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"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. Remember, O Lord, The Children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem who said, Rase it, rase it, even to the foundation thereof. O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us. Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones."

—Psalm 137:1, 7-9

ᚠ - ᚢ - ᚦ - ᚨ - ᚱ - ᚲ - ᚷ - ᚹ
ᚺ - ᚾ - ᛁ - ᛃ - ᛇ - ᛈ - ᛉ - ᛊ
ᛏ - ᛒ - ᛖ - ᛗ - ᛚ - ᛜ - ᛟ - ᛞ

Outpost 61a, Yunnan Province

Mothra screeches again, reaching a pitch that could crack the sky.

BLASPHEMY! VIOLATION! BAD ENOUGH TO HUNT AND KILL AND TORMENT MY CHILDREN... WORSE TO POISON THEM! WORSE YET TO DENY THE DEAD THEIR REST! ALL THAT LIVE SHOULD KNOW BETTER, EVEN GHIDORAH!

With a tremendous beat of her wings Mothra rockets into the sky, and Thor feels an impact within him, like the hand of a vengeful spirit taking him by the heart; even before she voices it he knows the force of an alpha's call, and is compelled to follow the queen into battle. His thoughts turn to the young hybrid and a fire blazes to life inside him – the memory of his fallen cub flashes in his vision, and Thor's armor pulses with blue electricity.

The two-headed hybrid is not his cub, he knows. But when young ones or humans are in danger, the spirit of vengeance will not be refused until all which threaten the small and weak are slain. To obey the will of an alpha's call is not a choice, but a compulsion. The others will follow as well. Thor beats his barrel chest and bellows his war-song into the air. Mothra soars higher and higher, swiftly vanishing above the clouds and leaving a trail of angry red bioluminescence in her wake. It won't be long before her call screams all around the world. All he needs to know is where the enemy is hiding.

Down in the outpost, the foundation vibrates with every beat of Mothra's wings before eventually subsiding; but soon another infrasonic rumble leaves the place rattled with subtle quakes. Madison grabs her father's arm as voices rise to a murmur almost indistinguishable from the rumbling.

"That can't be good," Brooks almost whispers. His face is covered in a sheen of sweat.

"No." Ling's voice is quiet with reverence, and just a touch of fear. "But now we have an idea of just how bad the situation is."

Even Mariko has to be pulled away from the windows by security guards when whatever build-up of force causes the glass to vibrate. Suddenly Madison's ears ring and the windows crack – sound explodes around them as though a wind god shrieks, high-pitched and guttural, and the sheer force of it knocks her off her feet. The windows shatter; Mark and the Chens use their own bodies to shield Madison and Ziyi and Yong from the flying glass shards. Meanwhile the whole facility is rocked by the force of the sound and power fluctuates wildly. One has to wonder what kind of damage would be sustained if Mothra had unleashed her call while on the ground.

Actually, she remembers something like this. Terror wakes up at the memory of Ghidorah's hellish wails awakening dormant Titans all around the world and calling them to rampage, but Madison stows her fear. This is Mothra's alpha call, that of a protector, and she's rallying the Titans to go to war.

Yonaguni

The call hits Rodan like a stab in the chest. Earlier, little Manda had jolted out of his nap as though bitten and raised a considerable fuss – bad feeling! Bad feeling! – ah, the dragons of Mu always were just like Godzilla and Mothra, always having a bad feeling about something. So Rodan followed the hybrid's scent where it'd vanished into the sea, having to hold Manda back from getting himself lost looking for them.

That's when the call sounds, and Rodan releases Manda when a tingle creeps into his talons; those tendrils along his little blue body may be small nubs now, but they can release enough venom to turn a brilliant predator stupid or even kill a lesser beast. And Manda is already possessed by the alpha call, body tense and fangs bared, pupils contracting into slits, tail poised to whip out and crack venom into anything that moves.

Wake up, little hunter! Rodan crows. You're already as reckless as your half-breed mother!

At the mention of her, Manda turns his head and hisses at Rodan, nictitating membrane sliding over his eyes to appear frightening. Rodan is pleased by the reaction, though he just snorts at him. But the call demands his presence, and he will not leave Manda unattended when whatever snatched up the hybrid may come back for seconds. It is difficult to battle while keeping hatchlings safe, but Manda is hardly defenseless and Rodan's kind have never been the sort to back down from a fight.

Berezniki, Russia

The light on his helmet flickers and... he returns to himself. His name is Nika and he works in the mines, or he did until the whole city started falling apart and the mines were closed off, and now he's stuck without a job to support his wife and sons. Did he... how could he forget that? Where is he? His surroundings don't look familiar; is this one of the old mines? Those are off-limits and guarded by police, though he recalls that hasn't stopped dozens of people from abandoning the city or vanishing into the ether (several of them being friends of his). Nika curses and tries to find his bearings, stares down the dark natural corridor he'd been facing. The darkness and humidity brings to mind the throat of some beast gaping wide to swallow up whatever prey that lets curiosity take over. An almost unnoticeable wisp of sweetness filters through the earthy musk, just enough to draw attention... but not enough to inspire curiosity. Nika decides to take his chances on the other way and turns around.

A faint voice echoes from the darkness behind him. It sounds like his son.

"...addy...hel..."

"Anton!" Nika does an about-face and charges into the humid shadows. "Stay where you are! Daddy's coming!" To hell with the feeling of running into a monster's belly, that's his little boy's voice! What's his son doing here? Svetlana was right, they should've moved away a long time ago, gone someplace where their home won't sink into the earth. Nika trips over something and scrambles, his helmet-mounted light blinking out and leaving him blind in the dark. He ignores how the brief flashes of light cause the tunnel's ceiling to look like an animal's spine. So many promises he's made over the last few years. Once he's found Anton and gotten out of here, they're going home and packing up, quarantine orders be damned. They'll drive far away and have ice cream and adopt a puppy like little Lazar has been begging for; they'll find a place lots of sunshine with no caves or mines, where he can play ball with his sons, where Svetlana can sunbathe and he can make love to his wife like they used to—

"...daddy... mama went... hel͠p..."

Nika slips and falls some distance like going down a rocky slide, or down a monster's gullet. The strangely sweet smell is stronger now, and his ears pop. He groans, smacks the flickering light on his helmet – and just a couple meters away is Anton, sitting on his knees and cradling something. Christ, he must have gotten hurt! Nika rushes to meet his son, ignoring the voice in his head that says Anton shouldn't even be here, he's bedridden with fever and should be at home with his mother and baby brother... he couldn't have gotten here unless...

"da̧d̴-͠d̛y."̢

Nika skids to a halt and freezes only a foot away, stares into a pair of blank, unseeing eyes. It's not Anton. Not anymore.

"d̸ad͡-̵d͏y," croaks the thing that looks like his son. Its neck tilts and the jaundiced skin mushrooms and cracks, stinking pus oozing out. "̵la̵-͟za͞r͠.̸ ̕ ͞sto͜pp̡e҉d. ̶ ̵mo͞ving̕."͞ In its arms and half-melted, half-fused to its body is a tumorous mass that might have been a three-year old boy. Nika chokes. He doesn't notice the body slithering up behind him, too transfixed by the creature his sons have become – didn't Svetlana say something about Anton getting sick after playing around the new sinkholes, where kids have disappeared? He should've listened to her then and kept a better watch over his sons. But he can listen now, now that her voice is whispering in his ear.

"Our babies," Nika whimpers.

"͠B̡a͠-bi̛e̡s," the infected Skullcrawler agrees. Its jaws yawn open and a prehensile tongue stretches out.

Nika remembers now. He brought his wife and children here because something in his blood told him Anton was sick and he could help. Something in the caves could make everything better. Svetlana fought about it, but only because what whispers up from the sinkholes hadn't settled in her brain yet; he'd told her about palach and it frightened her, and that confused him. The something in his blood promised that palach's coming would be wonderful and his son would be healed, so he brought Svetlana here first so he could make her understand. He thinks they got separated and she ran into something that stole her voice. Something sharp pierces Nika's spine and it feels like a hundred worms slither inside him. The Anton-thing shuffles close to embrace him. Nika had thought dying would be scary, or hoped it would be like falling asleep. But all he feels is hunger sweeping through him.

"w̴ę'r̸e̛ aļl.҉ ͝ go͜in͜g̵. ҉ ͘t͘o be̸.̶ ͠ ͡p͟i̧ece͝s. o͜f͝ ͠g͢od."

The Skullcrawler constricts them in its tongue and pulls them down its throat, peers curiously at the tunnel ceiling as dust falls; the alpha call of the Queen Gnat shrieks above ground and echoes through the earth, but the Many answer to only one master. They demand the presence of all their children and so the Skullcrawler obeys, soon reuniting with its siblings – other Skullcrawlers, large walking carriers of new children made clumsy in their haste, the head of a noble dragon, and others.

This city has been picked clean of meat and bone, but the Great One's god-body needs m̴͡or̨̛͞ȩ.͘͘ Just a temporary fix until the One Who is Many can reform their body to its perfected state, but if it requires them for strength the Many will happily offer their bodies. Without the Great One they are nothing but lost, broken pieces. And now that the Fourth is safe with her brother-sires their family will soon grow bigger and bigger. They will all be made whole.

...

she remembers mother's arms cradling her he remembers eldest brother's wings shielding him from the rain
she remembers seeing the smiling photo of a dead man he remembers the black joy of hearing countless screaming voices
she remembers her first kiss and her first heartbreak he remembers the taste of crying things crushed between his teeth
she remembers sensei's scent and feels whole he remembers killing them all and cracking open the sky and enjoys it
she remembers fear and darkness he remembers the dead and silent void of space

she remembers nothing he remembers nothing upon NOTHING spilling out between the stars
THEY remember sleeping in vast darkness nothing there no anger no sadness no beginning no end
the only thing that exists there is . . .
two small pieces . . . scattered, lost . . .
we are all connected

i need you

...

it calls
no resisting

...

oh that is the queen gnat's war song EARLIER THAN EXPECTED sister hears it sister is stirring OH HOW TOUCHING SO SENTIMENTAL no fair why doesn't she obey when we call that's not fair BECAUSE SHE IS EVEN SLOWER THAN YOU ARE sister is clever ONLY CLEVER FOR A HUMAN SHE DOESN'T YET REALIZE THE WAY OF THINGS the nature of entropy the nature of time HOW THE MORE SHE OPPOSES AND DEFIES THE NATURE OF THINGS THE MORE SHE SUFFERS because she holds on to her humanity THEN WE STAMP IT OUT WE HAVE ALREADY CHANGED HER MANY TIMES when we birth her next she will be something pure and perfected SHE IS NOW AS MUCH A FOREIGN INVADER AS WE ARE we have taken her life and given it purpose have given many lives purpose NOTHING OF WHAT SHE WAS WILL REMAIN she doesn't belong anymore IT WILL TAKE TIME BUT SHE WILL LEARN AND HER EYES WILL BE OPENED and she shall be as gods SHE WILL KNOW IN TIME THAT THERE IS NOWHERE ON THIS EARTH SHE WILL BELONG but she belongs with us all in good time it is through us she will learn IN THE END THE ONLY SANE CHOICE LEFT IS TO BURN IT ALL TO THE GROUND SHE WILL KILL THEM ALL

kill them all

Godzilla had already lost the Many's fleeing head and changed direction before Mothra's call reaches him; something like an itch in his scales, a disturbance in his territory. It is like an old wound reopening and festering, the phantom sensation of ozone burning inside him, much the same as just before Ghidorah was set loose. It cannot be ignored, and the Many will return to their invasive sire regardless. To restore balance to his territory is a compulsion.

Scylla has been following his trail some distance away, once she'd been positive the corpse left behind is only lifeless meat, as it is meant to have been. They have been crawling through one of many subterranean tunnels, deeper than little ones of this age have travelled but not deep enough to reach the World Root that leads to the Realm Below, when a call quakes through the earth. He feels the touch of a vengeful spirit and knows the call to be a command from the awakened Mothra to gather, hunt, and kill. Godzilla's mouth breaks into a grin. Much as he begrudged war, it has been far too long since he has enjoyed a hunt with her, and what kind of male would he be to refuse his queen's summons?

Castle Bravo

Something almost like a shock wave rattles the control center, followed by a deafening mechanical burst as the lights power back on. Foster reflexively shields her eyes from the lights after some hours of her sight adjusting to pitch darkness and exhales in relief when cool air rushes through the vents, feeling like a kiss from heaven on skin covered in layers of dried sweat. Through the window the pieces of gray corpse from earlier are still unmoving after Scylla had sprayed bacteria all over their insides, but Foster remains unconvinced they might be down for good. She also doesn't want to be around just in case she's right.

"Status!" she calls out, tongue heavy and feeling glued to the roof of her mouth.

"Everything's booting back up," Stanton reports and holds out his flask, figuring Foster could use a drink. She gratefully downs it like a shot glass, passes it back to him. "Thank god for small favors."

"We're not done yet. I want comms up and reports on everything that happened while we were out, the current locations on any Titans, what's happened to Monster X, all hands regrouping, and the Argo in the air! I think I speak for everyone when I say none of us will sleep at night unless we see to it this zombie apocalypse horseshit is very definitely, permanently, finally burned to ashes, and then we burn the ashes!"

Barks of agreement sound off from the present G-Team members; meanwhile Stanton and others get to work hailing any available channels secured or otherwise, reestablishing satellite connections, waiting for systems to finish rebooting. It takes an aggravatingly long time for anything to reach an acceptable level of productivity, and by the time radios start squealing with contact Foster's on it in a flash. A tired, pale face blips onscreen – Elle Brody. She's not a member of G-Team, but it's always heartening to see a noncom safe.

"Thank god," Elle sighs, sounding like she hasn't slept for a few days. "I was starting to worry. Ford's already on his way over via Osprey, ma'am. Should be there before too long."

The corner of Foster's mouth quirks into a half-smile and she asks for a rundown of recent events; Elle reports what she knows, between Monster X's capture and Susan Graham's ensuing heart attack. She, Elle and little Sammy are staying at a hospital in Ishigaki while the poor woman recovers.

"You think she's gonna make it?" Foster asks.

Elle sighs again. "She's a tough old broad, but... let me worry about her. You guys have bigger problems, if the horns of Jericho are any indicator."

"The what now?"

"You didn't notice? I don't know if sound travels that far that fast, but apparently Mothra's rounding up the Titans, 'Gondor calls for aid' and all that. Caused a small earthquake where we are."

"Must've been the shockwave that just knocked us back online," Rick muses. "Speaking of Mothra, the twins have been pinging us for a while now."

"Then hurry up and patch them in!"

Another screen pops up next to Elle, this time showing Ilene and Ling huddled together while figures bustle behind them. Ilene nearly shouts, "It's about damn time!"

"We just got power back on, Chen, cool your tits!" Rick snaps. "What's the situation with Mothra?"

"The Titans are converging to one location, and thanks to Madison we're estimating the target is Berezniki, Russia. Current course projections back this up. It might just be the source of this whole mess and where Monster X is being held."

"Perfect," Foster rubs her hands together. "We can meet up with the Titans there, maybe they can draw out the source and give us a shot. Can't do much damage, but the Argo can definitely give something Ghidorah-sized pause – so long as civilians in the surrounding towns follow evacuation procedures."

"Ma'am?" Barnes interjects. "Might be a good idea to contact Lt. Colonel Pasternak, request a cooperative effort with Russia's own forces – it's their turf."

"Good thought. Let's send the request and head out. The longer we stick around, the more trouble we might have to deal with."

Mark Russell appears over Ilene's shoulder looking on edge, like he's about to go on a tirade but surprisingly keeps himself as reserved as possible. Then again, despite a rocky first impression, Foster owes him her life; this is the same man who saved G-Team back in Antarctica and figured out the inner workings of Titan calls.

She says, "Dr. Russell, if you have any suggestions, I'm all ears."

The man swallows hard. "I don't know if it helps, but regarding Monster X, I'm having a thought. We still have the ORCA prototype, we have the means to communicate with Monster X as a human... but what if we called her as a Titan?"

Between both Chen sisters turning around to stare at him and everyone else watching through video screens, nobody seems to follow him. Nobody's shooting it down either, so it must be a promising idea.

Someone off screen clears their throat. It's Madison, and her barely audible tone is shaky. "Um, Dad, not for nothing, but... the closest thing I have to a frequency for them is the one Mom used for Ghidorah..."

"I know," Mark turns and holds her shoulder reassuringly. He could never in good conscience force his daughter to bring more trauma back to the surface. "But that's where we all come in. We're not using Ghidorah's frequency. We're gonna make a whole new one exclusive to Monster X. All we need is something both heads will respond to."

Foster wracks her brain for anything she knows of Graham that could be useful. Though she and the doctor weren't exactly friends, they were on amicable enough terms to share advice with each other; but with the Ghidorah head? Foster only draws a blank. Fortunately, Madison gets it before anyone else.

"The runes! Remember when San was reciting them?"

Is that what it'd been saying? Just an old-timey Viking alphabet? The Chens light up in agreement and Ling mentions how they also have a recording of some old incantation that could prove useful.

Elle chimes in through her own screen. "Hey, so I don't know much about acoustics, but does the Argo have anything like external speakers? If the prototype doesn't cut it, why not hook it up to the Argo and blast it from the speakers, make it sound like another Titan is calling... well, now that I say it out loud, I don't know how well that'll work..."

"No, that's actually a good idea," Foster says. "Call up Monster X and save ammo acting as a diversion, plus the Argo's no slouch in speed if evasive maneuvers are required."

"Since when did the Argo have external speakers?" Mark asks.

"It's a new addition," Rick explains. "Figured it'd be a less explosive alternative to getting attention than the stunt we pulled with Rodan, save ammo to save money. We were hoping for an ORCA 2.0 before testing it out, so now's as good a time as any."

"In any case," Foster interjects, "we have a location and Titans on our side. Besides, until we know for sure the headless snake on my lawn is definitely dead, I'm declaring a quarantine on Castle Bravo. All hands are getting the hell out of here."

"Understood," Griffin says, limping past Mark and in full battle dress uniform. "We're about to lift off over here and rendezvous with the Argo. See you in the sky, ma'am."

"Glad to hear it. Let's not waste any more time, people! Move like the devil himself owes you money!"

Outpost 61a

"You're actually letting me come?" Madison asks her father.

Mark shrugs. "Knowing you, there's not much point in keeping you here. It's funny. You're a lot like them in that respect."

Them meaning the Titans, of course. Madison decides to take that as a compliment and lets a grin spread across her face as she helps Mark with packing up the prototype ORCA. She's glad Ilene and Ling are coming as well, seeing as they're more familiar with the Elder Futhark than she is; hell, they might even make an incantation of it like the song they and their daughters sing to Mothra. Madison pushes down a spike of anxiety in her gut, remembering what happened the last time Mothra was in combat, and hopes that somehow the extended time spent metamorphosing has granted her greater strength this time around.

"Just... promise me one thing, Maddie?" Mark says. "Promise me you'll stay close, just in case something goes wrong...?"

Madison looks up at him, but Mark stares over her shoulder at nothing. Barely a year later and they're already heading straight for another battlefield among Titans; the fear that he'd come close to losing his only surviving child still creeps up sometimes, and the fact he's asking her to make a promise after the last time someone promised he'd see his family again resulted in tragedy only drives the fear deeper. Madison knows the feeling. She covers one of his hands with hers.

"I'll be careful, Dad. Cross my heart and swear to god... I'll swear to Mothra, too."

At least that gets a smile out of him. Mark pats her shoulder.

"That makes two of us," he says. "Let's get going, slick."

On their way to the Osprey with ORCA in hand, Madison hears Mariko babbling about something, and she catches one word in particular: kishin. Sounds familiar, probably from one of the folks at the old Yunnan outpost before that... mess, with Jonah and her mother. The Chens share goodbyes with Ziyi and Yong, promising to come back soon, and they jog after Ren as he walks up the loading ramp.

"Hey," she addresses Ling, "isn't a kishin some kind of god?"

Ling nods distractedly. "Kishin are wrathful, fierce deities," she explains. "If you see pictures of them they look frightening and even demonic, but they must be to act directly. Their purpose is to destroy obstacles to the Buddha, you see, so it takes a monster to kill a monster. Mariko was talking about Mothra, but wouldn't you say a description like that fits Godzilla?"

"That would explain a lot," Ren mutters.

A lightbulb flicks on in Mark's head; suddenly old Serizawa's faith in Godzilla and 'let them fight' mentality makes a lot more sense. Maybe Ren had unresolved issues with his father's devotion to a force of nature like that, and Mark can't blame him. He just hopes that the younger man's encounter with Monster X gave him some form of closure.

"I suppose you had an epiphany too?" Mark guesses. Ren sort of half-shrugs, half-nods, black hair falling over one of his eyes. Mark's voice falls into contemplative stage-whisper. "Your father would be proud of you."

Ren's visible eye widens, his icy mien falling away. "I hope so."

...

she remembers things that are not hers what he knows, she doesn't
he knows so many bad things wanted to protect her from the bad things he did didn't want her corrupted like him he cannot protect her from himself
it's okay. but what if you fall? be not like me.
if i fall, you will catch me. just like you came for me?
yes. will you come for me when i fall? always. i promise.

no more cages no more shackles no more masters
heart of my heart it's okay show me
we don't have to hide from each other
so many bad things but new good things too

i am you
i need you
i love you

they are . . .
she remembers a piece of her . . . he remembers her smile
bone of my bone . . . like bone-sprain so blood-sprain so joint-sprain . . .

so may they be mended

two small pieces . . . restored
now we are

ONE

...

brothers there is a problem THERE IS ALWAYS A PROBLEM WHAT NOW sister is awake and hungry and very very angry SHE FEEDS ON US FROM THE INSIDE WHAT A NUISANCE I'VE ONLY JUST COME BACK I SEE HER GAME it makes moving difficult we cannot go far like this the more she eats the more we use the many to regrow IF WE WANTED TO KNOW THE OBVIOUS WE WOULD ASK FOR IT WE ARE NOT IDIOT NEWBORNS AND THE QUEEN GNAT IS CLOSING IN SO ANNOYING no fair what makes the gnat so special the gnat doesn't want sister the way we do THE GNAT TRIED TO FIX OUR FIRSTBORN AND THINKS THAT MAKES SISTER-DAUGHTER BELONG TO HER not fair sister belongs to us we brought her back we perfected her the gnat already has her deep one! that's! not! fair! she's ours! SHUT UP SHUT UP YOU WHINE LIKE A BITCH IN HEAT MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL FOR ONCE AND MAKE HER STOP BEFORE WE GIVE HER A REASON TO FIGHT BACK JUST SWEET TALK HER YOU CODDLE HER AND THAT MAKES YOU HER FAVORITE WHAT A JOKE

It was more than just the desperate cries of the hybrid that woke Mothra; she can see and hear things that others cannot, but not with eyes and ears. While in her cocoon she'd "heard" a tremendous sighing gasp from somewhere far away in the Earth, carrying with it the discordant wails of many, many souls – a hundred, a thousand, tens of thousands, far too many to be allowed. Their cries are wrong, soured with decay, kicking and pulling like death throes on the fabric that Mothra "sees," what she calls Life-Strands. The Strands from the hybrid's cries came in fearful yellows at first and then twisted her notes into fierce red, like the red that'd enveloped her King when he (and she, in Spirit) pulsed with righteous fury and purified Ghidorah's previous body into nothingness.

Mothra is the serene mirror surface of a still sea reflecting the stars and moon, whereas Godzilla is the unpredictable and tumultuous sea in a storm, but even she can be roused to become like the maelstrom that consumes ship and land and beast. Too many souls have been wrongfully stolen away and... stuck, in a state of living death. To die is to be held once more in divine darkness, the Mother Darkness from which all Life was born; the body returns to earth as sustenance and the soul forgets, one day returning to Life as something new. But these thousands of little ones are kept prisoner, and the Mother Dark aches to hold Her children and comfort them. Mothra is mother to all life on this Earth, and will not suffer such blasphemy to continue.

And so she follows the sighs and wails here, to a sinking city silent as an abandoned cairn. Not all who heard her call will be able reach her in time, but just enough will know; already the living mountain that little ones call Methuselah strides alongside the river, the Parasite Queen approaches from the west, and Godzilla will catch up before long with Scylla in tow. Even Rodan is on his way. All around she can smell Ghidorah's thunder festering in the dirt and metal, wafting up from holes big enough for her or Thor to dive into. Far above her, dark clouds spiral in wait and almost seem to be moving away from here. Mothra watches the clouds suspiciously. Thor whines and sniffs for any sign of life, but only dust and echoes remain. Now he investigates a large sinkhole and catches Ghidorah's scent – he is suddenly possessed by visions of the past and leaps into the depths before she can stop him. Ghidorah will not let the last living Thunderer slip away again, and Mothra will be at a disadvantage fighting in tunnels, but perhaps...

Yellowish pulses of the Life-Strands follow the clouds; Mothra looks back where a manmade construct like a metal bird has been following her trail, and gets an idea. She trills and Methuselah bellows a cthonic rumble in response, the Queen Muto answering in turn, both understanding. Lead the metal bird to the cloud's epicenter, Godzilla will follow Mothra's scent to the target, and with Thor directly facing their enemy they shall unleash a multi-pronged assault to drive Ghidorah out of hiding.

USS Argo, Command Center

Preparations have gone without a hitch and all combat personnel have assembled, the Russells and Chens are working on that new ORCA signal for Monster X, so of course it's only natural for Foster's old friend Murphy's Law to be the bearer of bad news in some way; in this case, everyone working radio communications have been trying to hail anyone and everyone in Berezniki for several minutes now, only to receive no response.

"Anything yet?" Sam Coleman asks for the third time.

"I'm telling you, man, there's nothing but static," Rick replies. "All we need is fog and it'll be Silent Hill down there."

Sam rubs his hands together nervously. "That can't be right – there was around a hundred-and-fifty thousand people in this city. There must be someone left. Quarantine orders or no, they can't all have just vanished!"

"You wanna do our job for us?" snaps another communications officer.

Rick spins around in his chair to address Foster. "Lt. Colonel Pasternak coming in!" he calls out. "Patching him through."

The holographic image of Pasternak blips onscreen; his rough face is lined with age and evidence of an old knife wound, five o'clock shadow turning into the beginnings of a short beard.

"Colonel, we'll be late for the party," he announces. "Are evacuations underway?"

Foster pauses. She doesn't want to admit it, wants to hold out hope that Berezniki still has survivors. But seeing the creatures in the Ural outpost for herself, how quickly they can reanimate a single human, let alone something as big as a long dead Titan, and what it would take to put them down for good... still, she needs to personally see this mess cleaned up if she wants to sleep again.

"Berezniki's a ghost town, sir," she replies. "If anyone's left, they're not responding. But if what we saw in that outpost is any indicator, then I think we both know where all the civilians have gone."

Pasternak's expression turns grim with a deep crease in his brow; it's the look Foster recognizes as someone who wished they'd shown up sooner and prevented something like... this. You never get used to dead civilians, whether seeing them with your own two eyes or just imagining it.

"Understood," he says in a quiet voice. "This time we're going to be thorough. If you have the sky covered, we'll handle ground-side offenses, minimum safe distance. I think you'll appreciate the toys we're bringing to the playground... T-14 Armata. Armor-piercing projectiles, guided missiles, high explosive anti-tank shells, air-burst HE-Frag shells, and that's just what the main cannon can pop off. I trust you are not one to be outdone?"

Foster exhales through pursed lips, tries not to whistle. "Oh, I don't know, only got B-2s with GBU-57 bunker busters at the ready. Won't kill anything, but they'll hit harder than a nuke if we get lucky and land a direct hit. Y'know, nothing to brag about."

Pasternak coughs out a laugh and gives her a crooked grin. "Of course. Expect us to come in from the north."

The two salute and Pasternak's image blinks away. Outside, what should be a clear and starry evening sky is cloaked black with storm clouds, brief flashes of yellowish lightning winking in the dark like monstrous eyes. Foster steels her nerves; she's taken back to that day when Washington DC turned into a lost naval battle and the sky brewed with impossible monsters in a living hurricane. She's never taken much stock in mythology, seeing them as stories ancient civilizations used to explain natural phenomena, but in that moment truly came to understand the scale of those myths – like the world-ending power of Aztec gods or the final wars of Ragnarök. She only hopes they can all live to see another sunrise. Foster takes a mic from comms to make final preparations.

"Attention, all combat personnel. Please report to your action-stations. This is not a drill – I repeat, this is not a drill..."

Thor falls some distance before hitting solid ground, landing on all fours. Now he can smell blood, both the noxious black thunder-blood of Ghidorah and that of the hybrid – again he is beset with visions of his mauled cub. Vengeance takes hold. Patience is the All-Mother's virtue, but Thor is a creature of action and he will not be satisfied until the hybrid is secured. He chases Ghidorah's scent into one of the tunnels, something dried and sticky smacking with every stomp of his cloven feet.

USURPER! MURDERER! MONSTER! Thor bellows his challenge into the darkness. YOU MISSED ONE LAST THUNDERER!

The stale air heaves around him in annoyance and he follows the echoes, trusting in the range of his nose and ears. His blue storm charges, looking, waiting for a response. After a moment, he receives a yellow pulse. Now he must take care; the Enemy is ill-suited for underground combat, but Thor himself is just as susceptible to being crushed in these tight quarters.

WHAT A BOTHER. WHY ENTERTAIN ONE MISERABLE LITTLE COWARD, WHO TURNS TAIL AND ABANDONS HIS SPAWN? HE AT LEAST PUT UP A PROPER FIGHT, LIKE ANY SPECIMEN OF HIS MISBEGOTTEN KIND SHOULD! YOU'RE NOT EVEN WORTH MOUNTING.

The serpent's taunts raise Thor's hackles and his speed increases. Some distance away the earth giggles. His nose wrinkles at the sudden odor of decay.

WHY, IF YOUR BELOVED CUB WERE THE SURVIVOR, HE WOULD HAVE NOTICED OUR SCENT THE FIRST TIME AROUND. HE WOULD HAVE SAVED OUR FIRSTBORN AND CRUSHED OUR REMAINS TO DUST AND PREVENTED OUR RETURN! OUR FIRSTBORN WOULD HAVE BEEN EVER SO GRATEFUL. WHAT A FINE MALE. INSTEAD, YOU SNATCHED HER UP AND LEFT US TO FESTER. OR PERHAPS YOU DID CATCH OUR SCENT AFTER ALL AND STILL FLED? PITIFUL! WE'VE NOT THE TIME NOR INTEREST TO PLAY WITH YOU. DO WHAT YOU DO BEST, LITTLE LAMB, AND RUN WHILE YOU CAN. THE ONLY USE FOR A GOAT IN THIS TEMPLE IS IN A SACRIFICE.

Thor hammers his fists against the earth with a roar. He's had enough of the Enemy taunting his failures and tarnishing the good memories of his cub.

NO MORE HIDING! OR IS THIS LAMB TOO MUCH FOR YOU?

This time the rumbling deepens dangerously. Six red eyes leer at him from the shadows, insulted that he would paint them as cowardly in turn. Three long necks spark with electricity in acceptance of his challenge; Thor paws the earth like a bull and lowers his horns, bursts into a charge.

Before he realizes their trick, Ghidorah has already shrunk back into darkness and a new shape snaps into action, a Ghidorah-like creature smaller than the real thing but still large enough to pose a threat. Thor doesn't have time to redirect his charge or halt, instead throws himself, low and forward, and crashes his horns against the thing's breast. Now he grapples it but realizes too late its length and wings, not to mention the fact this Ghidorah-spawn has arms. They take hold of his horns and Thor rams both armored fists into its center of mass to maximize on internal damage – but he is stunned by a sharp stab of pain in the softer muscle of his left shoulder. A retractable spike of bone slides back into its keeper's flesh, then juts back out for another stab.

This time Thor grabs its arms and hefts up the Ghidorah-spawn, throws it over his head and into the ground. He rushes to pound its head into pulp but the thing counters with a stunning swing of its spiked tail; Thor feels something crack. The Ghidorah-spawn pins him down and flares its wings, envelopes him in a suffocating embrace. All the while, Ghidorah continues on its path deeper and deeper, where one of the Many found a rich new realm and assimilated one of the strange new creatures there. That place is unspoiled and ripe for the picking, and possibly holding in secret a tremendous power in its deepest depths... but their prize stubbornly consumes them from the inside-out like a newly hatched parasite. The fact she continues to fight back, and what she might be capable of in this new state is nothing short of arousing, but they would have made better time and distance without wasting resources to replace devoured organs.

Somewhere aboveground, Mothra's cry shrieks and vibrates into the earth, causing Ghidorah to snarl in frustration. They haven't regenerated enough to battle on their own without using the Many as a crutch. But then they consider the prone Thunderer with their shed skin; they could use some fresh meat for a change, and it won't take long... the idea of seeing the Deep One's face when he learns they have repurposed one of his pets and ripped his irritating gnat to shreds is a delicious one. Oh, and how their sister-daughter will rampage seeing the gnat's corpse! Oh, why not. Even if things go wrong and they don't make it to that Realm Below, they have plans to return in other ways. That shed skin might have some worth after all.

Ghidorah slithers back to where they left Thor, building up a roar to not only answer the Queen Gnat's challenge but turn her allies against her. Even constricted by the shed skin, Thor growls in protest as the Enemy's alpha call creeps into him – he is no alpha himself, and it's harder to resist when the source is this close. He struggles through it to insult Ghidorah the best he can, to ignore its demands. Thor grinds his teeth together and seeks out an old Grave Chanter spell, the one he'd recalled while Rodan and the hybrid left for battle on a lone island, one meant to chase away evil spirits and protect the dead from their influence. But Ghidorah's building shriek cuts through his concentration; soon it will take root and he won't be able to resist...

Suddenly, something punches Ghidorah's breast from the inside and cuts off their alpha call. All three heads peer down at their chest in some surprise and are greeted with another distending of flesh and toothy ribs from a second strike. The middle head locks its jaws around the left more fiercely than ever and shoves it close to where their prize is held, forcing it to feel every blow from inside.

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SETTLE HER DOWN! USELESS WRETCH!

The left head whines against the violent treatment and tries to chirp soothingly to its charge, but is interrupted by a familiar quake below their feet. Even the shed skin relaxes its hold on Thor. The tunnel grows rapidly grows hotter and hotter, ground cracking – blue steams up from the gaps and a roar they know all too well explodes into a pillar of fire.

As soon as the ground cracks with Cherenkov blue, Mothra takes to the air and meets Rodan in the billowing storm clouds; Methuselah and the Queen Muto, having frozen themselves up as if recoiling from an unexpected burst of sound from the earth, recover and ready themselves for attack. Soon a blue cone of fire blasts up from a cloud of flying earth and debris, reaching the sky and penetrating through the darkness in a repeat of Godzilla's resurrection through Serizawa, and the Argo erupts with cheers. Spirits are already on the rise seeing Godzilla's power at work.

From their Osprey, Barnes points out the flaming beacon with a laugh, starting on the radio: "Daddy's home..."

"Cake every night," Ford finishes from his own bird with an audible grin. "How's that phrase go, Martinez? The light in darkness?"

"'And the light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness hath comprehended it not,'" Martinez quotes. "Think I'll stick with a 'hail to the king,' myself."

On the Argo, Madison knows what she has to do, but hesitates. She can't help it. Must be only hours away to that same moment a year ago, when a hole was opened up in the ice and paramilitary men were waiting on Emma Russell to do the same thing she's about to. Madison can hear Alan Jonah's voice in the back of her mind, clear as day: "What are you waiting for? Wake it up."

Mark's hand falls gently on her shoulder and she jumps, looks up at him. He holds her with an understanding gaze.

"I... I'm scared," Madison admits.

"I know, hon. I know. But this isn't the same. You're not the same as your mother."

"But what if Ghidorah's already done something – changed them somehow? What if the Vivienne we know is... what if she's gone, really gone for good this time, and all we're doing is waking up another monster?"

"She's already a monster," Ren points out. He stares out the Argo's windows with folded arms; the countenance is different, but Mark can clearly see that 'Serizawa aura'. "If Gojira is a fierce god, for all intents and purposes, then let Abraxas be whatever they need to be."

Mark recalls the frightening rage states Monster X has fallen into, and also Ling's description of wrathful deities. Ren just might have the right idea, and Vivienne and San may have become one single kishin equivalent like Godzilla, taking the role of a fierce protector... or a destroyer like Ghidorah. He doesn't know what else to add, or if that's even what's happened. And yet for all he knows, Madison could be right and they're just repeating history. But Ilene and Ling approach, lay their hands on the old ORCA to get the teen's attention.

"Ghidorah's already changed her," Ilene points out. "There's no question about that. But let's not forget that she changed a piece of Ghidorah for the better. Just a small piece, but it was enough. Because she's still the same Vivienne we know deep down."

"Trauma changes us all," Ling adds. "It makes us angry and scared. You know that better than many people here. She didn't have to stay the good old kind Vivienne. She chose to be good in spite of all that... and so did San."

Madison's breath hitches. The dread's still there, but so is the hope that this really will be different. Mark lifts the ORCA, offering it to her – giving her the option to choose for herself, placing his trust in her. Her eyes are still wet, but gratefully takes the device in hand. Father and daughter share a nod. She puts on a brave face and rushes to Rick's side at communications. Looking up, the fiery pillar dissipates and leaves a sizeable hole in the ground. She glances at Colonel Foster, ready to unleash the Argo's entire aerial assault force, and gets a thumbs up.

"Strike up the band, maestro," Rick quips.

Madison jacks in the ORCA and pauses for a half-second before punching the activation. Acoustics squeal. Then external speakers come to life with a blaring horn; Methuselah and the Queen Muto give a cursory glance up at the Argo circling overheard. The horn fades out into a synthetic heartbeat, sounds forming audible word divisions with each pulse, all twenty-four runes repeated in a nine stanza chant, an incantation to awaken a young god:

—fehu - uruz - thurisaz - ansuz - raidō - kenaz - gebō - wunjo
hagalaz - naudhiz - isa - jera - eihwaz - perthro - algiz - sowilō
tiwaz - berkana - ehwaz - mannaz - laguz - ingwaz - othala - dagaz—

...
it calls... no resisting... what is this...? Do I know this...?

Imprints of a life not hers, memories from his imprisonment in the ice. Nine little ones from an age long lost in the mists of time, nothing left of them but his memories. Ice and snow all around – the ice was here, the ice was there, the ice was all around – nine little ones standing vigil before an ice wall, throaty chants echoing like wind hissing through sharpened glaciers – cracked and growled and wailed and howled – nine little ones chanting a prayer or spell. Not for the beast's resurrection, but for the addition of time to its sentence; a prayer that in its original form may have been lost, but survives in others and evolves through the ages to an incantation... a magic spell to prevent the dead from rising...

Once, twice, three times, four more, again and again... ah. She – he – they know this. They remember.

For a time all they've known is a bone-deep furor that demanded retribution, louder and louder. Rage used to be a sickness able to sweep them up in its hurricane winds so easily, as if they... as if she was still a tiny little thing, try as she might to resist against something too immense and powerful to be contained, but at some point it just became tiresome. Until they somehow felt something deep inside the tempest, like a small point of light or a peaceful bubble, and reached out. In doing so, they allowed the storm to carry them away. They let go... and something changed. It felt like looking into water and seeing a mirror reflection... the storm looked like her... and she looked just like him... and they passed through the water. The howling rage suddenly felt far away and became only noise; it could be made small enough to hold in the palm of their hand.

Ah. Of course. Again, the solution has been staring them in the face all this time. So easy. So simple. And yet, no transition like this is ever easy or convenient; to resist against something so vast is a reflex, and one does not just squash down millions upon billions of years' worth of gut instinct. Control was never the problem, it was resistance. Oh, the arrogance of man. The revelation isn't the most difficult part of the journey – it's letting go. What they are now cannot be pulled to and fro by the demands of mere choler. They are more. If they wish to be wrathful, then they shall wield it. The Dragon caging them is terrible and powerful, killing it on their own still a task far beyond their means – but the Dragon, like the rage, is becoming an annoyance. Crushing a mad human like Jonah gave no satisfaction, but to kill Ghidorah? Tales of dragonslayers have endured so long for good reason. It will be something to look back on fondly.

There's a familiar tickle in their mind.

oh! oh! are you awake yes you're awake how wonderful how exciting!

I am... we are... what we are...

something is strange something is different it must be that shed skin how are you both in one head how are you one... but still... confusing this one is very confused can't tell where you begin and the other ends how is this possible

Balance. It is the nature of... being. We are all connected.

but the nature of things is entropy one head should be one mind and one spirit the shed skin should not still be this one doesn't understand oh well this one is so glad! so happy! the rage and storm in you is so big and strong now! YOU are much stronger now! how exciting! this one can't wait until you are set loose again this one is so excited to see what you look like now can't wait to see what you can do this one will not be so rough as elder brother's shed skin was will not be so rough as brothers will be this one knows you don't like what elder brother's shed skin did so unnecessary it went too far eldest brother may be worse eldest brother hates you lovingly but don't worry this one has seen what you like and don't like this one won't do anything you don't like but first you have to settle down you have to stop eating us please

No. I want out.

but you are home now you are with brothers with family we will have such a big family no more little ones holding you back you don't belong with them anymore you are so different you are just like us we are all free

Are you?

...don't understand explain

My memories... hers... his and mine... I see. This, what you are now? This is just another cage.
The ones who did this to us are long gone. We and our brothers saw to that.
They exist only as noise, and we made a cage out of it.
You're still shackled by that noise. He – your "shed skin" – he and I are... one.

don't understand this one has seen you with the shed skin this one has seen the shed skin make you light and happy this one wants to do the same this one wants you light and happy too but you say no don't understand something hurts inside don't understand why... why do you want that one but not... why are you and that one singular why are you one with that one but not this one? ... why don't you want this one?

...I could want you. For a while, you and I were the same. She and I are one because we stopped resisting it.
Man and Monster have always been connected, no matter how much one or the other may try to reject it.
You say the more we reject you, the more we suffer. It goes both ways. If you would stop opposing it and let yourself go, then maybe you could belong.

...but... how can...that is unfamiliar and strange so strange this one has no name for it this one doesn't know it this one has no power over it this one remembers the silence before brothers came back it was nice but how to go back without taking off this one's head again brothers will just replace this one's shed skin this one might even grow more brothers how can this one live as a singular thing without brothers it is strange and different and... scary

I know. But the way is open to you.
What you are, I was. What I am, you could become.
But until then, keep your distance. I have something big to kill.

The Deep One is just so full of surprises. What a nuisance.

Scylla rushes out of the depths and charges Ghidorah with spidery limbs stabbing out for flesh to sink into, soon followed by the leviathan Godzilla rising like a black mountain. To make matters worse, that bleeding heart left head has grown too soft and sweet on sister-daughter to properly discipline her. And – oh, what now? That's a familiar sound, coming from a familiar metal construct. It reminds them of a very, very Old Noise... a very hated Old Noise. Irritating, ceaseless, always demanding more, never satisfied, drilling into them at the hands of little ones. The left head remembers it as something similar to the false voice that called to them from their unsealed casket, that which thought it could control them. Such arrogance. Annoying, like the Old Noise, pretending to be something alive. Only now it's not calling them – it's calling her, and she responds to it, howls from inside their body like the Bone Singers of old. Another nuisance.

Ghidorah takes hold of Scylla and unceremoniously chucks her aboveground, follows her into a tempestuous battlefield. They're already seized upon by multiple assailants, the same lowly beasts that ought to obey their whims – Methuselah and the Muto drag them out fully by the necks, exposing the underbelly where the Fourth is kept safe. Furious, Ghidorah's tattered wings flare out and crack thunderously against its opponents to knock them aside and release their hold, rising to full height.

Thunder doesn't crack with a loud bang; there's a tremendous boom like a distant nuclear explosion, and for a second the sky turns bright as day. Whatever power Ghidorah holds over the sky causes the clouds to illuminate as if the sun just decided to pop on in for a peek, and the storm just glows brighter and brighter till one expects the sky beyond to have turned hellfire red. Foster swallows hard, feeling as if reality has ceased functioning just long enough for the sky to start vomiting madness. The Argo's hangar doors open and the second wave of Ospreys begin to lift off to strafe from a distance; the raptor squads will follow soon after upon word from Foster. Looking outside, Martinez's good humor vanishes at the sight of Ghidorah.

"Jesus," Martinez exhales. "Jesus..."

If Barnes could look away, he'd see that Griffin has the most disturbed reaction anyone has ever seen her with. As it is, he can't look away. Bile begin to rise up in his esophagus, and Barnes is certain that if he opens his mouth any more than it already is to ask what in the name of God, Buddha, and Brahma he's looking at, he'll throw up.

The last time he saw Ghidorah in person, it made sense. Now, it only makes sense from the necks up; its once muscular and svelte body has become a hideous amalgamation of flesh, limbs, bones, and innards joined into a frame that vaguely resembles its old glory, perverted through an insane lens. Its sternum looks more like a vertical maw shut tight with ribs forming teeth, surrounded by necrotic, keloid-infested skin turning jaundiced as it transitions into golden scales. On either side of the 'mouth' are misshapen, gangly arm-like limbs that look hilariously out of place with the rest of it, like they were fashioned out of dozens and dozens of peoples' entire bodies just to make Ghidorah move more efficiently underground. Even the wings are too shredded to carry it for prolonged flight, more skeletal and covered in spiderwebs than sturdy membrane. Barnes doesn't have to look closer to figure out what's become of Berezniki's population. Every man, woman, child, and animal, even Skullcrawlers; their skeletons, muscles, tendons; all merged haphazardly together to suit Ghidorah's needs, and the hell of it is, not even the assimilated biomass of a hundred and fifty thousand some-odd people might be nearly half of what's enough to bring Ghidorah to full power. A deranged godlike monster simply decided it wanted some new body parts, rounded up the inhabitants of the nearest city, and made it so.

All because a small paramilitary group decided selling the remains of a demon's severed head wasn't enough, decided to play God just to see what would happen. No real reason, maybe, aside from just because they could. And the fact that the Many have infected so many people over such a short amount of time, the mind just naturally refuses to believe it – numbers like that belong in a history book with the Black Plague, far enough away in time and space that it doesn't concern you. Easy to reject the truth even as it stares you in the face and tells you how wrong you are. The Osprey's radios are squealing with Ghidorah's wailing feedback and somewhere in the static is a wet, throaty gurgling. Barnes guesses it must be coming from all those people. Whether or not they're conscious and actually saying anything at all, Barnes would rather die than know for certain. The Osprey lurches and that allows Barnes to muster up the nerve to look away. He'd only glanced at the body for a moment – just a moment – but he's seen enough to last a few lifetimes. He thumps the back of Griffin's seat just in case she'd lost her mind staring at it and nearly dropped them out of the sky.

"Get tactical, Griffin! You awake in there?"

"Wish I wasn't," she responds shakily. Griffin jimmies her leg, feeling her injury from Boston start to flare up.

Ghidorah next turns to the hole smoking with blue mist, channels a concentrated triple gravity beam at the mouth where Godzilla will crawl out of it and—

Suddenly the right head is knocked into the middle and left, all three stuck together in a silky net. Mothra races above them with a shriek, followed up with a meteoric fire blast to keep them down. Rodan glides low and drops Manda into a forest some distance away to keep him out of immediate danger before rejoining formation with Mothra, both Methuselah and the Muto peering at the little blue infant in bafflement for an instant then redirect their attention to Ghidorah.

On the Argo, Rick squints at the sight. "What was that?"

"Oh my god—" Ren points out of the Argo's window at Manda peering his head out of the tree line and ducking back down nervously. "Did he bring the baby? Why did he bring the baby?!"

Just then Godzilla bursts forth from the hole with an autonomous single-headed Ghidorah locked in his jaws by the neck, tosses it aside like a broken chew toy, and charges into the fray on all fours. Thor climbs out last, clutching a wounded shoulder; the curving ram's horn growing from his left temple has been snapped off and half of his stone mask is broken, partially revealing his goatish face. He pounces on the injured Ghidorah-spawn and pins it down to keep it from flanking Godzilla, but it wrestles wildly with him and thrashes its thagomizer tail at his back. The serpent's jaws open wide, but Thor thinks quickly and shoves a stone-armored hand into its deadly jaws and with considerable effort drags it into a headlock, fights to pin it down under his weight. This way it can't drain him of his electricity, but Thor is stuck keeping it occupied with his damaged shoulder. At least Scylla rushes in to tackle a less troubling foe than Ghidorah itself.

Ghidorah's sternum is punched from the inside with a crimson pulse, stunning them briefly and allowing both Mothra and Rodan an opening for a second run. This time Mothra latches onto their malformed breast and produces a burst of beta-wave light from her wings in a brilliant display to disorient the heads, and with furious stabs of her claws and stinger fights to pierce through the flesh – flesh which begins to cook and steam from under the god rays' blinding light. Ghidorah's right head recovers first and sneers at the approaching Godzilla, rears back to take Mothra into its jaws; only it's interrupted by a short barrage of missiles exploding in its face, granting Mothra the chance she needs to pull back and fly beside the first aerial strike team, escorting them safely out of range with blood trailing from her claws.

"Careful next time," Ford calls out over comms, takes position at a mounted turret. "You could've hit the lady! Short controlled bursts! Conserve munitions!"

"Gotta keep her away from that thing before she gets zombified—"

Before the pilot can finish, their craft vanishes in a beam of yellow electricity; the Queen Muto slashes one of her foreclaws at the right head and for her efforts is knocked back with another powerful strike of Ghidorah's wings, followed up with a triple gravity beam assault from all three recovered heads – Methuselah rushes in and catches the Muto to keep her upright, though she shrieks and her injury sears with burning pain. Godzilla answers with a ranged blast of his own, cracks his tail on the earth between them and Ghidorah, trumpets out a warning roar.

Madison scans the field for any sign of Monster X and her gut sinks, breath quickens. "Where is she? I called – she must've heard—"

She looks around as if anyone has an answer, and her eyes fall on Ilene just as the operative has examined the Argo's sensory readings on Ghidorah, and whips her body around to scream at the resurrected monster with more venom than thought possible. Madison doesn't get the whole of Ilene's litany but understands the gist: cursing Ghidorah and its forebears to their earliest generation, what it will die of, and so on. That's when Madison's heart stops, seeing a clear thermal outline of what looks like Monster X inside Ghidorah's center of mass. Ling supports her sister as Ilene's knees buckle and she devolves into tearful screaming. Mark's pale face meets Foster's stony gaze and she addresses the squealing communications from combat personnel.

"Change of plans!" she barks. "Monster X is inside Ghidorah! From what I can tell she's eager to get out, and I'm inclined to assist!"

"Understood! What's the play, ma'am?"

"Standard hit-and-run! Concentrate fire on the center of mass and give Monster X a way to punch out! Madison!" The teen looks up at Foster in surprise. "Crank the volume on that thing and wake her bony ass up! Use the other call while you're at it!"

Madison grins. "Can the hell do, ma'am." She makes some adjustments to the ORCA and the rune-call belts out louder than before, so loud she can feel it in her teeth – loud enough to get Ghidorah's attention. Good. The left head waggles at the Argo with flared horns and readies a gravity beam while the other heads focus on the rallied Titans; but they anticipate a third dive from above and the left whips around detecting the roaring wind circling Rodan's descent, unleashes a gravity beam that catches him in the chest. The volcanic raptor wheezes breathlessly and goes into a nosedive, caught by one of Ghidorah's skeletal tails as the dragon spins with unnatural grace, and Rodan is left grounded – for a time at least. Ghidorah regards the earthbound Titans surrounding it, all keeping their distance to minimize the threat of infection, Godzilla charging up another ranged assault. With a sneer, Ghidorah spreads its mangled wings and golden-yellow arcs spark between each gap in bone and membrane with an electric hum.

"Bullshit," Mark whispers, watching.

He's thankful to not be able to hear the noise Ghidorah's body makes as the Many recombine themselves, limbs sort of melting and shifting like a mass grave turned into a zombie amoeba and making for the wings, leaving the torso with just enough biomass to keep Monster X locked away. Now he really does feel sick when each fan of the wings look like hundreds of stretched faces all wailing like lost, damned souls – made all the more apparent by flashes of electricity powering through them. The landlocked Titans charge and Godzilla fires, but Ghidorah leaps over them and beats its reformed wings to rise higher and higher; Mothra gives chase with fighters at her flank, not about to let the thing get away. Biting back a roar, Madison cranks at the ORCA once again and receives a screaming burst of static, and then—

"WOULD YOU KINDLY PLEASE SHUT THAT THING OFF."

All eyes turn to communications. Madison's heart leaps. The words are accentuated with an electric hum and subtle crackles; it's both their voices, Vivienne's and San's, in perfect unison; their speech is a bit slower and more deliberate than usual in a dreamlike calm, but with a hidden edge that could slit a hundred throats before anyone notices. In about the same time her mood elated hearing their voices, Madison's blood chills. Mark swears he can hear the smile Vivienne would make on those rare occurrences she'd been goaded to genuine cold fury, a smile that shows a little too many teeth and belongs on someone who could scare a serial killer into rethinking their life choices. He recalls an old saying: "When the good ones go angry, they're brutal." On its own, Vivienne's anger was scary then. Only now that anger has been magnified to something that could pound a city into dust. If Monster X were to tell them "don't be afraid," it would be like asking fire to not burn.

Ghidorah vanishes into a fiery orange-yellow vortex in the storm, followed by Mothra and a fighter squadron; once more, god rays burst from her wings, less to distract Ghidorah and more to provide the fighters with a visible target; a flurry of missiles rocket upwards and Mothra banks out of the firing line where they connect with a cluster of fiery plumes at the center of mass – blood or flesh spill from above the pilots and they fan out to withdraw. Ghidorah's warbling cuts out with a sudden chorus of voiceless exhales, like it's been stabbed in the back. Kept aloft with its wings, all three heads peer downward. The smoke clears, revealing a clawed, black leathery hand with silver bone armor, coated in petrol-black blood, forming a makeshift spear tip and punctured right through Ghidorah's battered chest. With another red pulse a second hand spears through and they start forcing a way open. Ghidorah's faces alternate between ecstatic leers and strained grimaces as they open up their chest like cellar flaps. Skin and muscle stretch and tear, giblets of half-melted humanoid meat slop down to earth, blood drools. A dark humanoid shape releases itself from the hollowed-out chest cavity and goes into freefall.

"Visual!" Rick barks and the Argo's crew watches that dark shape rapidly descend from the vortex. It's small enough to be Monster X, but something about it is different. There's a flash of crimson light and their fall turns into a glide, scanners indicating the possession of wings – it decelerates and almost seems to leisurely float the rest of the way down. Here, if one squinted or looked to the thermal image, one can see Monster X does in fact have a pair of bat-like wings that almost seem unfinished, but sturdier than Ghidorah's used to be only moments ago. The creature lands into a gentle kneel and the wings fold, reforming in a similar vein to what the Many did and settling into a large protrusion of mountainous bone where, Madison notes with a knot in her stomach, San's head used to be.

Crimson pulses through the chimera like a heartbeat; clawed fingers twitch and flex, then Monster X in this new third form unfolds their body into a bipedal stance with a curving motion; it rises, and rises, and rises until standing over a hundred feet, maybe taller. Still small and slender by Titan standards but the proportions are harder, more muscular, with more pieces of silvery exoskeletal armor, and it stands on two digitigrade talon-tipped feet like Ghidorah. There's only one head now; elongated at the back and covered in an elaborate dragon's skull with two horns growing out from the crown, difficult to tell if this is just an exoskeletal helmet or their new true face. The bony mound at its back flexes or twitches, and it strangely reminds Madison of the hardened outer shell that protects an insect's wings. From deep within the skull head's dark eye sockets a pair of glowing red orbs slowly blink open. The Titans surround Monster X at a comfortable distance.

Thor and Scylla halt their struggling to watch, the shed skin enthralled as if looking at something beautiful – but it flinches in surprise at a new sensation at turns around, coming face to face with the infant Manda. The little dragon had found the nerve to leave his hiding space seeing Thor in trouble and flailed his tail to deliver a venomous strike to what he views as a mean, ugly monster bullying an injured Titan. The shed skin catches a hint of Monster X's scent on the infant and giggles, seeing a defenseless newborn. It switches targets. Manda backs away fearfully from the approaching predator, though his tail is poised for another lashing, and lets out a high-pitched cry that alerts the Titans. Mothra shrieks and dives down to earth, Rodan scrambling for even footing, but both are shocked by a thunderclap and what looks like a crimson gravity beam firing from Monster X's position to Thor and the shed skin – Rodan looks back and the chimera has all but vanished in a cloudy trail, looks back in time to see a red blur sending the shed skin flying. Manda freezes seeing the misshapen predator sail over his head, tackled by the familiar and comforting scent of his parent.

The shed skin's vision spirals from the sudden impact and only dimly notices the surroundings changing from green vegetation to the industrial brownish grays of civilization, crashing back towards Berezniki, whereupon the shed skin is grappled before being thrown overheard against an abandoned apartment complex with startling strength. The serpent snaps to rebalance itself and crawls on top of the building, searches for its new opponent. Nothing. Much of the surroundings are either covered in pitch black shadows or colored blood red by the storm's light, and that would make it easy for the beast to camouflage with her dark hide. Its yellow bioluminescence flashes in the deluge and its challenging cry echoes all around.

I CAN SMELL YOU, BEAST. DON'T THINK YOU CAN TEASE ME FOREVER.

A low, throaty sound answers it some distance away and the serpent follows the source. A flash of lightning from above, and there she is – small and ghostly and lovely, a reaper in the flesh with silver armor painted red, waiting for it the next several blocks over. Her guttural murmurs remind it of the ancient Bone Singers and their throat singing prayers to keep Ghidorah under the ice. The intonations are different, though; the harsh consonants and rolling growls invoking something more lyrical. No matter. It slinks towards her, salivating at the prospect of a second bout while the main body is preoccupied with those lesser things.

COME TO ME. CHALLENGE ME!

Monster X vanishes into shadow with a chuckle that wheezes up from deep inside her chest. The serpent did so love watching that chest expand from its penetrating claw. It crashes through the city eager as a male in rut, following the target's scent and storm and... wait. She's singing, and with Youngest Brother's shed skin. The insects Ghidorah has repurposed had a name for this. A... siren song. Now it understands – she's playing at being a hunter! What fun! It follows, farther and farther away, deeper through the ruins, listening for her velvety singing...

...seasons don't fear the reaper... nor do the wind, the sun or the rain... we can be like they are... come on, baby...

After crawling through a grassy open space, it catches her silhouette crouching atop a colorful stately building near a radio tower (a church, says the memories of some little ones, Khram Vo Imya... the name is meaningless to it). The dark gargoyle sings away her siren death-song, and the serpent slinks closer. Anticipation eats away at it, the storm over this cairn of a city so calm and quiet it's unbearable – scales itch, skin burns, blood boils, driving it to near desperation – she can run to it and they can fly away, just like in the song. They can fight and kill and fuck and murder and rip each other apart and—

Three arcs of lightning come together against the surrounding storm and explode in a blinding flash that lights up the city – Monster X has disappeared again. It screams in frustration and receives a mighty impact from out of nowhere, knocked back onto the grass. Crimson arcs in its vision and suddenly the air is punched out of its lungs by a metallic length speared through its torso. A foot stomps down on its sternum and sends teeth from the assimilated Skullcrawler flying; vision stabilizes long enough to finally get a good look at Monster X pinning it to the ground under one foot, having run it through with one of the gold crosses crowning the church. It takes a moment to appreciate this new form, the deathly visage of their skeletal face, the delicious violence brewing under that veneer of calm. The beast rests one foot atop the cross and steps down harder, pushing more of its length through the shed skin's flesh, then bends over to recline on her bent knee. A voice comprised of two spirits echoes in the serpent's head, Monster X's mouth spreading into a smile very much like Youngest Brother's when prey is cornered.

Oh, Ni-san. Do you have a moment?

Ni-san? Ohh... Oniisan! Elder Brother! How amusing! It grips the cross and leers up at her, licks its chops.

PRETTY BEAST. WON'T YOU SPLIT ME OPEN IN TURN?

Nah.

The serpent convulses, a bizarre sensation both electric and rather like suction surges where the cross has impaled through, up the cross and into... oh! What a clever and deadly creature its pretty beast has become! It can't wait to test her new brutality and once more feel the blistering kiss of her fury. The shed skin jack-knifes heedless of the cross left in its midsection and Monster X leaps backwards – the sked skin lashes out with a mighty thrust to gore Monster X on its retractable spike – but in less time than it takes to blink the serpent is blindsided by a sensation of explosive pain, as though a star has gone supernova in its brain. Through pulsating tunnel vision it sees the remains of its limb crumpling in on itself like an accordion, blood spraying as bones and sinew shatter, discolored scales flying like shrapnel from a crashed vehicle, leaving nothing but a grotesque pillar of broken meat that used to be a functioning arm. Then it realizes the cause; all it took was Monster X raising an arm of their own to block the attack and with muscles supercharged by the storm, simply flexed. The shed skin's arm had connected and just broke.

Incredible. How is the beast so fast? His brothers must have perfected something in the chimera, allowing them to move like a lightning bolt without tearing their body apart like before, now immune to such a setback. Combined with their smaller stature, it makes Monster X a dangerous opponent. The beast's head tilts, crimson glow fading to reveal heterochromic eyes – the right green and the left red – staring at the shed skin, unblinking, smile widening to show more and more teeth, eager to take a chunk out of its throat.

Monster X throws their upper body down head down in a headbutt to drive one of their own horns into vulnerable flesh and sinks deep into an eye socket. While the dragon shrieks and flails, a long black tail curls above them and thrusts into the other eye with a loud, wet squish. Then there's a sound like thunder and the little beast is gone, leaving the serpent to rush blindly to its feet – NO! I WANT TO SEE IT! LET ME SEE YOUR FURY! – suddenly there's a penetrating sensation at the back of its neck and it slumps back down. It tries to move, but its whole body feels numb. There's a breathy giggle beside its horns.

Less than ten meters to sever your spine. Hehehehe.

The sound of meaty tearing hits its ears before the remnants of pain receptors acknowledge it and the serpent feels... lighter? There's a new shock, something heavy crashing against the top of its head, and the shed skin recognizes the thing as its own severed tail. Again the mace-like end cracks into its skull, then again, again, again and again and again—

If only it could see how the blows deform its head. And the whole time, Monster X is silent as the grave. Somehow that feels wrong, that the beast ought to be screaming and spitting with fury; a spawn of Ghidorah ought to be loud in combat, a conduit of raging storms that shake the grounds and crack the skies – but then, the serpent remembers as a spike is caught stuck between its horn spurs and Monster X stomps down on its head to wrench the thing loose, that storms are not always loud. There are regions of silence and calm in what little ones call the eye of the storm. The pulped, half-crushed head burbles weakly with one last blow and the tail is discarded. Now Monster X stomps hard on its thick neck and moves like they know exactly what to do, grips the serpent's horns and their muscles bulge with a red flash. Their torso snaps into a twisting motion, the sound of half a head being removed from its spine and lower jaw is drowned out by a crack of thunder.

On the Argo, a weak "oh" is about the most articulate observation Sam can manage.

"Shit," Ren agrees in a small voice, now that he has a face to match the insane bloodthirsty laughter he heard in Yonaguni not even two or three days ago.

Monster X watches the detached head in their grip patiently, waiting as black squirts out the sunken eye sockets and a small red eye finally pops back into existence. They can't help but giggle at the sound it makes, mimicking it with a pop of their lips. The serpent's regrown eyes scan the area frantically, landing on its own mangled body; the lower jaw still attached to the neck releases a confused gurgling. Then it looks up into one green eye watching it, Monster X's lips pulling back to an almost impossibly wide display of teeth. Without the context of what Ghidorah's right head values and its shed skin's desires, one might mistake the look in its gaze as lovestruck. The body chokes out noise and the shed skin manages to whisper out one last admiration.

...GLORIOUS...

This is for thinking you can hurt my little boy.

Monster X drops the head and lowers to all fours, with a gleeful noise sinking their teeth into the body's flesh. The head can only watch as its body is sucked dry of blood and power to feed the beast, watch as its golden scales lose their luster and color is drained from the skin. It's... getting harder to keep its eyes open. Wait, how much is she going to...? Wait... wait, that's enough! What is she trying to do? It can't fight or do anything if she keeps going, it only... it only has so much...

The tips of their forked tail drum against its horned brows, like the creature is bored. Monster X doesn't even acknowledge it – ignoring it. The audacity – nothing ignores Ghidorah. This insult cannot stand.

WAIT... STOP...

Monster X smacks their lips and takes a big gulp, dives back in.

ENOUGH... WHAT ARE YOU...? PUT ME BACK, PUT ME BACK...!

Quit your whining.

I AM... YOU CAN'T... I AM STILL PART OF...

You are food. Nothing more.

Thor rises to his feet, but the wound in his shoulder throbs and itches painfully. Though he knows that was the hybrid from their scents and storm, he doesn't know what's become of the second head or how to greet them once they return from their hunt. He won't be able to anyway. He flinches away from Scylla's tentacles probing at his injury and both Titans bristle at the other, Thor baring his teeth and Scylla raising two of her legs aggressively with an eerie, antediluvian trill.

Their stink is on you, Old Goat.

I am not the Enemy!

You will be if no one puts you down.

He scratches at his wound in an attempt to relieve the itch, tries to ignore a phantom tickle. Pulling back, Thor is surprised by the sight of red fur, sticky blood and something like pus on the tips of his fingers. Scylla rushes him and he beats back with a fulgurite hammer strike of his fist, but she just keeps coming; before long he's grappling two of her claws poised to skewer him, musters all his strength to hold her back, but the fight agitates his wound. Scylla's tentacles grasp his horns and now he's staring at a sharp black beak.

You don't know what happened to the Old Dragon, do you? His corpse was brought to life by some foul trick and made to fight the Deep One!

Can't be! The dead are only meat!

And yet Ghidorah commands a legion of moving dead! You're the one who carries a dead Man Chant with you! Do something about it!

It can't be true – but he's smelled the tank of death on Ghidorah. Thor's mind reels. The old tales from Grave Chanters, the spell they had to keep the dead from rising as draugr... a ridiculous notion, for if a living thing dies it becomes only food for hunters and scavengers. He's held onto that old galdr for so long because it is hard to forget such an impossible concept once its hooks sink into the mind... and now he is to become like the storied draugr himself? He is to be just another thrall in the Enemy's legion? He can't even die in the way of his mate and cub and all the rest of his kind? Thor's knees buckle and Scylla towers over him. Manda thumps his tail against the ground and cries out with all the ferocity a newborn can manage, but Scylla ignores him.

Mothra slams herself to solid ground and flares her wings; instinctively Manda retreats to seek shelter underneath her. Her shriek causes both Scylla and Thor to flinch.

ENOUGH! WE'VE NO TIME TO FIGHT GHIDORAH AND AMONG OURSELVES!

Scylla protests. He is infected! He must be put down!

Ghidorah barrels past them with Godzilla in its talons, crashing into the city; Methuselah and the Muto gallop after them with multiple formations of manmade metal birds rocketing overheard. Godzilla blasts a quick stream of nuclear fire at the center head, and when the other two lunge for his throat he grabs them by the horns and next aims to burn a hole in one of Ghidorah's wings. Scylla doesn't immediately release Thor and is blindsided by Mothra cracking the back of one talon across her face, the shock forcing her to release him. The two stare each other down for a brief moment, Mothra's eyes glinting and fur bristling. Scylla growls and bowls over Thor in her haste to re-enter the fray.

Thor locks his eyes with Mothra's, and he feels like a small, frightened cub.

Am I going to die?

Mothra's chest heaves, gaze softens. We all die, Thunderer. Instead, ask yourself: How will we face it when our time comes? But if it helps, focus on that which gives you strength. Cheap advice from me, I suppose. She coos at little Manda to comfort him, looks back up at Thor and jerks her head towards the forest. Now take this brave lad somewhere safe so he won't get hurt. I expect to see you in the fight!

You trust me with him?

Always trust a parent who loves their children.

Rodan has recovered by now and takes to the sky, squawking at them to get a move on. TOO MUCH TALK! WE'VE A DRAGON TO KILL! AGAIN!

Thor scoops Manda up in his arms and heads for the tree line while Mothra rises after Rodan. Manda flails in protest, trying to escape and run for the city, only calming when Thor pant-barks at him to settle down. That's when he notices the hybrid's scent on him, figures he must be taken in by them. Wasn't that long ago when they hatched, and they're parents already. Manda peeps for his mother, but Thor gives him a little scritch on the back of his head – something that always calmed his cub back before he grew horns.

Stay. You'll see her again.

Manda glares in the childish way of using his eyes to make demands, but sits back on his haunches. Thor huffs in approval, turns and gallops to join the Titans. Despite the Thunderer's reassurance, Manda still anxiously watches the city for any sign of his two-headed parent.

While blue fire melts through Ghidorah's wing, Methuselah charges and tackles the dragon to knock it off of Godzilla, managing to gore the right and center necks on his horns, and begins to furiously stomp the dragon with his claws and hooves. His assault is followed up by the Queen Muto thrashing against the left head, then Godzilla grapples Ghidorah's bony tails. Just then Methuselah feels a thrum pulsing up the length of the center head and glances up, noticing a line of dark, jagged spikes incongruent with Ghidorah's golden scales – and the spines begin to pulse just like Godzilla's spines do. By the time he realizes what's about to happen, the sheer force of a yellowish pulse crashing into him, the Muto, and Godzilla knocks them back and flattens the surrounding blocks.

"Son of a bitch stole Godzilla's move," Barnes curses.

"Fall back!" Foster barks over the radio. "All squads pull back and regroup!"

"Really hope you can make this thing move, Grif!" Martinez braces himself, watching an entire raptor squad get caught in the growing yellow pulse.

Griffin doesn't answer. Both Martinez and Barnes yell and hold tight while their Osprey nearly turns upside-down as it makes a turn so sharp any craft handled by less skilled pilots might get sheared in half, fleeing with all speed even as the pulse seems to chase after them. Barnes looks back and exhales seeing they've escaped the pulse's range, pats Griffin's seat; but Martinez points out another Osprey that simply wasn't fast enough, the craft's tail being grazed by the attack just enough to cause its systems to surge.

"Lost all power," the radio crackles. Griffin's brows furrow recognizing Ford's voice. Barnes watches the Osprey tailspin away towards a forest with pale knuckles, wondering if Ford's insane luck might just run out here.

Godzilla rushes to his feet and stomps towards Methuselah, pushing him by his mountainous back to get his feet steady again. The Queen Muto shakes herself off, Scylla and Thor entering the field to flank the dragon. While they were tossed aside by the pulse, the Many had broke themselves down again to reform into a sturdier variant of the shape Ghidorah used to crawl through the underground; there's almost no indication that the biomass came from humans or other animals anymore – just discolored, jaundiced and corpselike flesh out of place with the rest of Ghidorah's body. Godzilla's face contorts with snarling anger, Ghidorah just giggling at his reaction; the right head turns to give Thor a wicked look.

Out of nowhere a crimson beam lances through the air and burns into the right head's eye. Methuselah blinks at the sensation of something landing on his shell, looks around and spies that same small, silver-armored dark Titan that fell from the storm, perched on his back. Ghidorah's heads lean close and Methuselah stands his ground, the three heads wailing at the newcomer.

WELCOME HOME, MY EXECUTIONER.

Monster X just smiles. Interesting choice of words.

Wings burst from Monster X's back and flare out, red bioluminescence blazing through the leathery membranes; the small Titan stares down all three heads, inhales, and belts out a deep leonine roar that grows higher and higher into a Ghidorah-like pitch. Not a challenge, but a roar of defiance.

RIP! AND! TEAR! RIP! AND! TEAR!

Circling overhead, Rodan likes the sound of that and finds he's starting to like this new Titan more and more. He lands dramatically and flares his wings in turn, echoing Monster X's sentiment; Scylla trills the roar into the sky, the call appealing to her destructive tendencies; Thor pounds his chest and bellows his own war cry between each shriek, Methuselah growls and stomps the earth, and even the Queen Muto is swept up in the call. Ghidorah pivots around screeching at the Titans surrounding them, trying to drown out the calls, only to get blasted by fire and plasma with every turn of their back. The song bellows louder and louder.

RIP AND TEAR!

RIP AND TEAR!

RIP AND TEAR!

Godzilla doesn't partake, content to silently glower at his ancient nemesis. Mothra descends and perches atop Godzilla, their own calls merging into a harmonious backdrop to the war cries that gradually builds to a crescendo. His blue inner fire sparks with a tremendous thrumming that seeps into Mothra's flashing god rays, her wings blazing. The color mixes with Godzilla's, their lights changing from blue to purple and finally to burning, righteous red, and then both Alpha Titans move as one to throw their entire bodies into a triumphant battle cry that crashes into Ghidorah with the force of a meteor.

RIP AND TEAR UNTIL IT IS DONE!

The Titans roar in response: RIP AND TEAR UNTIL IT IS DONE!

Ghidorah falls silent, even as the right head snarls in irritation. The center head quirks the corner of its mouth into something like a smirk. It spins about, tails cracking against Godzilla's face and knocking Mothra off, charges for Thor; he bends his knees to dodge but his vision is suddenly blinded from explosive agony where the Ghidorah-spawn had stabbed him – he's knocked aside and bleats in pain, doubles over and clutches his shoulder as something bursts... the pain is immediate, excruciating, taking up all his attention and rendering him unable to do anything except scream. An alien sensation creeps through him, almost like hunger, but not quite... not for food or water or even companionship – wait... yes, something like that. But it's not Thor's feelings. It doesn't belong. What...?

Methuselah backs away from Thor nervously; his bleeding wound has exploded into large gangrenous lumps topped with hair-like tendrils that quiver violently, spreading to his arm through hideous growths that sink into his fur and flesh like tree roots. Monster X launches from his shell and collides with Ghidorah in a flurry of red light and spraying blood, the other Titans following suit.

Heaving, Thor looks up at Methuselah. It seems to take immense effort for Thor to remove the remains of his mask, lets it fall to the ground from his shaking hand. It's strangely intimate; Methuselah must be the first thing to see his true face in millennia, something that for all he knows might be reserved for someone like a mate or offspring. Thor's blue eyes have horizontal pupils, just like a goat. Even as his face is knotted with an anguished grimace, he looks so wizened and ancient. He looks so tired.

Something in the pain wants to join with Ghidorah, but in a very different way than the demands of an alpha call. Wants him to give himself to the dragon, give up everything he is to the dragon, because he is somehow broken and joining with Ghidorah will make him whole again. Yes, he is broken; ever since the death of his cub, something in his chest has been shattered and he has slept all this time in fitful hibernation, the shards inside him aching with the knowledge that he can no longer follow where his kind have gone.

...or, maybe he still can.

Thunderer?

It takes a moment for Thor to reply. His expression changes rapidly from pain to uncertainty to resolution, finally settling on a mix of all three.

...I'm going to be with my kin now.

Methuselah roars to stop him but Thor is already charging towards Ghidorah. The pain wants him to go. Ghidorah wants him so badly? Fine... but the dragon should know better than to expect an easy win; Thor will follow his cub's example and fight, no matter what happens to him, maybe keep the thing distracted enough for the others to finish it off. Even so, fear spurs him on just as much. His insides sink and go cold knowing this is it – this is how he dies, whether reduced to meat and stone or nothing at all left of him but his mask. It's scary. It's not how he would want to face his end. But he recalls Mothra's soothing chirps to focus on what strengthens him, that what matters is how he faces the end. And besides, hasn't the hybrid died before? Perhaps it won't be so terrible after all. Ghidorah wrestles free of another Titan dogpile and turns to him; Thor growls and pushes his body harder, the old galdr bursting up from his chest.

I incant against the spirit, against the walking, against the riding, against the running, against the sitting, against the sinking, against the travelling, against the flying! All shall wither and die!

Scylla makes a shocked noise and scuttles away from Thor's charge. Ghidorah cackles in delight. The dragon's chest opens up again, not messily ripping itself apart like last time, but skin and muscle pull back to form a vertical mouth full of sharp bony teeth ready to swallow him up and grind him into bloody giblets. The three heads snap into action, two at each arm and the center at Thor's throat; ah, of course they would want him to experience his own son's last stand. That unnatural hunger grows like a void, but Thor muscles through it.

Thor?!

Startled, he looks up and sees Monster X staring down at him from between the middle head's horns – he sees their bi-colored eyes and gets an idea of why they have one head now. At least both of them are in one piece. What a relief. Still so small, yet they've grown so much. Despite the skull face, emotions are plain to see; surprise to witness him like this, horror at the infection, and the growing denial of what he's intending to do. The moment is interrupted by his arm swelling grotesquely, and Thor's scream is cut off by teeth at his throat. He can feel the stone cracking, fingers sprouting into misshapen tentacles – the PAIN! Blinded again... can't see clearly, like film coating his eyes... he looks up and thinks he sees the ghost of his cub, but knows that his eyes had been blue. Oh, his cub...

—it's morning and the little one is already bursting with energy, climbing over his mother and father and knocking their heads together. He has inherited his mother's brindled gray coat. He hasn't grown horns yet and he won't have his own mask or armor for a long time, but he is young and healthy. He will grow into a strong male. He jumps off of them and prances about, tail wagging, and bleats out: Ma! Da! Sun up! Wake up!—

THOR!

He blinks and Monster X has leapt from the middle head to the left head biting down on his unmutated right arm. They don't attack the left head, or even scream at it; which makes sense, if the male half was once the left head himself, and the left head once carried her inside it, protecting her, maybe even caring for her in its own twisted way. They beg the head, do this one thing for her, please, just let him go, take out the infection, help him. But the left head is confused. It can't take out the infection, and even if it wanted to, there's no going back. Thor's fingers reach out to Monster X and brush over their claws, holds them with his gaze to tell them he chooses to do this. That it's okay. Sacrifice has purpose, after all. He ignores the torture as best he can, and the other two heads are all too happy to let the hybrid watch what happens to him. Monster X's heterochromic eyes shine wetly and they grasp his fingers one last time.

Patience wearing thin, Ghidorah lashes out its necks with Thor still in its clutches and forcing Monster X to take to the sky; they spot the Argo's distinctive shape among the hellish clouds and banks to the side; it feels so good to fly again and soar into battle, but the Thunderer's fate leaves a bittersweet feeling. But his mind is made up... and besides, would she have been able to talk Serizawa out of his own sacrifice, had things been different? All they can do now is make it count.

"...CAN ANYONE H...?"

"Isolate that signal!" Foster orders. "Monster X? Graham – or, the other one – that you?"

"YES TO BOTH."

Interference from the storm still garbles the communications, but at least it's easier to hear. Rick shudders seeing Monster X outside the window, the storm rendering their dark hide nearly invisible and coloring the exoskeleton a rusty red, making it look like a literal monster skeleton is flying right next to them; he decides to chug the contents of his flask, mumbles something about seeing the "masque of the fucking red death." As if this bullshit weather hasn't worn on his nerves enough. Meanwhile, Madison nearly crashes into Foster in her haste to reach the radio, all but screams into it fearing she won't get another chance.

"AUNT VIV, OH MY GOD – ARE YOU OKAY? WHAT HAPPENED TO SAN?"

"I'M RIGHT HERE," the more masculine half of Monster X's voice suddenly becomes more prominent. The feminine half kicks in more. "If you'll pardon the brevity, there's no time to explain. We need to act NOW. THOR'S BEEN INFECTED BY THE MANY. GHIDORAH IS TRYING TO ASSIMILATE HIM RIGHT THIS SECOND. DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO HELP?"

"Actually, we just might," Foster answers. "We're about to let our B-2 Spirits lose and they've got GBU-57 bombs at the ready – we're talking high explosive, massive ordnance penetrator bunker buster bombs. If we get lucky and land a direct hit, I'm willing to bet they can make that gaudy gold bastard bleed. We're also waiting for ranged backup from a local acquaintance to keep it distracted."

"FINE. MADISON?"

"Yeah?"

The voices soften, but the sense of urgency is still there. "If you can keep the ORCA screaming, do so. It... Ghidorah doesn't react well to it, you know. Neither do I, but still. More than making it sound like another Titan is challenging them, it stirs up bad memories."

Madison glances down at the cartoon whale face, wonders if she really wants to know what the hell kind of bad memories could keep a thing like Ghidorah up at night. Then she remembers that recording Brooks got regarding what Thor had been 'saying' not long ago, supposedly some magic spell to keep the dead from rising. No better time to put that thing to use than now, it seems.

"Yeah... yeah, I can do that. Got just the thing, too."

"GOOD. BETTER GET MOVING."

The signal devolves into dead air and Monster X banks away from the Argo, vanishing into the clouds. Rick shudders again while he adjusts the settings, Foster grabbing her radio and making the call, glancing at another signal pinging them.

"Could the Three Amigos have made her look any creepier? I feel like she's gonna show up with a scythe and take me away before alcohol poisoning does."

"I think she looks metal as hell," Madison quips, starting up the second recording.

—a herd of the living mountains pass through their territory, bringing calves with them. They are welcome here. Already his cub and others race over to greet them and quickly find new playmates. Him and a little calf butt heads, chase each other, run circles around the others while the adults graze. One particularly large bull lays down to rest and is content to let the little ones jump all over his shell and lick at the accumulated mineral deposits. His cub is still clumsy but will slowly grow out of it with age, and bleats victoriously as he finally scales the peak of this mountain—

An impact cushioned by Ghidorah knocks Thor back to the present. The infection has spread, and now he's being gnawed at by that torso 'mouth'. He rapidly sucks in air through clenched teeth, saliva drooling down to his beard... it keeps getting worse. He feels... it feels like parts of him are missing. The explosion of a fireball is muffled, he can't even tell if it came from Godzilla or Rodan. Instead he just focuses on the teeth staring at him. Wait, are they teeth? Aren't they just bone... or aren't teeth just made of bone? His guard is lowered, and that allows for a new intrusion he has never experienced before – it feels so utterly wrong that he can't help but roar to try and drown it out... some kind of noise, drilling into him... focus... focus...!

I incant against... 'gainst the spirit, against the walking... AAAAAAGH! AHHH... Ahhh... 'gainst the rrrr... RIDING...

Gal anda viðr, gangla viðr, riðanda viðr, viðr rinnanda, viðr sitianda, viðr signanda, viðr faranda, viðr fliuganda. Skal all fyrna ok um døyia.

Another horn blast from the sky. Time has taught Ghidorah patience, but when so many nuisances insist on interrupting its meal, and the Old Noise begins screeching in the back of their minds again, even they have limits. The skin at their new forelimbs peel back as muscles bulge with assimilated mass, digits merging into thick hoof-like claws. Ghidorah rears back and launches a powerful kick at Godzilla's chest – the great saurian feels like he just tanked all three gravity beams and finds himself knocked back, momentarily stunned; the dragon advances, but suddenly their new limbs plant themselves to the ground and refuse to budge.

I incant against the spirit, against the walking, against the riding... Thor pant-barks in a laugh. Yes, that's it! That's how he'll win! Ghidorah and its Many may have taken humans and Skullcrawlers without much problem, but they have never claimed a living Titan! They have never claimed HIM, and they never will! He will die and take the Dragon with him! ...against the travelling, against the flying! All shall wither and die!

The Third peers down at the prize in their chest and the Old Goat stares spitefully back with renewed fire in his eyes, fangs bared and frothing at the mouth. Immediately they're tackled by both Methuselah and the Queen Muto, and Mothra dives at them with an enraged shriek. This time she assaults the First, furiously stabbing her claws at any and all vulnerable flesh they can reach – the First charges up a beam, but is interrupted by a stinger sinking into the soft junction where its jaw connects to the neck. That leaves the Second to fight back while Youngest Brother snaps at Methuselah's horns and is slashed by Scylla's opportunistic claws, but then two red blurs crash into the right head.

Isn't this a turnaround? Rodan crow-laughs. You were right, Bonehead! His laughter is cut off by Monster X snapping his beak shut. They pin him with a glare that says they know he brought Manda here, probably as a just in case something of the Many was lurking around, but he still took an infant to a warzone. Monster X smiles at him with uncomfortable faux-sweetness and turns to grab the right head by its horns.

I do hope you're more of a gentleman than your shed skin was.

UNLIKELY. I HAD SUCH DELICIOUS DREAMS OF YOUR BLOODSHED.

At least you're consistent.

Another thrum from the center head, signaling a second pulsation. Titans scramble away to avoid getting caught in the blast, but the Queen Muto acts quickly and rises up on her hindquarters, slams down on the earth and releases an EMP to interrupt the attack. Monster X croons in interest and relief that they managed to flee the radius; didn't know she could do that. Ghidorah blinks in shock when nothing happens and its heads slowly turn to face the perpetrator responsible for quite literally stealing their thunder. For a creature that can't facially emote like other Titans, it seems like the Muto is smirking – she even goes so far as to backhand the left head and send it crashing into its brothers.

Gal anda viðr, gangla viðr, riðanda viðr, viðr rinnanda, viðr sitianda, viðr signanda, viðr faranda, viðr fliuganda. Skal all fyrna ok um døyia.

Ghidorah's screech rings with outrage and hate. They leap on top of her, bulky forelegs stomping down on her abdomen, ignoring her attempts to scratch them off – only to freeze feeling something crack after an especially vicious stomp. From his spot in the 'mouth' Thor groans and strains against the Many – so many minds! All crying, all dying! – Ghidorah falters again mid-stomp and Scylla digs her claws into their flank, stabbing harder and harder only to rush away when Ghidorah lashes out to counter. Now Godzilla crashes into it, anchors his feet and hefts with a growl until Ghidorah's back legs lift from the ground, as if to toss them back down, only for a series of booms to echo across the ruins – a second later, multiple explosive impacts punch into Ghidorah's back, from the reinforcements Foster had mentioned.

With all his strength Godzilla slams the dragon down, cratering into the ground, and stomps down on their collar. His massive foot grinds down till he hears the muffled pop of bones cracking; Methuselah swings his head into the fray and pierces one horn through the the second head's lower jaw and up the roof of its mouth, locking the jaws shit; Rodan pins the center neck down under his talons and digs into the armored skin while Mothra sinks her stinger into the First's eye; Scylla focuses on the tails and with some effort manages to punch through the bone while squeezing the length with her strong tentacles; Monster X simply holds the Third steady and watches the sky. Godzilla's mouth pulls back into a satisfied smirk. Lightning cracks over the clouds brewing like hellfire, showing the outline of a bomber high above them.

The other heads just keep fighting to break free, but the Third doesn't move a muscle; its eyes are glazed over, staring at nothing. Come on, how long does it take to drop a bloody bomb? Suddenly electricity surges through Ghidorah and the First whips its half-blind head up, aiming to crush Mothra underneath. Monster X shoots into action at the same time as Godzilla – Mothra is tackled off of the dragon's head and Godzilla catches the snapping jaws in his hands. Genuine fury flares through the King's chest with blue fire and his breath quickens. Wasn't so long ago he watched his Queen give up her life for him, and he will not allow a repeat of that pain. Something whistles from the sky and he has a thought, wrestles Ghidorah's jaws open.

Mothra chirps in surprise at the sight of Monster X. My, my.

For a moment, the hybrid just stares at her. One wouldn't exactly consider an insect beautiful, but somehow Mothra pulls it off effortlessly. They only snap out of it when she taps their shoulder at points behind them. Ghidorah flashes in preparation of a gravity beam straight into Godzilla's face, but blue sparks among the yellow and it almost looks like the dragon is short-circuiting. Thor keeps fighting back, even while most of his body is being assimilated; he's actually sobbing in pain now. Unexpectedly, the Third lunges in and sinks its teeth not into Godzilla's exposed openings, but into the gashes Rodan had torn into the First's neck. The middle head's jaws fly open in a shriek of both shock and pain – a white object a little over twenty feet long whistles down, down, down – and the First receives this new shock of something falling into its open throat. Godzilla slams the jaws shut hard enough for teeth to fly, the neck swells in a swallow. Ordnance has penetrated. And now—

Ghidorah's already damaged center throat is blasted open in a blinding plume of fire and gore and Godzilla recoils from the shock. But it takes more than a bomb to kill this snake. Methuselah flinches from the explosion and his horn loosens out of the Second's mouth, but is still fish-hooked in its lower jaw, so the right head simply brute forces it and flashes yellow – its head is thrown back with a trailing arc of oily black and shattered bone fragments, lower jaw ripped in half. Even the middle head is still attached and so still kicking. Both Mothra and Monster X fly back into the fray, the Queen to stand by her alpha and the hybrid to challenge the destroyer. They still have a new trick up their sleeve, albeit one they're not used to yet. Monster X strafes around the battlefield on their new wings and eyes flare red, looking for a target. Hm. How durable are those new legs?

Gal anda viðr, gangla viðr, riðanda viðr, viðr rinnanda, viðr sitianda, viðr signanda, viðr faranda, viðr fliuganda. Skal all fyrna ok um døyia.

Ghidorah is nearly insensate with wrath at the Third turning its fangs on the others and so the two elder brothers momentarily forget Godzilla in favor of latching onto its traitorous left as punishment. In the corner of the Third's eye there's a crimson flash and then suddenly they're staggering, one of their new limbs burning white-hot – that electric lance from before. So that's what it was. Monster X is firing the beam, not from an expected source like the mouth or horns, but from their eyes. The pain is further exacerbated by Scylla's hit-and-run tactic, slicing at the wound and scurrying away before it can retaliate.

On the Argo, the Russells drop all formalities and start punching the air and screaming at the view of combat as if they're at a football game, while Ilene's jaw drops and Ling actually laughs over "this Superman shit." Ren doesn't know whether to roll his eyes or clap.

"On the plus side, Tejada owes me twenty bucks," Rick smirks.

Foster frowns. "Hold up, there's still one more bomb—"

The second payload detonates right in Monster X's path. Half of them panics, but the other knows what to do and takes over; wouldn't be the first time something similar was used on Ghidorah in the past, after all. The storm sparks within them, red streaking down their body, and the world begins to move in slow motion. Their body arches upwards as if to stall, wings spread wide and they let the heat propel them up into a safe vantage point. They notice some miles north is a whole battalion of battle tanks training their massive cannons on Ghidorah, so Monster X decides to let them open fire before diving back in.

"Close one, Graham," Foster whispers.

Pasternak's voice shouts through the radio. "Second volley ready!"

"Don't wait on my account, sir!"

"Copy! All T-14s fire at will! Make that Rasputin worm hurt!"

A line of muzzle flashes go off and the rounds land with explosive, bloody success; the right head is further deformed with a bloody canyon at the side of its face, the middle is barely holding on despite near disastrous internal damage from the earlier massive ordnance penetrator, and the left suffers more on top of its brothers trying to decapitate it; even the wounded foreleg is further crippled by a stray shell. Thor's head sort of dangles at an unnatural angle – at this point it's clear his neck is broken, but he still gurgles with life, however little of it he still has. His once vibrant fur has lost its luster to the hideous infection, his bright eyes going cloudy, but still he keeps mumbling away his galdr, mind focused on brighter times...

—...their cub has also inherited his mother's spirit. She has always been his better in combat, ferocious and unyielding, and also gentle as the first rays of the morning sun. He himself is not quite so careful. Not for lack of trying. Youthful clumsiness has simply held on to him for longer than usual. She'd been attracted by his eye-catching red fur, and he by her spirit and strength. She asked why, for there is no shortage of eligible female mates. He said because not all strength is physical, he chose her because she is Strong-Many-Ways... and so will their cub... their cub has grown horns and has made his mask... yes. She admits with an affectionate punch to his arm, he was right... he is. . . strong-many-ways . . . —

...lo there do they call to me... lo there do they call to me... lo there... do they...

Gal anda viðr, gangla viðr, riðanda viðr, viðr rinnanda, viðr sitianda, viðr signanda, viðr faranda, viðr fliuganda. Skal all fyrna ok um døyia.

The left snaps up to look at Monster X while Ghidorah charges up for a last-ditch attack. It blinks slowly at them, and somehow from the naked emotion in its eyes, they know that Thor is... they falter in midair, dive down to earth to do... what? The left glances towards Godzilla, where Mothra once more perches on top of him, then back to Monster X as they land. What's left of Thor's body is mostly unconsumed, head aimed for the sky. It didn't have to be like this; he could've died peacefully, looking up at a blue sky or the stars and moon, not like... this. Unfair. She sees that photo of a smiling man who died before her birth, sees Serizawa all over again. Monster X blinks, eyes burning. Yellow sparks up Ghidorah's body despite the extend of its injuries, but for some reason the lightning that streaks up the Third's neck is tinged with electric blue. Its... his face is resigned.

What changed? Was it the Many connecting Thor to Ghidorah, trying to take him over and witnessing the secrets and memories held inside him, the guilt and sorrow that's dogged him for millennia? The Third used to be part of them – used to be him. If San could belong, then... but the Third shakes his head. The blue aurora grows brighter and brighter, and the other Titans surround the dragon; from a staggered Queen Muto, to eerie Scylla and pale-eyed Methuselah, to Rodan looking ready to take a bite out of them. The left head looks scared of what's to come, like he doesn't know what to do anymore, and gazes back at Monster X. He shuts his eyes. Almost without meaning to, they reach out to him.

...brother?

God, it's just like that moment when she first called San her brother. The same way his eyes blink open, the startled confusion, dawning realization, the same way his eyes well up. The growing smile is the same. She can't remember the last time she's wanted to cry before now. San is already right here, she and him are one, but still, if they've gotten through to him...

Don't do this.

thunderer has to go where the others are

The other two heads wail in sudden confusion and unexpectedly, instead of keeping their distance to attack at range, the forelegs burst into motion and carry Ghidorah into a gallop. Blue surges up from where Thor is kept; he's doing this, with his last dying breaths. Before they can reach Godzilla, the Third lunges around and takes the Second by the neck – the First opens its jaws wide to punish him yet again, but reflexively, as if to the aid of her San, Monster X screams out a roar and their vision pulses with crimson, adrenaline kicking in to slow the world's movements to a crawl. They soar in to flank the monster and unleash a more concentrated, focused beam of destroyed thunder aimed straight for the last pieces of meat and bone keeping the middle head attached. It starts in shock, head tilting all around as the crimson beam burns through until the neck is totally severed and it falls unceremoniously to the dirt below, then dragged to the side by Monster X so it can watch what happens next. Meanwhile, the body continues its charge.

Mothra's wings overlap into a shield to defend her King's head and a spiral of fey light trails behind them. Godzilla's majestic maple leaf spines pulsate with radiance, crackling with power. He whirls his body, tail swinging out and crashing into Ghidorah's body, knocking it aside; the spines flash, Mothra flares her wings and the eyespots shine, their bioluminescence combining – the area glows bright as day – and Godzilla completes his revolution. A nova of blue-white fire with spiraling electric purple arcs explodes from his mouth and the shockwave threatens to throw the Titans back, the beam colliding with Ghidorah's center of mass. The force pushes it back while the incredible heat incinerates through skin, muscle, scale, plate, bone – Thor, the Second and Third, all three heads melted or burned away into ash. The headless colossus bulldozes a canyon through the city, ground beneath its feet blazing with brilliant light and taking an appearance like molten glass.

The body collapses, folding into itself with a few final volcanic geysers of viscera, as Godzilla and Mothra focus their spiral ray into breaking down the rest. Soon the body is melted down to something vaguely resembling a mass of bubbling corium, only to be blasted further away into nothingness as the lance of energy burns brilliantly with some cautious sweeping, ensuring that nothing is left of the Dragon to rise back up.

Gal anda viðr, gangla viðr, riðanda viðr, viðr rinnanda, viðr sitianda, viðr signanda, viðr faranda, viðr fliuganda. Skal all fyrna ok um døyia.

Well... nothing left but a head. Monster X watches the ray flash and evaporate into ether, the ensuing silence now deafening in its finality. Thor's gone, along with many human casualties, to say nothing of all the souls that became the Many... or of San-Who-Could-Have-Been. Nothing left of them, just like with Serizawa.

Grasped by the horn in one hand, the First doesn't seem to react much to the utter annihilation of its body and creation, or maybe it's just trying to save face by appearing stoic. Monster X looks down at it, feels something build up inside them. Now would be a good time for a roar, to declare their victory over an insurmountable nemesis, but what comes out is a laugh. It's a little funny, isn't it? Ghidorah was so confident in declaring it impossible for any human to claim its heads, but it's been proven twice in rapid succession – first by essentially giving them a Ghidorah skull, and then they just up and sent that middle head rolling like Marie Goddamn Antoinette! They can literally use the head as a Yorick prop, or the world's largest and most dangerous sock puppet! Hehehehehehehe! Can't have a thing like this go out smug, now can we?

Look upon your work, ye mighty, and despair.

The head sort of harrumphs, spitting in the face of logic even to the end.

INDEED. NOT BAD, EXECUTIONER. BUT IF YOU HOPED TO HEAR ME BEG FOR MERCY, GET USED TO DISAPPOINTMENT.

Are you sure? Monster X smiles.

HA. YOU ARE MORE LIKE ME THAN YOU CARE TO ADMIT.

Comes with the name. I am Abraxas. I can be good... and I can be a terrible, necessary evil. It's customary to have a choice of last words, you know.

ONLY THE LAST WORDS FOR NOW. THIS IS BUT THE ADDITION OF TIME TO AN OLD SENTENCING. WE WILL BE BACK. WE WILL ALWAYS COME BACK, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER.

Not if we find all the pieces first.

Ghidorah's eyes widen fractionally. Now that feels good, feeding it the possibility that this time, there may be no coming back from this. They don't know if that's the case. Maybe they just want to be the one fucking with its head for once.

But even if we don't, we'll still be there to kick your ass all over again. Oh, and before I forget, what was it you said to a Bone Singer so long ago? How it was impossible for a human to claim one of Ghidorah's heads? Well... I may not be human anymore, but look how well that turned out. Now open wide and say "ahhh."

The head is thrown to the ground with Monster X prying the jaws open, charging up another beam; a small part of her has always wanted to do this. Ghidorah flails as much as a decapitated head can. They'd be disappointed if it didn't.

YOU WON'T. YOU CAN'T.

Watch me.

The beam fires straight into Ghidorah's mouth and bored through the back of its head. Unlike how Godzilla had finished off the female Muto way back when, Monster X opts to tilt their head back and gradually split the dragon's head into halves. Soon its struggles fail, bone melts, and gray matter cooks away. The remaining eye bursts like a bloody water balloon, and with a few last meaty cracks, Ghidorah dies.

For now.

Monster X stares blankly at the sight, two halves of a head in each hand. It feels like the fulfillment of a premonition. Out of nowhere, the yellow scales and bubbling dark blood bring to mind, of all things, a banana split. Heh.

They gasp once for breath and immediately lean back to unleash a noise somewhere between cackling and sobbing. Monster X cackles because Ghidorah is dead, as a doornail, ding-dong the bitch is dead, long live the king; and Monster X sobs for two reasons: First because Thor is dead, another teacher gone, and San-Who-Could-Have-Been with him. He may not have had quite the change of heart her San had, but he was still San. The second reason they're bawling is because, well, after the utter insanity of everything that's happened, a kind of euphoria has surfaced and can only be expressed through crying. With every hitch and gasp and hiccough and sting of tears it feels as though mountainous weights that have held them down for so long are vanishing into dust and carried off by the wind. It's ridiculous and completely undignified. The new Titan collapses on their back and heaves wailing laughter to the sky; soon they can't even make audible sounds from lack of oxygen.

Above them the sky itself seems to sigh in relief; the storm lets out another boom and almost immediately settles down, black clouds begin to disperse into bluish grays, the harsh hellish colors fading away in favor of gentler purples and pinks. One last white crack of lightning, and soft rain falls upon the remnants of a city turned battlefield. Here and there rays of light peer through with the break of dawn.

They've done it.

Mothra peers into view and chirps at them, her shape blurred from the overflow of tears.

They're gone, they choke out.

I know. Her soft head presses against the skull face and the two breathe each other in. Mothra nuzzles where the tears drip down from an eye socket and licks them up with a tongue or proboscis, kissing them away. You should rest now.

Have to find my son first.

Mothra smiles with her eyes. I thought he was yours. Go and see to him. He needs his parent. But let us take care of the rest, my dears. You must be so exhausted.

Monster X closes their eyes for a moment to let the rain wash them clean before standing up. The adrenaline has worn off and their movements have become sluggish, but they brush a grateful hand along Mothra's fur; her antennae flutter, pleased. Something high-pitched echoes on the wind and Monster X's horns buzz with feedback.

"...repeat, mayday, mayday. This is Lieutenant Ford Brody. Our bird went down with the last pulse and we have wounded. Can anyone hear me?"

The radio squeals unhelpfully, leaving the surviving crew stuck in the open with a downed Osprey and a very curious baby Titan all too happy to sniff their faces and try to lick at their injuries. Manda makes a clicking noise like a dolphin and butts his nose in to investigate the squawking thing in Ford's hand.

"Not a treat, buddy, not a treat," Ford says and gives him a pat on the nose. He's even kind of rubbery like a dolphin. Manda squeak-snuffles – a sound like that should be illegal it's so cute – and goes back to licking at the cuts in his hide where the Osprey's propellers had nicked him. Hopefully Monster X won't lose their mind over it.

Right on cue, the ground shakes with rhythmic footfalls and two familiar voices at once answer him. "Brody, how the hell are you not dead?"

"That's what I wanna know," grunts the injured gunner. "Son of a bitch is either allergic to death or he goes down on Lady Luck."

Ford just rolls his eyes. "Just lucky, I guess. But it helps that your big blue noodle boy caught us before we went up in flames. Cute little guy."

Monster X's head peeks over the tree line. "Caught you? Is he all right?"

The crew yelp when Manda scampers towards the dark Titan, nearly knocking the Osprey over. His run slows to a walk and he tilts his head like he's looking for something. Monster X looks over their shoulder and their body... Ford isn't sure how to explain it aside from the kind of shudder one has when one realizes things simply won't be the same anymore. It's similar to how his father picked him up back in Janjira and realized Ford already suspected something happened to Mom. Monster X's skull face isn't the most emotive thing, but somehow it feels like how expressions are shown by angles and shadows like with Noh masks.

The now bipedal Monster X looks down at Manda with slumped shoulders, waiting for him to react. Manda crawls up and rises up on his hindquarters, the other kneeling down; the little dragon studies his parent's face almost scientifically while a clawed hand hovers over the fresh cuts on his side. They're surprised when Manda boops their snout, the way he does with San, and he makes a noise that seems to say, "oh, there you are!"

He jumps into their arms. Despite their weariness, Monster X holds him close and they nuzzle one another; there's a warm, relieved smile under the skull helmet and the creature sighs with bone-deep happiness.

Manda squeaks up at them, ducks his head under their chin.

Ma-ma. Un-cle. Home now?

Monster X laughs or cries, kisses the top of his head.

Yes. We're going home soon.

ᛏ - Tiwaz. "The god Tyr." The seventeenth rune. It represents faith, loyalty, and success that comes with a great personal cost. It is a rune of justice, and sacrifice of the individual for the wellbeing of the whole.