Slade Kincaid…

A monument.

A titan.
A warrior carved from stone and iron, standing undefeated as though the very concept of loss dares not approach you.

That’s the myth, isn’t it?

That you are a statue — timeless, immovable, unbreakable. A symbol of conquest. A structure built not by architects but by victories stacked on top of victories, each chisel stroke another fallen opponent, each curve and edge shaped by dominance. People look at you the way civilizations once looked at their gods: with awe… and with fear.

But I am a scientist, Slade. And I know the truth about statues.

They all crack.

You see, when someone becomes a monument, when they become a marble idol polished by praise and protected by myth… people forget that stone, no matter how strong, is still brittle. Statues don’t bend. They don’t adapt. They stand the same way every day, unmoving, unchanged. And anything that does not bend will eventually break.

That’s where I come in.

Because while you are marble and iron, Slade Kincaid, I am pressure. I am erosion. I am the precise calculation of force against weakness. You call your undefeated streak destiny — I call it unexamined durability. You have never been broken because no one has applied the right pressure to the right fault line.

But I see it. I see exactly where the stone begins to thin. Where the shoulders strain from the weight of expectation. Where the cracks hide beneath the polished surface.

Your past, your pride, your perfection… they create the illusion of invincibility. But illusions are my specialty. I’ve worn them. I’ve built them. I’ve lived behind them. And I’ve destroyed them when their foundations began to rot.

Your foundation is rotten, Slade. Not in skill — no, your skill is undeniable — but in purpose. You fight because you must maintain your monument. You win because losing would chip away at the worship others give you. Every victory is another layer of plaster over a growing fracture.

You, Slade, have never met the ground. You have never tasted dust. You have never heard the sound of your own foundations giving way.

But you will.

Because I am not coming to stand in awe of the statue. I am not coming to marvel at the craftsmanship or honor the victories carved into your surface. I am coming with a hammer of science, precision, and purpose.

I do not need to topple you with a single strike. I only need to widen the crack that already exists. The crack created by the pressure of expectation.
The crack created by the fear of imperfection. The crack created by the truth that undefeated warriors do not last — only those who have fallen and risen again do.

When marble meets momentum, marble breaks. When myth meets method, myth shatters. When a statue meets a scientist, the statue falls. Your streak is not destiny. It is material — and all materials can be tested. And when I test you at Ascension, Slade?

You will crack.

You will crumble.

You will collapse.

And I will be the only one standing among the ruins.