"KidPinoy you're Done!"
The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, the sour stench of fear, and the acrid smoke of burning buildings. The crater that once was the city square was now a pit of despair, a testament to the eight-hour battle that had just ended. In its center, a trembling, glistening figure struggled against the weight of an entire army. Kidpinoy, the Shield of the Philippines, was broken. His black compression gear was shredded, hanging in tatters like funeral shrouds. The iconic black eye mask was askew, one lens cracked, obscuring the eye that wasn't already swollen shut. Beneath the ruins of his tank top, his legendary sun-kissed physique was a canvas of bruises, welts, and deep lacerations. His ten-pack abs, usually a symbol of his unyielding core, were now a roadmap of abuse, twitching spasmodically as if trying to ward off the next blow. The ground beneath him was a mess of mud, blood, and the thick, pearly fluid of his own repeated, forced ejaculations. He was down to a singl...