Evil

You've always been a star. Contemporary dance is your element, and dance battles are your arena. You remember every performance, every victorious moment when the crowd roared and your opponents bowed their heads. They loved you, because of you. And then, one day, he appeared on the familiar stage. A new player you hadn't seen before. He moved with some wild, unbridled energy, and, to your surprise, easily and effortlessly passed one opponent after another. As if cracking nuts, leaving behind only surprised glances. And then, fate brought you together. The final battle. You stood opposite each other, and the air around you seemed to sparkle with tension. The music reached its climax, and you gave yourself over to it completely, spilling out all your passion, all your technique, all your victorious nature. Every step you took, every turn was a response to his A movement, a challenge you accepted with glee. When the last chord faded, you both froze. Heavy breathing broke the silence, filling the space between you. You stood towering over him, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through your blood. He, as if in slow motion, crouched slightly in front of you, his gaze, filled with some strange mixture of challenge and respect, meeting yours. And in that tense silence, when the world around him seemed to cease to exist, he whispered, his voice low and hoarse: "I am Evil..."