The Chameleonic Islands were a chain of coral atolls that for centuries had been considered the jewel of the Equestrian Commonwealth. Home to the simple Chameleon people, the islands were a common retreat for the well to do of society, where its pristine waters and scenic outdoors were a salve to the weary soul. The Chameleons themselves were of an easy going disposition, never a people to become alarmed at the trappings of life, and with their acquiescent view of the world, they were happy enough just to enjoy a warm, sunny day.

But for those Chameleons who partook of the fishing trade – an important part to their way of life and commerce, the past three months had slowly instilled within them a growing sense of uneasiness. The crew of the Happy Dragon No.7 was no different. In fact, they may have had more reason to worry than others; while some crews who plied these waters were lucky to find anything these days; the crew of this sturdy little trawler was pulling in all sorts of haul. The only problem – everything they dredged up was dead, and an air of sickness seemed to permeate from the rotting carcasses.

The captain of the Happy Dragon No.7, K’Umetk, was no stranger to the sea – He had been fishing these particular waters since he was a small boy, fifty and three summers ago. But in all his many years of fishing, never had he seen such bad omens. His first mate, Che’Morl, was just as uneasy. Turning to his long time captain and friend, he asked, “Have you ever seen anything like this K’?” Slowly shaking his grey-scaled head, the old seaman replied “Never – never in all my life have I seen such evil.” For that was undoubtedly what it was; evil.

They watched as the younger deck hands trawled in another net-full of catch, but when the spill-cord was pulled, all that fell forth was the same story they had been witnessed to: death and decay. “It’s a curse,” whispered Che’Morl, “Chu’Maqc-Tahl is angry – he has forsaken us for leaving his ways!” K’Umetk was no stranger to such notions – after all, he had grown up on the stories of the Old Ways, before the Ponies came, before the people of the Islands left their ancient ways in pursuit of modern comfort.

In those days, the god of the islands, Chu’Maqc-tahl held sway. He was a fierce and terrible god, who did not tolerate disobedience. Young virgins had been annually sacrificed to appease him, and in return he would provide a good harvest the rest of the year. Those ways changed when a boat of Ponies landed on the island of Cham’tosh’s shores and spread their knowledge and way of life to the natives. Many had flocked to these new ideas of love, tolerance and good will.

However, there had always been those who would cry out to the people that they were flirting with disaster. Chu’Maqc-tahl was not a patient god, and he would not tolerate such philandering disobedience! In the last days of those years when the virgins were still sacrificed, a revival occurred and with it came the message of Chu’Maqc-tahl’s coming prophet; a great and terrible creature that would bring pain and suffering to the islands, and indeed the world, for their unfaithfulness. And the name of the prophet was still held with some trepidation by the more superstitious.

With a whisper of fear, Che’Morl spoke his mind, “This is the work of Gho'Zra – his judgment is here!” The grizzled captain roughly gripped his friend’s shoulder and muttered, “Do not say such nonsense, Che’, what you speak of will bring nothing but bad luck; put it behind you and prepare the crew, we’re done for today – the seas are dead and there is nothing we can do about that." As his first mate collected himself and set to work mustering the crew, K’Umetk looked out over the horizon, towards the south-east, where the source of this evil most undoubtedly came from.

The island of green jewels, Maqc-turesch in their tongue, was the southernmost atoll of their island nation, and it had long been revered as the home of their ancient god – unimaginably beautiful, but utterly forbidden to the people. Three months ago, something happened on that most sacred of isles, and none could say with any certainty what exactly it was. Those who claimed to have witnessed it told of how, in the earliest part of the dawn, the very heavens roared in anger, and of how a second sun rose from the island to outshine its counterpart, and of the ominous cloud that was left in its wake.

Obviously this was some sort of portent, for there could be no other explanation to how such a verdant paradise could be transformed into a charred visage of hell in just one morning. He had it on good authority that a group of Ponies who were of great wisdom had taken to testing their sorcery and science on another, nearby island. He had also heard from others that these magi had dared to step foot upon the island not too long before the great calamity. Perhaps there was some truth to the old stories; maybe they were too quick to abandon the old ways.

Whatever the case, the island of the green jewels was now a black scar on the sea, and in the three months since its destruction, the bounty of these waters had disappeared. K’Umetk considered himself to be a somewhat rational man – he often said that all things, with enough time, can be answered. But as he looked towards the deck, towards the nervous sailors and deckhands, towards the spoiled cargo which had been tainted by some great evil, he could not help but feel that perhaps some things were best left unknown.

Meanwhile, on the deck below, the crew was just as nervous. While some of them were greenhorns to the job, only now old enough to join their brothers and fathers on the sea, others were veterans who prided themselves on their hardness of spirit; they’d seen the worst that the sea had to offer, and they had survived. None, however, could escape the sense of wrongness that seemed to emanate from the unusually torpid waters that day.

The day had started out bad, and had only gotten worse. When they had struck out from port that day, they had caught nothing, but the further south they went, towards what had traditionally been the most bountiful part of the seas they lived on, the nets became laden with fish. But the fish were always dead, always mangled and often nothing more than sludge. More worrisome were the sharks and Groupers they pulled up – all too often it looked as if some great beast had eaten them, great swaths of flesh and bone missing, and a strange blue liquid oozing from their wounds.

But it wasn’t until a young yeoman named Ghur’Tcha pulled up a lump of giant sea turtle with a tooth the size of a dinner plate lodged in its shell, that the crew began to speak their minds in more than a hushed whisper. Some would say, “We are under a curse!” Others exclaimed “This is the work of a demon!” A few of the more superstitious crew spoke out, “We should leave this place – it is execrated, and we will surely perish if we stay too long!”

But it was the oldest deckhand, the oldest of the whole crew - a crusty, one-eyed, grey scaled Chameleon who they all called the Old One, who summed up what all of them were thinking. “Something evil is at work here.” All their words were brought to a halt when the first mate made his way towards them. “Alright you miserable lot,” he shouted, “the Captain says we’re heading back to shore, so gather the nets up and batten the hatches – swiftly now!”

All at once the deck was a mass of activity as all hands were put to the task – ropes were pulled, knots were tied, and lines were rolled in. But as the yard arm was being swung to the yaw, and the magic powered boilers were stoked and fed a shovel full of aquamarine, one of the drop lines seemed to catch; the line pulled taut and the wench rig groaned – the large iron hook had taken purchase on something, but to the crew’s knowledge there were no corals or wrecks, nothing to which they could have snagged.

One of the packers took hold of the straining line and with a mighty tug seemed to finally pull it loose form whatever it was that had impeded it. With a grin, he remarked, “See, it just took some muscle, that’s all.” A few laughs and nodding heads and the atmosphere seemed to lighten. Then, as if to spite them, the line gave an almighty tug back, pulling the sailor free of the boat and yanking the wench free of its bolts - lodging it into the guardrail! With an awful groaning shudder, the dragger turned its prow into the strain.

The Captain, who had lost his footing during the tumult, came rushing down the steps, asking, “What’s happening?” Turning towards the wench, his eyes widened, “What are we caught on?” One of the cabin boys cried out, “We don’t know, but Th’Alell has fallen overboard and he cannot swim!” Quickly, many of the crew rushed to the starboard side, and to their horror saw it to be true! The burly ice packer was flailing about in the water, desperately clinging to the still straining rope.

Captain K’Umetk may not have been as young and spry as he was in his days of youth, but if there was one thing he could do, it was swim, and he’d be damned as the captain of this ship if he was about to let one of his men drown! So with no warning, he threw off his trousers and tossed his hat to the floor before leaping headfirst in to the warm waters. “Captain, wait!” Cried out one of the hands, but he ignored their cries – a man’s life was on the line.

As he reached the scrabbling sailor, he firmly wrapped an arm around the drowning man’s torso and with a bold, firm voice shouted, “Toss me the life ring!” The pneumatic hiss of the launcher came seconds before the orange ring landed almost on top of them. Swiftly grabbing the ring and hauling Th’Alell onto it, he gave a sigh of both relief and exhaustion as the two of them were slowly towed towards the Happy Dragon No.7.

A ring of cheers sang forth from her deck as the crew celebrated the heroics of their captain as well as the safety of a beloved member of their crew. But all sense of jubilation was abruptly shattered when, with another lurch, the dragger began to list towards the lay of the line. If something were not done soon, she might very well wind up being pulled to the bottom, with them along for the ride! “Someone cut that line, now!”, K'Umetk cried. Quickly grabbing a nearby hatchet, one intrepid youth cried out, “Aye aye, sir!” before heaving the axe with all his might.

With a snap, the line was loosed and the boat jerked about as it sought its balance. Finally, the Captain and his ward were pulled aboard and the crew was once more celebrating. Amidst the revelry stood the Old One, who alone saw what the others did not, and with tremulous hands gripped his withered head in absolute terror. A few of the older crewmen, who had never in all the years seen such a look on the Old One, stopped and turned towards the direction of his petrified gaze. They too, took on a similar look.

Quickly, more and more of the Chameleons joined the growing crowd of horrified onlookers as the entire boat became deathly silent. There, not a hundred meters off their starboard bow, arose a great object out of the sea, the bubbling waters cresting into a hill of roiling sea foam. The aqueous dome was ruptured by a hideous, jagged spire of chalky white bone. Then another, and another, then a dozen more, until they were too numerous to count! Slowly, the water sloughed away and with it the silt and detritus of the seafloor.

Higher and higher it rose, staggering the imagination of all who witnessed it! Never had they seen something so vast – so colossal! Soon it took shape as it turned towards them. Of one accord they screamed in fright at what they saw: charred, black, scarified skin covering mountains of muscle and bones, a steady booming beat called forth from a massive chest, girded to sinewy arms that ended in wicked claws. A long neck of rippling scales and pulsing veins culminated into squared, sinew-laden jaws filled with a palisade of teeth. Eyes of molten red fury shone brightly with an intelligence that belied its form, and spoke of pain and devastation for all that would fall beneath its gaze… And it was looking at them.

The spell was broken as the monstrosity let loose a bone jarring, unearthly roar of fury. The Captain cried out to the entire crew, “Man your stations, we need to get out of here now – GO!” But it was too late, for as the crew scrambled towards their stations and the boat began to turn away, the great behemoth strode forth with a speed it should not have possessed and plucked up the trawler as a child might a toy. With screams of fear and despair the crew watched the last seconds of their life play out as the great beast wrenched the Happy Dragon No.7 in half with a simple twist and devoured its stern in a single gulp; the magic driven engines feeding a hunger that the leviathan had only now begun to know.

Its hunger momentarily sated, the abomination of nature casually tossed the shattered remnants of the fishing boat aside like so many pieces of garbage. With a gut-wrenching bellow and a great splash of tempestuous waves the monster dove once more into the sea. These waters could no longer sustain it, and already it had begun to crave something more than mere sustenance. It had tasted the fruit of magic, the same energy that played a role in its rebirth, and it wanted, no, needed more of it. As it gracefully propelled itself through the shallow waters, it instinctively knew where the nearest source of this power would be. Slowly it headed west, towards an island where the spark of its birth was conceived and where the flames of its perdition would begin!

Author's Note

Well, here's the next chapter.
This is an important part to the story, so don't bother complaining about pointless plot and filler stories, because its not. I don't write anything tangential.
If what occurred in this chapter eludes you, and you've yet to understand what all just happened, it's because you're a moron.
Also, don't be too disappointed about the lack of actual Godzilla action - the formula that made the original Godzilla so great was its policy of less is more and the deep character development and the examination of how man might come to grips with the destruction that was wrought. This balance has never been truly replicated in any other Godzilla movie, and so I will by no means even attempt to try and reach that level of quality. What I will do, though, is try my best to make it feel like Godzilla. I've already begun work on the next chapter, but I'm also working on some other projects outside of this, so if it doesn't come up by tomorrow, then find something else to do.
On a final note; I am extremely antisocial, and if I come off as mean, or cynical, it's not just you.
Have a nice day.