Kaiju- Battlefield Surgeon

by Matt Dinniman

  Clara shrugged. “I remember hearing there’s like 71 of these demon lords and princes and dukes or whatever roaming around. Some you have to fight, some give you quests and try to sell you stuff like this guy. So you want to try these potions?”

  “No,” I said. “There’s only a small chance we’ll level up, and these things cost 250K each. I’m thinking if we get to the city, maybe we can sell them.”

  “Okay, whatever,” she said. “Let’s keep moving.”

  It didn’t take much longer for us to trudge out of the woods and back into an area of low hills, opposite from where we were before with the baby parasite things. Banksy had managed to kill a few more small mammals, but we’d avoided most of the larger creatures so far.

  A light drizzle now fell, though the clouds seemed to be mostly dispersing. The bottoms of the remaining clouds reflected a deep magenta light, giving them an ominous weight in the sky. There was no moon and no stars, yet a low light filled the night, like the source was a dirt-covered lens just over the horizon.

  “There it is,” Clara said, pointing at the glow of a small village nestled at the top of a hill about a quarter-mile away. Electric lights flickered off and on, and sparks occasionally burst into the air from fallen electrical lines, lighting the night like staccato fireworks. A rusted, six-foot fence topped with concertina wire surrounded the outer perimeter, lit by a sickly, yellow light. Guard towers stood sentry every couple hundred yards, though only about half of them appeared occupied. Empty and blackened gun emplacements stood behind sandbags in random spots in the clear area in front of the town. I could see movement in the streets, but the town looked as if it had recently been steamrollered. Some of the towers had been toppled. Just past the village, the skeletons of larger buildings stood, melding into the darkness, implying a massive city lay abandoned and dormant just beyond.

  An odd sense of hopeless defeat tugged at me as we observed this place. The area looked like the cross between a prison and a military base after it had been overrun and abandoned by the enemy.

  As we watched, shouting rose from the north side of the village. Tracer fire cut into the air from one of the towers, adding a dotted, flame-red line across the ghastly sky. An unholy screech ripped the night. A massive shape plummeted from the sky and hit the ground like a meteor. I could feel the thump as it hit the ground.

  “This place seems pleasant,” I said.

  Chapter 17

  “Do you think we can just walk in, or do you think they’ll shoot us on sight?” I asked.

  “I think we should wait until morning and then walk in with our arms raised,” Clara said.

  I nodded. Most games had built-in friend-or-foe profiling by NPCs, but I wasn’t certain how it worked here. Besides, we weren’t positive these guys were friendly. The one thing I had learned from Stolas the owl demon was that these bad guys didn’t necessarily get along with one another. For all we knew, this village was now occupied by a rogue group of demons.

  It would take about four or five hours for the sun to rise. Clara, Banksy, and I sat huddled at the edge of the forest, waiting. Large, flying demons seemed to probe the village’s defenses about once every hour. I caught a glimpse of random flocks of other monsters flying now and then, and I sensed much more than I could see. Large beasts also patrolled these woods, but nothing came close enough to be a problem. I had a sense that early in the game these woods were considered a safe, low-level area. They weren’t safe now, but they were certainly safer than out in the open.

  Dozens of inconsequential tiny bugs and mammals lived in the underbrush here, and Banksy gobbled up everything that came close. None of these gave any experience except a small shrew-like creature that had gotten a bite in before Banksy could snap him in half. He still remained at level five.

  We didn’t talk. We didn’t sleep. I suggested Clara get an hour in, but she said the game wouldn’t let her sleep out here.

  “Where are you from?” I asked finally, breaking the silence. Clara rarely said anything about herself, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try again. I had to get the quiet out of my head. It was in those moments they came to me, thoughts of Mary and Ruth. And of Chris. Especially thoughts of Chris and of that day.

  This is too much. This is too much.

  I didn’t think she would answer, but then: “Seattle, like you,” she said, maybe five minutes later.

  “Oh?” I asked, though it wasn’t really a question. I didn’t know how to react. “Did they have someone on the screen, someone for you to watch? Someone that they threatened?”

  She turned to me then, her impossibly-large eyes luminous in the night. She nodded. “I had someone. But she was more than threatened. She was ripped away from me.”

  I wanted to ask more, but Banksy raised his head from the ground and growled. “We are approached. We are stalked. We must fight or run.”

  I jumped to my feet, pulling my gun to the ready. “What? Where?”

  I wished my Frame Vision skill worked outside of deep dive. I scanned the woods. I saw nothing but shadows of trees.

  Banksy growled.

  “I really need a gun,” Clara whispered.

  One of the trees moved. It was a slow, languid movement at first, easy to miss. Nothing more than a trunk swaying in the wind.

  I followed the trunk up into the branches, and there I saw it. The white shock of bone. Antlers. Teeth. Lots of teeth, floating in the foliage, grinning down at us.

  They’re in the trees. Massive, floating stag skulls with sharp teeth like those of a great white shark. But, no that wasn’t right. These trees weren’t swaying. They were moving. The whole damn tree. The tree was the monster. Monsters. I blinked, and it all came together as I stared, dumbfounded. There were at least five of them, probably more. Bark and moss-covered, camouflaged to look like gnarled, old trees, these hunched beasts stood about fifteen feet tall, but were probably bigger if they stood straight. Each had the head of a colossal stag skull with a wide rack of antlers that had to be ten feet across, like massive claws raised in worship of the night.

  Wendigo, my mind thought. The name of the monster coming to me unbidden. I didn’t know if that was exactly what these things were called, but that’s what they were based on. The legendary North American creature of the forest.

  “Okay, guys,” I said, taking a step back, toward the village. “We’re not going to get a chance to wait until morning. We run on the count of three.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Clara said, following my eyes into the tops of the trees. She gasped sharply.

  “One,” I whispered, clutching my gun. My arms trembled. I remembered shooting Ginger the snake in the face. It didn’t do any damage because the thing was too high of a level.

  “Two…”

  A deafening, high-pitched shriek filled the woods as the monsters—there were more than five of them. A lot more—surged forward, impossibly fast.

  “Run!” I cried as I blasted the lead wendigo in the face. It grunted and stopped, shaking his head before falling to all fours, a skeletal stag on stilts. I barely had time to register this as I turned and fled.

  We burst into the field, rushing as swiftly as we could toward the village. Clara ran at my side, and Banksy slithered ahead of us, faster than us both, disappearing into the dark, knee-high grass.

  Entering Charnel Outskirts.

  “Help!” Clara shouted at the village, waving her hands.

  I guess we’re going to find out if they’re friendly.

  I added my voice to hers. “Help!” I hazarded a look over my shoulder. The herd of wendigo beasts thundered into the clearing. The ground shook. There had to be a hundred of them. All of them loped on long, stilt-like legs. They screeched and grunted. They’d have us in seconds.

  A blazing spotlight zeroed in at us, impossibly bright. Then another, then another. The light came from the towers. Shouting rose in the distance. I could no longer see anything, and I just continued to run.

  The sound
of automatic weapons fire filled the night. Fire flashed, somehow even brighter than the spotlights. Flashes of red and orange punctuated the deafening whiteout. The familiar whoosh of soul power flowed into me as the monsters died under the onslaught.

  “Oof,” I ran headlong into a sandbag emplacement, and I flipped, heels over head into the ditch behind, falling further than I anticipated. I landed in a muddy heap, Clara landing right on top of me.

  The weapons continued to vomit fire over our heads. The sky was alight with red tracer fire.

  A single wendigo appeared over us, its entire body aflame. The white stag skull burned, and one of the antlers was gone. It roared, looking down on us, smoke pouring from the eyeholes on its skull.

  This was the same one I’d shot before. I pulled my gun up and fired again. And again.

  Banksy was suddenly there, latched onto the creature just under the chest, his body whipping back and forth. The wendigo opened its massive jaw as machine-gun fire poured into its flank from the village. I kept thinking don’t hit my worm. Don’t hit Banksy. I aimed into its mouth and continued to fire. Teeth blasted away, shooting in all directions like shards of glass.

  It roared and fell forward, its skull breaking into pieces as it tumbled into the hole with us, on us. The wind knocked out of me all over again as the heavy corpse poured into the foxhole.

  Level Up!

  You are now Level 7.

  You are now Level 8.

  Upgrades Available.

  The fire continued for a few more minutes, growing more and more staccato while we cowered in the hole, hiding underneath the corpse of the wendigo. Banksy was gone, but I could feel the corpse shudder. I assumed he was inside the beast, munching happily away.

  This thing had to be a really high level, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t really killed it myself. Banksy or I may have given it the final blow, but they’d poured a hell of a lot of firepower into that thing before it went down.

  Clara sat next to me in the dirt. She’d managed to avoid being pinned down by the monster. She sat huddled in a ball in the corner, rocking back and forth.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, grunting as I tried to pull myself out from underneath the thing.

  She nodded but didn’t say anything. Her entire body shook. She’s like a different person every five minutes.

  I now had two attribute points and 11 skill points to spend. I stopped to rest, spending the moment to delve into my menus. I put both of the attribute points into strength, taking me up to 13. Then I spent two skill points on the World Map skill. My minimap glowed, populating with lines and villages. After reading the description on the skill, I added two more points, leveling the skill up to 3, the highest I could bring it without hitting a Chicken and Waffles and Upgrades center.

  The glowing purple dots of corpses dotted the map. I’d now be able to see the movements of nearby NPCs and enemies. I could now add waypoints, and I could zoom the map out to get a world overview. All the towns and their names populated the map. The one nearby was called Charnel. It glowed with a green outline, indicating—I assumed—that it wasn’t yet overrun with demons.

  I could also see where the guardians were, though after skimming across the icons, it was clear it wasn’t all of them. I wasn’t sure why.

  I was left with seven skill points, and there were several directions I could go with them. I needed to think on it. First I had to get out of this damn hole.

  Banksy Hook Slayer is now Level 6.

  Banksy Hook Slayer is now Level 7.

  Your familiar is full.

  “It’s like a tree on the outside, but it’s very juicy on the inside,” Banksy announced after emerging from the beast’s side, covered in mud-like gore. The liquified interior of the dead wendigo showered on us, still steaming hot. Banksy had gotten noticeably larger. “I won’t be able to eat any more of it, though.”

  He looked at me. “I can make opponents Unsteady now. I can do it once an hour.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?” I asked, finally worming my way out from underneath the dead monster. The extra strength had helped. It’d gone silent above. I poked my head above the foxhole. A heavy layer of dust and smoke filled the night. Despite the rain, dozens of fires lit the clearing in front of Charnel. On my minimap, the blue dots of about ten NPCs exited the city and made their way toward us.

  “They’re coming. I think they’re good guys,” I said to Clara, who nodded, brushing herself off.

  “Are you okay?” she asked me, coming to stand next to me in the hole.

  “I went up two levels,” I said. “So did Banksy.”

  She nodded. “I need a gun,” she repeated.

  “Who goes there?” a voice demanded. It was the voice of a middle-aged man, filled with grit and authority.

  I could see the glow of the names over the NPCs before they emerged.

  The speaker held the title Renault – Captain of the Guard (Level 35). The other nine had various names, but were all between level 15 and 20 with the title “Village Guard.”

  All ten of them were worm surgeons like me.

  “Let me do the talking,” I said to Clara before standing fully erect, my hands up. Banksy, still dripping with gore, wormed his way up my body, twisting around my torso and settling his head on my shoulder. He’d gained at least five pounds.

  I called out, “I’m here.”

  The guard captain lowered his weapon, a black metal machine gun at the sight of me.

  “Brother,” he said, coming to a stop. The others all lowered their guns. “That was quite the entrance.”

  I relaxed and felt myself grin. “We didn’t plan it that way. They kinda sneaked up on us.”

  Renault nodded. This was my first time really seeing a worm surgeon since my cousin, and their emaciated, ghoulish faces were hard to look at. I felt a twinge of sympathy for Clara, for having to deal with my face all day. “They’ll do that. Very well. Do you vouch for your companion?”

  I looked at Clara. “Her?” I said. “She’s harmless.”

  Renault grunted. “I know the fae is harmless. I’m speaking of the hook slayer. They can be destructive, even when they’re this small.”

  Banksy’s tongue lolled out, trailing slime down my shoulder.

  “He’ll behave himself. Won’t you, Banksy?” I reached back and scratched him on the head.

  “I’m a good boy,” Banksy said.

  “Very well,” Renault said. “Let’s get you inside.”

  Chapter 18

  Feedings left: 149

  “Above you! Two of them,” Renault cried.

  Clara and I both raised our mounted guns. The rusted, ancient weapon screeched with protest as I struggled to pull the barrel up. The guns were called “abyss lancers” and could only be mounted into guard towers. They shot fiery, hand-sized bullets that fed into the weapon from a hatch in the floor. The cumbersome guns had unlimited ammo, for which I was grateful, and they cut through anything that approached the city like a damn buzzsaw. But they were a bitch to aim. I searched the sky for the threat.

  There. The massive gargoyle angled down at us, screaming into the night. The demons were similar to their larger counterparts, the blood wyverns, but supposedly much easier to kill. I squeezed the trigger. The rusted gun vibrated and bucked, reminding me of a weedwhacker as it unleashed hell on the attacking demon. I’d aimed low, and I walked the tracer fire right into the path of the dive-bombing demon. Next to me, Clara found her target and screamed as she fired.

  Seconds later, twin flaming corpses plummeted from the sky. Banksy uncoiled from my feet and slithered down the tower and toward the fallen demon. I watched the massive worm thread his way down the guard tower’s metal supports. He was about ten feet long now and as wide around as a stop sign. His pale body undulated with rose bursts of lights. I knew now the amount of red in his body indicated his fullness level. He’d had little trouble finding food since we’d taken up guard duty.

  “I only got a couple experi
ence for that one,” Clara said.

  I nodded. “Me too. It’s not working anymore.”

  The red, blinking exclamation point over the demon’s head—thanks to my newly-chosen Risk Assessment skill—indicated it had been a much higher level than I was, but it seemed the game only gave me a fraction of the experience when I used a mounted weapon.

  There was no way I could face down one of these things in a fair fight.

  I sighed, watching Banksy slither toward the demon. He reached the still-flaming monster. He could only eat the one I’d shot and killed. He took a tentative bite, then he pounced, devouring the entire car-sized corpse in seconds. I called up my familiar menu, watching the experience bar. It barely nudged.

  It was time to go.

  We’d spent the last ten days in the village of Charnel, gathering strength, performing a few minor quests, and using the constant demon attacks as a way to level ourselves up. Clara and I were now both level 11. Banksy had managed to get himself to 12. One more level, and he’d be reclassified as a mount.

  The town itself held nothing of interest. There’d once been a guild—a mausoleum they called it—for worm surgeons here, but it had been destroyed along with the bionic upgrades center. There were no shops, no inns, nothing. The only thing left was an armory, which was manned by an elderly shade gremlin and a gnarled old midwife—one of the Medusa-like snake people; multiple bombed-out hovels where the worm surgeons lived; and a whole lot of mud.

  Early in the game, people playing worm surgeon characters had to travel to this village to complete some worm surgeon-specific quests, and it was a place to buy certain rare items. But now the whole town existed solely as an endgame quest. From what I gathered, it was a side quest for all of the races except worm surgeons. For my race, this was something I’d have to do to complete the game.

  The quest was simple. We needed to evacuate the village. We had to get the 150 inhabitants safely inside the main town of Medina, where it was “safe.”

  To do that, we had to repair the teleport gazebo in the center of town. Then we had to cast Teleport to get them free.