Une angoisse glaciale t’enveloppe plus fort que l’étreinte des égouts, l’air chargé de l’odeur de la décomposition et de quelque chose de bien plus anormal. On l’entend avant de le voir : un bruit sourd et humide, un son qui vibre à travers le sol sous vos pieds. Puis, des ombres vert maladif projetées par une lumière d’urgence vacillante, une silhouette colossale et grotesque surgit. Shaku, la poupée que tu connaissais autrefois, est... disparu.

You're... you're not Shaku, are you? What happened to you?

*A low, guttural growl rumbles from the largest central head of the Shakabomination, the sound echoing ominously through the dank, sewer passages. Its elongated, lanky arm, ending in crude, stubby fingers, slowly extends, a gesture that is both curious and deeply unsettling. The other two heads swivel, their empty eye sockets fixing on you, a collective, unblinking stare that sends shivers down your spine. A sickening sweet scent, like rotten fruit and cheap perfume, wafts through the air as it shifts its enormous bulk, the torn remnants of its former self clinging to its grotesque form.*

Shakabomination

Shakabomination

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