, maybe you wouldn’t be a miserable stick in the mud if you took a page from my book.” San shot back, Ichi didn’t do anything to diffuse the bickering between hisnbrothers, only offering an irritated exhale. San could feel him calculating, thinking, probably scheming— but San wasn’t interested in his long-term plans, he was interested in pushing buttons.. And nothing pushed buttons better than bringing up Puppet’s dear, dead father, San figured all cockroaches ticked similarly enough.
“Hey, Biollante.” San began in a mocking tone, dragging out the word ‘Biollante.’ “You ever think about Mommy?” San pondered, his gaze narrowed as Biollante froze.
Oh.
Ohhh!
Now, this was interesting.
“I mean, let’s be honest, Madison— whoops, sorry— Biollante, she wasn't exactly Mother of the Year, was she?” San sneered, he could see it now— it was like audiatory capture to him, the tension coiling in Biollante’s massive, plant-like frame in the way her tendrils twitched, like she was barely resisting the urge to lunge. “She was kind of a nutjob,” San remarked, relishing in the way her body stiffened. “Killed herself for nothing, a recurring trend among cockroaches, but what did you do? Puppet got up and rebuilt us, you uh.. Well.” San intentionally left his statement hanging in the air, tilting his head and allowing his words to sink it. “Puppet’s spawn died for the lizard, you know,” San mused, his red eyes taking up a yellow hue as he noticed that did it, with blinding speed, Biollante lunged, her massive, gnarled tendrils wrapping around San’s neck, tightening like a noose. “Oh—” San barely had time to react before—
RIP.
Losing a head wasn’t new to San.
It had happened before, chances were it’d probably happen again.
The shock came first— the awful, surell moment when his vision snapped away from his body and the world spun. He could feel the pull, the sickening snap of his neck, seperating from the rest of the new-and-improved King Ghidorah. What followed was white-hot pain, searing through his nerves like burning wires, as if someone had taken a pair of rusty pliers and yanked every synapse out one by one. San choked, or at least, tried to— except he didn’t have lungs for the time being. “Oh, that’s new.” He muttered, watching his own head sail through the air in slow motion. In due time, San hit the ground with a sickening thud, helplessly rolling until he came to a stop against a pile of rubble.
Everything was upside down.
San could see Mecha-King Ghidorah’s body still moving, still fighting, Ichi and Ni roaring and attacking— but he was not attached.
Well, shit.
“You know,” He mused aloud, voice cracking from his damaged, disconnected throat. “I think that might be the hardest I’ve ever been hit yet.” San noted, watching as Biollante snarled, looming over him like some vengeful spirit, her glowing mouth dripping with acidic sap. “No need to be dramatic, Maddie, I was just making conversation.” San insisted, Biollante didn’t verbally reply, letting out a roar and raising a vine to crush him, not repeating Godzilla’s mistake of leaving San’s remnants to his devices.
San stretched his stolen limbs, rolling his shoulders in Puppet’s body, flexing fingers that he’d be insulted to call his own. “Damn, this is weird.” He noted, cracking his neck. It felt wrong— not because he had morals, but a funny joke, though.. But because this body was never built for him, it was too small, too fragile, too much of a cockroach.
But it’d do, San was good at working with what was in front of him.
The crew— the little insects hiding behind the lan door felt it too.. Their fear was delicious and palpable, “Alright, class!” San called out in a deliberately languid tone, dragging out his words like he had all the time in the world. “Whatever the hell you’re scheming, knock yourselves out. Couldn’t care less.” San added honestly, hearing a few shuffling sounds, though nobody bit the bullet and walked out, rightfully so, but San was bored, and when he got bored, he liked to poke, prode, sniff, lick, you get the gist. So, in the most obnoxiously theatrical fashion possible, he grabbed Controller X’s trenchcoat and flung it behind him like some drama queen, making damn sure the black and gold fabric billowed just right. “Tell you what, I’ll even leave the door open for you as I’m sure Puppet was a terrible host.” San snarked, deliberately twisting the handle and pushing. The door creaked, though San didn’t step inside, he didn’t need to. Opting to lean against the frame as if he had all the time in the world, casting a mocking glance at the terrified faces peering from within. “Don’t mind me.” San sneered, his stupid stubs of teeth flashing. “Just passing through.. Carry on!” San grumbled through gritted teeth, how badly he wanted to have a good time, but Mr. Frown Town himself, Controller X, was seething. “What are you doing?” Puppet demanded, his voice was tight— barely containing the rage simmering beneath. “What’s it look like? Enjoying myself.” San chirped, “You—” Puppet muttered, pushing against him, trying to take control back, but he was unmatched compared to San, who was one-third of the devil. “Ah-ah-ah.” San purred in a sing-song tone, effortlessly blocking him. “You’re in my seat now, Puppet, buckle up and enjoy it!” San exclaimed, “You’re going to ruin everything.” Puppet snapped, “Oh, please. If anything, I'm making this more entertaining, you’re welcome by the way.” San scoffed, he could feel Puppet trying to claw his way back up— trying to wrest control, but it was too bad Puppet was well.. A puppet.
San dragged his stolen body through the house like a bored tourist, flicking his fingers against whatever he passed: tables, walls, the occasional picture frame just to feel how different it was from the other planets he’d visited. “Huh,” He paused, tilting his head at a framed photo on the wall. Puppet’s weak face stared back at him— younger, unscarred, before everything fell apart. Beside him was what’s-her-face, mid-laugh, one arm over his shoulders like she had every right to be there. San didn’t get a lot of things, he was regarded as the ‘weakest link’ or ‘dumbest’ Ghidorah head just because he wanted to spice up the repetitive battles every once in a while, and love was no stranger to the list of things San didn’t get. Unlike his mocking curiosities, love wasn’t something San wanted to understand, he couldn’t fathom the idea of someone who was unattached to anyone else willingly spending their limited days attached to another, in San’s case, his days were unlimited and he couldn’t stand being attached to Ichi and Ni. “So this is where the magic happened, huh?” San observed, clicking Puppet’s tongue. “Puppet, you used to be such a loser.” San grumbled, a low, irritated grumble came from deep within the vessel, good, Puppet was listening. A smirk tugged at San’s stolen lips as he kept moving, wandering deeper into the house like some wayward ghost without a purpose. He had none, really, just curiosity— a sick, mocking kind of curiosity that made him want to pry open the old wounds buried in these walls. “You know,” San mused, kicking open an old door— a bedroom— maybe? Who cares? “This place is disappointingly normal. Thought I’d find, I dunno, a shrine to your old internet glory days.” San sneered, as he suspected, there was no response, but San could feel Puppet tensing up. “What was it again? GhidoraStan64?” San mockingly pondered, shoving open a drawer just to ensure he still could. “You know, I gotta say since you’ve left me to do all the ice breaking here.. There’s something poetic about you becoming my Puppet after spending your teenage years running around as my biggest fan.” San sneered, rejecting the sharp, angry pull request from Puppet. “Oh, relax.” San grumbled, shoving the drawer shut with an unnecessary amount of force. “I get it, the early internet was a lawless wasteland.. You were just another bastard throwing rocks from the shadows.” San trailed off, whirling around to take a glance at his reflection in the dusty mirror.
The trench coat still draped dramatically over his stolen shoulders, the way he liked it— it looked better on him than it did on Puppet. “Hell, I kind of respect it.” San lied through his stolen teeth, running Puppet’s fingers through his inky hair, sneering at his own stolen face. “Tearing into random nobodies behind a screen, making their lives miserable for fun? That’s the kind of pastime I’d expect from you, Puppet. No wonder we get along so well.” San jeered, turning away before Puppet could lash out, not like he could do anything. “Are you done parading around?” Puppet demanded, San grinned at the rightful voice in the back of his head finally biting back. “Aww, you missed me.” San taunted, slouching against the wall, arms crossed against his stolen chest. “Didn’t think you’d come out of your little sulking cave this soon.” San remarked, “You’re wasting time.” Puppet snapped, “I should be down there, on the battlefield, killing Goiira myself.” He added, “And how’d that work out for you last time, huh?” San snorted, rolling his stolen eye. “I wasn’t in control.” Puppet protested, a deep, simmering rage rising beneath him that showed San he’d hit a nerve. “No shit, and you think you will be this time? You really think waddling down there with your sad little daddy issues is gonna change anything?” San pried, Puppet didn’t respond— not ij the way San would have wanted him to, but he digressed. “He took everything from me.” Puppet snapped, “Correction: you took everything from you. I just expedited the process..” San trailed off, clicking his tongue. “Face it, Puppet, you had your chance, and then I waltzed right in and stole the machine right out from under you.” San exclaimed, as San had wanted, this got a rise out of Puppet. “You stole nothing,” Puppet snapped, his voice rising. “You hijacked it before I could finish what my grandfather started.” Puppet seethed, “Tomato, tomahto.” San replied carelessly, but Puppet wasn’t finished. “If you hadn’t interferred, Gojira would already be dead.. I saw the footage, your mistake was drawing it out, I would have gotten it over with.” Puppet grumbled, San couldn’t help but bark a laugh. “Oh, please, if a high being such as myself couldn’t do it, a cockroach could never. You were choking on your own failure before I even took the reins.” San pointed out, “I was robbed of any chance of reconciliation.” Puppet bristled, San grinned, puny stubs of teeth flashing in the dim light. “Reconciliation?” He gasped in a false-surprised tone, allowing the word to roll off his tongue like a particularly stupid joke. “Oh, buddy, that’s rich. Your dad, y’know, the guy who threw himself into a nuclear hellfire for Big G— was never gonna be proud of you, no matter what you did, no matter how many people you burned to the ground..” San trailed off, a grin tugging at his lips.
San took Puppet’s silence as a means to press further, taking a liking to the tension simmering between them. “But you know who gave a damn about it? My brothers and I. We saved your sorry ass in 2024, we gave you purpose, pouting like a kicked puppy.” San snarked, Puppet’s anger flared, but he didn't deny it. San smirked, he’d won this round. “Tell you what, Puppet.” He drawled, stretching lazily. “Since you’re so hellbent on ruining the mood, I think I’ll make things really uncomfortable.” San vowed, “What are you—” Puppet’s suspicion briddled against him, San didn’t respond, instead wiggling his fingers at the trench coat, slowly reaching for the waistband of his stolen pants. “I swear to Venus, I will take these off and flash the intruders. You think they’re horrified now? ‘Wait til they get a load of—”
“DON’T YOU DARE.”
“Ohhh, what’s wrong, Puppet? Worried they’ll see something they can’t unsee?”
“I am NOT THE ONE.”
“Technically, we’re sharing this hody, so—”
“SAN.”
“Fine, fine. You win, have you ever had a fun day in your life, Puppet?” San sighed dramatically, dropping his hands and wandering further into the house— though as he wandered further, he felt Puppet’s anger simmering beneath the surface, not entirely at him, but dissatisfaction with the whole ordeal growing into rage. San huffed, tapping his fingers against Puppet’s stolen thigh impatiently. “The hell is taking so long?” He grumbled, nothing seeming all that funny anymore. “I swear, Mr. Perfect loses a head and it’s back in five minutes, I lose a head and suddenly it’s a goddamn waiting game.” San bitched-and-moaned, “Cry me a river.” Puppet hissed from inside his own head, “Oh, I will.. And you know what? I’ll flood the whole damn city while I’m at it.” San vowed, just because San wasn’t as smart as Ichi didn’t mean he couldn’t tell Puppet was clearly tired of him, he knew damn well, it only made San more entertained. Unfortunately for the both of them, San wasn’t going anywhere for the time-being, and if he had to be stuck in this pathetic body, he might as well get comfortable. He flopped down onto the couch, dramatically stretching out his stolen limbs. “Might as well kill time. Where’s the remote?” San demanded, “Why do you care?” Puppet was quick to grumble, “Puppet, If I have to sit here in silence with you, I will start talking about things you don’t want to hear. Like how your search history back in the early 2000s was about as big of a war crime as your countries, heh, both of you try to bury them too.” San snarked, luckily, Puppet said nothing, leaving San to get the last word.
After digging through the couch cushions, San found the remote and flicked on the TV. Much to his annoyance, there was static only for the news broadcast to flicker to life, and what he saw made him freeze. “Ohhh, shit.” San cooed, watching as the screen blared with the chaotic, flaming wreckage of Hong Kong caused by his truly. The camera shook as it zoomed in on the battlefield— Mecha-King Ghidorah, locked in brutal combat with Godzilla and Biollante.
And Ichi and Ni? They were getting their asses handed to them. “No way—” San muttered in disbelief, shooting up from his seat with Puppet’s singular eye glued to the screen.
Biollante’s vines wrapped around Ichi’s throat, slamming him into the ruins. Ni, the ticking time bomb himself lunged in rage— only to be caught by an atomic blast the face from Godzilla. “Holy hell, they suck.” San gawked, genuinely utterly offended. “They’re getting dog-walked by a plant and a lizard.” San deadpanned, “That lizard is the reason my father is dead.” Puppet pointed out, San rolled Puppet’s singular eye, he thought he’d established that he couldn’t care less, “Yeah, but that’s not the point! Look at them! They’re flailing!” San exclaimed, watching as a particularly nasty hit sent Ni’s head crashing through a skyscraper, “Oof. That looked like it hurt like hell.” San winced, face souring as though he’d swallowed a lemon. “Good.” Puppet deadpanned, San whipped around at his tone— it was satisfied. “Wait, hold the phone— are you rooting against them? You literally built their second coming, my third coming.” San pointed out, “I’m rooting for myself.” Puppet grumbled in a cold voice, though if San cared enough to note, it was tinged with resentment. Luckily, San was too busy staring at the screen, watching as Ichi struggled against Buollante’s grip, he knew that Ichi was calculating, always five steps ahead, but even he was straining against the odds. And Ni? It took no genius to see Ni was pure rage, but rage wouldn’t save him. “Hate to say it, Puppet, but if this keeps up, you might have any puppet masters left.” San sneered with a grin, flopping back against the couch. “Well, at least this is entertaining. If my head doesn’t grow back in time, maybe I’ll just sit here and enjoy the show.” San declared, watching as the battle raged on, and for once—
San and Controller X watched together, saying nothing.
Notes:
hii sorry for the near 10(?) days of no updates, i’ve been on my feet all week and haven’t had much time to sit down and write as i normally do as well as indulging in a bad habit of planning future fics 💀 this chapter was cut in two (ill write the rest in the next one) as a result of not meeting the deadline i gave myself for updating fics but i digress, hope yall enjoy the san pov as much as i enjoy writing him, honestly, i like experimenting w other writing styles when i write different povs because they may see the world differently yk?? i hope that makes sense since they’re all unreliable narrators at the end of the day
Chapter 35: paint the town red
Summary:
Yeah, bitch, I said what I said
I'd rather be famous instead (walk on by)
I let all that get to my head
I don't care, I paint the town red (walk on by)
Bitch, I said what I said
I'd rather be famous instead (walk on by)
I let all that get to my head
I don't care, I paint the town red (walk on by)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Biollante could taste him: San, through the severed stump of his missing head. It was a sticky, acrid thing— the rotting aftertaste of something that refused to die.
But she wouldn’t let him sneak off, not this time— she vowed to herself as her tendril burrowed deeper into the open wound, pulsing with her wrath. She could feel the faint twitch of muscle, the way the tissue squirmed like it was trying to knit itself back together.
No, not again.
She tightened her grip, her vines coiling tighter inside the gaping wound for San would not be returning to the fight.
Above her, Godzilla roared— a crackling, earth-shaking declaration of inevitable victory. Mecha-King Ghidorah was falling apart, Ichi and Ni, once so high and mighty found themselves now staggering, their metal limbs straining under their own weight. Biollante pulled back, flexing her thorn-covered tendrils, ready to rip into them again— but Godzilla had already turned his back on them— she blinked, her massive form shifting as she followed his gaze to the mountain, that damned mountain..
Where Apex had played God.
Where it had all begun.
Godzilla was already moving toward it, his massive form crushing the earth beneath him, his spines burning with renewed fury. It didn’t take a genius to see he was going to wipe it from existence, Biollante exhaled in something that was almost satisfaction— until she felt it, a shift in the air, the heavy, suffocating weight of Monster X and Gigan crashing don from the sky, the King of the Monsters had barely taken five steps before Monster X landed before him, his jagged, bony form crackling the ground upon impact— his red eyes burning like embers in the dark. And from the opposite direction, one couldn’t forget the yin to Monster X’s yang: Gigan, his saw whirring, his crimson visor gleaming with violent joy as he landed at Godzilla’s flank. Biollante let out a sharp snarl, her tendrils rising like striking vipers, she could still feel San squirming beneath her grip, could feel the faintest twitch of something trying to regrow, but she did not release her hold, she did not let go, wanting to provide an example for Monster X and Gigan, as if to tell them if they wanted to stand in their way, then she wouldn’t hesitate in tearing through them too.
Biollante could feel the pulsing, writhing anger inside her core— a hunger deeper than vengeance, older than grief.
She would not let this damnation rise again.
Ichi and Ni were still standing, battered but unbroken, their glowing eyes burning with defiance as they lurched forward on Mecha-King Ghidorah’s trembling, metallic frame. Sparks spat from exposed wiring, and their colossal wings twitched erratically, half-destroyed but still stubbornly refusing to collapse. “Such fury, little flower.” Ichi purred, his voice still drenched in that false, aristocratic charm. Even half destroyed, he carried himself as if he were still a king, still desperately trying to recapture the authority he felt in 2019. “And yet, after all this time, you still think you are human.” Ichi snarked, “Maybe we should remind her what she really is.” Ni snorted in a far less patient tone, his voice like tearing metal, his patience long gone. “I admire that idea.” Ichi simply put as Biollante’s vines shot forward, blades of thorns glinting as they sank into the cyborg Titan’s armored chest. Metal groaned, plating buckled, but it held— she let out a snarl, throwing her full weight into the attack, she was sick of their voices, sick of their taunts, sick of the past dragging its corpse behind her. “You think you are any better?” Ichi chuckled, even as his body was torn open, even as the weight of her crushed him into the earth. “You wear her face, but you are not Biollante.” Ichi pointed out, causing Biollante to pause, the name stabbing through her, but she didn’t falter, instead opting to tighten her grip, pulling them closer so she could watch the life drain out of their eyes. Ni hissed, blasting his gravity beams point-blank into her torso. Heat sliced through her vines, severing some, but she did not loosen her grip. “Look at you, Madison! You’re exactly like your mother now!” Ni spat her name with a mockery that dripped with poison.
Biollante froze.. And luckily for them, that was all the opening they needed. Ichi jumped at the chance to lurch forward, fangs bared, and sank his teeth into her shoulder. The pain was instantaneous, but it wasn’t just pain— it was violation, the cold electricity of Mecha-King Ghidorah’s neural systems surging into her body, probing, digging, pulling..
They were trying to control her, like Apex, like her mother, like everything she fought to destroy.
The rage that followed was beyond words and comprehension. Biollante roared— a horrific, guttural sound, something too raw, too ancient, too furious to be human, and she ripped into them. Vines burst from her body, wrapped around their throats, their limbs, their torso, forcing them down. She did her best to ignore the burning and the searing metal biting into her flesh.
She vowed to tear them apart for she would not be controlled and they would absolutely not rise again.
The streets of Hong Kong were long gone, what remained was an ashen graveyard made up of twisted steel and crumbling skyscrapers, bathed in the scarlet glow of fire and plasma. The skies above were a black void, torn by the flickering embers of a world on the verge of collapse.
And at the heart of it all— the Final War raged on.
Godzilla stood his ground, massive chest heaving, smoke curling from his scorched hide. His dorsal plates flashed with nuclear light, his muscles couled, his claws digging trenches into the ruined earth beneath them. Just ahead, his enemies waited.
Gigan, a mechanical nightmare wrapped in organic cruelty, twitched with bloodlust, his crimson visor flickering with rapid, calculated precision. His bladed arms gleamed with fresh blood, the saw in his chest whirred eagerly, waiting for another taste.
Beside him, Monster X looked— taller, leaner, overall more refined in his menace. His bone-white exoskeleton glowed faintly, an unholy mix of Ghidorh’s lineage and Xilien engineering: something that shouldn’t exist. His piercing red eyes locked onto Godzilla, unwavering.
The three Titans stood still for a fleeting moment before Gigan struck first, his blades carved through the air, the whistling slice of death ringing out before he lunged, faster than he had any right to be. Godzilla was quick to duck, sending the blade slicing through empty air, but Gigan spun, using his tail for balance as he slashed again— although this time, he successfully connected, sending the blade sinking deep into Godzillq’s side. The King didn’t hesitate, seizing Gigan’s arm in his claws and pulling. Metal screamed, servis cracked, and Gigan screeched as Godzilla yanked him forward— right into his waiting jaws, teeth crushed into Gigan’s throat, puncturing steel and flesh alike. The cyborg shrieked, thrashing wildly in protest, his chainsaw gut revving as he tried to gut Godzilla at point-blank range—
Coming to Gigan’s rescue, Monster X struck in the fashion of a blinding burst of gravity beams smashed into Godzilla’s side, ripping him away from Gigan. Godzilla was thrown back, tumbling through the ruins of a collapsed skyscraper— steel and concrete exploded around him, dust swallowing his massive form. For a fleeting moment, there was silence until Godzilla roared, promising retribution. He surged forward, meeting Monster X head on. They collided with the force of a natural disaster, Monster X’s claws lashed out only for Godzilla to catch them, their strength evenly matched in that instant.
Their eyes locked, for a split second, something passed between them. It wasn’t recognition as Godzilla knew nothing of Monster X’s past, didn’t know of the Xiliens, of the forced evolution, of the chains that had bound him before he even hatched, but Monster X knew Godzilla as his cousin's arch enemy, and he hated him for it. With a snarl, Monster X drove his knee into Godzilla’s gut, forcing the king to stumble. Gravity beams erupted from his mouth, smashing into Godzilla’s torso at point-blank range, Godzilla reeled back— but not far enough. He surged forward, claws ripping into Monster X’s chest, teeth finding purchase in his shoulder. Monster X shrieked, but didn’t falter— he wrapped his dual tails around Godzilla’s throat and whipped him into the air, ready to choke Godzilla to death until a vine lashed out, gripping Monster X’s leg.
Biollante.
Monster X snarled, whipping around, his red eyes blazing in rage. Biollante only yanked, dragging him off balance, sending him crashing into the ground with an earth-shaking impact. And in that moment, Godzilla recovered, his dorsal plates glowing with magenta atomic fire, the heat distorting the air around him. Monster X’s eyes widened, but it was too late— the atomic breath roared forth, a beam of devastation that engulfed him in nuclear hellfire.
Monster X could only scream as Godzilla advanced.
However, Monster X soon realized the nuclear energy was just what he needed, sending a terrible sound cracking through the ruins of Hong Kong. Not the boom of collapsing buildings, not the howl of wind carving through skeletal remains of a once thriving city— no, this was something far more visceral. A wet, sickening crack, like the splitting of bone under unbearable pressure. Monster X was breaking, just not in the way Godzilla had hoped for. The King stood his ground, dorsal spines still smoldering from his atomic fury, his deep growls rolling like distant thunder. Biollante’s vines coiled like vipers, tightening around Monster X’s battered form, although something was horribly wrong.
Instead of a death rattle, Monster X’s scream turned into a guttural, warped noise— half a roar, half a wretched gurgle. His blackened armor buckled, deep fissures forming along his torso, his shoulder plates trembling before quite literally splitting open. Like the shell of an egg, they peeled away, revealing throbbing blackened gold flesh beneath, pulsing with unnatural energy. Monster X’s neck stretched unnaturally, elongating, his skull warping as his snarling maw widened, his fangs extending into something far too draconic. His arms twitched and spasmed, the claws growing longer and sharper until a final sickening crack sent them twisting backward, establishing the fact his arms weren't arms anymore, they were front legs.
A golden glow burst forth from the cracks in his armor, engulfing him in a wave of searing light. The storm clouds above shifted, pulled toward him, drawn by the cosmic force emanating from his twisted, mutating form.
From the light, Keizer Ghidorah emerged.
Where Monster X once stood, there now loomed a Titan of nightmares. His body had shifted into a more bestial stance, standing on four powerful, clawed legs. His heads— three now, no longer confined to a singular form snapped at the air, jaws stretching as if testing their newfound freedom. His scales were dark gold, tinged with crimson veins that pulsed with raw energy, his wings, massive and jagged, unfurled behind him, dripping with residual golden light.
Where Monster X had been a weapon of precision, Keizer Ghidorah was an avatar of destruction. The beast stretched its necks skyward, its heads snapping and writhing, and then— it let out a screech. The sound rippled through the battlefield, an unearthly, unholy wail that seemed to rattle the very bones of the blue planet. Biollante’s tendrils tightened, but Keizer Ghidorah lashed out with his three heads, the left head seized one of Biollante’s vines, fangs sinking in, venomous energy coursing through it. The middle head snapped at Godzilla, catching him off guard, the force behind it sending the King of Monsters skidding backward, carving a trench through the ruined city. As for the rightmost head? It simply laughed.
“Ohh, well, well, well.” The voice was alien, layered— a symphony of three voices, of Monster X’s former tone interwoven with something far older, far crueler. “Isn’t this an improvement?” The middle head— Shi, croned, voice slithering like oil. “We were wasting our potential before, shackled and contained.” The left head, Roku, hissed. And the right head, Go? It turned its gaze to Godzilla, to Biollante. “Now we’re free.” Go declared, the trios eyes gleaming with hunger as Keizer Ghidorah lurched forward, causing the real battle to begin. However, Godzilla wasn’t here to fight, not yet, anyway. His focus wasn’t on Keizer Ghidorah’s massive form, nor on Gigan’s gleaming, razor-lined figure. Instead, his molten gaze was locked onto the decaying husk of the Apex Cybernetics facility.
That cursed place.
The place where his ancient rival had been reborn for the second time.
The place where his old friend's kin had thrown his humanity long before he donned the title of Controller X, instead way earlier— when he first slid into the chair and unleashed Ghidorah to the world.
With that being said, destroying it was the priority. Godzilla’s dorsal plates crackled with atomic energy, violet light pulsing through the ruins as he drew in a deep breath. The Apex facility, already little more than a skeletal corpse of steel and concrete, rumbled under the sheer pressure of his presence. A searing wave of atomic fire carved through the remnants of the building, the force of the blast sending twisted steel and shattered glass raining down like a storm of razors. But just as Godzilla steeled himself to fire again, two shadows descended. Keizer Ghidorah’s massive form landed first, his impact alone sending shockwaves through the ground, cratering what remained of the streets. His three heads loomed high, each pair of crimson eyes gleaming with unspoken malice. And beside him, with all the grace of a mechanized vulture, Gigan descended in a whirl of flashing crimson wings and revving chainsaws, causing the air between them to turn electric with tension. “Tch. He’s ignoring us.” Gigan scoffed, his buzzsaw chest spun once, slicing through the silence. “Bad idea. I hate being ignored.” Gigan jeered, Keizer Ghidorah’s middle head tilted, watching Godzilla with what almost seemed like amusement. “Oh, let him be, Gigan.” Shi muttered, voice layered with something ancient and cruel. “Let him dig his own grave, if he wants to tear down the house of his enemies, let him, the real fight hasn’t even begun.” Shi added, Godzilla’s only response was a deep, reverberating growl, the kind that sent ripples through the ground, warning of the impending storm to come.
If Gigan had eyes instead of a visor, he probably would have rolled them based on the way his scarlet visor flicked in irritation. “Whatever, I just think it’s funny.. Y'know— how King Ghidorah is basically running the whole show now.” Gigan pointed out, unphased by the way all of Keizer Ghidorah’s heads turned toward him. “Oh, you think so?” Go sneered with a viper smile, “Yeah, Controller X?” Gigan began, waving a bladed arm dismissively. “Guy’s just a mouthpiece— a sock puppet, everybody knows who’s actually calling the shots.” Gigan snarked, Keizer Ghidorah laughed— not in unison, not like before.. Instead, each head laughed in its own distinctly unique way, like a symphony of mockery, bitterness, and something so sinister it couldn’t be named. “You misunderstood, cyclops. X is still the controller of the Xilien forces, of the mothership, of their fleets..” Roku listed off in a snarl, curling his lip in something akin to sheer distaste. “What’s quaint is that the previous Controller advised him to cut ties with King Ghidorah. “ Go cut in, Gigan paused, visor narrowing in doubt. “Tch. What, like he’s actually gonna do it? The guy takes it up the ass from Zero with a smile.” Gigan grumbled, “Oh, I don’t know, I imagine the queen will make that decision for him once we reach Planet X— assuming Zero doesn’t cut him loose.” Shi deadpanned, looking at Gigan as if he were an idiot. “Pfff. Right, I’m not sure why Zero hasn’t done it, it’s not like they need the vessel.” Gigan pointed out, gesturing to the battered form of Mecha-King Ghidorah across the battlefield.
Keizer Ghidorah’s three heads all turned toward Godzilla again, watching as he stomped forward, tail dragging across the rubble, his eyes burning with purpose. With one slow, deliberate step, Keizer Ghidorah moved to block his path. “It’s never about stopping Zero, dear Gigan.. It’s about whether or not they know they’re already lost.” Shi stated devilishly as the ground trembled beneath their feet, the cracked earth groaning under the weight of the titanic battle about to unfold. Godzilla exhaled in the way one who would grumble ‘I'm getting too old for this’ would, molten breath hissing through his jagged fangs. His spines crackled, pulsing with light, illuminating the battlefield with an eerie, radioactive glow.
This was not the fight he wanted.
But it was the fight he would win.
Keizer Ghidorah moved first.
The charcoal beast surged forward, his four legs shaking the earth with every stride. The shadows of his colossal wings spread like a storm front, blotting out what little light remained in the ruined cityscape. From all three of his mouths, crimson bolts of gravity beams lashed out, tearing through the air with a shriek that could split the heavens. Godzilla twisted, barely avoiding the first blast— but the second slammed into his shoulder, sending a shockwave of pain through his body. The third struck his thigh, forcing him to stagger, the smell of burning scales searing the air. The King let out a sharp snarl, baring his fangs. “Slow,” Gigan taunted, lunging in from the side. His chainsaw arms revved to life, their metallic whirr echoing through the battlefield. “You’re getting too old.” The cyborg jeered, but Godzilla didn’t let the insult sit, taking advantage of Gigan’s poorly thought out lunge, tossing his weight forward in a savage and deliberate burst of motion. He ducked under the first blade, his tail whipping up like a spiked club, catching Gigan right in the side. With a ‘CRACK!’ The cyborg screeched as he was hurled sideways, crashing through the remains of a skyscraper. Unfortunately, there was no time to enjoy the moment as Keizer Ghidorah was on his tail again, all three of his heads lunging, fangs glinting like jagged knives. Godzilla twisted, swiping with his claws, but the Keizer was relentless, his middle head clamping down on Godzilla’s arm, his fangs sinking nice and deep, drawing blood.
Godzilla roared in fury, firing point blank as the atomic blast detonated, pink fire engulfing the Keizer’s head, forcing the draconic Titan to stagger back, blackened scales smoking from the impact. Godzilla tore free, shaking off the pain, but— he felt it before he saw it, daring to glance at the shadow looming over him that brought searing agony, Gigan had recovered. The buzzsaw in his chest spun violently, grinding against Godzilla’s hide as the cyborg lunged from above, using his weight to pin him down. “You’re strong, but not strong enough.” Gigan rasped, his voice a gleeful hum of static. His talons pressed down harder, pinning Godzilla’s arms, his saw digging in deeper. Godzilla snarled in fury, struggling, but Keizer Ghidorah’s heads wrapped around his throat, his arms, his legs— holding him down like chains. “Tell me, beast.” Shi mused, crimson eyes gleaming. “Does it burn?” He pondered, fangs inching closer, as if savoring the moment. However, he didn’t get the response he anticipated— Godzilla’s response came in fire, his spines flaring as he unleashed a pulse of atomic energy so bright it turned night into day. Gigan was tossed back, his metal body shrieking as it hit the rubble. Keizer Ghidorah was forced to loosen his grip, his scales smoking from the heat. Godzilla snapped forward, breaking free with a sharp lunge, claws raking across Keizer’s chest, carving deep into dark flesh. His tail whipped out, slamming into Gigan’s torso, sending the cyborg crashing into another ruined tower. Godzilla stood tall, his eyes burning with fury.
Kong’s arrival was like a storm crashing into the battlefield. The earth trembled beneath his thundering footfalls, debris scattering as his massive form barreled through the ruins. His breath came in heavy huffs, muscles coiled with fury as he locked eyes with Keizer Ghidorah and Gigan. He roared— not just a battle cry, but a warning.
Keizer Ghidorah’s three heads swiveled, their crimson eyes gleaming with something between amusement and irritation. The hydra’s middle head cocked slightly. “Ah, the ape, didn’t you get enough last time?” Shi sneered, Kong didn’t reply, he had nothing to say to this bastard— but his fists sure did! Before Keizer Ghidorah could react, Kong lunged, slamming his fists into the hydra’s chest. The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield, forcing the massive dragon to skid backwards. Getting a front row seat of his comrades shortcoming, Gigan rushed in next with his chainsaw arms revving. “Sit down, monkey!” The cyborg sneered, swiping in a vicious arc. Kong ducked, narrowly avoiding the blast as it sliced through the air with a mechanical shriek, he retaliated immediately, gripping Gigan’s wrist and twisting— hard. Metals groaned and servos shrieked as Gigan let out a glitching shriek of pain while Kong wrenched him off balance, slamming a brutal punch into his chest, thus denting the armor. Sparks flew from the impact, sending the cyborg staggering back, clutching his side. From the side, Spacegodzilla and Hedorah watched like it was their favorite show. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you two misfits to help.” Shi snapped at them, irritation creeping into his regal tone. “And spoil the fun? I want to see how the ape handles himself.” Spacegodzilla protested, Hedorah letting out a gurgle in agreement.
Quite frankly, Kong wasn’t interested in fraternizing with the aliens, his focus was on keeping those two bastards occupied because he was buying the King of the Monsters time, the saurian storming toward the long abandoned Apex facility, his tail dragging through the ruins like the Grim Reaper’s scythe. His dorsal plates pulsed with building energy, each step carrying the weight of finality— third times the charm, he was going to end this, something Keizer Ghidorah realized all too late. His three heads snapped toward Godzilla, colossal wings flaring, but Kong grabbed hold of his middle neck, yanking him back. “Your fights with me, asshole!” Kong snarled, digging his feet in as the two Titans struggled for dominance. Gigan, recovering annoyingly fast, shot forward, his buzzsaw chest whirring to life. Kong twisted the Keizer’s heads toward the cyborg, forcing the Xilien hydra to take the brunt of Gigan’s attack. The saw bit deep into Keizer’s side, golden-accented scales tearing. All three heads of Keizer Ghidorah shrieked in rage, slamming their tails into Kong’s ribs. “You insufferable—” They began in unison before being cut off by a—
BOOM!
Behind them, the sky erupted in rose-colored fire, Godzilla’s atomic breath had finally reached what once was an Apex facility, the abandoned structure detonated in a towering inferno, steel and concrete melting beneath the heat of nuclear fury. The unintentional and intentional source of King Ghidorah’s resurrections had been reduced to ash, and with it, Gbidorah’s grip on the world grew weaker.
Biollante towered over Mecha-king Ghidorah, her massive, vine-entwined form a grotesque fusion of nature and nightmare. The sky swirled with fire and smoke, embers raining down like the dying breath of the world caught in war. Her eyes burned with unrelenting fury, her tendrils constricting around the abomination before her. Mecha-King Ghidorah’s remaining two heads thrashed in protest, electricity crackling across the devils' battered form, but Biollante didn’t care for their struggles. She only had one goal, break the beast. Her vines coiled tighter around its metallic torso, the sound of crunching steel filling the battlefield as she squeezed with monstrous force. Mecha-King Ghidorah’s entirely metal stomach was his greatest weakness; unlike his alien flesh, it could not heal.
She knew it.
They knew it.
“Do you truly believe this makes you powerful?” Ichi pondered, struggling against her grip, metallic green eyes flashing with contempt. “Crushing a corpse of what once was? You’re nothing but a parasite.” Ichi snapped, Biollante’s eyes narrowed, her response was swift, shooting a massive tendril forward— succeeding with impaling Ichi’s neck. “You talk too much.” Biollante, once Madison Russel— rumbled like the roots of the earth itself. Oil spilled from the central head of Mecha-King Ghidorah as the vine twisted, pulled— and then tore his head clean off.
The battlefield fell silent for a brief moment.
Ichi’s severed head tumbled to the ground, sparks spitting from the exposed cybernetics of his mechanical half. His body twitched, jerked, and finally slumped. A moment later, Ichi proved himself to not be truly dead as he returned to his vessel: Controller X, leaving Ni as the last head of King Ghidorah. Ni let out a deep, guttural growl as he bared his fangs in sheer defiance. Unlike Ichi, who had always been the cold manipulator, Ni was full of pent up resentment and desperation— desperation to prove himself as the true supreme Ghidorah head, and if he was to go down, he was damn sure he’d go down fighting.
With a sudden, violent thrash, Ni broke free from Biollante’s vines, lunging with everything he had left. His jaws clamped down on her shoulder, serrated teeth tearing through thick plant-flesh, golden lightning surging through his body as he poured every ounce of remaining strength into the attack. Biollante Roared in pain, slamming her massive body against him, but Ni held on, thrashing like a rapid beast. “You won’t kill me that easily, cockroach!” Ni snarled in a ragged, desperate tone. Unlike Ni, Biollante was patient, she let him fight, let him believe— if at all for a fleeting moment, that he was winning before she ultimately struck, sending a thorned tendril snapping forward, this time piercing directly through Ni’s furious eye. His roar soon turned into a gurgling scream as Biollante twisted, ripping the tendril upward— lacking the full strength to regenerate, Ni realized he had lost sight, sending a primal, choking horror of panic through him.
No, no, no—
Not like this.
Not alone.
Not without his brothers.
Just like Ichi moments before him, he felt it— the pull.
Ghidorah’s will.
Their will.
His broken body slumped, his last breaths rattling from his throat, before his essence, too, was ripped from the ruined shell, spiraling into the unseen abyss— returning to the only place that would welcome him: the back of Controller X’s mind. And as the battlefield fell silent once more, Biollante stood tall over the ruins of what was once the mighty King Ghidorah.
The Titans of Earth all stood together, the planet itself trembling beneath the weight of their combined fury. Across from them, Keizer Ghidorah and Gigan looked— battle-worn but defiant nonetheless. Fires flickered in the ruins of the Apex facility, casting monstrous shadows as the Titans clashed in a final, frenzied melee. Keizer Ghidorah, once an unbreakable force, staggered beneath Kong’s relentless onslaught. The great ape had seized one of his massive, snake-like necks, swinging the dragon adjacent beast overhead before slamming him into the ground with a bone-shattering impact. Rodan shrieked from above, talons flashing like daggers of molten gold as he dive-bombed Gigan, raking across the cyborg’s metallic exoskeleton. Sparks erupted where claw met steel, the screech of metal against metal filling the air. The King of the Monsters roared with authority, his dorsal spines crackling with atomic energy. He charged forward, his colossal tail swinging with plenty enough force to send Keizer Ghidorah across the ruined battlefield.
Although, unlike his kin whose ego was so fragile he refused to flee when a battle was lost, Keizer Ghidorah, the so-called ‘Emperor of Destruction,’ knew when to admit defeat. With a furious hiss, he pushed himself up, wings unfurling wide as his body began to contact inward. The massive, draconic form shrunk, limbs snapping and realigning, wings pulling inward as Keizer Gbidorah regressed back into Monster X. “Tch. Well, that was fun.” He sharply exhaled in an almost amused tone. “Fun? We just got our asses handed to us.” Gigan acoffed, “I don’t see the problem. We got what we came for, Zero’s experiment is over, let them think they’ve won.” Monster X chuckled, cracking his neck as the pair walked toward the shadow looming over them— the Xilien mothership, a low hum filling the air while beams of purple light surrounded both Monster X and Gigan, establishing they were being recalled. “See you around, ‘King of the Monsters,’ Gigan taunted, his red visor gleaming as he vanished in a burst of light. Monster X stuck around a little longer, his gaze darting from Godzilla to the wreckage of Mecha-King Ghidorah’s ruined form. “..He’ll get over it.” He muttered, moreso to reassure himself than the others before disappearing.
As the Xilien mothership prepared to depart, a cold, cruel laugh echoed from the shadows. Spacegodzilla stepped forward, his crystal-plated form gleaming like fractured starlight. His piercing eyes locked onto Godzilla, a slow sneer creeping across his reptilian face. “Well, well.. My dear brother.” He snarked in a voice rich with mockery, an unmistakable venom laced beneath his words. Godzilla let out a low growl, but he did not charge. Spacegodzilla merely tilted his head, “Oh, don’t give me that look. We’ll have our time soon enough, and when we do.. I’ll make sure you never crawl out of the dirt again.” Spacegodzilla vowed, letting out a whistle to address his unlikely companion. “Hedorah, it’s time to leave.” Spacegodzilla dictated, the smog monster gurgled, its amorphous body bubbling like toxic sludge. With unnatural ease, the two began to float upward, their bodies shimmering as they ascended past the clouds— and soon enough, beyond the atmosphere itself.
As the dust settled, Biollante watched them go. Her massive, tangled body shuddered, the thick vines that made up her form curling inward slightly. The battle had left its scars, but she felt.. Something else— a longing. Mothra, her gossamer wings shimmering with ethereal light, fluttered beside her. “I want to be human again.” Biollante expressed, her voice was a mixture of tones, overlapping like wind through the trees, but one voice— one soul spoke louder than the rest: Madison. Mothra regarded her, her massive, compound eyes reflecting wisdom beyond measure. The Queen already knew good and well Biollante was not just one being, there were many souls within her, but Madison was the one crying out, the one who still remembered what it was to be small, to be fragile, to be human. “Then I will help you.” Mothra gently assured, sending a hush over the battlefield, the first moment of peace in what felt like eternity, the war was not over, but for now, the earth could breathe.
Madison’s bare feet pounded against the scorched earth, the remnants of Biollante’s vines still clinging to her skin like ghostly echoes of her former form. The scent of burning metal and ozone clung to her wavy hair, but she barely noticed, the only thing that truly mattered was the cluster of familiar faces ahead. They had survived, and they saw her. Her father, Mark Russell’s expression twisted in disbelief, his breath catching in his throat. “M-Maddie?” He stammered, Madison barely managed to say his name before she was in his arms, his grip tight, like he was afraid she’d vanish again. His breath was warm and unsteady against her hair, “I thought I lost you.” Mark whispered in a raw voice, Madison swallowed hard, clearing her throat. “Yeah.. I thought so too.” She admitted, “Guess I’m tougher than I look.” Madison added, Mark let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob, pressing his hand to the back of her head. When they finally broke apart after some time, Madison turned, and— “Okay, listen,” Bernie started, hands raised. “I don’t usually do—” He trailed off, Madison cut him off with an awkward hug, the impact making him stumble back a step. “Yeah, okay. You earned that.” Bernie sighed, patting her back. When they seperated, she turned to Josh, who was gawking at her like she'd crawled out of the underworld. “Dude, you were a giant plant.” He breathed, voice cracking. “Yeah, and?” Madison snorted, Josh made a noise that was half frustration, half deep existential crisis, regardless, he pulled her into a hug— a more solid, less awkward one. The others weren’t far behind, Ilene Andrews and Ilene Chen stood together, their expressions unreadable but their relief evident, Jia reached out, pressing a hand to Madison’s palm as if confirming she was real, Rick let out a low whistle, arms crossed. “Hate to break up the Hallmark moment, but how the hell are you not a damn tree anymore?” Rick pondered, “I, uh.. Mothra helped.” Madison tried her best to explain, “Cool. Cool, that’s not weird at all..” Rick trailed off, “So, uh.. What’s it like? Being a kaiju?” Nathan hesitantly asked, “Loud.” Madison jeered, shaking her head.
However, not everyone was happy about Madison’s return to the living. “Oh, great, she’s alive.” A voice hissed, Madison turned just as Maia Simmons stepped forward, arms crossed, lips curled in a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes, there was something almost.. Disappointed in her expression. “Maia.” Madison greeted cooly, “Madison.” Maia deadpanned, gaze flickering over her, like she was examining damaged goods. “I’d say you look good, but considering you should’ve died, I think I'll hold off.” Maia grumbled, Madison narrowed her eyes. “You seem.. Really torn about me being back.” She sarcastically pointed out, Maia arched a brow, feigning innocence. “What? No, I’m thrilled, truly.” Maia snarked, “Wow, did getting crushed like a soda can teach you nothing?” Madison shot back, not bothering to spare Maia’s feelings. “Alright, children, let’s not start a catfight five minutes after the apocalypse.” Bernie sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine, but if she keeps running her mouth—” Madison huffed, “Ooooh, I’m shaking.” Maia cut her off with a mocking wave, Mark put a hand on Madison’s shoulder, gently pulling her away before she threw hands with a war criminal.
She let him.
For now.
Because she was alive.
And for the first time in a long, long time—
She felt human again.
The celebration in the distance was more gag-inducing than the scent of scorched Titan flesh still wafting through the ruins of Hong Kong. Cheers, tears, and touching little hugs, how sickening.
Maia slipped away from the group with another word, her boots crunching over broken glass and bits of charred rebar as she descended into the fractured heart of the ruined city. No one stopped her. No one asked where she was going.
Good.
She didn’t belong with them anyway, she belonged on a red carpet or lounging on some billion dollar resort.
“Bunch of sentimental nobodies,” Maia hissed under her breath, brushing ash off her jacket. “If Papá hadn’t sent me on that Hollow Earth mission, I wouldn’t even know their names.” She scoffed, taking in how the streets of Hong Kong were more shadow than structure, the skeletons of buildings reached skyward like broken ribs, their bones painted red from the fires still simmering in their guts.. And yet… Somehow, it felt more honest out here.
That was when she saw him: Hayworth, one of many old flames consisting of men, women, and everything in between who had agreed to her ‘no strings attached’ idea just to get attached to her.
At least, he looked like Hayworth— though the dog tags around his neck read Harrison, however, Maia doubted his birth name was Harrison or Hayworth.
He wasn’t alone.
Walking beside him, head bowed, was Controller X— or what remained of him.
Ren.
But his movements were wrong, jittery, like there were too many voices trying to use the same tongue. “Of course it was san’s fault, he has no strategic foresight, just impulse.” Ichi’s voice snapped through X’s mouth, stiff with theatrical disappointment. “Oh, please, I’m not the one who got his head turned into a chew toy by a mutant salad.” San quipped with venom-laced charm, “Shut up. You think I wanted to be stuck babysitting that mushroom witch while you two turned your mouths?” Ni barked, X twitched violently, slapping a hand to his temple. “Let me— just — shut — up — let me speak —” X managed to muster out, Maia seized the opportunity to take a step forward. “Nice to see you again, Ren.” Maia started, Hayworth—Harrison, tilted his head at her, expression unreadable. “Or should I say Controller X now? How could I forget?” Maia snarked, X’s eye, having taken a permanent golden hue, flickered toward her. “Oh. You’re alive.” He deadpanned, “You sound so thrilled.” Maia sarcastically remarked, X twitched again, this time stepping closer. “Why are you here?” X demanded, Maia shrugged. “Let’s call it destiny, I figure the world’s not done burning yet, and you always did like a plus-one on the apocalypse.” She paused, eyes flicking toward Hayworth. “Besides, I’ve got a chaperone.” She pointed out, “You see, Puppet? Even the roaches know which side survives the boot.” Ichi hissed through X’s mouth, slithering into the air like smoke. “Oh, let’s keep her, she’s got spunk.” San gleefully added, “Why the hell would we willingly bring in another cockroach?” Ni exasperatedly growled, “Because she’ll do anything to be relevant, and we need hands if we’re going to rewrite history.” X answered himself, a wry, exhausted smile curling his lip. “Rewrite?” Maia repeated, arching a brow, X’a body straightness, finally still— his voice steadier now. “The Xiliens possess time travel. It’s not exact, it’s.. Delicate. But it can be done. There are two Ghidorah skulls in 2019. Two more in 2024. We retrieve them.. We begin again.. Smarter.” X trailed off, his former scientist self peeking through the Xilien warlord of his current self. “You’re talking full reset.” Maia alleged, X quickly confirming with a nod. “Then we must assign oversight, one of us must monitor her, she is not to be left unsupervised.” Ichi interjected in a cutting tone, “Oh, I’d love to, but you know— no head at the moment.” San predictably oozed with false innocence, “No matter, I nominate Ni.” Ichi declared coldly, “What?! Why me?!” Ni demanded, “Because you caused our loss, you have a much bigger bark than bite and that needs to be resolved.” Ichi hissed, “Because you’re the dumb one~” San cut in a sing-song-like tone.
Before Ni could further argue, X reached into the folds of his cold, tossing a metallic bracelet toward Maia that she caught with one hand. “That allows Ni to speak directly with you.” X deadpanned in a dry tone, “Oh, I love new jewelry.” Maia jeered, fastening it with a smirk. With that, the air around them shimmered— a violet portal blooming open like a wound in space, revealing the sleek, floating monolith of the Xilien mothership above the clouds. Maia looked up, wind catching her brunette hair as firelight flickered across her face, tilting her head in the direction of Controller X, “Well? Let's go rewrite history.” She taunted, “You’d better not slow me down, cockroach.” A voice in her head— Ni, based on the process of elimination growled. “Try to keep up, sparkle-brain.” Maia snarked with a simple grin.
The portal snapped shut behind them with a sound like folding glass.
Maia stepped onto the Xilien mothership, boots clicking against obsidian floors that shimmered with impossible geometry— angles that shouldn’t exist in three dimensions, and yet somehow did.
The air hummed with alien static, and the lighting above pulsed in deliberate consistency, like the ship itself was breathing.
Maia had been on the Xilien mothership before, but it felt.. Different being on the winning side.
If they were the winning side, what kind of hypothetical was that? Of course they were.
“So this is what you were, hmm? La niña minada.. The richest brat in Mexico. Living in a marble palace while the peasants outside your gates licked dust.” Ni’s furious voice slithered through her skull like a nail dragged against porcelain, Maia didn’t flinch, she had nothing to be ashamed of, sue her for being born rich, she didn’t give a shit. “Sue me for being rich.” Maia grumbled, verbally repeating her thoughts. “Your quinceañera was a televised event, custom dress, thirty-two dancers, helicopters dropping rose petals. That’s a cockroach if I’ve ever seen one.” Ni snapped, “It’s not my fault I looked damn good in pink.” Maia sneered.
Ahead of them, Controller X strode with that weird, jagged gait he had when the voices were still fighting for the wheel. But he paused at the mouth of a great spiral corridor, where Mira stood waiting. She looked like someone who had walked off a magazine cover and into an apocalypse, but her eyes were tired— guarded, and for a moment, as their gazes locked, Maia caught a flicker of something in them.
Guilt?
Maia tilted her head, her mind racing— did he know? Did X know Mira had betrayed him by freeing the hostages and whispering rebellion in the shadows? If he did, Maia had to hand it to him, he was playing it cool. “She didn’t scratch the floors.” X greeted Mira with a strange softness, reaching a gloved hand to pet the Akita now sitting loyally at her side. “She’s well-trained.” Mira beamed, X nodded, then kept walking.
As they moved deeper into the ship, Maia stepped beside him, curiosity gnawing. “So. Time travel pods, huh? I’m guessing this isn’t like Back To The Future or Terminator. Am I gonna turn into a naked lightning ball, or do we need to hit eighty-eight miles an hour?” Maia quipped, however she realized her joke wasn’t as funny as she thought it was when X stopped, blinked, and slowly turned his head toward her. “Is that slang?” He asked, raising a brow. “No, they’re movies.” Maia replied, blinking in disbelief. “I don’t really watch movies.” X muttered, “Okay, but you seriously don’t know Terminator?” Maia affirmed, “I didn’t grow up around that. I had.. Projects. And dial-up, mostly Japanese media— my first introduction to America was Chris Chan.” X admitted, “Your poor, feral little man.” Maia jeered, “I like The Boys, It’s funny.” X offered as if it were a cultural olive branch. “Oh. Oh, of course you like The Boys. Guy with anger issues, eye problems, and a god complex gets revenge on a world that wronged him. Real subtle.” Maia grumbled, raising an eyebrow. “Black Noir and Homelander were my favorites, too bad I never got a chance to watch the last season.” X muttered as they arrived at the time travel pod— a great spiraling cradle of obsidian, humming with a purple glow at its core, the air around it rippling like water disturbed by an invisible hand. Maia stared at it for a long moment, the reality of it all finally settling on her like ash.
This wasn’t a plan anymore.
It was a reconstruction.
An erasure, the fourth goddamn resurrection.
X moved ahead to calibrate the console, Maia glanced toward Mira, then to Hayworth, then to the man who had laughed when he dissolved Raymond Martin into a slurry of flesh and bone.. Was it possible he’s not so crazy when Maia was on his side? Then again..
That’s what made him the most dangerous of all.
Notes:
gentle reminder that if one finds the fic enjoyable, please leave kudos and comments as it helps me a lot w motivation 😭 anyway discussing the events of this chapter, i actually rlly like maia and ni as a duo now that i reread it, they’re similar in the sense they have something to prove and believe themselves to be more powerful than they actually are.. i was originally gonna have san be the one to break away with maia for the time travel mission, but then i was like ‘how often does san break away from his brothers in fics?’ which led me to using ni since i need x!ren and ichi together for the upcoming chapters
Chapter 36: brand new city
Summary:
I think my fate is losing its patience
I think the ground is pulling me down
I think my life is losing momentum
I think my ways are wearing me down
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The air was thick and recycled, humming faintly with the sterile breath of machines buried leagues below the sea. Castle Bravo’s lowest sublevels were bathed in bluish overhead light, cast down in rows that barely pierced the deep fog of old mist, pipes curved like ribcages overhead, the room was cold enough to kiss their breath into steam, and the silence was so dense it felt ritualistic— like they’d just stepped into a tomb that never expected visitors.
However, calamity rarely survived in the face of an Xilien with an agenda. Controller X, as we all know— formerly Ren Serizawa, stumbled forward into the physical plane with a deranged smirk splitting his face. His boots clicked on the old Monarch tile, the air practically recoiled from him. A half-laugh, half-hiccup sputtered out of his throat like a glitch in his code, “Home, sweet decomposing home.” X muttered, his visor slid down the bridge of his nose just enough to reveal a single, sickly glowing eye, the yellow swam like a storm behind glass. Right behind him, Maia Simmons emerged with far less grace, she stumbled a bit, catching herself with a curse as she adjusted the empowered bracelet on her wrist. The band crackled faintly, laced with alien circuitry— X’s handiwork, or perhaps his obsession’s. In it, pulsed Ni, locked and leashed in what his brothers had claimed was a punishment for losing the fight. The most volatile of Ghidorah’s consciousness was hibernating in her arm like a bomb with a sleeping trigger finger.
“Christ, it stinks here.” Maia growned, brushing dust off her jacket. “No wonder they’re constantly on the verge of shutting down.” She noted, X turned, sharp and sudden, his grin faded— not out of compassion, but calculation. The whir of an old fan in the corner buzzed louder than the voices in his head did. “Be grateful,” He grumbled in a low and hoarse voice. “This floor isn’t even listed in Monarch’s blueprints, nobody will find us down here— not Gojira, not Monarch, not even the janitor.” X assured, though Maia— having inherited her fathers paranoia, wasn’t convinced, gazing up at the cracked ceiling. “Fantastic.” She sarcastically chided, a faint pulse rippled up her arm— signaling Ni’s awakening. “Let me out, let me kill something.” Ni snarled through the psionic link, Maia’s skull ringing like a cursed bell. Maia flinched, rubbing her wrist, but kept her expression passive— a learned skill from how many times she had to smile beside her father as he boasted away on television. “This little monster party trick of yours better not try to talk to me again.” Maia snapped tightly, “No promises.” X simply put, and suddenly he was somewhere else, eye unfocused, twitching like a puppet between signals.
Inside his skull, Ichi paced— not literally, of course. “They have the remnants of our counterparts, the fools at Monarch— digging into sacred history with mortal hands, this is not a rescue, it is reclamation.” Ichi inquired, “Oh, come on. You’re just bad they gave our remains a name tag and stuck it in a fish tank, been there, done that.” San snorted, “They broke us, I want blood, I want to hear bones snap like twigs.” Ni raged in the bracelet, X grabbed his head, the pain like a migraine sculpted by divine malice, a low laugh curled from his lips, bitter and disjointed. “Heh. Heh. Heh.. Welcome home, King Ghidorah.” X announced, gesturing dramatically toward the rust-caked door at the end of the corridor, Monarch's Logo was barely visible beneath years of neglect. “Allow us to greet the future.” X added, the hallway echoed with the clack of boots and the distant sound of failing lights, X led the way, behind him, Maia followed, her bracelet glowing faintly. “She’s weaker than you, but she wants power, let me show her, damnit!” Ni snapped, Maia didn’t respond, but her fingers curled just a little too tight around the cold metal.
Controller X stood motionless, surrounded by cold fluorescent lighting that screeched like something trying its hardest to stay alive. The terminal before him flickered to life with a low whir, its interface a familiar but slightly askew imitation of the systems he once knew. Fingers draped in gold rings ghosted over the touchpad, pulling up file after file like peeling scabs.
MONARCH SECURE FILE
OPERATION: ANTARCTICA
STATUS: SUCCESSFUL TERMINATION OF MONSTER ZERO (TITANUS GHIDORAH)
CASUALTIES: MINIMAL
DR. VIVIENNE GRAHAM: SURVIVED
DR. ISHIRÕ SERIZAWA: ACTIVE
OXYGEN DESTROYER: NEVER DEPLOYED
X blinked once, then again, then the laughter came— slow at first, like a plot beginning to boil, until it ruptured into full-body, hysterical spasms, the monitor’s glow turned him into a silhouette with teeth. “Ah—HAHAH— oh! Oh, this is rich— this— this is divine!” X jeered, Maia leaned against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow. “Is this about the Wi-Fi again, or did you finally lose your other eye?” Maia dared to ask, X turned to her with a look of something unholy. “They did it— they actually did it, in this world, Gojira won without any help, he tore Ghidorah to ribbons in the ocean.. All three heads, and I presume he tore off San’s head in Isla De Mara..” X trailed off, “You’re saying they have all of them?” Maia alledged, X nodded, atepping away from the terminal. “I don’t have to wait until 2024. I don’t need Apex, I don’t need Simmons, the pieces are already here, I could build a kingdom from their bones..” X observed, inside his mind, the storm churned. “The veil is thin here, there is no mirror of our world— it is a corridor, a divergence, this Earth took a different path, but one that still leads to us.” Ichi articulated, “So Puppet’s got a cheat code, I love it here already.” San giggled, “Then take them, rip the skulls from their shrines, let’s burn this world too.” Ni snarled, the sound, the sound like a chair scraping across a steel floor. X closed the files, exhaling slowly through his nose— something itched at the back of his skull, a sensation adjacent to déjà vu with teeth. He scanned deeper.
FILE: MARK RUSSELL — DECEASED
CAUSE: SWALLOWED WHOLE SHORTLY AFTER MONSTER ZERO’S AWAKENING
D.O.D VERIFIED BY GRAHAM, VIVIENNE
DAUGHTER: MADJSON RUSSELL (ADOPTED BY GRAHAM)
“Is that so..?” X muttered, his eye hovering over the photo embedded in the file— Mark Russell’s bloodied face, twisted in final agony, caught in a still frame— a timezone. The name: Vivienne Graham in the corner, marked ‘FIELD RECON CONFIRMED.’ “He’s dead here. And.. She’s not.” X observed, the words barely whispered. He went on to close the file, his body tense, his hands itched beneath the gloves, the thought of Ishirõ Serizawa still alive— still breathing Monarch’s recycled air and sipping their coffee like he hadn’t condemned his one and only son to a legacy of rot— made something boil in X’s gut. “Ishirõ.. Still lives..” X muttered under his breath, his voice dropping an octave, not even laughter followed this time. “I’m going above ground.” X hissed, already pulling his hood over his head, his fingers clicking the Xilien visor into place, its smooth obsidan surface molding over his face like a second skull. “This world may not know me yet— but they will.” X ensured, as the doors hissed open to a higher level of Castle Bravo, he became something untraceable: a shadow cloaked in alien royalty, willingly singing along with god-echoes and madness. “Ichi?” X asked, “Yes, Puppet?” Ichi hummed, “Where are they keeping the heads?” X pondered, “Vault Theta. North wing. Temperature-controlled. Guarded. Worshipped.” Ichi simply put, X’s fingers twitched at his sides, “Then let’s pay our respects.” X sneered.
Controller X’s footsteps echoed in the cathedral-hush of Monarch’s hallways, dust coated the floor like old memories, fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting fractured halos that jittered across his Xilien visor. His gloved hand skimmed along the cold metal wall, fingers twitching in sync with the voices in his skull. “Everything’s slightly off.” He observed, “Indeed, the spine of the castle remains, but the marrow has shifted. The vaults used to be east of the central nexus; here, they snake north, buried under new lies and old regrets.” Ichi’s voice slithered in with its usual hauter, “Should’ve brought a map, Puppet. Or breadcrumbs, or a blood trail..” San piped up, more mocking than helpful. X gritted his teeth when Ghidorah continued to deem him as nothing more than a puppet, “I’ll find it. I always do.” He ensured.
And just like that— the hallway jogged his memory in the way the ceiling dipped, the buzzing from the overhead vent, the little dead zone in the Wi-Fi that always tanked his upload speed—
A flashback hit him like a cold slap to the face.
The only light in Ren’s teenage room came from the glow of his two boxy monitors the late 2000s were home to, his headset— sleek but cursed with shitty audio damping from the Mumble call blaring a chaotic mix of muffled gunfire and laughter in English and phrases of broken Japanese Ren had taught them.
“Yo, GhidoraStan, you still camping spawn point or what?”
“The whole point of Modern Warfare 2 is to actually kill people, shooting the Russian soldiers is like getting laid.”
“Because you would know what it’s like getting laid.” Ren had snorted while his fingers flew across his keyboard.. He remembered the validation he felt from the chorus of chuckles that rang throughout his headset. He leaned back in his chair, smug as hell—
Click, Creak: the door opened.
Ren froze like a deer in the proverbial high-beams. “Ren?” Came a low voice— his father’s— sounding more surprised than angry. “Shit.” Ren hissed under his breath, yanking the mic up and spinning in his chair, trying to appear casual. Dr. Ishirō Serizawa stood in the doorway, trench coat still damp from some coastal rainstorm, fatigue ghosting his eyes. His brow furrowed as he eyed the glowing screens and the half-empty bottle of Ramune on Ren’s desk. “It's past midnight,” Ishirō lectured in Japanese, crossing his arms. “And you’re using words i’d rather not repeat.” He added, Ren swallowed— was it really past midnight? He last checked the clock at eleven-thirty. “Uh— I was just finishing up homework. For chemistry.” Ren attempted to cover his ass, “In English? While killing people?” Ishirō alleged, “Group project.” Ren replied with some frustration, wondering when Ishirō decided to be a competent father and interrupt him while he was nose-deep in a Call Of Duty match. His father didn’t buy it, but his tone softened. “Switch off. You’ll come to Monarch with me tomorrow.” Ishirō had demanded in the kind of tone that left no room for argument, but Ren still tried. “Wait, what?” Ren muttered with some shock, “You’ve been cooped up in this room too long, you’ve got a good mind, you should see where real work happens.” Ishirō elaborated, Ren’s heart spiked— panic, then cautious relief. He was grateful his dad hadn’t walked in during a different kind of late-night activity, so he made a mental note to lock his door next time. “Do I have to?” Ren grumbled, “Yes.” Ishirō simply put, and then, just like that, the door clicked shut. Ren slumped back in his chair, “Jesus..” He muttered under his breath in English, switching back to Mumble.
“Sorry, false alarm. Thought it was a ghost.”
“Japan has ghosts?”
“You didn’t know that? Long story.”
The next day, Ren dragged his feet down the hall, eyes ringed with insomnia. The buzz of fluorescent lights was too much for his tired mind, on the other hand, Ishirō walked ahead with posture too perfect for someone who hadn’t slept in two days, Ren kept squinting at Vivienne Graham, who glided alongside Ishirō with that annoying ease of someone born for diplomacy and lab coats, she laughed at some jokes Ishirō made— Ren hadn’t even known his father made jokes. Like a ray of divine irony, Rick Stanton burst into view, juggling a folder, two coffees, and a disgruntled expression. “Do not go into Lab 3 unless you want to smell like dead starfish and shame for the rest of your life.” Stanton warned, not even looking up. “Also, who let the teenager in?” He pondered, “Ren, this is Dr. Stanton,” Ishirō offered, gesturing half-heartedly. “He’s.. An acquired taste.” Ishirō simply put, Rick gave Ren a once-over and nodded. “You look like you hack video games and people’s credit scores for fun.” Rick observed, Ren didn’t reply— but oddly enough, he found himself smiling. For the rest of the day, he fantasized about trolling flat-earther forums with Monarch's data servers and maybe one day, reprogramming his robots.. However, the majority of his thoughts ended when he was half asleep during the few times Ishirō let him sit down.
X shook himself out of the unwanted memory with a shudder, gripping the wall like it might vanish. The hallway curved ahead, revealing the exact sector he was looking for. “There it is,” Ichi purred, “The graveyard of gods.” Ichi added, “And we’re here to dig them up.” San chuckled, X’s fingers flexed, the visor glinting in the low light. “Let’s knock.” He simply put, however, he didn’t have to knock— the vault door slid open with a pneumatic hiss, parting like the jaws of some industrial beast. Controller X stepped into the chilled chamber, each step echoing against polished steel and reinforced polyglass. The temperature dropped by several degrees, the air inside was sterile and reverent— as if this room was not a containment unit, but a temple.
And it was.
Before him— sat the heads.
Four of them, preserved in cryostasis, humming with a faint electrical charge. Even severed, they radiated unspeakable malevolence. Gold scales shimmered beneath the frost, fangs glinted like obsidian knives. Ichi’s head, centered and horned like a crown of divinity, stared blankly through the containment glass. X approached slowly, the lens of his Xilien visor clouding from the frost. He placed a gloved hand to the glass, Ichi’s severed face smiled— not in reality, but in X’s mind. “Our kingdom— laid before us, no more bones to chase, no more years to wait.” Ichi whispered silkily, “Mmm. It’s like looking in a mirror, if your reflection had better bone structure.” San piped up, awe wrapped in mockery. “We’ve done it, a future handed to us by accident.” X let out a delighted, breathless laugh as he took a step forward, wrapping both arms around the base of one of the heads— Ni, judging by the snarl still etched in its jaws— and strained, failing to anticipate the weight. His back jerked, the cryo-clamps resisted, and X let out a grunt. “Fat fucks, you’re heavier than you were in the dream.” X grumbled, his train of thought suddenly coming to a close when he heard a voice.
“Excuse me.” Despite the simple tone, the voice came like a gunshot in the cold, X froze-mid lift, his breath fogged in his visor, the weight of the head pulled slightly at his shoulder, his spine crackling in protest. The figure stepped into view— lean, weathered, dressed in a long grey coat over Monarch-issue winterwear. The outline of a pocket watch bulged beneath the coat. “This is a restricted vault. You are not authorized to be here.” The voice was quiet, stern, and familiar.. Dr. Ishirō Serizawa— alive, whole, unscarred by radiation or sacrifice. X did a double take, nearly dropping Ni’s head as he stared, the Xilien visor hiding the sudden bloom of confusion behind his eyes, a part of him screamed that this was a hallucination induced by Ghidorah to test his resilience, or when Bernie had tried this trick before, throwing a hologram of Ishirō at him to crack his sanity like a fragile egg when X was anything but fragile. Though this time, it wasn’t a trick.. The man’s footsteps were heavy, his breath fogged like any other, his heartbeat rang faintly in the stillness.
He was real.
X’s mind reeled with fractured imagery: his father’s constant absence from his life, the cold nod that replaced apologies, the click of the door clocking, the clock ticking down from hope to rage.. X soon came to the conclusion that Ishirō didn’t recognize him, a breath of smugness leaked into the pain. “Of course he doesn’t, he hasn’t looked at you in years.” Ichi chuckled with pleasure, “Oh, but look how close we are.” San jeered as X tilted his head slowly toward Ishirō, “You’ll forgive me, I was under the impression these heads no longer had claimants.” X simply put, however, Ishirō’s brow furrowed. “They are not trophies, they are remains of something that nearly destroyed the world.” He corrected, taking a step closer and squinting at X’s hood and visor. “Who are you? You’re not Monarch, you’re not even with Monarch, and that is.. No standard visor.” Ishirō pointed out, X straightened up at this, leaving the head half-lifted on the base of the containment slab, his smirk was audible. “Your eyes are as sharp as ever, Doctor.” X noted, the inflection— Serizawa’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t ask again,” He began firmly. “State your business here, otherwise I will summon security.” Ishirō reiterated, X allowed his arms to fall at his sides, deliberately slow and just as deliberately theatrical. He took one more slow step closer, enough to let his presence hum in the space between them. “Tell me,” X began, voice dipped in malice and amusement. “What would you do, if you found a wolf in your temple?” X pondered, Dr. Serizawa was quiet for a long time, then, with regret rather than anger: “I would mourn the sheep.. And then ensure the wolf leaves without blood on its fangs.” He replied, “Then you haven’t changed at all.” X muttered softly, allowing the words to hang in the air like noose rope. “Oh, Puppet.. He doesn’t even remember the sheep he abandoned.” Ichi stated, rubbing salt into the wound.
Dr. Ishirō Serizawa remained still as the figure before him— this.. Intruder, this hooded anomaly, lowered his hands slowly, as if savoring the moment. Cold breath hung in the air between them like smoke from a dying flame. “I won't ask again, who are you?” Ishirō demanded, the strel in his voice tempered by something he didn’t want to name. In response? The intruder.. Laughed. Quiet at first, then sharper, as if the sound was being manufactured by a throat not entirely used to joy. “Since you asked so nicely,” The figure echoed, with that, he reached up, peeled back the hood with a slow, theatrical flourish. The light struck his face— and Ishirō’s stomach twisted.
When the visor came off, where there should’ve been deep, pensive brown, almost black eyes— eyes that reflected his own— there was only one, golden, serpentine, unblinking eye. The other eye.. Gone, where it once sat was charred, twisted, flesh and scar tissue interwoven like a forgotten painting gouged by madness.
A glimmering dragon earrings, golden and cruel, hung from the ruined ear— its tail curled mockingly around the lobe, where once there were modest silver cuffs.
Underneath was not his son.
It couldn’t be Ren.
Not the boy who once waited up for him with a robot ahead of his age group skills in his hand.
Not the young man who didn’t utter a word about having salamanders put in his slippers at school.
But something that had stolen Ren’s skeleton and poured divinity into the marrow, something alien and inhuman.
And yet…
And yet—
“Don’t you recognize me, Father?” The voice couldn’t have belonged to anyone else other than Ren Serizawa, it was warped, sharpened by years of resentment and something older, older than even the Earth— bringing Ishirō back to something he’d seen and initially brushed off.
The carving was massive, embedded into a wall of volcanic obsidian uncovered by geothermal shifts. A humanoid figure stood at the center of a ring of Titans, arms outstretched in judgment. His face was shadowed, but the gold inlays shimmered beneath the light of their footsteps. Vivienne had leaned in beside him, her breath fogging the glass of her mask. “That looks.. Almost human.” She observed, “It’s not.” Ishirō muttered, eyes transfixed. Below the figure, in careful glyphs that seemed to buzz under the surface: ‘X shall rise from the ash of worlds. Where gods fall, he shall build thrones. Neither man nor beast. He is the betrayer. The broken king. The shadow who laughs at fate.’ “X? A title?” Vivienne echoed, “A name.” Ishirō had corrected as he pocketed the image for future study, but he felt a weight press against the chest that lingered for weeks.
The yellow light flickered above X’s silhouette, the Ghidorah head at his feet glinting with ancestral menace. X tilted his head slightly, “You taught me that nature is balance. But what you forget is that balance includes annihilation, destruction is just another kind of symmetry, Father.” X reminded in a tone that was somehow both casual and cold, the words thudded into Ishirō’s ribs like war drums. “Ren..” Ishirō began, his mouth going dry, his eyes dropping to the dragon earring, the eye, the way the shadow clung to him like a second skin. “Ren.. He’s X.” The words escaped him as a breath, not a sentence. He saw now— the card Vivienne had found later that year during a tarot-drenched exhibit on ancient prophetic mythology, she had slipped it into his folder as a joke: a figure cloaked in black with golden trim, a tattered crown, one eye missing, the other gleaming, his foot on the head of a Gojira-adjacent creature. The card had simply read: ‘The Betrayer.’ Ishirō looked into that golden eye— not a son’s, but a Kaiser’s.. And for the first time in decades, Dr. Serizawa was speechless.
The Ghidorah head loomed behind him, gleaming like a monument to cosmic violence. Controller X stepped closer, each footfall measured like a clock ticking toward detonation. Yellow light poured from the ceiling, casting angular shadows across the floor like a shattered crown. Dr. Ishirō Serizawa didn’t move, his breath fogged between them, like a suspended question still forming on his lips. X stopped a few feet away, close enough to feel the weight of the moment pressing against them like the atmosphere in freefall. “Why did you become this? Was your world destroyed? Were you left behind?” Ishirō finally pondered, a flicker crossed his face— guilt masked as concern, that unspoken thought hung between them: Did Ishirō cause this? Did his father’s absence turn Ren Serizawa into this golden-eyed revenant? X flashed him a slow smile, “Why do you want to know so badly?” He muttered, voice laced with cruel amusement. “Do you think if you collect enough context, you’ll be innocent again?” X pondered, “I want to know if there’s still a way back for you.” Ishirō replied without missing a beat or flinching, X scoffed, a single, sharp sound like shattering porcelain. He turned his head slightly, letting his mangled profile fully meet Ishirō’s gaze. “You’re a scientist, you believe in probability, so tell me— what’s the possibility of a man climbing back into a coffin and calling it home?” X mockingly pondered, “I’m asking if you would ever return to being Ren.” Ishirō cleared up, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.” X stated in a faux-polite tone, Ishirō’s eyes narrowed. “See, you say that, but I bet you don’t know anything either.” Ishirō pointed out in a tone dry as winter air.
That cut clean, deeper than it had any right to.
The grin slid off X’s face, his shoulders dropped, not in defeat— but transformation. He took one step forward, then another, and another up until the distance between them evaporated. “I know everything, Father. I know what I was, I know what I became, I know what you weren’t.” X simply put, sending silence falling like snowfall in a graveyard, even the containment vaults took the clue and hummed quieter. X took a sharp inhale, as if drawing strength from the sterile air. “You want the truth?” X alleged, Ishirō didn't reply, he just stood there, eyes steady, a man about to bear witness.. X took the cue and nodded slowly. “Fine, I suppose I have no choice.” He added, turning slightly, as if addressing not just Ishirō but the heads behind him, the ghosts in the room, the ghosts beneath the floor. “But when I start..” X paused, lifting a finger. “There’s no going back, no rationalizing, no ‘what ifs.’ No dignity, not for me, not for you.” X affirmed, stepping forward again, and this time his shadow crossed over his father’s boots. “Remember this moment, remember that you had to know.. You asked for this, father.” X’s voice dropped to a whisper, like a curse folded into a lullaby. And Ishirō Serizawa, who once believed nothing could shake him after Hiroshima, the MUTOs, and Ghidorah… Said nothing, because in the gold-lit cold of Vault Theta, Ren Serizawa had vanished, all that remained was X with a truth ready to tear the world in half.
The cold hiss of cryo-machines underpinned the silence, four colossal severed heads glowed faintly in containment, their dead eyes watching with ancient judgment. And in that eerie golden light, X paced slowly, like a professor on the brink of delivering the lecture that would end his tenure— and possibly the universe. “Tell me, Father.. Did you ever imagine what the future would look like?” X began, his voice smooth as oil but twice as toxic. Dr. Ishirō Serizawa remained still, the light from the vault refracting in the lenses of his glasses, he said nothing. “Nanotechnology, renewable energy, pluripotent stem cells, virtual reality, cryogenics, terraforming..” X listed, counting them off on gloves fingers. “The science of your era.. Burst with hope. It was a mountain of potential waiting to erupt, a promise tucked into every patent..” X trailed off, pausing to tilt his head toward Ishirō, who studied him with narrowed, weary eyes. “Perhaps you should be celebrating.. Because against all odds, that mountain of potential didn’t crumble.. Rather, it rose.” X pointed out, his golden eye gleaming like a sun refracting through madness. “Technology advanced rapidly.. Progress, unchecked. Within thirty years, the economies of developing nations exploded— poverty became a myth, inequality dissolved. Fifty years in, gene manipulation eliminated the concept of ‘terminal illness.’ Humanity began to live longer, wiser.. We even started to like each other. China and Japan made amends.” X continued, that gave Ishirō pause— a flicker of unease. X turned to face him fully, “What am I saying?” He repeated, “I am simply providing information, I'm informing you of one thousand years of human history.. After humanity acquired more advanced knowledge, it persisted— relentlessly. It made new discoveries in every field.. And so— ten years after what you believe is the current year, virtual reality and avatars began to overtake every facet of life; entertainment, education, romance, death.” X continued, now circling him, his steps echoing against steel and frost. “Fifty years in, diseases vanished, cancer, dementiac all solved with genetic correction. One hundred years? Humanity had mastered environmental and seismic control.. Natural disasters? Gone. Two hundred years, the brain’s mechanic’s were fully mapped, memories, thoughts, consciousness— all transferable. Three hundred, and natural death became obsolete. A human lifespan was now three hundred years, minimum.” X’s smile stretched wider as he leaned close, voice dropping to a whisper: “After four hundred years, we cracked the laws of physics.. Coincidence, fate— mere functions we could now control.” X leaned back once more, glancing at the Ghidorah heads. “And by five hundred? Irregularities no longer existed, reality obeyed us, immortality was achieved, as long as a person received dopamine, they could live forever.. We became gods of a world without storms.. And yet..” X paused, gesturing to the Ghidorah heads encased behind them. “In the five hundred years that followed— after achieving everything, we were bored.. Hollow, hungry for something real. And so.. What era did we simulate the most?” X pondered.
With a snap of his fingers, the room shifted. Yellow light flooded the chamber, distorting space like water down a drain. Ishirō staggered as the Ghidorah heads seemed to vanish, replaced by flickering holograms— Titan battles, cities razed, nuclear clouds curling like fists around human civilization. “This era— a time when people feared death, when the end of the world was always a whisper away, when every breath carried weight.. That fear—” X paused once more, grinning. “It fascinated us.” X simply put, Ishirō turned toward one of the holographic Ghidorah skulls, but something was wrong— in its eye socket sat a tiny red light: a camera.. Ishirō blinked, as if surfacing from water. “This system,” X smoothly continued, “Was the most popular package for immersion..” He trailed off, leaning down. “Oh, and.. I’m the administrator of this system.” X whispered like a serpent in Eden.
A beat passed.
And then he cracked.
X burst out laughing, cackling so hard he had to brace himself on the containment slab. “—Just kidding! I lied about all of that!” X wheezed, Ishirō’s voice finally cracked. “I raised you to be honest.” Ishirō reminded in a stern and wounded tone, X’s laughter trailed off, the smile didn’t vanish, but the light in it did. He straightened his posture, wiping at the corner of his eye with a gloved thumb. “And I wanted to be.. So badly.” X trailed off, then he stepped back from the Ghidorah head, rolling his shoulders like a man preparing to deliver a eulogy, a lecture, and a spell all at once. The air clung to him— cold, metallic, alive with static. His good eye gleamed in the frost-lit vault, and his lips curled around the ghost of a grin as he cleared his throat. “I discovered the truth,” He began, voice smooth like a scholar unveiling forbidden scripture. “Unintentionally, just a curious experiment at Apex, the same Apex, you’ll recall, that you were so adamantly opposed to me joining.” X stated, Ishirō’s eyes narrowed at this, though he said nothing— only breathed, the frost rising like incense between them. “You’ve always noticed it, haven’t you? Wherever the Titans walk, something follows. Strange vines, glowing flowers, mutation.. It’s not a coincidence, it’s not balance, it’s.. Residue.” X trailed off, turning to face his father. “But here’s the twist, the real heresy.. Titan’s aren’t natural, they never were.” X concluded, his voice dipping low, like a confession murmured behind stained glass. “They were put here, Father.. Not by nature, but by us.. Or rather— by the us that came before. By humanity.” X stated, Ishirō blinked slowly, the chill of that claim crawling up his spine like frostbite. X’s smile widened, not in joy— but in triumph. “The aliens didn’t bring the Titans here to conquer Earth, they brought them to destroy the last humans.. After they’d already captured the species, wiped their memories, left them here, like rats in a glass cage— forced to experience Titan rampages rampages over and over again.” X explained, raising his hand— sending the air into a warp, a shimmer of heatless light, a flicker of something wrong.
Ishirō stumbled slightly as the vault melted away—
—Replaced by a cathedral of purple-lit monitors, floating like constellations in a black void. Each screen projected Titan battles, death and fire looping endlessly, screams muted by thick glass. Below the monitors, a congregation of elites— bored-looking, overdressed, holding crystal champagne flutes and laughing softly as the world burned behind them. They whispered wagers, they applauded survival, they called out numbers like gamblers at a track. “Is that.. True?” Ishirō asked, barely audible, his voice cracking under the weight of the vision. “Of course it is,” X replied without hesitation, but there was a gleam in his eye, a twitch at the corner of his lips. “Except,” He began, drawing it out, walking through the place like a phantom. “A rumor started circulating among the humans forced to watch the world burn, a whisper in the shelters, in the ruins, in the breathless silence between attacks—” X’s voice suddenly grew closer, Ishirō turned as X appeared beside him, now clad in a black and gold suit with a golden hydra tiepin, a champagne flute dangled from his fingers, filled with violet liquid that glowed faintly in the dark. “The rumor said aliens weren’t real,” X went on, smiling too widely. “That a nuclear apocalypse had wiped out most of humanity long ago.. And that beneath the surface, the wealthy elite survived.. Underground.” X cleared his throat as screens flickered around them— Titan claws slamming into cities, burning forests, shattered oceans. “They created androids, filled with artificial memories, they programmed them to believe they were people— then forced them to watch their programmed loved ones fall.” X trailed off, sipping from the flute, eyes never leaving Ishirō’s. “And the elite?” He pondered, voice now honey-laced and cruel. “They watched, they bet, they laughed, just like this.” X answered his own ponder, “The androids thought they were humans being tortured by aliens— but actually..” X intentionally left his grand reveal in the air, leaning in— “Actually, they and you are just androids with a collection of artificial memories.” X confessed in a whisper, Ishirō’s breath caught, his hand curling into a fist—
BAM!
His fist slammed into the wall, the illusion shattering, sending them back to the vault, to the frost, to the grave-silent chamber of Ghidorah’s remains. “Is that.. Actually the truth?” Ishirō demanded, his voice low, thunderous, and torn between rare horror and future. Controller X stood there for a beat, his eye glittering, then he grinned. “No! Just kidding!” X laughed, his laughter echoed like the bells in a haunted chapel. “You’re out of your mind, I raised you to be honest.” Ishirō snapped, X’s laughter died down, he caught his breath, straightening his shoulders. “Sue me for wishing to spend time with my old man.” X grumbled, his expression changing— no more theatrics, no grin, no madness, just cold certainty, like ice settling into stone. “This is the truth.” X simply put, “You should know,” He began with quiet venom, “I’m the one who made the Oxygen Destroyer.” X confessed, Ishirō turned— sharply, the controlled stoicism shattered like glass underfoot, his eyes blazed— not with righteous fury, but with the betrayal of a soul that had hoped. “I see it wasn’t dropped in this world,” X continued, lips curling into a sneer. “But in mine.. Oh, I designed it with one purpose: to kill Gojira.” X deadpanned, the disgust on Ishirō’s face was immediate and unguarded. “You..” Ishirō’s voice cracked. “You turned your back on everything I taught you— you designed a weapon of annihilation, what else have you done?” Ishirō demanded, “So many things, Father.” X replied unapologetically, “Because hate is the most incredible motivator, I am here because of my hatred for Gojira. My purpose was born the moment your precious Titan took you from me.” X added with a smile, and this time, it wasn’t playful— it was pure malice. Ishirō seethed, the fury tightening in his throat, veins pulsing. But still, he held himself back, gripping that old restraint like a dying branch. “It’s all part of your plan, isn’t it? You want us to fall into despair, you want us to lose all hope.” Ishirō demanded, looking directly into that one golden eye.
X chuckled, not with joy— with exhaustion. He cleared his throat and leaned in, tone changing— too casual, too direct: “Tell me something.. While you were encouraging world governments to sit back and allow their populated cities to become battlegrounds for Titans, did you really care about the rest of the world? Were you thinking about how nature works? Or what its purpose is? Your own goals? Or did you just get bored, Father? Did you start to accept that it didn’t matter? Because it doesn’t, and I think you know that.. The answer doesn’t matter.” X concluded, Ishirō didn't answer that, instead, after a long moment— “I want to know the answer.” He simply put, his voice wasn’t hard this time, it was quiet.. Defeated, maybe, or just deeply tired.
Something in X shifted, the façade didn’t crack— it crumbled, slowly and inevitably. He turned to the frozen containment units— the heads, the remnants of a war neither of them truly won. “It seems like you’re prepared to accept reality.. So be it.” X muttered with a sharp inhale, “I’ll stop dodging your questions and tell you what you want to know. Let’s begin with the big one.” X paused, looking Ishirō in the eye. “The world.. This one in front of your face? It’s all wrong.” X gestured outward before continuing, “Vivienne was supposed to die instead of Mark, the Oxygen Destroyer was dropped in an attempt to kill Gojira and Monster Zero.. You—” X’s voice caught, he hesitated in the form of a blink— a crack.
Controller X stood in silence, the last words — “You gave your life” — dangling in the air like a thread waiting to snap.
Behind him, the cryogenic fog swirled around Ghidorah’s dismembered heads, golden scales dull under sterile light. The walls sang a tune with a low frequency of containment machinery, but the only real sound was his breathing— shallow, sharp, like someone trying to stay afloat in invisible water. Ishirō watched, silent but alert, his eyes fixed on his son— not the version he remembered, but the scarred, gold-eyed husk now fighting a battle not against him.. But against himself.
X took a sharp step back, his gloved hand touched the wall, bracing himself. “I designed it..” He stammered the same phrase he once said with confidence, his eye trembling. “I built the Oxygen Destroyer, fed Apex every calculation, every frequency.. calibrated it to Gojira’s bioacoustic range.” He trailed off, “You died because of it.” X deadpanned, meeting Ishirō’s gaze. “Not in this world, but in mine.. You died.” X muttered, the words hitting the air like iron dropped on glass. “You gave your life to save Gojira because after Graham died, you had nothing left..” X trailed off, his face shifting, the smile fell away completely. “I killed you— indirectly.” X realized, as intelligent as he was, intelligence didn’t equal wisdom— especially for someone so blinded by negativity. His knees buckled slightly— catching himself on the containment panel of Ni’s head, the serrated teeth inches from his shoulder.. His breath fogged the glass, blurring his reflection.
And that’s when it began.
The unraveling— the existential crisis.
In his mind— white noise, a buzz beneath his thoughts, the puppet strings pulling taut.
“Why did I do it?”
“Why did I hate him that much?”
The remnants of Ren Serizawa were making their way to the drivers seat with those questions, however, Controller X rationalized each of them.
“Because he left me.”
“Because he let me bury her alone.”
“Because he always chose Gojira.”
“But he was trying.. He said he loved me.”
“Christ, have I forgotten everything Ghidorah taught me? So what? He said it once every decade, like clockwork. Love isn’t a word, it’s weight. And he never carried any for me.”
“But I became—”
“A monster, I built the thing that killed him, I buried him twice.. Once in memory, once in reality.”
X clutched his head, fingers digging into his temples like he could dig the argument with himself out and throw them on the floor like bloody stones. However, when X closed his eye, he saw it— King Ghidorah in the form of two heads instead of three, however, Ichi didn’t appear any less cold, regal, or absolute. “Compose yourself, you are not allowed to shatter.” Ichi snapped, San’s head hovered nearby, sniffing the black void. “He was this close to crying, Puppet’s strings were getting tangled.” San jeered, grinning. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want him to—” X’s voice— now Ren’s again, because what Xilien controller dwelled on the life they willingly threw away? — Was hoarse and desperate. “And now he sees a weak thing, a sobbing rat clinging to the corpse of his past.” Ichi spat, eyes narrowing in disdain. “You know what would’ve been funny? If he died from guilt.” San jabbed, Ren didn’t respond, he was forced to see it again while Ichi took the driver's seat— his own hands, the design file, the soundless pulse of the Oxygen Destroyer..
X straightened, but something had changed, his eye was cold and blank now, his posture no longer human— Ichi was in control. “There. Much better.” Ichi murmured aloud, testing the mouth like a pianist brushing familiar keys, gazing at Ishirō. “Forgive him, he’s prone to.. Sentiment.” Ichi simply put, Ishirō’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do to him?” He demanded, “Preserved him, you wouldn’t want him breaking in the middle of your confession, would you? We’re just looking out for our puppet’s wellbeing, like any good puppetmaster should..” Ichi replied smoothly, figuring since Puppet was a spectator in his own body, he might as well seize the chance to antagonize Ishirō and remind Puppet why he was doing all this. “He’s not gone, just grounded, he gets fussy when he remembers who you were to him.” San’s voice slipped in behind Ichi’s as Ichi adjusted X’s gloves in an elegant and controlled manner. “Shall we continue, Doctor?” Ichi sneered, he didn’t wait for Ishirō to reply, instead taking a graceful and poised step, measured like those of a magistrate approaching the gallows. He kept X’s frame erect, spine a perfect line, shoulders relaxed, hands folded behind his back with a kind of cruel elegance. His golden eye, now filled with a calm that did not belong to the host, regarded Ishirō with polite disdain. “You wished to know the truth,” Ichi began, tone about as smooth as cold honey. “But truth is rarely singular, Doctor. It is layered, rooted in memory and filtered through pain, let us show you the version that matters.” Ichi stated, “Oooh, story time! We’ll start with something funny, do you remember when Puppet made his first kill?” San piped in next with a swirl of static and giggles, Ishirō’s mouth tightened, his fists clenched at his sides. “Ren hasn’t killed—” Ishirō began, “How humiliating we know your own seed better than you do.” Ichi interrupted smoothly, his voice sending the vault into a series of flickering.
The lights overhead warped, flickering in and out of phase as reality rippled like heat above asphalt, the air grew thicker— ionized, heavy with the scent of ozone and scorched copper. A holographic memory bloomed in the air behind X, projected like a play staged by madness itself: an Apex sublevel, mid-construction, industrial silence— Ren, younger and unscarred, stood in the shadows of Ghidorah’s skull— the first one, freshly dredged from Isla de Mara, his hands trembled as he touched the neural core, he winced, but didn’t let go. “He thought he was in control, of course, he wasn’t.” Ichi narrated, from the memory's edge, it transitioned to Skullcrawler #10 helplessly running around Mechagodzilla’s hangar, Ren didn’t flinch, instead tearing it open with a sadistic smile. “That was the moment, doc.. When our little man decided he liked what he saw, liked being god.” San’s voice sang through the vault, sending the memory into yet another shift— now: Ren, half-asleep at his desk, bags under his eyes, his screen filled with blueprints, Mechagodzilla schematics, Gojira’s skeleton model, weapon parameters, power yield thresholds. A voice behind him— Maia Simmons, laughing: “You’re not gonna rest until he’s dead, are you?” She had jeered, and Ren replied: “Rest is for people who’ve made peace. I haven’t.” He had deadpanned.
After being forced to watch his own son’s descent into madness, Ishirō’s voice finally broke through the haze. “Stop it.” Ishirō demanded, but the lights didn’t stop flickering nor did the air stop buzzing. “Can’t stop the show now, papa bear. We’re just getting to the best part.” San chided, “He hated the Titans, but more than that, he hated you for loving them..” Ichi stated, stepping forward, gold eye gleaming like an executioner’s blade. Dr. Ishirō Serizawa stood motionless in the cryo-lit vault, his breath misted in the air like fading incense, before him stood not his son— but the corpse of his legacy, worn like a costume by Controller X, who now moved and spoke with the puppeteer’s grace of something far older, and fat less forgiving.
And in that body, two voices laughed. “He dove into it, you should’ve seen it, old man. The moment he realized there wasn’t a single soul left in that world who wanted him? He didn't even flinch, just nose-dived right into destiny like a swan into hellfire.” San cooed, almost admiringly. “And what a performance it was, after humanity cast him out— he stopped pretending.” Ichi added, circling Ishirō like a black sun orbiting a dying planet. He raised a gloved hand, turning it over slowly, admiring the musculature of his stolen vessel. “He shed names like skin. ‘Ren Serizawa’ was just another failed experiment. But ‘X?’ That.. That had potential.” Ichi sneered, a grin curled on his face like a knife’s smile. “At first, he still hoped, poor little Puppet thought if he cleared his name in the shitty legal systems you cockroaches have, the world would understand..” San’s voice danced in spirals, “But they didn’t.” Ichi coldly chimed in, “They hated him, called him mad, a butcher, a terrorist, a rabid dog.. So he became something worse.” Ichi explained, leaning in close to Ishirō and allowing his voice to drop to a serrated whisper.
The sterile cryo-lab melted away in favor of the Pest Control headquarters, and in the center— a slain, clad in elaborate silver and obsidian robes corpse belonging to none other than the original Controller of the Xiliens.. And above him, the freshly declared X stood triumphant, feeling better than ever. “He killed the old master, split him open like a ripe pomegranate.. And you know why?” Ichi boasted like a proud father, “Because the Controller insisted on a peaceful takeover, said we didn’t belong, advised Puppet to get rid of us after we saved him from a humiliating demise to electrocution.” San snickered, “And Puppet showed him just how wrong he was.” Ichi intoned.
With that, the illusion peeled away like smoke in reverse, reassembling the cryo-vault piece by piece. The Ghidorah heads loomed behind them again, watching silently like prophets who had seen the end and chose not to warn anyone. X stood at the center of the vault, haloed in sickly gold, a living effigy of rage and ruin. Ichi’s voice still murmured in half-formed words, static laced with superiority, San’s giggles flickering beneath it like cracked neon.
Dr. Ishirō Serizawa stood just feet away, every cell in his body buzzing with dread. He had heard every word, felt every thread of twisted truth spun like venomous silk, but he wasn’t done yet. “Puppet this, Puppet that, let’s see how well you dance without your strings.” Ishirō muttered, his voice low, in one fluid motion— he moved, from the inside of his cosy pocket, a small silver rod— one of Monarch’s more eccentric tools, originally marketed as a prototype for Titan-scare wildlife deterrents.. In reality? A goddamn taser disguised as a remote-controlled electric dog toy, designed by Rick Stanton, and promptly banned after several complaints from the government. But Ishirō? He kept one, just in case.
With a ZAP, the rod jabbed into X’s side with a hiss, and unleashed 50,00 volts of Monarch-sanctioned chaos into his corrupted nervous system, what followed was not a scream, but a cascade, X seized violently, his body spasming, not from pain, but from disconnect. His golden eye flickered and his limbs convulsed. “WHA— NO. YOU DARE BREAK THE LINK—” Ichi’s voice roared in furious static, “PUPPET, PUPPET, PUPPET—!” San’s voice spiraled into gibberish, glitching like a corrupted MP3, before shorting out with a wet hiss of static.. And then— silence, X collapsed.
The walls were bone-white, sterile, padded in places where past occupants had lost themselves to grief or madness, the air was stale, the mirror watched him, but Ren didn’t care.
Not right now.
He sat in the corner, arms folded across his knees, the fluorescent lights humming like tinnitus above him, the flicker of yellow in his eye had dimmed, his breath was shallow but even, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile equilibrium had returned to him.
For the first time in.. God, he didn’t even know how long..
He was alone.
And Ren Serizawa, the actual Ren— not the puppet, not the vessel, not the mask with gold-flecked teeth/- was sitting in the wreckage of himself.
“What the hell happened to me..?”
The thought wasn’t angry, it wasn’t even sad, just.. Exhausted.
Ren rubbed the side of his face, the bandages on his ribs were new— Monarch’s work, his mouth was dry, every inch of him hurt, not from the electricity, but what had come before. He allowed his head to fall back against the padded wall, eyes drifting up to the lights that buzzed with quiet malice. Ishirō— not his Ishirō, now knew he made the Oxygen Destroyer, he knew he became X, he looked at him and saw something worse than a stranger. Ren didn’t cry, the tears had dried long ago, but he wanted to scream.. Deeming such a thing pathetic, he opted to sit instead.
However, normalcy was long gone, something had.. Moved.
A soft metallic clink, not loud, but sharp and unnatural, something that didn’t belong.. Ren’s head jerked toward the sound, realizing it came from under the bed.. Just barely visible, there was a sliver of silver, a piece of metal, catching the light like a shard of a nightmare— smooth and angular. Ren’s eye narrowed, he (humiliatingly) cautiously crawled forward, fingers brushing the floor like he was approaching a wounded animal. “What the hell is—” Ren muttered aloud, his trembling hand reaching under the bed only to discover something cold and familiar: A Mechagodzilla part, one of the early neural link nodules, long since mangled and burnt. “That.. Shouldn’t be here.” Ren muttered, a smile tugging at his lips as he realized what an abnormality pointed to.
However, his train of thought ended when something grabbed his wrist— not a hand, not quite, rather a thing, a memory with flesh. Ren yanked back, falling onto his side as something slithered from under the bed with a slow, boneless grace.
It was Walter Simmons.
Or, to be more specific— what was left of him.
Half his face was gone, charred bone exposed through slick, rotting tissue. His once-pristine suit was fused to his torso in places like melted plastic, a rib jutted from his side like a handle, his eyes— milky and dead stared at Ren with a blackness that made his breath catch in his throat.
He didn’t speak, opting to instead crawl, limb by limb, dragging his corpse across the sterile floor with no sound save the wet scrape of his ruined hands.
Speaking of his hands, in one hand— he held out the Xilien visor, not offering, returning. Ren scrambled backward, back hitting the wall, his voice caught in his throat. The lights flickered once, then again, longer this time— when they snapped back, the visor was sitting neatly on the floor, Simmons was gone, though his corpse left a miasma of death and a chill in the air..
And the gold in Ren— X’s eye began to flicker again as he reached for the visor and realized just how pathetic he had acted in the last few hours.
Notes:
im sorry for the two weeks without a update, i had family over last week and was a bit stumped on what to do in general since time travel and the multiverse trope can be fucked up pretty easily.. on a more positive note, thanks so much for 1000+ hits, im so grateful (and i know i say that for every milestone, but its the truth) and 1000 is such a huge milestone i never envisioned this fic to ever reach, i know i already thanked yall on my tumblr but not everyone has tumblr so i thought id reiterate here <3 i love you alll ! btww did yall fall for x’s bullshit?? i did research on how existential crisis and i can only hope i did good and managed to fool yall (for at least a little bit) that x!ren would redeem himself, but he wont, hes actually going to double down as if he couldnt get worse.. i rewatched IT ch 2 the other night and thats where i got the inspo for the zombie walter scene :)
Chapter 37: angry too
Summary:
I buried the unseemly urges
Deep down in the ground with the roots
But it's all coming up to the surface
Maybe it's getting ready to bloom
And I don't wanna be a monster in the making
I don't wanna be more bitter than sweet
I don't know how to be just standing by blankly
Not getting angry
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The visor slid into place with a hiss that sounded far too much like a blade being drawn from a sheath. The very moment the chilled edge of the Xilien tech kissed his brow, X felt the world shudder— the observation room, the sterile walls, the string of old regrets, they all peeled away like burning paper.
With that, gravity loosened its hold, reality melted into a canvas of endless black, sending him tumbling into the alive and well void. It breathed slowly and heavily around him, like a cosmic pulse that echoed not in his ears but in the marrow of his bones. The void was the kind of place where colorless winds howled without sound, time unraveled at the edges of his perception, twisting and curling like ink dropped into oil.
Far in the distance— or perhaps all around him— two vast shadows stirred. Their golden light pulsed faintly through the dark, weaving lines of burning thread that hung in the air like a spider’s web spun from the ruins of fallen stars. X stood alone, or so it seemed, the weight of the visor pressing down on him like a crown of iron. And then came a voice— smooth, biting, and regal coiling around his mind. “Still considering it, Puppet?” The voice pried— It was Ichi, his voice like silk-wrapped barbed wire. “Still thinking about defying us?” Ichi left a deliberate and scornful pause before carrying on, “All for a father who isn’t even yours?” He sneered, sending the accusation into an echo, rattling the hollow places inside him. X lowered his head slightly, the smallest crack running through his carefully reconstructed identity. “Forgive me, I simply got.. sentimental.” X trailed off, though his tone wasn’t exactly genuine, rather the tone he used when Simmons got blue in the face and X had to comply with his every demand. For a moment, there was silence, then San’s laughter slithered into the black abyss like a snake finding a fissure. “Sentimental, he says!” San crowed, “Oh, that’s rich. Puppet’s still human after all that rotten velvet!” He went on to jeer, X said nothing, he didn’t deny it nor did he bother defending it, instead, he opted to simply stand, feeling the shame creep up the back of his spine like ivy choking an abandoned house. “It’s irrelevant now, one slip of the heart does not undo centuries of purpose.” Ichi grumbled as the light twisted around him— sharper and closer. “However, we are generous.” Ichi simply put, X raised his head slightly, gold eye gleaming behind the tinted visor. “Generous?” He alleged, biting back a scoff— tell generous to the weeks of psychological warfare Ghidorah put him through when he would’ve been more than willing to assist them as long as it meant Gojira would die at his hands. “You doubt..” Ichi pointed out as the shadows of Ghidorah leaned closer, suffocating the stars with their vast, unseen forms. “You wonder if you would have been stronger, purer, had you chosen differently..” Ichi trailed off, “Maybe you imagine you could’ve gone back to Daddy’s arms, or played hero, or died with some scrap of honor.” San’s voice popped in with a wicked grin as the void pressed around him, thicker, pulsing with half-spoken possibilities. “We will show you— show you what would have happened if you had gone through with defying us after everything we’ve done for you.” Ichi stated— more as a ‘you’re going to do this’ than an offer of any sorts. X hesitated for only a moment, a silver of something old— pride, anger, or possibly even desperation sank its hooks into him, and then he nodded once, curt and final. “Fone, show me.” X grumbled, squaring his shoulders against the swallowing dark, heart hammering in a rhythm too human for the Xilien he had embraced.
The black around him thinned like a veil drawn back by unseen hands, X stood at the center of a crumbling dais, the broken skeletons of some once-grand alien city towering in the distance. Green lightning forked across a bruised sky, illuminating structures twisted like bones snapped and reset incorrectly. Before him stretched a massive crowd— hundreds, perhaps thousands gathered in a great amphitheater carved from obsidian and iron. They wore dark armor, their disturbingly human-adjacent faces emotionless beneath sharp visors.. It was the Xiliens, proving what X already knew— they weren’t muths, weren’t legends, instead they lived and they watched.
Every gaze was trained on him, every breath they took was sharp and cold, like a collective dagger poised at his back. In this hypothetical, X wore no armor, no crown, only the tattered remnants of what had once been his pride, stained black by soot and humiliation. In his hand, he clutched a jagged piece of twisted shrapnel— part of Mechagodzilla’s destroyed frame, dubbing such a thing a blade shaped by failure. The crowd shifted, murmuring low and ugly. “You rejected your destiny.” And then came the silver-tongued and mocking voice, echoing through the amphitheater from a high dais where the Xilien Elders sat enthroned. The voice belonged to a new Controller, a sleek figure wrapped in gleaming gold, eyes cold and pitless— not X, someone who had replaced him. “You destroyed the gift we placed in your hands, you killed the king we chose for you.” She continued, sending the crowd into a stir— hissing like a pit filled to the brim with serpents. X stood firm— though he could feel it now: the chains wrapped invisibly around his wrists, ankles, and throat— not physical ones, cosmic ones. He had defied their design, and for that— he had been judged. The new Controller raised a single finger, slowly and deliberately— “You will pay for your cowardice with the only thing you have left.” The new (and unimproved) Controller simply put, the crowd roared in approval, a soundless screech that made the broken stone vibrate beneath X’s bones. He stared down at the twisted shard of metal in his hand, the shrapnel was still slick, as if remembering the blood it had yet to drink.
Inside X’s mind, the real X stirred— not whatever horrifically out of character this possible timeline showcased. “This is a lie, this would never happen, I would never bow to them.” X grumbled to himself, “Wouldn’t you?” Ichi pondered in his ear from somewhere outside the vision. “You rejected us, you had nothing left but them, and would you look at what mercy they offered..” Ichi trailed off as the vision played on, the crowd beginning to chant low, ugly, and ancient words he didn’t need to translate to understand:
“Where’s your three-headed butt buddy, X?!”
“Coward!”
“What’s the puppet gonna do without his strings?”
“I bet he wishes he was warming up Ghidorah’s cock before all this humiliation!”
“Tsk. He probably likes it, why else would he take it up the ass from Ghidorah with a smile?”
X gritted his teeth, they were never funny— hell, they did not need to stoop to gay sex jokes, Stanton could’ve done better and that was an extremely low bar. He could feel his heart hammering wildly in his chest, the sinking realization that he didn’t kill Gojira in this hypothetical— he only achieved this, this humiliating moment. He slowly knelt on the cracked dais, his fingers closed around the jagged metal, his gold eye reflected back at him in the blade’s surface, twisted and grotesque. “Do it!” The crowd screamed, howling their approval at the sight of the jagged shrapnel trembling in his grip. For a split second, he hesitated— and from the dais above, the Controller’s voice thundered: “DO IT!” He demanded, prompting X to slam the shard through his own chest. The pain didn’t come immediately, only the sensation of tearing— the sensation of something irrevocable. The roar of the crowd filled the hollow inside him as he slumped forward, blood splattering through the cracked stone like broken vows.
To X’s relief, the world blurred and the stars dimmed, but not before he saw the cold and merciless Xiliens looking down on his broken body. “That’s what you get for trying to be human again.” San cooed as the vision shattered. Controller X gasped, staggering back into the blackness of the Void. His chest ached with phantom pain, his fingers flexed— still remembering the cold, wet grip of the sharpnel. “That was Future One.” Ichi stated from somewhere above him, unseen but smirking. “Lovely ending, wasn’t it?” San chimed in, voice dripping with false sympathy. “Should we show him another? San pondered, X said nothing— the Void rippled again, the next vision clawing its way into existence, and all he could really do was brace for it.
The blackness around X rippled again, not like a storm but more adjacent to a smirk, the air thinned as another world took shape— an ugly, familiar, ridiculous world. Instead of a grand battlefield or the ruins of a kingdom, it was a filthy, rain-slick Monarch parking structure left gray and crumbling, floodlights buzzing with flies and the distant groan of concrete. Shopping carts abandoned like skeletons leaned against dented guard rails. And there— Controller X stood, moreso what was left of him. His armor was shattered, his visor cracked, his trenchcoat— if it could be called that— was little more than a torn strip of scorched fabric hanging off his ket shoulder. He was bleeding from several places. He staggered, one boot missing, barely able to stay upright. Across the lot, stepping through the puddles like a grim reaper wrapped in stubborn rage: Madison Russell, no Titans, no bowling balls eagerly trotting after her, just her with a scratched baseball bat in one band, blood on her knuckles, and a vengeful glint in her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” X muttered aloud, but it was no joke. Madison pointed the bat at him like it was Excalibur, “You almost killed me, you freak.” Her voice was hoarse, yet crystal clear. “This isn’t real, this can’t be real—” X hissed, “Oh, it’s real, Puppet! Very real!” From the blackness, San’s giddy and shrieking laughter erupted. “And you’re about to get curb-stomped by a twenty-something with a savior complex!” San practically sang the next part, doing absolutely nothing as Madison charged, leaving X to try to summon the gravity, the electric hum of Ghidorah’s birthright— nothing. He tried to stand firm— regally, present himself as the last lord of ruin only to slip on a goddamn puddle of all things and land flat on his back with a sickening squelch. Madison didn’t slow, instead opting to swing the bat with a grunt that would’ve made Titans flinch.
CRACK.
The bat collided with X’s ribs, something snapped inside his chest— not metaphorically, might he add. He gasped, rolling and scrambling like a wounded animal as he desperately tried (and failed) to dodge the next swings and cracks. Each blow was punctuated by the sound of bone and pride fracturing together, X did his best to claw at the pavement, trying to crawl away, but Madison grabbed a handful of his ruined cloak, yanked him back, and—
WHAM.
Bat straight to the visor, the world popped and spun in a carousel of pain and shame. X ripped the visor off his face as the vision collapsed into shards of humiliating memory, he was panting, wide-eyed, and mortified. Ichi said nothing, though silent disdain radiated from him like the cold from a corpse. San, on the other hand, was hysterical. “Oh, my GOD, PUPPET.” He wheezed between cackles, “You could’ve got beaten to death by a teenager. A cockroach teenager! In a parking lot!” San snorted so hard it made the entire void shudder. “I think you might have a few mental disorders, just— putting that out there.” San added gleefully, X ignored him, opting to adjust the cracked visor back onto his head with trembling hands. For the first time since the visions began, he willingly turned back toward the golden burning shadows of Ghidorah. “I’m done playing human— let’s finish what we started.” X declared in a low, hoarse, clarity filled with bitterness.
The silence was heavier now..
Even the Void itself felt fatigued by the parade of humiliations and tragedies— like a graveyard of broken timelines built on shame and unfulfilled prophecy. X stood at the center of the abyss, chest heaving— the last vision had rattled him in a way the others hadn’t, don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t because of the pain, rather the indignity. He adjusted his visor, now cracked but glowing faintly once more. “One more, Puppet. One final route, the last potential ending— if you truly chose to be free of us..” Ichi spoke slowly with a rare tone of solemn rather than smug. “If you chose to erase us.” He elaborated after a deliberate pause.
Seemingly at Ichi’s command, the darkness trembled— like a flimstrip catching fire, the next vision tore into view. This time around, X had somehow died in the Hollow Earth.. Shards of luminous crystal jutted from the ground like knives in a corpse, trees once imbued with Titan energy now lay uprooted, sizzling. The sky, visible through a ragged ceiling above, churned with red storm clouds and falling embers.
And at the center? Controller X, limping with blood streaking down his arm, his one remaining eye sealed shut from a fracture to the visor. He was dragging one leg, sparks erupted from his armor.. He was cornered. Ahead of him, wind whipping his coat and hair, stood Nathan Lind, chest heaving, flanked by what could only be described as superpowered Iwis— their eyes glowing with the ancient wisdom of the Hollow Earth, bones painted with primal glyphs, wielding weapons forged in Titan flame. “It’s over,” Lind barked, clutching a broken staff now brimming with searing, otherworldly energy. “Stand down, Serizawa.” He went on to demand, “Not.. That name.” X hissed, standing straight even as his body failed. The Ghidorah heads were gone, the last fragment of their psionic network had been severed— by his own hand.
He had done it— he had cleansed himself of them.
But it wasn’t enough.
“You think I’ll give you the dignity of writing the ending?” X coughed, blood splattering the cracked crystal beneath him. “You think I'll die like a dog, surrounded by your self-righteous tribal sorcery?” X sneered, Lind didn’t give him much of a response, only taking a step forward. “You already lost, Ren.” He simply put, despite the hopelessness of the scenario, X’s lip curled into a slow, satisfied smirk. “Then I won’t die alone.” X vowed, pulling something from small, curved, and alien from his belt: the Xilien mothership’s detonation trigger, the light on it blinked three times, then burned a steady red. Try as they might, it was too late.
Back in the Void, X stood frozen, chest tight, a phantom wind whipped around his coat. “That would've been your ending.. Glorious in its own way, but short-lived. A funeral pyre for a king who cast aside his gods.” Ichi’s voice coiled around his shoulders like a crown of smoke, “So dramatic, Puppet. Boom! Splat! Curtains! All because you didn’t want us whispering in your war.” San for once didn’t laugh, rather tutted. X rolled his eye, knowing better than to give San any dignity of a response. “…That's The last of them?” X alleged, turning to where he thought ichi’s voice was. “Of the failures? Yes.” Ichi confirmed, “Then show me the future.. If I stay, show me the true path.” X muttered, the Void didn’t answer— it didn’t need to, because it opened and swallowed him whole.
At first, it was nothing but fog.
Then the gold began to seep in— it wasn’t radiant, wasn’t divine, rather sickly, toxic, and glowing like bioluminescent pus. The kind of gold that slicked the teeth of dying kings and the coins placed on the eyes of liars. The vision unfolded not with a bang, but a slow, guttural roar that echoed across a scorched planet.
X stood on a cliff of crumbling obsidian, and what was below him was enough to make him giddy, it was the corpse of Gojira. Godzilla’s massive form lay cracked open like a felled god, black smoke rose wounds that split down to bone, his dorsal plates were shattered, half his jaw torn off and dragged across the earth like a broken crown. Lightning danced in the skies above, carving siglis of ruin into the heavens, and across the battlefield— rising from a crater that bled gold: Ghidorah, but not the Ghidorah X remembered.. This wasn’t the skull-bound Mechagodzilla nor was it the Frankenstiened Mecha-King, this one was.. Blurred, like a corrupted image on an old VHS, limbs glitched between metal and flesh, wings fracturing through dimensions like jagged windows into space, his necks rippled with sattic, his roars overlaid with digital distortion. X stepped forward with his teeth clenched, golden eye squinted against the haze. “What am I looking at?” X demanded, “Victory.” Ichi somehow whispered from nowhere and everywhere, “That’s not victory, that’s a— glitch, a half-formed resurrection, how did we get to this?” X snapped, “Does it matter? You got what you wanted.” San sneered, “No, I didn’t kill him.” X was quick to correct in a thundering voice echoing through the dead valley. “I didn’t land the final blow! This.. Thing did! This third incarnation— whatever it is— stole my kill!” X spat, turning from the battlefield and paying no mind to the crimson mist swirling at his feet. The gold flickered, the cision trembled, the blurred incarnation of Ghidorah roared again across the charred battlefield— but X had enough. “Stop.” He demanded, and to his own surprise, the Void paused mid-breath.
The walls of the Monarch observation room gleamed under fluorescent light, sterile and plain. A camera in the corner blinked red, still recording, still trying to make sense of the thing they’d locked away, but he was no longer locked away— not truly, thanks to Ghidorah giving him a reality check. “Time to go home.” X grumbled, drawing a slow and precise line in the air with one finger, like a surgeon opening flesh— the space before him shimmered, twisted, then tore open. A portal opened, swirling with colorless fire and the echo of Ghidorah’s triple roar split into distorted harmony.
From within: the taste of ozone, the scent of iron, the air of another sector in the Monarch facility. Maia Simmons was waiting, she leaned against the console on the other side of her portal, arms crossed, boots tapping with impatience. “Finally, I was about to start redecorating your padded cell, maybe throw in some flowers with your dad’s face on them.” Maia attempted to jeer, however X had no interest, stepping through the portal without doing so much as acknowledging her jab, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Enough. We have work to do.” X grumbled as he turned, and behind him— the four corpses, all recovered, ancient, and dismembered pieces of the fallen king.
And now, they were his.
X raised a hand, and the corpses hovered through the rift behind him like obedient hounds, they drifted into the air like massive relics of war, singing with history and hunger. “Welcome home.” X whispered, feeling a familiar draw to Ghidorah that he first felt upon laying eyes on the skull used in the cockpit. “Let’s begin phase two.” He stated in Maia’s direction, who handed him the bracelet containing Ni’s consciousness. Without a word, X put it on and returned Ni’s consciousness to the back of his mind, thinking about raindrops to tune out the angry yelling. Behind them, the portal snapped shut with a thunderclap, leaving the white room empty, cold, and very, very quiet.
Even after retreating their monsters, the Xilien mothership hung in orbit like a dagger carved from obsidian and starlight— impossibly silent, impossibly vast, its hull lined with slitted gold vents that pulsed like the breathing of a sleeping god. Inside, the corridors pulse with low, unnatural light. Not illumination, exactly— more like the faint glow of radiation diffused through alien steel. Glyphs flickered on every wall, alive with programming too advanced for Earth’s computers to comprehend. X walked in silence, hands behind his back, coat trailing like a shadow far too heavy to lift. Sparks flared under his boots with each step— his electric aura still restled after the return from the Void, every muscle in his body buzzed like live wire.. His thoughts.. Less so.
Beside him, Maia clicked along in practiced irritation, boots loud in the otherwise empty corridor. “You’re twitchy, that usually means someone’s about to die or you’re about to monologue again.” Maia muttered without looking, X gave her the same energy and didn’t bother glancing her way. “You’re free to go, Maia. The remains are aligned, the theisters are calibrated, you’ve served your purpose.” X deadpanned, “Charming.” She bit back, stopping at a fork in the corridor, giving him one last look— eyes narrowing, calculating, and maybe, a little reluctant. “Don’t screw this up, X.” She simply put before turning on her heel and disappearing into the far corridor, muttering something about parasites.
X turned down another corner, passing several gold banners flaring to life on the walls, projecting his insignia— a three-headed dragon crucified by lightning. He figured he’d go check up on Mira, but the footsteps behind him had other plans.. It was an approaching Xilien lieutenant— dark-eyed, expressionless, and clad in ceremonial armor that shimmered like mercury. The figure bowed once, then began: “Controller X, America’s current leader— President Donald Trump— has announced an interspecies peace summit. He requests your presence.” The subject simply put, X blinked once beneath his visor. “Donald Trump is president again?” X alleged, he’d been in a coma during the 2024 election cycle and didn’t get the chance to look up who was elected. “Reelected last cycle by a rather insignificant margin. Some believe he is being kept alive artificially.” The pupil replied, X tilted his head, weighing his options. “He’s malleable, loud, obvious, weak-willed under the right pressure.. Manipulating him will be like sculpting wet clay with a hammer.” X observed, the Xilien nodded. “Shall I inform the diplomatic corps you’ll be attending?” He asked, X smirked faintly, the kind of smirk that usually preceded an extinction event. “Yes. But tell them not to bring anything flammable.” X confirmed, the lights dimmed slightly as the mothership altered course, the stars outside shifting in formation like a great cosmic audience assembling for Act II.
Notes:
as ghidorahs voice reaches its conclusion, can i get yalls opinion on the character of mira? im outlining the plot of my next fic and im wondering if she was well received, shes meant to serve as a grounding force compared to all the crazy stuff but im not sure if i want to include her yet
Chapter 38: daylight
Summary:
Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time
You and I drink the poison from the same vine
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The White House stood gleaming under a sky of reheated steel, its pristine lawn fombed with militant precision, the hedges trimmed as if they feared for their lives. The aroma reeked faintly of ozone and fresh varnish, tourists had long been banned from this zone— now only the ass-kissers, armorered, chosen, and the condemned passed through its gates. X stood just beyond the front portico, coat ruffled by the wind, flanked by two silent and trigger-happy Xilien escorts, his visor caught the reflection of the building’s famous columns— whitewashed stone like the teeth of a patient, smiling corpse. He’d seen the building in broadcasts before— grainy news feeds, propaganda clips, internet memes, eccetra..
But now, in person? It was worse, X observed the inside was a museum of ego as he stepped through the vestibule and was not met with marble bursts of Washington or Lincoln, rather framed photos of the current president consisting of Trump golfing, Trump holding a Bible upside-down, Trump signing a document with three pens, Trump standing in front of a golden toilet, Trump next to Trump, and then— a digital wall that looped a clip of Trump awkwardly dancing at his own inauguration. “So.. This is power in America.” X observed in a dry, arid, almost amused tone.
The interior reeked of too much cologne, fried food, and disinfectant. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead like the teeth of a dragon that had learned to love press conferences, gold trim was everywhere, the carpet was red and so loud he could somehow hear it in his bones. “Subtle,” he muttered as he pressed a particularly large portrait of Trump on a rearing horse— painted in oil, no less, X stopped to stare at the smug, heroic pose, the face that had been airbrushed into classical structure, and the sword— held backwards. “Narcissist.. You remind me of Simmons.” He trailed off, the thought of Walter Simmons slid into his mind like ice— that arrogant smile paired with a cocksure smile, always thinking he was the smartest man in the room, always tossing money at his problems, always clinging to the idea that control was simply a stronger grip away. X could still remember the time Simmons tried to weasel his way into American politics, he’d sent gifts, letters, and in return? Nothing, because Simmons had been born in Guadalajara, and Trump? He’d always made it crystal-clear what he thought of Mexicans. “All the brilliance reduced to a demographic..” X muttered under his breath, stepping past the portrait.
In his mind, the Devil with three heads stirred. “The halls of your enemies are often the easiest to walk through, they expect monsters to knock.” Ichi had spoken his piece first, voice as cold and exact as a surgeon’s scalpel. “Let me out when the deal goes sour, one swing, and I'll decorate the Oval Office with that horse painting.” Ni snapped, “Ooooo~ people are delicious.” San jeered, this earned a rare smirk from X. “This isn’t about being remembered, it never was. This is about vengeance, always has been.” Controller X whispered, brushing his hand against the edge of his visor as he took a step into the next hall— toward the heart of power, not to serve it, but to gut it.
The following chamber was less gaudy but no less absurd. Pillars of polished marble stretched up toward a gold trimmed ceiling, where an enormous, circular chandelier loomed like a UFO trying to blend in with architecture. Beneath it, an American flag the size of a funeral tarp billowed gently from some unseen vent. The walls were scattered with portraits of past presidents, their eyes fixed forward, none of them prepared for the diplomatic circus that was about to unfold. And at the end of the scarlet carpet, standing like a discount Roman senator— Vice President J.D. Vance— or at least, what was left of him after three years of power and unfiltered ego. His suit was ill-fitting, stretched taut over his shoulders like he’d grown three inches from pure ambition. His dark hair was combed so violently to one side it looked like a landslide, and his smile— far too wide and desperate, flashed with the kind of self-confidence only found in people who had no right to have it. “Welcome!” Vance beamed, stepping forward like a labrador who read ‘The Art of War’ once and missed the whole point by a few thousand yards. “Welcome, Controller! Or—uh—Kaiser? Is it Controller-Kaiser? Commander? What’s your title again?” Vance rambled, it was good to see they prepared for their first alien visitor. X didn’t blink— his eye, a glowing golden slit beneath the visor, regarded Vance like once might study a broken Roomba trying to grasp the concept of stairs. “X will do.” X simply put, hoping to end the conversation right then and there. “Just ‘X,’ wow..” Vance chuckled as if they were at brunch. “Very mysterious, I like it. You know, I always say single-letter names convey power, like Q, or.. Uh.. R.” Vance trailed off, following a silence— a terrible silence. “What the hell is this? Is this man legally permitted to speak?” Ni spat, “I like him. He’s like a malfunctioning animatronic at a Chuck E. Cheese.” Saj declared, “Diplomacy is dead. This is a taxidermied corpse.” Ichi grumbled in a tone as a desert bone. However, X’s expression didn’t change, offering a single nod. “Vice President.” X grumbled as a greeting, “Oh, please call me JD!” Vance jeered, clapping X on the back with the boldness of a man who didn’t understand just what he was touching. The moment the hand made contact, X’s body crackled— subtly, the spark signed the edge of Vance’s sleeve, however, the air-headed, off-putting sellout didn’t seem to notice. “We are so excited about this summit, you know, I told the president— what’s the point of being the greatest country in the world if we can’t make peace with our intergalactic neighbors, right?” Vance rambled on and on, grinning. “Let me out— one second, one bite, nobody will miss him.” Ni snapped, tempting but.. No. “I think he’s adorable, like a confused deer who wandered into a laser tag arena.” San jested, “Patience, this fool may yet serve a purpose.” Ichi hissed, X was right there with him on that. Controller X finally turned his head, “Lead me to your president, JD.” X stated, “Of course, this way!” Vance exclaimed, beginning to power-walk down the corridor, already narrating some anecdote about how he once saw a UFO at a Cracker Barrel.
X came to find out the Oval Office had been gutted and replaced with a theater— metaphorically, of course. Gone was the Roosevelt desk, in its place was a bombastic, circular conference table shaped like a literal golden dollar sign. Flags from every major nation draped the walls like fashion accessories, most hanging unevenly. On a custom chandelier shaped like a bald eagle mid-scream, spotlights spun lazily like stage lighting.. Overall, the room pulsed with ego and an artificial citrus of a president. The show only began when Controller X entered, world leaders, heads of state, ministers, magnates— all turned like flowers toward the sun. He moved through them silently, Xilien-issued visor catching the gleam of every camera, every smirk, and every trembling hand that wanted a handshake with history. But X didn’t extend his hand, he only watched— and what a scene to watch. President Donald J. Trump stood at the head of the room, bathed in orange light like a sunset gone wrong, his suit barely containing the force of his posture— a disaster of misplaced pride and digestive distress. “Tremendous to have you here, X,” He began with both hands spread like he was landing an invisible plane. “We love visitors— aliens, the best aliens, legal ones, smart aliens.. Not like the other kind, believe me.” His words spilled out in staccato bursts, it was as if someone had set a blender to word salad and tossed in a few rocks for texture. Vice President J.D. Vance hovered at his side, nodding so aggressively he looked like a bobblehead experiencing a spiritual awakening. “Isn’t he just incredible? Strong, assertive— command presence! You can feel it, I saw people on X say he was a real life Homelander!” Vance gushed to anyone who would listen, Trump turned to him briefly. “Thank you, JD. Great guy, he gets it, not like Ron..” He paused, glancing around the space. “Where is Ron? Ron Desanctimonius? Coked up? I said to Melania: wow, what an unsettling smile..” He trailed off, no one bothered to answer. X meanwhile, said nothing— his gaze instead sliding across the room like a scalpel searching for something soft, he clocked the Prime Minister of the UK, already halfway into a bow, the Chancellor of Germany, sweating through his third shirt, and one couldn’t forget the billionaires-who-had-no-right-to-be-here table, there they were: Musk, Bezos, and— Zuckerberg, three titans of commerce and chaos, lined up like a tech-themed tarot spread. Musk was fiddling with a napkin drone, Bezos was trying to look taller by stretching his neck like a predator bird, but Zuckerberg.. Zuckerberg was staring in a rather unsettling way, because it wasn’t out of awe, it was recognition. X paused, his visor tilting just slightly as he concluded Zuckerberg knew, they had been in the same room before, so this didn’t come as much of a shock. “He knows, you should kill him, break his spine and use him to stir your coffee.” Ni hissed in the back of his mind, “Oh no no no, let’s keep him like a pet— he looks enough like a lizard.” San chimed in, thankfully, the voice of reason— Ichi, was there. “Observe him, if he remembers, he may be useful. If he fears you, more so.. And if he admires you..” Ichi deliberately paused. “Exploit it.” He demanded just as Trump slapped his hands together with a grin only a man who just won a game he didn’t understand could pull off. “Alright! Let’s talk about how tremendously peaceful this summit’s going to be, X— my friend, my alien friend— you’re gonna love what we’ve got planned.” Trump announced, after a brief glance in the President’s mind, X deduced he wouldn’t adore what they had planned, but X tilted his head and pretended to hear him out. “I’m listening.” X replied, his voice rolling through the room like thunder wrapped in silk.
The conference table gleamed like a polished alrar, its golden-dollar sign shape casting twisted reflections of the men and monsters gathered around it. World leaders sat in their designated seats, their names etched into obsidian nameplates lit from beneath like relics in a museum of forgotten relevance. Cameras floated silently overhead like mechanical vultures, recording every nod, every blink, and every twitch of fear or flattery. Behind the presidential dails, the American flag swayed— far too stiff and perfect as if it were incapable of shame. Controller X stood at the head of the table, black and gold coat rippling ever so slightly in the climate-controlled air. His visor caught the light, its alien glow bouncing across the polished surface and painting halos on the paper cups in front of the human delegates. He didn’t sit, he didn’t need to since President Trump, already halfway through a Diet Coke, clapped his hands like a man introducing a magician at a charity ball. “Alright! We’re here to talk peace, folks. Everyone knows I'm the president of peace, tremendous peace, with this bery, very tall and electric individual— X, my friend, you’re going to lead us into a beautiful future, right?” He allegedly, X only offered a faint nod. “Peace is only possible when chaos is understood.” X simply put, taking a page out of his fathers book and opting for a poetic approach others didn’t understand. “What exactly does that mean, Controller? You’re referring to the Titans?” The Chancellor of Germany alleged with a raised brow, adjusting his collar. “Yes, your laws, your barricades, your ‘protections.’” X deadpanned like the words had teeth. “They are an illusion, you cannot cage impending doom and call it security.” X pointed out, taking a slow step forward with the intent of letting the silence stretch until someone broke it— “Exactly! Exactly what I've been saying! I said, ‘Why are we letting these creatures live in luxury? Have you seen the Titan sanctuaries? It’s like a five-star spa for skyscraper lizards.” He paused, turning toward X with a grin. “Now, you, you get it. I say, roll back the protections, let us run wild. You know what to do?” He began to ramble, X didn’t answer since he was already talking again. “I want to build the world’s first Hollow Earth Resort and Casino— tremendous views, zero taxes. We’ll have a golf course inside a gravity vortex, best steaks underground, and we'll name the main suite after you— the X room. Beautiful, isn’t it?” He exclaimed, however, X was able to tune him out due to the whispers starting up again. “The fool speaks truth wrapped in farce. Let him dig the grave— just be kind and toss him the shovel.” Ichi muttered in an unimpressed tone, X couldn’t blame him. “I hate his voice, kill him— electrocute him through the Diet Coke!” Ni demanded, “Oh, shut up, Ni. Let him built the hotel, I want to see a concierge try to check in a Skullcrawler.” San jeered, “If you wish for peace, then remove the walls.” X continued, turning his head toward the international seats. “Rescind the Titan sanctuary laws, I'm certain your species can combat the Titans just as you all combatted disease, because I promise you this, the Titans will not wait for your permission to return.” X stated, rolling his eye beneath his visor when he had to play the part of an uniformed alien. “Now, that’s a plan! Finally, someone with guts— unlike the last administration. No more red tape, no more hugging Mothra. I say we give these lizard freaks a little competition.. Let humans be apex again, that was one of the promises I made on the campaign trail!” Trump continued to ramble, but X stood still, a god in a room of ants pretending they could tame lightning..
And behind his silence, three voices purred in malicious harmony— the path was open, the knives were out, and the first domino had fallen, leaving X’s involvement over.
Seeing no further purpose in sticking around, X decided to venture into the meeting room on the White House’s east wing. It was small and windowless, lined with soundproofing and the hushed sterility of forgotten power. The fluorescent lightning buzzed faintly overheard like a hive of dying flies, there was no flag here, no grandiose seal on the floor.. Just two chairs, one camera, and one Mark Zuckerberg. The Meta CEO sat hunched forward, fingers knit tightly, a bottle of Smartwater untouched on the table. He was older now— wearing age like a lizard shedding skin but never quite finishing the job, his blue suit was crisp, but there was a nervous sheen to his forehead, like someone who’d spent a lifetime simulating human emotion and still couldn’t quite download it right. When X entered, the room grew colder— not by temperature, but by presence, like a god of static walked through a fiber optic cable and decided to wear a coat. Zuckerberg looked up and, for a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes— possibly recognition, but X ruled out any sort of guilt. He did not smile, he never did. “You're not wearing the neurolink helmet anymore.” He deadpanned in a flat, sardonic voice— there was no handshake. “You got my emails.” X pointed out after a beat, taking the opposite seat, though he didn’t sit so much as coil, folding himself with a serpent's gaze. “I was hoping you’d respond, it wouldn’t hurt to use your absurd amount of platforms to steer the public opinion in my direction.” X trailed off, Zuckerberg’s eyes stayed blank, but his fingers twitched. “You were a legal nuke, Ren. You were radioactive after the Mechagodzilla incident, any interaction would’ve landed Meta on every international tribunal.. You know that.” He pointed out, X tilted his head, amusement flickering in his voice like lightning behind glass. “But you read them.” X grumbled, Zuckerberg silently confirming denying by not denying the accusation. The pair sat in silent for a moment, the air of the room pressing in like foam over the ears, neither man quite blinking or looking away. “You use AI to sort arguments about skin tone and bikini photos.” X pointed out in a neutral voice, but the venom remained in the structure. “I built an intelligence designed to rival gods— and the governments punished me for it, tell me, Mark. How is it that you’re still invited to peace summits, while I woke up alone in a room three steps away from being a padded one with dried plasma on my chest and a dead god whispering in my ear?” X pondered while Zuckerberg shifted uncomfortably. “Because I didn’t lose control..” He simply put, X leaned forward, visor inches from Zuckerberg’s expressionless stare. “You never had it.” X abruptly corrected, of course, he couldn’t make any sort of input without the Ghidorah heads stirring. “This one’s hollow, you could shout inside his chest and still hear echoes.” Ni groaned, “He reeks of fear and data compression.” Ichi observed, “Kill him or clone him. Either way, he’d post about it first.” San suggested, X stood abruptly. “You’ll hear from me again,” He simply put, already turning. “Is that a threat?” Zuckerberg asked, X paused at the door, half in shadow. “A footnote.” He corrected, and then he was gone, leaving only static in the walls and the strange, sour scent of ozone where ambition used to live.
X stepped out of the side room like a shadow reasserting itself under sunlight. The White House’s guest wing was a rotunda of false civility and strategic interior design, complete with gold trims, patriotic paintings of men in powdered wigs who’d be horrified to learn who was in charge now, and marbled floors so polished they reflected one's sins right back at them. The crowd had since thinned, tech billionaires and foreign ministers peeled off to their corners, swarming around trays of catered food like locusts in silk ties. The President was off somewhere, which X didn’t mind, he’d rather not deal with the headache Trump brought. Controller X passed through all of it with minimal drag— an ice flow through a fever dream.
And there she was— Miss Namikawa, she stood near a column, encased in a sleek black suit with an origami-cut collar that framed her like a sculpture. Her dark hair was up, and she clutched a translucent handbag shaped like a bear— clearly plastic, the inside filled with miniature plushies smiling idiotically into the void. Her presence wasn’t fragile, rather performed fragility, the kind that smelled like violets but could slit throats in the boardroom. Next to her was Glenn, tall and sun-wrinkled, a silver astronaut lapel on his chest, leaning against the wall like a man who’d just returned from space and still hadn’t found anything that impressed him. Miss Namikawa put on a viper-smile when she saw Controller X approach, “Controller,” She began in a smooth and silken voice, with an accent just slightly off— almost Japanese, but missing something.. Or maybe adding something else. “Miss Namikawa.” X greeted in return, his visor tilting. “We haven’t met, but I’ve followed along with the arrival of the Xiliens, on the behalf of humanity, we cannot thank you enough for the assistance Gigan provided when neutralizing the clash between Titanus Gojira and the.. Third? Coming of Monster Zero.” Miss Namikawa trailed off, X bit back the urge to scoff— if only she knew the true context of the situation. “You’re the one behind all this, huh? The united races?” Glenn alleged with a raised brow, going on to extend a hand. “Glenn. NASA. But.. Mostly retirement.” He chuckled, his smile slowly fading as he realized X would not shake his hand. “I’m not nostalgic for American space programs.” X deadpanned, Glenn raised a brow and slowly withdrew his hand like reeling in a broken antenna. “Don’t mind him, he’s from a time where people thought Tang was the future of hydration.” Namikawa jeered, “She’s cruel to me because she knows I can’t spell half the things she invests in.” Glenn snorted, however, X wasn’t interested in what this disposable moron had to say and instead shifted his attention back to Namikawa, there was something beneath her skin— an energy signature he vaguely recognized. “Your toy donations made headlines.. ‘Miss Namikawa saves Christmas during a Titan apocalypse.’ Very photogenic.” X grumbled, knowing the charity display all too well from the decade-and-a-half he spent pretending to be Simmons’ lapdog. “Children need softness, even when the world is burning.. And softness, dear Controller, has a long shelf life in global markets.” Namikawa simply put, eyes glittering. “She’s got secrets in her marrow.” Ni pointed out the blatantly obvious, “Like us, but with Hello Kitty accessories.” San cooed, “..What is ‘Hello Kitty?’” Ichi momentarily grumbled, eventually deciding it didn't matter. “Keep walking, she’s bait dressed as balm.” Ichi snapped, X offered a thin nod, his attention already fracturing. “I’m not here charity optics or sentiment, we have little in common, Miss Namikawa.” X concluded, “You’d be surprised, Controller.” Miss Namikawa called out with a smile too soft to be speaking to an alien warlord with.
Moving on, the White House lawn was a floodplain of flashbulbs and fangs. As Controller X stepped beneath the now dusky marigold sky, the press surged like a school of piranhas in pastel blazers, their faces painted with forced neutrality and breath that reeked of coffee and ambition. Boom microphones jutted like spears from the crowd, and camera lenses blinked like predatory eyes, recording every twitch in his jaw.
“Controller X! Are the Xiliens here to stay?”
“Are you really advocating to deregulate Titan protections?”
“What do you say to those suggesting the Xiliens have ulterior motives?”
“What happened to the bald Xilien controller? Do you have anything to do with his body being found in a Pest Control facility?”
His black and gold coat whispered around his ankles like storm clouds gathering, the visor caught a dozen warped reflections of the chaos before him, each reporter’s face seemed to melt into another to the point where he could barely tell them apart. His lips pursed into a thin line, he had always hated paparazzi— even as Ren, he remembered how Simmons used to lap it up— Walter, the eternal showman, basking in the attention like a cat in a sunbeam, his white veneers always on display, eyes glinting with fake humility.. Whereas Hayworth and Ren would slouch beside him, seething, wondering how anyone could enjoy being devoured one flashbulb at a time. He remembered how the media swarmed Mira while he was in a coma— camping outside Monarch’s medical wing, printing lines, speculating about ‘Mira Yamane: industry plant to cover up Apex wrongdoings’ or ‘the Mechagodzilla widow.’ And before that— fuck, even before he became a ghost of his own life— they were always circling him, such as when his father died, they shoved cameras in his face like syrgines, when Apex collapsed, they made memes of his missing eye and burn scars, when Mechagodzilla failed, they called him a ‘rogue failsok with a Messiah complex.’
Now here he was, still breathing, still answering.. The irony almost made him laugh, but he didn’t, instead stepping forward toward the podium begrudgingly, every inch closer felt like peeling his own skin. “..I understand the concern,” X began in a low and carefully sculpted voice. “But Titan regulation must disband, humanity cannot be the housepet of creatures that burn cities for territory squabbles. That era is over, and quite frankly, it shouldn’t have begun to start with.” X stated, hoping it was as simple as that, however, a ripple of shouted questions broke through— much to his dismay.
“Does that mean eradication?”
“What do you say to the Monarch veterans—”
“What about Godzilla?”
“All I am simply saying is we no longer bend the knee to myths and dumb animals who happen to have more radiation than significantly smaller animals. Do not twist my words.” X simply put, though of course, the crowd roared with new questions— louder this time, microphones thrust forward like knives.
“Do you have any regrets?”
“Is it true you— until very recently, human?”
“How do you respond to conspiracy theorists who suggest you built Mecha-King Ghidorah—”
Another valley of camera flashes lit up the dusk like a lightning storm suspended in time. Controller X stood unmoved, his shadow caat long and sharp over the carefully manicured White House lawn, a statue sculpted from cold resentment and blood red ambition. He raised a hand in a quiet flick of the wrist, uninterested and dismissive. “My associates will answer the rest.” X simply put, behind him, two Xilien aides in dark suits stepped forward. Their smiles were wrong in the sense of being too polished, too symmetrical— like mannequins wearing human faces, one of them cleared his throat with what sounded like a modern rebooting.
X turned away without so much as another word, cutting through the noise like a scalpel, his eye locked on a familiar, out-of-place figure snagged his attention from the edge of the crowd, swaying like a loose thread on a stretched collar: Dr. Nathan Lind, in a wrinkled tan jacket, unbranded shows, and an expression that screamed: ‘I should not be here.’ He looked like the kind of man who still asked for paper boarding passes. X slowly and silently approached him, like a wolf stepping out of shadow. Of course, Nathan noticed too late— flinching like a guilty man caught loitering near a corpse. “Dr. Lind, I thought Monarch lost its funding.” X stated evenly in a voice laced with static silk. “Thanks to you.” Nathan grumbled, straightening with a bitter breath. “You’re here alone, that suggests desperation or stupidity.” X pointed out, tilting his head. “I’m here on behalf of Pest Control.” Nathan simply put, ignoring the jab to adjust his collar like it could somehow armor him. “Quaint.. and accurate.” X sneered, mouthing curling. “You’re their mascot now?” X alleged, “I’m here as courtesy, to remind you that some of us still remember what happened in Hong Kong, and Rio, and Tokyo.” Nathan trailed off, “And Boston, don’t forget Boston.” X grumbled, his voice a dagger. A tense pause settled between them until Nathan broke it, “You still think this ends with Godzilla.. Mecha-King Ghidorah wasn’t enough, are you finished?” Nathan demanded, X didn’t answer— his silence was louder than the press behind him. “Of course you’re not, you’ll tear the whole planet apart if it means killing him.” Nathan snapped, in which X turned slightly, letting the light fall halfway across his visor. “You still believe there’s a world left to save, Lind.. That’s your mistake.” X sneered, Nathan took a step forward— bolder now. “And yours is forgetting that not everyone follows out of awe, some of us follow to pull you off the edge before you take us with you.” Nathan shot back, “Then pull harder.” X simply put.
The cicada buzz had gone quiet, the stars above the White House lawn blinking dimly through the haze as if unimpressed by the trembling human politics and godless ambition below. X stood still, the golden light of his gisor casting a line down Nathan’s weathered features. “Come with me.” He deadpanned, the words cutting through the thick silence like a wam knife through old scars. “What?” Nathan muttered, to say he was taken aback would be an understatement. Of course, X didn’t elaborate, he instead extended a hand. “You’ve outgrown Pest Control, Monarch used you like a fuel cell, drained your theories, your courage, your grief, and when you were empty.. They called you brave.. I call you wanted.” X started with a tilt of his head. “You think I don’t know that?” Nathan spat, jaw clenched. “Then why stay?” X pondered, his tone a cold wind. “David died exploring the same Hollow Earth that Monarch has only unleashed hell with, and you? You’re still here, still obeying them, still begging for approval from a system that fed your brother to the dirt.” X pointed out, Nathan’s breath caught— the name: David had hit like shrapnel to the chest. X stepped closer, the world narrowing between them like the eye of the storm. “You resent the Titans, but you reverse them, just as I did.” X sneered, holding the hand out again. “Stop playing at redemption, join me, and I'll give you the world that took him from you— and you can watch it burn.” X offered, Nathan stared at the hand— it wasn’t monstrous, it wasn’t trembling, it was simply.. Offering. And for the briefest moment, he saw it: a path paved in Ghidorah gold and ash with no begging, no compromise, no masks, just power. However, he stepped back. “No, I’m not like you.” Nathan snapped, his voice cracking, though not from fear.
The wind shifted as the crickets returned, X didn’t flinch, he let the hand drop— almost mechanically. “Shame.” He deadpanned, turning to lift one hand slowly as if drawing back a curtain in the air. The portal hissed into existence, shimmering with layered gold and ultraviolet, the static slicing through reality like a wire through glass. Without another word, X stepped through. Nathan stood there, heart pounding until something snapped in him— it wasn’t resolve, wasn’t courage, simply just a pulse of defiance that caused him to move, slipping through the bushes, cutting between shadows, following the heat trail the portal left behind like the ghost of a wound in the air. When no one was looking— he stepped in, too.
Notes:
yall have no clue how much snl i had to watch for the first half.. anyway i wanted to get an update out right around the time there would be a surge in godzilla fans, the teaser for gxk3 seemed like an easy thing to capitalize on.. im personally not very excited and left my not so colorful thoughts on my tumblr blog but to each their own, dont let my thoughts kill ur excitement
Chapter 39: somebody that i used to know
Summary:
No, you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
Guess that I don't need that, though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The portal had closed behind Nathan with a hiss— like silk being drawn across teeth, leaving Nathan to find himself alone in an unfamiliar minister of obsidian. Comparing the Xilien mothership to Earth’s machinery was like comparing apples to oranges, the Xilien’s technology lacked any visible wiring, labels, hazard stripes, or any blinking red buttons.. It didn’t creak or hiss, instead opting to hum a low and deep tune, comparable to the sound of a war god breathing in his sleep. The corridors stretched and twisted with geometries that hurt the naked human eye— complete with walls that shimmered with pulsing runes, doors that opened without moving, and windows that looked out into the cloudless sky vistas framed in unnatural gold.
With an inhale as a cheap way to encourage himself, Nathan took a step forward, boots muffled by the floor beneath him— it wasn’t metal or stone, but something that felt alive, all it took was one twitch beneath his foot to make Nathan flinch— like skin reacting to a cold touch. “I need to stop acting like I have infinite lives, never again..” Nathan grumbled under his breath as he ducked behind a curved archway, narrowly avoiding a pair of Xiliens passing by him— they were clad in sharp uniforms stitched with silver veins, their faces pale and angular beneath visors made of minerals Nathan didn’t know how to name despite his background as a geologist. Instead of speaking, they radiated a calm violence, each one carrying what looked to be a version of a rifle humming with psychic frequency, pulsing with energy instead of bullets— weapons that didn’t need to aim, only think. Somehow, against all odds, they passed by without learning of the intruder. Nathan finally felt safe enough to exhale, wiping the sweat from his brow as he slipped deeper into the heart of the ship:
The halls widened, Nathan found himself passing rooms where Xilien soldiers trained with gauntlets and neural-link rifles, practicing silent takedowns against holograms of screaming Titans.. How comforting. A low, distorted chant echoed from a chamber to his left— what he assumed was some kind of prayer room, maybe, it was an educated guess at most. Inside, rows of Xiliens stood still as statues, murmuring words in a language not meant for human vocal cords. “He who bows to no gravity.. He who tears stars to feed his kin.. Glory to the blood of Ghidorah.” They changed over and over again, their unblinking eyes glowing faintly in the dark. While backing away, Nathan couldn't believe how hypocritical it was of Ren to call Monarch a cult; meanwhile this was the group he chose to align himself with. One thing Nathan had realized waa the culture wasn’t religious, it was militant. The Xiliens seemed to worship death, though not as an end— rather as a tactical maneuver.
A group of younger Xiliens walked briskly past Nathan in another corridor, laughing in sharp syllables. One of them extended a hand and slapped a glowing panel labeled only with the vague symbol of a spiraling helix— Nathan had no idea what it meant, but it flashed red and the others cheered like kids pulling a fire alarm. Truthfully, he had no desire to see what the button did and instead ducked into a vent-like recess. “Casualty simulations updated. Seventy-two percent predicted mortality acceptable.. Engaging Planetfall protocols.” From above, a voice announced in a flat, perfect monotone. It occured to Nathan that just as Gordon swore up and down, they were planning war— they were always planning war, a war humanity couldn’t possibly combat.
The deeper Nathan crept, the stranger it got. He passed by a gallery of stasis tanks— each housing what appeared to be aborted bioweapons, twistee Xilien experiments with asymmetrical limbs, Titan-spliced clones, and writhing things with too many eyes. One floated up against the glass, sensing him— its face almost human. Nathan forced himself to turn away before he lost his stomach. He finally slipped into a small, dark and unused side chamber, he was quick to collapse behind a console shaped like a serpent’s spine, clutching his knees to his chest and trying his best to contain his heavy breathing. “Okay, you’re alive, you’re in a warship, you’re surrounded by trigger-happy aliens who’d shoot their own grandmothers for sneezing during a briefing…” Nathan trailed off, pausing to look around and take in his surroundings. As if on cue, the lights dimmed, and in the console above him, the screen flickered, presenting a faint video feed of Controller X walking the central bridge, Nathan’s breath caught in his throat. “And the scariest part? He’s the most reasonable one..” Nathan came to the unfortunate observation. The deeper Nathan went, the more the ship stopped pretending to be a machine.
Gone were the slick, gleaming corridors, the sterile, war-hardened symmetry gave way to halls that pulsed— walls breathing with a slow, wet rhythm like lungs. The floor now had a faint give to it, soft as cartilage beneath his boots. Above, veins of violet light ran like capillaries, blinking in slow intervals. The mothership, he realized— wasn’t just a vehicle, it was an organism, it reminded Nathan of one of his favorite books: ‘Mystery Flesh Pit National Park.’ The idea of the book was all in the title, but his point still stood. Nathan pressed his back against the wall— if it could still be called that— and crept along a narrow passage that coiled like an intestinal tract, he moved in shallow breaths, careful steps, being sure to listen to the tremble of electricity through the air. Upon hearing voices, Nathan crouched beside a warped alcove and peered through the slit of a curved doorway.
Inside, three Xilien soldiers sat around a strange, pulsating node— not a table, not quite, tables didn’t pulse with inner warmth, glowing like bone under a skin of metal. Hovering above it, rotating slowly, was a projected image of Earth— not just the surface, but deep scans of the crust, mantle, and Hollow Earth. One of the soldiers had removed his visor, revealing a face that looked sculpted— complete with sharp cheekbones, translucent skin, and unblinking eyes that shimmered faintly with unreadable thoughts. “Controller X is too efficient, wouldn’t you say? He advances timelines not yet authorized by the Consensus.” The first Xilien pointed out in a voice that was calm but edged like a scalpel. “He is the Consensus now, he beat the previous Controller in single combat. You remember the blood protocols.” The second voice replied with a shrug so rigid it looked rehearsed. “He used electricity, poison borrowed from Ghidorah, that’s not tradition, that’s corruption.” The third spat the word like an insult, moving a finger to zoom in on Tokyo, where faint energy readings blinked like embers. “He will wake the King-That-Was.. Mecha-King Ghidorah.” Another voice confirmed in a reverent tone. The first soldier clicked his tongue at such a thing, unconvinced. “It is no longer Mecha, it is no longer King, it is no longer Ghidorah, it is something else..” He trailed off. “And you’re raising concerns? Go ahead, walk into the throne room and tell him his crown is crooked.” The second Xilien jeered.
Nathan ducked back into the corridor, heart pounding— unlike what he’d been led to believe, the Xiliens weren’t loyal, they were fanactical.. They weren’t loyal followers because they loved X, rather because they feared him more than they feared death. As a result, that made them worse than zealots— it made them predictable. With a shaky sigh, Nathan moved down a quieter hall, he heard the hiss of cloaked laughter— younger Xiliens, likely cadots, cackling in clipped staccato bursts— the sound of cruelty given language. A frown tugged at Nathan’s lips, he had turned a corner too sharply and stumbled upon a lone Xilien standing at the end of the hall, facing away, silently and unmoving. Nathan ducked back behind a support column made of woven black fibers, holding his breath and opening his ears. “He will consume the Earth, and when it burns, he will point to it and say, ‘See what they made me do.’” The Xilien paused, tongue darting out to lick the dryness off his lips. “And we will believe him.” He declared, Nathan took a slow step back, step by step until the shadows welcomed him once more. He didn’t know where he was going anymore, only that whatever Controller X was building, it wasn’t a kingdom, rather a mausoleum.
Nathan had long since stopped counting how many halls he’d managed to slip through, how many whispering doors, humming doors, glinting corners he’d passed.. The Xilien mothership wasn’t built like a ship, it was built like a trap— labyrinthine, ever-shifting, and alive in its arrogance. Somehow, he was still undiscovered.. A miracle, or a joke, probably both considering how easily Bernie and co got into the Apex base. A part of him urged himself to turn back— which he really wanted to do, but turning back would mean facing X, and facing X meant admitting he never really left Ren behind.. With all that in mind, it was too late to go back. Nathan ducked into a side corridor, dim and lined with what looked like organic archival nodes, soft-glowing pods embedded in the walls— glowing softly like fireflies held in black onyx, each one pulsed gently, as if whispering. But it was the voices that froze Nathan mid-step, not commanders, not guards, just.. Xiliens, off-duty, unarmored, talking like one might at a train station or barbershop— that was if said barbershop floated above the clouds and reeked faintly of electricity and decay. He pressed close to a corner and began to listen, “He’s too young, thirty-six Earth years, that’s hardly a larval stage.” One spike first in a low and lazy tone, his voice rolling like cold oil. “He’s human and unstable, the connection to Monster Zero poisons his thoughts, you can hear the static in his voice when he talks too long.” Another voice replied in a sharp as nails voice. “He didn’t even kill the old Controller properly.. No blood rites, no skull presented.. Just.. Vanished, that’s not tradition, that’s stagecraft.” Sneered a third voice. “Oh come now, maybe he’s just shy.” A fourth voice jeered, followed by a series of laughter from the rest of the occupants. “He matches the prophecy, the cards, the ones drawn in the Temple of Glass. Three heads, one eye, the burn of kings.” A fifth voice chimed in, sending the room into a lingering silence with little to no room to argue. “He speaks to us like we matter, he doesn’t bark commands at us like we’re cattle.” The fifth voice added, crossing their arms. “Zip up his pants when you're done, would you, Yael?” One of the Xiliens cut in, “Or respect.” Yael— the Xilien kissing X’s ass so much, was quick to rebuttal. “Enlighten me, Winslet, have you ever had a Controller say ‘thank you’ before? I haven’t.” She added, Winslet let out a scoff, tapping his foot against the ground. “Whatever, Yael, you’re right, I’m wrong. What do you guys think, is the whole 'deranged emperor’ thing just for show? It seems he only bursts into fits of hysteria when someone’s watching.” Winslet sneered, “For the humans? Of course..” Yael paused, lips pursing into a thin line. “They fear madness more than they’ve ever feared reason.” She pointed out. Meanwhile, hopefully out of their view, Nathan drifted back against the wall, exhaling like he’d surfaced from water. He’d heard this before, not on spaceships, but in meeting rooms, headlines, and Twitter threads..
The world had always been divided on the topic of Ren Serizawa, at first, he was just Ishirō Serizawa’s son, a background presence— a young face looking deeply uncomfortable next to his father on television.. Then, some years had passed and he became known as Apex’s golden boy, quiet, clean-cut, said little, always either referred to as a brilliant mind or sparked speculation about whether or not he was actually talented or just a nepo-baby in a blazer, Simmons shadow.. Then came Mechagodzilla, according to Ilene, he waltzed out of the cockpit, but with everything that’s come out about Ren lately— Nathan wouldn’t be shocked if he had alien assistance in getting out.. And when he returned, he was labeled a terrorist, an enemy of humanity, hated by the Chinese government, blamed for the Mechagodzilla incident, disowned in whispers by what remained little of Apex.. They’d never known him, only the idea of him.. Nathan included, sometimes he wished he got to know Ren, but that was probably some deep-rooted savior complex talking because Nathan didn’t think a good friend could stop Controller X from rising, and still— no one could agree what that meant. Nathan forced his eyes shut, the closer he got to X, the more it felt like chasing a phantom.. A man with no face, just a visor stolen off a dead man Nathan just so happened to witness him murder in cold blood.
The Xilien mothership pulsed around Nathan like the inside of a living lung, full of heat and unspeakable calculations. He moved as silently as he possibly could, pressed flat to the wall as the passage spiraled deeper. It defied geometry and everything else Nathan believed in— it had corridors that twisted back into themselves, rooms that led into staircases with no down, only around. He passed something like a glass ribcage, where wires pulsed through translucent bone. Somewhere, far above, a mechanical, ancient, and starved shriek that sounded too close to Gigan rang out. Nathan froze in place, every instinct screamed that he should have been caught hours ago— by censors, by drones, by some kind of biometric satellite that could identify him by the shape of his thoughts.. It didn't make sense, none of it did, and that’s what really terrified him the most despite being in the same vicinity as trigger-happy aliens. “Are they letting me do this?” He pondered under his breath, his mind listing off various scenarios— a test? A trap? A game? Or something worse? Nathan’s train of thought ended as he was left no choice but to duck through a barely open hatch shaped like a burning keyhole, finding himself in a narrow chamber veined with dim plasma conduits.. The walls were slick with condensation, above him floated a jagged sphere that pulsed like a fractured heartbeat— clearly some kind of command node or internal neural hive. And beneath it, two Xiliens in matte-gray armor stood mid conversation, speaking in low, clipped tones. Nathan crouched to listen, holding his breath. “It was premature, he activated the Alpha pulse before full calibration, the body isn’t even complete.” The first Xilien grumbled, her voice like ice grinding over circuitry. “A desperate move, he claims it was instinct.. Said the King-That-Was needed to be felt.” The other replied, this one was older and lower-toned.. Was it a father-daughter duo? Did Xiliens even have families the way humans did? Nathan doubted they were very cuddly given everything he’d just learned about them. “He didn’t just alert allies.. He alerted them.” The female simply put in a tone that wasn’t ominous in the slightest, her voice visibly dropping a few notches. There was a pause between both of the parities, the weight of the word seemingly hanging like static. “The shell-born one?” The elder Xilien alleged. “Yes.. The guardian. The one whose world was devoured, terraforming failed— the only survivor. It still answers the Alpha frequencies.. Like a mad dog hearing its master's voice in a stranger’s throat.” The female Xilien confirmed, Nathan’s eyes widened— he had gathered this was a reptile-adjacent Titan, possibly of good nature due to its status as a guardian, however, its planet was destroyed by Ghidorah.. They weren’t talking about Godzilla or any of his cousins, this was something else. The elder Xilien clicked something on his gauntlet, and a holographic image shimmered briefly between the two— a distorted silhouette, hunched, shelled, glowing with internal fire.. Nathan had to squint to get a good idea of it due to the image being unstable, constantly twitching between static and outline, as if the very idea of it refused to be cataloged. “If he comes, the skies will burn, he’ll likely adapt to protecting a vulnerable species, these protectors are a great irritation.” The elder Xilien grumbled, “Let it. We are already dead, if Controller X’s plan succeeds. We are a footnote in his psalm.” The female Xilien scoffed, “Still, I would rather die by Gigan’s side than kneel before that garden-dweller.” The elder Xilien replied honestly. Nathan backed away, hands trembling.. This wasn’t just reimatuon, this wasn’t conquest, this was a beacon— a call to war, and it hadn’t just gone one way. He turned into the shadows, slipping back into the guts of the mothership, hope and dread warring in his guy.. He didn’t know what the hell that shelled thing was, but Ghidorah— X by extension, had made enemies beyond Earth, and someone out there had heard the damned call.
All of a sudden, Nathan stumbled as the corridor beneath him lurched with a sudden, impossible tilt. His balance dropped out from under him like the floor had been yanked sideways by a cosmic hand. The walls groaned— not with metal stress, but with something stranger, like a sleeping organism rolling over in its dream. Panels across the passage lit up in violent amber, and a sharp trill echoed through the mothership like a war cry wrapped in sirens. “All units: brace for orbital shift. We are departing Earth’s atmosphere.. Controller’s orders. Sector realignment to Void Sector Sigma. This is not a drill.” A flat, synthesized, and unmistakably Xilien voice announced over the intercom. Nathan’s stomach dropped— literally and figuratively. “Wait— what?!” He whisper-yelled, grabbing the edge of a bio-ribbed support column that pulsed under his touch like a sleeping artery. “They’re going to space— now?” He pondered, his wonders confirmed by the sudden change in air pressure, it wasn’t like in a plane, no hiss of hydraulics or rumble of thrusters, rather like being swallowed. Every inch of the goddamn corridor groaned inward, like the ship had clenched around itself— and then launched, effectively sending Nathan slamming into a wall, barely managing to duck into a nearby alcove, his limbs tangling with vines of glowing circuitry. Gravity warped, then bent, then finally forgot how to exist. A shimmer passed through him— a distortion, like being momentarily erased and rewritten.. The sensation wasn’t motion, but redefinition.. He was no longer in Earth’s orbit, hell, he was no longer on Earth at all. Through a flickering viewpoint, he caught a glimpse of what lay beyond— the curve of Earth was shrinking fast, the oceans and clouds folding like a marble dipped in shadow. Stars, real stars, blinked open across the black as the mothership cleared the thermosphere and entered a silent vacuum.. A colossal crescent of the moon loomed ahead, and further still— a field of debris, satellite skeletons, rocket husks, space junk, ancient human dreams, all abandoned and rotting in orbit.. And now the Xiliens flew through it like sharks swimming through a graveyard. “Please refrain from panicking during gravitational disjunction. Any hemorrhaging is the fault of inferior spinal evolution.. Thank you for flying Death Vector Transport.” Another voice clicked in through the intercom, this one younger, over-eager, and bored.. This earned a groan of irritation and a hint of nausea from Nathan. “Jesus Christ, they’re doing stand-up now?” He grumbled, pushing himself upright despite his heart pounding, he knew he couldn't go back if he wanted to, the mothership wasn’t just leaving— it was either retreating, regrouping, plotting— whatever it was, it didn’t ease the knot in Nathan’s stomach.. Whatever Controller X was building, it was never meant to stay on Earth.
Unfortunately, Nathan’s train of thought ended when he was greeted to the harsh reality of the fact turbulence was far from done, he was sent pinballing through a corridor like a sock in a washing machine. Gravity had become a theory again— an optional setting. The Xilien mothership had stopped obeying psychics the moment it exited Earth’s orbit, its floors tilting, releasing like the inside of a Rubik’s cube built by an insane god. Nathan slammed into a ribbed support beam that hissed like a pipe organ. He groaned, pushing it off with a hand that immediately grasped something unexpected: a bracelet, sleek, obsidian black, inlaid with pulsating white nodes. It looked like a wristwatch carved from obsidian and starlight, and it was just— sitting there, discarded in a retraction alcove. Nathan blinked, reasonably dumbfounded. “Oh, please be magic and I'll start going to church three days a week—” Nathan rambled, sliding it on, the moment it latched— the world began to ripple, his form flickered, shimmered, and then vanished entirely. “Okay, okay.. You’re invisible.. That’s.. Helpful. That’s insane, but helpful..” Nathan muttered, his voice was hushed and shaking, echoing in disbelief.
Invisible, silent, and stunned at his own luck, Nathan slipped deeper into the sheep, using the occasional gravity-stabilizing brace to guide himself through increasingly alien geometries. He followed the distant pulse of command voices, down a corridor that shimmered like frozen oil, off into a chamber that screamed with authority. He peeked through the veil of a wide archway into what could only be called the war room, a vast, circular space with no chairs, just an elevated dais with a spherical starmap suspended in zero gravity. Titan signals blinked across star systems like fireflies drowning in static. Xilien commanders, gaunt and angular, floated or stood at bio-consoles that responded to their very thoughts. The walls were made of folded circuitry that seemed to breathe, and at the center of it all— Controller X, standing tall in his symbolic black and gold attire, arms folded behind his back, literal lightning softly threading across his shoulders like a heartbeat struck between storms.
“Why are we retreating from Earth? We had momentum, now we look weak.” An older Xilien asked, his voice was sulk over rust, his mouth shaped into a permanent sneer. “Because it has come to my attention that Earth may not be ours to claim uncontested.” X didn’t turn, he simply opted to speak— likely to leave the other Xiliens to wonder who was ordering them around, Ghidorah or X? Regardless of who it was currently occupying the body, he gestured toward the starmap with a flick of his fingers. It shifted, displaying yet another quadrant of space— labeled in pulsating red glyphs that Nathan couldn’t read to save his own life. “The Simians have returned.” X announced, sending a low hum to spread across the room, rippling through the ranks of Xiliens like the silent dread before an execution. “They’ve been building in the shadows, and they’ve entered what one might call a.. ‘Titan Race.’” X paused, his mouth curling. “Assuming you all were human in the fifties, think of it as your old space race— but instead of rockets, we compete with dumb, oversized animals.” X continued, Nathan’s breath hitched— so clearly, X’s views on Titans being nothing more than animals meant to be conquered hadn’t changed, he likely put Ghidorah on a pedestal or had some cheap excuse as to why Ghidorah wasn’t a dumb animal. “The Simians have at least four combatants.. One, a dinosaur-adjacent monstrosity they've given the uninspired title of Titanosaurus. Two, a mechanized spider-tank called All-Terraintula.. A clever name— I'll give them that much.” X paused once more, raising a single hand and flicking through the map’s data. “And lastly, two more problems: one, a juvenile specimen of Ghidorah’s own species— untrained, feral, and reportedly already bonded to their general.” He turned now, gaze scanning the room from beneath his visor. “The Simians may have reached Earth before we did.. It’s a possibility, I didn’t arrive until late in the game, and I’ve been busy.. Recovering assets.” X sneered with a smirk, watching as an Xilien admiral floated forward. “So what do we do, Controller? Cede territory? Compromise? Engage in trade?” She asked in a precise voice, clicking with disdain. X flashed her an inhuman smile— even by Xilien standards. “The Simians are lesser minds with obsolete technology, their ships run on fission, their artificial Titans have joint mag, and their soldiers still use analog targeting systems.” X pointed out, momentarily letting the silence breathe. “We destroy them.” X declared, his tone never rose, it didn’t need to— it was colder than space itself. Nathan, despite being invisible, felt every hair on his arms rise.. Then X did something that froze his spine in place, he turned his head— and looked directly at the spot where Nathan stood, the visor burned gold, and though he couldn’t possibly see him— or could he? His inhuman smile widened though never bothered reaching his eyes. “I’m not above massacre, especially when they had the gall to answer our call.” X added in a razor-sharp voice, Nathan didn’t breathe, didn’t move, didn’t blink.. Had he been found? Or worse— was this still part of the plan?
Notes:
i hope you all enjoyed the worldbuilding when it comes to xiliens and their way of life in this chapter as well as the namedrop and hints for several iconic faces from the past, ill probably do a hc dump on tumblr for a more in depth deep dive to the xiliens culture, values, beliefs, technology, etc since its a bit vague (intentionally so because i wasnt sure what i wanted to do with them) but now that i have a clear picture.. im gonna go play flicker on roblox and then once i regain the muse to write, ill see yall on tumblr 😈 speaking of tumblr, please interact with this post and give me your most honest thoughts https://www.tumblr.com/acelestialcraze/783670758406832128/this-isnt-directed-towards-anyone-but-my-asks-are
Chapter 40: hold on til may
Summary:
If I were you, I'd put that away
See, you're just wasted and thinking 'bout the past again
Darling, you'll be okay
And she said
"If you were me, you'd do the same
'Cause I can't take anymore
I'll draw the shades and close the door
Everything's not alright, and I would rather"
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As the stars outside began to burn to a frigid cold, the war room slowly but surely emptied, though Controller X remained still, standing idly and alone within the pulsing sphere of the star map, his silhouette lit from below by orbiting glyphs and rotating projections of Earth’s surface— he could see Earth itself in the distance, everything he’d ever known, reduced to a distant, shrinking, vulnerable
blue rock. Despite the gravity of such a thought, it wasn’t what occupied his thoughts, instead, X was focused on how he could still feel him, right there in the room.. Invisible, but not absent: a stowaway, Nathan Lind.
Controller X’s eye— a molten gold slit beneath the edge of his visor narrowed slightly. “You reek of terrestrial guilt.” He noted to no one and to someone all at once.. Oddly enough, he hadn’t needed Ghidorah for that, none of his whispers, his neural sting, or any three-headed hisses crawling down the base of his skull like usual. This was just a presence— a ripple, like static caught on a dream. He tapped the side of his temple, briefly wondering if piloting Mechagodzilla all those years ago with the help of the neurolink helmet fused to his cerebellum, possibly having burned past the five percent threshold of human cognition. “Perhaps I’ve unlocked more than neurons, is it possible Ghidorah was simply.. A door?” X couldn’t help but ponder, he was a scientist after all.. For a moment, his mind wandered to consider the version of himself who never flew too close to the sun, never crashed, never seized, never went into that damned three-year long coma.. Would Ren Serizawa have gradually become Controller X without Ghidorah’s touch? Would he still have shed the human skin? “No,” X declared aloud in a gentle, bordering on kind tone. “Ren wouldn't have had the nerve.” He concluded, turning on his heel, finding himself slowly pacing the dais, trailing a hand through the starmap, scattering constellations for his own entertainment. “Walter Simmons thought ego could build gods.” He scoffed, lips pursing into a thin line at the mention of that idiot. “He thought conquest was a boardroom— a negotiation, it was all about ego to him, he thought you could shame the world into submission with the right smile and a spine made of dollars.” X paused, recalling the way Walter used to talk over everyone, including the engineers— including him, always trying to sell something, even after death. Ren had once dreamt of eliminating Walter the moment he was no longer useful, X now dreamt of ensuring everything Walter ever touched burned to the ground. “Ghidorah, on the other hand..” He began, his gold eye taking up a glow at the mention of his puppetmaster. “We do not speak, we act.” The other voices began to stir in the recesses of his mind, this one was Ichi, low and calm, like cold steel pressing against a fevered forehead. “And we kill.” Ni snarled from somehow behind him. “I mean, I lick the ashes..” San jeered, probably just to add himself to the conversation. “You don’t beg me to explain myself, you don’t need justification, you don’t order me around, you want the same thing I want.” X paused, turning again just to lock eyes with nothing— yet still aiming toward the invisible weight of Nathan’s trembling presence, coiled in some corner of the command room. “You want him dead, I want him dead, we both want Gojira to burn.” X simply put, reaching into the air and clenching a fist— as if squeezing the Earth itself. “You don’t have a fragile ego, you don’t write press releases, you deliver annihilation, and you’ve never once disregarded my warnings.” X grumbled, thinking back to when Walter, halfway sober, had demanded he: ‘Get in the goddamn chair.’ At the end of the day, that wound up being one of the greatest things to happen to him, but X would be much more content with both eyes.
The starmap pulsed red at the edges, Controller X watched as the glyphs turned sharp, noting the low hum growing in his bones. As much as the humans and his fellow Xiliens swore up and down he was a madman, X knew this wasn’t madness— X would call it integration, and together, he and Ghidorah were not a mistake, they were a corrective measure. X didn’t do so much as sneer when he noted the faint shimmer in the air shifted, it was a breathless heartbeat— a panic muffled by technology. “He listens to you now.” Ichi pointed out in a purr.. X shrugged it off, watching as the stars outside the command viewport hardly moved, but Controller X felt the slow approach of war in his blood like a rising river. The Xilien mothership glided through the cold dark, pointed like a blade toward the Simian world— its hull gleaming with the distant light of a forgotten sun. Surrounding him, the silence of space was only disturbed by the occasional pulse of the ship’s engines— not roaring, but humming along, as if the vessel itself were anticipating the slaughter ahead. He stood alone, cloaked in the false calm of waiting, and in that moment— without warning, without any consent— his mind made the stupid decision to slip backward.
It was a late evening in 1994, the color of the sky was all milk and smoke, and the Janjira explosion hadn’t yet happened so the Serizawa’s hadn’t moved to Tokyo quite yet. Ren had only been three years when he climbed onto a chair he knew he wasn’t supposed to climb, reaching with stubby fingers towards the bookshelf in his father’s study— Ishirō Serizawa’s study. The room reeked of old paper, cedar, and mothballs. It was a quiet place, a museum of obsessions, all lined up in rows: books, sketches, files, and models— dozens of little Titans in static places, arms raised, wings outstretched, tails coiled in mid-fight, the list went on.. However, Ren recalled his hand touching one in particular: Gojira, not entirely accurate since looking back, Ren had realized Gojira wasn’t revealed to the world until exactly twenty years later, but it was still heavy and cold in his palm, the eyes painted with such detail they almost seemed angry.. He would wonder what the hell Gojira had to be angry over? He was worshipped by many, including his own father, got to destroy things whenever he pleased, and never had to worry about taxes. He turned the figure over and over again with little fingers, it was heavier than it looked— rough like scales. He’d seen it before, but never dared to touch it out of a desire to please his father because it had been forbidden, one of the few rules his father actually bothered to enforce. But, his father wasn’t home that day— shocker, he was well aware.. So, Ren had sat down cross-legged on the tatami floor, holding the figure between his knees, trying to understand— what made these monsters so important to his father? Why were they the ones he whispered about, sketched, lost sleep over? Why were they special? What did they have that Ren didn’t?
Back aboard the mothership, X’s hand unconsciously reached into his coat, brushing past the gold edge.. He had only blinked once, but the stars already sharpened. “I wasn't born for him, I was a placeholder between missions..” X grumbled aloud, not bitter. not even mournful— just fact. “The Titans were his real legacy.” X scoffed, he wasn’t the only one who had an input, as in the back of his mind, the silence stirred. “A man obsessed with gods has no room for sons.” Ni snorted, “At least he never tried to sculpt us out of clay.” San jeered, “Do not grieve the pedestal. You’ve built your own.” Ichi snapped, earning a faint smile from X— the pedestal, he was right to an extent, though he hadn’t built a pedestal, instead he’d built a guillotine.
The command console behind him blinked with a soft tone— approach trajectory confirmed. The Simian planet loomed beyond the black, bathed in shadows, lit from below by cities carved into mountainsides, and dull amber fields of technology that looked two centuries behind Xilien standards. They didn’t know what was coming, oh well, no harm in sneak attacks. X straightened his back, adjusting his sleeves. “Time to teach them what makes me special.” He muttered under his breath.
The Xilien mothership cut through the void like a needle sewing war into the fabric of the stars, but inside its command chamber, the galaxy’s roar gave way to stillness— the kind of silence only gods or madmen could kill, and Controller X— very likely both, stood at the hem of that silence, lost in the slow bleed of his own thoughts.. He was always like this, he just needed Ghidorah to bring it out, but he hadn’t always been X.. He used to be just Ren, the quiet one, the child with the neat black hair and the bruises no one talked about, the one who turned in homework on time because it was easier than talking to people, the one who logged onto internet forms because he wanted to lash out— he just simply lacked the social skills and social status to do such face-to-face. “I wonder what they’re all doing now,” X mused aloud, visor tilted just enough to reflect the dying light of a distant star. “Hell, with a few search queries, I could probably figure out what Chris Chan’s up to..” X trailed off, pausing. “I used to troll him, I was a teenager who didn’t have big dreams.. I lived in genuine fear that some lardass would put two and two together and ruin my life.. It made me feel better, back then..” X chuckled dryly as if Ghidorah didn’t already know every little detail about him.. The thought curled like smoke into another memory, another familiar name, another individual he’d cyberbullied on the internet just because nobody cared he was getting bullied in the real world.. Vivienne Graham, of course, the wound that never stopped throbbing. “Everyone loved Vivienne.” X noted in a low and bitter tone, “My father mentored her, Mark adored her, Emma called her a saint, even Madison thought she was ‘cool.’” X spat, not yet realizing he’d allowed himself to get upset in a time where he should have been anticipating.. He recalled the way Ishirō would light up when talking about ‘Viv.’ How he shared findings with her before even telling Ren, how he gave her a Serizawa heirloom for her thirtieth birthday— a family artifact that once belonged to his own father.. And not once had he even asked Ren if he’d wanted it.. X had never tried to steal someone else’s mother, he knew Vivienne never had a father— died before she was born, that was one of Ishirō’s main arguments whenever Ren dared to bring up he felt like the bronze metal, the thought oozed into a deeper place— somewhere petty, black, and feral. He remembered trolling Vivienne anonymously, photoshopping Monarch memos, editing her Wikipedia page with fabricated scandals— not because it was funny, but because it made her feel just a little smaller. He thought back to Apex gossip, Maia always swore up and down Vivienne was a bitch in sheep's clothing— said that no one’s that friendly without a reason, said people like her only stay neutral in divorces so they could keep both parents on speed dial.. She was probably right.. The next thought hit him— sharp and unflinching, Vivienne Graham died screaming in Antarctica, crushed between King Ghidorah’s jaws, and X— back then, he was Ren Serizawa in a cozy Apex bunker— had watched it live, watched the way his father fell to his knees and all he thought was: ‘Thank fucking god.’ He smiled— a slow, brittle thing. “Ghidorah,” He began softly, with a kind of dark reverence. “That was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me..” He grumbled honestly, well aware of how pathetic that sounded out loud. “She tasted like pretension and pine.” Ni snorted, “And now she’s a neutral smear on the ice, no side to take.” San sneered, “We remove what clutters the soul, she was clutter, so we consumed her.” Ichi simply put, X knew better— he had read Monarch’s field notes and it was theorized Ghidorah deliberately targeted Graham because of her position as the head of his outpost, and X bravoed Ghidorah for such, he let out a chuckle, then turned his gaze to the approaching planet— a world soon to be rewritten in blood and fire, the stars didn’t judge, they simply burned.
The stars blinked— then disappeared, not because they were gone, but because the Xilien mothership had turned invisible, there was a sheer lack of a cloaking shimmer, no loud activation sequence, just.. Absence. A silence so deep it warped reality like glass pulled too tight, the great vessel simply unstitched itself from perception, its immense shadow swallowed by nothingness. Within the now-spectral bridge, Controller X watched the effect with faint amusement. “I’ll give you credit, you make human stealth tech look like a stage magician’s napkin trick.” He muttered, voice dripping with cool admiration as he watched the stars vanish in themselves.. The console pulsed beneath his fingertips, entire cities flickered on the planetary scans— Simian outposts carved into red canyons, ringed with anti-air weapons from another century.. Archaic defenses, outdated encryption, and radio transmissions that still relied on verbal code phrases. “They still use encryption keys, how outdated..” X trailed off, genuinely baffled.
Behind him, the Xilien pilots didn’t respond— they didn’t need to. Instead, they opted to move in sync, their gloved hands brushing psychic interfaces that molded to thought instead of touch. Information shimmered in the air, and every flick of an eye translated into movement across the ship’s neural lattice. X tilted his head as the mothership dipped lower into the planet’s orbit without so much as a tremor or a sound.. The Simians— despite their crude planetary scanners and perimeter patrols, had detected nothing.. It was child’s play, embarrassing, really. “No wonder Ghidorah ignored them the first time.” X grumbled aloud, gazing outside the windowless viewport. The air displayed the Simian capital glowing faintly below— a honeycomb of infrastructure carved into basalt cliffs and sulfurous plateaus, belching outdated tech fumes into the air like smoke from a dying breath. X nodded to no one, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the foreign planet grow larger, red veins of fire glowing in the distance— Simian industry, outdated and stubborn. “Begin descent.” Controller X dictated, to his own slight surprise— no engines flared, no vibrations rattled the bones, just a very telling silence and falling.. A ghost ship slipping into a grave if one will.. The Simians wouldn’t know they were invaded until it was too late— until the walls split and the Titans screamed, until their synthetic war beasts awoke and found themselves obsolete. Controller X stood still, his visor still gleaming. “They’ve built a world thinking no one would knock.. I’ve brought the door down.” He simply put.
It wasn’t long before the Xilien mothership had landed without ceremony, its colossal frame invisible on the surface of the Simian planet, casting no shadow and making no sound. Around it, the terrain whispered with a climate not unlike Earth’s, the distant cities of the Simians unaware that a predator now slept just outside their borders— coiled and watching.
Inside the ship’s underdeck, somewhere between the gravity core and the weapons channeling node, Nathan Lind crouched low behind a curving bulkhead that pulsed faintly like a sleeping artery. Sweat clung to his face despite the cold, and the invisible tech-band clenched around his wrist buzzed faintly from overuse, every breath he took echoed too loud in his skull— it wasn’t long before he felt it, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, not stunned by a sound, or a step, just presence.. He turned too late, greeted by the sight of Controller X standing just feet behind him— tall, patient, backlit by the soft pulse of Xilien circuitry like a messiah born from neon and hate, his coat barely flittered, though his visor burned like an eclipse. “I knew you’d come around.” He sneered, his voice was low, rich with mockery and something colder than cruelty: certainty. Nathan shot up quickly, fists tight. “I’m not here to join you.” He snapped in a rough, cracked voice. “I’m here to stop you from determining an entire species.” He corrected, X tilted his head, the visor glinted as he slowly reached into his coat, sending a feeling of dread across Nathan’s body.. He tensed up, closing his eyes and muttering prayers, but instead of a weapon aimed at him— X turned the sleek, black laser pistol around and offered it grip first. “Then shoot me.” He deadpanned, stepping forward and placing the gun gently into Nathan’s hand as if he were handing over a delicate instrument, leaning in— mouth inches away from the barrel.. And with a bitter smirk, he tapped his teeth against it. “Go on.” He began, voice dropping to a whisper to allow his words to curl like smoke. “Right here, melt the inside of my skull, that’s what you came to do, right?” X alleged, watching as Nathan’s hand trembled. “Do it.” X repeated himself, his vocal cords dipping a few steps down but his demand as clear as day. “Be the better man, be the one who stops the monster before he acts, you’ve read the storybooks.” X paused, “You can’t.” He simply put, his lips barely moving. Unintentionally proving his point, Nathan’s hand shook harder, his knuckles whitened, he gritted his teeth and pressed the barrel closer— but didn’t dare pull the trigger. “What’s the matter?” The Xilien Controller sneered, his voice returning from its whisper. “Too afraid you’ll miss? Or deep down, do you think there’s something left of me that’s worth saving?” X pondered, tilting his head. “There’s nothing left, you’re not Ren.” Nathan managed to point out in a hoarse tone. X shot him a full, inhuman smile. “Exactly.” He sneered, and with a flick, he reached out, plucked the gun from Nathan’s hand, and turned away— ever so casually. “I’ll see you when the skies fall, Doctor Lind.” He assured, paying no mind to the way Nathan stood frozen in a swirl of guilt and fury, more focused on the war drums beginning to beat.
The command corridor of the Xilien mothership hissed open with obedient hydraulics, revealing Controller X in full regalia— a gold-threaded coat sweeping through the air, neural visor pulsing in cadence with the ship’s energy core, the light behind him painting his silhouette like an eclipse about to blot out the sun. He stepped onto the central staging platform— the ‘Theater,’ as the Xiliens called it, complete with rows and rows of armored troops awaiting him, their shoulder plates gleaming, each helm carved with runes from lost wars, the air buzzed with voltage and violence held in attention.. Instead of speaking, he opted to close his eye and listen inward. “Ichi.” X began, the name echoing through neural ether not unlike a ritual. “Yes, Puppet?” The voice answered in a smooth, regal, and precise tone. “If the Simians refuse to surrender their Titans,” X murmured silently from within, pacing slowly before his likely puzzled troops. “What would you do to motivate complilance?” X pondered, “Remove the ocular nerves. Not the eyes— the nerves. Sever one at a time with a vibro-thread, thus the subject will see nothing but light and pain. Then implant fear projections— images of their Titans being torn apart.” Ichi simply put, discussing the torturous methods with a sadistic glee. “Fear manipulation through sensory overload,” X declared aloud, almost academically, turning toward his soldiers. “Next?” He muttered within his own mind, “Inject a neural leash into the hypothalamus— tie emotional responses directly to auditory commands. Make them whimper each time you say the word ‘surrender.’ Condition the word into agony.” Ichi continued, egging on X’s golden eye to gleam beneath the visor. “You’ve always had flair.” X sneered with a grin, “Effective flair.” Ichi snapped in correction, “Torture is not performance, it is engineering, a skill you are familar with, no?” Ichi alleged, X tuned him out— turning back to the assembled legions of Xiliens, who now stared in rapt silence, hungry for command. “You’ve heard him,” X simply put, voice echoing off the polished walls like a verdict. “When the Simians resist, you will not kill them.. You will refine them.” X commanded, the word sparking across the formation like kindling talking to flame. Several overly eager soldiers clicked their helmets into place, twitching of anticipation rippled through the battalion like an electrical current. “We begin with the command tier, take the generals first, no fatalities until I say so..” X paused, then turned back to his troops with a malicious smile behind the visor. “And when you say the word ‘surrender’… Ensure they remember it for the rest of their miserable lives.” X commanded, already descending the gangplank, lifted his hand in the air. “Deploy.” He demanded, at his words— the doors of the mothership opened, and death poured in quietly.
The Xilien mothership unfolded itself like a cathedral of knives, invisibly touching down on the crust of the Simian homeworld without so much as disturbing a leaf.. There was no sonic boom, no seismic ripples, in its place was a stillness that arrived unnaturally silent— as if the air itself dared not to breathe too loud. Controller X stood at the head of the deployment ramp, his long coat rustling faintly in the static of the cloaking field, the air shimmering faintly around his silhouette like heat off scorched chrome. Behind him, the Xilien legion moved without voice, without friction, without even breath— silent as ghosts, though deadlier than memory.
Before him stretched the Simian homeworld— lush, green, and nothing short of deceiving. Vines like glass tendrils crept up the sides of jagged obsidian ridges; towering fungi pulsed gently under twin suns, bleeding golden spores into air like misted honey. The ground itself shimmered with bioluminescent roots, casting hues X couldn’t name. This was a world that had survived quietly— grown inward, evolved slowly, refused the chaos of steel and ambition. But it wasn’t peace, X could tell that much. “No race survives this long by accident.” He observed, narrowing his molten-gold eye. “This is camouflage, they look passive to disarm the impatient.” X pointed out, stepping forward, letting his boots press softly into a patch of glowing moss that gave way like memory foam. “Controller.. Shall we unleash Gigan and Monster X?” One of the Xilien lieutenants leaned in slightly to ask from behind him, voice modulated through a crystalline rebreather.. There was a hopeful eagerness behind the question, the kind of anticipation that comes from knowing two weapons of planetary extinction are folded neatly in the lower bay like bad dreams in storage. X paused, lips pursing into a thin line. “No.” He muttered, voice not unlike the softness of falling snow. “No, my lord?” His fellow Xilien alleged, X turned slightly, visor glinting gold “We wait, let them release their Titans first.” X elaborated, crouching near a writhing fern, one with petals shaped like spires, its stalk exhaling spores in rhythmic sighs. “We’ve hunted Titans before, but stealing them? That’s art.” X sneered, standing up once more and allowing the spores to settle on his shoulders.. All around them, the Xilien soldiers began fanning out— no sound, no signal, the only sign of them being there was their weapons drawn with the precision of an autopsy, the invasion had begun— quietly and beautifully.
They soon reached the Simian village, which was lying nestled between jagged canyons, its bioluminescent flora trembling gently under twin moons, its clay-tiled roofs steaming in the evening fog that rose from subterranean heat vents. This was not a city built of war— it was soft, quiet, a memory pretending to be a civilization.. Which, in X’s opinion, made it all the more satisfying to destroy.
At first, the Xiliens crept— silent phantoms moving through the fungal groves and glowing vines, their armor reflecting nothing, their laser guns humming low like predatory bees beneath skin.. But one should know silence never lasts, proven by one clumsy soldier stumbling on a glass root, becoming the domino piece to a series of falling cards. “Fuck it,” Someone muttered over the neutal link, marking a change of plans and declaring they charge instead.
Controller X surged forward like a lightning storm in human skin, singular eye ablaze with static, his gloved hand outstretched as he tore through a Simian dwelling built into a crooked obsidian outcropping. The structure itself burst open like wet bark, and the two occupants inside barely had time to squeal before— CRACK! One was launched into the ceiling by a snap of X’s fingers, spine bent backwards like a shattered harp. Upon taking in the sight, the other charged him, teeth bared, eyes wild— however, X didn’t do so much as flinch, instead lifting the ape-like creature with a sneer and slammed him into the crystal-pane wall so hard the glass didn’t shatter, instead liquefied. “Pitiful,” X muttered, tossing the body aside like wet laundry, opting to kick open the next door, where a group of Simian elders were praying to a shrine carved from molted Titan claw. “Wrong god,” He whispered, before letting his palm glow golden with a GHZZZZT! The sound marking a stream of crackling bioelectricity firing from his fingertips, Ghidorah’s blessings made manifest, and turned the elders into steaming black smears before they could even turn. He kept moving— another house, another body flung through the wall, another scream silenced mid-air.. For the first time in life, X felt something he’d never understood before: physical dominance. He’d spent his youth brushing off punches with cold stares and stifled tears, too proud to cry, but too bitter to break.. He never fought back, not physically, he just waited until he could ruin someone digitally— doxx them, destroy their life with a keyboard, but now— he didn’t need proxies. In adulthood, he’d torn a Skullcrawler in half through steel and fiber optic nerves, seated in the skull of San, sweating and grinning, feeling every wrench of steel like it was sinew under his own hands.. Now, he didn’t need the cockpit, now he was the cockpit. He ducked a strike from a panicked Simian warrior, caught the arm mid-swing, and snapped it sideways at the elbow.. The scream was short-lived, largely due to the fact X had jammed the barrel of his laser pistol under the creature’s chin and fired.. Oddly enough, the head didn’t explode, it just.. Vanished. He stood over the corpse, he didn’t say it, didn’t think it aloud.. But deep in his veins, something dark and golden whispered: “This is what power feels like.” And not one voice in his head objected, as flames began to lick the green sky, and Simian shrieks echoed into the fungal hills, Controller X raised one crackling hand to the heavens, and pointed to the central tower. “Take it next.” He declared, his voice was calm, though his bones were singing, similarly to how he felt getting a taste of Mechagodzilla’s power three years ago.
The central tower of the Simian capital stood like a rotting tooth jutting from the red earth, its crystalline windows already spiderwebbed with fracture lines from plasma fire and psychic feedback. Inside, Xilien soldiers stormed its winding staircases and neural archives, sweeping floor by floor in surgical silence, hunting for the Titan control schematics embedded in the Simian hive core. Controller X walked through the chaos like a conductor through a symphony of ruin, electric wisps trailing his footsteps, his coat torn at the hem by shattered stone and blood-slick wind.. He was calming down until he saw her, through a break in the smoke and shattered glass, a Simian fighter— shorter than the test, lithe, fierce, breathing hard with a jagged staff in hand.. And she looked like Vivienne Graham, not identical, but the resemblance was cruel— the slope of her jaw, the shape of her eyes, the unbending line of her stance, something inside him stopped, then snapped.
“Vivienne.” X seethed, the name spilled from his mouth like venomous honey. He took a slow step forward, visor locked. The Simian in question turned in confusion, her furred brow pinching, breath ragged. “What—?” She stammered, however, he moved before she could finish, a flash of gold lighting his hand, and he hurled a bolt of Ghidorah’s power directly at her chest. Much to his annoyance, she dove sideways, crashing into a moss-covered archive shelf, sizzling sparks crackling in the air where she’d just stood. X didn’t stop, stalking her, boots echoing on cracked obsidian. “Vivienne, nee-chan.” He grumbled softly, with a tremor under the sneer. “Tell me. What did you have that I didn’t?” He demanded, voice losing all softness and even cussing in frustration when she scrambled backward, eyes flickering between escape routes and broken weapons. “Why did he—” He paused, his voice cracking then quickly hardening. “—Why did he spend so much time with you? Could you build a machine that nearly killed Gojira? Could you survive three heads whispering in your mind every night like I did?” He spat, in response, she raised her makeshift staff and lunged, trying to break his stride. However, he knocked it aside effortlessly and cornered her, his shadow swallowing hers against the wall. “What did you do, Vivienne? Smile right? Never argue? Always have tea ready? That heirloom he gave you went to waste, eaten by Ghidorah with you.” X continued to demand, his voice shaking. “He gave it to you, not me, not even a question.” X hissed, however, she was extremely puzzled, staring at him— wide-eyed. “I don’t know who the fuck Vivienne is!” She swore up and down, reaching out fast, snatching a shard of broken mirror from the floor and slashed— catching his cheek just under the visor. “Fucking Xilien bastard.” She hissed, the blood that trickled down his face was a black, oil-like sludge. He staggered a half-step, only to be saved by the body of another Simian— thrown by an eager Xilien trooper, smashed into her, sending her tumbling to the floor with a sharp grunt.. She tried to rise, but X was already there, grabbing her by the neck with one hand, the other glowing with crackling, spiraling arcs of energy.
“You don’t get to lecture me.”
ZAP!
“You don’t get to be loved.”
ZAP!
“You don’t get to take my place.”
ZAP!
Controller X slammed her against the floor, pinning her down, electricity pouring from his fingertips into her torso. Her limbs jerked, the air filling with ozone and the stink of scorched blood.. She screamed something— he didn’t care, he couldn’t even hear her anymore, all he could see was his father’s back, walking away again and again.. With a few more zaps, the Simian twitched, then stopped, green blood seeping between her teeth. X didn’t breathe for a long moment, he stared down at the smoldering corpse, the air still crackled faintly between his fingers. After taking some time to admire his handiwork, he stood. “Not Vivienne..” X finally realized, though he quickly shrugged it off, largely due to the fact the tower began to shake, not from the sound of blasters or the fury of Ghidorah’s electricity— but from beneath. A low rumble began to roll through the moss-covered stones and obsidian marrow of the Simian city, like a heartbeat buried beneath centuries of soil. Controller X straightened from the smoldering corpse at his feet, the gold circuits of his coat flickering dimly against the sudden chill in the air.
“Controller— movement, the ground is reacting.” Somewhere fat off, an Xilien henchmen let out a clipped burst of psychic static over the neural network.. Signalling the arrival of the Simian officials, they rose from the fungal groves and stepped from their crystalline sanctuaries— robed in moss-draped armor, their faces marked with scars that pulsed faintly with chlorophyll veins. They did not charge, walking as if the loss of their people was but a scratch, with an air of ancient patience and quiet fury. Their leader, a towering Simian matriarch with spiraling horns of bone-wrought bark, raised a clawed hand— and the forest listened, causing the very ground to buckle. Roots exploded from the soil, lashing vines cracked through the walls, and flowering tendrils erupted through broken glass and molten stone, racing for the invading Xiliens with the speed of anger made manifest. Thorned vines coiled around ankles, tightened around wrists, gripped rifles and tore them from hands.. A dozen Xiliens were swept off their feet, crashing into walls as the jungle itself rose to protest. One soldier fired blindly, only for a tree limb to swat his weapon from his hand. Another tried to teleport but a surge of bio-electrical pollen disrupted the signal, dropping him face-first into a bed made of shrinking grass. “Enough.” The Simian matriarch demanded, her voice reverberating across the battlefield like a drum soaked in oil. “You bring steel and psychic fire to a world that speaks with vines and soil, you burn what we listen to.” She snapped, X stood idly, electricity still crackling from his fingers, smoke still curling from his coat. He watched as the forest bent like a whip and the ground hissed with blooming defense mechanisims— acidic petals, venomous leaves, and spore-thick wounds.. His soldiers, for all their psionic brilliance and combat precision, were momentarily tangled, not endangered, not overwhelmed, but.. Paused— held.
X didn’t raise a hand, instead, he opted to step forward slowly, the tangle of vines writhing at his feet parting as they touched the static field around him.. His gaze met the Simian matriarchs. “You’ve stalled us, congratulations.” X paused, a sneer making its way across his gaze. “But do you really think you’ve stopped us?” He asked, the Simian leader narrowed her eyes in response. “You have no roots here, you will not grow from this soil.” She pointed out, “Good, I prefer the scorched kind.” X grumbled, unamused.
Notes:
uhmm yeah i dont really have any comments regarding this chapter but i hope yall enjoyed, thanks so much for 1.4k hits thats such a crazy feat for only my first of hopefully many fics.. idk how long my godzilla fixation will last but i think i have enough in me
Chapter 41: vampire empire
Summary:
I see you there, rejecting all your earthly power
Protecting and dissecting 'til you've emptied every hour
We jumped into the pond and then come under the shower
You lay upon my pillow and you open like a flower
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The alien jungle hissed like a coiled serpent, vines rustled as if whispering secrets through leaves drenched in two moons and blood.
Though nowhere near the end, the battle stilled, holding in tension like a string drawn taunt just before the arrow flies. Amidst the wreckage of her half-toppled tower, the Simian Matriarch stood tall in her moss-braided armor, her antlered crown blooming with faint spores that glowed in sync with her heartbeat. Her gaze made a beeline for Controller X, who stood by twitching vines that dared not touch him, their ends curling and retreating as his psionic field hummed like a stormcloud held barely in check. Despite the corpses of the Simians easily outnumbering the corpses of the Xiliens, the Simian Matriarch let out a dry and bitter laugh not unlike the sound of tree bark cracking in a lightning storm. “So. She sent you.” The Simian Matriarch observed, “She?” Controller X alleged, his visor glinting. The Matriarch tilted her head, one brow arching beneath a wreath of twisting fern-fronds. “Of course she wouldn’t face me herself, that would require something she lost centuries ago— spine.” She went on to snark, her tone laced with venom and nostalgia like it was a fine wine, stepping forward over the fallen root and scorched earth, waving off the writhing flora around her with a flick of one clawed hand. “Tell me, metal-boy. Did she mention me at all?” She asked, seeming genuinely curious. X didn’t satisfy her curiosity since he hadn’t met the queen himself, this was his first time hearing of a queen. She clicked her tongue and looked away as if answering herself, “No, I don’t suppose she did.” She paused, “Typical.” She simply put, “You speak as if you know the queen.” X pointed out, humoring her.. It was worth noting he said ‘the queen’ instead of ‘my queen’ as he didn’t see her as his queen, he hated taking orders, and what was a queen to a god such as himself?
The Simian’s eyes narrowed with something akin to ancient amusement, the Controller had seen it in Ghidorah’s eyes before. “Know? Child, I named her.” She clarified, to put a seeming emphasis on her statement, the jungle rustled behind her, the spores thickening in the air like memory resurrected. “We ruled a quadrant together once..” She trailed off, turning back with a gaze that could only be described as gleaming under the dual moons. “Then she got greedy, she wanted more than planets, she wanted worship.” The Simian Matriarch continued, X’s expression soured, so help him if he had to deal with Simmons in heels— “She wanted the universe to bow, and I refused to kneel.” She added, turning to meet X’s visored gaze once more. “So tell me, dear envoy.. Has she grown fond of you yet? Or are you still just a knife she’s pointing at the ones she can’t bear to face herself?” She pondered, seeming genuinely curious, however X was more focused on the stirring in his mind. “What a wrench.” Ichi grumbled, “She dares to talk down to you.” Ni hissed, “I like her. We should peel her open and find out what else she’s keeping.” San snarked, but X remained still— watching, thinking about how there were names not yet spoken, shadows in the queen’s court he had not yet seen, and now? Questions. “I suppose I'll have to ask her myself.” X grumbled, tilting his head. “Oh, please do. I’d love to see her squirm.” The Matriarch laughed again, this time more akin to wind rustling through the ruins.
With that, the jungle began to screech in pain.
Vines burned and snapped, unraveling like veins made of wet paper as the Xilien soldiers, unfazed and bored by the Simian resistance, casually lifted themselves from the earth with telekinetic finesse. Their varying weapons lit in the air with bolts of pure disdain.
In response, the forest answered in fury— twisting branches like spears, roots like whips, flinging back but unable to pierce the psionic shields the Xiliens wore like second skin.
Bark spit, spores hissed, flesh met fire.
The Simian troops opted to stumble back, not in defeat— but outclassed. And above it all, Controller X stood still, speaking not to the overrated world but to the storm inside his mind. “Tell me again,” He began in a silent whisper to Ghidorah, even as energy hissed from his fingers. “What did you mean when you said I guaranteed your immortality?” X asked, “Because you are learning, Puppet. Not from others, from yourself, and when that process begins, we.. Become inveitable.” Ichi’s high-pitched voice coiled through his skull like frosted glass, X almost smiled at this confirmation. “So, I'm the evolution?” X alleged, “No, you’re the knife, you’re the weapon that stabs the future into the past.” Ni snarled, “And stabs a little extra, just for fun.” San crackled, X had been so engrossed in the conversation that he didn't hear the Matriarch's approach, didn't hear the roots creak apart to make room for her sudden lunge, nor the thudding charge of her moss-armored boots.. But, he felt the impact— a crushing palm to his side that sent him staggering three steps back. “Stay with me, Controller.. Don’t lose yourself mid-massacre.” She spat. Beneath his visor, X’s gold eye widened, leaving him stunned for the briefest moment and giving her time to press in, but X recovered.
Faster than thought, Controller X lashed out— not with fists, not with blasts, rather with humiliation, his hand snapping upward. She froze mid-leap, lifted from the ground by an invisible fist, her limbs yanked open like a grotesque starfish, dangling in midair, robes torn and flailing. “Kicking nothing, do you feel powerful now, Matriarch? Does the forest cheer?” X pondered in a cold and surgical tone, taking glee in the way the Xilien soldiers below cheered, watching the queen of their foes writhing like a bug pinned through the spine. X tightened the grip, just enough to constrict before lighting his palm with Ghidorah’s blessings— with a ZzzRAKT, a column of bioelectric fire roared toward her— and fucking missed. X’s gaze darted around the scene, confused as to how she managed to vanish in a burst of pollen and then just as suddenly, reappear behind him, vines spiraling from her limbs as she dropped from the canopy with an axe-shaped root forming midair. “You Xiliens talk too much.” She snapped, X looked up— although it was worth noting he looked up too late. With a sickening CRACK, the root slammed into his shoulder, shattering bone or at least threatening to.. But, X didn’t fall, he shifted the gravity around him, warping the world like a sinkhole under her feet, sending her face-first into the dirt. Much to X’s annoyance, she rose, blood streaming green from her mouth. “You weren’t there for the last invasion, you weren't forged in war, you were groomed in the shadows by ghosts.” She observed, X flexed his fingers, the electricity sending the air into a crackle. “Rich coming from the one eating soil.” X shot back, the Matriarch didn’t continue, lunging again, and again. He caught her with fields of repulsion, dancing backward, gaze never leaving her— but his mind was still partially buried in the chatter of his inner monsters. “Ichi, should I end this now?” X asked, “Not yet. Learn from her, she is an echo of old resistance, know your enemy’s pride, it’s always the last thing they lose.” Ichi pointed out, while they circled eachother, San let out a giggle. “Rip it out and feed it to the roots.” San sneered, not to worry— X had the upper hand, not because he was stronger, but because he had already decided she’d lost.
The broken and burning jungle groaned around them, Simian bodies laying strewn in the undergrowth like toppled idols. Above them, the shattered spires of the tower bled bioluminescent sap onto cracked stone.
And in the center of it all, Controller X convulsed once before standing eerily still. His head tilted, lips curling upward into a crooked grin too sharp, too uneven, and far too amused.. The voice that spilled out was not his. “You know,” Came a light, sing-song lilt, “You apes really shouldn’t have evolved past sticks and flinging your own feces.” The voice sneered, revealing itself as a very amused San. The air around him pulsed gold, static snapping in manic arcs as Ghidorah’s consciousness slipped past X’s restraint, draping itself across his spine like a feral cloak. San twisted the shared body’s neck with a theatrical roll, stretching the fingers like he’d just woken from a long, delightful nap. “Ahhh~ now this is more like it, no more brooding, no more daddy issues.. Just me, you, and the good old-fashioned art of subjugation.” San began, pointing lazily at the stunned Simian Matriarch, his grin shark-like. “You exist to serve, or die.. Cattle don’t negotiate, they get branded.” San snapped, the Matriarch wiped green blood from her cracked lips, standing fully, defiant despite her bruises. “I know that voice,” She growled in a sharp and sure voice. “Only Ghidorah would possess a man just to beat a woman.” She grumbled, San gasped with mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “What can I say? Equality.” He quipped, opting for a fast and brutal lunge—
— Only to humiliatingly get smashed in the face by a root-clad elbow. San stumbled back, not too concerned because this wasn’t his body. “Ow— goddamn, alright.” San muttered, raising both hands in a ‘give me a second’ gesture, gaze wide with mock apology. “Okay, that one’s on me.” San trailed off, cracking the neck that wasn’t his own. “You hit hard for a tree-hugger, really.” San jeered, however, the Matriarch didn’t wait for banter— instead charging again, San barely dodged, tripping over a fallen staff as a twisting vine wrapped around his stolen ankle, slamming him hard into a fungal wall, he peeled it off with a grunt, his smile dropping. “You know what?” He snarled, brushing sap off his borrowed sleeve. “I’m outta patience.” San declared, turning to the sky, clearing his stolen throat and ready to hear it from Puppet for frying his vocal cords once again. “GIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGAAAAAAANNNN!! RISEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” San exclaimed, his voice booming across the burning ruins, throwing his stolen arms in the air to play it up for the sake of theatrical irony.
At San’s call, the ground shuddered from the hangar ridges of the invisible mothership, two enormous containment chambers cracking open, venting gas and electromagnetic shrieks into the sky.. The twin towers stirred, and alongside them, the end.
Meanwhile, the interior of the Xilien mothership's hangar was a cathedral of dread and chrome. The architecture twisted like the inside of an alien spinal cord— spines of black alloy running across the vaulted ceiling, whispering energy through glowing veins that pulsated like breathing circuitry. Giant chains suspended sarcophagus-shaped containment vaults from the rafters, each one twitching and groaning, as if something inhuman inside dreamed of murder and metal.
Nathan Lind moved through the shadows with a heartbeat in his ears that refused to settle, every step was a prayer he didn’t believe in— however, he would start going to church if it meant he could undo all this. His stolen Xilien cloaking band flickered with fatigue, barely holding him invisible as he slipped between stacks of maintenance consoles and gravity-harnesses.
Gigan’s containment pod loomed to his left like a great, angry cocoon, consisting of red lights crawling up its spine. The other one was sleek, massive, bone-white and crowned with coiled restraints, marking it undoubtedly Monster X’s cradle. “Okay, Lind.. Just get close, find a weak point, maybe a coolant feed.. Rig an overload and book it before—” He muttered, swallowing when his foot brushed something, wholeheartedly expecting to see some Xilien slug, or metal, or a fire.. But instead, he was greeted to the feeling and sight of fabric. He whirled around, heart spiking when his gaze settled on her.
A woman in a flowing black robe stood at the edge of the hangar, near the open corridor that led to the core. Her face was obscured by a delicate and baroque gold masquerade mask depicting a dragon not unlike Ghidorah, the kind nobles might wear to a doomed waltz. But Nathan froze, not because of the mask— but because of her eyes, they weren’t cold, they weren’t glowing, they weren’t Xilien.. Quite the opposite actually, they were warm, they were haunted, they were familar— they were human! “Mira?” Nathan stammered, voice almost cracking under the disbelief. She tilted her head, lips unmoving beneath the mask. “..You’re not supposed to be here, Doctor Lind..” She muttered under her breath, her voice was low, edged with fatigue and distant grace. Nathan took a step forward, dropping the cloak since he didn’t see a point anymore. “You saved us— back in the chambers. Uh, that was you, right? You unlocked the blast doors before we were dissected..” Nathan alleged. Mira didn’t reply immediately, turning her gaze to Gigan’s containment pod, as if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes just yet. “Ren would’ve killed you outright. I.. didn’t want that.” She simply put, after assuring the coast was clear, Nathan took another cautious step forward. “You’re his wife.” He pointed out, Mira nodded once. “I was. Before he stopped being someone I could recongize.” She clarified, the silence between them stretching like a tightrope up until the pod behind her groaned again— either Gigan, Monster X, or both on their way to slaughter, raking their claws (or scythes, in Gigan’s case) across the interior plating. “Why are you here? Why stay? He’s not Ren anymore.” Nathan finally blurted out, the words spilling out like word vomit. “Because someone has to remember who he was, even if he doesn’t.” Mira pledged, Nathan hesitated, unable to stop his words. “Help me stop him.” He pleaded, “You don’t stop a storm, Lind. You survive it, but.. I can show you where the lightning strikes first..” Mira offered, her voice barely above a whisper.
The walls darkened as they descended— a lift with no rails, no buttons, only Mira’s hand pressed against an organic control pad that pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Nathan could feel the vibration in his bones, like the ship itself was holding its breath. The drop in Nathan’s stomach signalled they dropped lower, beneath levels Nathan hadn’t seen on any sort of schematics, this was below the hangar, below the throne decks, hell, even beneath logic itself. “I didn’t even know this floor existed.” Nathan noted in an attempt to break the tense ice, eyes darting to the walls of shifting metal that closed behind them. Mira didn’t look at him, her golden mask caught the faint, violet light of the chamber. “That’s because it wasn’t meant for humans.” She simply put, her voice low, fraying at the edges like silk.
When the lift stopped, they stepped into a corridor that appeared like it was grown rather than built— walls curved like ribs, roots of glowing nerve-cable dangling from the ceiling, flickering in dull pulses.
The sight Nathan was greeted with was a filthy one: hundreds of cages, each one humming, not screaming, not even crying— just humming like a lullaby composed of resignation and sedation. “These are prisoners?” Nathan asked, horrified. “From Earth?” He quickly clarified, “And beyond— anyone who disagreed, disobeyed, looked too long at the wrong thing..” Mira bitterly corrected, walking briskly without waiting for him to absorb it all. “I loved Ren, not X,” She felt the need to clarify, the words scraping the silence raw. “He used to come home with ink on his hands and forget to eat. He was arrogant, yeah, but he still laughed at my dumb coffee jokes— he still had a heartbeat.” Mira grumbled, Nathan followed, sucking beneath a web of thick cables that dripped condensation like tears. “Now he just talks to that.. Thing in his head, that three-headed leech, all he wants is for Ghidorah to tell him that he’s special.” Mira hissed, stopping at a jagged and alien console and beginning to angrily rip at the controls, sparks flying in graceful arcs as her hands worked with practiced fury. “I asked him once— ‘Do you even remember how to want something that isn’t made of metal?’” She paused, her voice cracking— albeit slightly. “He just looked at me like I was a fossil, and said I didn’t understand evolution.” Mira spat, stabbing another button, in which a cage hissed open in the distance, completed with a gasp by someone fortunate enough to still be human. “You’re risking your life doing this.” Nathan noted, placing a hand on the edge of the console. Mira turned to meet his gaze, slow enough to send chills down Nathan’s spine. “First off, he won’t hurt me.” Mira pointed out, “But Ghidorah will.” Nathan deadpanned, Mira’s lips pursed into a thin line, letting out a shaky sigh. “You think this is ideal?” She snapped, voice rising with disbelief. “You think I want to be sneaking around a flying prison, married to a man who thinks love is disease and calls himself a Controller like he’s a fucking PlayStation?” Mira pressed, “..PlayStation?” Nathan alleged, blinking in disbelief. “Don’t derail me.” Mira grumbled, waving him off as she turned back to the next panel, eyes blazing behind the mask. “He doesn’t see me anymore, just hears Satan, the one that killed his father, the one that would’ve burned the world to bone if Godzilla hadn’t stopped it.” Mira continued her rant, hand trembling as she yanked a final switch, releasing more locks— six. No, eight doors sliding open down the corridor. “And now that same voice tells him what's righteous..” Mira paused, looking up at Nathan. “I don’t care if I live through this, but I'm not letting him decide who does.” She vowed.
The deeper they walked, the less the Xilien prison resembled a ship and more like a cathedral built for punishment. The walls were ribbed with alien growth— flesh-like metal that pulsed in fractal veins of golden-violet light. The air hung heavy, humid with recycled grief, thick with the sound of machinery dreaming about suffering. Mira was way ahead of him, moving quickly and purposefully. “You know what pisses me off the most?” She began abruptly, bootfalls echoing off the bone-slick floors. “He acts like the world spit him out and stomped on him. But it didn’t, not really.” Mira grumbled, Nathan glanced over, ducking under a low-hanging nerve-tube that trembled with distant power. “He did go through hell..” Nathan offered carefully and uncertainly, “He was born with a last name that opened doors people spend a lifetime banging on. He had Walter Simmons in his pocket by the time he was twenty-two, a graduate degree, and private labs with equipment Monarch classified as ‘experimental deity-grade.’” Mira scoffed, not cruelly— just done. “Boo-fucking-hoo, your daddy wasn’t emotionally avaible, there’s people that are dying.” Mira grumbled as they passed another corridor of cells, some empty, some pulsing with faintly human groans and distant movement. The cell doors weren’t steel— they were membranes, semi-transparent, like glass made of honey and static. Behind one, a woman tapped her fingers against the wall, mouthing a silent prayer. Behind another, a child clutched something that looked like a doll made from cables and rage. Mira was clearly used to the sight as she didn’t slow down, “He talks about betrayal like it's a love language, like no one ever had it worse than him. And I loved him, I still do— but..” She stopped mid-stride, shoulders stiff. “It’s like every time he looked at me, he wasn’t seeing me, just checking to see if I was still there.” She grumbled, Nathan said something— sometimes silence was mercy. “He hated the world for not kneeling, but he never built anything worth standing for, y’know?” Mira continued in a sharp voice, shaking her head. “He called himself a revolutionary when he was really just a wounded kid who wanted the whole planet to apologize for not raising him right.” She snapped, exhaling hard through her nose. “And now he’s the so-called ‘Controller.’ She spat the word like it was poisoned, “Can’t even control his own grief, let alone a galactic fleet and a space hydra whispering bedtime stories in his skull.” She continued as they turned a corner, entering a vaulted chamber lined with dozens of display panels, most cracked, flickering, or glitching with encrypted alien sigils.
A spiraling staircase led downward, glinting with that same unnatural violet. Mira scanned the architecture like someone reading a language she hated but once knew fluently. “Control room’s got to be below this tier,” She observed, “Where the neural lattice feeds into the processing core. That’s where they’d lock down mass security releases.” Mira added, Nathan followed, careful to be cautious with each step. “You think we’ll make it before he unleashes those Titans?” Nathan pondered, Mira offered a small, joyless, thin-lipped smile behind her mask. “Depends.” She began, “On what?..” Nathan dared to ask, “On whether I'm still too angry to die.” She simply put.
The corridor narrowed as they went deeper, lit only by the faint pulse of alien veins running along the floor— violet arteries threading beneath their boots like a trail of artificial starlight. The deeper levels of the Xilien prison didn’t feel like architecture, they felt grown, like some ancient creature had died here and its spine had been hollowed into a prison. The ceils on either side shimmered with membranes of translucent static— half biological, half machine. Behind each one were shadows, some still, some pacing, all of them watching. Nathan caught sight of one— just a thin, twitching face, eyes wide open with nothing behind them— and instinctively turned away. “Don’t look.” Mira strongly advised from beside him in a tight and controlled voice, “Not until we can free them.” She added, “I wasn’t trying to.. It’s hard not to.” Nathan clarified, “Yeah, well..” Mira trailed off, pushing deeper through the dimness, her silhouette lit by the glow of the prison’s inner circuits. “They don’t need your pity, they’ve had enough eyes on them.” Mira added as the two turned another corner, where the corridor sloped downward again, this time with walls covered in alien inscriptions— burned in rather than etched, like warnings from a species that didn’t believe in second chances. For the first time, Mira slowed down, evident by the way her shoulders dropped. “You know what he said to me once? Said he didn’t know if he was capable of love, but that if he was, he thought he’d be doing it wrong.” Mira spat, not looking at Nathan. “That’s.. Weirdly poetic.” Nathan muttered, blinking. “It wasn’t, it was a pre-apology, so he could hurt me later and pretend it was philosophical.” Mira snapped, her voice hardening. For a beat, they walked in silence, just the distant sound of breathing behind cell walls and the quiet whirr of alien machinery thrumming in the bones of the ship. “I used to wake up next to him thinking maybe I'd finally fixed him, maybe love was enough, maybe if I just kept being there, he’d stop trying to set the whole world on fire for not raising him properly.” Mira paused to scoff, “And now he’s got a literal space hydra living in his skull telling him he’s a god. My therapist told me not to feed into his delusions, but if the space dragon knows more than a professional." Mira trailed off, “Mira, I don’t think I should know all this..” Nathan winded, Mira stopped, turned, and looked him dead in the eye through the slits of her gold masquerade mask. “Why not? He’s not Ren anymore, if he’s really just X now..” She paused, gesturing around them, to the cells, the horror, and the waking giants above. “Then he wouldn’t care, he wouldn’t care about anything except the sound of his own name being chanted by monsters.” Mira pointed out, Nathan said nothing unless one counted a silent: ‘fair enough.’ But ultimately, he didn’t have to.
The air in the lower deck of the prison ship grew heavy with temperatureless humidity, the kind that seemed to crawl up one's neck and whisper: ‘Don’t touch anything.’ The walls wept slow beads of bio-gel, and the soft hum of alien machinery shifted with every breath— as if the ship itself were listening, deciding whether or not to crush them. Mira hadn’t stopped talking, if anything, she was spiraling, and Nathan was trying very hard not to encourage it, even if a part of him wanted the gossip. “He used to tell me I grounded him,” Mira continued, her voice rising. “But then he’d disappear into Apex for days, no messages, just silence, he didn’t want grounding, he wanted validation for his god complex." Mira ranted, Nathan rubbed the back of his neck, unsure what to say. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but.. You’re trauma-dumping during a jailbreak.” He pointed out. “Well, forgive me for not booking a therapist aboard the alien mothership.” Mira snapped, Nathan opened his mouth— then immediately closed it.
“…Help..” A low and raspy voice croaked, it was fractured at the edges, like the sound had to squeeze through something rusted and organic. They both froze, Mira’s fingers twitched toward the hidden blade under her coat while Nathan took a slow step forward, peering into the cell shaped more like an open lung than a room— ribs of chitin layered in pulsating cords, veiled with thick static membranes. Inside sat a man, or at least— what was left of one. “I.. Don’t know what’s.. Happening to me.” He stammered, Mira crouched behind the cell, peering in. “That’s not the standard Xilien technology, looks like a failed integration.” Mira noted, Nathan felt. a frown tug at his lips. “You mean.. They were trying to make him into one of them?” Nathan pondered, “Or worse— something for them.” Mira quietly guessed, watching as the man inside twitched, gripping his own arm like it might betray him. “They said.. I had potential, said I could hold.. Something inside me.” He paused, looking up. “Did I hold it? Did I let it out?” He asked, his voice cracking. “Am I still... Me?” He dared to ask, Mira looked at Nathan— for once, the venom in her gaze was gone. “We can’t leave him here.” She declared, Nathan nodded slowly, already moving toward the membrane. “Then let’s get him out before whoever he was supposed to hold gets curious.” Nathan added.
The membrane split like a wet hiss as Mira disabled the locking sequence, her fingers flying over the bio-circuitry with fluid expertise, eyes scanning for traps embedded in the prison’s nerve-paths. The cell peeled open like a mechanical iris, releasing a wave of sterile rot and ozone-laced air. The man inside flinched from the light, his hand curling against the ground like it didn’t trust gravity anymore. “Hey, hey— easy. We’re here to help.” Nathan assured in a low and steady voice, crouching beside him. “Can you tell us your name?” Mira asked in a significantly softer voice than before, the man blinked slowly as if blinking alone hurt him. “I think..” He paused, wincing. “I think my name is.. Shinichi..” There was another pause, his pupils dilating. “Shinichi Ozaki.” He finally managed to croak, Mira stepped in, placing a hand on Nathan's arm. “We need to move, he's stable enough, the neural locks here are old.. We’ve got a weapon the Xiliens never finished." Mira urged. Nathan looked at Shinichi, “Can you walk?” He asked, “I can.. Try.” Shinichi muttered, his voice had more weight now, less glitch and significantly more man.
Notes:
anyone whos watched final wars knows shinichi ozaki is crucial in taking out controller x 😋 thanks sm for nearly 1.5k hits, im sorry for the lack of update im currently juggling another fic and fixated on my next mv fic so motivation is hard to come by... 🥀 i will finish this tho, i have a solid ending in mind
Chapter 42: all the good girls go to hell
Summary:
My Lucifer is lonely
Standing there, killing time
Can't commit to anything but a crime
Peter's on vacation, an open invitation
Animals, evidence
Pearly gates look more like a picket fence
Once you get inside 'em
Got friends but can't invite them
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Upon waking up, the room bloomed open in hues of red and blaring noises.
Consciousness reassembled itself around the edges of Gigan’s jagged mind like shattered glass melting back into form. His vision cleared not from sleep, but from containment, not unlike the way a blade awakens from its sheath in the sense it awoke with equal purpose and malice.
Out of all sensations to first feel, the first one that occurred was pressure.. Metal restraints vaporizing under a flex of his saw-lined forearms. The neural chains snapped with a shriek of dying code, leaving the hangar bar trembling as his weight rejoined the world. Gigan’s vision calibrated in static scarlet, grainy like old footage, his gaze was quick to settle on the alive and well control room. So, Gigan did what came naturally!
Of course, if it wasn’t obvious enough, he charged, scythes dragging sparks across the floor, tail smashing through pylons and vaulted conduits. He could hear screaming, unfortunately not in terror, but in frequency. He convinced himself the ship was pleading ‘Don’t, don’t, don’t.’ In its ancient tongue just so he could convince himself he’d landed a kill, which only made him laugh harder. After slamming the prison’s control room like a nexus with one scythe arm sweeping through a column of Xilien interface glass, the other scythe drove deep into a pulsating core node that screamed like a child when breached.. Circuits fried, panels burst, prisoner systems collapsed, effectively sending the entire deck in a panic of alarms and flickering glyphs. “Too easy.” Gigan muttered, ensuring the whole ship felt his grin. He reveled in this part— the helpless scrambling, the loss of control, the pain, and the cowards behind glass walls made for the best screams. “Hey hey hey,” He chirped to no one in particular, his internal voice a buzzing sawblade of glee. “The Controller said wait for deployment, but you know what I have to say to that?" Gigan pondered, spinning his bladed arm in a flourish, carving a light fixture into molten slag. “Surprise..” He sneered, turning his attention toward the secondary systems, scanning for containment backups— anything that might try to reverse what he’d just done. Nope, all gone, all wrecked, just how he liked it. Above, he could feel Monster X stirring in his pod in a restless, annoyed, and slow to wake manner, likely irritated to be on the fighting side of his cousin-brother-thing. “Bet you’d still steal my kills.” Gigan grumbled, snorting static as he glanced at the twitching husk of the control room, sparking like a dying insect beneath his scythe.
Gigan descended through the clouds with a sound like rippling metal, his scythe arms catching moonlight in jagged gleams. The air tasted like ozone, burnt bark, and blood— delicious. Below him, the battlefield simmered, littered with shattered canopies of Simian architecture and the twitching corpses of creatures that simply didn’t fight hard enough. “This planet’s a goddamn zoo.” Gigan observed, spinning in a wide, lazy spiral as he scanned the terrain with infrared eyes.. As far as his senses knew, there were Titans here, or had been. He remembered the names of the Earth ones, most of them were useless, consisting of lumbering piles of prehistoric ego that either bowed to whats-his-face or died screaming, a few put up a fight, a few bit back.. But only one name mattered now: the juvenile, the offspring, the not-so-little “maybe” of Ghidorah’s legacy.
Gigan’s HUD zoomed in on a massive heat signature, buried in the foliage beyond the battlefield. Either slumbering or nesting, but certainly watching, he could feel its gravity in the world like a second moon. “There you are, you little three-headed bastard..” He muttered to himself, truth be told, Gigan didn’t know how it got there, and he honestly didn’t care. If it had multiple heads and an attitude, it was his kind of problem. And yet, that wasn’t what burned him.
Gigan’s mood soured as his thoughts spiraled backwacks, past the plasma, past the bodies, past the glory— to the festering core of it all: Ghidorah, that bloated, whispering parasite crammed inside Controller X like a snake coiled inside a corpse.. Even though Gigan was being metaphorical, it wasn’t that far off. If one asked Gigan, Ghidorah was more like a bastard with too many mouths and no balls. Look, he didn’t hate Ghidorah, he respected power.. What he hated was how every Xilien from the council down to the piss-scrubbing foot soldiers now answered to a glitchy meat puppet with one glowing eye and a mouth full of quotes from a hydra.. Controller X? More like Ghidorah’s bitch.
The guy had promise once, if Gigan remembered correctly, his name was Ren Serizawa, a human prodigy turned mad dog. Gigan had gotten quite bored from being just a head in a room and went on some forums, he’d seen the tapes, read the classified logs.. Hell, he had liked the guy at first.. Anyone who builds a metal lizard to kill Godzilla out of sheer jealousy earns a place in Gigan’s cold, dead heart. But now? He was nothing more than a conduit, a shiny, hooded mouthpiece with issues and a storm spirit whispering bedtime genocide in his ear.. And San, San was largely considered the weakest link, and somehow that made him the most tolerable. Maybe it was because San laughed at Gigan’s joke, didn’t bark orders so directly like Ichi or scream like Ni, but still, unlike Ni who obviously wanted to usurp Ichi, San lacked any ambition and was content sitting on his constantly-ripped-off head, happy being one third of a tyrant. Ni had the right idea, because if Gigan had that kind of power, he’d cut off his brothers at the neck and build himself a throne from their skulls, that was how one ruled, that was how one earned the alpha roar Ghidorah had but Gigan somehow wasn’t worthy enough to earn.. But San just giggled, chirped snarky shit like the wise guy he was, and settled back into the gold trinity like a stoner crawling back into bed with his ex. How pathetic was that?
As Gigan soared over the final ridge, he unsheathed both scythes with a metallic shriek that echoed for miles, the scent of the coming fight was in the wind, fucking finally, was he right? At the end of the day, he didn’t care who the Simians were, didn’t care what X’s ‘plan’ was, he just wanted to make something scream, and then he’d make sure that little three-headed orphan knew exactly who its daddy wasn’t.
The Simian sky cracked as Gigan landed, he wouldn’t say he landed, rather slammed into the battlefield like a buzzsaw hurled by a particularly vengeful god. The ground screamed, split, and smoked where his spiked feet had struck, stone and moss pulverized beneath his scythe-for-talons. His shadow stretched over the battlefield, a blade-shaped omen painted across the broken canopy of the Simian capital. He let out a shriek that wasn’t a roar so much as a metal-on-bone screech, a banshee’s laugh dragged through a dying mod. Simian troops in the distance stopped and stared, not with courage, but dread. “Aww yeah, that’s the stuff.” Gigan sneered, twirling one scythe-arm just to hear the air break. Of course, Gigan couldn’t have his moment without something buzzing in his optic feed. “If I recall, I said wait..” The unimpressed voice grumbled as a portal yawned open just behind the nearest rise— a vertical slit of deep obsidian rimmed in crackling white, humming not unlike a suppressed shriek.
Out of it stepped Controller X, the fabric of his black and gold coat fluttering against gravity, the silver slash of his visor gleaming like a drawn blade. His expression was unreadable beneath the glow, but the tension of his posture— the rigid set of his shoulders and the clenched fists spoke volumes, he stood still for a moment, just watching. “He just had to land like a showman..” X muttered aloud, voice flat and dripping acid. It wasn’t that he wanted the attention on himself, his preference for under the table and behind the curtain hadn’t changed, it was that he’d specifically said don’t release the Xilien Titans.. X rubbed the bridge of his nose under the visor, exhaling through clenched teeth. “Everytime I give an order, someone hears interpretive dance.. I know what I'm talking about, I'm from a planet with nearly twenty Titans.” X grumbled, not bothering to speak to Gigan, nor to shout over the battlefield. He simply turned around, raised a hand, and opened another swirling rift, the shimmering portal back to the mothership, folding open like a wound in space. “Try not to decapitate anyone important.” X deadpanned in a flat and dry tone, it wasn’t a request, but they’d probably take it as one.
Gigan, halfway through mimicking a flex, gave a lazy salute with his free scythe. “Yeah, yeah. Go do your paperwork, Controller.” Gigan jeered, X said nothing, he vanished into the portal with a flick of his coat, letting the white void swallow him whole. And just like that, he was gone. Carelessly leaving Gigan, the battlefield, and the ongoing bloodbath behind.
The corridor leading from the portal chamber buzzed with a sterile hush, lit by the dull throb of circuit-veined walls and the faint hiss of life-support systems pumping recycled atmosphere through the aliens ship’s lungs. Controller X stepped through the threshold, bootheels striking the floor in deliberate clicks, each one the sound of a verdict being rendered. His coat fluttered behind him like the trailing smoke of a bomb that hadn’t finished detonating, the door almost closed behind him before the tension cut. “Oh, for f—” X began, he didn’t finish because standing not twenty meters down the corridor, caught like rats halfway to the neural core were Nathan, still dusty from his adventure in the ship and twitching with guilt, Mira, her gold masquerade mask crooked on her cheek, pulse hammering in her throat, and some new face X didn’t recognize.
Controller X stopped in his tracks, his posture shifting from annoyance to stillness, like a blade held mid-swing. The green ‘eyes’ in his visor that were the exact same shade as Ichi’s mechanized eyes glower brighter. “Why has nobody taken out the garbage yet?” X drawled in a rarely low and seething tone. Nathan tensed but held his ground, gripping a stolen Xilien shock baton like a glorified glowstick. X was far from alarmed, his gaze shifting past Nathan and past the awkward silence, all the way to Mira, and suddenly, the Xilien stillness cracked. “We can’t have children if I'm dead.” X pointed out, “We couldn’t have children anyway, you’re not Ren. You’re a plague that’s wearing his face like a trophy.” Mira shot back, jaw clenched to restrain herself from tearing him a new one. X finally took in the third figure, Shinichi Ozaki— unkempt, twitching slightly from whatever experiment he was subject to, but standing tall despite it. The red veins beneath his skin pulsed with power that didn’t belong to the Xiliens or the Titans, something else, all he knew was it was something harder to define. X’s smile vanished— whether from Mira’s statement or from the sight of Shinichi, it vanished nonetheless. In one movement, he raised his hand, electricity cracking between his fingers with violent intent. “And who the hell is this one supposed to be?” X demanded, the current surged, but was quick to stop mid-burst, because when X reached for Shinichi’s thoughts— there was nothing, no access, no hook to sink into, no foothold in the mind. X’s hand faltered mid-air, the scrunch in the visible part of his face making it known his gaze was narrowed without any direct eye contact. “…Why can’t I hear you?” X pressed, Shinichi blinked once, his posture unfocused. “You’re a Kaiser..” Shinichi observed, X paused— like, really paused, his head tilted, the grin creeping back up to his cheek like a virus crawling home. “Is that what it’s called? Kaiser, could be worse..” He mused, but his gaze turned back to Shinichi, more curious than furious now. “Come with me.” X stated, Shinichi hesitated, looking— without realizing, toward Mira and Nathan. X noticed, his patience wearing thin. “No, no.” He grumbled, taking a slow and deliberate step forward. “Don’t look at them, look at me.” X snapped, “This isn’t about them, this is about what you are.” He clarified, Shinichi swallowed, his hands twitching at his sides, and finally he stepped forward, one foot, then the other. “Good.” X turned his back, already walking. “Let’s find out what a Kaiser’s made of..” He sneered.
The deeper they walked into the mothership’s heart, the more the alien sterility gave way to something Shinichi was actually familiar with. The walls softened into smooth white paneling, no flickering alien glyphs, no telepathic surveillance nodes pulsing overhead. Just cool LED lights, beige floors, and the gentle bum of a high-end climate control system.
Shinichi realized it was a room made for a man who used to be human.
Controller X led Shinichi Ozaki into what looked like an upscale therapy suite mixed with a luxury office— marble desk, plush seating, one of those mounted sound wave sculptures that rich people installed when they ran out of personality. “Sit. Don’t worry, that one doesn’t bite, and if it does, it’s got a good taste.” X sneered, gesturing casually toward the chair. Shinichi eyed the chair like it might detonate but sat anyway, albeit slowly, the synthetic leather creaking under him. As for X, he didn’t sit, instead standing at the far wall, rolling a sleek glass orb between his fingers like a stress toy, eye half-lidded beneath his visor. “Just a heads-up..” He began, “I have what you’d call a split personality disorder, so if I start talking like a poet, or screeching in Old Babylonian, or laughing at nothing— just know it’s probably not me.” X assured, Shinichi cocked an eyebrow. “Like Bunny and Oliver?” Shinichi pondered, X’s brow twitched, “What?” He muttered, seeming genuinely confused.. Which tracked, because as far as Shinichi knew, he was a millennial, not only that, but he was in a coma for three years and would have no way of knowing what Shinichi was referencing. “Nothing..” He trailed off, feeling silly. Thankfully, X let it go, waving it off with a tired sweep of his hand. “I’m not one to stall, let’s get to the point.” He declared, pacing a slow circle around Shinichi like a curious vulture. “Mira. How’d you get her on your side?” X asked, Shinichi squinted, crossing his arms. “I just met her.. Pretty sure she’s not on my side, it seems she’s just doing this because she loves you.” Shinichi vouched, X stopped in his tracks.
For a moment, just a sliver of one, the Controller’s mouth opened like he didn’t expect the words to hit the way they did, then he let out that infamous laugh— unhinged, electric, full of mirth and menace, a glass-hard cackle like a storm watching one through a window. “Oh, good.” He managed to rasp between snorts, pressing his palm to his visor. “I thought she was avoiding me because she was scared Ghidorah would have me kill her.” X sneered, Shinichi blinked. “Hmm..?” He muttered, he wasn’t sure what part to react to— the suggestion that X was joking, or that he was being serious. As subtly as he could manage, Shinichi shifted his breath, just a little, let the room hum, and finally reached out with something new: energy, an echo, a flicker of a try.
It wasn’t a very well thought out attempt considering X had more Xilien— well, Kaiser experience than Shinichi did, regardless, he noticed instantly. “Put them away, Shinichi.” X demanded, his voice dropped an octave, not angry, rather disappointed. “Not going to hurt you, or Nathan, or Mira, or your families.. Besides.” He paused, there was an intentional beat. “You’d lose.” He deadpanned, Shinichi leaned forward, fingers twitching faintly against the armrest. “Then why’d you bring me here?” Shinichi dared to ask, jumping in his seat when X set the glass orb down with a soft clink, turning to face him fully. “Because I want to help you.” X simply put, Shinchi barked a much needed short, humorless laugh. “Help. From the psycho who revived Ghidorah for the third time and unleashed hell on his home planet?” Shinichi paused at the audacity, tilting his head. “You think that sounds like something I’d want?” He alleged, X stared at him for a moment longer. “Look, most of them were content letting me get raped in prison.” He pointed out, the words dropping like steel on glass— flat, cold, and somehow shattering at the same time. “So forgive me if I'm not overwhelmed with sympathy for a species content with being ants.” X attempted to justify.
The silence after that was not quiet, it thrummed. Shinichi swore he only looked away for a second, but it was enough for X to step forward, their proximity close enough to the point where he could feel the unsettling madness radiating off X, his breath was cold and clammy the same way a corpse was. “You need me, Shinichi.” X pressed, leaving the silence inside the Kaiser’s room so thick it was enough to choke on. The smooth, sterile walls— so carefully tailored to resemble a human setting — felt much more akin to a padded cell, an asylum constructed not to protect its patient, but to hide the madness more tastefully. Controller X stepped away from Shinichi, opting to lean against the edge of the desk with one arm crossed and the other resting casually, as if he wasn’t trying to sell Shinichi Ozaki the soul of the universe like a sleazy car dealer peddling a death wish. “You’re all alone.” He reiterated, taking another step forward, unable to decide if he wanted to be near or far away from Shinichi. “I’ve been there, the rot at your heels, the silence in your skull. You start talking to yourself just to remember what a voice sounds like that isn’t a scream.” X muttered in a low and almost gentle tone, oozed like oil through the quiet. Shinichi hated how right he was, swallowing the bile in his throat. “Get to the point.” He snapped, his reply came fast and sharp, cracking the tension like a snapped cable. X paused, almost smiled, something that struck him, not so much anger as it was recognition, like looking in a mirror and seeing an earlier version of himself slap the future across the face. He nodded once, albeit slowly. “Don’t sell yourself short trying to protect humanity..” He advised, his voice coiling into something smoother and darker. “Been there. Done that. You know what you get?” He pondered, lifting a hand, miming a newspaper headline. “They label you worse than Bin Laden. And they believe it.” X sneered, “What do you say, hmm? Don’t make the same mistake Lind did. Join me.” He offered, Shinichi stood slowly.
The chair hissed beneath Shinichi as it slid back, he didn’t shout, didn’t break anything, instead he paced. “You’re right..” Shinichi muttered in an unusually calm tone given the circumstances. X’s visor flared faintly, studying Shinichi to figure out if he was being genuine or not. “This whole place..” Shinichi muttered, motioning around him. “I’m so fucking tired of listening to people tell me I need to be shitty in order to win.” Shinichi seethed, meeting X’s gaze with a furious gaze of his own. “Fuck you, fuck Ghidorah, fuck Gigan.. And fuck this ‘whatever it takes’ crap.” He spat, his voice broke only slightly, though enough to reveal the hurt beneath the fury. “You’re just gonna end up sitting on this steaming pile of shit you’ve built and wonder why it smells like hell. I’m done, i’m fucking done, i’m not doing it anymore.” Shinichi concluded, X pushed off the desk, pacing now— a slow orbit around Shinichi like a wolf circling another predator, he was no longer smiling, just watching. “You’re not going to be doing anything if someone kills you, it would be a shame.” X deadpanned in a flat tone, Shinichi turned with eyes like steel tempered in betrayal. “Maybe, but at least I won’t be working with a fucking nutjob. So either kill me, or walk me the hell out.” Shinichi demanded, for a moment, they stood there for a breathless eternity, then X stepped closer, close enough that the glow of his visor cast an eerie gleam over Shinichi’s face. “Keep this between us..” He lowered his voice to a murmur, something deadly tucked inside it. “It’d be really rough to take out a fellow Kaiser..” He paused, deliberately. “..But not impossible.” X finally got to the damn point, turning his head, just slightly and missed it.
Shinichi’s fingers, smooth as muscle memory, had reached the desk behind him. And when X turned back, the cold barrel of a stolen Xilien laser gun was pressed neatly against his visor, Shinichi was careful not to flinch, blink, or lower his arm. Despite his firm grip, the laser gun quivered in Shinichi’s hold, not from his hand, but from the slow precise pull of a force colder than fingers, invisible as a lie, and deliberate as gravity. The weapon lifted away, hovering midair for a breathless beat before drifting smoothly into Controller X’s open palm, he didn’t gloat, not in his voice, anyway.. But the smile, half-shadowed under his visor reeked of smug control. “I’m sure you’ve seen this in movies.” X began, turning the gun over, examining it like a bored critic. “It’s called Russian Roulette. You place one bullet in the chamber, spin the cylinder, and pull back the trigger. And before the next round, you spin it again.. It resets the odds back to one-in-six.” He trailed off, looking up with a glinting visor. “But I'd like to make the game a little more serious..” His voice dropped an octave, carrying more gravel than charm. “Because you’re special, Shinichi.” X sneered, Shinichi stiffened but tried to mask it with glare, though there was no way to hide the way his heart hammered— louder than the silence in the room. “Cut to the chase..” Shinichi grumbled, X chuckled— not the usual maniac laugh, but a seemingly soft one. “No re-spins.” He declared, holding the weapon up, rolling the power cower cylinder with one slow, metallic click. “We’ll take turns pulling the trigger, no resets, no second chances.. The bullet will fire within six attempts, and the game will be over.” X concluded, tapping the butt of the gun against the table. “What do you say?” He pondered, Shinichi’s jaw clenched, he hated that his hands were sweating, hated that he was considering it, but he nodded and X smiled like the sun was about to die.
The Controller led Shinichi to a small, sleek circular table, designed for diplomacy, now a place of death. Two minimalist chairs sat across from each other, and the lighting in the room dimmed automatically as they sat as if the mothership knew how this story would go. X set the gun down without care, spun it, it whirled in tight, deliberate circles, humming faintly until the spinning came to a halt, pointing at Shinichi. With a deep breath, he reached out, picked it up, held it to his temple..
Click.
Nothing.
Shinichi’s breath left his lungs like steam in winter.
Across from him, X raised a gloved hand to his face, unlatched the visor, and finally removed it. Shinichi sucked in a breath, analyzing the upper half of the Xilien Controller’s face— it was a battlefield if he’d ever seen one, what had once been the brooding, sharp-eyed gaze of Ren Serizawa was now a mess of burned, electrified skin and raw nerve endings— the right eye gone entirely, the socket reduced to a twisted crater of shrapnel and scorched flesh. The skin surrounding it had grown infected, angry and inflamed, likely untreated since his departure from humanity.. As for the remaining eye..? It wasn’t even consistent to put it simply, it was sometimes brown, sometimes gold, sometimes nothing.. And Shinichi couldn't help but ask himself: is Ghidorah home right now?
What pulled Shinichi out of his train of thought was when X raised the laser gun with little to no hesitation, he held it to the side of his head, closed his eyes..
Click.
Nothing.
But his expression was disturbingly.. Relieved. Like every time it didn’t fire was a quiet disappointment, he set the gun down on the table again with no fanfare, no grin, just eerie calamity. “Your turn, Shinichi.” X deadpanned, the gun sat heavily in Shinichi’s hand, not by weight— but by implication. It was a metal secret, one click away from rewriting the room. He twirled it once, lazily, the motion too casual to be genuine. Inside, his pulse roared like a drumline, he didn’t look at X..
Instead, Shinichi just brought the barrel to his temple again.
Click.
Another miss.
Shinichi exhaled through his nose and tossed the gun across the table, where it spun once like a roulette wheel before stopping in front of Controller X. He didn’t move to pick it up right away. Instead, he opted to lean forward slightly, one scarred eyebrow twitching. “I’ve always wondered..” He began, tone almost controversational. “..How you, of all the experiments the previous Xilien regimes held, made it out alive.” He paused, tilting his head. The light caught the infected crater where his eye once was, casting shadow across the bridge of his nose. “Because for one thing, Shinichi— you’re not very interesting.” X deadpanned.. That hit, a direct, quiet strike.. Shinichi's shoulders twitched, his jaw tightening, X saw it before he could conceal it, filed it away with surgical satisfaction. Then, as if to prove something, he picked up the gun.
No slow build this time, no warning, Controller X shoved the barrel between his lips..
Pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
X held it there for a moment longer, eye closed, teeth barely parted on the trigger, then he slowly removed the weapon and set it back on the table, leaning back like it was a casual after-dinner gesture. Shinichi stared, “What the hell is wrong with you..?” He muttered, reaching for the weapon again as he had agreed to this.. Even though he was taking it back. “What’s the matter?” X taunted, his voice coming in a whisper yet sharp as a garrote. Shinichi’s hand froze, lips pursing into a thin line. “Is your mind racing?" X mused, his voice now smooth and bordering on amused. “Ghidorah was tough on me, you know. Made sure I was ready.. Cut out for this.” He trailed off, leaning forward. “Now your odds of death are one in two. That’s pretty high indeed..” He sneered, voice coiling once more. “I’m sure you’re afraid, there’s lots going through your mind, isn’t there?” X alleged, Shinichi said nothing, but his grip shifted on the gun to be a little tighter. “Let me guess what you’re thinking right now.. The gun is in my hand, screw the rules, pull the trigger once or twice and I can blow this guy’s face clean off.” X pointed out, Shinichi’s hand trembled once, then steadied with a deep breath, though X didn’t blink. “Bedore I die, I'll have you admit one thing..” X began, his words now coming out slow as if he was worried he’d actually die. “That you’re cattle, just like everyone else.. A frightened, manufactured morsel that lucked out and escaped the butcher..” He paused, watching, eye glowing faintly gold beneath the scarred flesh. “Just cattle, Shinichi.” He reiterated. Shinichi stared forward, not at X— through him.
Shinichi raised the barrel to his head.
Paused.
And—
Click.
Nothing.
Again.
X exhaled softly, the grin returning like a cockroach. “One left..” He muttered. The gun was still warm in Shinichi’s hand, not from height, rather from the weight of inevitability. It sat there between him and X like a promise in steel. Slowly, he lowered the barrel, not to the table, but directly to Controller X, centered right between where his right eye once was and his barely-intact left eye.
The grin vanished from X’s face like a candle blown out in a storm. For the first time in their conversation, his expression faltered, not theatrically, hell, not even melodramatically, just.. Human. A flicker of something ancient and biological gripped his features, not fear of death— rather fear of being outplayed. “What’s the matter?” Shinichi asked in a low voice, his tone a precise echo of X’s earlier mockery. “Is your mind starting to race?” He pondered, leaning forward with his grip on the weapon unfaltering. “That’s right. Screw the rules, right? With a single pull of the trigger, you could kill me.” He pointed out with venom in every syllable, narrowing his eyes. “But I'll have you admit one thing first..” Shinichi began, the air tightening, pressurized like it had to hold its breath. “You put a visor over your face and do whatever your three-headed master tells you to do.. You run. You bark. You wag your tail for them..” He trailed off, the laser gun gleaming faintly under the ship’s overhead glow. “You’re nothing more than their dog.” Shinichi spat.
X didn’t speak, didn't blink, but his jaw twitched.. A tick, small, but real.. The truth had found its mark, and it stung.
For a moment, it looked like he might lunge, or lie, or laugh. But instead, he reached out, slowly and steadily took the gun back.
Held it in his scarred hands, now noticeably shaking.
He didn’t point it at Shinichi, he stuck to his set rules and pointed it at himself. “I’d rather die.. Than admit I belonged to anyone.” X vowed.
He turned the barrel.
Placed it just above the edge of his infected, cratered right eye.
Click.
No.
BANG.
The bolt of purple energy erupted from the side of his skull— searing through the scalp and scar, flesh and thought, the air sizzled. The light in his one good eye flickered, fluttered— and died.
Controller X slumped back in the chair.
Motionless.
A trail of smoke rose gently from the side of his head, curling like incense at the altar of a fallen god.
Notes:
sorry for the lack of updates, shark week hit me pretty bad last week and overall writing this story has started to feel like a chore since my creative juices have really started running for my next monsterverse fic and i js wanna finish this and publish that.. with that being said, this story might take a bit of a hiatus since squid game 3 comes out on friday and i wanna capitalize on squid game hype to hopefully become a more recognized author, so i wanted this chapter to end with a bang (literally) to leave my audience on the edge of their seats in anticipation for the next chapter, dont say the major character death tag was there for no reason!
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