───「 Human POV 」───
In the eastern district of Hokkaido City Hall, General Sato Kozo meticulously orchestrated the battlefield. Every detail demanded his attention—drone installation sites, tank ambush points, personnel positions. Hours of careful planning finally complete, he allowed himself a moment's respite, sinking into his chair with a cup of cold tea.
Now, there was nothing left but to watch Godzilla's approach.
Studying the satellite footage from the evacuation helicopter, Sato's mind kept returning to one crucial observation: Godzilla could sense human activity. The evidence was undeniable.
After its initial atomic breath attack, the creature had targeted multiple hidden command centers with impossible precision. Each blast had taken the shortest possible path, cutting through mountain ridges as if guided by an unseen hand. The beast could detect human gatherings from over a hundred kilometers away.
But there was more to it. Godzilla's attacks on human targets differed markedly from its assaults on machinery. When engaging tanks and unmanned vehicles, it merely swept them away with broad, area-effect blasts. But against human concentrations, its atomic breath struck with surgical precision—always finding the densest gatherings of people.
This was their opening. Their one weakness to exploit. It was why Sato had chosen to make this final stand, carrying the hopes of tens of thousands.
───「 GODZILLA POV 」───
Godzilla's path to Hokkaido traced its earlier route through Japan, marking each city with radiation as it passed. Through darkness into dawn it walked, until the spring sun began to rise where ocean met sky.
Morning light caught its silver-blue scales, still wet with dew, creating an otherworldly radiance. Here stood nature's most noble creation—tall, robust, and fearless. Its eyes held both serenity and ancient wisdom, every movement a display of primal grace.
The creature paused to savor the warmth of daybreak. How long had it been since it last witnessed a sunrise from land? A hundred thousand years? Millions? Perhaps since the time when celestial bodies fell and black clouds first parted?
Long before humanity's emergence, Godzilla had dwelled in ocean depths, rarely leaving the trenches for extended periods. Like other ancient Titans, it had chosen seclusion in the world's most inhospitable places. Only the youngest Titans had roamed freely, and even they had eventually hidden themselves as humans rose to dominance.
But why? The question stirred ancient memories.
It wasn't humanity's fault—the Titans had hidden long before humans appeared. Nor was it climate change, which posed no threat to beings of their power. No, the truth lay deeper, in memories of an ancient war.
After the fall of celestial bodies and the clearing of dark skies, the Titans had fought each other endlessly. Their battles raged across land, sea, and sky, countless clashes that turned the planet into an inferno. While perhaps not as immediately devastating as human nuclear wars, their sustained conflict had left the world scorched and barren, extinguishing countless species.
Finally, one Titan who cherished other life forms could bear no more. Together with the then-Godzilla, it had convinced the others to cease their destruction. Under the glow of blue atomic fire, they had agreed: this world would no longer suffer at their hands.
That Titan had loved this world, always first to defend it in times of crisis. Its final wish had never been about destruction, but healing: "Let this planet recover!"
Now, Godzilla carried that wish forward. The first step toward fulfillment lay ahead.
Hokkaido awaited.