Project Hyperion (A Kaiju Thriller) (Kaiju #4)

“Who—who are you?” he managed to ask.

The stranger leaned in close revealing that he wasn’t wearing armor, or anything else—the armor was part of his body, which wasn’t silhouetted so much as it was solid black. Donovan was quickly convinced that this wasn’t a man at all.

But then, it spoke.

“General Lance Gordon,” the monster said. “At your service.”

With glaring, very human eyes, Gordon looked Donovan up and down. He grinned, revealing his new, sharp teeth. “You’re a bigun, aren’t you. The kids are going to love you.”

“K—kids?”

Gordon drew back his three scaled fingers, clenched a fist and drove it into Donovan’s skull, shattering it like an ostrich egg beneath a sledge hammer. He looked at the thick armored flesh of his hand, now covered with gore and dollops of brain matter. “Mmm,” he said, and slurped some off. Then he cupped a hand to his mouth and said, “Chow time!”





Dear Reader,

You are just one more epilogue away from finishing the book and I wanted to take a moment to thank you for reading. I hope you have enjoyed the journey and that you will come back for more adventures. If you did enjoy the book, please show your support by posting a review at Amazon.com. The Amazon website works on algorithms, meaning the more people review my books, the more Amazon will recommend them to other readers. And the more people buy my books, the more I get to write them, which is a good thing for both of us (assuming you enjoyed the book). While other indie authors are paying for five star reviews, I'm depending on you, the actual reader, to voice your opinion. So head on over to Amazon when you finish the epilogue and tell the world what you thought of this book. And while you're there, feel free to click the "like" button and the customer tags. They all help.

Thank you again and please forgive this intrusion. Back to the book!

-- Jeremy Robinson





Epilogue III



Two thousand feet of frigid water covered her like a blanket, providing darkness to sleep, pressure for comfort and nutrients to heal. Her body ached all over, in part from the wounds received during battle, but also from her violent growth. Her joints throbbed now, as did the muscles pulling the carapace back down over her back. The protective covering, more for the fragile wings hidden beneath than for her body, would fuse together in a few days. Until then, it had to be held in place.

In the days after leaving Boston and entering the depths, she shed the reflective plates covering her wings. Many had been damaged in battle, but they also itched like a burning fire. Her gleaming white skin dulled and clumps of black, hard flesh had begun to form. In a month, she would be back to her more bulky, impervious form.

Soon after that, she would be ready.

She could feel them.

All of them.

Humans.

All their hate and anger, jealousy and loathing. It pulsed across the globe like radio waves, drawing her attention to the strongest signals. The ocean helped muffle the call to action, but there was no escaping it. Right now, her attention was torn in several different directions. She wasn’t sure how, but she had names for the places: Syria, North Korea, Moscow, Iran, Washington, D.C.

The call from these locations felt strongest, but there were flaring tensions all around the world, and she wanted to stomp them out of existence with all of her heart and soul. The silence would be bliss. She longed for it. Craved it. But it would not come until justice was served, vengeance was had...or every last human being was dead.

Her gut twisted uncomfortably. Her mind burned with a fury that would exact retribution without concern for what lay between her and her target, but another part of her, which felt foreign, tempered her bloodlust with conscience...and a sense that allowed her to detect a second signal. The pulse was weaker, but always there, fighting for her attention.

Her mind called it a distraction.

Her conscience called it love.

When the mind gave love any thought, an image would emerge. A woman with light brown skin, dark almond eyes and a smile that said everything would be okay. Weary from her endless indignation, she focused on the woman’s face—and slept.

For months.

And then, somewhere in the world, someone murdered a little girl.

A drone dropped a bomb, killing a family.

A man was robbed, and then shot.

A woman, bound and gagged, was sold.

The list of offenses struck with such force and frequency that the lingering image of the woman’s face was forgotten. The ocean flickered orange and then glowed brightly for a half mile in every direction, bringing light to that area of the deep for the first time in millions of years. Panicked fish scattered or twitched in shock. But the light soon faded.

Nemesis was rising.