I stand transfixed by the sight of my impending doom. Drakon rises through the air, eager teeth seeming to stretch out, ready to puncture the membranes on the sides of Nemesis’s neck and erase the drama unfolding at the White House. Strategically, it’s a smart move. Only Gordon would survive. But since Gordon wants, or maybe needs, to kill me himself, it’s contrary to his wishes. He’s just a little too busy to realize that Drakon’s gone off-plan.
But all of my concerns are for naught. Nemesis is far from defenseless. And Drakon is half her size.
Leaning back, away from Drakon’s biting jaws, Nemesis reaches up and catches her attacker around the waist. The lizard Kaiju thrashes wildly, raking Nemesis’s arm with her claws. When that doesn’t work, Drakon thrashes out with her massive tail, striking Nemesis on the side. But the flat flesh of the creature’s tail is better for swimming than injuring a beast like Nemesis, who takes hold of the tail and pulls. At first, I think she’s trying to rend Drakon in two, but she lets go of the monster’s waist and swings all 200 feet around, slamming it into the EEOB, destroying what remained. And she’s not done there.
Nemesis continues thrashing Drakon, slamming the monster back and forth, pummeling the life out of the smaller Kaiju, while decimating the city. I cringe, fully remembering why I shouldn’t cheer for Nemesis. If there was anyone in those buildings... And I brought her here. Like with Alexander Tilly, I offered the nation’s capital up as a sacrifice, and like the blood sacrifices of old, I hope it will somehow atone for mankind’s darkness with the higher power known as Nemesis.
Buildings crumble, one after another, filling the air with plumes of debris and smoke, partly concealing Nemesis and Drakon. The duo roar in tandem. Nemesis sounds angry and wrathful. But Drakon just sounds pitiful, like a giant wailing beast. And then I get to see why.
Nemesis steps forward, clear of the smoke, lifting Drakon high into the air, her claws piercing the smaller Kaiju’s sides. With a victorious roar, Nemesis slams Drakon down onto the angel-topped First Division Monument, a spear-like statue. I’m sure the memorial will be crushed, but to my surprise, it emerges from Drakon’s back with a geyser of brown flesh and blood, creating the world’s first Kaiju-kabob.
Drakon’s body writhes and thrashes, but the monster can’t move. Nemesis has it pinned. With a shudder, the Kaiju falls still. Dead. Nemesis has now killed two of Gordon’s five. I hear him scream, his voice distant, but full of anger and anguish. He’s either witnessed Drakon’s demise or felt it. Possibly both. If he reacts to their deaths the way I might Collins’s or Woodstock’s, he’s going to be more dangerous than ever.
Pushing my concern for Lilly aside, I turn my attention back to Nemesis, wondering what she’ll do now that Drakon is dead. Will she go for Gordon? While that would be a good thing, generally speaking, Nemesis isn’t exactly worried about her surroundings. She might level the White House in her effort to reach him, killing me, Endo and Lilly, not to mention all the soldiers, Secret Service agents and the newly brave President.
But that’s not what happens. Nemesis stands up tall with a huff, looking east. She’s spotted something and lets out an earth-shaking roar. A moment later, a second roar, like a warbling fog horn, replies. I recognize the call.
Scylla. The hammerhead Kaiju. It’s in the city!
Nemesis charges across the South Lawn, crushing monuments, felling trees and destroying an unfortunate tank, killing the crew. The men and armaments on the far side of the lawn have wisely begun to retreat, but Nemesis doesn’t slow, and not all of them make it out in time. Nemesis’s giant feet crush the stragglers, and she begins wading through the Commerce Building like it was a field of grass.
Scylla roars again, clearing the shock from my mind and reminding me of what I need to do. I charge inside the White House, now empty except for distant shouts and a gray smoke that hangs in the hall like a fog. I run through the oval-shaped entryway and slide to a stop on a royal-looking, red rug in the hallway. I turn back and forth, trying to remember the building’s layout.
Motion through the haze catches my attention. I move toward it, hoping to find a Secret Service agent. Instead, I find President Beck, dragging a bloodied and unconscious Agent Dunne. Beck stops when he sees me. Blood covers his face, and the neural implant is missing.
“What happened?” I ask.
“That thing nearly got us,” he says. “There’s no way to reach the bunker that way.”
Despite the connection between us being broken, Beck seems oblivious to my presence here being strange, and he’s still acting brave. Perhaps the effects will be permanent? I almost feel bad about altering the man’s mind, but seeing him in action and saving Dunne’s life? It’s inspiring.