This week, I face a man who doesn’t fight to win. He fights because losing feels familiar.

Destructo.

I’ve been watching you for a long time – long before I stepped foot in Olympus. You used to practically wear a hero’s cape. You used to pull people out of wreckage, not leave it in your wake. You were fire, just like your parents – dangerous, but purposeful. Controlled. You burned bright for the people who needed you in Arcadia.

But fire doesn’t stay tame forever, does it?

I know what happened. Your mother, first – gone in an instant. A spark in the dark, then a haunting silence in the aftermath. Something that brought an unimaginable pain to your soul. You carried that pain like an ember, tucked close, too proud to let it stop you.

And then your father years later. Another loss. And this time, it broke something in you that never came back. You couldn’t carry the pain this time.

You’ve been burning ever since.

Not the kind of flame that warms, but the kind that devours. You push people away like you’re doing them a favour. You singe every hand that tries to reach for you. And now, you fight not because you want to rise, but because falling feels honest. Almost like you deserve it.

You don’t want glory, I can tell that much. You want impact. You want noise. You want to make everyone see your pain. You want to hit the mat so hard because you might feel where your father once hit the same mat. But most of all you want to take someone else down with you just so you don’t feel so lost in your grief.

But here’s the truth, Destructo: You’re not the only one who is lost. You’re not the only one who is scarred. You’re just the one who decided to let your pain define you.

I’ve been through it too – loss, collapse, regret. I’ve stood in places where the only thing left was the echo of what used to be. I’ve faced the kind of hurt that eats people alive, and I’m still here.

You think you’re the fire. But you’re just a man still running from the smoke.

But I’m not here to put your inferno out.

I’m here to weather it. Because pain doesn’t make you strong on its own. It’s what you do with it that counts. And right now, you’re not healing – you’re just hurting everyone who gets too close to the flame.

So come at me. Bring the heat. Bring the fury. Bring whatever you’ve got left after the world took everything you loved.

But when it’s over, when you’ve thrown every punch like it’s your last breath and the smoke clears – you’re going to see me still standing.

And you’ll have to face the truth.

Ashes aren’t the end.

They’re only the beginning, you just have to be brave enough to build again and rise from them.