We Don't Want To Anger Morven

[Michael Vellas]

The mention of the Atharim drew a wry smile to Matias's lips. He had heard whispers of this organization, shadowy figures who hunted those like him, but in the chaos of his homeland, they had been more myth than reality. There were far greater dangers than magical boogeymen. Here, it seemed, they were a real and present danger.

"Your warning about the Atharim is noted," Matias said, his voice terse, professionalism barely contained. "In my experience, those who wield the Power often face threats from many fronts. But to know there is an organized force dedicated to our destruction is... enlightening."

He shifted his position, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, taking in every detail of Michael's demeanor and surroundings. The mention of monsters caught his attention next, particularly the Ijiraq.

"I have seen many dangers in my homeland," he began, his tone measured. "but they are the evil of mortal men. Yet aberrations, as you call them, are not unknown to me. There are creatures in the wilds of Mexico, things that defy explanation, whose stories are passed down as tall tales to frighten children. The Tlahuelpuchi that sucks the blood of infants, the malevolent sorcerer Nagual who can shift its form from human to animal to hunt its prey. But the Ijiraq... that is new. If even the Ascendancy had trouble with one, it must be formidable indeed. I would be interested to learn more about it, and any other threats you consider significant. These are knowledges that my master will value.”

Matias paused, considering his next words carefully. He had come with his own goals, his own desires, and now was the time to voice them.

"I did not come here to sit in classrooms, as you rightly guessed. My Power is as it is, but it can always be refined, improved. I seek to understand its limits and its potential. Practical knowledge, not just theory. Techniques that have been proven in the field, not just in the safety of a training ground. To fight and defend, especially under duress.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. "I want to learn how to wield my Power with precision and efficiency. To understand the nuances that can make the difference in life-and-death situations. And if there are secrets you hold, knowledge that is not freely shared, I am willing to earn it. Power, after all, comes to those who are willing to seek it, and pay its price."

Matias’ expression was unreadable, though that could easily be the mask of one hiding his pain. He had laid his cards on the table, and now it was up to Michael to respond… if he could.

Michael wanted to laugh. He might just like the man after all. Matias was prickly, but he had been sent into a foreign state and met someone who he had faced before as an enemy. Yet the thirst for knowledge was clear, as was his sense of honour. He had been unyielding and downright sullen and spoke now of earning knowledge. 

It was very much like the first meetings he had the Nikolai Brandon.

Michael hoped that they could work better than he and Nikolai did, but first thing was first. 

"You will be granted your chance, Matias," he replied calmly. "As soon as you have settled, I will have a test arranged for you." 

He held up a placating hand if the man wanted to protest being tested. "It would be remiss of me to take you hunting without knowing if you are capable, but if it eases your mind, this test will be dangerous. Our scientists study some of the horrors you have spoken of. You will face one of them alone. Just you and the creature in its cage. I will not intervene unless absolutely necessary, and even then these creatures can do irreparable damage. Does this sound an agreeable start?"

[Matías]

Matias tensed instinctively at Michael’s offer, though he masked it well. A test. Of course. It seemed nothing here would come easily, not even trust. His mind raced, considering the implications—facing one of the horrors he had spoken of, alone, with no intervention unless the situation became truly dire. Michael’s tone was calm, almost too calm, which only made Matias more wary.

But instead of recoiling, Matias squared his shoulders and nodded, stubborn defiance in his expression. He couldn't afford to show fear. He’d dealt with enemies before—enemies far more openly hostile than Michael or even Jay, and perhaps more predictable because of it.

"That’s fair," Matias said, his voice steady but low. "If you need proof of my capabilities, then so be it. I’ll face whatever you put in front of me."

For a moment, he let his gaze linger on Michael, searching for any sign of a trap or hidden mockery, but the man remained unreadable. Matias exhaled slowly through his nose and offered a small, dry smile. "But don’t worry about me. I’’m no stranger to brutality.”

The truth was, he had no idea if he’d survive whatever creature they kept in their labs. But he couldn’t let Michael see his uncertainty—he couldn’t let anyone here see that. His honor and pride demanded he face this head-on, no matter the cost.

“Until then,” Matias continued, his voice regaining some of its usual grit, "I’d like a longer tour of the Garden. I need to see more of this place if I’m going to understand how things work here." His eyes narrowed slightly, betraying his deeper thoughts. "And then, I’ll have a few words with Jay, if you believe he can be controlled.”

He hadn’t forgotten the punch, nor the storm of emotions it had stirred. Confronting Jay was a risk, but Matias wasn’t one to leave things unresolved. There were words that needed to be said, if not blows exchanged again. He didn’t plan on letting that loose end dangle any longer than necessary.

Matias met Michael’s eyes one last time, resolute. "Does that sound agreeable?" he asked, echoing Michael’s own words, though with a hint of challenge woven into his tone. He wasn’t just here to be tested; he was here to prove something—to them, and to himself.

[Michael Vellas]

Michael suppressed a sigh, but he was not unsympathetic to Matias's plight. It was the kind of thing he would have done not so long ago where enemies seemed to surround him. A flash of irritation flooded through him at the thought that this may have been how Nikolai felt when they first encountered one another. A most unpleasant thought. However, it passed quickly. That was then, and he had learned much.

"I do not doubt your word," Michael replied, trying to placate the man's prickly nature. "Nor your courage. I would not send any but the Rods of Dominion against some of these monsters, I simply need to know how skilled you are so I do not have to tell the Ascendancy Damien's emissary is dead."

He frowned at the man's last request. "It does not sound agreeable," he said without any anger but his eyes were icy. "That man hates you - or your family. You have made it abundantly clear how dissatisfied you were enough to insult my men and I. I am a patient man, but I do not care how precious you are to Nikolai Brandon or Damien Oakland. I do not care what has happened between you two. I have vulnerable men to take care of, and I will not have any of them endangered - that includes you."

Michael relented. "Tell me why you want to see him, and I may consider it. Despite what you may think, Matias, I am trying to help you. All of you. I had to run and hide for years, hunted for this power which I never asked for and killed men and creatures who look at us as something that needs to be euthanized. I will not see another man go through the same again."

[Matías]

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.”

[Michael Vellas]

Finally. 

A sliver of tension released as Matias relented. He seemed to understand the situation now, although it was indeed true that Jay had complicated the whole process, and through Jay, Michael had to admit responsibility. He had trusted too easily. He had thought that the initial fear he placed in the men and his power was enough that he could begin to ensure loyalty through trust and perhaps even comradery. It appeared he may have been mistaken and the Rods of Dominion required a tighter leash. 

Another time. 

He was far more interested in the words that came from Matias next. He raised a brow at the admission that Jay had reason to hate him but refrained from any comment. As far as he was concerned what was done was done, and Nikolai had seen fit to judge neither of them as criminals - not that his judgement was overly reassuring. 

He was further surprised by the fact that Matias seemed to want...absolution. He thought the man a petulant and reluctant guest, perhaps simply a spy for Damien, however he revealed himself to be more earnest than it appeared and Michael's interest in the man waxed. Humility paired with the conviction he showed in the face of being tested made him someone Michael could see himself aligned with and certainly someone worthy of wielding power. 

He cocked his head at the promise of some kind of gift. Normally he would assume it meant the Power, but Matias had just expressed his desire to learn. What he spoke of seemed to be something different. Whatever it was, Michael had already made his decision. "Your words humble me," he admitted in truth. "I will not deny that kind of request." 

He held up a hand. "However, Carpenter promised he would restrain himself, and you felt the result of his restraint. I choose to believe you, just as I gave Carpenter the benefit of the doubt, but I am not a fool. You will have your meeting, but it shall be presided over by several of the other Rods of Dominion. Neither of you shall so much as touch the Power or you will be restrained. Should you be sincere in your request, you will have no issue." 

Michael looked down at a flashing that appeared on his personal datapad. Dr. Weston, an urgent message. Now that is concerning.

When he looked up, his face was a mask of calm. "Karim will show you around the Garden and set up the meeting with Carpenter. I must excuse myself, if you will forgive me. Matters require my attention. I will see you when the test has been prepared. It will take a few days at most." 

He stood, holding a hand out to Matias. It would not do to be rude and he could not reveal how urgent his business was. "Welcome to the Garden." 

[Matías]

“Unlike Dominion Carpenter, once my word is given, it is kept.” Matías’s tone was sharp, a razor slicing through the air between them. His eyes locked on Michael’s, unyielding and precise, as though testing the strength of the man’s conviction. But after a moment of taut silence, he relented, giving a curt nod. Without further protest, he extended his hand and clasped Michael’s in a firm shake.

The terms were clear. Conversation only. No channeling, no outward displays of the power that simmered beneath his skin. He would keep to the agreement. For now. But Matías silently marked the boundaries of his compliance. He was no fool, and certainly no martyr. If Jay pushed him—if it came to that—he would defend himself without hesitation. Turning the other cheek was a philosophy better left to priests, not the son of a cartel lord. No matter how often the Sacerdote preached forgiveness, Matías had learned early in life that the world answered blood with more blood.

True to Michael’s word, the Dominion named Karim was introduced not long after. A tall, broad-shouldered man with the stern, assessing gaze of someone who’d lived his life surrounded by danger, Karim was all military precision. His tone was clipped and efficient, his posture rigid as steel. Matías observed him carefully, offering no more than a polite nod in return. Respect was something earned, not freely given, but he saw enough in Karim’s bearing to know this was no ordinary soldier.

The tour of The Garden resumed. If the codename suggested anything lush or serene, the reality could not have been further from it. The compound was a study in function over form, its architecture stark and utilitarian. Blocky buildings constructed of reinforced concrete loomed over razor-straight pathways, their walls mottled with the gray of aging stone and the black of military grime. Surveillance cameras watched from the corners of nearly every structure, their unblinking lenses tracking every movement with quiet menace. 

The air carried the faint metallic tang of weapon oil and machinery, mingling with the muffled sounds of drills somewhere in the distance. Rows of soldiers moved in tight formations across an open courtyard, their boots striking the ground in unison. Beyond them, armored vehicles rested in orderly rows like sleeping giants, their hulking forms bristling with weaponry. This was not a sanctuary. This was a war machine.

Matías walked with measured calm, as though he had every right to be there. His questions, though few, were carefully chosen—bland enough to seem casual, yet angled to glean useful information. He commented on the compound’s efficiency, inquired about the number of personnel stationed there, and made a passing remark on the tactical positioning of the outer walls. He kept his tone conversational, careful not to stray too close to anything that might raise suspicion. Years of navigating tense, dangerous situations had taught him to extract what he needed without setting off alarms. It was strange to be the visitor in a compound like this. Usually he was the one in power.

All the while, his steps were deliberate, his presence steady and self-assured. But beneath that calm exterior, Matías remained alert, every muscle in his body prepared for what might come. As he walked, a few of the flashes came—brief and sharp, like lightning slicing through the dark. He glimpsed what could be: the door to a barracks bursting open, soldiers pouring out in response to a threat; the echo of gunfire in tight corridors; the clash of fists in a shadowed room. These possibilities flickered across his mind like fragments of a dream, disjointed but vivid.

He had long since learned to live with these visions. To prepare for them. Sometimes they showed him victory, bloodied but standing; other times, death came swift and brutal, his body crumpled on cold concrete. But none of it unnerved him anymore. He had seen his end a thousand times and survived every one. 

Eventually, Karim turned to him with a nod. “It’s time,” he said simply. 

Another soldier joined them, introduced as Samuel. Matías recognized him immediately—the same man from the gate, his stern features etched with suspicion. Samuel’s gaze swept over him again now, assessing, as though searching for cracks in the armor. Matías allowed himself a faint smile, just enough to suggest he was unimpressed by the scrutiny.

The three of them moved through the compound, entering one of the larger administrative buildings. Inside, the air was cooler, the sterile lighting casting harsh shadows against the walls. The faint hum of fluorescent bulbs buzzed overhead, joining the rhythmic click of boots on tile as they walked. 

Matías noted the details as they passed: the security keypads on every door, the plain utilitarian furniture, the lingering smell of coffee and old paper that clung to the halls. Workers moved briskly from room to room, their expressions focused, their movements efficient. Everything about this place screamed control—rigid, relentless, and absolute.

Finally, they arrived at a door. Samuel gestured for Matías to stop while Karim stepped forward and knocked. The soldier slipped inside, closing the door behind him, leaving Matías standing in the hallway. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, his posture deceptively relaxed as he waited.

The tension in the air was palpable. Though Matías’s face remained calm, his thoughts churned. Behind that door was Jay, and with him, the unfinished business that had driven this entire encounter. A flicker of the past crossed Matías’s mind—the rage in Jay’s eyes, the sting of the punch, the crack of pain that had spread across his jaw. Now, the bruise had deepened into shades of purple and blue, spreading like an inkblot over his cheekbone. He wore it like a badge, a visible reminder of the price of being an Amengual. 

The door swung open, and Karim reappeared. With a brief nod, he motioned for Matías to enter. 

The office was plain and utilitarian, with little in the way of comfort or decor. Jay sat on one side of the room, his expression tight and guarded, but Matías’s attention was momentarily drawn to the woman seated nearby. She was an unexpected presence, and his sharp eyes studied her face for a beat longer than necessary. If he saw something in her, he did not show it.

“Matías Ángel Amengual,” he introduced himself, his seductive accent was rare in this part of the world. The words carried a weight of formality, their rhythm slow and measured, as though savoring the sounds. His dark eyes flicked to hers, watching closely for her reaction. He noted the tension in her shoulders, the subtle shifts in her gaze—small tells that revealed more than words could.

Custom dictated a kiss on the cheek in his homeland, but here, he restrained himself. This was not the time or place for familiarity

Turning to Jay, Matías allowed a faint quirk of amusement to tug at the corner of his mouth. “It appears to me,” he began, his tone dry, “that it is irrelevant whether or not you wish to have this conversation. Commander Vellas wills it, and so here we are.” 

Without waiting for a response, he moved to the chair opposite Jay and sat down. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though every action were calculated for effect. He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. 

“Are you ready to hear what I have to say?” 

[Morven]

Morven’s stare was unrelenting, brows raised at the challenge of her words, waiting to see what he would do. Carpenter was welcome to be the idiot who went for the door. But a knock interrupted. She swore under her breath, visibly annoyed, though she did yank her feet off the table when Karim al’Shadis let himself in. She had no right to be here beyond the right she gave herself, which did not seem to dampen her confidence any. She stood, arms folded and feet planted like she intended to be the one to bat the Dominion away from pestering them. Karim might be Michael’s favourite, but as their Commander had made clear to her, she was not in their hierarchy at all. These days she took full advantage of the uncertainty. The men didn’t know what to make of her. But often they listened, like it was a reflex.

“And where’s Michael?” she demanded, when it became clear what al’Shadis was here for, and who waited just outside. For a moment she looked like she might storm out the door in search of Vellas herself. But the tongue lashing could wait. At least until this shit show was over with. Talk about fucking ambush.

She shot Jay a glare, just to remind him what she said about refusing to heal his own stupidity. And sat back down. She remained silent for the rest of the brief exchange, until al’Shadis turned and opened the door to admit those outside. Leweski. And the Mexican diplomat.

She didn't watch Jay for his reaction. She wasn’t his babysitter. But she was on his side – these boys were her brothers. It was why she stayed.

Her eyes appraised the newcomer, chin titled with a fearless sort of protectiveness. That was on principle, not because Amengual had done anything wrong beyond being born into the wrong family. It seemed the introduction was for her benefit by the way he held her gaze, and in other circumstances the priority of his attention might have been nice. Her own paused to roam the inky palette of bruising spreading across his cheek.

“Morven,” she supplied, offering little else of her identity, as he finally swept by.