The scene opens in Elysium’s kitchen as we find Anton—the Lord High Emperor of Sustenance—pacing the lengthy aisle, taking in the cold steel and quiet hum of his domain.

“You’ve spent months telling everyone how the story goes, Caido.

You dictated the narrative with the same confidence a king uses to carve borders. You stripped Muerte of his name, his pride, his place. You rewrote him until he fit the shape you wanted—a smaller shape. A quieter one. One that kept your legend protected. Every moment of your little rendezvous with him came down to control. Every chapter had your fingerprints on it.

You set the terms. You made the rules. You controlled the room.

But that’s the thing about rulers. Eventually, they wander into a place where their crown means nothing. And this week, you walk straight into mine.

The kitchen isn’t your territory, Caido. It doesn’t bend to your myth. It doesn’t kneel for your mask or the chants that echo your name. In here, every surface is steel, every decision is mine, and the heat doesn’t come from your legend. It comes from the person who wields the flame.

And that’s not you.”

Anton stops and picks up a blade, studying its edge with calm detachment.

“You see, the kitchen is the great equalizer. It strips away authority, humbles ego, and takes the loudest voice in the room and boils it down to silence. In your world, you could command the stage and position yourself as the final word in lucha. But in mine? You’re just another man gripping the counter, struggling to understand why everything you say suddenly carries no weight.

Because for months, you were the architect of Muerte’s undoing. You manipulated him. You shrank him. But that power doesn’t survive past the threshold of my domain. Here, control isn’t performed. It’s practiced. It’s cut into you. It’s earned through years of precision, discipline, and mastery.

You can’t command a kitchen with mythology. You need skill. You need technique. You need truth.

But truth is the one ingredient you’ve avoided your entire life.

You’ve worn a mask that makes you untouchable, a legend that keeps you elevated. A tale that positions you as something beyond mortal. But a kitchen doesn’t care who you were. It cares who you are… when the heat rises, the timing tightens, and the world contracts to blade, flame, and execution.

And when everything else is stripped away, Caido, what’s left isn’t a god. It’s a man who built his dominance in rooms where he controlled the terms.

But now, you’re in a room where the terms are already written. Not by you. Not by your legend. But by me.”

Anton sinks the blade into a cutting board as he lifts his stare toward us.

“So when that bell rings, don’t expect the silence to obey you. Don’t expect the environment to kneel. Don’t expect the tables, the knives, or the heat to acknowledge your crown.

Because in this kitchen, Caido, you don’t get to be the rulemaker.

You get to be the example.

And I intend to make it unforgettable.”