What Ghidorah’s voice said was true. Generation after generation of their tribe toiled and suffered in the Below, for the beasts of old hunted and nearly brought their kind to extinction. They were only able to miraculously survive because the previous leaders were able to bring them to this sanctuary, a mighty kingdom once before, but now abandoned. They were very few when they first entered these halls.

Now, so many years later, they were many once more. The Temple of the Kongs saved them. That, and their undying faith that their god would return to them one day. And now, the Day had come. Their lord returned, and it was within these walls… he suffered.

Emrick stood alone atop the edge of a great drop, within what appeared to be an empty, fully circular amphitheater of monumental size and strength. Lava flowed like veins in the aqueduct-like designs of the temple, flowing down into the pit. Down below, Ghidorah writhed in the depths of the temple, the heat and light from the very heart of the world illuminating the steam and casting his shadow across every towering wall.

With every tremoring cry Ghidorah unleashed, Emrick grew only more impatient. Ghidorah spoke to him through the Voice, and he warned of the mistakes and failures of the past leaders of the Occult. How their namesake betrayed them, how such “Immortal” Priests could succumb to age and death and be buried in a temple meant to uplift power and strength above all. It was but a tomb, and one Emrick could not deny.