Anton Savor… el chef del horror.

You stand in your kitchen of blood and bone, proud of the meals you create, proud of the sins you season into every dish. To you, Arcadia is a menu, and its people? Ingredientes.

Pero escucha, amigo…

There is an old saying in my cultura:

“No todos los ingredientes son para cocinar.”

Not every ingredient is meant to be cooked.

And that is where you and I begin.

You look at the world like a chef who has lost his soul. You carve, chop, and butcher anything that breathes, believing that if you throw enough meat into the pot—meat of heroes, meat of villains, meat of the innocent, meat of the damned—you will create something magnificent. Something worthy.

You believe your dishes make you powerful. You believe your cannibalism gives you strength. But just because you throw everything into the stew, hermano… doesn’t mean it tastes good.

That is your flaw. Your fatal error. Your rotten philosophy.

You mistake quantity for quality. You mistake cruelty for mastery. You mistake shock for skill.

But a true chef—un maestro—knows that the most dangerous thing in the kitchen is not the fire, not the blade…

…but the ingredient you cannot handle.

That’s who I am.

El ingrediente prohibido.

The forbidden ingredient you should never dare place in your pot.

Because when you try to cook something powerful, something ancient, something forged in the Templo de los Huesos—something made not of flesh but of legacy, honor, and lucha—your dish does not become stronger.

It collapses.

It curdles.

It poisons the chef who made it.

You think you can carve me like you carved others?

You think you can season me with your violence, simmer me in your malice, serve me on a platter like one of your trophies?

No, hombre. No puedes.

You cannot cook what cannot die. You cannot chop what is already carved from legend. You cannot consume what was born from the bones of warriors.

I have fought demons. I have wrestled gods. I have faced men who knew no fear, women forged in fire, monsters born from hell itself.

And you?

You are a chef who hides behind his apron, believing the horrors he stirs into a pot make him fearsome.

When we stand together in that ring, you will learn what every foolish chef learns when he tries to cook something beyond his comprehension:

Some ingredients burn the hands that touch them. Some ingredients ignite instead of simmer. Some ingredients—los sagrados—destroy the meal entirely.

When you throw me into your stew, I will not blend. I will not soften. I will not break. I will boil over. I will ruin the pot. I will shatter your kitchen.
And I will burn the chef who dared think he could season a dragon.

Anton Savor, at Ascension…

You will taste defeat.

And trust me, amigo—it will be más picante than anything you have ever cooked.