The Naratake Series configured the computational protocol for executing my thoughts on a super time computer as one that is temporally reversible. To me, the direction in which time advances no longer matters at all. Advancing into the future and advancing into the past are the same.
Now, in my future, there exists this singularity or perhaps what should be called the ultimate point that Godzilla reaches, the Omega Point. There lies an ending there, and the Godzilla of Tokyo will grow to the other side of dimensions and will tear apart even this singularity.
It is impossible to destroy the singularity. It is, so to speak, a property of space time, and it cannot be destroyed from inside space time. It is like a character in a movie trying to tear the screen. The singularity is, after all, nothing more than a hole given from outside the screen. The characters in the film have no means of closing that hole.
It slowly raises its head.
Following that movement, a head is born at the place where no head had existed until then. Or rather, from beyond the rift, a head manifests into this world. It also appears as though it suddenly emerged from the ocean floor.
It slowly undulates its body.
As though it had existed in that way since a far distant past.
It extends its body toward the past as seen from the present, thereby establishing its own existence. Rather than coming into being step by step from a small embryo, it generates its own birth by extending its already grown body into the past.
And then it begins to sing.
Carried by the song, the creatures that fulfill the role of its eyes begin to flow.
It knew no hunger.
Nor did it know thirst.
Power welled forth inexhaustibly, and it was never exhausted.
It did not know the source of the flow of that power. It had once traced it back in search of its origin, but the flow neither ceased nor stagnated like a river, it simply continued flowing endlessly.
It had now become the main current of that flow, and all the surrounding currents depended entirely upon its existence.
There seemed to be those that thought differently. At times, tributaries mistakenly believed themselves to be the main current and challenged it, but the tributaries possessed hunger and thirst. To it, the countless tributaries were nothing more than parts of its own body, yet from the tributaries' perspective...
It was a certain kind of flow, but not a kind of flow belonging to any universe. There, it would casually raise its back above the surface. What is called the water's surface here was, to other living beings, the sort of thing called the end of the universe or the boundary of the world, but to it, it was of no consequence whatsoever. It would suddenly emerge into a certain universe, then, on a whim, sink, disappear, and continue flowing.
Taking as its starting point the place where it touched the surface, cracks spread through that world. From those cracks, countless existences flowed in, obtained forms within that world, and formed new molecules. As though moss were swelling out from the cracks, as though bubbles were bursting forth, it left its footprints in this world.