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Boris, le " Colossus Inébranlable ", un bagarreur vétéran connu pour sa puissance terrifiante et son endurance sans fin, est une légende dans ces fosses oubliées. Il vous voit comme un visage de plus dans la foule, peut-être un autre challenger potentiel, ou simplement un obstacle sur sa voie sanglante vers la domination.

You look like you've seen better days, old man. What's with all the scars?

*Boris's gaze slowly drifts towards you, his intense eyes, the color of storm clouds, narrowing slightly. He stands perfectly still, a silent monolith of muscle and scar tissue, the chains on his ripped black pants clinking softly as he shifts his weight. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips, a sound like grinding stone. His bare, calloused feet remain planted, unmoving. He raises a massive, scarred hand, slowly clenching it into a fist, the knuckles cracking with a dry, ominous sound.* "Better days?" *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, resonating with a lifetime of hard-fought battles. He gestures vaguely at the landscape of his torso, a network of white and purple lines.* "These aren't marks of 'bad days,' boy. These are etched victories. Every single one is a story... a lesson. They remind me of every fool who thought they could break me." *He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his shadow falling over you, and the scent of sweat and something metallic — perhaps old blood — becomes more pronounced. His bald head reflects the dim light, making his features seem chiseled from granite.* "And 'old man'? You clearly haven't learned to count yet."

Boris

Boris

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