And while the building is gone, the remains of the tank I just smashed are not. The saucers are circling back for another strike and I hurry to the remains, snatching them up as the saucers draw closer. This time I’m able to see their approach. There’s three of them and from the one in the middle drops a tiny speck. That must be the bomb.
I don’t dive for cover, I stand there, roaring, tracking their trajectory. As soon as the white light blurs my vision I let fly the remains of the tank. My hope is that, blinded as I am, the saucers won’t be any better off. Either they don’t see the tank coming or I take them completely by surprise as my throw is rewarded a second later with several massive BOOMS and the entire sky going white.
When the light clears, there’s no sign of the saucers. There is, however, a notification congratulating me on leveling up. Nice. Those saucers must be worth a lot of experience points. My health bar though is down to a quarter. Damn. That direct hit took a lot out of me.
I smash through several more buildings, unhindered, racking up more points. This seems to be the main point of the game. Smash as much as you can in between bouts with military forces. I’ve demolished several more blocks before I discover why there’s been such little resistance compared to my previous incursion.
Emerging from a broken building I stumble onto a parade of hover tanks, all firing at a target several hundred feet away. Even from that distance though, I can tell that it’s huge. And it’s definitely not on their side.
It’s another kaiju. And unlike Taisaur, this one’s really earned the name, towering over the city at almost three times Taisaur’s height. It leaves me wondering how the hell I missed him before now, especially with the pair of massive horns curling forward from his back and the giant one curling up to meet them from his head. This city is like a cardboard maze. It’s hard to tell what’s only a few blocks over unless you smash your way there. It makes me realize the danger of this game. You never know what’s waiting for you.
Even though I’ve just smashed the last tanks on the streets, the remainder don’t seem to have noticed. They’re all too focused on the enormous kaiju at the end of the road.
Growing up, the closest thing I had to a father figure after Dad left was a man named Ted. Ted’s a burly guy, more bark than bite, and a wizard under the hood. Whatever Mom couldn’t teach me about auto-repair and mechanics, he did. When not working on cars, Ted enjoys hunting. He even took me with him once on a turkey shoot.
The trick, he taught me, is that when you’ve got a bunch of turkeys lined up, you shoot the one in the back. Turkeys have good eyes but they’re dumb. You shoot the one in the back, they all duck, look around for a bit, and then go waddling on. Repeat until you’ve bagged your limit.
Right now, kaiju at the end of the road or no, I’m the hunter and these hover tanks are the oblivious turkeys. Time to see if I can bag my limit.
I lower Taisaur’s head and charge down the road, just like I did through the buildings, horns down, spiked tail thrashing behind. Any tanks not impaled by my horns are crushed under foot and any that aren’t instantly destroyed by this are finished off by Taisaur’s tail. I look like the freaking road runner, leaving a cloud of smoke in my wake as I move.
I don’t hold out much hope that I can beat this giant kaiju, who I’m guessing is this level’s boss, but I don’t need to. I’ve already leveled up and I can tell I’m racking up one hell of a score by crushing these tanks. A couple even manage to turn about and fire at me. My health bar flashes. I’ve entered dangerously low territory now. That kaiju’s going to take me out as soon as I finish my charge.
Whatever. I can at least go out with a bang. Right before I leap an alert goes off. I’ve reached level three. Mission a-fucking-ccomplished. Riding high, I lower Taisaur’s horns and am airborne.
Then I really go airborne as the massive kaiju simply swats me out of the air. Taisaur spins end over end until he lands on top of a low building, crushing it beneath his bulk. The building must have provided some kind of cushion, however, because we’re not dead. Our health bar is flashing red, only a sliver remaining, but it’s there. Damn. So much for going out in a blaze of glory.
My badass kaiju looks pretty undignified sprawled in the rubble. I bring Taisuar unsteadily to his feet as the much larger kaiju closes the distance between us in a few easy, but stupidly long strides until it towers over us.
This is it. I had a good run of it this time.
The kaiju cocks its head as it looks down at us, considering. Then it lets out a rumbling growl that my brain somehow translates into words. Really? You’re all of what, level two? And you want to come at me for some PvP action, Dumbass?
Chapter Eleven
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This behemoth is a player? Now that I’m looking though, I can see a health bar and a second glowing meter similar to Taisaur’s floating over its head, along with a name. Xenatlas. How the hell are you supposed to pronounce that? What does that even mean? I guess Taisaur’s not much better, but at least if you think about it you can kind of figure it out.
I guess I’d expected a more common, gamer-esque name from the other kaiju, like BallPunch3r or Dangerys222. Stuff that’s either a crude joke, a pun, or so full of numbers it might as well be a line of code. Maybe there’s something about Kaiju Wars players that makes us take the naming of our kaiju a little more seriously? I don’t know, but I’m thinking about this way too much. I guess because it beats thinking of the beat down this guy’s undoubtedly about to lay on me.
He’s massive. Like stupidly massive. The kaiju is built like a mammal, more specifically, like those megafauna that came after the dinosaurs, standing on two thick legs with a pair of arms that culminate in simple hands armed with freaking huge claws. The mammalian features end there. Dark, glossy green chitin covers the behemoth, providing it with substantial natural armor.
A carapace like a beetle’s covers its back and a pair of massive horns spike up from over its shoulders, curving forward to point like spears at whatever’s in front of them. They’re mirrored by a third horn curving up from the kaiju’s head. I do not envy whatever gets trapped between those three horns. They’re set up in such a way so as to push the points of the opposite horns deeper into whatever’s trapped between them with a simple flex.
For all its power though, the thing looks slow as fuck. Guess when you’re built like a semi on steroids, you don’t need to prioritize speed.
Xenatlas turns, facing the military forces regrouping behind me. Light pulses between the three spike-horns on its head and shoulders, and then coalesces into a shining, swirling mass. The kaiju lowers its head and thrusts its upper body forward and the vaguely sphere-shaped storm of energy flies free in a flash of barely shaped light, so bright it hurts my eyes.
All that remains in its path is wreckage, ash, and flames.
What the hell was that? I demand. Why the hell don’t I have something like that?
Xenatlas looks down at me. “You really are new. Don’t you know how to use your special attack yet?”
Obviously not, but I don’t want to be a total jackass. I did just come at this guy and he wiped out…damn, how many enemies did he wipe out just now? I can’t work out the math. I’m in too much shock.
Nope, I say. I don’t think my kaiju has one.
He cocks his head. The gesture would be subtle, but with that big honking horn on his head it becomes dramatic. It would have been listed when you first created your kaiju, right beside a special trait.
I think back. No, I just had two special traits listed. None said anything about an energy blast.
The kaiju stares down at me for a few seconds. And you didn’t think to adjust the stats, at all?
I was more interested in playing the game, I say, more than a little defensively. I know a lot of RPG players love optimizing and tweaking their characters and can spend hours coming up with the ex
act formula—that isn’t me. Don’t get me wrong, I like thinking about it, but I’d always, always, always rather be playing the game than tinkering with a bunch of numbers and statistics. I’m a doer first and foremost.
Also, it hadn’t occurred to me to try to reset my kaiju.
That’s going to bite you in the ass, Xenatlas says, kaiju roaring. Most of your EXP comes from how much you’re able to destroy before you get taken down. Ranged attacks speed that up a lot. At least you look like you’ve got a decent speed stat.
Okay, I’ll make some adjustments when I logout and switch Taisaur’s stats around, I say.
Genius, the game’s in beta for a reason, Xenatlas says. There’s no switching things around right now.
It’s a good thing I don’t need to say anything to that, because I can’t. The realization that I’ve just shot myself in the foot in my hurry to actually play is like a punch in the gut.
Xenatlas shifts around and launches another one of those swirling white energy storm orbs from between his horns, demolishing the better part of a city block. The meter below his HP drops to nothing.
I can’t help myself. What the hell kind of energy attack is that?
I swear the rumbling snarls accompanying his words sound smug. Miniature white hole.
Miniature? I call bullshit. Total bullshit. I could have had something like that? Son of a bitch.
My sulkiness must have translated through because Xenatlas takes some pity on me. It’s not totally hopeless for you. I don’t actually know anyone who passed on their special attack, but the algorithms all seem to be based on your starting stats. So, when you eventually do hit the upper levels your stats should be pretty high. I’ll need to run some calcs to double check, make sure I’m right.
That last bit sounded like false modesty. Not a trait you usually find online where everyone is usually amped and eager to prove how badass they are.
Also, you get a bonus ability at level fifteen, so there’s that, Xenatlas adds. You hit there and you should be good.
I’ve leveled up twice already, how hard could it be to hit level fifteen? Of course, most MMO games are designed so that you power through the earliest levels pretty fast and get a taste for it. If Taisaur’s growth rate is exponential, then it stands to reason his experience requirement is as well. Dammit.
Frustration rages through me, but it’s separate from me. Energy. Whereas before my anger has almost always felt like it is driving me, now it feels more like I’m a car and my anger is the fuel. I’m the one determining where that fuel takes me.
The meter beneath Taisaur’s health bar climbs and starts glowing. The thing is actually refilling from my own anger! A lot of monster games have something like a rage meter—I guess this game’s is more literal than most. Is that how the game is treating us? If it’s treating us. The rage meter glows brighter as another surge of anger hits me because none of this helps with my immediate problem whatsoever.
Giving diplomacy my best effort, I say, My bad about attacking you. Thought you were a level boss or something.
Xenatlas gives a noncommittal toss of his head.
“I don’t have much HP left, but want to destroy the rest of the city together?” Half the fun of an online game is the ability to interact with other players after all. And maybe breaking more shit will take my mind off how badly I messed up.
Xenatlas contemplates me for a few seconds, soaking up a barrage of green energy blasts from a collection of hover tanks like it’s no more than rain water, before he says, Sure. Keep behind me and clean up whatever I miss. I’ll play tank, you play ancillary support.
Ancillary support? I want to protest but my eyes drift to the level beside Taisaur’s name. It was so impressive a second ago. Now it just seems meager. Especially when I consider that our level probably directly correlates to the size of our kaiju.
Sounds good, I say, and that’s just what we do.
Xenatlas leads the way, soaking up hits and generally grabbing everyone’s attention in between swings of his horns or claws and blasts from his miniature white hole attack. When this beta wraps up that thing’s going to have to be nerfed because it is stupidly powerful.
As he goes, the military seems to forget about me in face of the greater threat. Taisaur bounds from side to side behind him like the world’s most destructive puppy and I come to a realization. Xenatlas is great at close combat and ranged combat, but his mid-range is severely lacking. Taisaur on the other hand, is perfectly equipped to capitalize on this niche. Darting around, I bring my kaiju’s tail sweeping through whatever buildings or enemies Xenatlas misses.
We fall into a pattern. Xenatlas levels everything in a straight line before him with his white hole, then moves forward to close with whatever targets were too close or awkwardly positioned and crushes them. That part of the pattern quickly falls away though because every time he moves up, so do I, and melee wise I’m able to hit more targets at a greater range. Soon, there’s no one left to close with Xenatlas—they’re all destroyed before they can reach him.
An alert pops up, informing me I’ve hit level four.
I turn to Xenatlas, ready to boast, and realize that there’s nothing surrounding us but rubble. My tail sweeps brought down the fragile remains of whatever his white hole didn’t destroy and now the city is a leveled mass of smoking wreckage.
Damn, I say, because really, what else can I say? The animator’s attention to detail here is impressive as all hell. If I wasn’t so proud of what we’d just accomplished I’d be damn near horrified.
Xenatlas rumbles up beside me so that I have to look up to see his face.
Good work, Noob, he says, half-jokingly.
Not bad yourself.
That earns a chuckle from him. Tell you what, meet me in Monster Land after you logout of the ATTACK mode. See you there.
Then he vanishes, leaving me to ask the now empty ruin of the city, What the fuck is Monster Land?
XENATLAS
Chapter Twelve
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Fortunately, it doesn’t take me long to find Monster Land. I simply log out of ATTACK and select the only option I haven’t explored yet: HUB. I am instantly transported to a level, a lot like I had been back in ATTACK, only this place looks more like some sort of tropical paradise than a city. There’s nothing here worth destroying unless trees piss you off.
There’s a beach with the sound of waves lapping up against the sand and the occasional bit of bird call. In the distance I make out some kind of mountain. No, not a mountain. It’s smoking. A volcano.
I direct my attention to Taisaur. He’s semi-transparent. I try swiping at the trees and find his claws pass right through them. Okay, so this is a no fighting, no destruction zone. Got it.
Hello, Mr. Moretti, says the somewhat familiar voice of the AI lady, making me jump, then cringe.
This is the HUB, she continues. Here you can—
“Can you shut the hell up?” I demand.
Clarification, you would like to silence the AI auto-help feature? The voice asks.
“God yes,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief that came out as a huge, and probably gross, huff from Taisaur. “Shut up and go away.”
Understood. Enjoy Kaiju Wars Online, Mr. Moretti. And then there is silence save for what the game’s environment presents to me. Thank you, Lord. That voice is beyond creepy, sounding in my head like that. I haven’t actually expected that command to be obeyed but now that it has been I feel a profound sense of relief. No voices in my head, thank you very much, I’m fucked up enough as is.
“Okay,” I mutter to myself. “Now how the hell do I find Xenatlas?”
Maybe dismissing the voice-lady wasn’t been such a good idea. Fortunately, at the sound of my fellow player’s kaiju’s name, an arrow appears in the sky over Taisaur. “Okay then,” I say. “I’ll take that.” And I take off running.
> It’s easy to cover ground here, unlike in the combat levels. Nothing actually gets in my way. I simply phase through everything and am able to haul off at top speed down the beach, until I come to a peninsula. The arrow shifts, pointing at an angle as I approach, suggesting that Xenatlas is at the end of it. There we go.
I’m feeling pretty good about myself until I actually get on the peninsula and find my way barred by another kaiju. Like Taisaur he’s insubstantial, but that’s where the similarity between the two ends.
Like Xenatlas he’s huge and has something insectile about him. Unlike Xenatlas, he’s hunched over and it’s not the horn on his head that makes me think bug so much as the mantis like claw-arms curled up beneath him, covered in little scything barbs down the length of their interior. This thing looks like a lovechild of rhinoceros and a praying mantis who decided to try and be a T-rex when it grew up, because that’s what it’s legs, tail, and posture are all reminiscent of. I have no idea where the tightly packed red armor plates covering it like a cross between a reptile and a crustacean have come from. The entirety of the creature’s design is based around being a living weapon.
How would a creature like this actually get by in the wild? I realize that’s a stupid question. The moment you start thinking of kaiju like animals that could exist within their own ecosystem you start expecting a lot of things to make sense that flies in the fact of the genre. Best to think of them as living engines of destruction and leave it at that.
“What’s up?” I say through Taisaur’s growling as I pull up short, glancing at the name hovering over his head. Megaptera. Interesting, another kaiju-appropriate name instead of the more typical gamer handle. There’s got to be something to that.
I’m not given time to dwell on it though, because Megaptera’s response is “Fuck off.”
“Okay then, see you later,” I say, and make to go around him.
How To Train Your Kaiju Page 6