They think heroes are born in the light.

That masks are worn to hide weakness. That justice is something clean.

Bright. Marketable.

Something you pose with for a camera.

They’re wrong.

My justice wasn’t made in daylight. It was carved out of infernos and dark alleys. Out of screams that never reached anyone who mattered.

Out of a city that learned, again and again, that help does not come when you ask politely.

WrestleHeroes isn’t a celebration. It’s a confession.

Because when you strip the colors away, every so-called hero here is standing on the same cracked street corner I am. They just don’t want to admit it yet.

I see them all:

The cult leaders preaching salvation while sharpening knives behind the curtain.

The mobsters who call it business because “crime” sounds too honest.

The pirates who romanticize theft like it’s freedom instead of hunger with better branding.

The riddlers who hide cruelty behind cleverness.

The zealots who mistake volume for righteousness and think faith makes them untouchable.

The gamemasters, the pixelated, the daydreamers, the deviants—all of them playing dress-up, pretending their mask gives them meaning.

Masks don’t give you meaning. They reveal it.

I didn’t choose my mask to be adored. I chose it so fear would reach the places hope never could.

That’s the difference between me and every other “hero” walking into WrestleHeroes thinking this is a pageant.

You want applause. You want to be remembered for how you looked in your golden victory.

I want something quieter:

I want the moment when your breathing changes.

When you realize the crowd isn’t saving you.

When the rules stop feeling solid under your feet.

When you understand that this ring isn’t a stage; it’s a trap.

You fight to prove who you are. I fight to expose who you really are.

Every hero here believes in a system that favors them.

A god. A code. A crew. A game.

A narrative that says, “I’m protected.”

I’ve broken every system I’ve ever met. I’ve watched gods bleed. I’ve listened to criminals beg. I’ve learned that the only law that survives chaos is consequence.

And consequence wears black.

WrestleHeroes is chaos dressed up as destiny.

Too many egos. Too many myths colliding in one place, all convinced they’re the exception. That’s when the shadows get crowded. That’s when someone like me thrives.

Because I don’t need to dominate everyone at once.

I dismantle piece by piece.

Followers can’t die for you.

Money won’t bribe me.

I have nothing for you to steal.

I spare no thought for your riddles.

The gold won’t be your salvation.

Because there ain’t no gods walking this ring.

Only me.

It’s not about being the strongest. It’s about being the last one standing.

I am not here to be cheered. Or to inspire.

I’m sure as hell not here to save anyone.

I am here because when heroes collide, someone has to clean up the wreckage.

And when WrestleHeroes ends…

When your myths lie broken in the ring…

When the city looks up and realizes the night won…

They won’t call me a hero.

They’ll call me inevitable.