The scene opens in Anton Savor’s kitchen. On the counter lies a single beaker filled with a murky bubbling liquid. Anton stands over it, his gaze calm and calculating.
“Alchemy. The ancient practice of turning lead into gold. The dream of transforming something regular, something base, into something extraordinary.
It was the ambition of fools who believed that they could rewrite the laws of the universe. But alchemy has never produced gold. And you, Nox, are nothing more than a modern day alchemist.”
Anton picks up the beaker, turning it in his hands as the bubbling intensifies.
“You thought that your fumes could rewrite the rules of Arcadia. That a realm of such turmoil would bow before your gas filled schemes. With your toxins and special gas, you sought to transform yourself into something more than a man.
You wanted to distill anarchy into control, Nox. You believed yourself to be the philosopher’s stone. A catalyst for dominion, not disorder. But do you know what those alchemists always failed to understand?”
He sets the beaker down, the bubbling growing more erratic as the smoke thickens.
“They never quite realized that the process itself was flawed. You cannot take something corrupted and turn it into purity. Likewise, you cannot wield chaos and expect it to create order. It just doesn’t work.
What you poured into Arcadia wasn’t control, Nox. It was destruction, consuming everything around you. Including yourself.”
Anton grabs a metal spoon and begins stirring the liquid.
“You believed that you could rule an entire level of Arcadia. That your gas would make you its despot. But what did it do instead? It burned too hot and spread too far, until even you couldn’t contain it.
You weren’t a king, Nox. Rather, you were just a man who believed too deeply in his own delusions. And well, where did that lead you?
To Deathrow. To the harsh reality that your alchemy had failed.”
The liquid in the beaker starts to bubble over, spilling onto the counter.
“You wanted nothing more than to be a god, Nox. The master who could recast anarchy into control. But instead, you became the very instability you sought to command. You weren’t shaping chaos into order. You were the chaos itself, leaving ruin wherever you touched.
Because you were never the philosopher’s stone, Nox. You’re a pretender, crumbling beneath the pressure of your own flawed ambition.”
He picks up a cloth, carefully wiping the spillage as his tone hardens.
“At Vendetta, I will take what remains of your chaos and reduce it to nothing. I will dismantle your illusions of grandeur and expose you for what you really are. A man who tried to turn lead into gold and ended up with nothing but ash.”
Anton places the beaker into the sink, turning off the heat beneath it as the bubbling finally stops.
“Because when I’m finished with you, Nox, there will be no room for second chances. Your experiments, like your ambition, will shatter underneath the weight of my precision… leaving nothing but silence where havoc once reigned.”