One

Anton SavorAnton Savor, Promo

The scene opens in Elysium’s kitchen, where the gleam of a single knife catches the low candlelight. Anton Savor stands before a polished wooden counter, the blade resting before him. His fingers trail along its spine, the weight of memory settling in his voice.

“There was a time when I was an apprentice, Red. A time when I stood in a kitchen much like this one, beneath a chef whose discipline shaped everything I have become.

And in those years of training, I was given only one knife.”

Anton lifts the blade, turning it in his hand.

“At first, I resented it. I watched the others switch between tools. Paring knives, cleavers, fillet blades – eager to prove their worth through versatility. They believed that by handling everything, they would become great at something.

But the lesson was clear.

A man who learns a hundred tools masters none. But a man who masters one tool? He controls the world.”

His grip tightens. 

“I honed this blade for years. I learned its weight, its balance. Its limitations. I did not seek another. I did not change. I did not adapt.

I simply… mastered.

And that is where we differ, Red.”

Anton sets the knife down, his gaze narrowing.

“You have spent your life picking up different tools, wearing different hats, moving from role to role. Convinced that perhaps reinvention is the key to survival.

First, it was a scalpel. Precise, surgical, the weapon of an agent trained to strike in silence. Then, a dagger. Thrust in desperation as a fugitive, carving your way through the dark with no purpose beyond escape. And now? A brutish cleaver, swung with excess, absent of precision or control.

Yet, you’ve mastered none of them.

You are a man who has held many tools, Red. But none of them have ever truly belonged to you. You are not an assassin. You are not a strategist. You are not a ruler.

Still, you drift between lives, hoping that the next one will finally sustain you. That the next identity will be the one that makes it all make sense. But it never does, does it?”

Anton picks up the knife once more, effortless in his control.

“Because identity is not something you change like a tool in your hand. It is something you refine. Something you perfect.

But you have spent your years believing that movement is the same as inevitability. That the ability to change is the same as the ability to endure. But a blade that is never sharpened only dulls. A tool that is never mastered becomes useless.

And you, Red… are exactly that.

Dull. Unrefined. And utterly fucking useless.”

He tilts the blade, letting it catch the light one last time.

“At Warzone, I won’t need to adjust. I won’t need to adapt. Instead, I will do what I’ve always done.

I will carve away the unnecessary. I will correct what is lacking. And I will show you just what it means to wield something mastered, Red. 

Because while you have spent your life switching tools, changing identities…

I have only ever needed one.”