GTAG Chapter 37: The Claw Machine
Cage's mouth hung wide open, his eyes bulging in disbelief at what he saw.
What was that?
A monster, one hundred and fifty meters tall, jet-black with glowing red markings across its body, like something that had clawed its way straight out of hell.
If anyone had ever told him such a creature existed, he would've sworn on his aunt's frying pan and smacked their head in disbelief.
How could something like this exist?
Even with aliens swarming Earth, he still couldn't believe such a colossal being was real.
And if it was real… what in the world did it eat?
But none of that mattered. What mattered was why he hadn't seen this monster in any of his resets before.
Ever since entering the battlefield, every time Cage died, he would inexplicably wake up in the morning. Every time—no matter what killed him.
Alien claws, stray bullets, explosions, even suicide—every single death reset the day.
At times he thought he was trapped in a game.
But the pain of each death reminded him: this was no game. This was real.
Each death carved lessons into him, sharpened his instincts, and trained his body.
After dying enough times, he had even mastered the exoskeleton armor strapped to him—once useless, now a weapon he wielded to slaughter aliens.
But so what if he killed a hundred of them? He was still just one man.
How could he change the outcome of a battlefield that was a trap designed by the aliens themselves?
He had died enough to know the truth: this entire mission was a setup to wipe out humanity's forces.
Yet if he tried to warn his superiors, they would call it defeatist talk.
He knew because he had been executed once already for spreading "rumors."
After that, he kept his mouth shut.
Now, he had no options left.
All he could do was move forward, one step at a time, hoping his cursed gift would let him survive.
(Mind you, Godzilla's arrival happened after Cage had already endured countless loops, and after he had been splashed with Alpha's blood.)
So when Cage saw the monster, yes—fear took him. But alongside it flickered something else.
Hope.
Maybe this creature could finally shatter the cycle.
Of course, Cage wasn't dumb enough to go running toward Godzilla, expecting to talk.
That would only earn him a quick death beneath the monster's foot.
The thought made him shiver.
He had died every way imaginable—but not yet by being flattened into paste. And he wasn't eager to try.
So, without hesitation, Cage turned and ran.
He wasn't alone—plenty of soldiers did the same.
Strangely, the aliens didn't retreat. Like zealots marching toward death, they hurled themselves at Godzilla.
And they died just as quickly.
Even while fleeing, Cage couldn't help glancing back.
What he saw burned into his memory forever.
"Oh my God!"
"What the hell is that thing?!"
Because Godzilla's body was releasing arcs of blinding lightning, like a thunder-wielding god of destruction.
The bolts dropped every alien around him, leaving them twitching, smoking, already corpses before they hit the ground.
With one strike, the battlefield cleared.
Even those farther away dared not approach.
And Godzilla simply kept walking forward.
But as he moved, he looked down carefully, almost cautiously.
To him, whether human or alien, the battlefield's combatants were tiny.
Smaller than his claws.
Which made finding his target in the chaos no easy task.
And he had to be careful not to crush the very person he was after.
If he did, this whole effort would be wasted.
Yet even if he stepped carefully, there was still the danger of the aliens killing his target first.
He had to move fast.
Godzilla quickly abandoned trying to spot the man with his eyes.
With every soldier wrapped in exoskeleton armor, telling one from another was nearly impossible.
So—what else?
Suddenly, realization struck him.
If sight failed, then smell would serve.
Cage carried Alpha's blood within him, mingled with his own when he had been splashed.
That blood had a scent.
Godzilla had never faced Alpha directly, but even without that reference, he knew the difference between blood inside a body and blood splattered outside.
The battlefield reeked of alien gore and human sweat. But Cage's scent would stand apart.
And there was one more thing. Godzilla remembered clearly: Cage never wore his helmet.
Between scent and sight, it wouldn't take long.
Sure enough, after scanning the battlefield, Godzilla spotted several candidates.
The monster's lumbering pace suddenly quickened, each stride crossing vast swaths of ground as he moved toward the retreating soldiers.
Though enormous, his speed was terrifying. In only a few steps, he was upon the human lines.
Reaching down, he plucked up a soldier without a helmet, sniffed, and dropped him back when he wasn't the one.
Then his claws extended again, reaching for another.
Again and again, Godzilla's massive claws descended like the talons of a prize machine, lifting "dolls" one by one from the battlefield, never once missing.
…
Cage was terrified. More terrified than he had ever been.
The moment he saw the giant beast coming his way, he changed direction fast, trying to get out of its path.
But it was no use.
Godzilla kept advancing toward him—snatching up soldiers as he walked, sniffing them, and discarding them if they weren't the right one.
And Cage realized with dread that it was only a matter of time before those claws reached for him.
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