For the first time, I’m participating in National Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), albeit “unoffically.” I say that because I’m not registering nor am I aiming for a 50,000-word novel. I plan to write 25,000-30,000 words for a much-requested sequel to my kaiju novella, Destroyer, which I co-wrote with Natasha Hayden, Timothy Deal, and Nick Hayden. Below is the just-finished prologue.

If you’d like to watch my progress in real time, join the Patreon for my podcast, The Monster Island Film Vault, for as little as $3 a month. Otherwise, watch for a new book from me soon! Enjoy!

Prologue: Resurrection

Hydraulics growled as the Ilyushin Il-215’s jet engines rotated to VTAL position. Ivanov tapped a few buttons on the aircraft’s dashboard with his calloused fingers, and the words, Autopilot Activated, appeared on the monitor. The dark-haired, hard-faced man stood, reflexively brushing flecks of dried blood from his camouflage fatigues, stepped over the aircraft’s dead pilot on the floor, and walked out the cockpit’s door to the transport’s long main bay. There he saw his lieutenant, Nikitin, also clad in dirty fatigues, standing by a Typhoon Titan armored truck. The vehicle bore several years of rust after years of sitting in storage after the World War. Nikitin was a haggard man with a shaved head and long scars on both cheeks. 

“Remember the Coalition!” said Ivanov in Russian.

“It will rise again!” replied Nikitin, also in Russian.

“We’ve reached the coordinates above the Zmei Crater, comrade. We have little time before the VVS realizes we have stolen their aircraft.”

“Do not worry. I have completed the Muromets Cocktail and placed it in the Typhoon. It will provide excellent raw materials for the microbots.”

“We lost a dozen Warriors gathering the alien crystals, dinosaur DNA, and alloys for it. If their sacrifices are wasted, you will pay with your life.”

“I assure you, comrade, we will succeed for the glory of the Coalition!”

Ivanov tapped several buttons on a control panel on the wall. Hydraulics hissed as gray light flooded the tunnel-like bay from the back of the aircraft. The thunderous wind coming from the open hatch was not unlike a roar shooting from a great maw, Ivanov thought. “‘Come not between the dragon, and his wrath,’” he said.

“Indeed,” replied Nikitin.

Ivanov pressed a final button, and the clamps restraining the Typhoon snapped off the vehicle’s wheels, letting it roll back and disappear out the hatch.

***

Darkness. Unending.

Coldness. Smothering.

Silence. Everlasting.

Crash!

Bugs crawling.

Teeth biting.

Eyes…seeing.

Lost limbs regrown.

Open wounds closed.

Severed sinews reconnected.

Skin wraps his body.

He feels the dirt.

Buzzing fills his ears.

Fire burns in his throat.

Heart beats in cold fire.

Blood flows in metal veins.

A voice cries in his brain.

Moaning escapes his throat in response.

His hands claw at the cliff.

***

Ivanov maneuvered the aircraft in a patrol pattern around the Zmei Crater under Russian radar for several hours. Waiting. Waiting for the results of this grandiose and desperate experiment. An experiment to avenge Mother Russia’s disgraceful defeat. What better way to do so than the irony of reviving the enemy’s greatest weapon and unleashing it upon them? Yet still, they wait.

“We must go, comrade,” said Nikitin, who sat in the co-pilot chair, “before the VVS finds us!”

Ivanov shot him a glare. “No, not until we know if the dragon lives again!”

“And join our fellow patriots in Siberia? No!” Nikitin threw his headset on the dashboard and shot to his feet.

But as he stormed off, Ivanov called, “Down there! Something moves!” Nikitin looked out the windshield where his leader pointed.

A few hundred feet below, a huge metal hand half-covered in blood-red flesh rose from the crater. Its claws dug into the ground, anchoring themselves, and with a great heave, a malformed cyber-serpent dragged itself from the hole. Crimson skin seemed to grow on its half-melted endoskeleton. A crown of horns slowly grew on a head that flopped wildly like a suffocating fish. It crawled on the ground like a snake, leaving a trail of dark fluids and dead scales in its wake.

“The dragon lives!” exclaimed Ivanov. 

Nikitin pulled a computer tablet from his coat pocket and unfurled it. “I will upload instructions to the microbots to begin Operation: Dragonstrike.”

As if in response, one of the dragon’s red eyes flared, shooting a crimson laser.

A crash. Alarms blared. Red warning lights flashed on every dashboard monitor. The Il-215 spun and lurched and divebombed. Ivanov fought the control stick as his lieutenant screamed behind him. With lightning reflexes, he tapped buttons to lower the landing gear and forced the aircraft level out. But it landed cockeyed and slid across the rugged ground, grinding to a halt several long seconds later. It lay at a 60-degree angle, propped on a broken wing. 

Sparks flared from the dashboard, singeing Ivanov’s fatigues, as smoke filled the cockpit. The Russian shook his aching head to regain his bearings, blinking to clear his blurry vision. He felt blood trickle down his left cheek. Cursing, he struggled to free himself from the seatbelt, and a giant hand smashed the ground in front of the downed aircraft, quaking the earth and rattling his teeth. A shadow fell over the cockpit as the rebirthed cyborg dragon slithered by, a low rumble echoing with his every movement.

A rare smile cracked Ivanov’s face.

He finally unbuckled the seatbelt and turned to speak with Nikitin–only to find the man lying dead in a mangled heap with the pilot’s thrashed corpse. The tablet lay shattered next to him.

“May the dragon avenge you, comrade!” whispered Ivanov.

He reached into his pocket and produced a cellular phone and tapped its cracked screen. It rang twice before someone answered. “I require extraction,” Ivanov said.

A voice with an Asian accent replied in English, “Is it done?”

“Yes, Kang, Apollyon lives!”

Chapter 1: Nightmares