It was raw and savage, against his nature, against what they believed his nature to be. Or maybe they were deceived. In the raining fire and collapsing buildings, that deception spread as a fear that corroded every spirit and every heart across Manehattan. The ground shuddered and carriages bounced in place. Pegasi took to the skies and flew for their lives. Unicorns and Earth ponies galloped in a mass panic as far from the oncoming tide of death as possible. Trampling others who were too slow, too feeble, too afraid to move.

Godzilla entered the cityscape and began his decimation with an atomic breath, severing buildings both standing and in mid-construction. They all collapsed together. More Solar Bolts came, but they just as easily were blown out of the sky by that same beam of fire erupting from his maw. His cry elevated in pitch as more missiles struck his body, and he then retaliated by striking his body against the towers, the skyscrapers, the hotels, the apartments.

Everything.

His tail slashed at every street he passed, decapitating buildings as his feet crushed the roads and any fleeing heart caught under his shadow. His claws swiped and gutted every structure, ripping mounds of rubble free and flinging them across the city in a mindless, rageful manner. It fell upon the ponies trying to run, trying to fly away, trying to live. The rest were burned. Bursts of light, waves of power, a radioactive fury fell from his agape mouth. A singular stream of his atomic breath was washed across the city. His fire gave a cry unlike anything the world had heard. A shrill, piercing shriek that devoured any and all caught in his meaningless wrath.

It was that fire that devoured all. Every standing structure that had survived the Titan attack one year ago. Every attempt to rebuild what was broken, retain those who were lost, they were also devoured. The marble structures that held the names of the fallen, lest they forget, were buried in the crumbling ruins of the towers falling over them.

Waves of fire and of dust filled the streets. Every street, until Godzilla finally relented. His jaws came to a close and the atomic fire had ended. He had left a growing fire in his wake. His spinal plates finally darkened from the bright blue that consumed them, as did his eyes, and he finally stood to witness all he had done.

He stared at his destruction, his eyes holding a dead, soulless stare. Even so, his eyes were glistening nonetheless. His eyes shone with the fading light of atomic power and something much, much worse. For when he stared at the needless destruction, there was felt only one true power, and one his eyes expressed far more than anything else Godzilla could have. His eyes said it all. His eyes burned. His eyes carried a voice stronger than any roar he could have made.

His maddening, golden eyes, irises as red as the fires devouring the city, with pupils as black as his mind. In his wake, they carried terror.

In his wake, that terror carried on.