“We meet again, Martillo Negro de la Muerte.”
TRIV nibbles on his chocolate. Slowly. Delicately. Keeping the world guessing.
“You were my first singles match here. You were in my first triple threat ever. And now, here you are again. Apparently, Uncle Slam has a fetish when it comes to us facing off. I, the rookie destined to be smashed and you, my reoccurring nightmare. I, the man rolling the boulder up the hill and you, the very rock that threatens to crush me. You scoff at my very existence, Señor Hammer. Surely a force of nature such as yourself can crush me for good regardless of the match. Surely you can crush my bones into dust this time, right?”
He shakes his head.
“Wrong.”
Even at a whisper, the word seems to echo. The scene expands, revealing the very same tapestry that was the site of him nearly getting obliterated by El Supervilliano. Contemplative fellow, indeed.
“I came into MASQ not knowing much about this world that seems to have spawned you out of whole cloth as nothing more than darkness and pain. Your mindset is singular: destroy. Conquer. Punish the weak. You barrel headfirst into a nihilistic future in which all is forfeit. And in many ways, you are right. Everyone dies and everything passes.”
His fingers trace along the ragged fabric.
“Would you like to know why I talk about my people so much? Why I hang on to it so dearly instead of completely erasing it like the Mistery? It is simple, Señor Hammer. When I think of my father, I think of him sitting at my bedside telling the stories of his father and grandfather. I think of watching him finally winning the championship, bringing it home, and him helping me raise it above my head.
I also think about his flesh still warm even though he was gone. I remember the whispers from the neighborhood. It is embedded in my head. First time is a tragedy. Second time is an eerie coincidence. The third time is when it becomes a curse. This must be how you see yourself in this instance, no? You see yourself as the curse that will kill me.
I hate to be the one to tell you this. But you are too slow to make the claim. I was already marked for destruction long before you even existed. It’s a matter of time and circumstances. Many where I come consider it inevitable. Sometimes, I think so too. And yet, here I am. I will fight off my fate until my last breath. Eventually, the legacy I am trying so hard to keep thriving even in the most warped of ways will fade into history. The name and blood I share will be left to dust.”
TRIV bends down and places a flower on the ground, in memory of the forgotten.
“But it will not be because of Martillo Negro de la Muerte. No matter how many chances you are given.”