Chapter 1
It started with one particularly nasty Kaiju, the kind that looked like it had been designed by a drunk toddler with a grudge against good taste.
For once, he and that smug, insufferable, bitch-ass motherfucker of a First Division Captain, Narumi Gen, were forced to work together. In Hoshina’s humble opinion, Narumi shouldn’t have been awarded the Internet, a phone, or the ability to breathe near other humans. Yet here he was, sniping at Hoshina about his goddamn family problems between perfectly executed attacks, like he wasn’t also the human embodiment of a goddamn rectal prolapse.
“Damn whoever gave him a phone,” Hoshina muttered under his breath, slicing through a Kaiju’s leg with enough force to make a butcher blush. “And his rank. And his… stupid, stupid, punchable, shit-eating, aesthetically pleasing, goddamn, infuriating face.”
Narumi, of course, noticed. Because Narumi always noticed, the infuriating prick. “What’s that, Vice-Captain?” he called out, his voice dripping with mockery as he landed a perfect shot on the Kaiju’s weak point. “Jealous of my aim? Or my charm? Or are you just wishing you could have my glorious hair? You know, the kind that doesn't look like a badger’s ass after a mudslide?”
Hoshina gritted his teeth. “Neither, you ass-goblin,” he snapped, though the heat rising to his face betrayed him. Damn Narumi and his stupid, smug grin. Damn his perfect aim. Damn his ability to look like he’d just stepped out of a goddamn high-fashion photoshoot even while covered in Kaiju guts. And most of all, damn the universe for forcing Hoshina to fight alongside him.
“Focus on the Kaiju, you dick-canoe,” Hoshina barked, trying to redirect his own thoughts. “Not your ego, which is large enough to require its own fucking continental drift.”
Narumi smirked, effortlessly dodging an attack. “Oh, I’m focused. You, on the other hand, seem distracted. Thinking about me again, you little shit-weasel, you walking, talking, festering boil of a human?”
Hoshina’s blade faltered for half a second, and he cursed under his breath. “I’m thinking about how much better this fight would be if you weren’t in it, you self-absorbed, preening peacock, you sentient, talking, walking, goddamn ingrown toenail.”
“Liar,” Narumi shot back, his grin widening. “You’d miss me, you know you would, you grumpy little badger, you miserable sack of moldy cheese.”
Hoshina didn’t dignify that with a response. Mostly because he was too busy imagining what it would feel like to punt Narumi into the next Kaiju’s mouth, and then watch it chew, slowly, and with the kind of relish usually reserved for a gourmet meal of pure, unadulterated spite. The thought brought a brief, savage smile to Hoshina's face. If only he could get the bastard to shut his goddamn trap for five goddamn minutes.
And right then, that was when everything went gloriously, spectacularly, and utterly wrong.
The Kaiju roared, then regenerated itself, like some kind of unholy, rubbery, nightmare that had crawled out of a septic tank. Hoshina turned around, right as Narumi, the absolute moron, fired a shot into the Kaiju’s vitals. The beast swallowed the shot (unsurprising, the absolute dipshit), then promptly exploded, like a goddamn overfilled water balloon filled with the vilest, most putrid, slime known to man, and possibly several other dimensions. The guts covered them both like some sort of disgusting, radioactive, snot-flavored, chunky salsa. Hoshina gagged.
Little did they know the goo was only the least of their problems, and that the next few moments would be a masterclass in how much the universe truly hated them, and had a sick, twisted sense of humor.