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Gingaman's Flushed from Glory!
🕑 Added 2025-02-15 03:33:59 +0000 UTCThe cocky Gingaman eagerly accepted the Dwarven King’s challenge, confident in their strength. But the tournament was a farce, a trap set from the start. Their Earth Power faltered, their skills nullified by unseen enchantments, their downfall celebrated by roaring dwarves. Defeat came not with death, but something worse—as the final match ended, the curse took hold, twisting their bodies into something deformed, unthinkable, irreversible.
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Wash after you’re done!
The Gingaman stood before Overlord Dergol, their bodies trembling violently. Their skintight suits and helmets, once symbols of heroism, clung to their cursed, twisted forms. Each of them shuddered in the grip of torment, their minds fragmented and overwhelmed by the relentless agony of their curses. The suits had become suffocating prisons, trapping them within themselves, amplifying every sensation of failure and decay.
Dergol’s voice thundered across the arena, merciless and piercing.
"Destiny mocked you for your pride. You became its victims the moment you embraced power without understanding the price. Look at you now—cursed to become the very shame of that destiny."
He paced slowly, savoring their suffering. The dwarves erupted into laughter, their voices filling the air with cruelty, while the cursed heroes’ trembling worsened. They were no longer warriors. They were trapped beings of pain and self-loathing, each curse reshaping who they were.
Gouki’s body convulsed violently, the crushing weight pressing down on his massive frame. His muscles spasmed grotesquely beneath his suit, his limbs barely able to hold their trembling form. He staggered forward slightly, only for his knees to buckle under invisible pressure. His breath came in heavy, guttural gasps, each one forced through a throat constricted by agony.
"Breaking... every part... collapsing..." he growled through clenched breaths, his voice animalistic and strained. His legs shook uncontrollably as he tried to remain standing. "Chest... ribs... everything inside... grinding... grinding to dust..."
The crushing sensation intensified with each second. His vision darkened as waves of heat and pressure surged through his body. He twitched violently, saliva dripping through the gaps in his visor as his helmet became a furnace of torment. He couldn't feel anything but the constant imploding agony of his flesh folding inward.
Stone pressing forever… weight without end… suffocation through strength.
Nearby, Hayate stumbled erratically, his legs dragging across the uneven ground. His head jerked violently in every direction as though caught in a storm that only he could feel. His senses spun out of control—he couldn’t tell where the ground began or ended. His helmet’s visor distorted the world, warping everything around him in chaotic flashes of light and shadow.
"Nothing… stable… everything moves… everywhere… wrong..." His voice cracked as he tried to steady himself, but there was no point of balance. He flailed, his arms thrashing as he stumbled forward. He collapsed, his body convulsing from vertigo so intense that his stomach twisted violently.
His mind fractured under the endless sensation of spiraling disorientation. He tried to stand but fell again, his muscles no longer responding properly. "The ground… turning… can’t stop… falling in every direction… all at once…"
Every blink of his eyes sent the world spinning faster. His senses dissolved into fragmented chaos. There would be no end to the disconnection—no place to rest, no center to anchor him.
Trapped in falling forever… lost between moments of imbalance.
Saya gagged as the thick, oozing filth seeped endlessly through her armor. It pulsed and crawled under the fabric of her suit, sticking to her skin in suffocating layers. She clawed at her chest, trying to peel the suit away, but her hands slipped on the ever-regenerating sludge. Her visor dripped with the black, viscous substance, coating her vision in a grotesque blur.
"Inside me… spreading… under my skin…" she whispered in a broken tone, her body convulsing as the stench filled her lungs. Her attempts to wipe the slime away only caused more of it to pool and regenerate, slithering like a living parasite over her face and limbs.
Her sobs were muffled by the sludge, which gurgled ominously as it poured into her helmet. She coughed violently, choking as her throat constricted under the overwhelming presence of rot. "Everything… reeking… suffocating... crawling into bones… can’t… escape…"
She shuddered as a new wave of decay spread across her body. The feeling of being consumed from within never stopped. It was endless.
You are the rot. The stench will never leave. You are the disease.
Hikaru gasped desperately for air, his throat raw and shredded from the fire burning within him. His tongue felt swollen, splitting painfully as he tried to breathe. He stumbled forward, clutching his neck, but no relief came. Every breath he drew scraped like molten glass against his throat.
"Burning… air... slicing me apart… fire inside…" he rasped, his voice barely audible. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth, soaking the inside of his helmet. He gagged again, his body convulsing from the unrelenting agony.
His mind screamed in desperation, but there was no way to cool the inferno that consumed him from within. He scratched at his throat, tearing at his armor in a futile attempt to release the pressure. "Nothing… quenches… flames tearing me apart… forever…"
The fire seemed to spread deeper with every breath. He could feel it in his lungs, scorching them into oblivion with no hope of relief.
Forever dry. Forever burning. Your breath is pain.
Ryouma stood among his cursed comrades, trembling uncontrollably in his skintight armor. The flame of courage that had once defined him was gone, snuffed out by failure and despair. The weight of his curse bore down on him like chains made of burning shame. He gasped, barely able to hold himself upright as his mind spiraled into fear and confusion.
His voice trembled as he called out into the void of suffering around him.
"Gouki… Hayate… Saya… Hikaru… please… please hear me… You’re still here… right?" The words were barely audible, weak and shaking like a child’s plea for comfort in the dark. His helmet muffled his sobbing breaths, amplifying the sound of his choking fear within the confined space.
None of them responded. They didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Their bodies trembled and convulsed under the weight of their curses, each of them lost in a personal nightmare of endless torment.
"Please… someone… anyone…" Ryouma’s voice cracked. His knees wobbled, threatening to give out entirely. He staggered forward, reaching out toward Gouki, his hand trembling violently. "We… we can’t give up… I… I still believe…"
But his voice faltered again, the words hollow and lifeless. He wasn’t sure if he even believed them himself anymore. He stumbled to the ground, his hands scraping against the dirt as he shuddered.
Overlord Dergol descended the steps of his throne, his gaze cold and predatory. He didn’t bother with rhetorical taunts or mind games. His words were direct, each one a blow to Ryouma’s fragile psyche.
"You’re pathetic," Dergol growled, his voice cutting through the muffled screams of the cursed heroes. "You wanted to be a leader, but all you are is a coward begging for scraps of hope that don’t exist."
Ryouma shook his head weakly, but the statement echoed inside him, louder than any rallying cry he had ever made. His breaths quickened as the crushing truth of Dergol's words pressed into him like a blade.
"Your destiny spat on you the moment you believed in it," Dergol continued, circling Ryouma like a predator savoring its prey. "You thought you could save your friends. But look at them. They’re already gone—twisted into their own suffering. They don’t hear you. They won’t hear you. You’re just a hollow shell screaming into nothing."
"No… no… that’s not true…" Ryouma whimpered, but his voice was so faint the air swallowed it. He tried to stand, his limbs trembling uncontrollably. "We’re… we’re warriors…"
"Warriors?" Dergol barked a cruel laugh. "You’re not warriors anymore. You’re remnants of failure—of arrogance that destiny crushed under its heel. Now all you’ll ever be is this: screaming, suffering, forgotten."
Ryouma flinched at the words. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. He looked to his friends again, hoping for some sign of recognition. Gouki writhed under the crushing weight, growling and gasping like a beast on the brink of death. Hayate staggered, his head whipping from side to side as though lost in an endless spiral of madness. Saya gagged and choked, her body convulsing in a desperate attempt to claw the regenerating filth from her skin. Hikaru coughed violently, his throat burning as he gasped for non-existent relief.
Their howls pierced the air, raw and relentless.
"Weight… crushing… everything inside… breaking…" Gouki’s guttural groans blended with Hayate’s panicked murmurs of disorientation.
"Turning… ground’s gone… can’t find it… nothing… spinning forever…" Hayate whispered, staggering like a marionette with severed strings.
"Filth… inside… crawling deeper… suffocating… it won’t leave…" Saya sobbed, her voice muffled by the oozing sludge that covered her face.
"Fire… burning me alive… every breath… tearing me apart…" Hikaru rasped, each word like a death rattle.
Their voices merged into a symphony of despair, filling Ryouma’s mind with unbearable noise. He clutched his head, tears streaming inside his helmet as he shook violently.
"Please… listen… listen to me!" Ryouma’s scream was shrill, desperate, like a child begging to be heard. He fell to his knees, his hands scraping at the ground. "We… we can still fight… we can still…"
The words died on his lips. There was no response—no recognition. His friends were gone, trapped in their curses, unable to hear him. He sobbed openly now, the last shred of his pride disintegrating.
"I… I can’t do this alone… I need you… I…"
Dergol towered over him, his shadow stretching across the broken figure of the once-proud Ginga Red. He sneered in disgust.
"You can scream all you want. It won’t change anything. You belong to this fate now."
Ryouma shuddered, his voice reduced to pitiful, broken gasps. His mind crumbled under the weight of regret and fear. He could feel the curse tightening around him, locking him in place. His legs twitched, his muscles stiffening as if encased in burning iron. He let out a final, trembling cry of despair.
"Please… someone… help me…"
But there was no one left to help him. His cursed body froze in agonized tension, his helmeted face locked in a silent scream. The dwarves laughed cruelly as Ryouma’s voice joined the chorus of eternal suffering. He stood among his comrades, cursed and forgotten, his identity eroded by the crushing weight of failure.
There would be no salvation.
Only the endless, suffocating howl of despair.
***
The broken forms of the Gingaman were seized by dwarven guards and dragged across the arena floor. Once trembling under the crushing weight of their curses, their bodies now moved limply in the dwarves' iron grips. Though the curses had been lifted, the damage remained—inside their minds, the torment had lasted what felt like a century. Their eyes, hollow and glassy behind their visors, reflected the madness carved into their souls. They gasped in weak defiance, their minds fractured by decades of imagined suffering.
"Let… go of me… we… fought… we can still…" Ryouma muttered weakly, his voice barely a whisper. He struggled feebly against the guards, his body too drained to resist. His words held no conviction, the fire of his courage long since extinguished. His legs dragged uselessly across the dirt as he was hauled forward.
The dwarves laughed cruelly, their jeers echoing through the arena. Overlord Dergol led the procession with slow, deliberate steps, savoring the sight of the heroes’ defeat.
"You still think there’s something left to fight for?" Dergol's voice cut through the air like a knife. "You’ve been reduced to hollow shells—your will broken, your minds shattered by your own fate. And now, your true purpose awaits."
The curse broke without warning. The Gingaman gasped violently, their bodies convulsing as if yanked from drowning nightmares. Their limbs jerked uncontrollably, and their breaths came in ragged, panicked bursts. They staggered as though struck by invisible blows, their minds reeling from the sudden shift in reality.
"NO! NO! Stop it!" Gouki roared, clawing desperately at his chest. His hands scraped against his skintight armor, leaving streaks of sweat and grime on the glossy surface. "It's still... it's still on me! I can feel it… crushing...!"
His fingers trembled as he tried to tear off his helmet. "Weight… too heavy… can’t move... centuries…!"
Hayate stumbled and fell to the ground, his body twitching violently. His eyes darted around, wild with fear. He clawed at the dirt beneath him, his breathing shallow and rapid. "Still spinning… still falling… decades... no, longer…!"
His voice broke into a high-pitched gasp as he curled into himself. "Can’t find the ground... too long… years of falling… I’ll never stop…!"
Saya collapsed next to him, gagging and choking. She ripped at her chest plate, trying to pry it open. The slick remnants of phantom filth seemed to cling to her skin. She sobbed uncontrollably as her hands shook violently.
"Get it off! It’s still inside me…! Still crawling… after all this time... how long?!" Her visor fogged as tears streamed down her face. She gasped, her voice filled with hysteria. "A century… it’s been a century… rotting… every second!"
She convulsed, her nails scraping across her armor in desperation. "It won’t leave... I can’t breathe... the stench… it’s everywhere…!"
Hikaru doubled over, coughing and retching. Blood and spit dripped from the corners of his mouth as he gasped for air. His throat felt raw, the phantom fire still searing his lungs. He clutched at his helmet, trying to pull it off as though it were suffocating him.
"Burning… years... decades… never-ending fire..." he rasped, his voice cracked and broken. He staggered forward, collapsing onto his hands and knees. "No water… no air... how long was I burning...?!"
His breathing quickened, panic overtaking him. He clawed at his throat, as though still trying to extinguish the fire. "It’s still there… inside me… still burning…!"
Ryouma swayed on his feet, his ceramic body trembling violently. He gasped for breath, each exhale shaky and uneven. His mind was a whirlwind of broken memories and confusion. He reached out weakly toward his comrades, but his arms felt like lead.
"How… long… have we been… trapped...?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes darted around, unfocused. "I… I don’t… remember…"
He stumbled forward, his legs buckling beneath him. "A century… longer… everything… breaking…"
His hands clawed weakly at his helmet, his fingers shaking uncontrollably. He sobbed quietly, his voice trembling with fear and despair. "I thought… thought it would never end…"
The dwarves stood in a semicircle around them, sneering and laughing. The heroes’ disoriented, pitiful forms seemed to amuse them greatly. Overlord Dergol stepped forward, his voice calm but cruel.
"You’ve been free of the curse for mere seconds, and already you’re reduced to this," he said coldly. "You think the nightmare is over? It was only the beginning."
Gouki roared in defiance but collapsed to the ground, coughing violently. "You… monsters… you kept us there… for years…!"
"Years?" Dergol chuckled. "Time is nothing but a trick of the mind under a curse. But if it felt like a century, perhaps it’s because destiny hated you enough to let you rot in it."
The heroes writhed at his words, their broken minds struggling to comprehend reality.
"Let me explain your true fate," Dergol continued, his voice lowering ominously. "This wall isn’t just a decoration. It’s where you’ll remain—forever. No more curses of strength, speed, purity, or fire. Just this: humiliation. You’ll serve the arena as eternal urinals, displayed and used by every visitor who passes through."
The heroes froze, their ragged breathing filling the silence.
"No… no, that’s not… that’s not possible…" Hayate muttered, shaking his head violently. "You can’t do this…!"
"Oh, but I can," Dergol sneered. "You’ve already proven how weak you are. This is your destiny now."
Saya whimpered, tears streaming down her face. "Please… no… not like this… we’ve already… suffered…"
"You’ll suffer more," a dwarf guard spat. "Get used to it."
The heroes were shoved toward the wall, their bodies collapsing under the weight of their trauma. They struggled weakly, their defiance crumbling with each passing second.
"You’ll serve your purpose here," Dergol said, turning his back to them. "And you’ll do it in silence. Every day. Every year. Forever."
Their screams echoed through the arena, filled with agony and horror.
Gouki struggled weakly, his muscles trembling with exhaustion. "You… won’t… break me…" he muttered, though his voice was devoid of the strength he once commanded. His legs twitched as he was forced into a squatting stance, his visor facing outward as part of the urinal structure.
"You already broke yourself," one of the dwarves mocked. "You’ll beg soon enough. All that strength, and you couldn’t stop this."
Gouki’s jaw tightened, but he could no longer summon the will to respond. His mind screamed, fragments of his century-long torment replaying in an endless loop.
Hayate swayed in place, his eyes unfocused and filled with fear. He felt trapped in the vertigo of his curse, even though the disorientation had faded. The dwarves forced him against the wall, locking him standing.
"No… no more… stop this…" he whimpered, his voice barely audible. "It’s still spinning… everything’s still…"
"Spin all you want," Dergol said with a smirk. "You’ll be standing here for eternity, no matter which way the world turns."
Hayate shook his head weakly, tears streaming inside his helmet. His legs quivered, unable to find balance even though he was now held perfectly still. "It was right there…"
Saya sobbed openly, her hands clawing at her armor as though the filth of her curse was still there. She was shoved into position near the center of the wall, her visor forced to face forward.
"Please… don’t… I can’t… not like this…" she cried, her voice cracking. She gagged, the phantom stench of rot still suffocating her senses. "It’s… crawling inside again…"
"That’s your mind playing tricks on you," a dwarf said mockingly. "But soon, you’ll wish it was just a trick."
Saya let out a choked scream, her body convulsing in place. The fear and shame overwhelmed her, pulling her further into madness. "Rotting… it’s never going to stop…"
Hikaru coughed violently as he was forced into place, his throat still raw from the phantom fire of his curse. He gasped desperately, unable to shake the sensation of burning.
"Don’t… don’t do this… I’ll… I’ll die…"
"You already died in every way that matters," Dergol replied coldly. "This is all that’s left for you now—an eternity of humiliation and helplessness."
Hikaru shuddered, his voice breaking into sobs. "Fire… still burning… can’t… quench it…"
Finally, Ryouma was positioned at the center of the wall, his body trembling with fear and exhaustion. He tried to speak, to summon the courage to defy Dergol one last time, but the words wouldn’t come. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, tears streaming freely as he stared at the ground.
"You’re part of this place now," Dergol said, his voice low and final. "Just another cursed victim who believed in glory and found only disgrace. This is your fate. Embrace it."
Ryouma gasped weakly, his voice trembling as he whispered, "Please… someone… hear me… I don’t… want this…"
No one answered. The dwarves laughed as the arena prepared for its next crowd, leaving the Gingaman trapped in their eternal humiliation. Their minds, broken by centuries of torment, sank further into despair as they realized there would be no salvation.
The heroes were dragged to the far wall of the arena. It gleamed ominously, lined with grotesque, ceramic-like structures shaped to resemble open toilets and urinals embedded in the stone. The dwarves shoved the Gingaman into place, forcing them to stand before the structure.
"This… this isn’t…" Hayate stammered, his voice trembling. His eyes darted around wildly as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. "What… is this…?"
"It’s where you belong now," Dergol answered coldly. "The wall of eternal humiliation. For as long as this arena stands, you’ll serve here—on display for all to see. Every spectator, every visitor, will use you, and you will endure it all in silence."
The heroes recoiled weakly at the words. Saya let out a horrified gasp, her knees giving out as she fell to the ground. "No… no… this can’t… this is just a bad dream…"
"Oh, it’s very real," Dergol sneered. "Your suffering has only just begun. You’ll no longer wear the curse of strength, speed, purity, or fire. Instead, you’ll wear this new form—perfectly suited for your eternal purpose."
The arena had fallen silent—not from awe, but from the crushing weight of inevitability. Gone were the cheers of the dwarven audience, replaced instead by the deep, throbbing hum of dark magic.
The Gingaman stood pinned against the colossal stone wall, their limbs stretched outward, their armor locking against the surface like a second skin fused to stone. They thrashed, kicked, and struggled, but the force that bound them did not budge.
The dwarven envoy-magician, clad in tattered blackened robes woven with ancient sigils, stepped forward, a cruel grin twisting beneath his tangled beard. His gnarled staff struck the ground, sending out a wave of invisible force.
“Squirm all you like, heroes,” he rasped, his voice thick with malice. “You were worthless warriors, but perhaps as fixtures, you shall serve a purpose.”
"Shut up!" Ryouma the GingaRed snarled, his muscles bulging against the unseen magic. "We’re not staying here!"
The magician chuckled, raising his staff higher. “Oh, but you agreed to stay, didn’t you?”
The first rune appeared, searing itself into the wall behind Gouki the GingaBlue—a golden-red dwarven character, glowing like molten iron freshly pulled from the forge.
The moment it burned into existence, Gouki convulsed violently, his back arching, a ragged howl tearing from his throat.
"GI—AHH!!" He tried to shout his name, to force out his summoning cry, but the magic latched onto his throat, suffocating the words before they could fully form.
His chest heaved, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came—only garbled choking gasps, his voice devoured by the glowing rune now burned into the stone.
"GOUKI!" GingaYellow shouted, his own limbs trembling against the unseen force. "Damn it—what’s happening to him?!"
The magician merely tilted his head. "He is being claimed."
A second rune flared to life, this time behind Hikaru.
Pain shot through his skull, a piercing agony unlike anything he had ever known, as if something was being ripped from his very soul.
"AHH—NO! Ginga—!!" He gasped, struggling, but the word died, as if his own mind could no longer recall what came next.
His breath hitched, a deep, unnatural fear sinking into his gut. "W-why can’t I—"
Saya the GingaPink’s eyes were wide with horror as she watched them thrash, their voices failing. She shook her head, fighting against her restraints. "Hikaru?! Gouki?! Say something!"
They tried. They tried so hard.
But their own names, their roll calls, their very existence, were being burned into the stone, etched away from their own minds.
The magician gave a mocking sigh. "What sad little heroes, unable to even say their own names."
A third rune seared into the stone, this time behind Saya.
She screamed, the pain ripping through her chest, her throat tightening like a noose had snapped around it. "NO! NO! I—" She desperately forced her voice forward, her lungs burning with effort.
"Ginga… Ginga P—"
The word fractured, collapsing in her mouth.
She could no longer finish it.
Her teeth clenched, her body trembling violently. "I don’t—I don’t understand! It’s right there!"
The magician laughed darkly. "Is it?"
Hayate the GingaGreen was next, his rune flaring to life.
A gut-wrenching yell tore from his throat as he threw his head back, his vision blurring from the sheer force of the magic.
"Ryouma! We have to—" His voice warped, twisting into an unintelligible mess, his language breaking down into senseless noise.
The words in his head were no longer words. They were nothing.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO US?!" Ryouma roared, his own mind reeling as he watched his team falter, their eyes unfocused, their identities unraveling before him.
The final rune burned into the stone, glowing like molten gold directly behind Ryouma.
His entire body seized, his lungs locking as a white-hot pain exploded behind his eyes. His hands curled into fists, trembling violently.
He had to fight it.
He had to say it.
He had to rally his team, remind them who they were.
"WE ARE—"
But his name was gone.
His mind struggled, panicking, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.
"Ginga—"
Nothing.
He choked, shuddering, trying desperately to recall what he had always known, but the letters, the syllables, the meaning of his very name had been pulled from him.
His breathing turned ragged, his gaze flickering between his teammates. Hikaru twitched violently, his jaw locked in silence. Gouki’s eyes were wide and empty, his mouth still moving uselessly. Saya clutched her own head, her lips silently forming the name she could no longer say.
They had been written into the stone.
They had been claimed.
The magician grinned, stepping back. "And now, it is complete."
The dwarves erupted into cheers, their jeering voices filling the air.
Ryouma gasped for breath, trying one last time.
He looked at them all, his vision swimming.
"Saya… Gouki… Hayate… Hikaru…"
They didn’t react.
Their eyes flickered, but there was no recognition.
Because their names did not belong to them anymore.
And the moment the last rune sealed itself, the first cracks of ceramic began to spread across their skintight heroic suits.
