Emergence: Kaiju Invasion

[JAGzilla]

Sangrazotz felt his connection ebb as Lung closed his eyes. He shook his head, returning his focus to the world at large. Well. So much for that attempt. The dragon was cleverer than he'd assumed, and the insufferable Tekuta wasn't helping matters any. He eyed the boiling patch of sea contemptuously; hopefully the meddling fool had at least injured himself in the course of his rescue.

But he harbored no illusion that the crustacean would be kept down for long, and his only practical means of attacking Ignus Lung had been cut off, however simple the solution was. This hunt was beginning to look like a waste of time; his weapons were geared toward bringing down lone, unsuspecting targets, and he couldn't easily overcome two prey items committed to supporting one another.

In any case, he felt instinctively that other options were available, not far to the north. He sensed what he'd initially been searching for: a brewing conflict. With any luck, one or both participants would be vulnerable when he arrived.

Giving the willfully blinded dragon one last glance, the red-eyed predator spread his wings, lifted off with a few lazy flaps, and then put on speed, accelerating past the duo, over the bay, and on to the north without a backward glance. Tekuta couldn't hope to chase him, and if Lung wanted to follow alone, he was welcome to take that risk. If not, no matter: Sangrazotz was patient. He knew he would get the blood he sought eventually, one way or another. He always did.

[Zarm]

Location: Andoany, Madagascar. Now.

Under the shallow waves, a pale lavender glow appeared to outshine the moonlight. The surface of the water bulged- and was pierced by a blazing shaft of tyrian light.

As the monstrous form broke the surface, other rays emerged from its glowing body, flashing and whipping around like lighthouse beacons- it was almost a pity there was no one else around to witness it.

As the glow faded, an abomination of horror stood on two thickened, stilt-like tentacle-trunk legs. At its core, a veiled chameleon of lavender hue- but fused to in on the back, an octopus was melded right into the skin, the fruits growing on the purple chameleon still visible as bulges beneath the slimy mucous-membrane of a second skin that covered the octopus form, like a bovine calf mid-birthing. The thing’s tentacles were coiled around the lizard’s neck, but did not constrict- and the entire nightmarish construct lurched about awkwardly on its two legs, as if unused to being upright, or even to its own limbs.

A human observer- if there were one- would have easily been forgiven for conjuring images out of the works of Mary Shelley to mind.

But as the glow faded, the shimmering rays fading into the night, a new transformation took place- the nodules under the membrane began to diminish, the fruit growing on exposed purple scales drawing back inside, as if un-growing; being absorbed…

And with astonishing rapidity, the slimy shell encasing its piggy-back component began to change. Starting at the edges, and growing inward like an encroaching fungus, the skin hue and texture of the lizard began to overtake the rubbery shell. A crusting, crackling sound filled the air- and within a moment, the ungainly shape stood clad in a single skin.

Fully defoliated of fruit, small buds appeared to begin the regrowing process at intervals along the skin- even the new skin. But far fewer than before.

Its movements were lither, now- more natural. It swayed, experimentally, side to side- shifting weight on new hips, flexing new legs, as if the figure had been born with them. Tentacles atop the neck uncoiled, extended before its face- curled and uncurled, flexing; reveling in new power.

Within the mind of the new being, Vrithigee sang- no barrier of communication between them, now. We are complete. We will be our own protector, now.

It feels… strange, Tilipazus answered in thought-song. It feels good.

You can show me this strange world-above-the-waves, Vrithigee sighed contentedly. Through your eyes, it will make sense to me. Through your ears, I can comprehend. And we will be our own protector. Wherever you want to go.

A smile curled the lip of the new, merged being- and with a broad stride of the thick, tentacular legs, Ultra-Tilipazus made their first footfall into the world of man.

[Zarm]

Tekuta burst up trough the surface in a spray of surf, eyestalks swiveling wildly and independently of one-another, poised to shout out split-second directions to his ally... only to spot Sangrazotz, a rapidly-receding dot in the distance. But, as ill luck would have it, still bound for a region humans occupied. And toward...

Another predator had returned.

He was befuddled as to his adversary's departure, the briefness of the battle- but there was no time for that now. He would be late in reaching the battle, either way; every moment counted.

"Ignus, are you well?" he called, already beginning a powerful breast-stroke northward. He was rested, now, from his long day of ocean-crossing; he should manage a fair sight more speed now than he had before. Whether Ignus Lung would still join him, retracing their steps in an almost-ludicrous manner, he did not know; he would not blame the kaiju of myth for being fed up with the entire affair. "I am sorry things went... poorly."

[KaijuCanuck]

Location: UN Security Room, United Nations Building, New York City, New York, USA

“Get me out of here, Archie, and we’re in business. They’re ready to open the Strategy Room.”

Archie’s spirits soared at Rachel’s words. He would hug her, if she weren’t handcuffed. He gave her a wide smile.

“Gimme a second.”

Archie ducked out of Rachel’s cell, and caught eyes with the on-duty security officer.

“Is she being charged?” He asked. The officer, an older, crusty looking man, stared at Archie through tired, apathetic eyes, perhaps a little confused as to why the young man with a maple leaf pin on his lapel was asking about the older Israeli woman.

“Nope.” came the officer’s response in a wizened New Jersey accent. “Diplomatic immunity. Indians want to make a formal complaint and supersede it, but we’re writing the incident off as ‘induced by stress’.”

“So... can I take her then?” Archie asked. “She’s fine now. I can vouch for her.”

“Oh really. YOU can, huh?” The officer looked Archie up and down, and Archie was suddenly cognizant of his boyish, youthful features. “Listen ‘Tintin’, we gotta be sure she ain’t gonna fly off the handle again. And I have no idea why I should hand her over to you when her own delegation decided to leave her.”

“She and I are working together. And she won’t ‘fly off the handle’! It’s like you said, it was stress. But that was seven hours ago. She’s good now!” Archie pleaded.

“Mm-hmm. Let me think.” The guard looked up and put his finger to his chin in mock consideration. “... Nope!”

Archie walked away, swearing under his breath. As he went, he noticed the English diplomat’s gaze following him. He caught eyes with her, and she gave him a wry, knowing smile, brushing aside a single strand of blue of her shoulder-length copper brown hair out of her eye. Archie gave an awkward kind-of-chuckle in reply then looked away, blushing with embarrassment at her having witnessed his failure.

Archie stepped outside the security office. Did she know him? Was he supposed to know her? He was still so new here. He clenched and un-clenched his hands in frustration, impatient to get the strategy room open. Suddenly, a stupid idea crossed his mind and without thinking it through, Archie spun around and marched straight back into the office and to the officer. The officer opened his mouth to speak, but was steamrolled by Archie.

“Listen buddy,” Archie said, leaning casually against the officer’s desk. “I didn’t want to do this, but you’re leaving me with no choice. My name is Agent Fletcher and I’m with the Canadian Security Intelligence Service.” As he spoke, Archie whipped his lanyard with the attached name-tag past the guard’s eye quickly enough that it couldn’t properly be read. “That woman you’re holding carries vital information on how to combat Trintaurus. If you don’t release her to me, not only are you putting millions of lives at risk, but I will bring an ungodly bureaucratic firestorm over your head. You’ll be so buried in paperwork that you won’t even be able to find the bathroom. Got me?”

The officer stared Archie in the eye, his gaze narrowing. Archie could tell his story was not especially convincing. The officer weighed the odds - “Hmmph,” he finally said. “They don’t pay me enough for this crap.” He slowly looked through his key chain, finding the one for Rachel’s handcuffs, then shuffled away to her cell, grumpily mumbling to himself. A moment later he returned with Rachel, who rubbed her sore wrists but otherwise looked in high spirits.

“Thank you, officer,” Archie said appreciatively, exchanging a grin with Rachel. The officer simply gave a dismissive wave over his shoulder as he dragged his feet back to his desk.

“What a jerk,” Archie said to Rachel. “Think you could punch him too?”

Rachel laughed. “Let’s go.” The two turned to leave - Archie realized he had walked too far, and Rachel had stopped to greet the English diplomat, who had suddenly leapt to her feet and was beaming at Rachel.

“You’re out!” The woman exclaimed.

“I am,” Rachel replied. Archie looked between the two, a little bewildered. “Archie, this is Amelia McClain. An old friend, and an ally. Amelia, this is Archie Fletcher, member of the Canadian Delegation. We’ve been working together to get the strategy room up and running.”

“How do you do... ‘Agent’ Fletcher,” Amelia said with a grin, shaking Archie’s hand. A red-faced Archie could only once again give his weird half-chuckle in response. Amelia turned to Rachel. “So. Strategy room?”

Rachel grinned. “We’ll fill you in on the elevator ride.” She turned to Archie. “It’s time.” Archie nodded. They set off.

As the trio walked the halls of the United Nations, Archie detected a subdued atmosphere compared to the previous days. He could still hear the busy footsteps of hundreds of diplomats bustling about, but the echoes of their multi-lingual discussions had become hushed, and diplomats looked at one another with quick, suspicious glances before darting their eyes away. Something in the air had changed since India’s unilateral action. The little trust there was between the nations of the world had seemed to have eroded. It didn’t help that the nuke was confirmed to have no effect on the kaiju. The monsters seemed more invincible than ever - and the planet more desperate.

It wasn’t just India where major developments had taken place. The situation in Egypt was... complicated, to say the least. Archie had not had much time to catch up, but he’d heard whispers that the emerging kaiju were converging on some kind of secret UN-backed project. These rumours of black-ops dealings and kaiju had done some damage to the UN’s already shaky reputation with the international public. There was more - some kind of bombshell revelation regarding the nature of those specific kaiju that was still being assessed by the team in Egypt. Unfortunately, the rumours had also stressed that none of this explained the emergence of the kaiju in general, but simply suggested the phenomenon was even more complicated than it already appeared... Archie would cross that bridge when his overloaded brain came to it.

Gauteng Province in South Africa was perhaps one of the most terrifying of the many disaster zones as a result of the ‘Dragon Sickness’, so named for the greedy hoarding of precious minerals it induced in the feral infected. Though the calamitous, tusked Grootslang had disappeared, the violence continued as former neighbours, friends and family members tore one another apart. Archie had made the mistake earlier of watching a viral video taken on a cell phone of a Red Cross car of un-infected wounded being turned over, the passengers screaming as they were pulled out of the vehicle and brutalized by savages in search of jewelry. It made Archie sick to his stomach. The local and national governments had been unable to deal with the situation, so the UN had taken over the province and locked it down. Other than that, not much help was being given. The countries with the resources to help were looking out for themselves.

The United Kingdom had been completely overrun by the Ghagon, and some provisional reports indicated that the revolting garghoyles were beginning to spill over into northern France as well. Russia was claiming to have exterminated their swarm of the Ghagon. Admittedly the original swarm had indeed vanished, but Russian refusal to reveal ‘state secrets’ as to exactly how they did it made their claim laughable. Anyways, Jean Grenier had shared with Archie NATO satellite intelligence that proved the Russian swarm had been wiped out by Fennikusu. The western alliance was simply holding the info back until a need arose to embarrass Russia, the cynicism of which had made Archie roll his eyes.

Archie scanned his phone, looking for messages from Jean regarding the situation at home. The still extremely recent re-appearance of Tyrosus had been thoroughly demoralizing. Despite still having not reached any major population centres, as Canada’s first kaiju the vicious bear had become somewhat synonymous there with the Emergence event in general. The only consolation was that perhaps he and Dracochelys would wipe one another out. The sudden change in behaviour of Trintaurus was also extremely troubling. The government had been half-hoping that he would just continue his march straight into the Atlantic. Until the so-called ‘Parker Doctrine’ could be somehow applied, there were for now zero options in containing the imposing blue centaur.

Archie wondered how much Jean had shared with the government over how the strategy room, which the government was now officially backing, would affect their operations. The partial loss in military sovereignty to the Americans would be seen as a relief to some, and to others an insult. Practically speaking, Archie knew it was the best course. But the current government had been elected with a somewhat aggressive platform when it came to the military, not least because the eccentric General Klein was known to have the Prime Minister’s ear. Surely Klein of all people had to have prior knowledge of the strategy room protocol and what it entailed? And surely the government would have consulted with him before making their decision? Strange times indeed for the Great White North.

As they walked, Archie was shocked to look out the windows and see fully armed soldiers lining the streets, standing between the building and the crowd of protesters who had been outside since the crisis began. He could also see an APC slowly patrolling the street, a soldier manning the machine gun turret at the top.

“The hell is that???” He exclaimed.

“Surprised you didn’t hear,” said Amelia. “Three hours ago the NYPD stopped a janitor from smuggling a bomb into the building. Since then, they’ve received dozens of new bomb threats, and the protesters outside are getting increasingly violent. There was almost a full scale riot at one point. So an hour ago the governor called in the New York National Guard to guard the building.”

Archie stared at Amelia, mouth agape. Then he composed his face into an expression of grim consignment. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “They’ve seen nothing from us since the crisis began. We’ve been here arguing amongst ourselves for days while out there, the world is crumbling. Of course things are starting to get unstable.” He looked meaningfully at Rachel. “We couldn’t have opened the room any later.”

They reached the elevator.

[Zarm]

The elevator doors closed on Rachel and her party just in time to cut off the sound of a rising clamor on the street outside. The shouts of angry protestors gave way to a confused, and then panicked babbling. Fingers shots into the sky, pointing upward; cell-phones came out as protest signs fell to the ground. And as some of the National Guard members began to look up, honing in on the source of the crowd's agitation, and their rifle barrels snapped up to point int he same direction, the screaming began.

Ambassadors and aides crowded to the broad window-panes of the front doors to see what was the matter as the crowd began to scatter, panicking. The glass muffled bellowed orders of the National Guard commander- his troops falling to one knee, bracing and aiming. The APC backed up, trying to bring its machine gun to bear- and a number of the gawking U.N. personnel backed hurriedly, frightendly away from the windows as the heavy artillery came to bear more-or-less directly on the U.N. building's front doors.

There was a moment of tense anticipation as the rifle barrels dropped precipitously, following a downward trajectory so steep it might almost have been a meteor- and only another muffled shout from the commander, bent over his radio to listen, held off an immediate hail of gunfire. One or two of the diplomats inside thought they could even make out the word 'hostage' among the bellowed orders.

The concern on the commander's face was clear- the tension, the anguish; and the reason was made eminently clear by the looming shadow falling over the men under his command- and the sudden impact of soft clay feet coming in for a hard landing on the front steps, just outside the broad floor-to-ceiling windows of the lobby. A target that the men could no longer open fire on without risking massive civilian casualties within the lobby behind it.

If that thought penetrated the brain of any of the agape onlookers, it did little to disperse the stunned crowd.

The reality of kaiju was hitting home for the U.N.; what they'd seen on monitors and news-feeds and debated as numbers and statistics for the last several days had now come to roost, quite literally, on their doorstep.

*****

Eon got unsteadily to his feet, fighting off a wave of vertigo at the unreality of the clay beneath him forming into a ramp at his feet.

He hesitated for a moment, and the kaiju took the initiative for him, oozing the patch of clay on which he stood down the length of the ramp like the world's slowest escalator.

Eon looked up once more into the broad, smiling face of his unorthodox rescuer- shielded from the view of everyone but himself in a concavity that had formed in the top of the clay. She winked at him, and waved him reassuringly on, as he dipped beneath the lip of her sheltering hidey-hole and lost sight of her.

Once it had become clear that there was a language barrier between them the night before, Eon hadn't made many efforts to communicate; what little they did was mostly tracing shapes with the tips of their fingers in the soft clay back of the beast on which they rode. It was there, through a crude map formed on their living transport’s back, that he’d even been able to indicate where he wanted to go. The girl, all smiles, had seemed eager enough; her eyes had taken on a disconcerting glow, and the beast had turned about, leaving South Africa quickly behind.

After witnessing that, Eon had been none-too-eager to engage in further communication. The disconcertingly-unearthly child had been all smiles, and chatter in a language that nagged at the back of his mind as familiar, and the occasional doodle in the clay… but in the absence of any response from him, those had fallen off fairly quickly, too. Soon, the girl had gone to sleep in a small soft bed of clay that the creature had formed for her, subsequently raising a protective wall around her after she’d drifted off too sleep- as if Eon was the strange element in all of this, the threatening factor. As if, miles above the forbidding ocean in the sepulchral glow of a starlit night, on the back of a clay kaiju with a girl whose pupils became luminous green orbs, he was the potential danger.

Effectively isolated and alone on the strange false-ground high above the distant waves, Eon had never felt so alone; it had taken some fairly-visible and pronounced shivering in the high-altitude, cold night air before the creature had thought to form a pocket of clay, like a sleeping bag, for Eon to keep warm in.

After the ordeals he’d faced in the last day, Eon had fallen into an exhausted, dreamless sleep within moments.

It was the roar of fighter-jet engines in the morning sunlight that had awoken him; disoriented, his first sight had been the sparkling waves flashing past below, and then the distant shape of America’s eastern shore, covered by haze, in the far distance. Sitting up, trying to get his bearings, he'd found himself eye-to-visor with an F-15 pilot some thirty yards to the aft- which had done little to break the disorientation.

For several moments, it had appeared that their pair of escorts planned to shoot them down, even despite his presence- but when the cocoon of clay behind him had split apart to reveal a little girl stretching her arms high overhead as she awoke with a yawn, both jets had dropped back apace and risen- no longer keeping the clay avian quite so directly under their guns. Yet their aerial ‘posture’ had grown more tense and cagey the closer the unconventional travelers drew to shore.

The kaiju’s precipitous dive to just above the water’s surface as they'd neared the shore, losing the morning sun to the shadow of the glass and steel behemoths that composed New York City, had kept their escorts from changing their mind at the last moment- and it boggled Eon’s senses that the girl, seated next to him, had seemed positively thrilled at the weaving, banking, low-altitude, high-speed tour through the city. Only Eon's frantic pointing when he spotted their destination through a break in skyscrapers had brought the hair-raising, corkscrewing flight to a halt.

Now, with the creature's feet on solid ground and his own on something that resembled it, he was still shaking.

Yet... out of the frying pan, into the fire. The creature had transposed its bulk between him and the men with machine-guns- but there were more than a few that could easily drill a hole through his body in the short dash up the steps to the front doors of the U.N. building. In some ways, he was in more danger here than he had been in South Africa; at least there, he'd had a weapon. The creature seemed to have taken it during the night. Just as well, as entering the U.N. building armed in such circumstances would probably be just as sure suicide as...

...Well, as even moving a muscle right now.

Much of the crowd continued to flee- but some, who had been filming with their phones, had never even started to move... and others, noting the living statue's lack of overt movement, had stopped and turned back to watch.

Eon's feet touched the cement of the true ground, the clay melting away from beneath him- returning to the beast- and he was standing on the cement steps of the UN building.

His head spun with the surreal quality of the moment. Here he was- in America. After… all of this. All that he’d been through. None of it seemed as if it could possibly be real.

Eon turned, and already the beast was reshaping itself, flowing upward, becoming taller. Those on the streetside murmured in shock and alarm... and Eon saw an opportunity forming. He braced himself to run.

The creature- Kavaru, the girl had called it- grew to twenty feet tall, far short of what Eon suspected its capacity was. It formed a rough humanoid shape, chest thrust out, hands on hips… a superhero pose. People were pointing, exclaiming, filming and snapping pictures with their phone; with the morning sun breaking over one shoulder, the monster made a striking sight. Eon noticed that the girl was conspicuously absent, tucked into a fold of clay against the creature’s back.

It stood there, posing dramatically, for several moments- then gathered its legs under itself and leapt.

As it did, Eon bolted up the steps.

The soldiers' gaze followed the creature's leap. It never came back down- transmuting to its former shape and full size in midair, vanishing up into the sky like an alien hummingbird.

Eon's feet pounded the cement steps, his heart hammering, expecting any moment to hear a shot ringing out, to feel the searing pain that would signal the end of his life-

He slammed into the glass doors with the force of a linebacker. In retrospect, he was fortunate they opened inward.

Gasping in fear and disorientation, Eon tumbled into the lobby of the U.N. building, as if it were a bomb shelter-

-And into a cacophony of noise; a thousand questions shouted at once. The throng gathered in the lobby was pressed back, giving him some impromptu breathing room- but not they surged forward, all speaking at once.

For a moment, Eon could only see the snarling faces of the Dragonsick, rushing toward him, bloodlust in their eyes and clubs in their hands-

-Two heavy-set men in security uniforms moved rapidly toward him, closing just in front of the crowd; pressing around him, threatening to swallow him whole. Eon backed against the glass doors, hearing the shouts transmitting through them grow louder as the mob charged the soldiers, demanding answers- as the soldiers themselves ran up after him- those few that could be spared for holding back the crowd-

One man broke from the ranks in the lobby, just a fraction ahead of the security guards, throwing himself in front of Eon. His arms were spread wide- a forgotten, mid-call cell phone still clutched in one of them.

"No!" he shouted to the security men, who came up short against him. "Lock the doors!"

He nodded over his shoulder toward the soldiers, mere steps away from breaching the lobby as Eon had; at the frothing riot clashing with the soldiers beyond them.

The security men hesitated.

"It's on my authority!" The man barked- his accent suggesting an Indian origin that his skin tone seemed to confirm. Without waiting for an answer, he spun to his onrushing colleagues. "All of you, back!" he announced to the crowd. His force of presence was, for a moment, enough to get them to comply.

As the security men locked a mechanism on the inside of the door-joints, the soldiers reached the glass doors and began to pound on them, shouting; incoherent, but clearly demanding answers.

Eon's intercessor whirled on him, taking his arm and pulling him gently but firmly away from the doors, and the guards that looked uncertain as to whether their job was to fight off the soldiers, or obey their insistent demands.

"Come, my friend, come," the Indian man insisted, leading Eon to a stairwell- and hopefully, the promise of somewhere private. "You must tell me your story. Who are you? How did you tame that beast? What is it that you want here?"

[JAGzilla]

Southend-on-Sea, United Kingdom

As was the case across the nation at large, Southend-on-Sea was in a state of screaming chaos. A day ago, the resort town at the mouth of the Thames River had been home to over 179,000 people. In the space of a few hours, that figure had been reduced by well over half, and continued to drop precipitously. Tens of thousands had fled inland when the Ghagon began to come ashore, thinking to take refuge in London, and then scattering desperately into the countryside to the north as nearly a thousand of the hideous gargoyles descended upon the capital. The retreat from Southend found itself cut off, however, as over a hundred Ghagon fanned out along the north of the town, devouring refugees by the thousands and forcing the rest back toward the coast.

An army battalion had fought its way into the town, attempting to buy time for more civilians to escape, but quickly found its weaponry useless against even these smallest of kaiju. Some level of relief seemed on the horizon when a Royal Navy detatchment appeared off the coast, raining anti-ship missiles down upon the monsters. The thunderous blasts rocked the entire town, knocking Ghagon off their feet, obscuring them in great clouds of smoke and flame, eliciting cheers from the trapped citizens... for a few seconds. As the smoke cleared, it was revealed that even these mighty weapons failed to do more than lightly singe or moderately bruise the evil beasts; the worst injury was a black eye sustained by one individual who took two missiles to the face. None of the Ghagon were fazed in the least, and continued to advance inward, feasting away and pinning the residents on the beaches. With nowhere else to go, thousands had crammed onto the town's famous Southend Pier, jutting 1.34 miles out into the sea.

In a scene reminiscent of the Dunkirk evacuation, dozens of small boats, military and civilian alike, streamed toward the pier and beaches, taking on as many people as physically possible and attempting to ferry them to anything that passed for temporary safety, but there was clearly no hope for most of the remaining residents as the ravenous demons closed in. It was hard to fathom a way for the situation to look any worse.

One can imagine, therefore, the despair that fell upon the crowds as a gargantuan, armored brute that had to be the King of the Ghagon rose abruptly from the filthy Channel and turned its crimson eyes upon them.
.....................................................

Stinking, slimy, purple water cascaded down Arugas' scaly hide as he gained his footing in the shallow sea. His head rose high into the air, and he took a grateful breath of relatively fresh air, tinged though it was by smoke and the distinctively repugnant stench of Ghagon. He realized he was breathing rather hard; the swim wouldn't normally have been a difficult one, but he was in worse shape than he'd initially known. He rolled his stiff, sore shoulders, trying to ease his discomfort. Thousands of years of dreamless sleep couldn't help but repair the worst of the damage the Queen had inflicted upon him, but he still felt weak and battered by the defeat, even if it had been highly satisfying in its own way. He needed this battle badly, an easy victory to get him back on his feet, and then he could start properly assessing the new world order and resume his eternal search for the next real challenge.

A blast like thunder interrupted his thoughts, and a blinding flash obscured his vision for a moment as something pelted against the side of his head. He grunted in surprise, rubbing at his dazzled eyes with his knuckles, and turned in search of his attacker- had some uncharacteristically stealthy gargoyle crept in close to catch him unawares? No. As his sight cleared, he made out his foe: an odd, elongated, gray thing, a bit like a massive duck, floated on the surface nearby. Its comically small head was turned to face him, and it roared again, spitting another pellet at him in a rush of fire. The pellet struck his armored chest plate, bouncing lightly off.

Arugas huffed derisively in response. A foolish foe was this, and weak, but if it wanted a fight, he was glad to oblige... he reached his arms toward it, starting to stride forward, but was brought up short as his mind touched the creature's. Or, rather, creatures', for there were dozens of them. He realized at once that this 'duck' was not alive, but merely an artificial vessel filled with... humans? Yes! He grinned. Well, well, his initial glimpse of the little primates' newly proud mindset was perhaps not unjustified; their penchant for creativity had clearly come a long way while he'd slept. This machine of war was quite impressive for them, far more so than the rocks and sharp sticks they'd wielded when the world was new. Why, the shot that had struck his head had actually stung a bit! Progress!

But... there was the question of why they'd struck him at all. When last he'd visited this part of the world, the humans here had quite revered him, immeasurably thankful for his heroic slaying of the sea serpent Hyyla, menace of their coastal communities whenever she failed to locate larger prey. And now they thought him an enemy? His brow beetled as he focused, reaching his mind out to the false duck's crew to gain understanding. Disquietingly, he found no spark of recognition at all, none of the respect and even love that once had been there. These men felt nothing toward him but fear- fear, and hatred, as though he were no better than the foul Ghagon that ate their brethren ashore. Some even thought he was an oversized Ghagon himself! Preposterous! Had they not eyes?

But there were other things, beneath the fear, things that got his attention. Critically, they did not flee, or cower in the face of his obvious superiority. Most humans would, even in their new age as 'masters of the world'; on the periphery of his mind, he could sense more than enough of that rodentlike mindset coming from the human settlement on shore. But some yet retained the integrity that had always earned his respect, honorably standing in the face of a mightier foe and giving their all. And they fought not merely for themselves, he realized, but to shield the weaker of their kind from harm, whether they stood a chance or not. They still had courage, these humans, and that deserved recognition.

He straightened his posture, knocking his right gauntlet hard against his chest plate, grunting a commendation. Truly useful or not, he was proud to accept these men of the sea as his allies in the coming battle.

They replied to his gesture with another blast to his throat, now supplemented by a curtain of smaller pellets zipping at him from various points along the duck's flank. He scowled.

There was still the matter that they'd forgotten him completely. How long had he been out? No matter; too long, anyway. These modern, 'evolved' humans, for all their inventive skill, lacked what should have been an essential component of their being: a true example of glory to follow. They needed the legend of Arugas in their souls. And so, he resolved, squaring his shoulders, he would restore it. Once more their shamans and chiefs would invoke his name in ritual and prayer, calling upon his awesome power to aid their people in all matters. Their bards would regale wide-eyed crowds with tales of his incredible deeds, how he singlehandedly held back the relentless tide of evil that would otherwise wipe them from existence. Their warriors would paint their skin and weapons in his colors, carrying him into their own battles in the hope of capturing even the merest fraction of his prowess for themselves.

He was Arugas. He was mighty. And all the world would know it again, starting here and now, with his bold handling of these Ghagon scum that outnumbered him a hundred to one.

Ignoring the duck's continued fire, he turned to face the shore, striding forward. The demons before him were walking blights, as always: their foul odor tainted the air, mingling with the smoke that rolled over the coast. Significant portions of the human city, which he now noticed was truly vast, dwarfing the little villages they'd dwelt in before, were burning, or already trampled to dust by the monsters. The surviving humans cowered, sobbing helplessly, trapped against the sea or on the long, metal structure protruding from the beach. He strode alongside it, feeling the terrified eyes of the tiny creatures upon him. He would show them that there was no reason to fear. He walked slowly, allowing the flock of smaller, passenger laden ducks to scatter before him, the humans on the beach to make way.

Ahead, the Ghagon rampaged. The air rang with their irritating, senseless babbling, as they snickered and giggled in glee while they foraged. Their claws swept the ground, ripping apart little reddish-roofed dwellings by the hundreds, tongues occasionally snapping out as they excavated humans that had sought to hide. Scattered explosions and popping sounds signified that other human warriors yet fought, striving to delay the horde's advance that the noncombatants might escape. Their efforts, the sacrifices made by their fallen comrades, would no longer be in vain.

Arugas came ashore, crashing through the empty, colorful structures beyond the beach, towering over everything in sight, building and Ghagon alike, surely cutting a dramatic figure indeed against the horizon... but the Ghagon failed to react. He could sense what passed for their thoughts, stupid and singleminded as they dug for prey, ignoring everything but the prospect of stuffing themselves further. Disgusting. He could've waded in among them and beaten half of them senseless before they realized he was even there. But where was the honor in that?

He struck a heroic pose, letting out a rumbling growl to announce his presence.

They ignored this, too.

Very well.

Inhaling deeply, Arugas let out a series of echoing battle cries, each louder and longer than the last, clashing his right gauntlet hard against his chest in time with the roars!

RAAAA-CRACK-AAAAA-CRACK-AAAAAA-CRACK-AAAAAAAAAAAA!

Success. He'd gained the attention of all but a handful of the truly moronic or distant. Ponderously, reluctantly, dozens of ugly, furry heads tore their gazes up from the ground, searching for the source of the commotion. Ninety-odd pairs of dull, evil eyes locked onto a single warrior- and he saw interest flare up in them. They stared appraisingly at him, at the great, rippling slabs of meat that flexed beneath his blue-green scales. Saliva began to drip from their wide, fanged mouths, tongues flicking snakelike in and out with anticipation. There, they thought, is a feast.

The concept of being outmatched never crossed a single one of their minds. Indeed, they began to glance back and forth at their fellows, greed and suspicion filling their thoughts. Each resolved to hurry, to claim the walking banquet for itself, lest its undeserving neighbors steal even a single morsel! Their chittering and ranting built in excitement and intensity.... and then they charged. Some ran, others spread their wings and flew, but all converged on Arugas with fangs bared and claws outstretched.

A fierce grin split his face, and he strode forward to meet them, the familiar rush of adrenaline pulsing in his veins. Truly, this was where he belonged.

With a piercing scream of bloodlust, the first of the frontflyers reached him, going for his face- he reacted in an instant that seemed to play out in slow-motion, well-honed reflexes doing their job even through the haze of weakness that dogged him, cocking back his right arm and throwing his full weight into a crushing punch. His fist connected solidly with the gargoyle's crooked nose with a crunch that shook the ground, stopping its momentum absolutely dead, its feet swinging forward to slap limply against Arugas' chest as its upper body hung briefly in the air against his fist. Then it flopped to the ground, blood, mucus, and teeth scattering around its cracked skull.

Yes.

With a horrendous rush of sound and fury, time snapped back to normal speed. Five more Ghagon closed in at once, barely a second behind the first. Arugas threw a left hook, knocking a second one out of the air with a blow to the jaw. The third broke through, claws and teeth scrabbling maniacally at his face- he ripped it away, throwing it aside as a fourth crashed into his chest, a fifth latched onto his leg and bit his thigh, a sixth circled around and attacked the back of his head...

Undaunted, he retaliated. Wham! A punch sent one sprawling. Boom! An elbow left another doubled over, winded. Crack! A rising knee sent a head snapping back, spine clearly damaged. Thock! A gauntlet blow cracked ribs!

But it wasn't enough, he wasn't hitting at full speed or force. And too crazed for fear, the demons kept coming, as undaunted as he. Arugas suddenly found himself disadvantaged as his arms were seized simultaneously, and a hovering Ghagon thrust its hands forward, sparaying a burst of toxic gas into his face. He inhaled involuntarily, taking the foul stuff into his lungs and immediately beginning to cough uncontrollably. Three more of the beasts flew into him from the front, tackling him roughly to the ground before he could brace himself. He went down hard, pinned beneath five attackers at once, then six, seven, eight-

He felt a searing pain in his left shoulder as a set of fangs dug in, biting hard and puncturing his scales. Similar agony flared up all over his body, chunks of flesh being ripped away as the fiends began to eat him alive.

No. He was Arugas! His glory immeasurably exceeded this absurd situation, and he would die somewhere far more impressive than here. Roaring with pain and exertion, he wrenched his bleeding left arm away from the Ghagon that gnawed on it, grabbed the hairy, horned skull and bashed it against the ground with all the force his awkward angle allowed. Leaving that attacker stunned, he raised his arm high into the air, and brought his bladed gauntlet crashing down atop a demon that tried to bite for his throat. A blade chopped into the brute's back, stinking blue blood spraying from the wound. The injured Ghagon rolled away, and was promptly set upon by two of its blood-crazed fellows.

With the weight atop him lessened just enough, Arugas surged upward with all his might, managing to attain a sitting position and knock a few more Ghagon aside. Others pressed forward, but the opening was made, and Arugas burst dramatically free of the dogpile, rising to his feet. He wasted no time, kicking and swinging his fists, trying to maintain enough space to maneuver. A razor-sharp tongue stabbed into his back, finding a gap between his scales and drawing yet more blood. He reached back with a groan, wrenching the offending appendage free and holding tight. The Ghagon windmilled madly, spluttering in pain, and he yanked the tongue, hauling the gargoyle off the ground and swinging it in a wide arc before him like a flail. Four more of the beasts went down; he roared a challenge, lifting his makeshift weapon high overhead and bringing it crashing down upon the stunned fallen. Bones splintered, blood sprayed. A few of the relatively smart Ghagon stepped back, uncertain, finally recognizing a possible problem.

Arugas felt a thrilling surge of energy at this first taste of victory. He bellowed in excitement, dropping the limp tongue, feeling power rush through his battered body and begin to revitalize him. But he couldn't stagnate: he'd made an opening in the horde, gained a momentary advantage, and now he had to press it!

As the Ghagon scrambled to regroup, he lunged into their midst, poleaxing two with a blow from each gauntlet. He kicked another one to the ground, stomped its abdomen hard and made it vomit blood, seized another pair and brutally smashed their skulls together. The others ignored these assaults, swarming over him again, but it no longer mattered so much: he had gained some momentum, and he would no longer yield. He would press on without relent, now, on the road to becoming unstoppable.

Claws raked him, slipping between his scales and ripping his flesh. Teeth sunk deep and released his blood in torrents. Gouts of poisonous gas filled the air and made him cough and retch and stagger, but surrender was an impossibility. He threw punch after punch, kick after kick. He snapped their fragile wings, broke their necks, stomped and headbutted and beat them with their own kind and through it all he knew the primal thrill for which he'd been born. Strength built in his limbs, his scales hardened, his wounds sealed themselves automatically.

There were fewer than half of them left when he finally crossed the threshold, when it became clear that they would not be the victors this day. Their end was signified when an uppercut suddenly sent one flipping end over end eight hundred feet into the air, its head blown to ribbons by a scarlet explosion released from Arugas' fist. He roared in triumph, in exultation, hurling another punishing blow. A second blast erupted upon contact with a hovering Ghagon's chest, nearly tearing it in two. The rest was over in seconds, a hellstorm of thundering, explosive fury pouring from the warrior's outstretched hands and felling the hapless demons like wheat. Fear or sense at last took hold in the final three or four, and they fled, yelping and whining, flying off over the ocean and out of sight. The human vessels urged them on with a volley of fire.

Arugas roared again and again in victory, clashing his gauntlets together and releasing echoing blasts of energy. He raised his arms and sent a barrage of explosive blasts careening into the sky, his own personal fireworks display. He was the victor! He was champion! He was on top of the world again, and determined to keep it that way.

He took a long look around at the shattered human settlement, now piled high with equally shattered Ghagon corpses. On the beach and the pier, thousands of newly saved primates looked on in mingled awe and horror. He sensed their indecision, their fear that this ferocious god of war would turn his might on them next- but their fear was for naught.

Arugas returned their stares, huffed something that might have translated as a sincere "you're welcome", knocked his gauntlet against his chest once more, and set off for the sea without a second glance, striding past the humans and their floating ducks, and plunged back into the befouled Channel. His work here was done enough. He could sense other hordes of Ghagon rampaging on the opposite coast; it would be wise to visit them as well, thin their numbers a bit as he'd done here, lest they become truly beyond control and wipe the local human population out completely. Once that was done, he'd take proper stock of the planet's current situation and set about charting a course for heights of glory as the world had never known.

[Zarm]

Location: Marianas Island

Ragnarok rotted.

[Billzilla1974]

Ignus Lung was surprised when he sensed no attack coming, and upon hearing Tekuta, he dared to look for Sangrazotz.
The greenish-hazel eyes of the slim, crimson dragon found his foe... retreating into the horizon?
Remembering his ally had asked if he was alright, Ignus turned his head to face his crustaceous companion and replied. "I'm fine, my head has cleared up now"
Already the lengthy reptile could see his friend begin to swim in the direction Sangrazotz was headed, Ignus knew within a moment that Tekuta was intent on going after their foe, and he had an idea of the journey that would lay ahead of them.

"I am sorry things went... poorly." Tekata said to Ignus Lung, who gave a weary sigh, before lifting himself into the air. "I don't blame you, old friend, I should've done better myself in drawing Sangrazotz in. Really, I should thank you for saving me from that fiend's gaze, I'll have to be more careful next time." The monster of myth replied in a series of tiger-like grunts.

Although the reddish-gold kaiju was indeed unhappy about having to make another long trek to a foe who could out speed his ally, he had several reasons for choosing to endure another journey with Tekuta.
Firstly, the battle was an eye opener for Ignus, who had forgotten about the power of Sangrazotz's eyes in his long sleep. Ignus Lung, as carefree as he ordinarily would be, did not want to wander off now. If he did, he feared that should he fall asleep during one of his curious romps, that he would wake up to his ally dead, with Sangrazotz staring him directly in the face. The thought of such a horrid future gave the 6,000 ton dragon a shiver down his spine, as he prepared to travel once more.

Ignus Lung shook the thought from his mind, he wasn't going to let that happen, not while he was still alive and kicking.

Humanity was another thing he wanted to defend, even if Sangrazotz's wasn't preying on humanity now, Ignus Lung didn't want to wait until the fiend changed his mind.

The great flame beast recognized something from the battle, he and Tekuta were tough enough to drive Sangrazotz away despite being comparatively smaller. This gave the fire dragon hope that, perhaps together, this unlikely duo stood a chance against the forces that would sooner or later oppose them.

Just as Ignus Lung was ready to head off with Tekuta, he gave the city of Tacoma one more glance over, although a good amount of property was destroyed, the city as a whole remained intact.

"At least this place is safe, for now." Ignus said to Tekuta, hoping to shine a silver lining onto this whole ordeal.

[Zarm]

"True, my friend," Tekuta agreed- preparing to open up his full capabilities. His ally would be surprised, he suspected, at the speed he could muster when.not winded by a trans-Atlantic trek. So, he hoped, would his foe.

"And now, I must pursue the source of peril. I do not ask you to accompany me- you have endured enough... but I would welcome the company if you wished to remain."

[Godzilla165]

Washington D.C.


Deep within his apartment complex, snuggled underneath his bed, James Dickerson was knocked out cold. Today had been a stressful one at the facility; a massive, albeit split second spike in energy had sent everyone into panic mode. No one, not even the eggheads, had witnessed anything like that before. As quickly as it ballooned, the rise of energy all but flat lined and remained that way for the rest of the day. Everyone was so shaken up afterward, that James sent all the workers home early, while he stayed behind to keep an eye on the readings. That is when it happened, something that Dickerson still couldn't explain. He was busy typing away at the computer in his office, when out of nowhere, a blinding flash of white light filled his eyes. James found himself sprawled on the floor, having been unconscious for hours, and now plagued with an enormous headache. He dragged himself home in the middle of the night, where he then crawled into bed and passed out.

It was eerily silent in that bedroom, a type of quiet that one would swear they could hear their eyelids blinking, or where a pin dropping would sound like a gunshot. It was at that moment when something awoke James from his slumber. It wasn't jolting nor sudden, just... Almost as though he was told to do so. He sat up in his bed, swearing he could hear something; his eyes fighting against the opaque darkness that consumed the room. Whatever noise James was hearing... It was faint, but he knew it was there.



Thooommmpp.p.p.p...Thoommmpp.p.p.p...Thoommmpp.p.p.p...

There. James heard it: a constant, faint rumble. Where was it coming from? What could have been making it? The man didn't know, and he didn't plan on finding out. So, there he sat, eyes wide open but seemingly closed in the black room... Just listening to it... Whatever it was.

Thoommmpp.p.p.p...Thoommmpp.p.p.p...Thoommmpp.p.p.p...

The sound grew louder, ever so slightly so. And, if James didn't know any better, he could swear he felt it draw a little closer...

Thoommmpp.p.p.p...Thoommmpp.p.p.p...Thoommmpp.p.p.p...

Now, the man could really hear it. The sound moved from across the hall, and slowly seeped its way into the bedroom. The glass cup on the nightstand beside him started to shake, his brow begun to sweat, and his breathes quickened. James's eyes darted across the room, trying to make out anything recognizable, but for not; it was just too dark, and he didn't dare move a muscle. His head throbbed from the sudden, returning headaches, as the rumbling drew closer...

THOOMMMPP.P.P.P...THOOMMMPP.P.P.P...THOOMMMPP.P.P.P...

Now, his entire bedroom began to shake; the walls flexed and groaned, the floor squeaked and rattled. James jumped from the sound of the cup shattering on the floor. The headaches were almost unbearable now, feeling like hundreds of searingly hot knives burrowing through his cranium, and into his brain. He clenched the sides of his head with both hands, as he dug his nails into his skin. The man nearly ripped it off from the agonizing pain. He moaned and wailed in excruciating pain as sweat poured down his face, and droplets of blood seeped from the entry wounds that his nails had created. Then, just behind James, as the rumbling continued to pierce his very mind... They appeared. Four, shadowy black heads with haunting white eyes, rose from behind the man. They snaked all around him, surrounding James, and drawing ever closer... And closer... And closer still. Until finally, the heads wrapped themselves around the man, squeezing him to the point of suffocation. James was completely helpless to do anything; all he could do was choke and wheeze pitiful cries for help. It was for not, as the heads burrowed themselves into his skull through whatever entry they could, his nose, eyes, ears, etc. James managed to eek out a blood curdling screech of unadulterated agony, as the rumblings continued.

THOOOOMMMPPP...THOOOOMMMPPPP...THOOOMMMPPPP....


James shot up from his bed, huffing and puffing, and sweat showering down his face. He looked all around his bedroom, and found nothing. He stopped his hasty breathing enough to listen, and heard nothing. It was then when James calmed back down a little bit, but was still trembling intensely. He sat on the edge of his bed, and flipped on the small lamp beside him. His sheets were soaked all the way through. James did his best to calm down, shutting his eyes and then opening them again, out of fear of experiencing whatever that was again. It took a considerable amount to scare James; he was a decorated soldier in the military who had seen his fair share of combat throughout the years. But, what he just experienced then... Scared him like nothing else had ever done before... Shook him down to his very core even. James wiped his face clean with his hands, before laying eyes on the same glass cup sitting on the nightstand. It was empty as well, and James was parched.

He arrived in his kitchen, after having dropped his sheets in the laundry to be thoroughly washed, and proceeded to get a glass of water. With a deep sigh, James lifted the glass up to his lips to drink... And then, he inadvertently threw it to the ground, shattering it. He was in complete shock; he didn't know why he did that. It was then at the moment, when he heard it once more...

Thooommmpp.p.p.p...Thooommmpp.p.p.p...Thooommmpp.p.p.p..........THOOOOMMMPPPP....

Jame's entire body suddenly stiffened up completely; his arms were sent firmly to his sides, and his head was violently yanked upward, almost as if it was attached to a string. The man's eyes rolled into the back of his skull, and glowed a haunting white. Jame's body began to shake aggressively, before without warning, he hissed, "HAIIIIL HIMMMM", in a rasped, demonic voice. Then, just as quickly as it occurred... It stopped, and James sunk to the floor like a sack of bricks, unconscious. The lights in the apartment flickered, before finally going out, and leaving the darkness to reclaim it once more. There was a perpetual silence present now, quiet enough to have heard the spilt water tiptoeing across the kitchen floor. But, in the distance, somewhere within the walls... That noise remained.

Thooommmp.p.p.p...Thooommmpp.p.p.p...Thooommmpp.p.p.p............................

[MinorBone Good]

Location: Binghamton, New York

Grey clouds slowly rolled in over the city of Binghamton, blocking out the sun. Several roads were closed due to construction, with some cars angrily honking angrily at each other for not going as soon as the stoplight turned green. Binghamton honestly looked like how the world felt about the kaiju invasion. Grey, bleak, and depressing. With barley any hope to cling onto. The brown rivers continues to carry the garbage and waste left by the people. But there was a small difference than usual in the river than normal. If one looked closely, there was bubbling where the two rivers met, with strange colors under it..

.. .. .. .. .. ..

Ceokiri quickly swam up from the rivers, her head bursting through the surface of the water. Breathing heavily, she quickly scanned the area around her, trying to find a place to rest. She noted that several metal bugs were moving quickly around her, with their red eyes seeming to stare back at her when they ran away. She continued on her path to land, staring to crawl up the slope. The flood walls broke easily beneath her. More insects began to flee, along with smaller ones too. But few just stood still, but she paid them no mind. Ceokiri looked behind her body, her colorful smoke trail was beginning to thicken.

She snarled.

Place fine. Hunt begins here.

Ceokiri started to lay down, not caring for the sleeping insect beneath her. Letting out a small growl, she started to set her head down and closed her eyes. The smoke behind her began to produce more by the minute. At first it was the block that was covered in the colorful fog, but after ten minutes, it was twenty times it, and it only grew bigger after that. Within 50 minutes, the entire city was consumed by it. You could barley see five feet in front of you. The small bulges on her back began to break, much to the discomfort to Ceokiri. Six large foxes began to burst from the back, vernix dripping down their bodies. The six wolves began to separate, speeding off before their mother would wake..

[KaijuCanuck]

Location: France



While Great Britain continued to be desecrated, groups of Ghagon who had eaten their way through England's southeastern shore now began to fly towards the mainland, drawn by the promising smell of more meat. As they flew, the sea quickly gave way into countryside and small towns, and Ghagon began to attack the small villages of Normandy and Brittany, or else land in farmer's fields to gobble up fields of cattle. At first there were no more than a few dozen, but soon the the groups began to conglomerate. Now a vast swarm of a couple thousand Ghagon sailed through the sky on their orange bat-like wings, a vast armada of doom headed straight for the meat-packed French capital of Paris. They chittered and gargled at one other as they shared the excitement of an upcoming meal, forever willing slaves in their never-ending drive to feast.

As the the urban sprawl of Paris appeared beneath them, the gigantic swarm began to break off. Some landed in the outskirts and suburbs, delighted to find humans already clumped together in large numbers. Each of these large groups were surrounded by the same pesky stinging-humans they had just encountered in Britain, who pelted the Ghagon with annoying projectiles. But, they were a small annoyance, and the reward was worth it. All that lean, tasty meat packed in at once... At no point did any of the Ghagon, giggling away as they dug in to the bonanza, stop to wonder why so many humans were in one place, surrounded by soldiers, at the outskirts of the city...

The rest of the swarm headed further towards the centre of the city. Even the dull mind of the Ghagon had begun to associate the large, artificial structures of cities with humans, and the Eiffel Tower stood out ahead of them like a gigantic buffet sign reading "Humans here! All you can eat!" As hundreds of clawed, furry blue feet made landing, it took most a few minute to realize something was wrong, so overcome had they been with the joy of the feast. The streets were deserted. The buildings were deserted, many of them ruined. The city still stunk with the scent of man, but there were none to be found. There was something else too. Another scent.

One Ghagon landed on the tip of the Eiffel Tower, stretching his wings out leisurely after the flight. He grabbed hold of the side of the iconic landmark and slid down it, pausing about a third of the way down to view the city, searching for signs of prey. He licked his lips and yawned, the tip of his coiled, deadly tongue lazily hanging out of his mouth. Finally he stretched his wings, ready to push off and forage... and found that he couldn't move. The Ghagon made a confused, high-pitched grunt, and looked down at his feet, only to find that they were entirely submerged in a grey, sticky substance. He tried to lift off again - nothing. Only then did the Ghagon take in what he had missed before - from the bottom 2/3s down, the Eiffel Tower was entirely covered in a vast, complex system of webbing. In his stupidity, and his lust for food, the Ghagon had entirely missed it. Now he saw there was webbing all over the city, too. Curious. The Ghagon heard a clicking sound from behind him. He turned his head - just in time to see a giant pincer rush in and clip off his head.

The Spider Colony struck. Crawling out of ruined buildings, from burrows in the ground, from other webs strung out over the city centre, the army of giant spiders rushed to defend their nest. Some Ghagon were pulled into alley ways, screaming, by pairs of arachnoid fangs, while others found themselves caught in webs, forced to wait until their inevitable death. Those who had time to gather themselves squawked and chattered at one another - there was food here after all! Flapping their wings, they hurled themselves at this new, meatier prey, spearing spiders with their pointed tongues, tearing at spiders with their claws and gleefully ripping off limbs.

A French Air Force reconnaissance plane flew over Paris, photographing the apocalyptic sight of two warring kaiju armies. By now numb to the crisis, the pilot and co-pilot laconically took bets on who they thought would win. It didn't make a difference, really - either way, France would lose.

Location: Marianas Island



At the sounds of gunfire, the exhausted Semaj, who was only just attempting to get some sleep after overseeing the re-establishment of the camp, rose from his mattress, his brain exhausted and disoriented. There was a kind of ringing in his head - a voice that was not his own. Was he dreaming? As he got to his feet, he stared in the horror at the gigantic form of Epizona towering over the camp. Only then did he somehow put two and two together - the monster was in his head.

It wasn't just Semaj. The whole camp was now awake and thoroughly discombobulated. They clutched their heads, their ears - some fell to their knees, some joined with Blade in firing madly at the beast. Semaj shook his head, just barely managing to get a hold of himself through the alien presence. He grabbed hold of nearby Captain Vasquez, shaking him until the captain came back to Earth as well.

"Get those men to cease fire," he ordered Vasquez, motioning at the other panicking soldiers. "I'm going after him." Semaj was feeling softer towards Blade after he had saved them from the Paladins - but that didn't mean he had to let the mercenary's hotheadedness kill them all. He ran to Blade and pulled on his arm.

"CEASE FIRE!" screamed Semaj over the din of the gun. "CEASE FIRE!"

​​​​​Location: Langley, British Columbia, Canada



Dawn broke just as Dracochelys stamped the ground with her bladed flippers, trumpeting in defiance as Tyrosus advanced on her. She hulked protectively over her exposed eggs, rooted to the ground. She was determined not to be moved.

Tyrosus knew nothing of the eggs, nor would they be enough to fill him - his target was Dracochelys herself, and the blood he had tasted already only enhanced his drive to feed. His tongue lapped at his stained fangs, his mouth salivated, and his dagger-like front claws grasped eagerly at the air as he lumbered forward on his two hind legs, looking positively demonic in the red sunlight of the early morning.

Snorting furiously, steam rising from her nostrils, Dracochelys swiped at Tyrosus when he drew close enough. The snarling bear ducked to the side just in time as Dracochelys’ massive scimitar arm came hurtling toward him, seeming to carve the very sky as it whooshed by and pushed air past Tyrosus’ hairy ears . Instinctively, Tyrosus lunged his head forward towards Dracochelys neck, seeking to deepen the wound on the back of her neck. He tried to clamp down, but this time his fangs only skated along hard shell. Dracochelys grunted and bucked her head, throwing Tyrosus off before he could find a good grip. Now she reared forward, her sharp beak aiming at Tyrosus' snout. CLACK! She just missed once again. Angered, Tyrosus vaguely aimed a wide, powerful slash with his claws at Dracochelys. There was not much that Tyrosus' claws and fangs could not cut through - but again, the claws clanked harmlessly against Dracochelys' shell, only serving to unleash an explosion of sparks as they scraped across her chest like swords on an anvil. Tyrosus cocked his head, considering his options. Then, his mouth crackled with red, dancing energy, and he opened his maw to unleash his swirling shredder breath. Dracochelys shrieked in alarm as the beam drilled into her armoured shoulder. Chunks of shell came flying off, and the intense pain of the pressure forced her to take a few steps back and duck down underneath the ray. Tyrosus cut his beam off and advanced to take the abandoned ground. His foot came within seconds of crushing an egg - Dracochelys charged forward, bodychecking Tyrosus and swinging her hefty horned head against his chest like a club. Tyrosus was thrown backwards by the blow, unable to protect himself as Dracochelys again swung one of her blades at him - this time the flat of the blade connected with his face, knocking a tooth out of Tyrosus' mouth and sending him to the ground.

Dracochelys resumed her protective stance over her eggs, bellowing at Tyrosus as the bear returned to his feet. Tyrosus, his nose bleeding from the blow, let loose another stream of shredder breath, this time striking Dracochelys straight in gut - the drilling motion of the energy beam pushed into Dracochelys, and her legs started to wobble under the strain - until she opened her own mouth and unleashed a jagged jet of boiling water. Tyrosus was struck straight in the chin, forcing him to close his mouth, before he was once again thrown to his feet, impossible volumes of water pounding into his side with impossible force. The water pushed him across the countryside like a ragdoll, tearing up the earth beneath him as he slid. Finally Dracochelys closed her mouth, unwilling to use up all of her water stores.

Bruised, soaked and covered in dirt and plant matter, Tyrosus heaved himself back to his feet. He stared down his opponent with furious, burning eyes, and dropped down to all fours. He started to pace around Dracochelys, attempting to calm himself between heavy breaths. Tyrosus barely felt pain of any kind, but the frustration of the fight was beginning to boil his blood, the familiar blinding rage igniting inside of him and clouding his mind. This was a tough opponent, and he needed to think clearly. He shook his head, beating back the anger, and look for a weakness that he could exploit. A few charging feints, some growling and snapping of his jaws - diligently, Tyrosus tested for an opening. But the turtle was ever vigilant as she followed him with her gaze, her body steeled in anticipation. Every time he came near, she would swing with her blades, snap her beak or unleash more blistering torrents of water. Tyrosus eyed her neck, where he had struck originally - blood was still trickling down. Perhaps all he would have to do is wait. He continued to circle.

...................................................

"Tyrosus has let up his attack, for now. He seems to be biding his time, wondering where to strike next," Emma Sanchez spoke into her CBC-labeled microphone. In front of her, Eddie the Cameraman framed his shot so he had Emma on the left without blocking the view of the kaiju. Out of frame, Ted leaned against his helicopter, reading in case a quick escape was needed. The trio stood on the top of a hill several kilometres away from the battle, safely outside of the military perimeter but where the kaiju could still be clearly seen. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered around them as well, mostly people that had previously fled the farm when Tyrosus first made his dramatic entrance. "If you're just joining us now, the kaiju known as Tyrosus and Dracochelys are locked in a vicious battle and we are broadcasting it to you live. Once again, I want to remind our audience that viewer discretion is advised - Tyrosus has already drawn blood from Dracochelys, and there is no way to know how far this battle will go. Presumably, Tyrosus means to kill her."

"Go Dracochelys!" came a cry from the crowd, which was met with a scattering of cheers and claps, as well as few more solemn shushes.

"As if the situation weren't dramatic enough, we've received word that another kaiju is incoming," Emma went on. "Not long ago, the bat-like kaiju Sangrazotz was engaged in a skirmish with Tekuta and Ignus Lung in Tacoma, Washington, not far south from where we are right now. The two conflicts appear to have become connected as American authorities confirm Sangrazotz has left Tacoma and is fast approaching this location. Canadians and Americans alike have taken to social media, and I'm told the phrase 'Battle of the 49th' is now trending on Twitter."

Some of the listening onlookers took sideways glances at Emma and her crew, whispering to each other.

"Sangrazotz? Isn't he that flying one?"

"That's Fennikusu,"

"No, the other flying one."

"Does he eat people?"

"We should go, right?"

"Look! Look!" The crowd gasped in collective shock as, in the distance, Dracochelys fell to one knee. Blood continued to trickle down her neck as the other leg went. Dracochelys was now kneeling on her back legs, her front limbs spread wide to accommodate. The wound was taking its toll.

...........................

That was all the invitation Tyrosus needed. The monster bear galloped towards Dracochelys, springing up at the point of contact to grasp his jaws once more around the great turtle's windpipe, his powerful arms pinning Dracochelys forelimbs from moving. Dracochelys wheezed as Tyrosus' jaws squeezed, his fangs searching for the wound - a sudden stiffening in Dracochelys' body confirmed that he had found it. Now Draochelys' forelimbs started to wobble, and her eyes took on a glossy sheen. Her neck frozen in the predator's maw, her eyes trickled down to her eggs beneath her.

They... still... needed... to be BURIED!

With a sudden burst of strength, Dracochelys swiped up with one of her blades, overpowering Tyrosus' arm and making a huge cut right across his chest. Tyrosus continued to hold on, but now Dracochelys reared her head up and CLACK! Clamped her crushing jaws down on Tyrosus' other arm, crunching his wrist. With a strong grip of her own, she rose back to full stature and twisted her neck, flipping a surprised Tyrosus entirely over to land flat on his back below her, suspended over the hole of the nest. Dracochelys rolled him over, pushing him clear of the hole, then stepped forward before rising up, and coming down hard on top of him with the flat soles of her blades on which she walked. BOOM! She rose up, and came down again. BOOM!

............................

Back on the hill, the news crew and crowd could feel the earth shake everytime Dracochelys came down, bearing her full crushing weight on top of Tyrosus. BOOM! BOOM! "This is an incredible sight," Emma narrated. She was no longer in the shot - Eddy was zoomed in solely on the kaiju, at the network's request. In the space of a few minutes the battle had gone viral, and now CBC's broadcast had been picked up all over the world, millions watching the drama online or on television. "Dracochelys appeared close to death, but in a second wind she has completely turned the tables on Tyrosus. I'm reminded of descriptions of yesterday's battle between Carnaris and Ryōmen no Hebi - the kaiju all seem willing to fight to the death. Tyrosus doesn't appear to be moving... has Dracochelys taken the... no! Tyrosus is clear!"

For a second Tyrosus had stopped moving, but as Dracochelys rose up for another blow, he rolled away and got up on two legs a ways away from Dracochelys. If he looked demonic before, now he looked positively satanic silhouetted against the rising sun. "His nose is bleeding, and so is the diagonal cut across his chest," said Emma to the viewers. "He's advancing on Dracochelys once again! Perhaps the cut is not very deep, but I can't help but marvel at the resilience of this creature. It's like he literally feels no pain."

As Tyrosus once again charged for Dracochelys, the turtle opened her mouth, this time unleashing an explosion of steam. This was the last of her offensive water stores, boiled by the great furnace within her body. Even so, the water vapour was so thick, and so compressed inside of her, that it erupted to completely cover the landscape in a translucent mist. Now the two kaiju were just two dark shapes in the fog, distorted across space into looming, undulating shadows. The crowd, including Emma, watched in awed silence as one shadow twisted and bounded for the other. They met, converging through the mist as the crowd continued to hear the heavy thumps of contact and the roars of the kaiju. The dark forms danced around each other, continually changing shape. Some red flashed on and off, like lightning in a cloud. Then a new shadow emerged, faster and whispier than the others, snaking around. The mist began to clear. The crowd waited with drawn breath...

Some paces away from her nest, Dracochelys lay on her back while Tyrosus towered over her, his foot pressing on her abdomen. Wrapped around her neck...

Behind the camera, Eddie swore audibly. "He's got a tail," Emma said, almost at a whisper. "Okay..."

.........................

Most predators would have retreated long before now. The toughness of the prey, the vast expense of calories in the face of such toughness, the risk of death... these things would not worth the effort.

Tyrosus was not most predators.

As the fight progressed, as Dracochelys frustrated him further and further, the more unstable parts of his personality became harder and harder to ignore. Dracochelys' steam-screen was the last straw, confusing and disorienting him as his enemy disappeared from view. He snapped. His mind was overtaken by blind rage and the pitiless, unrelenting monster within was unleashed. Gone was his hunger, and completely gone was any thought or knowledge that he had in fact started this fight. In their stead was the paranoia, and the all-consuming desire for self-preservation, to once again feel safe, to be free of the threats that constantly stalked him, that constantly seemed to be out for him. But Tyrosus understood only one way to end a threat. Only one way, tried and true over hundreds of years, to ensure his safety.

With a guttural, terrifyingly unhinged roar, Tyrosus had marched forward through the steam, his body pumped with mass amounts of adrenaline, as it always did during one of his episodes. As he moved he bellowed forth his shredder breath, firing through the fog with a crazed randomness before finally he found his target. Dracochelys yelped in pain, and Tyrosus zeroed in. Before Dracochelys could react, the fog parted before her and she was beset upon with a flurry of fangs, claws, point blank shredder-breath. Gallantly she held her ground, unable to do much in her weakened state but dig in with her blades and hold fast. Then - SHWIIICKK!!! - with lightning speed, out whipped Tyrosus' final weapon, a muscular tail tipped with a wicked blade of his own. He wrapped it around Dracochelys' throat before giving a great tug, throwing Dracochelys a few paces from her hole and finally toppling the turtle to the ground.

The fog parted and he was upon her, unaware that his frenzy was now being broadcast across the world. Dracochelys could do little but flail her limbs and moan in desperation as fangs, claws and tail clacked across her shell with the rapidity of a machine gun. Out of sheer statistical inevitability, his claws found a weak point in her shell - a groove in a plate on her chest. Without pause, Tyrosus dug into the groove and ripped the plate off, exposing Dracochelys' soft skin below. His tail uncoiled around Dracochelys neck, then raised itself above the exposed area - SHUNK! SHUNK-SHUNK-SHUNK-SHUNK! Viciously he stabbed her, again, again, again, again, again, the tail blade bloodier with every strike. Dracochelys limbs flopped beside her, unmoving. She raised her head slightly, letting out a soft murmur. Tyrosus darted his head to face her. He was still in danger, the threat had to be eliminated, or he SURELY would be destroyed instead. He lunged forward with his jaws, finding the weak spot where he had punctured the back of her neck earlier. Tyrosus then jerked his head backwards, and the plate came off partially. It was stuck where it curved around to the front of Dracochelys' neck - savagely he jerked again and again, until the whole thing came peeling off. The plate still in his mouth, Tyrosus wasted no time in bringing his twin, dagger-like front claws to bare with a final, vicious slash across Dracochelys' throat. With a last, gargling "urk!" sound, Dracochelys lay her head back for the very last time.

Tyrosus watched as the life finally left his enemy, towering over her. His heavy, snarly breathing started to slow as the bloodrage began to quiet, and the adrenaline filtered out of his system. His glowing red eyes pondered the scene beneath him as reason and thought returned to his mind. Tyrosus remembered that he was hungry. Oh look! A kill. How convenient... He crouched over and started to eat, biting at Dracochelys' exposed skin. A few paces away sat the eggs, still intact, but still exposed.

....................................

Eddie cut the broadcast as Tyrosus began to feed, lowering his camera.

"What are you doing?!?!" Emma shouted at him.

"Sorry Emma, word from home," he said, tapping his earpiece. "It's just too... gross."

"Fine," said Emma. "Whatever." She turned away from Eddie, wiping her eye.

"Are you crying?" Eddy exclaimed in disbelief. "You know that thing killed thousands in Vancouver, right?"

"Yeah..." said Emma. "I guess..."

[Godzilla165]

Exosphere



In the vast, cold upper reaches of the sky, where the gravitational touch of Earth just barely hung on by its fingertips, saw Hanjiru. She hovered soundlessly above, slowly orbiting around this solar system’s life giver. Her eyes were closed, her body erect, and her wings splayed to her sides. Within Hanjiru’s body, pulsated a blue light. Every ten seconds, it would arrive in threes, before retreating once more. Using what was by all accounts, a built in sonar, only now amplified in the void of space, Hanjiru was hard at work locating any and all events that may have required her presence. A passive ability that Hanjiru wielded, was once she had taken up residence on a planet for long enough, she became almost, “linked”, to its life force. With this, she could sense what was going on in the world at all times, and find her way around the globe reliably every time. It was an impressive, albeit strange ability to possess, but one that that helpled the dragon out more than she could count.

With this, Hanjiru had pinpointed two, big events that peaked her interest. Both were thousands of miles apart from each other, and happening almost simultaneously. On one end, Hanjiru sensed a large conglomeration of creatures swiftly approaching a human settlement. And, on the other, was a one-on-one battle of titanic proportions, and one that would surely end with a gruesome fatality. Hanjiru, being who she was, tilted herself in the direction of the latter; she’d hoped to arrive in time to intercept, and possibly stop the fight entirely. But then, her heart sunk, and she was shaken out of her focus. A victor had been crowned, and another soul stripped away. Hanjiru’s eyes grew dark and heavy, as the blue light momentarily stopped all together. She’d seen enough of this to have, in theory, been desensitized to it all now. But, sure enough, the feeling of death still hurt like new. Her own breathing became stippled as she felt the creature take its last breath, and its consciousness leave the body it had been connected to for as long as it could remember. Hanjiru mourned for it, for a creature whom she never even knew, but one that she felt didn’t deserve the end that it did. The other beast, the one that slaughtered that animal in cold blood... It would receive its retribution in due course. But, not from Hanjiru, however; she sensed how powerful it was, and she knew she couldn’t take it alone. That is what hurt the most.

As much as it pained her, Hanjiru knew she needed to stay focused. Turning her attention away from the ended fight, she set her sights on the other problem: a living cloud of death and destruction threatened to wipe out an entire human settlement within the hour. It was time for Hanjiru to make a decision, and what a difficult one it was. With a newfound determination ignited in her soul, Hanjiru folded her great wings downward and allowed herself to fall. She fell farther and farther down, until she had accumulated enough momentum. With it, she flipped around, splayed her wings outward, and rocketed off towards France at speeds approaching supersonic.

There was an infestation to cleanse.

[Zarm]

No matter where he ran, it was there; looming over him. He was a trapped rat, racing through the maze of his own mind. The voice boomed, trying to communciate things, alien thoughts-

Get out of my head!

-And there was nothing he could do to silence them. His very thoughts weren't his own.

He'd been shot before; injured to the very threshold of death. He'd been tortured several times; pumped so full of drugs that his body wasn't his won; that his mind could barely function through a suffocating haze.

But never before had his very thoughts been taken from him.

That was more terrifying than anything he'd ever experienced or imagined.

He was aware of panic, and raging- the thundering roar of gunfire- a howl of fear and anger that in his right mind, he might have recognized as his own-

CEASE FIRE! The words exploded through his brain, deafening, intrusive-

-But from outside. A hand found his arm. The shout repeated.

CEASE FIRE!

It was enough. Enough to break the intrusive hold on him. With the suddenness of a recoiling rubber band, the contact snapped away from his mind. Sensation rushed back into him; the sights, the sounds, the feel of the cool night air.

Semaj was in his face. Semaj. Shouting. Ordering him to cease fire.

He realized now that his finger was squeezing the trigger, over and over- a reflex divorced from his conscious mind. That he'd complied with the Major's order only because his clip was empty and the magazine was clicking uselessly in his hand.

A deep breath of air rushed into his lungs, through a throat torn raw from screaming.

The gun dropped out of numb fingers, and with a suddenness that caught the other man completely off-guard, he lunged forward and enfolded Semaj in the fiercest bear-hug that he'd ever given.

The man had saved him. Semaj had broken the spell.

He felt the major tense under him- knew that military training might compel him reflexively to draw his combat knife and plunge it into Blade's gut.

Oh, well- he was in the perfect position to snap the man's neck if he had to.

In the mean time, he held tight, weeping tears of gratitude, his thoughts awhirl. He couldn't focus- couldn't even see what Epizona was doing; he was still trying to process what was happening in the suddenness of the moment.

He'd stopped firing- but it was too late. A half-dozen other man had joined in, shooting at the kaiju; how was it reacting? If only his eyes would focus, his head would stop spinning-

His eyes found focus, and the first man he saw, there at the edge of the sphere-

"Oh, no..." he whispered numbly, as Semaj threw him off.

[JAGzilla]

Langley, British Columbia, Canada

His sense of direction rarely failed him, but it was always nice when his prey made themselves easy to find. In this case, faint, echoing roars and a mammoth cloud of steam erupting suddenly on the horizon clearly marked the battlefield from tens of miles distant. Sangrazotz was right on course. He shed a bit of altitude, skimming only a few hundred feet over the treetops, leaving just enough clearance to comfortably flap his wings. After being spotted had ruined his last hunt, he wanted to take no chances here, and so would give the two kaiju ahead as little time as possible to see him coming. Again, their impromptu smokescreen was advantageous to him; he doubted they could easily see one another in that soup, let alone anything beyond it.

As he approached, slowing down considerably to avoid betraying his presence with a sonic boom, his attention was caught by a distorted but still bright flash of red light from deep within the cloud's depths, closely followed by another. Interesting. He cast back through the ages compiled in his long memory, trying to recall which kaiju wielded abilities involving energy of that color- himself excluded, of course. There was definitely more than one... Arugas, perhaps? Or that overconfident, inedible rabbit Kuma? Finding either of them in the thick of a battle was hardly uncommon, but he felt that he was forgetting someone obvious-

The next roar, a drawn-out, rumbling bellow of mindless rage and paranoia, cleared things up immediately.

So he was correct again: his initial speculation that Tyrosus would be found up here somewhere, probably involved in something violent, had panned out. And furthermore- a gust of wind carried the divine, unmistakable scent his way- someone was bleeding. He inhaled deeply, his sense of smell quite keen where this job was concerned, and worked out that more than one type of blood had been spilled. The opponent must have been formidable, then, as not everyone could pierce the great bear's tough hide, or even last long enough to get the chance.

By this point he was close, and decided to change his approach; rather than enter the steam cloud and skim near enough for a good look at his targets, he'd hang back and circle at high altitude for a little while. Tyrosus' sense of smell far exceeded his own, and he didn't want to give himself away. In any case, he could do nothing while the battle was still ongoing; he'd have to wait for the end. Tearing himself reluctantly away from the sweet aroma of his waiting breakfast, he angled upward and flapped hard, quickly ascending to several thousand feet, positioning himself between the fighters and the rising Sun to the east, in the hope that the reddish sky would camouflage the glow of his eyes.

After a few moments, the fog thinned... and revealed the gruesome scene within. Tyrosus was still standing, though breathing hard as he calmed down, but the same could not be said of the other. And a surprising other she was: he'd not encountered one of these immense sea turtles in quite some time, and had thought their kind extinct. He'd played a part in making it so; their slow, simple minds were quite susceptible to his powers of hypnosis, and they made easy meals. Their young, in particular, and he was pleased to notice a full nest not far from where the fallen reptile lay. If the eggs survived, he'd be sure to return once the time came for them to hatch.

As he watched, Tyrosus' labored breathing subsided, and he relaxed visibly, dropping back to all fours. He closed in on the armored corpse, sniffed it, and proceeded to dig his fangs into the nearest open wound, ripping away a ragged chunk of flesh that dripped with beautiful red.

Sangrazotz's stomach growled at the sight, and he longed for a drink of the grizzly's own blood, but attacking now would be unwise, he decided. Tyrosus would still be on guard for some time, likely vigilant for any scavenger that might try to steal his kill, and would be difficult to approach. He'd give it a few more minutes, let the bear get himself stuffed and content... and then he'd make his move.

..................................................................

Marianas Island

Time dragged on, he couldn't tell how long, as Mike waited for a response. That almighty, alien presence still filled his mind, terrible and eerily familiar at once. But if Epizona heard or understood him, it showed no immediate sign, still inscrutibly staring down at the group at large.


A sudden blast of noise jarred Mike out of his fixation on the creature, insofar as anything could right then- a series of crashing explosions he gradually recognized as gunfire. "Who the hell...?" he groaned, shaking his head and pressing his hands to his temples in an effort to focus. Hadn't he told them not to shoot? He couldn't make out who it was, couldn't even imagine who it might be through the mental onslaught that was Epizona's casual scrutiny.

Another burst of fire, far closer, caused him to whirl around, looking for its source: one of his own men, he couldn't tell who, had his rifle raised in one hand and was desperately firing, shouting incoherently as he clawed at his head with his other hand. Someone tackled him, ripping the weapon away.

More fire, and more- it was impossible to say how many soldiers had opened up at this point, but it hardly mattered: the damage had to be done, by now. Epizona was sure to counterattack and massacre them all.

Mike tried to raise his own weapon, belatedly realizied that he'd dropped it somehow. Damn. He was completely out of it, reeling drunkenly- he had to do something. Had to save whoever he could...

"Fall- FALL BACK!" he managed to shout, hoping anyone would hear him over the din. He cast around, trying to figure out where he even was, where they could even retreat to. Had they made it back into camp, yet?

He spun around, ready to run... and the entire world went pitch black. Some sort of mass, unlike anything he'd ever experienced, was all around him. He had just enough time to realize with shock what it must be, the disturbing, impossible Sphere, before he was sucked helplessly in.

[Zarm]

“Mike!” Ransikoff screamed, as the disoriented soldier turned and stumbled face-first into Anomaly 003. He watched with horror as the man’s limbs flailed for a futile moment- and, utterly insignificant next to the inexorable suction of the sphere’s surface, were pulled in, too, until nothing remained of his passage but a wobbling ripple.

Without conscious thought, Ransikoff’s feet were pounding across the uneven ground. Heedless of the gunfire erupting all around him, heedless of the towering alien bird’s response- eyes locked on the sphere, he raced across the scorch-cleared, stampede-trampled ground.

Too hard to be properly called mud, but too soft to prevent impeding his process, the terrain brought him down, hard, several times. Men milled about him, racing away; Ransikoff barely paid them any heed. By the time he reached the sphere, it was all-but over; but sheltered in its ominous shadow, plunged into a blackness blocked even of moonlight, Ransikoff was in a terror-stricken, adrenaline-fueled world of his own.

He plunged the end of the branch that had somehow appeared in his hands into the surface of the sphere- and it rebounded as if he’d tried to drive it into a rockface. Wherever he’d had the presence of mind to snatch up the arm-width scrap of wood from, it was still wet and half-rotten; it splintered into fragments. The surface of the sphere rippled its glossy black, like a pool of oil in zero-g, but didn’t give an inch.

Ransikoff stared in disbelief, his breath coming in ragged, disbelieving gasps.

“Mike!” he shouted again, striking at the surface of the sphere again and again until little more than the length of the branch clutched in his fists remained- and then, in desperation and without thought, pounding his fists against the sphere itself.

He might as well have been punching a brick wall.

The surface rippled mockingly at him- but whatever mysterious properties had driven it thus far, the sphere was closed for business.

The sound of the world around him seemed to drop away. Ransikoff was dimly-aware of a number of others- mostly Mike Robbin’s squad-mates- gathering with him around the sphere, heedless of the events unfolding beyond this one, simple anomaly and the friend it had claimed.

“Give him back,” Ransikoff whispered- whether to the sphere, the power of the Attuned, or some higher power entirely beyond this Earth, he didn’t know. “Please.”

But the sphere remained silent and still.

For a long moment, it held that way- longer than it had claimed any object before. And another. Time stretched into near-infinity. Ransikoff half-saw other efforts by the soldiers to cast a lifeline, to breach the surface; half-heard the shouted orders and questions and confused tumult from the frantic Brits. Where once they had all been terrified to even approach it, now they manhandled it with impunity; struck it- even shot it. All to no avail.

And Ransikoff he knew. He already knew. It was too late.

No one could hold their breath this long- not even a champion pearl-diver. And now that the Anomaly had, at last, tasted of a living being, there was no indication that it would even give him-

The sphere pulsed, once, violently- a convulsion in its surface that physically knocked back the soldiers, hurling them to the ground with the force of an earthquake. A visible ripple of iridescent light burst forth, the shockwave quickly fading- and then, again, dazzling in the dark of the night.

If Ransikoff had been in a more analytical mood, he might have wondered if Epizona still towered over the clearing behind him; might have turned to see. Might have wondered what she’d make of all this. Or why he now thought of her as a ‘she.’

But he could only step forward, transfixed, even as the others backed away- fear and wonder and horror crashing against his soul like waves on a breaker, casting their mingled spray up into the air, a mist that fogged his mind; that left him unsure as to what he was feeling, as to why he needed to approach…

The surface of the sphere convulsed again, violently- no aerial distortion this time, but the surface itself turning into a violent, almost-fractal pattern of peaks and valleys and distorted shapes, so quickly it was almost subliminal, before resuming its natural, featureless state-

And with a low gurgle, a pair of boots slid out from beneath the sphere.

Boots followed by legs. And a torso.

Mike Robbins dropped the few feet from the bottom of the sphere to the ground, and lay there, prone- eyes staring sightlessly up at the black expanse.

Ransikoff ducked low and the sphere, placing a hand to steady himself against it without thinking; he didn’t even notice that it still refused to give; didn’t even ripple any longer.

Instead, he bent low over Robbins, feeling for his pulse- checking his vitals, his condition.

The soldiers crowded in behind him, a dozen questions overlapping in a maelstrom of babble as he conducted the quickest, most thorough first aid evaluation of his life.

No sign of bruising. No blockages in the airway. Pupils neither fixed nor dilated, beyond what the dark surroundings called for; his body still warm.

Yet for all that there was nothing whatsoever wrong with him, not a single sign of life.

Rnasikoff sat heavily down against the muddy ground, the breath leaving him in a rush. He ran a hand through his hair, staring ahead at nothing as the soldiers crowded past him, performing their own urgent inspections.

But no matter how dearly they might wish it, what CPR they hastily tried to perform, there was no altering the fact that this was a corpse, plain and simple- Mike Robbins was dead as a doornail.

[Andrew the Gojifan]

Paris, France
The Spider Colony had engaged the Ghagon. The dimwitted strange creatures stood no chance against the thousands of members of the colony. But were there wasn`t quality, there was quantity. Often times a single wave of Ghagon could be made of thousands. That was what overwhelmed the Spider Colony. The straw that broke the Colony`s back was one particular influx of Ghagon. Just like before they rushed for the Eiffel Tower, but this time the dead bodies of the first wave of unwary Ghagons had given the colony away. The Ghagon swerved, panicking the spiders into protecting their breeding pair with more numbers. This made the Ghagon go into a feeding frenzy. they couldn`t avoid the web, but that didn`t matter, one well aimed strike could easily tear out a chunk of one of the two giant six eyed spiders. Before long thousands of Ghagon cluttered up the web the spiders could not reach their king and queen. All seemed lost...
Suddenly the two giant eight eyed spiders pounced on the web, tearing apart the dead Ghagon, the day was was saved. The second queen lay motionless. Nestled in the web next to her were two eggs. Unlike soldier eggs, these eggs were gigantic, 150 feet in long diameter. The second queen would rest for months, then she will continue increasing the colony`s soldiers. For now the Spider colony`s giant members had a purpose: Protecting their queen.

Marianas Island, a few minutes ago
Thanatos slowly stalked through the thick brush. At first it might seem impossible for a kaiju of his size to remain undetected but the ambrosia infused Carnosaur was gifted. His target, a herd of cattle was easy prey. he inched ever closer to them.
The horns of the two bulls clashed together as both of them reared up in a futile attempt to gain power over the other. Both of them had been away from their red mates for too long. Neither of them would tolerate the other anywhere near the herd of females. At long last one of the bulls fell as the other rammed his horns into the weakened one`s back the bull roared and attacked only to be sidestepped and gored in the side. No longer was the bull`s hide pristine, now it was ragged and bloody.
Thanatos watched the battle intently. As he did when he first awakened, he picked a winner. His claw sawed against a massive tree`s trunk. The tree fell breaking the bull`s back. The injured bull looked closer at the forest.
Pay no mind.
He paid no mind.
Neither did the herd when Thanatos` massive head protruded out of the forest and grabbed the dying bull in his jaws.

Now.
Gabriel stared on. So did Epizona. The dead body of Mike Robbins was... well dead. Something was wrong. She felt no presence in the body, it was to the psychic world what an assembled computer without circuits was. The black... thing had taken what had made him a being from him.
Epizona was was paralyzed. The anomaly was vile, and it`s inky depths had taken her out of the world. She was paralyzed looking at it. When cattle stabbed her leg, she she was paralyzed. When her feathers became moist with blood, she was paralyzed, as she fell she was paralyzed to the core.
But her head moved, intent on the sphere. This wasn`t her. It was HIM

Thanatos couldn`t believe his head. Something vile, so incredibly vile that he hadn`t felt anything like it took hold of the air... He too was paralyzed.

Strange what a strange energy spike in a strange part of the strange world could do.
Strange that us strange humans felt nothing strange

[Zarm]

Tears stung at Ivan Ransikoff’s eyes, blurring his vision, and the lump that swelled at the back of his throat was so solid and painful that it felt like he might pass out. For all the impossible things he’d witnessed in the last several days, the world was shrouded in a sense of unreality. Of impossibility.

As he stared at Mike Robbins’ corpse, he couldn’t reconcile what he was seeing with the reality in which he lived; the two refused to co-exist.

The soldiers were still gathered about his lifeless body- the body whose circulation had halted, whose heart was stilled, whose chest did not rise and fall and whose brain was, doubtless, oxygen-starved to the point of total failure by now. They worked tirelessly to resuscitate it- but Ransikoff knew there was nothing to revive. Though he’d only been dead mere moments, Mike was as thoroughly deceased as a body that had been lying on a morgue slab for days. Every process was stopped dead; there was simply nothing to reboot.

And the one man here who’d treated him as more than a madman- the one man who’d accepted that the things he was experiencing were as insane and impossible to Ransikoff as they were to his audience, and yet they were still so, was gone.

The closest thing he had to a friend in this hostile, unfathomable place.

Claimed by an anomaly. A thing that shouldn’t even exist.

A thing that, a day ago, he’d been giddy with excitement over.

Ransikoff glared up at the silent obsidian sphere- the thing that had claimed-

There was a low, slurping gurgle from the sphere, and Ransikoff froze. Shaking all over, he strained to listen over the din of the clamoring soldiers; though the rest of the clearing had fallen totally silent. Even Epizona, unfazed by something as paltry as gunfire, seemed mesmerized by the tableau.

The slurping was followed by a thump- and a soft groan.

Heart hammering, barely daring to hope and certainly not daring to look, Ransikoff leaped up, banging his head on the sphere and doubling over. Clutching at his head, he staggered forward, across the evenness of the un-rutted ground. He lost his balance, and went down to his hands and knees- rose, and fell again.

And found himself staring into the bleary, blinking eyes of Mike Robbins.

Gasping, Raniskoff flopped back for the second time in as many minutes- and cast a frantic, hopeful glance behind him. The soldiers were still clustered around, trying futilely to revive the corpse-

But at his feet, a breathing, dazed Mike Robbins lay staring up at the sphere.

“O-over here…” Ransikoffed croaked, so quietly that he could barely hear himself. And then, again, louder, “O-o-over h-here!”

None of the soldiers paid him any mind, and the rest of the camp seemed to be in full fall-back mode. It wasn’t until Ransikoff shouted “He’s alive!” that one or two of the men turned- and quickly drew the attention of the others.

Ransikoff helped a dazed Robbins to sit up.

“Mike! It’s- I’m- how are you feeling?”

*****

For eons it had been; or so it seemed. It had never had a perception a time; it had never had a perception at all. For as long as it had existed, it had accumulated; data patterned, stored. The gathering of information. A library of form and composition, structure and nature. A database.

Like the form that lay on the ground below it- though it was not aware of such things, for it was not at all aware- all the rudiments of life existed, all the necessary structures, all the raw materials… but no spark had ever catalyzed it.

It was- but it was inert. Information without knowledge; a mind without thought. Form without purpose. Potential without realization.

Within it could be found wonders that would dazzle the most advanced science; it knew, of the things that had been placed within it, more deeply and fully than any mortal mind could, even with a millennia’s study. The position of every molecule, the relation of every bond. And yet, all of that understanding sat silent and unobserved; recorded within its structure, but organized by no force.

And then, it tasted something new. Something that in all its many centuries of existence, it had never absorbed.

Thought.

What the-?! …The sphere!

And like everything that entered the event horizon of the sphere, it sifted through every molecule, every atom, every aspect; and in recording the full, unbridled totality of it, reproduced every single mote; recording the replication, fathoming at a greater depth than the likes of human communication was designed to express.

And incorporated them into itself.

It had molecules assembled into their structures; samples of iron, of rubber, of paper, of leaf and branch. Of chemical reaction, electrical impulse, kinetic energy, and potential, of heat and light and air and water. To these, it added protein structures, tissues, cellular structures… and, like each of these, active and in fullness, it added thought. A full-spectrum sampling, a snapshot of a mind- all the thoughts, active and passive, present in the disoriented mind of a frightened British Lieutenant.

Annabelle.

Kaiju. Monsters.

Have to destroy them. Kill them. Vengeance.

Vrithigee…

Protect the expedition. They're counting on me. Looking to me. Why me?

Don’t want to die.

Strangest thing- like kinship.

Epizona… somehow…

Like me?

And among all the various impulses and motivations that it stored, one flared, and shone, and strained at its bonds…


Me.


In the darkness, a spark.


Awareness flared like the blaze of a nova. Incalculable knowledge, incredible potential- organized, categorized, unlocked… by will.

And for the first time since all of its kindred- all of the kaiju- had first known their formation, the stillborn one, the one that was-yet-was-not, that could-have-been, awoke. Information became knowledge. Input became perception.

The sphere, after all its years of existence, at last became a self.

And knew that it was not alone.

[Andrew the Gojifan]

Gabriel had taken Blade's words to heart. He had always been wary, listening for any suspicious noises, and now he heard one, two, three, four...
Five pairs of hooves were hitting the ground. All of the sudden, a massive silhouette rised out of the forest. 5 cattle stampeded out of the forest into the camp. The most agressive cow was gunned down as it charged Semaj. The bull was lucky enough to miss anyone but instead rammed into Epizona's foot bringing her down as the other cows rammed into her, painting her feathers blood red.
"So we meet again!" Gabriel stared at Thanatos.
Akihiko ran past the falling Epizona. He might, just might make it... Then he felt pain unlike he had ever felt before. The bull had gored him, throwing him a good twenty feet into the air. He fell with a thud, in the most unlucky circumstance ever. He was still in front of the bull. He was powerless to do anything as he saw the hooves descend onto his face...
Bang!
The bull cleared Akihiko in a spectacular jump. Before turning towards Gabriel, who held a smoking revolver in his hand.
Blade frowned. So the bugger did have a gun in his backpack.
The bull bellowed and charged as Gabriel repeatedly shot the bull in the neck. To everyone's surprise the bull fell.
He noticed Epizona looking towards the anomaly. He looked to. Then he noticed Ransikoff shouting. At his legs was Mike Robbins, alive and well. The anomaly had fooled them by spitting out a lifeless copy first. Gabriel facepalmed, how did he not realize sooner?

[Zarm]

Elizabeth's heart leapt to her throat as the bulls charged into the clearing.

No. Not again!

Sheer terror knifed through her like a physical blow, stripping her faculties down to the raw, primal instinct of hunted prey.

Escape. She sought escape. Darting eyes, furtive movements, legs thrashing in a pell-mell scramble-

And then he emerged into the clearing.

Thanatos.

The greatest mass-murder in the history of the Earth. The destroyer of two fleets. The deadliest kaiju on the planet.

And only a few-hundred feet away from her.

No, she thought, the surreality of the situation slapping her in the face, restoring some distant, clinical measure of sanity. No. I survived this once. I will be damned if I let another one of these stampede/close-encounters kill me now!{/i}

Clearly, the rest of the camp was of a similar mindset. They'd already been in the process of falling back, as per the shouted order- now, in became a mad, disorganized rush. A few of the military commanders shouted orders, trying to get the gunners to the forefront of the formation in case any more of the hostile wildlife waited in the woods. All the equipment they'd managed to salvage, everything they'd brought with them the first time, even the precious samples of kaiju tissue were left behind in the ill-fated campsite as the expedition raced to abandon it. As Elizabeth reached the treeline, she saw only the small party huddled under the sphere, and the mid-argument triumvirate that had first drawn her attention before Epizona showed up- Blade Harrison, Gabriel Muntenescu, and Akihiko Yasoshima- still in the doomed clearing.

For a moment, Elizabeth warred with the impulse to go back, to help the man that had saved her life... but then the terror took over; convinced her- perhaps not wrongly- that there was nothing she could do. And she bolted.

Elizabeth rushed past one of the perimeter guards, on the face of the camp the bulls had emerged from. She'd assumed from the lack of warning that he was already dead- but the man stood, miraculously untouched by the bulls, in a stupor or trance. He swayed gently, side to side, as men and women ran past him on all sides.

Guilt stayed Elizabeth's feet, and she turned back to the man- grabbing one arm and propelling him into an awkward, stumbling run. He offered no resistance- and when Dr. Ninh came up alongside, grabbing his other arm, they managed to make good time with the rest of the panicked flight. Semaj was still bellowing orders, trying to gain some control over the frenzy- but most were simply running for their lives, paying little heed to anything except trying to keep their footing in the starless dark of the deep jungle.

And in blind fear, Elizabeth ran with the rest- wondering if she would ever feel safe again.