The Abyssal Temple seethed with malice, its black stone walls slick with a sheen that seemed to ooze from the cracks, as though the place itself bled. Crimson runes writhed across the surface, their pulsing glow almost alive, like veins carrying molten blood through the dark architecture. Chains hung from above, not merely rusted but diseased, slick with a viscous, shimmering filth. They swayed faintly, responding to no wind, only the temple's unholy breath.
The air was suffocating, thick with the reek of burned offerings—charred flesh mixed with incense that had long since soured. Smoke crawled along the floor like an infestation, its tendrils slithering toward the enormous figure kneeling in the temple’s heart. Yasha Goro, draped in a dark robe that clung to his massive frame like a second skin, crouched before the ancient mirror. The artifact’s iron frame seemed alive, contorted into shapes of demons that twisted and strained against unseen torment. The mirror’s surface churned with a texture that was neither glass nor liquid, but something in between, something that pulsed as if it had a heartbeat.
Yasha Goro’s head hung low, his mane of fiery red hair framing his monstrous face. His breathing was deep, resonant, and animalistic, each exhale carrying a guttural growl that reverberated through the oppressive chamber. Smoke coiled tighter around him, almost reverent in its approach.
Yasha Goro: Spirits! Goro is here! You will answer me now!
His voice cracked through the silence like a whip, a guttural roar that made the chains above rattle. The runes flared brighter, their pulsating light crawling across the walls like living tendrils. The mirror’s surface began to ripple, its texture shifting grotesquely, bulging outward as if something monstrous pressed against it from the other side.
Yasha Goro: Show me! Who dares to face Goro? Who will fall before me? WHO WILL FEED THE ABYSS?
The air vibrated with his rage, a low hum rising from the stone beneath him. The mirror shuddered violently, its surface taking on a grotesque, fleshy quality, as though it were a living thing trying to scream. Smoke surged around Goro, clawing at his arms and legs, forming grotesque shapes—open maws, clawed fingers, hollow eyes—all writhing in a frenzy.
The whispers began. They slithered into the chamber like worms, wet and invasive. Dozens of voices overlapped, their tones a mix of reverence, fear, and hunger. The language was incomprehensible, a guttural hiss that scraped against the ears like nails on raw bone. Goro’s lips curled into a snarl, his crimson eyes blazing as he leaned forward, his massive fists pounding the ground.
Yasha Goro: Speak louder! Goro does not wait for cowards! Show me who to crush! SHOW ME WHO DIES NEXT!
The mirror convulsed, its surface boiling with shadows and light, the runes around the chamber flashing in sync with its unnatural rhythm. Chains rattled violently, their clanging echoing like screams. Goro rose to his full, towering height, smoke coiling around him like a mantle of wrath. His chest heaved with primal energy, his jagged teeth bared in a savage grin.
Yasha Goro: Fifty-nine souls! Goro will take them all! You hear me, spirits? The Rumble is mine! The blood, the screams, the broken bodies—all of it, MINE!
The mirror erupted, a torrent of light and darkness spilling out in a maelstrom of horrific visions. Faces appeared in the swirling chaos—twisted, contorted, some pleading, others mocking. They were devoured by the void as quickly as they emerged. The whispers grew into a cacophony, desperate and exultant, before falling silent all at once.
The temple plunged into oppressive darkness, save for the faint glow of the runes, which now pulsed in time with Goro’s heartbeat. He stood alone, a monstrous silhouette framed by the still, rippling surface of the mirror. Somewhere in the shadows, a single chain snapped free, its clatter echoing like a death knell.
Yasha Goro: Goro will crush them all. The abyss will feed.
His low, rumbling laugh rolled through the temple, joining the dying echoes of the chain. The mirror shimmered faintly, as though pleased, and the runes dimmed, returning the chamber to its waiting silence.
The mirror convulsed violently, its fleshy surface bulging outward as though something within struggled to break free. The light of the runes surged, bathing the chamber in a sickly crimson glow that made the shadows dance like living creatures. Smoke thickened, coiling tighter around Goro’s massive frame, forming clawed hands that gripped his shoulders and arms as if dragging him into the abyss.
The whispers returned, louder now, layered and chaotic. Voices spilled from the mirror, each one desperate and wet, clawing for Goro’s attention.
Spirits: Goro! Goro! The abyss calls! The abyss waits! The Rumble will judge you!
The mirror’s surface erupted into a swirling maelstrom of shadow and flame. Within the chaos, shapes began to form—blurry at first, then sharp and clear. Warriors appeared, faceless yet familiar, their forms twisting as they fought and fell. A golden belt gleamed in the center of the storm, its light stark and pure against the surrounding darkness. A figure emerged, cloaked in blinding radiance, its features obscured by an unnatural brilliance.
Goro growled low in his throat, his fists clenching at his sides.
Yasha Goro: Who is this? Who thinks they can stand against Goro? Show me their face! Goro will rip it apart!
The spirits hissed, their voices now a cacophony of fear and awe.
Spirits: A warrior of light! A beacon in the shadow! They will deny you! They will defy you! But their soul will be yours! Fifty-nine souls, Goro! Fifty-nine offerings! The abyss demands it!
The vision shifted, the glowing figure surrounded by writhing, broken bodies. Their light dimmed as Goro’s shadow loomed larger in the mirror. The warriors of the Rumble appeared one by one, their forms grotesquely distorted as the mirror consumed them, leaving behind only smears of ash and blood.
The crimson glow of the runes flared, the light reflecting in Goro’s blazing eyes as he stepped closer to the mirror.
Yasha Goro: Fifty-nine souls? Goro will take them all! This one of light—this fool—will fall like the rest! Their soul will feed the abyss!
The mirror pulsed violently, as if in agreement, and the figure of light faltered, its radiance flickering like a dying flame. The chains overhead rattled furiously, and the whispers rose to a deafening roar.
Spirits: Prove yourself, Goro! Feed the abyss! Bring us their souls! The Rumble is your reckoning!
Goro threw his head back and let out a guttural roar, his voice overpowering the cacophony. The smoke surged upward, enveloping him entirely as the mirror’s maelstrom collapsed inward. The vision dissolved, leaving the surface still and dark, its glow fading into faint embers.
The runes dimmed, their pulsing slowing to a steady rhythm. The whispers died away, replaced by an eerie silence. Goro stood tall, his crimson eyes fixed on the now-still mirror, his breath heavy and ragged.
Yasha Goro: Goro will crush them all. The Rumble belongs to me. The abyss will feast.
The last of the smoke slithered away, retreating into the shadows, as Goro’s towering frame remained, a monument to fury and power in the fading light of the temple.
The chamber was still once more, the echoes of the spirits’ whispers fading into the thick, oppressive air. The mirror’s surface returned to its unnatural stillness, a dark void that seemed to breathe faintly, as if satiated for now. Yasha Goro stood motionless, his massive frame heaving with every slow, deliberate breath. The crimson light of the runes dimmed further, casting long, fractured shadows that sprawled across the temple floor.
His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles cracking with the force of his grip. The vision lingered in his mind—the golden glow of the Warrior of Light, the whispers of defiance, the weight of the abyss demanding tribute. A low growl rumbled in his chest, deep and guttural, as he lowered his head, his fiery hair falling over his face.
Yasha Goro: Fifty-nine souls… Fifty-nine offerings… The abyss hungers for them. It calls for them. And Goro will answer!
His voice echoed, but the tone was uneven, almost strained. For a moment, the flickering light revealed something strange in his expression—a faint shadow of doubt, quickly buried beneath the rising tide of his rage. The temple walls seemed to press closer, the air growing heavier, as though the abyss itself tested his resolve.
Yasha Goro: But this… this warrior… This light! Spirits say they stand against me. Ha! Light cannot burn forever. Goro will crush it! Goro will drown it in shadow!
The smoke around him stirred again, coiling upward like serpents drawn to his fury. He turned toward the mirror, his eyes blazing as he stepped forward, towering over its rippling surface.
Yasha Goro: You think Goro is afraid? No! Goro fears nothing! Not man, not spirit, not some fool with their light! I am the abyss! I will not be denied!
His voice thundered through the chamber, shaking the iron chains overhead. But as his words hung in the air, the runes on the walls flared briefly, their pulsating glow quickening like a heartbeat. A faint, mocking whisper seeped from the mirror’s surface, low and cruel.
Spirits (whispering): Prove it… prove it… prove it…
The chains rattled violently as the words slithered into Goro’s ears. His massive fists slammed down on the stone floor, cracks splintering outward from the impact.
Yasha Goro: Goro will prove it! The abyss will feast on their bones! I will take all fifty-nine souls! No light, no fire, no life will survive!
He rose to his full height, his shadow swallowing the temple in its expanse. The smoke thickened, now seething and writhing as if alive, clinging to his arms and legs. His head tilted back, and he let out a roar that tore through the silence, a feral sound that seemed to shake the very foundation of the temple.
Yasha Goro: The Rumble is mine! I will show them all! The abyss will take what it is owed, and I—Goro—will take everything else!
The crimson runes dimmed again, their light steady now, as if acknowledging his resolve. The mirror stilled, its surface smooth and lifeless once more, and the smoke began to retreat into the shadows. Goro stood alone in the quiet, his breathing slowing but his eyes still glowing with an infernal fire.
Yasha Goro (low, guttural): Let them come. Let them see what awaits. Goro will crush them all.
He turned from the mirror, his heavy steps echoing in the stillness as he walked toward the temple’s exit. The darkness around him seemed to move with him, wrapping his massive form in shadow. The last chain rattled faintly as the door closed behind him, leaving the chamber empty save for the faint glow of the runes and the waiting abyss.
The night outside the Abyssal Temple was silent, the sky a heavy blanket of black. Yet within the temple walls, the air still vibrated with a sinister energy. The runes on the walls glowed faintly, their light dimming in Goro’s absence, as if the temple itself awaited his return. But it was not empty for long.
The heavy iron doors slammed open, their sound a thunderclap that shook the chamber. Yasha Goro stepped inside, his enormous frame casting a shadow that swallowed the room. The crimson light of the runes flared at his presence, flickering wildly as though caught in a sudden storm.
The mirror rippled, its surface trembling like the skin of some great, sleeping beast. Smoke began to creep from the cracks in the stone floor, curling around Goro’s feet as he advanced. His crimson eyes glowed with a feral fire, and his lips curled into a savage grin.
Yasha Goro: Spirits! Hear me now! The abyss has spoken, and Goro will answer! The Rumble is mine! Fifty-nine souls will fall, one after another, and their screams will feed the darkness!
His voice boomed through the chamber, his words pounding like war drums. The mirror swelled outward, its surface bulging grotesquely as though it would burst. The runes on the walls blazed, their light pulsing faster and faster, matching the rhythm of his words.
Yasha Goro: No man, no light, no warrior can stand against Goro! Their strength is nothing! Their fire will burn out! The Rumble will be my altar, and they will kneel before me—broken, bleeding, begging for mercy that Goro will never give!
The smoke surged, rising higher to engulf him, wrapping around his massive arms and legs like chains made of shadow. The mirror erupted in a flash of crimson light, images flickering across its surface—faceless warriors falling, golden belts tarnished and cracked, and a ring drenched in blood.
The spirits’ voices returned, overlapping in a chaotic, frenzied chant.
Spirits: Goro! Goro! The abyss will feast! The abyss will reign!
Goro threw his head back and roared, a guttural, primal sound that filled the chamber and seemed to shake the very foundation of the temple. The smoke swirled around him, coiling upward until it formed a monstrous, shadowy silhouette—an oni-like figure that mirrored Goro’s own form but magnified in its terror. He reached out, slamming his hand into the mirror’s surface. The ripple spread outward like a shockwave, and the runes on the walls flickered violently.
Yasha Goro: Fifty-nine souls will belong to Goro! The abyss will take them all! And the Warrior of Light? HA! They will burn! Goro will crush their light beneath his heel! The Rumble belongs to me! The abyss will feed, and Goro will rise!
The mirror stilled, its surface fading into dark, reflective glass. The runes’ glow dimmed to a faint, steady pulse. The smoke withdrew, curling back into the shadows, leaving Goro standing alone at the temple’s center. His chest heaved, his fists clenched, and his crimson eyes burned with an unrelenting fire.
Yasha Goro (low, guttural): Let them come. Let them see. The abyss has already claimed them.
He turned from the mirror, his massive steps echoing through the chamber as he strode toward the exit. The iron doors creaked as they opened before him, and the cold night air rushed into the temple. Goro paused in the doorway, his silhouette framed against the void beyond.
Yasha Goro: The Rumble is mine. No one survives.
With that, he disappeared into the darkness, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him. The temple fell silent, the runes fading until only faint embers remained, pulsing like the last gasps of a dying star.