09-10-2024, 02:58 AM
Matias took in Michael’s words, absorbing them in stoic silence. The cold, calculated logic behind them wasn’t lost on him, and he knew Michael was right. This place was dangerous, filled with political and literal threats, and buried in its heart waited a man whose hatred toward him was real, justified even.
He allowed his mind to drift, not out of disrespect, but because of the looming test. The mention of creatures brought a flood of images—flashes of a battle that hadn’t yet come.
He glimpsed horrors of flesh and fury that tore through their prey like wildfire through dry grass. He could almost see the thing now, caged but snarling, frenzied and bloodthirsty, a relentless predator desperate for release.
He saw only flashes. A cage door creaking open. A blur of muscle and teeth lunging at him, its guttural snarl reverberating through the chamber. He pictured the creature’s eyes, distantly human but wild and ravenous, fixating on him, and the sudden, violent clash that would follow.
He saw himself losing—nails tearing into his side, sharp teeth sinking into his throat as the world went black. The image of his own body, lifeless, mangled, discarded on the cold floor like an offering to the gods of death sent a chill down his spine. A hundred ways he might bleed to death, a thousand ways in which his flesh would be consumed raw.
But just as quickly, other visions rose up, unbidden. He imagined standing over the broken creature, his breath ragged and victorious. His skin, his clothes soaked in its blood, his muscles aching from the brutal encounter, but still alive. Still standing.
A slow, grim smile touched the edge of his lips. Yes, he could win. It would be a brutal, desperate fight, but he could win. Whether he would or not, was left to fate.
“I will accept your test,” he said with a flicker of resolve to his eyes, but also a somberness. He turned away from Michael, staring out at the horizon, the weight of it all—this place, this trial, this unfamiliar world—settling heavy on his shoulders.
For a long moment, he just stood there, watching the distant trees sway in the wind. When he spoke, his voice was softer, laced with an age that wasn’t there before.
"Hate..." he began quietly, almost to himself. "He has good reason to hate me."
His hand instinctively moved to the crucifix hidden beneath his shirt, fingers brushing against the cool metal. He thought of his family—the cartel, the blood they had spilled, the violence they had wrought, and his part in it all. His father’s legacy hung around his neck like a noose, always choking, always tightening. He might as well wore it side by side with the body of Christ, damnation and salvation side by side—a coin of fate would decide his eternity. Even Matias did not know what end he would face, but he would bear both destinies if such was his atonement.
And then there was Jay. The punch, the anger in his eyes, the rage that had been simmering between them for what felt like an eternity.
Matias tilted his chin up, meeting Michael’s icy stare with one of his own, but it wasn’t defiant. It wasn’t combative. It was clear, unguarded, full of a quiet self-awareness that he allowed himself to show in that moment.
"I seek to speak with him," Matias explained, his voice steady but carrying an unexpected weight, "to ask his forgiveness... for what my family has done to his.”
He let the words hang in the air, knowing how strange they must sound coming from his lips. He, the son of a violent cartel lord, the emissary of Damien, who cleansed the land of people like him, asking for forgiveness? But it was true. He was torn between the blood that ran in his veins and the guilt that gnawed at his soul every waking hour.
He knew it wouldn’t be easy. He knew Jay might never forgive him. He dared not peek into such futures. The idea that one possible path might lead to friendship was too disturbing to contemplate.
But if he was to find some semblance of peace here—if he was to survive this place, both physically and spiritually—he had to try.
Matias exhaled slowly, his gaze still locked on Michael, searching for any hint of understanding, or at least acceptance.
"That’s why I need to see him. To end this… " He squared himself before Michael, pledging himself in exchange for this opportunity.
"...Let me do this, and once I pass this test of yours, I will share the gift I bring to the Ascendancy…. and you.”
He allowed his mind to drift, not out of disrespect, but because of the looming test. The mention of creatures brought a flood of images—flashes of a battle that hadn’t yet come.
He glimpsed horrors of flesh and fury that tore through their prey like wildfire through dry grass. He could almost see the thing now, caged but snarling, frenzied and bloodthirsty, a relentless predator desperate for release.
He saw only flashes. A cage door creaking open. A blur of muscle and teeth lunging at him, its guttural snarl reverberating through the chamber. He pictured the creature’s eyes, distantly human but wild and ravenous, fixating on him, and the sudden, violent clash that would follow.
He saw himself losing—nails tearing into his side, sharp teeth sinking into his throat as the world went black. The image of his own body, lifeless, mangled, discarded on the cold floor like an offering to the gods of death sent a chill down his spine. A hundred ways he might bleed to death, a thousand ways in which his flesh would be consumed raw.
But just as quickly, other visions rose up, unbidden. He imagined standing over the broken creature, his breath ragged and victorious. His skin, his clothes soaked in its blood, his muscles aching from the brutal encounter, but still alive. Still standing.
A slow, grim smile touched the edge of his lips. Yes, he could win. It would be a brutal, desperate fight, but he could win. Whether he would or not, was left to fate.
“I will accept your test,” he said with a flicker of resolve to his eyes, but also a somberness. He turned away from Michael, staring out at the horizon, the weight of it all—this place, this trial, this unfamiliar world—settling heavy on his shoulders.
For a long moment, he just stood there, watching the distant trees sway in the wind. When he spoke, his voice was softer, laced with an age that wasn’t there before.
"Hate..." he began quietly, almost to himself. "He has good reason to hate me."
His hand instinctively moved to the crucifix hidden beneath his shirt, fingers brushing against the cool metal. He thought of his family—the cartel, the blood they had spilled, the violence they had wrought, and his part in it all. His father’s legacy hung around his neck like a noose, always choking, always tightening. He might as well wore it side by side with the body of Christ, damnation and salvation side by side—a coin of fate would decide his eternity. Even Matias did not know what end he would face, but he would bear both destinies if such was his atonement.
And then there was Jay. The punch, the anger in his eyes, the rage that had been simmering between them for what felt like an eternity.
Matias tilted his chin up, meeting Michael’s icy stare with one of his own, but it wasn’t defiant. It wasn’t combative. It was clear, unguarded, full of a quiet self-awareness that he allowed himself to show in that moment.
"I seek to speak with him," Matias explained, his voice steady but carrying an unexpected weight, "to ask his forgiveness... for what my family has done to his.”
He let the words hang in the air, knowing how strange they must sound coming from his lips. He, the son of a violent cartel lord, the emissary of Damien, who cleansed the land of people like him, asking for forgiveness? But it was true. He was torn between the blood that ran in his veins and the guilt that gnawed at his soul every waking hour.
He knew it wouldn’t be easy. He knew Jay might never forgive him. He dared not peek into such futures. The idea that one possible path might lead to friendship was too disturbing to contemplate.
But if he was to find some semblance of peace here—if he was to survive this place, both physically and spiritually—he had to try.
Matias exhaled slowly, his gaze still locked on Michael, searching for any hint of understanding, or at least acceptance.
"That’s why I need to see him. To end this… " He squared himself before Michael, pledging himself in exchange for this opportunity.
"...Let me do this, and once I pass this test of yours, I will share the gift I bring to the Ascendancy…. and you.”
![[Image: Matias-signature.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Matias-signature.jpg)
![[Image: aztec-quetzalcoatl-ouroboros-nikolay-todorov.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/aztec-quetzalcoatl-ouroboros-nikolay-todorov.png)