Flames raged over the ruins of Nagoya, casting a dark, ominous glow across the blackened sky. The once-thriving metropolis lay in utter devastation—charred, crumbling, and lifeless. Skyscrapers had collapsed into heaps of smoldering rubble, and white-hot patches marked the scorched ground where the fires had burned most intensely.
At the city's core, a massive crater stretched one kilometer wide, a testament to the sheer force of destruction.
Nagoya had been annihilated.
Perched on a small hill overlooking the ruined city, Godzilla stood motionless, its reptilian gaze fixed upon the burning landscape. It did not immediately march toward Osaka. Instead, it remained at the edge of the ruins, resting, allowing the searing heat within its body to dissipate.
Its temperature was dangerously high.
Godzilla could feel it—its internal systems were in chaos, the heat surpassing even the levels reached before unleashing its devastating breath attack. Though not at the critical threshold where its own nuclear core threatened to melt down, the heat still posed a significant risk.
Why?
It should not be this extreme. Godzilla had confidence in its ability to regulate temperature. Even after repeated breath attacks, it should have been able to cool itself within minutes. Yet, the heat remained trapped within.
Then it realized the cause.
The unmanned vehicles.
The humans had sprayed something onto its body—some kind of insulating material. A trap, not in the form of weapons, but something far more insidious. Humans had found a way to force its body to overheat.
Clever little creatures.
In the Osaka command center, the room erupted in cheers as Godzilla halted its advance. Officers and scientists alike celebrated their apparent victory, some embracing, others raising fists in triumph.
Even Sato, who had remained skeptical of the plan, allowed himself a moment of relief, his grip on his cup loosening slightly.
"We've done it! Godzilla has stopped!"
For now, at least.
The insulation spray had worked.
[Industrial Nano-Particle Insulation Spray]
That was the weapon humans had used against the monster. A material designed for thermal insulation, originally intended for industrial use—keeping liquids at a stable temperature, preventing extreme fluctuations. Now, it had been repurposed to trap Godzilla's heat, exploiting its own energy against it.
The idea had not come from the Eastern District alone. Scientists worldwide had analyzed the staggering energy output of Godzilla's breath attack and devised a chillingly simple strategy—if they could not defeat it, they would make it destroy itself.
By studying its cooling rate and energy dissipation, researchers determined that if Godzilla's cooling system could be disrupted, even basic movements would cause its internal temperature to skyrocket. Eventually, it would be forced into dormancy.
After testing countless materials, they had identified the perfect candidate: a nano-particle insulation spray that could compromise Godzilla's ability to shed heat with only a thin coating.
The problem? Applying it.
It wasn't a powder that could be dropped from bombers. It wasn't a gas that could be dispersed over the battlefield. It was a liquid—pressurized, requiring direct contact. That meant conventional methods were useless. Missiles, bombs, and aerial sprays were ineffective.
But Sato Hirozumi had devised a daring solution—force Godzilla to the ground and coat it while it was immobilized.
The plan was bold. Explosives had been placed in strategic underground locations—shopping malls, transport hubs, and key structural points in Nagoya, Osaka, and Hokkaido. The moment Godzilla stepped onto the designated area, the ground beneath it would collapse, forcing the creature to lose balance and fall forward.
In that moment of vulnerability, hidden vehicles would emerge, unleashing a concentrated spray of the insulation material across Godzilla's exposed back.
It was a desperate gamble. But mathematically, it was feasible.
Once fallen, due to its immense weight, Godzilla would struggle to rise quickly. It would take several agonizing minutes for it to regain its footing—minutes that the operation relied upon. During that time, the insulation spray would do its work, sealing its fate.
To mitigate the risk of failure, a secondary strategy had been implemented—to drain Godzilla's energy reserves, ensuring it could not unleash a final, catastrophic assault before succumbing.
"Mr. Sato, the world owes you a great debt."
A general representing the East Asian region extended his hand, followed by others, even those who had once opposed the plan. Sato prepared to acknowledge their gratitude, setting down his teacup with measured composure.
Then, the screen flickered.
Godzilla was moving again.