Torrents of darkness engulfed the deep ocean once more, but within that cold and unfathomable expanse, immense power stirred as two titanic behemoths unleashed a battle that would ripple through every corner of the globe.
Godzilla had risen from the aquatic abyss with ferocious determination, each powerful stroke of his tail creating seismic tremors that echoed through the ocean floor, and when his jaws sank into Ghidorah's descending form, dragging the three-headed sovereign into his domain, the clash between primordial dominions had begun.
Ghidorah's golden scales erupted in arcs of crackling energy as the hydra thrashed wildly under the weight of Godzilla's merciless grip, but the King of Monsters refused to relent, locking his serrated teeth around the central neck until the sound of shattering cartilage echoed deep beneath the waves and one of the monstrous heads detached with a howl that reverberated through the trenches.
…
On dry land, in a fortified command bunker stunned by satellite imagery and seismic sensors streaming data in real time, General Hawthorne leaned over the digital map spread across the war room table and spoke in clipped, urgent tones to President Lane, emphasizing that the apex predator known as Ghidorah had begun a regeneration cycle that would soon restore its lethal form unless humanity intervened with decisive force.
President Lane pressed his fingertips together against his lips, glancing at the screen showing Godzilla holding the injured monster in the murky blue depths before turning back to Hawthorne and asking whether any weapon in the arsenal could halt Ghidorah without turning the entire planet into a radioactive wasteland.
General Hawthorne, whose years of military service had taught him the cost of hesitation, replied that the only operational solution lay within the black‑budget; a fusion‑resonance oxygen destroyer bomb; designed not to work through brute force but rather to burn all the oxygen within the blast radius, striking at both regenerative ability and core stability of all living organisms.
President Lane's voice almost cracked as he asked about collateral damage, worried that Godzilla might suffer irreversible harm from such a weapon, but Hawthorne reassured him that while Godzilla would be gravely wounded, it would likely survive; unlike Ghidorah, whose parasitic cellular structure made it uniquely vulnerable to the device.
After a tense, shuddering moment filled with the collective breaths of every leader in the room, President Lane lowered his head and quietly signed the launch order, knowing that this gamble might topple a monster or doom a hero but refusing to allow Ghidorah to continue tearing apart cities and innocent lives.
…
Beneath the waves, pressure and cold condensed around the titans like an invisible cloak, and just as Godzilla appeared to clinch a final victory, the water around them brightened into a shifting sphere of pale blue and crystalline white light, a colour screaming unnatural from the spectral arc of fusion energy radiating through the liquid medium.
Ghidorah recoiled as the wave slammed into its flank, the water itself boiling around its wings and necks as the resonant pulse engulfed its bodies, fracturing arcs of energy along golden scales as regenerative cells overloaded and short‑circuited under the pressure.
But Ghidorah did not perish. With a howl of defiance, the two surviving heads pumped oxygenated breath into burning lungs and beat their vast wings in a hurricane of assertion before erupting from the ocean's surface and spiralling toward the sky; its third head already re-emerging in an arc of flesh like a phoenix rising from storm‑tortured waters.
Below the surface, Godzilla lay motionless, dorsal fins cracked and scorched, limbs splayed in the lee of the shockwave, steam rising from wounds that glowed faintly with radioactive heat; an apex predator felled not by beast but by human weaponry.
On the shore closest to the detonation, massive tentacles coiled beneath the breaking waves as something immense slithered toward the ruined titan, ghostlike in its unhurried approach.
Mark, moving with the quiet majesty of a colossus born from the abyss, emerged where broken seaweed and warm water swirled in spirals; his twelve armoured eyes reflecting the moon's eerie light as he reached toward the fallen King of Monsters.
Dark water surged over his armoured caress as one enormous tentacle extended until it brushed against Godzilla's cracked dorsal plate, his entire form illuminated by the afterglow of the detonations, and in that moment, the deep trembled with possibility, and dread.