The movements were so fast he couldn't even plan a strategy until the blade came down and there was nothing else to do but accept the reality: he has been defeated.

The fight had just started a few minutes but everything had been so fast, so quick… so unexpected.

He couldn't believe it. All those years of hard work and dedication; all those uncountable nights staying up late to get his technique polished; all his sacrifices, all his expectations, all his hard work… all has been in vain.

The worse thing was he had lost against someone he didn't think about as a potential enemy; the warrior was a quiet and calmed one, he was as silent as deadly and that had been the young one's doom.

The young one didn't know his enemy possessed such impressive skills until now. He knew he should have avoided this fight; something in his mind told him… insisted him to back off. But his pride and the desire of the eternal glory of triumph had been stronger than his reasoning and made him commit this terrible mistake.

And there it was the defeated champion: his weapon hanging from his cold and petrified hand, his mouth and his eyes wide opened in disbelief, admiration… but also in grief and pain. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry… he wanted to move! To do something!

But it seemed that his soul had abandoned his body leaving just a carcass… the carcass of a loser.

"Well, my son… now I think I understand why you like this so much. It is getting late… good night Michelangelo"

The old rat left his still petrified youngest son and disappeared into his room. The orange masked ninja remained in his position.

"I can't believe Splinter just kicked my shell in Mortal Kombat!"

The cold air surrounded him, whispering he was no longer… undefeatable.