Kaiju Rising: Age of Monsters

by James Swallow

  Three found their mark. The high-explosive ordinance should have shredded any organic creature hit, no matter the size, but they appeared to do no damage. The blue crystals on the creature’s back glowed brighter at the impact. The fourth missile struck the side of the partially evacuated hotel and New York was now in flames.

  Shaktarra turned his head to determine the source of the attack, but had no sense of the distant airborne objects. It unleashed a bolt of energy from its back, converting energy from the attack it just suffered, and the MGM Grand was demolished by the blast, leaving nothing but plaster and dust. The targeting soldiers went up with it.

  ~

  The shaman led Leslie and Craig to the central fire and threw handfuls of glittering dust into it while holding a glowing crystal to his head. An image appeared in the flames showing what Shaktarra was seeing. Leslie and Craig saw the creature toppling the Lady Liberty and, moments later, unleashing its attack on the MGM.

  “Shaktarra punishes your foolish people. Only thing that can save you is undoing what you have done. Return us!”

  “How many times do we have to tell you we don't know what is going on? If you have any control over that monster, you better call if off right now,” Craig told the lizard man.

  Leslie put her hand on Craig's shoulder and spoke to the shaman, “You don't realize our people’s capabilities. When they realize what is happening they will use weapons that can easily destroy your god. I'm not threatening you, I'm warning you.”

  “Your weapons have no effect on Shaktarra while he is powered by the will of his children. He can absorb your attacks and turn them back on you.”

  “Those blue crystals focus that psychic energy don't they?” Craig asked. “What about the ones on the statue?”

  The shaman took a step away from the humans, its double-jointed legs giving it a strange gait.

  “Your thoughts betray your treacherous hearts. Guards, restrain him. He will be a sacrifice to Shaktarra.”

  ~

  The Arc de Triomphe was Shaktarra’s next target on the Strip, crushed beneath his bulk while he ignored the bullets from surrounding police. It tore into buildings, sensing a large number of minds somewhere inside. The people fled while a cloud of dust filled the air and the area around the main entrance collapsed. The dust aggravated the beast, and it unleashed a small stream of energy as it sneezed. The monument was set ablaze by the blast while Shaktarra continued tearing its way through the burning structure.

  The fleeing horde of humanity was directed down East Flamingo Road, towards the University of Nevada. A pair of helicopters flew down the western end of the road, using bright spotlights in an attempt to draw the creature’s attention away from further buildings. In frustration, Shaktarra attacked the Flamingo for several minutes, and then slowly made its way after the exodus of tourists.

  Every jet the military could muster converged on Las Vegas, patrolling the skies but not wanting to unleash their arsenals until as many civilians evacuated as possible. Additional ground troops were deployed for future targeting of the monster and reservists were positioned for crowd control and to aid in the evacuation.

  A pair of F-22s, whose pilots volunteered to attempt to draw the beast away, flew in close and relatively slowly to draw its attention. They hoped a strafing run would motivate it to give chase. The first craft flew in with guns blazing, but the shots did no apparent damage, though it did get the creature's attention. As the other one flew in on his own attack run, Shaktarra unleashed another energy blast. Though less powerful that the earlier one, it was enough to cause the jet to fly out of control. It crashed into the Luxor’s pyramid, bursting into a ball of flame.

  ~

  The lizard folk seized Craig, who readied his rifle.

  “Craig, no!” Leslie shouted but was too late. The lizard's head exploded in a spray of blood, brains, and skull fragments. The other guard fumbled with his spear while the shaman cried out, though Craig didn’t know whether it was in fear or rage. The tribe's warriors went for their weapons. A second shot killed the other lizard guard, and Craig pointed the weapon at the shaman.

  “Call the others off or you're dead.” Craig snarled.

  “Your attack is futile. Your soul will feed Shaktarra and your world will burn!”

  A number of warriors crept forward. Craig looked at Leslie who had finally dropped her camera for the gun he had given her earlier.

  ~

  Shaktarra rampaged toward the evacuation staging area as panic swept the crowds. The soldiers knew their weapons were worthless against the monster so they focused on controlling the crowd. With the imminent threat of another devastating attack from the monster, orders were given to attempt yet another missile attack. Eight missiles steamed in, only half of them finding their mark as buildings exploded in their wake. The other half had their energy absorbed by the monster, rendering the attacks useless. In response, Shaktarra unleashed a wide cone of energy at the distant jets. One was obliterated immediately while a second was crippled, the crew ejecting before it spiraled into the desert.

  The attack bought the civilians a few extra moments to escape, but the military knew it needed a new weapon to use against this monstrous calamity loose on the Strip.

  ~

  “Last chance to call off your goons,” Craig told the shaman.

  “Your threats are meaningless. Shaktarra's power will protect me, and you will die.”

  “Fine, have it your way.” Craig pulled the trigger with casual ease.

  Crimson blood gushed from a large hole in the shaman's chest, his shattered ribs poking out. The crystal pendant about his neck stopped glowing as the lizard man collapsed.

  Letting out a battle cry, the other warriors attacked. Craig and Leslie repelled their advance with a hail of gunfire. Much too soon, Craig was forced to drop his empty rifle and pull out his trusty handgun to continue the fight.

  “We have to get to the stone and break the crystals,” he shouted while trying to reload.

  “Why? What do you think that'll do?”

  “Don’t know, but it can’t hurt. Besides, we’ve got to do something.”

  After the pair fought their way to the statue, Craig shifted his grasp on his empty pistol to the hot barrel, covering his hand with his shirt to keep from scorching himself. Armed with a makeshift club, he moved in to smash the crystals.

  “Cover me.”

  “Got it,” Leslie told him, the report of her rifle deafening.

  Craig went to work, shattering the crystals on the statue of Shaktarra. Each exploded in a tiny burst of energy. Before he had finished, Leslie had run dry of ammo and had been reduced to fending off the warriors with a spear from one of the fallen. Their advantage was gone.

  Craig went after the last crystal and heard Leslie cry out. He spun about to see her impaled with a spear that had been thrown by one of the warriors. He swore and pointed his empty gun at the remaining lizard folk. With their shaman dead and the statue to their god destroyed, the fight had gone out of their eyes. They turned and fled into the jungle, leaving Craig with the wounded woman. He knelt beside and set his hand against her throat. Leslie’s eyes stared vacantly. She was already dead. No final words, no last gasping breath. She was just dead.

  Craig sank beside her, his gaze drifting up to the statue. There was no flash of light or any indication that destroying the crystal had any affect at all. As far as he could tell, their sacrifice had been in vain.

  ~

  Shaktarra continued his rampage, leaving a wake of buildings toppled and burned. People fled in a panic while the military tried their best to defeat the beast while coordinating the evacuation. With no working trucks, buses, or any other forms of transportation nearby, many just fled into the desert with no supplies.

  Just as the military prepared to concede defeat, an F-22 pilot circling above the beast noted that the blue crystals covering the creature’s back had stopped glowing. His commanders were desperate for anything and relayed per
mission to attack.

  The pilot wasted no time complying. His missile sped at supersonic speed and impacted the creature with a massive explosion, which tore large pieces of flesh and muscle from the creature while severing one of its forelimbs. The explosion left the torso a mangled mess of blood and gore. Shaktarra let out a cry of pain as it collapsed onto the Strip, its limbs twitching.

  The Air force seized upon the successful attack. A barrage of missiles followed the first, each slamming into the creature and devastating what was left. Shaktarra screeched its rage as warheads detonated against its ruined flank. It clawed at the asphalt and collapsed. With a final beat from its enormous heart, Shaktarra died.

  ~

  Craig stood over Leslie's corpse, sickened by her passing. She’d wanted this more than he could understand, but her death was the last thing either expected. He sighed, grateful none of the lizard people had returned, but he knew they might any moment. Craig reached down and picked up Leslie’s bag containing the film that needed to be developed. Though there was nothing he could do for her, he could make sure she hadn’t died in vain.

  “Don't worry, I'll make sure the world sees these first images of a new world,” he told before making his way out of the alien jungle.

  Of the Earth, of the Sky, of the Sea

  Patrick M. Tracy and Paul Genesse

  251st Year of the Tokugawa Shogunate (1853 A.D.)

  Akaishi Mountains, Yamanashi Prefecture, Japan

  From the Journal of Revered Grandmother Shinobu no Nōtori

  The future comes with cruel and bloody hands. To make its way, it seeks to destroy the present and erase the past. The young are there, confronting the terror of the unknown, fighting it with the tools they have always relied upon. They are doomed to forget the ancient knowledge their own ascendance has pushed aside. It is only when the brutal way of the future puts a blade to their necks that they search for the wisdom of history.

  It was thus when the foreigners, the gaijin, came with their metal ships, to force trade and dictate terms, to change our lives in Nippon forever. The young generals and ambassadors sneered. These were barbarians, after all. Upstarts without culture. The common joke, even up in the mountain villages, was that only the gaijin would make a ship of iron to sail the sea. Only the round eye savages would design a ship that groaned and belched fire, clawing at the water like a dying swimmer to move forward. They were madmen, these greedy tradesmen from places called England and the Netherlands, to come so far and be forced to leave empty handed.

  “They will not return, if they know what is good for them,” proclaimed the foot soldiers as they sat for tea in the House of Pale Jade at the base of the mountain. “Our war galleys would sweep them from the sea in an afternoon. What could they invent that would be worthy of trading? It is said that none of them are more than a few generations from living in mud huts and holes in the ground. They are not even fit for slaughtering animals or carrying the dead. They are dogs who have learned to walk upon their hind legs. No more.”

  These words filled me with sadness. I said nothing. None wished to hear from me, an old woman, a mystic who spoke to the spirits. The things I studied, the voices who spoke to me out of the silence of the Nōtori mountain temple, these ancient ways, made no sense to them. Our time had long since passed. Nothing I said would have changed their minds. It would be up to the gaijin to do this. Just as stubborn draft animals, their attention could be captured only after a painful jolt.

  When the fleet of dirigibles appeared, mighty ships suspended in the air by some outlandish science, the young learned. As fire-bombs rained down from the sky and burned whole cities flat in a matter of days, they learned. As volley after volley of arrows clanked off the bellies of the titanic airships and men clad in jointed metal floated to earth in winged gliders, the young were taught a lesson about pride. Perhaps the gaijin had no culture, but their capacity for carnage, their imagination for war machines—these qualities could not be questioned. Our great Empire of the Sun had been too long without a worthy adversary, too long idle in our self-imposed seclusion from the rest of the world. We had become fat and complacent, and the gaijin were quickly conquering us.

  Only then did they come to me.

  Many soldiers swept into the shrine, their footfalls the loudest sound that had echoed in the plain-walled entryway in years. Hands on sword hilts, they invaded every corner of my home, my place of worship and solitude. Behind them came their leader, jaw set tight, every inch of his ceremonial kimono perfect. Not a speck of dust lingered on the man. No hair was out of place upon his head. His eyes were intense, taking in the room in a single sweep and falling upon me where I knelt, paying homage to the earth spirits. I grasped for my plain walking stick, but it was just out of reach. A soldier gave it to me, then stepped away. It took two tries to lever myself up, but I gave the appropriate, low bow once I had done so. It was returned with a nod.

  “Revered Grandmother Shinobu, I would have words.”

  “Of course, Ichiro-sama. Nōtori welcomes you. All that we have is yours. I am at your disposal.”

  The general made a quick gesture and his men departed, leaving us alone.

  “You may guess the business I came here to discuss.”

  I bowed again and feigned ignorance. “I would not presume to know your mind.”

  He straightened his overtunic and cleared his throat. “Shinobu-san, please. You are learned and wise. Is there not some way we can throw these barbarians from our shores? Tell me, is there some mystery that can aid us and keep the Empire safe?” General Tokugawa Ichiro had come to me himself, asking these questions. I knew immediately what game he played. His clan had supported my shrine, and those of my sisters for centuries, but had our secrets been passed down among his family? Did he know the truth?

  With all of my willpower, I kept my face serene as a pool of water, despite the fear making my heart hammer in my chest. The solution he wanted from me would be borne from desperation, and there would be terrible consequences. What he would ask me to do had not been done for centuries. Not since Kublai Khan and his Mongols tried to invade our islands. To even consider it was tantamount to madness. Consider it I had, staring into the depths of the spirit world and praying for guidance. The whispers of the elemental spirits are far from clear, no more definite than the shapes of cormorants flying low over a mist-shrouded lake. No solution came to me. Madness reigned.

  “Will you share tea, General Ichiro-sama?” The austerity of the mountain shrine I had lived in for so many years had never been so clear, so well-drawn as now, with the General’s ostentatious uniform put beside the worn bamboo-slat floor and bare walls.

  His brow furrowed. I knew he felt there was no time for the niceties, no time for old traditions. He remained silent for a moment, then nodded. He knew, at least, the respect for an elder that had begun to slip away in the young generation. He recognized he was here to ask me to save him from his enemies. I would never have mentioned it, not in a single breath. One did not treat the cherished honor of a samurai thus. Not even when he had been a fool and brought his Empire to the raw edge of ruin.

  The steam arose from the teacups, of which there remained only two without chips or the obvious telltale cracks of age. The general sipped and kept his face neutral as we knelt across from each other at the low table. The sun was setting upon the mountain. I remembered a younger version of myself, when I tried to capture the magic hour of golden light as the chalice of the sun slid into shadow at the lip of the world. I remembered the hubris of imagining that one could hold onto such things. The things we cherish become indistinct, fading with the days and years. We ourselves are transitory beings, impermanent and ever whittled at our edges.

  “The gaijin will destroy us if things keep on as they are,” I said out of the cocoon of quiet. I could as well have shattered the teacup’s porcelain against the floor.

  The General gathered himself. “If we cannot find a stratagem to turn them aside, their airsh
ips will continue unchecked. Yes.”

  “With all of the destruction visited upon our land, Ichiro-sama, you have chosen to visit my humble shrine.”

  “This is the third shrine I have visited, Revered Grandmother,” Ichiro said.

  “So many?”

  “I have already spoken with the Revered Mothers Sora and Mizuumi.”

  “They sent you to me?” I asked, though I knew they had. I was the eldest and the decision was mine alone.

  “They refused to help,” Ichiro said, “They said I should not have believed the legends. They said you were the wisest woman in our land and would dissuade me from my path.”

  “What path do you follow?” I asked.

  He smiled at me, and I found the strands of gray outnumbered the black hairs on his head. “When I was a small boy, my father gave me a set of woodblocks with paintings of the great dragons on them. I believed they were real, but there are few today who believe in the ancient legends or that magic still exists in our world.”

  I let out a breath. “There is magic, Ichiro-sama. Only the rare eye can see it, the rare voice who can call upon it, but the magic is here.” I put my palm flat against the floor, feeling the earth beneath, the soil and the stone, the gemstone and the ore, all the way to the deep heart of everything.

  His squinted at me. “Will you show it to me? Will you help our people?”

  I sipped my tea and gathered my thoughts. “The legends say the ancient Kaiju are power incarnate. The might of the tide is theirs. The power of the winter wind. The unyielding strength of the mountain, but the great dragons are not ours to command. Awakening them would invite disaster. They could well do more harm than any invading army.”

  The general sat rigidly and straightened his jacket. “The Emperor and the Shogun have instructed me to save Nippon. On my honor I have vowed to stop our enemies. If I fail in this …” His eyes drifted to the floor, and I knew he would do what his code demanded. The Tokugawa were traditionalists in many regards.