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GingaShame's Down the Drain!
🕑 Added 2025-02-27 03:47:42 +0000 UTCThe cockiness that bound them as a team now became their undoing. As their teammates fell one by one, the remaining Yellow and Red fought desperately, refusing to accept the inevitable. But the curse was patient, the dwarves were relentless, and the arena showed no mercy. They fought harder, resisted longer, yet the end was the same. Their journey as heroes concluded not with victory, but with humiliation and disgrace. The Gingaman’s pride became their downfall, their legacy twisted into a grotesque reminder of arrogance.
And the final, cruelest irony?
Who knew pride could clog the drain so completely?
Special thanks to my loyal and royal patron friends:
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Stuffing the pipes!
The tension in the air was suffocating as Saya stood at the foot of the winding mountain trail known as the Dwarven Chainpath. Her heart pounded in her chest, not just from the anticipation of the challenge but from the overwhelming fear gnawing at her mind. She had already seen the aftermath of Gouki and Hayate’s failures. Two of their strongest had fallen—Gouki crushed under impossible weight, Hayate staggering, disoriented and helpless, dragged down the mountain by jeering dwarves.
If they had failed, how was she supposed to succeed? She was the weakest. She knew it. And now, all eyes were on her.
"You’re looking pale, girl," Overseer Grogg sneered, stepping closer. "What’s wrong? Nervous you’ll embarrass yourself like the others? I suppose you might as well. You’ll never make it up there."
Saya clenched her fists, forcing herself to focus. "I can’t… I can’t think like that. I’m not a coward. I’ll prove them wrong. I have to."
Grogg chuckled darkly. "Oh, don’t worry, little guardian. It’s a simple task. Just carry our feast of honor to the summit lodge. Think of it as a test of both grace and endurance. Of course… if you drop anything, you’ll have to start over. Wouldn’t want to ruin a dwarven celebration, would you?"
Behind him, the other dwarves cackled cruelly. The "feast" was no ordinary task. Massive trays, barrels, and ceremonial objects were arranged for her to carry, each one imbued with subtle enchantments to shift their weight and balance. They were designed to test her agility and focus but were secretly cursed to make failure inevitable.
"Ready when you are," Grogg said, waving a hand dismissively. The dwarves hoisted several oversized trays onto Saya’s arms, followed by a large ceremonial barrel strapped to her back. Her body sank slightly under the weight, but she straightened her posture, teeth gritted in determination.
"I can do this," she whispered to herself. "Just focus. One step at a time."
The horn sounded, and Saya began her climb. The first few steps felt manageable. She moved quickly but carefully, her senses attuned to every shift in weight. Her enhanced agility allowed her to navigate the rocky path, dodging loose stones and narrow ledges. Despite the burden, she maintained a steady pace.
"This isn’t so bad," she thought, allowing a sliver of hope to creep in. "I just have to keep this rhythm."
But the curse soon made itself known.
The first shift came suddenly. The barrel on her back seemed to grow heavier, causing her to stagger slightly. She adjusted her footing, only for the trays to tilt wildly in response. She gasped, barely managing to keep them balanced.
"What the…? It’s shifting on its own!"
The path ahead twisted sharply, forcing her to step over a series of jagged rocks. As she jumped, the tray in her right hand seemed to multiply in size, tipping dangerously forward. She lurched, her heart racing as she fought to stabilize it. Her feet scraped against the uneven ground, but she managed to recover.
"They're sabotaging me… just like they did to Gouki and Hayate," she realized, her fear intensifying. She glanced back, as if expecting to see her friends. But they weren’t there. She was alone.
Above her, the dwarves watched with gleeful anticipation.
"Look at her! She’s already struggling. It won’t be long now," one dwarf snickered.
"Think she’ll last longer than the green one? I doubt it!"
Grogg shook his head. "She’ll crack soon enough. No way a twig like her can carry all that to the top."
Saya trembled as she continued her climb. Every step became more precarious. The enchantments intensified with each passing moment. The trays vibrated unnaturally, threatening to slip from her hands. The barrel shifted, throwing off her balance. She stumbled again, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Keep going… keep going… You can’t stop now!" she told herself, her mind racing with panic. But the curse’s influence grew stronger. The trail narrowed, forcing her to step carefully along a thin ridge. Her knees shook violently as she tried to steady herself.
"No… please… I can’t fall…"
Suddenly, a hidden pressure burst from beneath the ground, causing her to slip. One of the trays tilted sharply, spilling half of its contents. Saya cried out, her body twisting in a desperate attempt to catch it. Her foot slipped on loose gravel, sending her crashing to the ground.
The clang of metal echoed through the mountain as the remaining trays and barrel tumbled away. Saya lay sprawled on the rocky path, her arms trembling uncontrollably. Her vision blurred with tears of frustration and humiliation.
"I… failed…" she whispered, her words faint.
The dwarves erupted into laughter as they descended the trail toward her.
"See? I told you she’d drop it! Can’t even carry a few plates!"
"Grace and endurance? Ha! She’s just a clumsy little girl!"
Saya tried to push herself up, but her body refused to cooperate. Her limbs shook violently, the aftereffects of the curse making her muscles feel slippery and weak. A foul stench suddenly filled her senses. She looked down in horror as thick, slimy filth coated her armor, clinging to her skin like tar.
"No… what is this?" she gasped, choking on the putrid smell.
The curse of everlasting filth had taken hold. No matter how much she wiped at her armor, the grime regenerated instantly. It oozed across her visor, blinding her partially. The dwarves howled with laughter at her futile attempts to clean herself.
"Looks like she’s already sinking into the muck where she belongs!"
Saya sobbed quietly, the humiliation crushing her spirit. Her body trembled as she realized the enormity of her failure. She had tried to prove herself, to carry the burden for her team—but now, she was reduced to a filthy, trembling wreck.
The dwarves dragged her back down the trail, her feet stumbling as she struggled to keep up. Her armor dripped with the foul residue, leaving a disgusting trail behind her. Every step was agony, her senses overwhelmed by the stench and the weight of her shame.
"Please… let me clean it off… I can’t breathe…"
"Clean? You’ll never be clean again, girl. This is what you deserve!"
Saya's mind spiraled into despair as they paraded her through the camp. She could barely hear the mocking taunts around her. All she could think about was Gouki and Hayate. They had failed. And now… so had she.
"I wasn’t strong enough… I wasn’t fast enough…"
***
The Dwarven Throne of Trials loomed like a monolithic execution platform over the cursed arena. Overlord Dergol reclined with satisfaction, surrounded by sneering overseers. Below, the three fallen Gingaman stood trembling, their forms twisted grotesquely by curses. Each was a broken monument to suffering, their minds and bodies warped beyond recognition. Their remaining teammates, Hikaru and Ryouma, watched in horror from below.
Gouki was a hulking mass of spasms, his once-mighty body locked in endless convulsions. His skin glistened with sweat as his muscles twisted grotesquely beneath it. His legs wobbled violently, unable to support the crushing weight pressing on his body. Each breath came as a strained, animalistic grunt, and every attempt to straighten his back ended in violent shudders.
"I… can’t… stand… why… it’s getting heavier…!" he gasped, drool spilling from his mouth as he collapsed to one knee.
His head twitched erratically, his neck muscles tightening painfully. The veins in his arms throbbed as if on the verge of bursting. He tried to speak again but was interrupted by another violent shudder, forcing him to choke on his own breath.
"Weight… crushing… ribs breaking… something’s wrong… something's…" His tone cracked and devolved into low, guttural whimpers.
From above, the dwarves roared with laughter.
"Can’t handle your own strength now, can you?"
"Look at that! Crumbling like a pile of loose stones!"
Gouki shook his head as if trying to escape the taunts, but they were everywhere, echoing inside his mind. His vision blurred, the edges of his world collapsing inward with each trembling breath. "Please… I need to… stand… I…"
Hayate stumbled erratically next to him, his feet dragging across the dirt in disoriented, erratic movements. His eyes darted wildly, unable to focus on anything. He clutched his head with both hands, trying to ground himself, but the world refused to stay still. He staggered to the left, then lurched forward, his body jerking in unnatural directions.
"Stop… spinning… I can’t… I can’t see anything…" Hayate muttered, his delivery thick with nausea. He stumbled again, collapsing onto all fours and retching. "Paths… too many paths… everywhere… moving…"
He tried to stand but immediately fell backward, his legs giving out. His fingers dug into the dirt, desperate to find something solid, but every sensation felt wrong. His eyes rolled back briefly as dizziness overtook him.
"Ground’s… gone… I’m falling… falling sideways…" His words tumbled out in panicked gasps.
"Get a hold of yourself, ranger!" a dwarf mocked. "You’re not falling anywhere but into disgrace!"
"No… it’s not real… stop… make it stop…" Hayate mumbled, barely coherent. He clawed at his temples, as though trying to tear the confusion from his skull. His entire frame quivered as he stumbled forward again, only to collapse at Gouki's feet.
Saya stood further away, her body trembling violently. A slick, black ooze poured from her armor in slow, suffocating waves, coating her skin and visor. The sludge pulsed as if alive, constricting around her body and seeping into every crevice of her armor. She gasped for air, choking on the thick stench that surrounded her.
"No… more… it's… spreading… choking…" she whispered, her tone faint and cracking. Her fingers clawed at her chest plate, trying to scrape the grime away. Each time she did, the ooze regenerated, crawling over her hands like tar.
The dwarves laughed louder.
"That’s right! No matter how hard you scrub, you’ll always be dirty!"
"She's drowning in her own stench! Maybe we should bottle it for later!"
Saya whimpered, her mind fracturing under the oppressive sensations. "Please… please… just… stop… I can’t… it won’t stop… why won’t it stop?" Her knees buckled as she sobbed, her visor coated in thick, clinging filth. "Everything’s… rotting… I can feel it in my bones…"
Her voice trailed off into incoherent murmurs as she sank into herself, shivering uncontrollably.
Hikaru stumbled backward, his eyes wide and glazed with shock. He stared at his teammates—his family—reduced to these horrors. His mind couldn’t fully process what he was seeing. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, as if the very air had turned to poison.
"They’re… rotting… falling apart… breaking inside…" He spoke aloud, but his tone was barely more than a whisper. He stumbled again, his legs weak beneath him.
His hands shook violently as he pointed at Gouki. "Gouki can’t even… even hold himself up… Hayate… he’s lost in his own mind… and Saya… she’s drowning in filth… They’re… they’re already… gone…"
"No!" Ryouma’s voice cut through the rising panic. He grabbed Hikaru’s arm, shaking him. "They’re still here! We can still fight for them!"
Hikaru turned to him, his face pale and hollow. "Fight for what? Look at them! They’re dying right in front of us! Their minds… their bodies… there’s nothing left to save…"
"Don’t say that!" Ryouma snapped, though his words shook as well. He turned his gaze back to the cursed forms of his friends. His throat tightened as he struggled to find words of hope. "They’re… they’re still alive. We just have to… find a way…"
Dergol chuckled as he stepped down from his throne. His armored boots struck the stone floor with slow, deliberate weight. He circled the cursed Gingaman like a predator savoring its prey.
"Still clinging to that ridiculous notion of hope, are you?" Dergol sneered. "Look at them. They don’t even recognize each other anymore. They’re trapped. Lost. Just like you soon will be."
Ryouma glared at him, his fists trembling. "You… you’re wrong. We’ll save them. We’ll stop you."
Dergol’s eyes gleamed with sadistic amusement. "You don’t believe that. I can see it in your eyes. That little spark of doubt… it’s already growing. Every second you stand there, staring at their broken forms, you know I’m right."
Ryouma opened his mouth to speak but found no words. The image of Gouki shuddering in agony, of Hayate collapsing in confusion, of Saya drowning in filth—it all pressed down on him like a suffocating weight.
"We’ll… save them," he whispered again, though his tone barely carried.
Dergol laughed, turning back to his throne. "Oh, you’ll try. But in the end, you’ll break just like them."
The dwarves roared with laughter as Hikaru sank to his knees, his mind unraveling. Ryouma stood frozen, his fists clenched in futile defiance. Above them, the cursed Gingaman continued to tremble in agony, their voices echoing softly in broken, desperate murmurs.
***
Thunderous cheers and jeers reverberated through the open arena. Torches flared in every corner, illuminating a massive crowd of rowdy dwarven onlookers. Standing on the dusty battleground floor, GingaYellow and GingaRed struggled to steady their breaths. They braced themselves for what the Dwarven King might unveil next.
He did not keep them waiting. Standing atop a carved platform ringed by spikes, the King slammed his scepter into the stone. “Behold!” he roared, his voice carrying on the wind. At once, several dwarves rushed forward and began drawing back a heavy curtain along the arena’s side, revealing a horrid sight hidden just beyond the main spectacle.
An uproar of taunts and laughter erupted from the stands. There, fused into the very wall of the arena, was Hyuga, still clad in his BullBlack armor. The plating was cracked and corroded, streaked with grime, but the horned helm and emblem were unmistakable. His visor stood open—exposing eyes half-hidden by greasy strands of hair—and his body contorted unnaturally where the curse had melded him to the stone. A stench swept over the field, and GingaYellow’s eyes watered in shock.
“No!” she gasped, clutching GingaRed’s arm to keep from falling to her knees. “That… that can’t be…”
Ryoma the GingaRed took a step forward, rage and revulsion warring on his face. “Hyuga!” he shouted, voice echoing amid the cacophony. But his friend did not—could not—respond in any normal way. Instead, a pitiful rasping escaped his lips, immediately drowned out by the dwarves’ scornful cheering.
Like a twisted sideshow, dwarves continued to treat Hyuga as a public fixture, even as the King gestured for them to demonstrate his new “function.” A few dwarves approached, nudging one another with grins, and soon the rivulets of foul liquid dripped down the BullBlack armor. Each splash made Hyuga’s visor clatter, his entire body shuddering in silent torment. The crowd roared even louder at the grotesque display.
“Aren’t you proud of your mighty friend?” the Dwarven King jeered, spreading his arms wide. “He was so eager to test his strength! Now, he serves us—an eternal warning to any fool who believes in your so-called heroics!”
A suffocating hush fell over the remaining Gingaman. GingaYellow trembled, wanting to tear her eyes away but finding herself unable. GingaRed shook with impotent anger, fists clenching at his sides, torn between wanting to rush forward and the grim knowledge that he might be the next to share that fate.
Hyuga’s cracked visor twitched again. This time, a ragged moan managed to pierce the crowd noise—an agonized remnant of the warrior who once fought bravely by their side. The dwarves only howled, banging their mugs against the arena seats in a rhythm of mockery.
“Shame we had to drag this out for so long,” the King continued with a sinister chuckle. “But the more you all struggle, the more entertaining it is.” He tapped his scepter on the platform again, calling two dwarven champions into the arena. “And now,” he bellowed, “let your final round begin!”
GingaYellow edged closer to GingaRed, voice barely above a whisper. “Ryoma… We—there’s—” She swallowed, forcing out the words. “There’s no way out of this… not if they did that to Hyuga.”
GingaRed glanced sidelong at his partner, eyes burning with unshed tears. He wanted to speak words of encouragement, but the sickening reality before them robbed him of hope. Even so, he forced a trembling breath and raised his fists, turning toward the dwarven champions marching forward.
“One… last… fight,” he muttered, jaw set. “For Hyuga… for everyone.”
The King’s cold laughter filled the arena once more. Behind him, spectators continued to jeer and unleash waves of ridicule at the suffering BullBlack. To their twisted delight, the stage was set—a final match overshadowed by the grotesque spectacle of a hero reduced to a living display of humiliation.
And even though GingaYellow and GingaRed prepared to face the oncoming foes, the echo of Hyuga’s gasping moan lingered, a grim omen of where this nightmare path would inevitably lead. The dwarves had made their point cruelly clear: no victory would spare the Gingaman from this curse—only prolong the dreadful, inevitable end.
The Dwarven Throne of Trials loomed high above as Hikaru stood at the starting point of his challenge. The air was heavy with dust and dread. The cries of Gouki, Hayate, and Saya, and now Hyuga—their trembling, broken forms cursed and humiliated—still echoed in his mind. He had seen their agony from below the throne. The images wouldn't leave him: Gouki crushed under an invisible weight, Hayate lost in endless disorientation, and Saya drowning in regenerating filth. They were gone, consumed by their nightmares, unreachable.
Hikaru's knees felt weak before he even started. His thoughts swirled with fear and doubt. There was no way out of this.
Ryouma placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip tight and determined. "You can do this, Hikaru. We’ve been through worse. Just keep your focus. You’re faster than anyone. You’ll beat this!"
Hikaru didn’t respond immediately. He wanted to believe Ryouma’s words, but they felt distant, empty. His heart sank deeper into despair. His body trembled involuntarily as he glanced toward the arena, where their cursed friends stood motionless in agony. They didn’t even look at him or Ryouma. They didn’t see them. They were trapped in their own private hells.
"What’s the point, Ryouma?" Hikaru finally muttered under his breath. His delivery was flat, lifeless. "You saw them… Gouki couldn’t even stand. Hayate didn’t know where he was. Saya… she’s drowning in something she can’t escape. And now it’s my turn. You really think this ends any differently for me?"
"Don’t talk like that!" Ryouma’s tone was strained but resolute. "They were set up to fail, but we still have a chance. We have to keep fighting."
Hikaru shook his head slowly. "Fighting for what? To end up like them? You’re not being honest with yourself. We’re doomed, Ryouma. This isn’t a fight. It’s an execution."
Ryouma opened his mouth to argue but fell silent. Hikaru’s hollow gaze shook him to his core. The hope he desperately tried to keep alive was flickering, barely holding on.
The dwarven overseer’s booming tone snapped them both back to the present. "Warrior of the yellow flame! Your trial awaits!" The crowd erupted in jeers and laughter as Hikaru took a slow, reluctant step forward.
The challenge was a test of endurance. Hikaru had to carry a flaming dwarven brazier across an ever-shifting trail of jagged rocks and molten stone. The flames were enchanted to consume his energy, growing hotter and heavier with each step.
He took the brazier, its heat searing his arms even through his armor. His feet shuffled forward mechanically as if his body had resigned itself to the task. The heat increased quickly, faster than expected, and he staggered as the flame pulsed like a living entity.
"Faster, surface-dweller! Or are you already burning out?" one dwarf shouted from above.
Hikaru gritted his teeth and pushed forward. His mind spiraled into a haze of regret. He thought of the day he became a Ginga warrior—how proud he had been to fight for his home, for the Ginga Forest. Now that pride felt like a cruel joke.
"What have I done…?" he whispered to himself. "I couldn’t save them… I couldn’t protect anyone…"
The trail shifted beneath him as hidden pressure plates triggered bursts of molten flame. Hikaru jumped to avoid one, his movements sluggish. His body felt heavier with each passing second, as if the flames were devouring his will to move.
"You wanted to be a protector," he muttered bitterly. "Look where that got you. Look where that got all of us…"
His vision blurred as the brazier’s flames roared higher. He stumbled and fell to one knee, the scorching heat licking at his face. His armor felt like a furnace, baking him alive. He could barely hear the jeers of the dwarves anymore. All he could hear were the echoes of his own failures.
"Gouki… Hayate… Saya…" Their names escaped his lips like a prayer, a plea for forgiveness. He imagined their broken faces, their trembling forms cursed to endless torment. Would they ever be free? Would he?
"No… This can’t… be my end…"
His legs refused to move. The brazier slipped from his hands, clattering to the ground as flames surged around him. He gasped for air, but the heat consumed him, choking his lungs. The pain was unbearable, searing into his very soul.
The crowd erupted in laughter.
"Look at him! Can’t even hold a torch!"
"Another failure to add to the menagerie!"
Hikaru collapsed fully, his body convulsing. The curse activated in full force. His vision darkened as an unbearable thirst overtook him. His throat cracked and burned as if he had swallowed hot coals. His tongue swelled, and each breath felt like inhaling shards of glass. No amount of air could quench the agony in his lungs. His mind screamed for water, for relief, but none would come.
"Thirst… unending… burning…!" he choked out, clawing at his throat. He writhed on the ground, his body contorting in pain.
From below, Ryouma shouted desperately. "Hikaru! Get up! You have to get up!"
Hikaru barely registered the words. His mind was drowning in pain and regret. He reached out weakly toward the tone but found only emptiness. His thoughts fractured, breaking apart like shards of shattered glass.
"I was… a fool… I thought I could protect them… I failed… I failed them all…"
As the curse consumed him, his body froze in a grotesque arch. The flames extinguished, leaving him a trembling, gasping shell. He stood on shaky legs, his eyes glazed and unfocused. His throat spasmed violently as he tried to speak, but all that came out were broken gasps.
Ryouma stared in horror as Hikaru’s cursed form was dragged before the throne. He could barely recognize him. His friend—the confident, resilient Hikaru—was gone. In his place stood a withered, trembling figure tormented by eternal thirst.
"No… Hikaru…"
The dwarves howled in amusement. Dergol rose from his throne, spreading his arms in triumph. "And now, only one remains! Shall we see how long it takes for him to break?"
Ryouma clenched his fists, shaking with rage and despair. "I… I won’t… let this end like this…"
But deep down, the doubt clawed at him. The curses had already claimed four of his friends. He was next.
***
The arena fell momentarily silent, the echoes of the cursed Gingaman’s suffering fading into an eerie stillness. Overlord Dergol approached Ryouma, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. The king’s heavy boots clicked ominously against the stone as he circled Ryouma like a predator savoring a cornered prey.
"You’ve seen what happens to those who fail," Dergol began smoothly, his tone low and mocking. "Gouki, crushed by his own strength. Hayate, lost in endless confusion. Saya, rotting in eternal filth. And Hikaru, choking on a thirst that will never be quenched." He stopped in front of Ryouma, leaning forward with a smug grin. "Do you really think you’ll fare any better?"
Ryouma’s body shook with exhaustion and fear, but he forced himself to speak. "I… I’m not like them… I can still… still fight…"
"Still fight?" Dergol interrupted, chuckling darkly. "You’re trembling, boy. Look at yourself. You can barely stand. That fire in your eyes is already flickering out. You think your courage will save you from what’s coming?"
"I… I won’t give up," Ryouma muttered, but his voice was weak, lacking conviction. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing toward his cursed comrades. Their bodies shuddered violently in agony. He heard their voices again—ragged, despairing cries that clawed at his sanity.
Gouki's strained tone groaned in the distance, "Weight… crushing me… ribs breaking… bones snapping… can’t… carry… anymore…"
"Ground’s gone… nothing’s real… I’m falling…" Hayate gasped, his words broken by confused sobs as he staggered in place.
Saya’s choked whimpers echoed painfully. "The rot… it’s everywhere… inside me… I can’t… I can’t get it off…!"
"I need… water… anything… I’m burning…" Hikaru rasped, his throat raw and shredded by his unending thirst.
The sound tore through Ryouma like a blade. He clenched his teeth, his fists trembling at his sides. He tried to push the fear away, but it clawed at his mind, whispering insidiously: You’ll be next.
Dergol’s grin widened as he noticed the cracks forming in Ryouma’s resolve. "You don’t have to face the trial, you know," the king offered. "There’s… another way."
Ryouma blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "What…?"
"You could avoid the pain altogether," Dergol said smoothly, circling Ryouma again. "All you have to do is submit. Bow to me, swear yourself to dwarven service. We could find… other uses for you. Perhaps you’d make a fine little whore for my court. A servant, kneeling at my feet, doing whatever I command. You’d still uphold peace through sacrifice, wouldn’t you?"
The arena erupted in laughter and jeers. The dwarves shouted crude remarks, their voices blending into a cacophony of degradation.
"Did you hear that? Red’s going to be our little pet!"
"Better than ending up like those failures!"
"Imagine him, polishing the king’s boots on his knees!"
Ryouma’s eyes widened in shock and disgust. His heart pounded in his chest, a surge of rage momentarily overtaking his fear. "You… you think I’d ever agree to that?"
Dergol raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. "Why not? It’s better than the fate that awaits you in the trial. You’d still be alive, wouldn’t you? And your precious peace between surface and dwarven lands would be upheld. Isn’t that what you heroes care about? Sacrifice for the greater good?"
Ryouma took a step back, his face twisted in revulsion. "Never… I’d rather die fighting than submit to you."
The king laughed heartily, spreading his arms wide. "Oh, how predictable. You heroes are all the same. Clinging to your pride, your so-called hope. But it’ll crumble soon enough." He gestured toward the cursed forms of Gouki, Hayate, Saya, and Hikaru. "They clung to that same pride. And look at them now. Howling in despair. You think you’re any different?"
"I… I can still save them," Ryouma stammered, his words faltering. The words tasted bitter and hollow on his tongue. He could barely believe them himself.
"Save them?" Dergol repeated, his words dripping with condescension. "They’re beyond saving. You’ll be joining them soon enough. But if you want to cling to that foolish hope a little longer, who am I to deny you?"
The dwarves roared with laughter again, their jeers echoing off the stone walls.
Ryouma tried to focus, to push the tones out of his mind. He forced himself to remember why he had become a Ginga warrior in the first place. To protect. To fight for the Ginga Forest. For his friends. But those ideals felt distant now, buried under the weight of fear and despair.
His legs trembled as he stepped forward, his breaths ragged and uneven. He spoke again, his words quiet but defiant. "I… I’ll take the trial… I won’t give in to you…"
Dergol shook his head mockingly. "Foolish to the end. So be it. Let the trial begin."
The horn blared across the arena, and Ryouma’s trial was set in motion. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white, and took a deep breath. The cries of his friends echoed louder than ever, clawing at his mind.
"Ryouma… don’t do it… turn back… run… it’s not worth it…!" Hikaru’s words rasped.
"Crushed… you’ll be crushed like me…" Gouki groaned.
"You won’t know where you are… everything… will break apart…" Hayate whispered.
"Rot… you’ll drown in it… just like me…" Saya sobbed.
Ryouma shivered violently. He knew he was walking into hell. But he had no other choice.
The trial's horn echoed across the arena, a final, mocking call to arms. Ryouma staggered forward, his mind clouded with fear and the echoes of his teammates’ tortured cries. The cursed forms of Gouki, Hayate, Saya, and Hikaru loomed in his mind like grotesque monuments. He could still hear them screaming, their voices broken by agony and despair.
His trial awaited him: the Bridge of Unyielding Flame. A vast path of molten rock stretched out before him, flanked by walls of roaring fire. His task was simple on paper—cross the bridge while carrying a dwarven warbanner soaked in enchanted flames that grew heavier and hotter with each step.
“Move, boy,” a dwarven overseer sneered. “Or do you want us to skip straight to the part where you beg?”
Ryouma ignored the taunt, his focus wavering as he forced himself onto the bridge. The heat was immediate and suffocating, pressing against his skin like molten hands. The banner in his grip pulsed with a searing intensity that scorched his armor. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself forward.
The flames licked at his boots as the molten ground shifted beneath him. Each step was heavier than the last. The heat clawed its way into his lungs, choking his breath with every gasp. His vision wavered, the path ahead blurring in the flickering light.
"Just… keep moving… one step… at a time…" Ryouma muttered to himself, his delivery cracking under the strain. But his steps faltered. The banner’s flames intensified, growing heavier with every second.
Behind him, the dwarves jeered.
"Look at him! He’s barely started, and he’s already crumbling!"
"Where’s that legendary courage now, Red?"
"Maybe he should just drop the banner and crawl like the beast he is!"
Ryouma shook his head violently, trying to block out the taunts. But the weight of their words pressed down on him, just as the curse embedded in the trial began to take hold. His arms trembled as the banner grew unbearably heavy. He stumbled, his knees buckling as the searing pain shot through his body.
"No… no, I won’t fall… I won’t…!" he gasped, forcing himself upright. His legs wobbled beneath him, barely able to hold his weight. The flames surrounding him flared violently, blinding him momentarily.
He stumbled again. The banner slipped from his grasp, clattering to the molten ground. The heat surged around him, consuming his senses in an inferno of agony.
Ryouma screamed, a raw, primal sound of desperation and defeat. "Why?! Why is this happening?! I… I was supposed to be strong… I was supposed to protect them!" He clawed at the ground, trying to rise, but his limbs refused to respond. The heat bore down on him, crushing his will to move.
"I gave everything… I trained… I fought for the forest… for them!" he cried, his tone cracking as tears mixed with the sweat and ash on his face. "Why does it end like this?! No courage… no glory… just… failure…!"
The flames dimmed, leaving Ryouma gasping and convulsing on the ground. He no longer had the strength to stand. The trial was over, and he had lost.
The dwarves descended upon him like vultures, dragging his trembling, broken form toward the throne. The jeering crowd erupted in laughter, their mockery echoing through the arena.
"Look at him! Screaming like a child!"
"The mighty Red Guardian, brought to his knees! Pathetic!"
"Not so proud now, are you?!"
Ryouma’s body twitched involuntarily as he was hauled before Overlord Dergol. The king grinned with sadistic satisfaction, stepping down from his throne to meet the fallen hero face-to-face.
"You thought you were different," Dergol said softly, his tone cutting through the din of the crowd. "You thought you could rise above the pain, didn’t you? But look at you now. On your knees. Defeated. Just like the rest of them."
Ryouma glared up at him, though tears and exhaustion blurred his vision. "You… you cheated… you… rigged everything…"
"Cheated?" Dergol laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, boy, this was never a fair game. Heroes like you were always meant to break. Your destiny was never one of victory. Only suffering. And now… your friends await you in the halls of shame."
He gestured toward the cursed figures of Gouki, Hayate, Saya, and Hikaru. They stood nearby, trembling under the weight of their torment. Their distorted bodies jerked with involuntary spasms as they howled once more.
Gouki’s deep, guttural groans tore through the air. "Everything… breaking… ribs… collapsing… can’t hold…"
Hayate’s words followed in a fevered whisper. "Lost… no ground… no way out… falling forever…"
Saya sobbed quietly, her words fragmented and choking. "Rotting… drowning… crawling inside… please…"
Hikaru’s rasping delivery was faint. "Thirst… endless… fire in my throat… can’t… breathe…"
Ryouma shuddered violently. He could barely remain conscious as the voices enveloped him. His body felt as though it were being crushed under the weight of their suffering.
"No… no… this can’t… this can’t be real…" he muttered, his mind unraveling.
"Real enough," Dergol said coldly. "And soon, you’ll join them in their curse. Stand tall, Ryouma. Your shame will be displayed for all eternity."
The curse surged through Ryouma’s body, locking his muscles in place. His legs buckled, forcing him into a grotesque, rigid stance. His eyes widened as his limbs spasmed uncontrollably. His vision darkened, and a suffocating pressure gripped his chest. He let out a strangled scream, his final act of defiance collapsing into a pitiful, broken cry.
The dwarves roared with approval as Ryouma’s cursed form was positioned next to his fallen comrades. Together, the Gingaman stood as grotesque trophies of failure, their agony on full display for the world to see.
Their legacy was shattered. There was no redemption—only eternal humiliation in the throne’s shadow.
