Chapter 13
A nervous tension filled the Tokyo atmosphere.
Sure, the citizens of Japan knew about the new threat of the Zillas. The news media had made a particularly large point of making "The Next Gyaos Swarm?", "The End of the World?", and similar titles their favorite topics.
But the people of Japan did the best they could to pretend that nothing was wrong, that all of their lives could suddenly be lost on one of fate's many whims. Tonight, for them, there was no threat
For Americans living in this year of 2007, it is shockingly easy to forget that we are in fact at war, while over 140,000 troops are stationed at Iraq. The reason for this blissful ignorance is the simple fact that it just doesn't affect us. It affects the soldiers, true enough, but for the people who aren't involved or have family members involved in the war often don't give it a second thought when the subject arises. America hasn't had to worry about a war happening on its soil for decades.
And, until now, neither had Japan.
But now the danger was present, to them. Not across a whole ocean, but right where they were. Perhaps not when they were, but every second that passed could easily change that. Until that time came, though, they just had to keep on performing in the play that had become their life.
End of scene.
Without warning, Tokyo's alarms blasted a painfully loud wail, carrying with it a signal clear to all who did not have suicidal intentions:
Run for your life.
And all the civilians in Japan's capital city swiftly agreed.
People dropped what they were doing, whether it was cutting hair, eating their double cheeseburgers at McDonald's, or typing up some kind of fan fiction story. Everything that didn't have to do with running the direction everyone else was running was forgotten in a primal display of pure self-preservation as millions of people fled anywhere but toward the sea.
And they weren't quick enough.
Like a perversion of a school of fish, three hundred forty-four kaiju raced underwater, their instincts all tugging them towards the same place. Their 90 meters bodies writhed like sea snakes, and their arms and legs were all tucked tight against their body to reduce water resistance while their tails swung from left to right, like huge crocodiles.
Looking at the school of Zillas, it really did look similar to the giant flock of Gyaos that had attacked Gamera at Kyoto in 1999. The Zillas weren't evil like the Gyaos, though. Their existence was evil, certainly, a cold, cruel mockery of all that the real King of the Monsters was, but they weren't evil themselves. They were just… animals. Animals that could potentially throw off the natural balance of the world's ecosystem as well as mankind's empire on this planet, but animals, nonetheless.
Even animals need some kind of limit, though.
Like when the entire population of them gets together and decides to destroy a major city for the umpteenth time.
And try to lay the groundwork there for mankind's downfall.
True, that last part wasn't intentional, just a side-effect of what they really meant to do, but it would still happen.
The first Zilla that had attacked Osaka felt a pleasant breeze from the night air as he lifted his torso out of the water. Looking around, he observed his brethren do the same. Several also roared cheerfully as they gazed upon the odd alien structures that he supposed covered the planet. Many had not seen one of these before, and their facial features, though very subtle, showed intrigue in some, but puzzlement in most.
It didn't matter what they felt towards it, though. Instinct was calling, and animals never defy instincts. Instincts that not only called, that called loudly, like an annoying, high-pitched voice demanding something at the top of its tiny lungs over and over. Not to mention that the source of this tiny voice is standing right next to your ear, yanking it towards the direction it wants you to go with all its might until your feeble will breaks before it.
Not even 90 meter daikaiju could stand that.
So, as fast as they could, they had swum, to rid themselves of that tiny voice of evolution. Now that they were here, the little voice let up a little. But not much. The voice of instinct would only let up, it told them, until they reached shore. Then, of course, it would tell them it would not be silent until they found some kind of large, closed area. And then it would command them to fill up this territory they had staked out with 3 meter tall eggs. And so on.
The Zillas quickly waded to shore and set to work. Reptilian feet large enough to park three cars in smashed down on short buildings. Tails longer than basketball courts battered taller ones into rubble while lethal claws tore at any building in front of them. Walls of flame exploded into existence from the Zillas' jaws, taking care of anything that was still left.
In their minds, the Zillas recalled doing something very similar the day they hatched. When they all swam around in an unruly mob, stripping the reefs surrounding them of all else that swam. This was no different. Just bigger.
The screaming crowds of people below them, though, saw no similarity whatsoever. To them, the Zillas were malevolent beasts searching for more buildings to decimate, more people to slaughter. This was much different. And bigger.
Apparently, the phrase "size does matter" is in the eye of the beholder.