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Godzilla was on the last stretch of his patrol around Mothra's nest sites before he could head home for a few days. He was tired; and coming up was a series of underwater volcanic vents that would give him a boost of energy to finish the trip.
But where the vents were supposed to be, instead there was a long island. Puzzled, he tried to swim around it; and then tried the other direction. It just kept going.
A few steaming chunks of volcanic rock rolled off the island into the sea. Godzilla surfaced.
Where there had once been underwater vents, there were now six towering volcanoes, each one chugging smoke into the sky and rolling lava into the sea. Perching on the rims of the calderas, hopping along the beach, and circling overhead—cawing raucously and headbutting each other—were almost two dozen volcano pters.
Godzilla trudged onto the new black beach, dripping sea water that steamed where it hit the ground, growling in displeasure. The nearest pters scattered, and they all turned to stare at him. "You're in my way," he snarled.
The pters looked at each other. "Oh," one said. "Sorry."
"What the hell is this?!"
After a moment of hesitation, one of the pters hopped down, gestures grandly at the volcanoes, and said, "We invented row houses!"
Godzilla looked up at the six near-identical smoking volcanoes. The pters beamed proudly as he inspected their work.
"I'm not gonna lie," he said. "That's pretty impressive."