Defeating Dash Diaz last night at Proving Grounds was an intoxicating rush, a feeling that surged through me like electricity. As I stood over his fallen form, I could practically taste the bitterness of his defeat, and it was delicious. The jeers and boos from the crowd were like a symphony of hatred, and I reveled in it. Their anger was my validation, their disappointment my triumph. It’s a reminder that I’m doing something right, that I’m pushing their buttons and making them feel something raw and real.
Seeing Dash Diaz lying there, defeated and broken, was a sight to savor. Every move, every taunt, it all worked exactly as I’d planned. I played him like a puppet on strings, leading him to his downfall with a twisted kind of pleasure. But it’s not just about Dash. It’s about the audience, about showing them that I’m the one in control. Their emotions are mine to manipulate, and I’m damn good at it.