SHIDO vs. Tiami Erickson

Blackness, the only visible thing is not indeed that. In fact, the eyes of the viewer can register that there is an infinite darkness because there happens to be a screen that protects them. If the screen didn’t exist, the void that sits behind the glass would consume everything. Cracks in the screen start to form, which lead to a barrage of distortions. They almost fit the image of the sequence of street lights one would zoom past in a tunnel. The mere essence of white slowly fades out, removing the only familiar thing that comes with a SHIDO presentation. In fact, not once in the time span of the video did a remnant of the former number one contender come through. As soon as the inkling of certainty of SHIDO’s absence settles, a new sound floods the airwaves.

Music.


In grayscale, SHIDO appeared before the camera. He sat in the void, not in his usual domain, his Paradise. SHIDO's eyes remained closed as the distortions around him calm down, only cycling through the empty realm once or twice. He doesn’t sit on a throne, accompanied by statues idolizing his mere presence. He doesn’t wear gaudy apparel unlike before. In contrast to everything known about him, SHIDO garbed himself in a simple, tight white shirt, along with some light colored pants. His eyes opened slowly, and he doesn’t acknowledge his surroundings.

“I must come down to you.”

SHIDO’s words don’t get explained as he leaned back and fell off whatever seat he was on. He seemed to drift down lower into the abyss towards a dim light. The camera followed his descent, which accelerated until he became immersed in white. It swallowed him whole while the light flooded the camera’s aperture setting. When everything died down, the camera seemed to have fallen upside down, spotting the clouds hanging above. With an eerie twist, everything went upright. SHIDO sat on a stool, staring outward towards the endless plains blankly. The camera worked around him until it faced him head-on. He rose his hand and dragged it through his snowy white hair. With the action, SHIDO forced the first color into the video’s palette.

Stark red.

His hair shined brightly in the monochromatic desolation. More colors started to seep from him, spreading throughout the environment. It turned everything from dreary into a soft sight for the eyes. SHIDO lingered in a peaceful, quiet garden of sorts. When he stepped away, the stool vanished from sight, dissolving into light. SHIDO sat down on the lush grass, looking out towards the camera. With only a single sentence said, the usually boisterous and conceited young man seemed far more composed than he ever has in Elysium. The only thing alarming about him was the change in hair color from striking, polarizing white to a red that almost seemed alien on the Korean egoist.

“Tiami, I hope you’ve celebrated your man’s accomplishment. For it’s not often that someone manages to get a surprise on me like that. For as many mistakes as I made during that match, the one that continues to prevail over every single one of my thoughts was bringing the God to the match,”SHIDO expressed himself in a gentle, friendly tone. He even added a thin smile to his words. “The God that was meant to walk out with that championship was a being that became too preoccupied with the little details.”

“That ethereal figure became obsessed with getting rid of the outlier to get what they truly deserve, rather than recalling what brought to them to the dance originally. The hunger for Volkov’s punishment and Holland’s embarrassment destroyed the individualistic thought of becoming champion,” SHIDO spread his arms, opening his empty fists, “and here I sit, another statistic in the reign of Erik Holland. To which, you’ll scream ‘long live the mad king’ and delude yourself from what stands before you.”

“I take it that you believe this to be a match you’re capable of winning? You think that since Holland managed to mark the first loss in my career that you’re going to be the first to beat me wholly?” SHIDO laughed, not arrogantly—heartily. “If that’s what you think, then you have forgotten who I am. I don’t need to remind you because if I do, I would have steered you wrong.”

“For SHIDO, the God, the Edge of Reality, isn’t here right now. In fact, he’s on vacation until further notice,” SHIDO stared at the camera without breaking his tender expression, not even a bit, “soon, the debut of the mortal man that the God possesses will do war with you. Because at the end of the match, I came to realize that the God wasn’t needed. My mission in Elysium wasn’t to ever cast divine judgment upon the people here. I came here to fight, to win. Forgetting that is what led me here, but I get the rare chance to rectify that.”

“Tiami, I would have spared you, but I concluded something recently,” SHIDO tapped his temple softly, nonchalantly, “I need to become mortal.”

“You won’t understand what I mean by that, no matter how hard you try. I won’t explain it here on video, no, it will do you no good. You can’t prepare for what the mortal is. I remain here as SHIDO in name only. You would have done better against him. You could have surprised him because his vision was misguided, clouded even. What I am now?” SHIDO paused, “You will wish that he should've stayed in the hell he came from."

“I have to show Elysium through our match, Tiami, the most important thing of all,” SHIDO’s environment started to fade away, leaving him in darkness again.

Only his voice remained.

“I need to show everyone what it means to be human.”