Sobble's toe inverted like the wind against a field of barley. As it slowly folded in on itself, Quagsire was birthed. The muddy salamander crawled out from the blue chameleon cuticles and stared up at his new life. He looked down upon Sobble whose eyes widened wider than a pair of cantaloupes.
"My father..." said Quagsire with effort as he took in his first breaths. He reached down and clasped the hand of his progenitor.
Sobble's lips slowly curled into a slight smile. It recognised the brilliance of the water-ground type before him. Something felt so right about such an unorthodox genesis.
Talonflame crashed through the window and rebuked his Gale Wings. Seething with fiery rage, he eyed Sobble and Quagsire. "I see you've completed the dark deed," said the bird-like being.
Sobble shook his head. "This is not darkness; this is light."
Quagsire turned to Talonflame with ire in his tail. Said tail started to shed. The moist, mucus-covered skin peeled open, revealing a six-pack of Diet Coke. Talonflame reached into the collection and extracted a can.
PFFT!
Popping the top, Talonflame took a hearty swig. Diet Coke was his jam nonetheless. "Tell me, Sobble my boy... What befell you?"
Sobble grit his teeth until the enamel broke into pristine white shards. It was then that the tiny Grookey's exited their confines.
As the little green monkeys clambered out of Sobble's mouth, Quagsire watched with sheer jealousy. It was then and there that he pulled out his Deagle and aimed at Talonflame. This would be super effective as it was what was supposedly his Water Gun attack.
POW!
One shot from Quagsire's Deagle and Talonflame was on the floor, soaked in the tears of ruinous envy. Talonflame remembered his loving Lopunny wife. She was bed-ridden with a horrifying illness she had caught in Bermuda and would never recover from. She would survive, but only because of the proper medication she had been injecting into her bloodstream via milk carton syringes.
Who supplied these syringes? None other than Whitney's evil Miltank. The savage bovine hobbled in with a scythe of symbolic doom and torture.
Quagsire aimed his Deagle at the new threat, but the cow creature was far too agile to fall to such paltry weaponry. Miltank snagged Quagsire's projectile launcher and broke it over her fat knee. Mere moments later, Quagsire's neck was snapped like the opening scene to a hit 2018 film starring too many actors with beautiful faces.
Sobble watched as his son's mucus husk faded into the aether like apple juice before a Bounty paper towel. A single tear dropped from the young chameleon's face.
But as the tear splashed against the hallowed ground, Sobble recalled that he was not at all young. He was almost 39 years of age.
"Why am I not yet a Drizzile?" asked Sobble to the Miltank.
Miltank drank some milk and then reached into her satchel, revealing two Taillows with bad attitudes.
"Our mistress is mute," explained the first Taillow.
"And she hates your Sobble guts," said the second. The two small swallows then flew into the air, circled, and then swooped down to attack Sobble with a powerful Peck attack.
The pain irked Sobble's very core. His eyes seeped from their sockets and rejoined his son in ethereal matrimony. It was like the lifeforce of several species of angels mingling like collections of woe.
"Such seraphim..." mused a Cherubi from the sidelines. It whittled away at a captive Sudowoodo. The rocky poser screamed in agony with each chip off the Whomp's block.
Sobble looked, but saw nothing but the void.
And the void stared back.
THE END
