Kaiju Rising: Age of Monsters (11 page)

Up and up I go, pushed ever onwards by the passing of time and the groaning of the building. On top of it all, I hear the keening of the tower bell, straining with the cries of the creature. The fighting, rending battle. It grows. More and more it grows as the fallen brothers continue their squabbling. And it will continue to swell with hatred and fury until not only this city is swallowed, but the entirety of humanity is black with the creature’s insatiable search for blood.

Just below the bells, I make my exit into the night air. My brothers feel me, but they do not yet understand where I am. Brother Barrier’s body is like a blanket across their eyes. From where I stand, I can see down into the gaping maws of the beast, faces and mouths open in anguish, eyes spinning in invisible sockets. They sing a thousand curses at me, but I search for only one thing. That glittering metal, stuck fast in the heart of what was once a woman.

I have never been the brave one among my brothers. My hands have rarely wielded swords, and instead have written poems and ballads and songs of old. I hesitate again, up on the ledge, and it nearly does me in. A thick cord of sinew comes up and around my ankle, snapping but not sundering it. The pain is strange and welcome, burning with my heartbeat and the searing in my face.

Now they know.

I am a Seraphim. I am a creature of flame. With one hand I steady the pistol. With the other I draw a word in the air with blue fire: thunder. I shoot the bullet through the word as it still lingers in air, and when it hits the creature, a sound erupts from its center and shakes it to its core. Another sinew shoots out, this time around my middle, but it is with less precision. I am able to shake it off, and I can see a new fire alight down the impossible monster’s gullet of a thousand mouths. Some of the pieces begin to fall, mostly those which were acquired during the creature’s journey from below the city. The weapons fall, too—long metal poles, broken iron doorways. They clatter and spark as they hit the rocky ground below.

“There are only two more bullets,” Brother Barrier whispers to me.

I do not hesitate with my second spell. I mark the word “silence” in the air and shoot through it again, and the whole beast shudders and stops its wailing. Now I can hear the screams from all around the city. People are dying everywhere. But if they are screaming, it also means some are living.

We are a many. We are a waiting. We are a hunger. We are a watching.

“No longer,” I shout down. “Release yourselves and return to the darkness! You will win nothing by your madness!”

We are a many. We are a waiting. We are a hunger. We are a watching.

I remembered that strange liturgy. I had escaped it, but I had held out hope. That was my greatest sin. I had held out hope for myself alone, and I had abandoned them. After a hundred thousand years of suffering together, I sinned before I had even begun again.

“I am so sorry,” I tell them
and
Brother Barrier.

It is with that I draw the last word. I drop the gun and close my eyes. With a final, blessed breath, I dive through the word “brother” and plunge into the belly of the best to withdraw the key to our salvation, an
d doom us all back to oblivion.

One Last Round

Nathan Black – Kaiju Rising Backer

The people of New Orleans were survivors.

They’d endured hurricanes and floods and looting and crawled out from beneath the ruin each time, battered but not beaten. But the greatest crisis of their time, the rise of the great destructive monsters—Kaiju as they were called—had come to finish what Mother Nature had failed to do: the destruction of New Orleans.

A deep roar assaulted the people’s ears as a giant primate raged through the city. It pounded on his chest with hairy fists, red face flushed with hate. This was Akaoni, the Red Devil of Tokyo. It stomped on a community center, brick and steel collapsing in a cloud a gray dust, as it continued its rampage across the Big Easy. Akaoni’s eyes rolled in blackened sockets as it surveyed the town spread out before it, each building waiting patiently for the creature’s attention. Saliva oozed in foul drips from bared fangs, dark splatters staining the asphalt at its feet, steam misting at its impact. The creature roared and glass shattered. Akaoni grunted his amusement as a crystalline rain filled the air, its musical cascade drowning the screams of the meat sacks that scurried below. It stared at the shards as they fell. What few stars were in the sky glistened in their depth, the heavens crashing to earth. Akaoni pounded his chest again in celebration, but its toothy grin fell away as a new sound emerged to drown out that of the tinkling glass. The creature’s head snapped about, quick in its furious appraisal. A feral growl bubbled in its throat when it spied the source of the noise that had drawn its focus, recognition setting fire to its eyes.

Colonel Ausum stood boldly in the street. Henshined—his powers active—he nearly stared Akaoni in the eyes. The
Colonel’s yellow motorcycle helmet was split down the middle with a red stripe, the darkness of the face shield hiding the expression beneath. Akaoni knew a disapproving sneer resided there. They had crossed paths before.

Purple spandex hugged the Colonel’s frame, its tightness revealing the lifetime of training that had chiseled his flesh. Golden plates of armor shielded his shoulders and chest, circling about his ribs to protect the most vital targets on his body. His scarf bellowed in the wind, the serpentine
snap
of its passage loud in the sudden silence.

Alongside the Colonel towered a monstrosity of steel. It shared the man’s affinity for purple, gold accents standing out bright on its shoulders and head. The faceless glare of its green visor, offset only by the gleaming jewel set in its forehead above, took in the Red Devil as the creature paused in its destruction. The beast recalled the robot’s name, its memory erupting into its mind like the plume of a volcano: KRASER—Kaiju Repulse and Super Eradicating Robot.

The robot’s right hand twisted its left arm into place. A trio of curved spikes protruded from both forearms, their sharpened points reflecting the dying sunlight. On its back rested two massive tomahawks whose handles rose into the air. KRASER stood stoic in its readiness.

Akaoni howled, spittle flying as Colonel Ausum called out, “Devil of Tokyo! We’ve come to send you back to Hell.” Ausum snapped into his fighting stance. Not to be outdone, KRASER matched his pose. The ground at their backs exploded as though emphasizing their challenge.

“
Cut!
” The word cleaved the air, lights snapping on as the echo died away.

All three combatants stood down without a sound while several young men ran into the ruined cityscape, shattering the city’s scale. The once towering buildings were quickly reduced to waist-high façades. The combatants reached for their heads in unison as the other men hovered about, offering their assistance. With a pop, the last bit of movie magic faded, and three actors, sweat dotting their brows, emerged from the costumes of robot, ape, and man.

“That’s a wrap for the day. Nice touch on the pyrotechnics,” the director called out while stroking his salt and pepper beard. The actors were framed within the lenses of his hipster glasses as he waved them off.

Just as the cast and crew started to scatter and make their way off the set, a man appeared, pushing against the tide. The crew parted in his wake, fury coloring his dark cheeks so that they nearly matched the bright red of his loose T-shirt. It flowed about him like a matador’s cape, but there was no mistaking this man for anything but the bull. He marched up to the director with a wad of paper scrunched in his hand.

“Discotti! What the fuck is this?” Gerry Nadler shouted with his hand thrust toward the director. He held the paper as if it was radioactive.

Discotti stiffened at the drill sergeant-like command. He swallowed hard as he turned about. “Uh, hey. How’s the piloting going?”

“Shut it,” Gerry told him. “Why are you guys saying this is the last KRASER movie, and why the flying fuck did I have to read the newspaper to find that out?”

The director shook his head, no doubt getting ready to fall back on the speech he’d prepared for exactly this moment. “Maybe you haven’t seen the box office returns, Gerry. The last movie tanked in the States. It barely made its budget back in China.”

“It’s not about
your
budget,” Gerry said. “The Maxwell Foundation relies on these movies to fund the KRASER project. Those profits help keep the robot running, and they keep us piloting so we can protect people.”

Discotti stood and let out a quiet snort. “Not my problem, Gerry. My job is to make the studio money, and KRASER just doesn’t pack the seats anymore. He can’t even headline his own movie anymore.” The director’s grin grew wider as the pilot glared.
He’d wanted to say this for some time,
Gerry realized. “People just don’t like you or your robot sidekick anymore.”

~

“And that’s when I punched him in his smug face.”

Gerry sat in a diner booth, cooling his jets on a glass of ice water. He glanced through a swollen eye at the man sitting across from him. “What would’ve you done?”

Will Taswell stared into his cup of marshmallows, slowly pouring hot chocolate over them. His free hand massaged his scalp through its unruly mess of brown hair. He shrugged once his cup was full. The booth
squeaked
beneath the movement of his leather-jacketed mass, Will unnerved by Gerry’s words. “I don’t know what I’d have done.”

Gerry chuckled, searching the menu. “You’d pr
obably do what Andrea would’ve—stay calm and bite your tongue.”

Will sighed but didn’t rise to the bait. “We’ll need a new source of money,” he said, steering the conversation away from their teammate. “I think we could hit up China for more funds. They’re pretty happy with us after Shanghai.”

“Russia, Japan...” Gerry groaned. Goodwill only went so far, and they’d been scraping the lint out of those pockets already. There weren’t many pockets left.

The bell at the diner entrance clanged and drew their listless eyes, the wind whistling through the open door. “Evening, boys. Sorry I’m late,” Andrea told them as she shook the water from her umbrella.

Her hair in a bun, soaked and shiny from the rain, it looked as if she wore a tiny halo atop her head. Gerry laughed at the thought. There was nothing angelic about Andrea outside of her simmering Asiatic good looks. She sighed as she walked over to the table, unbuttoning her coat. Silver streams ran down the sleeves as she hung it over the back of a nearby chair and dragged it over alongside the booth.

Will smiled. “Hey, Andrea.”

She dropped down next to the big man, thanking the waitress who hurried over to pour her a cup of hot tea. Gerry stared at the table and avoided her eyes.

“I guess you can tell how Discotti took Gerry’s entreaty,” Will told Andrea once the waitress had taken their orders and left.

“Oh yeah, it was a real frank discussion of opinions,” Gerry gestured to his face. “Did you expect anything else from that guy?”

Andrea’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the black eye for the first time. “Christ, Gerry. You ever think to talk to us before you go off half-cocked and start burning bridges?” She sipped at her tea loudly.

“About as often as you consult us before running home with your tin cup held out.” Gerry chuckled, hoping his snickers helped him to ignore the obnoxious sipping. “How’s old General Jansen these days?”

“Really?” Andrea glared at Will. “You had to tell him?”

Will shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

Andrea took a violent sip of her tea and set the cup on the table with a
thump
. “Looks like we’re the only ones begging.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gerry asked. He looked over at Andrea and saw the frustration lurking behind her anger. “Ah, no way… Don’t tell me Jansen pulled the plug, too.”

“It gets worse.”

Will slumped and rubbed at his temples, his belly jolting the table.

Gerry sat there slack-jawed. “Worse?”

“Yeah.” Andrea nodded. “They want KRASER back.”

~

“Tell me you coldcocked him,” Gerry asked through gritted teeth after Andrea recounted her unfortunate meeting with the General. “Please, tell me you laid him out.”

Andrea shook her head. “Unlike you, I prefer not to have a rap sheet the length of my arm.”

“I can’t deal with this,” groaned Will. “It’s all over. We got shafted by the bureaucracy.”

Silence settled over the trio, each sinking into the gloom of their thoughts. There was nothing left to say. KRASER was done. Thunder rumbled in commiseration.

~

Several miles off the coast of New Orleans, a lone Coast Guard cutter sailed through the miserable storm. The waves crashed into its hull, but it soldiered on into the night, cutting a swath through the turbulent waves.

In the bridge, a young sailor stiffened at the controls. “I’m getting strange readings half a mile out,” she said.

The captain strode over to her station, rubbing the day’s growth at his chin. He’d held the helm all night through the rough waters. “What do you mean ‘strange’?”

“Possibly a whale, but…” The navigator furrowed her brow as her voice trailed off. “That doesn’t make any sense.” She jumped in her seat as the station
pinged
. “The signal’s changed direction.” The navigator stared at the screen. “That’s not… Sir, it’s heading straight for us and…accelerating.”

The captain ran to the port side window and stared through the misted glass. At first he saw nothing through the sheets of rain, but a gust of wind cleared his line of sight for an instant. It was more than long enough. His blood ran cold. He could see something cutting through the waves. His first thought was that it was a torpedo, but the greenish-black surface that loomed above the water cast that comparison aside. The captain pressed his face against the glass for a better look, but what he saw made reason take flight. The thing’s profile reminded him of his recent trip to the Everglades. Ther
e was something familiar about—

His heart thrummed in his chest at the sudden recognition. The word
alligator
popped into his head uninvited, its impact like a hammer ringing a bell. He was staring at a giant alligator.

The Captain ran to his radio. “This is a priority one alert for the New Orleans metropolitan area. We have an imminent Kaiju attack. Giant alligator. I repeat, imminent attack.”

The alligator’s maw opened as the beast closed on the ship, the cavernous roof of its mouth crossing over the boat’s deck. A horrific wash of foul air flooded the cabin, the captain choking back bile. He stared into the giant mouth and saw row upon row of jagged, yellowed teeth, blackened and rotten flesh holding them in place. The captain swallowed hard against the fear crowding his throat. This was no mere giant alligator. It was undead.

“My God,” the captain muttered, his fist clenched about the radio. “It’s Grimmgarl!”

The name of the beast had barely been uttered when the looming mouth slammed shut on the ship, nearly splitting it in half. Grimmgarl rolled, taking the cutter with it into the depths…

~

Andrea grumbled as she sat in her hotel room, staring at a blank canvas. A pencil rested in her idle hand, her thoughts too scattered to concentrate on a new sketch. She’d woken that morning with a plan and a future for the Maxwell Foundation. All that was gone now.

“Damn it.”

She threw the pencil at the TV, bouncing off the screen with a
clink
. It felt wrong to just sit around. She was a pilot, dammit. She should be training, working with KRASER to better her skills, but the government’s sudden repossession of the mech made that impossible. Without funding there was no project, no training, and no KRASER. Andrea growled at the thought. Her life’s work, her ambition, had been stolen from her without warning. She cursed Jansen’s decision.

Still fuming, she stomped over to the fridge and whipped the door open. Her fingers were around the neck of a beer bottle before the door even stop swinging. The cold tingled against her palm as she popped the cap. A nice, memory-reducing drunk is what she needed right then. It was going to be a long night.

She lifted the bottle to the sky. “To the past.”

As Andrea set the beer against her lips, a siren shrieked across the city, making her jump. Foam spewed from the neck of the bottle. It was the Kaiju alert. Instinct made her toss the beer into the sink and spin to grab her gear, but reality kicked in before she managed more than two steps. She wasn’t a pilot anymore. There was no robot. There was nowhere to go.