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Endwalker Dungeon Mini Boss

hopefully this doesn't get Square Enixed
the original audio/video was uploaded on YouTube by Hanji
https://youtu.be/1DlzSTYAS_4
Copyright: Square Enix
original composer: Yasunori Nishiki

Agustín-(The playwright/The prince of Theives) Champions of the continent

hopefully this doesn't get Square Enixed
original audio/video was uploaded on YouTube by Hanji
https://youtu.be/TZbYrAYA8c8
Copyright: Square Enix
original composer: Yasunori Nishiki

Pardis III-(The Scholarking/Master of all) Champions of the continent

hopefully this doesn't get Square Enixed
original audio/video was uploaded on YouTube by UNB 
https://youtu.be/xfDgTUnf1b4
Copyright: Square Enix
original composer: Yasunori Nishiki

Ceraphina-(The Charitable) Champions of the continent

hopefully this doesn't get Square Enixed
original audio/video uploaded by UNB
https://youtu.be/4sagZ4UJ7mg
Copyright: Square Enix
Original composer: Yasunori Nishiki 

Limbo/Shadow Puppet themes - Champions of the continent

Never—no, never—could they have imagined it.
That an encounter with an extraterrestrial civilization might come to pass. Yes, the probability existed. But it seemed so infinitesimal, so distant, that it belonged more to dream than to calculation. Humanity lifted its gaze to the stars, convinced that if such a day ever arrived, it would be written in the heavens.

And yet…

The worst nightmare took shape.
Yes, a civilization existed—alien, monstrous, and all too real.
The encounter came, but not where we expected.

No… not in the firmament.
Not in the frozen infinity of space.

But beneath our feet.
Beneath the Earth’s crust.

It was there we found them.
A swarming immensity, ancient and foul. The air reeked of damp stone and rotting flesh; the ground quivered beneath the innumerable stirrings of their bodies. In the dark resounded the chittering of their limbs, the wet rasp of their breath, the obscene scraping of flesh against stone. Even the most battle-hardened souls felt their minds split, for to gaze upon those shapes—nameless, writhing, obscene—was to stand at the very threshold of madness.

And this discovery… tolled the death knell of mankind.

For we then understood that we had never been the masters of this world.
That our empires, our religions, our sciences were but fragile ornaments resting upon a treacherous surface.
Since ages older than ocean and mountain, beneath the weight of stone and fire, the true sovereigns had slumbered. Their memory already haunted our myths: Hades, Tartarus, the underworld—forebodings repressed, disguised as legend.

We were but a fleeting dream, an illusion of autonomy.
And already, in the bowels of the earth, something stirs.
The true masters awaken.
Their hour is not to come—
it has come.


==============

Jamais, non jamais, ils n’auraient pu l’imaginer. Qu’une rencontre avec une civilisation extraterrestre puisse advenir — certes, la probabilité existait. Mais elle paraissait si infime, si lointaine, qu’elle relevait davantage du songe que du calcul. L’humanité levait les yeux vers les étoiles, persuadée que si ce jour devait survenir, il serait écrit dans le ciel. Et pourtant… Le pire cauchemar prit corps. Oui, une civilisation existait — étrangère, monstrueuse, et bien réelle. La rencontre eut lieu, mais pas là où nous l’attendions. Non… pas dans le firmament. Pas dans l’infinité glaciale de l’espace. Mais sous nos pieds. Sous la croûte terrestre. C’est là que nous les découvrîmes. Une immensité grouillante, ancienne et fétide. L’air empestait la pierre moite et la chair en décomposition ; le sol vibrait sous le fourmillement innombrable de leurs corps. Dans l’obscurité résonnaient le cliquetis de leurs membres, le râle visqueux de leur respiration, le frottement immonde de chairs contre la roche. Même les âmes les plus aguerries sentirent leur esprit se fendre, car contempler ces formes — innommables, grouillantes, obscènes — revenait à marcher au seuil même de la folie. Et cette découverte… sonnait le glas de l’humanité. Car nous comprîmes alors que nous n’avions jamais été les maîtres de ce monde. Que nos empires, nos religions, nos sciences n’étaient que des ornements fragiles posés sur une surface trompeuse. Depuis des ères plus anciennes que l’océan et la montagne, sous le poids de la pierre et du feu, les véritables souverains sommeillaient. Leur souvenir rôdait déjà dans nos mythes : Hadès, le Tartare, les enfers — autant de pressentiments refoulés que nous avions déguisés en légendes. Nous n’étions qu’un rêve fugace, une illusion d’autonomie. Et déjà, dans les entrailles de la terre, quelque chose remue. Les véritables maîtres s’éveillent. Leur heure n’est pas à venir — elle est venue.

The Hour of the Depths

No one can hear your screams 
When they left you there, Tuthankhamun's Tomb
Anubis on your shoulder
The cackle from the jackal fills the room
Thousands of scarabs cover your body
Ready to devour your mortal remains
Onset of crazy fever 
Slowly driving you insane

Powerful Khepri
Can you save me ?

Alone with the Pharoh king
Waiting for the barge to the underworld
Gold and diamonds, all possesions
Fall to the floor as the shroud unfurls
Trapped in the tomb, you gasp for air
And pray to Ra for your release
Whole body slowly failing
As you sit and wait for the final feast

Only your soul
For eternity


Pardis III-(The Scholarking/Master of all) Champions of the continent

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Miles Huenefeldt

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