...Back then, if one would risk glaring beyond the curtains of Chronos, they would feel with his eyes an time. An time was an time when even time itself was forgotten; when it was but an hazy recollection in the flesh drives of last racist vampires; when the Sun was, but also wasn't; and when the word 'when' was equal to 'nigga'; right where the Earth's farthest yard should be but never claimed so, stood graciously The Forest of Quietness. Screaming with virescent redolence, its puissant pulchritude of thousand writhing rainbows and its unequally serene placidity drew utopianism-worshipping critters with immeasurable magnitude and promised nothing but pizazz. Loads of pizazz.

The depths of the Forest of Quietness were quiet, an festival of cliché circlejerkers. An lone anthropic fish swam vacantly in an vast pond, dashing through hydrogen oxide like an suicidal human. The culprit was, quite sadly for some, not an figure of lacustrine muliebrity, nor ineffable glamour, nor prodigious vividity, nor even an pristine ingenue but Magikarp, whose cryptic title got bequeathed from his old, old ancestors, who were old, but not old enough to smell tangerine peels. All and all they were: an neo-fascist hipster and blowjob virtuoso Magikarp Magipark; his father, an thoughtful nosepicker and an particularly hygiene-obsessed masturbator Magikarp Magikarp Magikapr; and finally his grandfather, an unpredictable relativist and simply an bizarre fuckwit Magikrap. The fishy tribe led an quiet existence in an monolithic castle, perched upon an neverending dream of an deathcore musician named Jimmy Fucking Red, who was somewhat green, but not bright enough to be right, but fuck me if he wasn't bleft.

The atmosphere exuded genial fearlessness and hedonistic alacrity, promising and promising... But things end, like prayers from sallow man whilst his life fading awash.

Nearby, an native anonymously glared at Magikarp, bearing an scowl toxic enough to drown water, burn fire, strangle air, kill death and even rape rocks, by first making them not consent, then doing the exact do. The only possible owner of it was the Vulvasaur, inure nemesis of the Fish Pokemon, the sole heir of his father, an schoolboy kidnapping arsepirate Bulbasore; his mother, an phlegmatic nurse who likes black metal Bubblarose, and his grand-grand-grand-grandfather, an mumbling romantic Satanist mime Gargler.

The tumultuous bile inside the big-faced stalker traveled its fateful path out of his maw, dripping on the ground, which became philosophic sayings to be quoted by many. Traveling pondwards with an unmatched smarm and whispering curses of unsung songs, Vulvasaur aimed at his prey. While Magikarp wondered at wrestler cocks in the reflection in the puddle of clown piss northwestwards, Vulvasaur screamed and pounced at Magikarp like an boastful blitzkrieg, preparing an epic Karate Chop swathed in the boiling ectoplasm of Jackie Chan and Bruce fucking Lee.

boom

Akin to an simultaneous fulmination of billion suns, the attack force met with Magikarp's being, ensuing a shockwave, which knocked up all legendaries with most retarded, disabled and limbless yet incredibly tasty children. Vulvasaur didn't stop and committed an unspeakably ruthless act of defecation upon his skullbucket, which made the fish sober enough that he could see the atomic chains of his foe's eye orbs. Magikarp licked his fingers, pulled the fattest atom for an meter then released it, making it collide in an slingshot manner, launching Vulvasaur's fleshsack into the skies above, motivating an dubstep orchestra of nigger eagles to shriek abstract tunes of consuming slashed guts and loving it dearly.

Magikarp lunged skyward. He caught up with Vulvasaur, then looked him in the eyes with horrifying glare, his irises becoming lightning dragon fists and beat Vulvasaur so fast, a stylishly luxurious combo counter seemed like rivaling infinity itself.

"Thou smarmy little pish!" Magikarp cursed beyond audible then artfully beat seven kinds of shit out of Vulvasaur, his every punch resonating through the continuum like Exploud sex calls. The fish finalized by unleashing an tenacious dropkick made of male deodorant adverts and smaller dropkicks.

Vulvasaur was angry. He stole Hitler's moustache then excoriated Magikarp, nextwards chewing his abject skin with his pearly white nigger teeth. Magikarp had an sonder thought. Vulvasaur spat the clusterfuck back to the owner's expression, then phoned an random person and farted in the mic. Magikarp realised what happened, and considered an brain replacement surgery. Vulvasaur said something, but no one will ever know what it is.

Magikarp saw drones. He withdrew from an dimension of utter abomination an curst sword, most curst, so curst, it fuckt everything that movt. The vicious sword, dubbed by an insane Bidoof blacksmith as Deathcock. throbbed an high-pitched demonic laugh, making the sky rain headless midget elephants who started fucking for naught. Magikarp spun the peculiar deathcock, marinating alligators in the blood of most vicious memes, then with an tectonic roar he punched it through the skull of an crotchless Persian frau, forcing Cheshire cat to shit itself through an straw, offering an slowly vanishing poop to feed myriads of headless elephants below who were unborn ancestors of Magikarp, in revolting fact. The cursed genital throbbed with nefarious lust, ejaculating into the mind of his foe nocuous blood of killer wasps which burned with raw fuckforce, but it didn't work much because of Persian's Steadfast. The beastcat retched beams of pure hostility at Vulvasaur who woke up, slumbering from overwhelming boredom.

"What venomous winds today." Magikarp droned in an voice of an retired truck driver. It wasn't an voice for it didn't sound, yet it did make Vulvasaur immediately fall in love with the voice, so he grabbed his leviathot by her prodigiously meaty buttocks and bent her over. The fun is only beginning.

Vulvasaur grinned in malicious joy as he selflessly smooched both the asscheeks of his gawdase, taking delight in its unmatched aftertaste and potent musk. He bit an huge chunk of her malleable flesh, chewed it, thought about kumquats then cried. Magikarp scratched his stomach, seething with incredulous melancholy.

"How squares laugh at darkness when I fathom realities beyond washable potatoes, nearly not enough to an something to be thyroid with..." Magikarp trailed off, desperately wanking his sweaty cock in an frenzied haste. Vulvasaur let out an rich fart, which set the skies of past ablaze on epic flames of injustice and BDSM.

Before an reply followed, Magikarp deftly taped a rock skunk turd to Vulvasaur's face with his mind powers, evoking his most putrid fantasies as an misunderstood necrophiliac, but his puny body wasn't near experienced, so he orally disemboweled himself. The mirrors became tornadoes when Magikarp burst in giggles as he wreaked sickest footwork onto the cursed guts, of Vulvasaur, trampling it into smithereens which smelled like spider monkeys put in an blender then revived by an skunk alchemist, who wasn't black, but also wasn't white, a fatal error of two races blending. Vulvasaur was so enraged his eyes became roaring adrenaline motorcycles and his fists became as inalterable as Diancie excreta, and they cannot be shattered, but it was for naught, for Vulvasaur incinerated Magikarp with an Fire Punch, withdrew his past self then Thunder Punched him 248 times, then just sniffled. After this electrotherapy accident, he cremated the carcass, half of it gave away to Satanists, other half discarded in space near Pluto, and other one fed to the author of this fic on an bun baked from the tears of orphans, dyed in the color of forgotten dreams and rhino poop.

An unholy infernal indignation fucked the Earth in an single blast of power. The venomous abjection writhed its path out of the crash site, attacking Vulvasaur and Magikarp for no reason at all. They nodded to each other as epic music played so they beat the SHIEEEEET out of them all, meanwhile their killing sprees desperately competed so hard that stars stunk.

As an sign of ineffable gratitude, Vulvasaur bit on Magikarp's face, then punched his fire-encased, burning, pyrokinesis-blessed, piping-hot and raging fist into the fish's dickhole. With his free arm, he bitchslapped the fish's face, making him think of pears, then taking an shit on an gas station owner's car, he pulled all the bodyflesh out of it, fluidly resulting in an monstrous, bawdy freakshow. Vulvasaur laughed, then tore off the cow which latched on Magikarp's lung, throwing it at the sun and turning it into an gigantic potato glued from smaller potatoes by an horde of armless Gengars which were in fact incarnations of both love and hate, an last hope against the force of indifference itself.

Magikarp underwent transcendence, his vile flesh becoming the simultaneous reincarnation of Hercules, fifth avatar Vishnu, Feodor Dostoevsky, Justin Bieber's random ancestor and some other mothafucka. With his newfound psychic powers alone Magikarp raped every single atom in Vulvasaur's meatbag, resulting in the Grass-type's carcass smelting into an cathartic puddle of laughing jizz, which, if selfie'd with, would quote poetry compiled in the language of unsolved puzzles. The utter pandemonium made the God Of Teabuckets cry carbon oxide all over the unused Zewa rolls cynically ditched into shitholes to be forever forlorn and forgotten. Vulvasaur used Buttock Fire, but it failed, because Buttock Fire sounded stupid.

An rather malignant, explosively loud burp interrupted the tryst of two. Forth from an noxious hellpit, an arrant stinkhole, an shit-eating rat infested ditch, an abominable putridity, an unwholesome ditch, an outrageous atrocity, wordlessly named prisoner of his own body Pwan Kerfa exhumed itself out of its fetid deathbed. Skin decorated with distorted still-life paintings of wonderfully half-cremated visceral remains of last robot dragon soldiers, bones so tough that they'd fix an broken thing if smashed with, blood being pure, underwhelming lust, eyes being furious storms of sex, and arms sticking out of his shoulders but never fucked with...this was their last boss, as Vulvasaur and Magikarp understood.

Pwan Kerfa smashed his staggering, truly calamitous face at Magikarp's very physical existence, destroying it into splinters of skeleton scree, WTF-inspiring blood splashes and penguins who didn't squawk, but were made of computers and metal cockroaches from an dimension where water was literally not wet, an love feast for therapists. The space between every cell in Vulvasaur's body screamed bloody interviews in an voice of billion broken cellos, causing Pwan to eat his own face, then disappear nonsensically.

Magikarp's life was made. He touched the void. It was made of rusty windshield wipers from chicken hell on planet Mushrom which was an last refuge for salamanders...just salamanders. The king of Mushrom, an Musharna named Mushrooom, sliced Magikarp's guts into an perfect potpourri to give his bedridden ancestor an delectable gift. The Shiinotic revolted however, punching Mushrooom's intestines into an set of good headphones which she ate because she could. As for Magikarp, he returned home to his aquatic family, locked the doors, put on a rabbit mask and broke all Ten Commandments from Holy Bible in approximately 2 minutes and 13,7 seconds! Fucketh!

Meanwhile, Pwan Kerfa became an administrator of the most sinful gay site and made an career by impregnating lonely Tyranitars with his whiskers alone, but he died from podagre at the age of 26 after fucking a giraffe with a rusty lead pipe smeared in quince jam.

That's it.

(_o_) C=====8

B=======D *jizz* /^_^\\