The moment Kafka's Kaiju hand closed around the fleshy, pulsing lure, a jolt of raw, unprocessed data shot up his arm, an electric shock to his very soul.
It wasn't just a limb. It was an antenna. A direct uplink to its creator.
For a single, terrifying microsecond, he felt what it felt. He experienced a flicker of the Architect's cold, vast, alien consciousness—a dispassionate, analytical presence that saw the world in terms of biological efficiency, energy expenditure, and strategic outcomes. He felt its surprise, its confusion, and then a surge of what could only be described as incandescent, synthetic rage at this unexpected violation.
He was still soaring through the air, his momentum carrying him past the creature. He didn't have time for a clean cut. He just yanked.
*SHRRRRIP!*
The sound was disgustingly organic. The lure, connected by thick, cable-like sinews, was ripped clean from Kaiju No. 10's head. Greenish-purple ichor sprayed into the air, sizzling where it hit the ground.
Kafka landed in a clumsy roll a hundred meters behind the monster, the stolen lure still clutched in his now-dissolving third hand. The appendage, having served its purpose, melted back into his body, leaving the throbbing, severed organ in his human grasp. It pulsed with a dying, crimson light.
Behind him, the universe went insane.
Kaiju No. 10, robbed of its primary sensory organ and its connection to its master, let out a scream that was not a sound, but a sonic weapon. A high-frequency, mind-shredding shriek of pure agony and system failure that cracked the visors of the nearby ATU agents and made Kafka's own teeth ache.
It began to thrash uncontrollably. Its sleek, black armor plating unlocked and began to shift and grind, spasming violently. The red vents all over its body flared and sputtered, belching out uncontrolled bursts of steam and raw energy. The null-field it projected wavered, flickered, and then collapsed entirely.
"The null-field is down!" Hoshina yelled, pressing his hands to his helmet to stop the ringing. "Its systems are in chaos! It's going berserk!"
Freed from its primary directive and driven mad by the pain of its severance, No. 10 was no longer a specialized hunter. It was a wounded, cornered beast with a Resilience score over 9.0, and it lashed out at everything that moved.
It spun, its long claws tearing a deep gouge in a nearby skyscraper, sending a shower of glass and steel raining down. It charged, not at a target, but just… forward, crashing through the wreckage of Shibuya Crossing with the force of a runaway train.
"Everyone, scatter! Do not engage it head-on!" Hoshina commanded. This was a completely different fight now. They had gone from being the prey to being the incidental annoyances of a much larger, much angrier problem.
Kafka scrambled to his feet, his mind still reeling from the psychic feedback. The severed lure in his hand was already starting to decay, the light within it fading to a dull brown. The stolen piece of technology, of life, was dying. But its purpose had been served.
Without the null-field, he could feel his power returning to its full, ferocious strength. The dissolved sections of his armor began to regenerate at a frantic pace, knitting themselves back together in seconds. The oppressive dampening was gone, and the monster inside him roared with newfound freedom.
"Hibino! Report!" Hoshina's voice crackled. "What did you do?!"
"I-I thought it was its brain!" Kafka yelled back, dodging a flying piece of a bus that No. 10 had just swatted aside. "But it felt more like… a radio! I think I hung up the phone on its boss!"
Hoshina let out a sharp, appreciative laugh. "You magnificent idiot! You crippled it! But it's still a 9.0 threat going haywire! We need to put it down, now!"
But how? Their weapons had proven ineffective against its armor.
The answer came, not from Hoshina, but from the icy, commanding voice of their true master, echoing in Kafka's mind.
[The signal is severed. Its armor integrity is now compromised by its own internal system failures. The seams between its plates… they are its new weakness. Strike there.] Jin-Woo's tactical analysis was instantaneous and absolute.
'The seams!' Kafka realized. When the armor had slid apart, the red vents had been exposed. Before, it had been a controlled mechanism. Now, in its thrashing agony, those seams were opening and closing erratically.
"The vents!" Kafka shouted into his comms, relaying the divine intelligence. "The glowing red vents between the armor plates! That's the weak point!"
"You heard the rookie!" Hoshina roared. "Kikoru, suppression! Haruta, Kenji, target the vents! I'll draw its fire!"
The ATU, momentarily thrown into chaos, snapped back into a cohesive, deadly unit. Hoshina blurred into motion, a silver phantom dancing around the rampaging beast, his blades striking its main plates not to do damage, but to create irritating, high-frequency sounds that drew its attention.
"Hey, Tin Can! Over here!" he taunted, leading the berserk Kaiju on a chase through the ruins.
"Targeting vents!" Haruta called out. Another *CRACK* from her sniper rifle echoed through the dead city. This time, the massive round didn't aim for the main body. It aimed for a briefly exposed red vent on No. 10's leg.
SQUELCH!
The bullet punched through the softer tissue, blowing out a geyser of purple ichor. The creature roared in pain, its leg buckling. For the first time, they had drawn blood.
"Direct hit! It's working!"
But it was still coming. Wounded and enraged, it was now even more dangerous. It ignored Hoshina and charged toward the source of the shot—the skyscraper where the snipers were perched.
"It's coming for us!"
"I don't think so," a low growl echoed.
Kafka planted his feet. He had a debt to repay. A demonstration to make. He channeled his power, raw and unrestrained, not into armor or blades, but into pure, brute force. His muscles swelled, the biological plates on his arms and shoulders becoming thicker, heavier. He wasn't aiming for finesse. He was aiming for a full stop.
Just as Kaiju No. 10 was about to crash into the base of the skyscraper, Kafka slammed into its side like a runaway meteor.
*KRAK-A-THOOOOM!*
It was a clash of two titans. A monster born of calculated design versus a monster born of accident and desperation. Kafka's Resilience was lower, but his will, his desperation to protect the others, was a force multiplier the Architect could have never calculated.
He dug his heels in, the asphalt cracking and melting under his feet. He was actually stopping the charge. Veins stood out on his monstrous form, his every fiber straining.
"NOW!" he roared, his voice a distorted, inhuman bellow.
This was the opening they needed. While Kafka had the beast locked in a contest of pure strength, its side was completely exposed.
And Kikoru Shinomiya answered the call.
With a scream that was equal parts battle cry and cathartic release, she brought her sun-bright axe down. She didn't aim for the armor. She aimed for the dozens of spasming, open red vents along its flank that Kafka's tackle had exposed.
Her axe blade became a scythe of golden annihilation.
SHREEEEEEED!
The blade sliced through a dozen vents at once, severing the soft tissue and internal mechanisms. The effect was like pulling the pin on a string of grenades. A chain reaction of internal explosions ripped through Kaiju No. 10's body. Its own power, no longer contained, turned on itself.
It let out one final, gurgling shriek. The red light in its vents flickered and died. The titanic creature shuddered, and then collapsed, falling sideways in a massive, lifeless heap.
Silence descended, broken only by the panting breaths of the victorious ATU members.
They had done it. They had defeated the undefeatable.
Kafka released his hold, stumbling back, his monstrous form steaming with effort. He looked at the dead Kaiju, then at Kikoru, who was looking back at him, her axe resting on her shoulder. Her expression, for the first time, held a flicker of grudging, undeniable respect. They had worked together. They had won.
But as the adrenaline began to fade, a new, cold dread washed over Kafka. The severed lure, which he'd dropped during his tackle, lay on the ground nearby. It was shriveled and dead. But he could still feel the faint, lingering psychic echo of its master.
The Architect had lost his pet. But he had gained a world of invaluable combat data on a new, evolving variable: Kafka Hibino.
They hadn't just killed a monster. They had loudly and violently announced to a cosmic entity that humanity's newest weapon was now officially on the board. And the Architect would, without a doubt, be building something far, far worse to counter it. This victory was just the prelude to a much more terrifying war.