Chapter 7
Godzilla didn't spend the remaining fifty-odd minutes doing nothing.
With the power of Hell Godzilla and Singularity Godzilla at his disposal, he got to work creating a species that would be entirely his—his own race to inhabit this world.
"I think it's time Godzilla had his own people."
That can be arranged.
"They should have tails like mine. Big lizard tails. Sharp teeth. Fangs. Humanoid form, but still unmistakably Godzilla."
Also possible.
"They've gotta be tough—able to survive in harsh, irradiated environments. Cosmic radiation, nuclear fallout, whatever. Like me."
With your abilities, that's easy.
"And of course, they'll love close-quarters combat. Giant melee weapons only. Big axes, heavy hammers. Because that's what 'WAAAGH' is all about!!!"
This is really what you're aiming for?
The system pulled up an image of a familiar-looking creature: a lizardman from the neighboring Warhammer Fantasy universe. Created by the Old Ones using native genetic stock, they were ancient reptilian warriors built for divine purpose.
That's a Lizardman. But they're only found in Warhammer Fantasy, not 40K.
"As much as I want to shout 'for the Great Plan,' that's not quite what I meant."
Next, a new image appeared: a striking green-haired woman with fair skin and a powerful build. Her outfit barely covered the essentials. She had a thick reptilian tail, carried a chainsaw axe in one hand, and let out a primal war cry. The art style didn't fit Warhammer at all—closer to something out of anime—but there was a touch of the Adepta Sororitas in her presence.
Slaanesh, have mercy...
You still can't forget Terra from Arknights, can you?
"What's wrong with that? I'll always like Gavial!"
What about the snake girl?
"That joke went over everyone's head. Just tell me if I can make them or not."
You can. But don't overdo it. If you make them too flashy, they might get the attention of Slaanesh. And right now, you can't beat Slaanesh again.
Though, let's be honest. Slaanesh wouldn't dare challenge you at the moment.
"Then it's fine. Let's say that maybe, after many generations, one or two special individuals will turn out that way. Mothra gets her fan-favorite forms, and I get mine. Fair's fair."
All right. One or two. Whatever you want.
"Good. Let's do it."
And so, for the rest of that hour, Godzilla reshaped the planet.
The Space Marines on the surface began to notice the changes. Entire stretches of land devoured by the Tyranids were sprouting dense rainforests at an unnatural rate. But these weren't ordinary jungles.
A Marine brushed against one of the plants and heard a metallic scrape as it scratched his power armor. Curious, he plucked a leaf. It felt cold, solid—like it had been grown from metal instead of cellulose.
These forests were Godzilla's creations, grown from Godzilla's own cells. This was the power of Planet Godzilla, fused with the influence of Singularity Godzilla. In just one hour, the planet had undergone what should've been thousands of years of evolution.
But it wasn't the planet adapting to life—it was adapting to Godzilla.
The Space Marines pulled back, unsure of what was happening, but they instinctively looked toward Godzilla. They knew he was the source.
Then a voice came through the vox.
"This is the flagship Emperor's Will. I, Cato Sicarius, Second Captain of the Ultramarines, order all Ultramarines and mortal auxiliaries to evacuate immediately!"
In the skies above, a fleet of Thunderhawk gunships and other Imperial craft began to descend, bearing the double-headed eagle.
The Marines might not have seen the full scale of the transformation, but Cato, from orbit, had.
Water systems were returning to the planet. Lakes and rivers appeared where none had existed. The planet's surface was now blanketed in dark, metallic green vegetation.
And it was spreading fast.
Cato's instincts screamed that this was different from any Warp-tainted world. This was something else entirely.
And he was right.
As the first squads of Ultramarines lifted off into the atmosphere, new sounds echoed from the jungles below—roars of "WAAAGH." But these weren't Orks.
Lumbering through the trees came humanoid reptilian warriors, each over two meters tall, armed with massive primitive weapons. They looked like something out of a myth—part alien, part kaiju, part soldier.
They weren't the only ones. Towering amphibian creatures, their size rivaling Titans, moved slowly through the wilderness.
This new race didn't fit any known species in 40K. They were all pieces of Godzilla, but none of them were Godzilla.
"Your Majesty, perhaps I should request Exterminatus authorization," Cato said aloud.
And then—he heard a voice in his mind.
It crossed sixty thousand light-years instantly and landed like thunder in his thoughts.
Don't mess with Godzilla.
"What? That voice… By the Emperor! I've received a revelation!"
Revelations weren't unheard of. Sometimes, the Emperor spoke directly. But experiencing it firsthand was something else. Cato didn't question it for a second. He knew this was not the voice of any daemon or trickster god.
This was the Emperor.
Cato issued new orders.
"Once all squads are aboard, we return to the Ultramar sector. This planet is to be officially logged and classified as an extreme threat world. Report everything directly to Chapter Master Calgar."
"Captain Sicarius, what about the xenos titans still present?"
"I know."
He did know. And as a loyal servant of the Imperium, every xenos species was a threat to be purged.
But this wasn't the time.
The insect fleet's mysterious annihilation, the planetary metamorphosis, and now the Emperor's revelation—he had more than enough reason to withdraw.
"That's an order. Carry it out."
"Yes, sir!"
The fleet retreated, quickly exiting the system.
It was the right choice. Had they stayed, the moment a Cyclone Missile entered the atmosphere, Godzilla's atomic breath would've swept it from the sky—along with everything else.
Godzilla's tolerance for the Imperium had dropped. Not that he ever liked them. He respected the Emperor and the Primarchs. The rest—Inquisitors, Ecclesiarchs, bureaucrats—meant nothing to him.
Who knew what kinds of twisted things were left inside those human institutions?
"Whatever."
At the end of the hour, the power inside Godzilla began to subside.
The storm in the Warp faded. Daemons, once exiled, slithered back into reality, bringing chaos with them.
The Emperor, having explained all he needed to, sat back on the Golden Throne and resealed the Webway gate.
The galaxy had survived.
And Godzilla had evolved—from first-generation to second-generation form.