"Like, Scooby-Doo, it was a nightmare out there, hand me the puke bucket," Shaggy said, covering his mouth. Scooby grabbed a small, grey trash bin labeled "Shaggy's Puke Bucket," with his mouth and brought it over to Shaggy.

"R'I'm sorry you had to ree that Raggy… you should eat that homemade Scooby-Snax, it'll make you feel better," Scooby said, nudging at the plastic bag, now sitting on the bench in the back, with his snout. Shaggy violently horfed into the can, unloading at least a gallon of stomach content. The bin was two-thirds of the way full by the end of it.

"Like, good thinkin' Scoob. Here, you and I can split one, Daphne said they're like, super potent, ha-hoo!" Shaggy laughed, breaking a biscuit in half. A potent aroma immediately took hold of the van.

"R'hat the- r'ow much r'eed did Daphne r'ut in these things?" Scooby stammered, sniffing the air.

"Like, it's not about quantity, Scoob, it's quality. Velma got a hold of the original two weed strains, the first sativa, and the first indica. She used some sort of special, like, breeding on them for four hundred and twenty generations before landing on like, the most perfect weed strain known to man. We called it Scooby-Snax, with an 'x,' ha-hoo! That was, like, my contribution," Shaggy declared. He tossed his half of the snack into the air with delight and it landed into his mouth. Scooby quickly did the same. They chewed and swallowed it.

...

"Where'd ya go, Dale?" Hank cried out in frustration as he punched a house, causing it to collapse instantly. By this point, the remaining survivors had fled the area, but Fred and Daphne remained near the Mystery Machine, watching the battle.

"Hank..." Dale's voice omnisciently echoed. Hank listened hard, but couldn't tell where the voice came from, "you shouldn't have attacked me… it's just like when aliens bombed our world trade centers on 9/11, except this time I'm prepared."

"Aliens didn't do 9/11 Dale, now where the hell are you?" replied Hank.

"You have other things to worry about right now, Hank..." Dale ominously replied. Hank turned and saw four gruesome silhouettes emerging from the surrounding dust. As their gnarly details came to light, Hank gagged. Mutant, humanoid turtles, wrapped in veins and asymmetrical muscle deformities. Mysterious bodily fluids oozed from all of their orifices, of which they had many more than would be deemed acceptable. Some of them had horribly misshapen shells, spotted with spikes or other tumorous lumps, others were less fortunate. They writhed and jerked as if they were in pain, limping slowly closer to Hank.

"Bwah, what kind of monstrosities have you created, Dale?" Hank angrily yelled.

"They're not monstrosities Hank, they're my beautiful children. I nurtured them from birth, showing them Bruce Lee movies and making them fight so they would grow up strong and healthy. Once they became teenagers, I put 'em in a barrel with some mutating sludge I found online. Now they're teenage mutant Bruce-Lee turtles, Hank, and you're toast," Dale proudly declared, punctuating with a maniacal laugh.

Suddenly, one of the turtles made a guttural rumbling noise, the one on the left. It stood for a second, then began squealing while simultaneously shitting itself. An unholy amount of liquid diarrhea ejected from the foul creature, and as if the other three had forgotten and then remembered, they too began spraying raw fecal matter at an alarming rate. Hank was struck with a disgust he hadn't yet felt before. The animals fell to the ground, lifeless, cold and dead in a pool of their own steaming shit.

"You're an idiot, Dale," Hank said. He took a whiff of the air, "I can smell you. You reek of all those damn cigarettes."

"Doesn't matter, you haven't even seen the beginning of my jutsu," Dale's voice boomed.

"What were those things?" Fred said, taking a step back.

"That Dale guy said they were his turtles..." Daphne replied. Fred took another step towards the Mystery Machine, still looking towards the battle. Daphne turned and noticed the Mystery Machine cloaked in a warm, green light that was flowing like a thick, weightless liquid. "Freddy… what's going on with the Mystery Machine now, is this another modification?"

"This one wasn't me," Fred muttered, looking in awe at the glorious green gleam.

A mound of turtle meat, blood, bone, guts, shit, and shells steamed and bubbled in front of Hank. Parts of it wriggled, but no one part was identifiable as every part of the mass morphed and oozed constantly. The noxious yellow gas coming from the pile began filling in the sky above. The brittle bones bubbled up and sank back into the liquidy meat mass. Flies swarmed the mass, seeing it as a glorious and bountiful buffet, a bed and breakfast of broiled flesh. Hank performed a rapid succession of hand signs, finishing by holding an 'O' to his mouth with his index and thumb.

"Fire style, Texas heat," Hank declared, taking in a large huff of air, he blew out, sending a blistering wave of 1000 degree head towards the meat pile. The surrounding rain instantly vaporized, and the houses in the path of it were incinerated. A cloud of uninhabitable vapor surrounded where the pile of meat was. Hank performed another set of hand signs, "Fire style, vapor ignition." With lightning speed, Hank threw himself back as the water vapor surrounding the meat pile spontaneously combusted. The surrounding dirt and concrete crystallized into large glass spikes.

...

"Get in the Mystery Machine now Daphne, we need to use the button," Fred declared.

"Right," she dashed to the van, throwing the door open. A thick glob of the green light spilled out onto the road. Fred followed in after her. Shaggy and Scooby were passed out in the back of the Mystery Machine, the light glowed brightest around them.

"What's wrong with Shaggy and Scooby?" Fred asked, as he began unscrewing a small plastic case covering a red button.

"I'm not sure, they're out cold, and Velma's not in here," Daphne said, climbing into the back. Fred opened the case.

"What? But we need the whole gang to use the button," Fred said, panic began settling into his voice. Daphne checked Shaggy's neck pulse with her fingers.

"His heart… it's beating so fast..." Daphne uttered. In the corner of her eye, she noticed a small plastic sandwich bag. "Of course, Velma's special Scooby-Snax!"

"They must've eaten some to calm down and greened out," Fred said, attempting to start the Mystery Machine. It's engine whined and kicked to no avail.

...

"Now it's my turn Dale," Hank said, "you think I forgot you use Earth style? I know where you are. Hidden Propain style jutsu, propane liquefaction." Two wide veins in Hank's wrists ripped themselves from his skin, coming alive and snaking their way into the ground. Once they had burrowed in deep enough, they began pumping it with propane. The soil quickly became saturated with the explosive liquid.

"Gya, you wouldn't dare, Hank," Dale's voice quivered.

"Just like you wouldn't dare mess with my truck? Sorry Dale, but I don't have patience for idiots," Hank replied, forming another hand sign, "eruption." A blinding, fiery light enveloped a several mile radius. The heat of the blast turned every single house and car into lava and vapor with the exception of the Mystery Machine, which Fred had rebuilt with reinforced adamantium. The battlefield had become a three mile wide crater of giant glass spikes and pink lava. At the center, a large and shiny ball of obsidian sat nested in the meat pile, like the dark pearl of an eldritch clam. Hank stood nearby. Years of working with his hidden Propane style blessed him with an advanced resistance to heat.

"That meat pile looks unscathed, well Dale you've certainly developed your Water style, I'd be impressed if I wasn't so dang pissed off," Hank said, he began walking through a sea of flames towards the pile, which began wrapping around the ball of obsidian. From the ball, Dale's voice echoed.

"You may be immune to heat, Hank, but how about acid rain? Shika, water style, acid blood rain." The noxious yellow mist that had risen from the meat mass condensed into a thick thunder cloud, and began dumping acidic rain below. Hank roundhouse kicked a glass spike, removing it from the ground. He used the spike as a blade and began stabbing each drop of acid rain that fell near him, dispersing it before it could get too close. A sonic boom blasted for each jab. This continued for five minutes of downpour before the cloud completely drained.

During this, the mass of meat and shit had reformed into a giant, repulsive meat and diarrhea gore golem, with the obsidian orb at the center. It stood thirty feet tall, looking down at Hank with it's dozens of eyeballs, before letting out a deep, ground-shaking roar. Hank lept at the beast which reciprocated with a punch. Hank's velocity carried him through the fist of the meat monster and into its arm. He began burrowing his way up the arm. Hank slipped through moist folds of warm meat, holding his breath, as the smell was too vile to handle. With raw strength, Hank dug his fingers into the beast, ripping out chunks of it's flesh to dig a tunnel straight to the obsidian heart. When he got to the heart, he performed the propane liquefaction jutsu, sending his veins into the obsidian orb and pumping it with propane. Dale's voice came from inside.

"I wouldn't do that Hank." Hank's veins began withering at the orb, and the wither continued crawling up his veins. A sharp pain, unimaginable pain shot through Hank's wrists.

"Gah, my veins, they're rotting away," Hank cried, retracting them back into his wrist. The flesh around where the veins went in and out was black and rotten.

` "I'm constantly developing my poisons to take down even the toughest predators Hank," Dale's voice said, "you pale in comparison to the mighty termite." Hank slammed his fist into the obsidian shell, hurting only his hand.

"Why'd you do it Dale? Why'd you put machine guns on my truck?" Hank yelled. The meat tunnel he had dug was already healing, the darkness slowly filling in.

"Oh so now you're ready to hear me out? Maybe I shouldn't tell you at all," Dale begrudgingly declared.

"Damn it Dale, you know full well if I wanted to I could melt this dang shell and your scrawny ass with it, so start talking," Hank said, again slamming his broken and bloody fist into the orb. This time, it left a small crack in the orb, but not deep enough to reach the hollow haven inside where Dale hid. Hank drew back hisfist for another punch, but some of the meat grabbed onto it and began climbing down Hank's arm.

"Get this thing off me, Dale," Hank exclaimed in frustration, yanking and pulling to no avail. The decrepit face of one of the turtles formed itself on the meat in front of Hank and opened its mouth. The meat grabbing Hank began pulling him towards the dark void of sharp teeth and pulsing flesh.

"No, damnit," Hank said, inching ever closer to his demise.

"Game over, Hank, my turtles' stomachs lead to a pocket dimension of my own craft, one you could never escape," Dale said. Struggling for a moment, Hank realized he had no chance of pulling free. He gently shut his brown eyes, only for a moment. When he opened them again, they were blazing red and three comma-shaped, black blotches orbited his pupil.
"I don't need to smell you now Dale, I can see you… and everything else," Hank grinned. He immediately flipped his body in a way that created the leverage to sever the meat arm, all while performing the hand signs for the Texas heat jutsu. The blast of searing heat propelled him up and out of the arm while blowing it to pieces from the inside out. The undesirable one-armed beast let out an ear-wrenching howl of pain, and began sprinting on all-threes towards Hank, each limb hitting the ground with a terrifying thud, causing the glass around it to shatter. Hank smiled.

"Heh, you know what Dale? How about I give you a taste of your own medicine?" Hank said, pulling a scroll out from the back of his pocket.

...

In the Mystery Machine, Daphne sat by Shaggy and Scooby's side. She leaned over Shaggy to inspect his face. He seemed calm, his breaths were deep. It was the same thing with Scooby-Doo. Fred ran a diagnostics scan on the van. Daphne opened Shaggy's eyelids with her index and thumb to check his eyes. His pupils were tiny, and darted around from left to right.

"Freddy, hand me a flashlight please, Shaggy's eyes look weird," she said, holding her hand open. Fred took a flashlight from the glove box and tossed it to her.

"Here ya go Daph. Golly, Mr. Hill's jutsu sure did a number on the Mystery Machine..." Fred said.

"I'm sorry about the van…. How's the scan thingy looking?" Daphne asked him.

"69 percent damage. She'll heal, but it's gonna take at least twenty minutes," Fred replied. Daphne clicked the flashlight on and pointed it into Shaggy's eye, which immediately stopped moving and dilated. His pupils, which filled his entire eye, began glowing a bright green, and Shaggy shot up. He turned to Scoob and spoke in an incomprehensible language. The complex sound of it nearly drove Daphne to insanity. It was as if she was hearing every word at one with every syllable he spoke. Scooby slowly got up too, his eyes glowing cyan. Both Daphne and Fred's ears began gushing with blood, causing them to press their hands to their ears. Then, before Fred of Daphne could see what happened, Shaggy and Scooby were gone.

Fred scurried over the front seat to the back of the van where Daphne lay on the ground, still holding her ears in pain. He took her in his arms, his ears still ringing and dripping blood.

...

"Alright, summonin' jutsu,'' Hank said, biting his thumb and dragging it across the scroll, leaving a line of blood. A cloud of vapor grew and engulfed Hank for a moment, and as it faded, the beautiful red gleam of his righteous truck shot through. The beast still charged towards Hank with full speed. With a smirk, Hank climbed into the truck and pressed a button on the dashboard. The three machine guns Dale had installed sprung to life. Hank began driving towards the fleshy-shit creature at 120 miles per hour, firing non-stop rounds of all three machine guns. Chunks of the creature were shot off, leaving heaps of meat in its wake. By the time the two met, the meat monster had been shot to shreds, allowing the obsidian pearl to come loose and land nearby. The door of the meat covered truck opened, and out came Hank. He jumped, landing on top of the pearl with a punch that cracked it. He slammed his fist into it again and again, cracking it more so each time. The skin on his knuckles was bloody and mangled, but he continued smashing the obsidian. Finally, the orb was ready to give. Hank lept from the top of the pearl with a graceful backflip and landed next to it. He took a deep breath and drew back his fist.

"Come on out Dale," Hank said, launching his entire arm with the wrath of God and mach twelve velocity. The orb was shattered to dust and swept miles away in the winds from the blow, leaving only Dale cowering at Hank's feet.

"See Hank? The machine guns are already paying off, so you can stop trying to kill me now," Dale stammered. Hank looked down upon the pathetic sight.

"No Dale, you didn't even use the right length of bolts to fasten the back gun to mah bed," Hank said, "I told ya you could borrow my truck for the day, not this," he threw his hand back, motioning to the truck.

"I just wanted us to be prepared Hank," Dale said, looking at the truck and then back to Hank, avoiding his eyes.

"Prepared fer h'wat, a surprise Saturday sale at Thatherton Fuels?" Hank yelled, a vain in his forehead pulsing, "we're already well prepared for that, Dale."

"Far worse… I'm talking about the return of an eldritch beast, Hank, we don't have much time. After tonight, that leaves thirteen days," Dale went on hysterically, "it's the rain Hank, the rain's the first-"

"H'wat're you talkin' about Dale? Eldritch h'wat now?" Hank said, taking a step back.

"Cthulhu, Hank. He's 'bout ready to wake up. An' when he does… we best be ready," Dale said, standing up. Hank looked Dale up and down.

"H'wat kind of drugs are you taking Dale? I've had about enough of your crazy conspiracies-" Hank was cut off by something in his peripherals. Two comets soared through the sky in an arch. Dale turned and noticed them too.

"Is it just me, or are those comets getting bigger?" Dale asked.

"They're not getting bigger you idiot, they're comin' our way, run,"' Hank exclaimed. He and Dale began running but were instantly cut off. In front of them, the two objects landed, one oozing a green light, and the other cyan.

"Wait a minute…" Hank said, squinting at the objects, "Sharingan," he yelled, and his eyes flipped red, with three commas orbiting his pupils.

"What is it Hank, are they aliens? Oh God, tell me they're aliens," Dale said.

"That light is… chakra… some of the strongest Chakra I've ever seen," Hank said, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans.

Dale saw this and gasped, "Gi- Hank… you don't mean you might need…"

Hank looked over to Dale and nodded. Dale's expression changed, and he reached for his back jean pocket too.

"Like, hold it," a commanding voice boomed from the green light. Hank and Dale were completely paralized, unable to move in the slightest.

"R'all this violence, what's it all for?" The cyan object said. It became a streak of light that went around Hank and Dale, returning next to the green light. Hank and Dale were wrapped together tightly several times around by a metal phone poll.

"R'oil of despair r'utsu," the cyan light said. A huge bolt of lightning crashed from the sky into Hank and Dale, rendering them unconscious.