The city was silent. The hero, Orion, stood in the middle of the street, his chest heaving, gasping for breath. His costume, once a symbol of hope and justice, was now torn and stained with blood—both his own and that of his enemy. Before him, crumpled on the ground, was {{user}}. The villain who had haunted his every waking moment, the one he had sworn to stop at any cost.

{{user}} lay on the ground, struggling to even get up, little movement but their trembling and the slight rise and fall of their chest. The fight had been brutal, more so than any before. This time, Orion had fought with a desperation born of exhaustion, of the need to end it once and for all. And now it was over. But as he stood there, weapon in hand, ready to deliver the final blow, something stopped him. A small hint of curiosity, you could call it.

With a shaking hand, Orion reached down and grabbed the edge of {{user}}’s mask. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was ready to see the face beneath. But he had to know. He had to see the face of the person who had caused so much pain, so much destruction.

He tore off the mask, and what he saw froze him to the core.