Blackjack vs Hiro Shin-Mozas (I Quit Match) [No Contest]

[Cartwright]

8th April 2024 - 28th April 2024
One Day Auto-Hit or Auto-Recover

The following contest is The I Quit Match.

The only way to win this match is to make your opponent say the words I Quit!

 

[HiroShinMozas]

The time in the night was growing short. There were only two matches left, and as the bell rang and the lights focused from across the crowd to right at center ring, the fans followed in cheers.

"The following contest...is an "I QUIT" MATCH! The only way to win this match is to make your opponent say the words -- "I quit". If Hiro Shin-Mozas loses this match, he will be forced to LEAVE WWF:G."

The lights in the arena would again shift to take the spotlight off of the ring announcer, going off completely as the arena was bathed in darkness. The crowd began to pick up steam once more from the change, and as the titantron lit up they were pulled back in. A video with a timestamped date of 7/2/18 filmed in low quality would begin playing, showing an empty ring in what seemed like a run down barn. There could be heard some rustling in the background, but soon somebody would come into frame entering the ring. He was cleancut, in a grey sleeveless shirt and shorts with elbow and knee pads -- and a noticible scar near his neck. The fans began to cheer as they come to the realization that it was Hiro Shin-Mozas on the screen -- six years in the past.

"Alright, alright -- I'm going to try and flatback here, alright. We got the ropes -- yeah, we got the ropes down just fine. I feel good with the bounce, but I need to start with this bump here now. I can't keep putting it off. Let's see if I can take it."

An unknown person joins Hiro in frame, and the two establish a collar and elbow tie up. They seem to have done this thousands of times already as it smoothly transitions with Hiro putting him in a side-headlock. The opponent begins to push Hiro forward with the two hitting the ropes, Hiro getting flung across the ring as he lets go. The rebound comes, and as Hiro returns to center ring he is dropped with a shoulder tackle. He slams down onto the mat, and is unmoving at first. The opponent gets up worried and begins to check on Hiro who isn't responding right away as the video fades away to a replay of last year's Wrestlemania. Hiro Shin-Mozas is in the ring looking around at the crowd of 70,000 at So-Fi Stadium in Los Angeles.

"If I am not right here in the middle of this ring, risking my life with each and every GOD DAMN bump I take, then WHY SHOULD I BE ALIVE?"

Hiro's words from that night were imposed over a replay of Hiro doing his now well-remembered bump from that night at Wrestlemania, his ability to get right back up and the reaction from a stunned crowd. The footage cuts back to the ring in 2018, and Hiro finally getting up after the bump, wobbly and in real pain but rejecting any help from his training partner. He stumbled around and hits the ropes again, using them to keep on his feet. He motions to his partner to do it again, and through a lot of trepidation, he obliges. The same sequence of events, Hiro bumps and stays down...but with everyone, he gets up quicker and quicker. He feels the same amount of pain, but the tolerance builds up quickly. The will to go on returns. The video feed then cuts to a montage of Hiro being pinned, constantly. There is a clip of him falling from the ring in the Watch Your Step match after having his face rammed into the post. Salem lighting him on fire, Cartwright crushing him, and Jamie Bader walking away from the ring mouthing "Die Mad". The titantron would then go black again, with the lights remaining out for another thirty seconds or so as the antsy crowd grew louder and louder...and finally, they would be rewarded with the moment they'd been waiting for.

Mama, they try and break me
The window burns to light the way back home
A light that warms no matter where they've gone
They're off to find the hero of the day
But what if they should fall by someone's wicked way?

Still the window burns, time so slowly turns
Someone there is sighing
Keepers of the flames, do you feel your name?
Can't you hear your babies crying?

Mama, they try and break me
Still they try and break me

"HE WILL SURVIVE" lights up the tron in brought orange letters with the signature of Hiro Shin-Mozas filling in the space beneath it. The lights around the stage would glow bright orange and blue and strobe about as a curtain of pyro drops from the top of the set over the entrance way. Metallica's "Hero of the Day" began to play to a warm reception, and as Hiro Shin-Mozas appeared from through the curtain of fire the cheering from the crowd raised a few decibels. Hiro was in his usual gear, with the black replaced by a deep blue and the orange more neon than usual -- and his ring jacket now lacked sleeves, showing off the disgusting state of his mostly healed arm. His skin had become permanently discolored and the scar across his once burned flesh was prominent, but so were the many other scars on his body. They all told a certain story that linked to here, right here, at Wrestlemania in Philadelphia. The Ethnic Enigma would stand atop the stage, prepared to face death in it's eyes tonight and kick it's teeth back down it's throat -- for the Cuban was not prepared to die, not then, not now, not anytime soon. Hiro would throw up his arms and strike a pose, the curtain of pyro behind him finally stopping, and the lights going back out again with the music stopping. The only light now was the flash from phones, but with the sound of one strum, the lights would return with the titantron returning to something a lot more familiar "HIRO" in bright white letters.

On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha
You can listen to the engine moanin' out his one note song
You can think about the woman or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wanderin' the way they always do
When you're ridin' sixteen hours and there's nothin' there to do
And you don't feel much like ridin', you just wish the trip was through

Here I am
On the road again
There I am
On the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page

The pyrotechnics were back at is as several shot up from around the stage and titantron, Metallica's "Turn the Page" beginning from the ashes of their previous record. Hiro would start his trek down the ramp, looking out at what could very well be the last crowd he would ever see. A mass of life that would potentially be irreversably scarred if Blackjack got his way tonight...a live execution will usually stay with those who bare witness. There wasn't an intention in the world for Hiro to quit tonight, however -- he would have to be killed if Blackjack were to win. The fear and anguish was still there, deep within, but Hiro had pushed it as far away as it would go. If there was ever a time for the God of Will to return to the forefront, it would be now -- and Hiro was counting on that side of him to make itself known and guide him to a victory tonight. He made it to ringside and took a moment to highfive some kids right at the corner, as well as Hiro Shin-Mozas SUPER FAN Leonard Linton who was position in his familiar front-rown seat -- and when he was done, he would walk up the steps and slip into the ring. The fans were as far behind him as they could be, the cheering deafening despite the fact that the show was hours in already.

"Introducing first....CURRENTLY RESIDING IN MCINTOSH, SOUTH DAKOTA, HE WEIGHS IN TONIGHT AT 232 POUNDS....HE HAS THE WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILL TO GOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON, HIRO.....SHIN......MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS!"

The fans screamed his name along with the ring announcer and Hiro was moved nearly to tears by this. The Ethnic Enigma ripped away his ring coat and tossed it to ringside, running his hand over his freshly shaved head as he tried to contain the emotions that ran through him. As his music died out and he was left with just the cheers from the crowd and an incredibly loud "LETS GO HIRO" chant, his heart started to pound something fierce. The reality was setting in. This was about to get ugly long before it would go the way that Hiro wanted it to. He wouldn't cheat death this time -- he'd make him quit.  

[The Number Three]

Hiro stood defiantly in the ring, awaiting the inevitable appearance of violence incarnate. Despite the roar of the audience, there was a stillness that laid heavy on the night. Blackjack had escaped from prison again, and again. He had made his plans known to the whole world; he had even managed to get his name billed on the most grand stage WWF:G had. If there was any one place the most wanted man in the country could be counted on to be, it was at WrestleMania. Where then, were the cops?

There was the typical local police, providing a sense of law enforcement at the event housing thousands upon thousands of bodies. Aside from the standard contingent of security, there was no one. Marshal’s should be swarming the building. FBI agents should have the entire city locked down. The DoJ should have special forces dress in plain clothes. All of them should be on the highest alert to apprehend Blackjack the moment he appeared for this obvious sting on a match.

There was no one.

Their absence was conspicuous.

The audience milled and waited with Hiro, scared for what was to come. The whole world was waiting for a monster to make his appearance.

Blackjack was never one to disappoint. He stepped out onto the stage with a small plastic kiddie pool in one hand, and a 5-gallon jug full of an inky black liquid. He tossed the pool on the ground at the top of the ramp and pulled a microphone from his pocket.

Dressed in his usual well fitted black suit, Blackjack looked as if he should be giving a speech at a board meeting. He hefted the jug of liquid up and started pouring it into the kiddie pool.

“I feel as if I owe you an apology, Hiro.

I had such extravagant plans laid out for you. It was going to be the match of your life. The final match, but your magnum opus to be sure. I feel as though I'm playing the part of the tease. I've primed you up, built this whole mystery around the switchblades, and guided you down a path of self discovery that; as it turns out, leads us both to nowhere.

I'm tired.”

The jug glugged along as he spoke.

“I was never meant to last. My style of fighting isn't conducive to this industry. These morons want to see us fight. They want us to spill our blood, but only so long as we can get up and do it again tomorrow.

When I was given a chance, I thought, maybe I could change that. Maybe I could return this industry to it's roots. Rewind it back to the days of gladiatorial combat to the death, with just a modern flair.

I was lying to myself.”

The fluid pouring into the pool quickly covered the bottom, but it would never fill the pool; not from just that one jug. The jug continued to pour, the fluid inside was viscous. It poured like motor oil, and smelled acrid, like burning pitch.

“I was always meant to be temporary. A respite for the whole of myself. But I was greedy, and I clung to control. I refused to relinquish it without my dream coming true. I thought I had the strength to do it on my own.”

The jug finished disgorging its contents into the pool and was tossed aside.

“I don't.

I'm tired.”

Blackjack stepped into the pool, the liquid deep enough only to cover his shoes. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and used it to ignight a cigar.

“I managed to hold on this long to come here, at this moment because I wanted to say goodbye. I've done that now, so I'll be leaving. But before I do, say the words.

I know you won't, I knew you wouldn't. I was thrilled with the chance to kill you in front of all of these people. To make them my accomplices. Unless you quit now, you won't be fighting for your life.

You'll be fighting for your soul.”

His final words reverberated throughout the arena as he dropped the still lit lighter into the pool. The moment the flames touched the surface it erupted into a pillar of fire that flashed so bright it could have illuminated the arena on its own. Then it was gone, and Blackjack was gone with it.

Screams and panic filled the arena. The audience was unsure of what they'd just witnessed. Blackjack just immolated himself, but where was he? The pool remained, with it's shallow black oil still faintly burning. All signs of Blackjack had vanished.

Answers came when the lights shut off. For most people the buildings lights were enough to leave the arena dark. This allowed the myriad of cell phone screens to turn the arena into a glittering field of stars. Not this time. The arenas lights shut off with audible booms. The exit signs flickered and died. The leds that line walkways shut off. Every single light source in the building abruptly shut off, leaving only the light of a thousand phone screens.

Those lights faded. Not all at once. At first they shut off one by one, people scrambling to inspect their phone trying to to turn them back one. Then more winked out. Dozens at a time until there were scant few remaining, and finally they too, shut off.

The building was bathed in true darkness. The light was gone and panic began to set in. Then someone screamed and the dam broke. Screams and cries of terror filled the darkness, threatening to turn the thousand of bodies into a churning meat grinder as people would inevitably trample one another searching for an escape from the oppressive darkness.

Panic was staved off when soft blue flames flickered up in the pool. The only source of light and it was barely enough to highlight a silhouette. But it was enough.

The screams died down, and silence once again filled the arena. All eyes watched the small circle of flickering blue flames. They watched as something broke the surface of the liquid. Something rose up and the shape of a head emerged.

It wasn't done, whoever the head belonged to kept rising, coming up through the liquid as if it were fathoms deep instead of mere inches. The head was smooth, save for two curved protrusions on either side of the crown.

The hush that had swallowed the audience broke as murmurs started to swell. The audience was confused, and didn't know what to make of the performance art before them. They were here for WrestleMania, not an interpretive play.

A hand rose from the liquid, the flames giving way as it gripped the edge of the pool. Then another hand, and before long the arms pulled themselves out. Shoulders broke the surface as a man composed of darkness rose from the liquid. Finally he was standing, though somehow he was standing in the floor, his knees came just above the top of the pool.

A familiar black demon stood amidst the flames as they danced along his body. The demon opened his eyes, and as if that action gave sight to the audience every light, every led, every emergency exit sign, every phone; all came to life as one, and blood red eyes stared down the ramp at Hiro.

Liquid darkness dripped from his body and he stepped up out of the pool, taking the remaining fluid with him. He stood at the top of the ramp, a clean unburned plastic pool and an extinguished lighter the only remains of Blackjack.

The demon stretched and twisted his head around, cracking his neck along the way. He twisted, turned, bent, and moved as if testing out his body for the first time. He held his hand out casually waving his palm, and produced a microphone from thin air.

His dark flesh seemed to drink of the light around him. The reds of his eyes were the only distinguishable feature, until the stark white smile split his face. He held the microphone up to his mouth, grinning broadly.

“Hello Hiro…

I'm back.”

The demon took one step forward and covered the entire distance of the ramp. He stood now, at the apron looking up at the startled expression on Hiro’s face.

“And it was all worth it, for that one look, right there…”  

[HiroShinMozas]

The Ethnic Enigma felt a pit in his stomach as he looked up at the stage, Blackjack appearing finally. The ridiculous kiddie pool…the jug, what the hell was he doing? The confusion would seep from the crowd directly into Hiro as he too couldn’t understand for even a moment why Blackjack was apologizing. How dare he, after all this time, try to apologize to him. How dare he think he had any right to be tired, after all the lives he took, and the hundreds more he terrorized. The way he spoke as if he had arrived in wrestling to be some sort of sick and twisted savior, a man who failed at ushering in a renaissance of death in combat sports.

Hiro’s eyes began to water as he grew angrier and angrier. The emotion would bubble in that deep pit, starting to fill it with all the words that Hiro wished he could say. He took a few steps forward and leaned over the ropes with his mouth wide open, but nothing would come out. He was mute in the moment, his emotion overcoming him as once again…Blackjack proclaimed he was just tired. He would then step into the pool, a combined murmur from the crowd that wondered just what he was standing in. The cigar was lit. Hiro cringed, but remained stoic in his demeanor as Blackjack said goodbye. The murder, in an oddly genuine way, hoped Hiro would just quit before the match even began. He wanted to kill him, that was for sure…but it seemed that whatever was coming next would be a fate worse than death.

Then the screaming began. Hiro’s eyes, bloodshot and stinging as he started up at the pool, would not break the trance. Blackjack had set himself on fire, and shock was setting in. The Ethnic Enigma couldn’t fathom why, and much more horrifying how, Blackjack had seemingly disappeared in a horrific fireball. Then, as was with so many moments in Hiro’s life the past decade…things went dark. Slowly but surely, the lights in the arena were killed, and fans would get louder once again as they tried their best to set up their phones to provide some sort of a view. Hiro backed up a few steps and began to lose himself in the deep black of his surroundings.

He tried to focus on the lights of the phones, but in time, they too would disappear and create a true ball of darkness in southern Philadelphia. That was what made things a horror show for all. The screaming of fans who were prepared to run for their lives was all Hiro could hear as he dropped to his knees, his eyes and mouth still wide open as he tried to scream but nothing would come out. Suddenly, the same darkness he’d been lost in while retired had come flooding back. The darkness he saw when he fought for his life in the hospital after Blackjack stabbed him. The darkness in his heart that had been building up since a year prior. Hiro would rock on the ground, back and forth, the screaming intensifying. All over again, despite the work he’d put in with a therapist and to get back into ring shape…Hiro was suffering yet another fall from grace.

What would have been a final mass casualty event at the hands of Blackjack would not come to pass, as just as things were about to get out of hand, a blue flame would provide the slightest bit of solace. While the flames left behind by Blackjack carried the aura of death, of destruction, of finality…the blue flames on the ring represented something different. A beacon. A rebirth. The warmth one would use to shelter from the cold nips of death, not realizing that the smoke they would breathe in would alter them forever. The fans slowly went silent, and in the blue flame…a silhouette rose.

Hiro raised his head, looking up and struggling to see what exactly was coming out of that pool…all he knew was that it made no damn sense. He shook as he stood again, staggering back to the ropes and using them to stay standing. The first hand emerged and stifled the fire, and then a second -- removing further light from the arena and sinking it back into darkness but only temporarily. This creature took an unfathomable step out of that pool, and as he did so the lights would return to the arena…all at once shooting back on and blinding Hiro momentarily. He took a step black and threw up his hands to his eyes, rubbing them free of the shock. The fans were stunned into silence, but gasped as the microphone appeared in the demon’s hand like magic. Hiro’s bloodshot eyes would scream out for help as his mouth shuttered and he again tried to choke out words -- but still could not. He realized what he was looking at now, and as the demon greeted him, he was sure of it.

The Number Three once again walked among the living.

Hiro was unmoving, petrified as if he’d made a wrong move towards medusa. Three would take a long step and suddenly find himself on the apron, Hiro falling backward onto his a** from the breeze created by his movement. It made no sense. It was horrifying. There were tears rolling down his cheeks, his mouth wishing to scream but still unable. He slid back slowly, trying to create distance. It was in that moment, Hiro had heard in a voice in the midst of the moment. He looked, and behold, the white horse Blackjack -- and the name that sat on him was The Number Three, as hell followed with him.  

[The Number Three]

Three stood on the apron; feeling the top rope in his grip again for the first time in what to him, felt like an eternity. He looked past his hand towards Hiro, taking a moment to focus on the look of bewildered fear that marred Hiro’s face. Three’s red and yellow eyes bore into Hiro’s soul, bearing down on it with pure excitement for what was to come. He almost spoke, then didn't. Instead he held his hand out, finger outstretched, asking for just a moment.

He turned his back to Hiro, and spun a slow circle on the apron. Three took in the sights, awareness returning to him in waves. He had been gone far longer than he had intended. Blackjack was only ever meant to last a few months. His eyes scanned the crowd. He had no words for them, they were not who he was here for; he simply enjoyed the sight. Eventually he turned back towards Hiro.

Bending down slowly, Three stepped through the ropes. He walked into the ring until he was standing before Hiro. His features were almost impossible to make out through the darkness of his complexion, just two eyes that stared unblinking, and a grin of white serrated teeth. His most distinguishable feature was his horns. They protruded from the sides of his head and curved upwards into points; and just like his skin they were so black as to seem a void in Hiro’s vision.

He looked down at his skin and chuckled.

“Do you like it? It's like a new coat of paint. I do believe the color is called, ‘Darker than Black.”

And just like that, Three held the microphone out to Hiro.  

[HiroShinMozas]

Hiro remained stunned as he tried to study the body of The Number Three -- a man he assumed had been burned to death long ago and what never be seen again. Suddenly, the realization became quite apparent: Blackjack nearly killed Rosario and Dean Johnson over their fake Number Three stunt...because he was The Number Three all along...or was he? Hiro couldn't figure out what reality was at this point: The Number Three, a man he'd rarely if ever interacted with, truly showed that he was not a being of this world. He was not one of the gods that had dominated the business, and yet he carried that same otherworldly aura. Hiro's gaze broke free of Three if only for a moment as his body jolted, a twitch down his neck as Three circled about on the apron caused his head to shoot backward. He pushed to a knee and saw nothing, but that paranoia wouldn't leave anytime soon.

As he turned slowly to face Three again, the demon had entered the ring. Hiro's face moved upward to look at his body, prestine once more as it had been in the past -- but with a face that came only during a night of sleep terrors. He questioned if Hiro enjoyed the look, and then turned the microphone to him. Hiro's entire body lit up with heat as if he'd now been set ablaze, but to the surprise of everyone, he reached out his hand. He stopped just short of the microphone, and pulled back slightly. Finally, it seemed as though he would be able to push some words out. He started to cough out a bit, it picked up be the microphone.

"I...I qu....I...I can't believe this."

 

[The Number Three]

Three rolled his eyes at Hiro’s hesitation. He pulled the microphone away and turned his back to Hiro. He looked around at the audience, and it felt so surreal. To be back in the ring again. His ring. And to have orchestrated this night. Three inhaled deeply, his body seeming to swell in size, and he exhaled smoke that gravitated around his bare feet.

He turned with a feigned expression of shock. Mocking Hiro with an infantile voice. “Oh no? What can't you believe?”  

[HiroShinMozas]

Hiro was still unable to come to terms with what was happening. The thought that, this whole time, Blackjack and Three were the same guy as Hiro was understanding it...that Three tried to kill him. He wasn't accepting it, and yet -- as it the case with many a hero before him, his body began to move on its own. He stood on his own two feet, a stark contrast in look between he and his opponent made even more obvious. As Blackjack turned, and he let out his mocking disrespect, Hiro's first clenched. His eyes glared downward, begging for the muscles to stop. He internally screamed, he pleaded for his own brand of mercy.

Hiro Shin-Mozas reared back and attempt to drive a punch square into The Number Three's nose, and as he did so -- despite there being no ref in sight, the bell would ring.  

[The Number Three]

Three's body tensed, his instincts warning him before Hiro even struck. His narrowed eyes watched Hiro c**k his fist back. Instead of answering Three's question, Hiro decked him in the nose. Three took the hit, the impact loud enough to be caught in the microphone. As the sound of Hiro’s initiating attack echoed throughout the arena, it was joined by the cries of an audience as bewildered as Hiro.

Three signed and shook his head. Ignoring the bell, he continued on. “Hiro, I know Blackjack put a lot of effort into winding you up. But I need you to hold it in just a little longer. This is your WrestleMania moment. This could be your last match, ever.

Don't blow your wad.”  

[HiroShinMozas]

Hiro's punch landed completely on target, smashing in Three's nose...but it meant nothing. The Ethnic Enigma didn't move as his hand come falling back to his side, pain radiating throughout his knuckles. He was too frightened over the lack of a reaction that he tensed right back up again, standing his ground before Three out of necessity -- he simply had no other response. Hiro looked down at his hand, and what worried him more than anything was a lack of black. He had hit Three as hard as he could in the moment, and none of that black paint, that tar, that void -- none of it had come off. As though they were merely chatting, Three asked Hiro to just wait a little bit longer before they really got into things. He was desperate for the man before him to savor what was going to be the biggest, and perhaps final, moment of his career.

Hiro finally moved, beginning to back away from Three while managing to stammer out a few more words: "W-Wh...Why are y-yo-yo-you doing this?"  

[The Number Three]

Three smirked and looked around at the audience. He was beginning to notice them more, as if they were only now becoming real. “How many of them out there remember me? Half of them weren't even born when I died. Don't you think, they deserve some answers?”  

[HiroShinMozas]

"Je-Jesus Christ..." Hiro backed up all the way to the ropes farthest away from Three. He hadn't faced that reality until it was brought up from the man himself: The Number Three was killed long ago, and now he was back and scarier than ever. How was this possible? What did Blackjack have to do with this? What importance did Hiro have from the get-go that caused him to fall into the crosshairs of Three? There were several questions that needed to be answered, but Hiro wasn't sure if he was ready to hear them. The Ethnic Enigma grit his teeth, clenched his fists again and stomped forward -- attempting to drill Three with an incredibly loud whip-like overhanded chop to the chest!  

[The Number Three]

Three smirked and shook his head. “Close… but not qui…” Three continued talking as if he were going to ignore Hiro’s attack. Once Hiro committed, Three’s free hand shot up and caught Hiro’s chop, stopping it dead. Three's grip was hot, not hot enough to burn, but his skin was hotter than a person's skin should be. “Not. Quite. But you're close. I was there for his resurrection. I'm not ashamed to admit, he was much better at it than me.” Three raised a foot and pressed it against Hiro's stomach and shoved, just hard enough to push him back.

“I'd like to think mine had more panache.”  

[HiroShinMozas]

As Hiro's arm was grabbed, he felt an sincere burn from this skin-on-skin contact. He had attempted the chop with his left arm, the one covered in a long scar and burned skin. The feeling of Three's hand reminded him of the pain Salem Croft had put him through by lighting him on fire...perhaps the same pain Salem had felt back in BBW when Hiro used Blackjack's blade to carve him up in route to winning the world title. Hiro was kicked back and he stumbled into the ropes, gripping them tightly...perhaps all for dear life. Three spoke of being there for the resurrection, a continued reminder that this was no normal person before him. Hiro wasn't on the microphone like Three, but his shouts would still be picked up enough that the fans at home would hear him.

"I don't care, I don't CARE about what you were there for! Why ME?! Why did you get ME wrapped up in this, we barely even knew each other, so why ME?!"

 

[The Number Three]

Three laughed; it sounded wrong, as if multiple people were laughing together. Hints of Blackjack’s lunatic laughter mingled behind Three's deep barks. He cut his myrth short, locked his eyes on Hiro's and took a step closer as he spoke. “Because…”

Another step closer, “there is no one else…”

Closer, “strong enough to endure what's to come.”

He stepped once more until he was standing inches from Hiro. The heat of his aura engulfing Hiro.

Lurching forward Three shoved Hiro into the ropes and then yanked back sending him running across the ring.