Godzilla: The Monarch of Ruins

I saw another beast coming up out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name."

– Revelation 13:1

The air was heavy with anticipation as I prepared for the interview. Sitting across from me in the dimly lit room was a man who had clearly seen things he'd rather forget. Smoke swirled lazily from his cigarette as he adjusted his tie, a futile attempt to mask his discomfort.

"The first landing," he said, his voice cracking slightly, "feels like it happened a lifetime ago. Let's begin."

I nodded, my recorder clicking on.

It all began in Cape Soya, a quiet town at the northern tip of Hokkaido, known for its serene coasts and fresh seafood but little else. It was the kind of place where the biggest excitement was a new flavor of ice cream at the local shop. My family's ancestral home perched on the southeastern coast, close enough to the water that you could hear the gentle lapping of waves at night. Peaceful, sure—but also remote and dirt cheap, which was why the new supersonic train expansion had its sights set on demolishing it.

"They offered us 10 million Vei," the man explained, tapping his cigarette into an ashtray. "It was an insult. The union's standards dictated 40 million, but they thought they could strong-arm my grandparents into settling for a fraction. Naturally, my grandparents refused."

He smiled faintly, as if recalling a moment of pride amidst the chaos. "They called me back from North America to deal with it, figuring I'd bring some backbone to the negotiation. I even dragged my mentor along for credibility—brilliant guy, Nobel-worthy, though he'd never admit it."

The negotiations were set for that fateful afternoon.

The house was a relic of the past, built with sturdy, earthquake-resistant materials—though, as it turned out, nothing could prepare us for what was coming.

"We'd just sat down when the tremors began," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

At first, it was subtle, like a passing train rumbling in the distance. But it didn't stop. The walls rattled, glasses clinked, and an antique clock fell off the mantle, smashing on the floor.

"Great," I muttered at the time, "they're trying to shake us into accepting the deal. Is this a tactic now?"

But then came the sound—low, thunderous booms that resonated deep in your chest, like the world's angriest timpani player had decided to rehearse outside.

"That's when we knew something was wrong," he continued, eyes narrowing. "We ran outside, expecting an earthquake or maybe a rogue tsunami. Instead, we saw… it."

At first, it was just a shadow.

A massive shape loomed beneath the water, larger than any fishing vessel and moving with deliberate menace. The dorsal fin emerged first, jagged and towering like a mountain slicing through the ocean. It was glossy black, reflecting the gray sky above, and it sent waves crashing against the shore.

"People started screaming," he said, lighting another cigarette with a shaky hand. "Not that I blamed them. I mean, what do you do when you see something like that? Call animal control?"

The creature rose from the water, standing at an impossible height—over 200 meters tall. Its skin was thick and rough, like volcanic rock, and its glowing dorsal fins crackled with energy.

And then it roared.

"Skreeonkkkkk!!!"

The sound was not just loud; it was physical. A shockwave rippled outward, shattering windows, knocking people to the ground, and sending nearby seagulls spiraling out of the sky like poorly piloted drones.

"That roar felt personal," the man said with a bitter laugh. "Like it wasn't just announcing its presence—it was scolding us for existing."

The air shimmered as the creature opened its mouth, revealing a pulsing blue glow. The light intensified, growing brighter and more focused, until—

BOOM!

A beam of plasma shot forth, cutting through the sky with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel and the destructive power of a thousand nuclear bombs. The city of Grafadamoni, once a shining beacon of offshore engineering, was reduced to a flaming ruin in seconds.

The man paused, staring into the middle distance. "You ever see a city melt? It's… surreal. Skyscrapers turned to liquid. Cars evaporated before the drivers could scream. The air itself felt like it was on fire."

Back in Cape Soya, chaos reigned. People ran in every direction, though it was clear there was no escape. The creature's massive tail swung lazily, toppling buildings like dominoes. Every step it took sent tremors rippling through the ground, creating fissures that swallowed streets whole.

"Funny thing," the man said, a trace of dark humor creeping into his voice. "We were so worried about the train station demolishing our house. Turns out, that was the least of our problems."

The creature—Godzilla, as it would later be named—surveyed the destruction with an almost serene expression, as if admiring its handiwork. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it turned and lumbered back into the sea, leaving behind a trail of fire and ash.

The aftermath was a nightmare.

Emergency services were overwhelmed. Over 500,000 lives were lost, with millions more injured or displaced. The city was unrecognizable—a smoldering wasteland that reeked of smoke and despair.

"They called it the God of Destruction," the man said softly. "But to me, it was something worse. It was a reminder—a message—that we've overstayed our welcome."

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long plume of smoke. "And you want to know the worst part? I think it's just the beginning."

March 16, 2208.

The day humanity learned that it wasn't the dominant force in the universe. The day a sleeping giant awoke, with a single objective: to make us leave.

Its name was Godzilla.

And it wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon.