Huh. So that’s what that feels like.
Silvio blinked dazedly from his place laid out on the canvas. The hazy afterglow of his chaotic proselytizing flowed languid through his limbs.
God, he’d missed that.
Hadn’t even realized how much until he’d heard the music hit; felt his pulse jump and his stomach flutter in anticipation.
It felt like sin wrapped in velvet and he didn’t even try not to touch.
But it was done now.
Now things were different.
Now he was bruised.
And that woke up an instinct wholly unmoored from anything having to do with Spooky.
He nodded along to whatever it was Ref Jeff was saying; assuring him he was going to be okay. The din of the impulse flashing in his mind drowned out everything else. But before he could properly heed its call, he had to take the first, crucial step.
Get up.
“I have a villain’s backstory.”
Silvio is dressed in an immaculately tailored suit of red so deep you could mistake it for black. He wears a black button-down shirt with a white tie, fastened in place by a red club pin. He’s seated in his customary high-backed chair, deck of cards in a stack on the wooden table before him. Candles, half melted and clinging to the corners, illuminate the little alcove with warm, flickering light, casting Silvio’s features in stark relief. His hair is smoothed back from his face, making the planes of it sharper.
Leaning forward, he smiles, looking sheepish.
“I’ve never really used to consider myself to be a dangerous person. Growing up, I didn’t have much going for me. Bad family situation, no money, scraping by and sometimes having to do things that may or may not have been entirely on the right side of the law. Avenues to a better life were closed off to me for no other reason than someone wanting to indulge in a petty cruelty. I have every reason to be bitter, angry, and resentful of the world; how unfair the people in it have chosen to be sometimes.”
Closing his eyes, he shakes his head, still smiling.
“But, God, that’s tiring. Sustaining hatred, internalizing it and letting it sour your heart into villainy, demands an effort that is truly exhausting.
“Nevertheless, maybe your estimation was right, Cat – that I am an affable devil. Carnage’s gentleman demon. If that’s true, it’s only in service to what I really am.”
He shrugs, raising a brow.
“I realized,” he says, picking up his deck and beginning to shuffle, “that I am something dangerous, but it’s nothing as impractical as a villain.”
In a practiced motion, he spreads the cards across the table top. Disturbed by the movement, the candles send shadow and light shivering across his form like frozen ghosts.
“I’m a survivor, and there is always risk in keeping company with people like me. Our instinct for self-preservation is significantly elevated. We will do whatever it takes to keep our destruction at bay, and woe betide anyone who tries to interfere. We are taught to let others die if it means we get to live. And when someone threatens your survival by striking you down?”
Leaning back in his chair, he folds his hands loosely on his lap. The candlelight glints off his teeth and eyes, reaching directly into the subconscious to unearth ancient, instinctual fears. Fears of something sharp and hungry waiting just beyond the safe circle of firelight that humanity huddled around for warmth and comfort.
“You put them six feet under.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“Exactly what I said. Aren’t you the one with educational aspirations? Let me spell it out for you. ‘N.O.’”
“But-! Why? You barely have to do anything! You just have to sign the paperwork and I can send it in! I already filled everything out with the counselor at school! I can’t send it in if you don’t finish the last parts! It’s the only thing I can’t do!”
Silvio paced to the extent the trailer would allow him, phone held to his ear, heart sinking into his stomach. He felt almost delirious, emotions crashing against the inside of his skin like a stormy sea caught in a bottle. His breath was coming shallower, throat growing tight.
“You’re so smart, use that big brain of yours. Just apply for scholarships or something.”
“I can’t!” Silvio raked a hand through his hair, trying to tamp down the panic and rage that were crowding the edges of his vision with white. “That’s the point! You’re my dad – you can still claim me on your taxes until I’m 24.”
“Well, I don’t. And what’s that got to do with anything?”
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t. All of the grants and scholarships I’m eligible for have to have proof of financial need. That means I have to submit my financial aid application with proof of your income. I can’t apply on my own until I’m 24.”
There was a loud snort on the other end.
“This is rich. You call me out of the blue after not talking with me for over a year and you want something from me. People are only good for what they can do for you, huh, Silvio? Everybody’s just a walking means-to-an-end. I warned you what being high-and-mighty would get you.”
Silvio froze, a creeping realization seeping into his body like January cold through a cheap jacket. He could feel his grip on the future beginning to loosen. The words his father spoke rang dissonant in his brain, the young man’s eyes darting around the trailer as if for confirmation of the contrary.
“I…was the last person…who stayed with mom. I took…care…I took care of her.”
“You ran to hide behind her skirts after your wish came true. Don’t pretend it’s anything other than looking after your own skin. You told me to disappear? I did. Now you gotta be a man and deal with the consequences.”
“I WAS SIXTEEN!”
The words erupted from Silvio with an intensity that held every iota of righteousness he’d tried so valiantly to contain. He felt a white-hot purity surge through him, his vision clouding, his body a cage for an anger whose enormity threatened to break the bars. No one else made him feel like this. And as frustrated as he was that this was being brought out of him, the force was irresistible, and his capacity for this petty sadism was finite.
“I was the child! You were the adult! I was angry because you were acting like it was the other way around! I should never have been calling bars trying to find you or driving you home in the middle of the night! And then you left! You just–”
“Shut-up. You’re supposed to look after your family, no matter what. I put a roof over your head and food on your plate, and when I needed help, I got your judgment instead. Well, sometimes you gotta give your family a little tough love. You can’t always get your way. So you have to wait until you’re 24 to get your money to go to college. So what?”
“That’s…six years from now-!” Silvio practically choked on the words, the floor feeling as if it had fallen out from under him.
“And? It’ll be good for you; teach you some humility. You gotta get a regular job and work like everybody else. Who knows? You might lose that smug superiority complex you got.”
While his father was speaking, Silvio hadn’t noticed he’d sunk to his knees. He was light-headed, dizzy, and couldn’t seem to breathe deeply enough.
“Don’t call again.”
As the line went dead, Silvio’s hand slowly fell to his side, the phone tumbling from his fingers to the carpet. Shortly after, not seeing any point in doing otherwise, he curled up on the floor beside it. He’d never thought of a temporal concept like, ‘The Future,’ as a living thing. He’d never thought of something without a pulse as being able to die. Could you grieve for the death of a possibility? Would it be perverse to mourn hope?
Maybe his father was right after all; maybe he didn’t need college. Because Silvio was learning all sorts of new things, and he hadn’t even set foot inside a lecture hall.
“I was right about one thing, if nothing else. None of us left 100 the same people we were going in.”
He reaches out and draws six cards toward him with one fingertip.
“And I think that’s good. With change comes focus; clarity. So, I decided to do a little introspection based on what you were saying about us being, ‘peas in a pod.’ And as it turns out, it’s interesting where the Venn Diagram overlaps between us. But, put a pin in that for now. How are you feeling coming off your win, Cat?”
Turning over the first card reveals a demonic creature perched on a plinth, a pair of chained demons standing before him.
“Still got this in your system, huh?”
Smiling, he taps the card.
“Last time when we saw The Devil in your reading, it was what you feared. Well, looks like 100 didn’t banish those ghosts. Are they ever far from your thoughts now? No matter what’s on your mind, do they hover and color every aspect of your day? You’re feeling the pull of temptation and you don’t believe you have the strength to withstand it.”
The second card that’s turned over shows an illustration of a crowned man riding a chariot drawn by black and white sphinxes.
“Oh, but you want to,” the Oracle chuckles. “The Chariot represents drive; the will to succeed no matter what the cost. But I can tell you from experience that momentum isn’t enough. You can charge ahead with all the speed and strength your will can muster, but it doesn’t mean you’re progressing toward anything. In fact, all you may actually be doing is preventing yourself from falling behind.
“There’s a big difference between maintenance and progression, and as much as you may want to, I don’t think that you can claim the latter.”
Turning the third card over shows a woman in white robes and a mitre seated between two columns. At her foot is a crescent moon.
“I mentioned in my last reading that you believed you could find the best advice for life within yourself.
“You may be having second thoughts about that. The High Priestess represents intuition; inner or secret knowledge. But what happens when the well of wisdom you draw upon comes from a poisoned source? That’s what you’re afraid of. If your intuition is off – too heavily influenced by the people you’re so determined not to emulate – do you even have a chance? Or is this all just an exercise in futility against the inevitable?”
When the fourth card is turned over, an illustration of a young man walking near a precipice, a bindle over one shoulder and a dog capering at his feet is shown.
“This is what you have going for you. The Fool. You’re good at taking risks and navigating the unknown. That much has been clear since Isolation, and you certainly showed it was true at 100. Being adaptable is important, but at what point does risk-taking turn into foolhardiness? It’s a fine line, and maybe at 101, my best bet is to push you until we find out where it’s drawn.”
The fifth card reveals a silk-swathed woman suspended in the air, greenery surrounding her, a pair of staves clutched in her hands.
“The World. This is what’s working against you. Completion.
“You said that I was the best wrestler at Carnage, and your win came down to luck. I’d never disrespect you or Marlowe with the insinuation that your victory came from anything less than your skill. But jeez, Cat. You never quite seem to get the wins the way you want, do you? Trent Steel had been your White Whale, and now you’re feeling uneasy about the win you got over me. It’s never quite right, is it? Never quite complete. And let me make something perfectly clear. When it comes to that win at 100? The one we’re going to try to settle cleanly here at 101?”
Leaning forward to illuminate his features and cast them into stark lines of light and shadow, he murmurs to the viewer as if sharing a promise spoken in a secret tongue.
“It never will be.”
The final card that’s turned over reveals an armored skeleton astride a black horse, a banner held in one of its hands emblazoned with a white rose.
“Huh. Look at that.”
Picking the card up between two fingers, he smiles. It’s the kind of smile, though, that strikes at something primal. Something to remind the viewer that in the wild, animals show their teeth as a threat. A carnivore’s grin.
“This was my card for the last reading. Death. Profound transformation. I was right about that, but I was wrong about how. Having a title, assuming an identity, is something that is always in flux. Who we are can change from hour to hour. But certain things are innate – once changed, they can never turn back. That’s on me – the cards were telling me everything I needed to know, I just misread them.
“But that’s okay. Because now I get it.”
Sitting back in his chair, Silvio spreads his arms out to either side of him.
“Any title – any gold – here at Carnage can change hands over and over. But having that gold doesn’t irrevocably change the person. They can lose, regain, and lose again. The belts will always be there to try for. That won’t change, and there’s always the possibility to earn one in the future.
“What has changed is my record. And that is something that can never change back.”
Leaning forward, Silvio smiles, voice sweet and dark as honeyed smoke.
“You and I can lose and take titles between ourselves over and over again. What we can only take from each other once is an undefeated streak. And, Cat, if I ask myself which I’d prefer between the two?
“I want the one you can never recover. And it looks like I might just have it.”
“Jesus Christ, kid! I was worried sick about you!”
“Go away. I’m sorry about not showing up to my shift, but I just…can’t fucking deal with anything right now.”
It was the first time Silvio had spoken to another person in two days. When his phone battery ran out, he hadn’t bothered plugging it back in. What was the point? The world wasn’t interested in listening to him or telling him what he wanted to hear; needed to hear. Here at least he could pretend there wasn’t a world with people outside to disappoint and hurt him. It was small; manageable. He could handle this.
“The last thing I’m doing is leaving you alone.”
About to protest that the door was locked, Silvio remembered giving Leslie a spare key while he’d been taking care of his mother. If Perla needed anything and her son wasn’t able to get to her, his boss and tattooing mentor could. Cursing under his breath for forgetting, he squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the lock opening.
He hadn’t moved much since the conversation with his father. Enough to take care of the necessities, but not much else. In spite of his growling stomach, the thought of eating was too much to bear; just the idea of food triggered an involuntary gag reflex.
But that was fine. It simplified things. He was sick to death of complications and complexities. Above everything else, he craved ease; normality. He was tired of the twists life seemed intent upon hurling at him. When was enough enough?
Wasn’t there an option to just not exist for a while?
Door swinging open, Leslie stepped into the trailer, a look between disapproval and concern caught up in her craggy features. Her face reminded him a bit of Lincoln; deep-set eyes, prominent nose, and weathered skin. Her wild, grey hair was currently held back with a leather thong, and the short sleeves of her magenta t-shirt showed off her heavily tattooed arms. Looking down at Silvio seated on the trailer floor, propped upright with his back against the wall, she shook her head.
“You called your dad?”
He nodded vaguely, the effort to move even that much feeling immense. “He won’t finish the paperwork and I can’t get financial aid without him until I’m 24. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
Sighing, Leslie crossed her arms. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that prick. I swear, I’m going to deck the fucker if I ever meet him. And I’m sorry everything has to be put on hold for that long.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “It was keeping me going. Even when it got to the worst point with mom, I just kept thinking, ‘No matter what happens, there’s something waiting for you on the other side.’ I just…held onto that hope.”
“It’s nothing you have to let go of. Listen, hon, you’re young. There’s something you still have to learn that only comes with age.”
Silvio let out a broken little laugh.
“Yeah?”
“You have to learn how to wait. For people like us,” she said, gesturing around the trailer, “life takes longer to get started. We’re just not beginning the race at the same point as other folks.”
“I can’t…cope with this; with all the work I did being for nothing.”
“It’s not for nothing,” Leslie said, kneeling on the floor in front of him. “It’s just not time for it to start working for you yet.”
That sad laugh came free of Silvio again; the last leaf falling from a tree.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“Well,” Leslie mused, getting to her feet again, “before you can make any decisions on that, you have to do one first, crucial step.”
“What’s that?”
Offering a hand, Leslie leaned forward.
“Get up.”
“It must be reassuring to know, from the moment you come into this world, what you’re meant for. It must make you feel so precise; slicing through life’s troubles with a blade forged in certainty. There is a purity in that. But that’s not necessarily a good thing. It simplifies you; makes you feel like it’s all that you are. It closes off possibilities. If it’s what’s always been expected of you, and you go along with that expectation without question, what options are you unknowingly sacrificing?”
Picking the cards up once more, he begins to shuffle.
“I mentioned how I’d been considering what you said – about us being so alike. Both of us are high fliers, we’ve both taken down company stalwarts, and both have a penchant for radical video game tattoos. You alluded to us being both wicked and divine. Angels from Hell or Devils from Paradise. But I think the biggest thing we share is the biggest thing that divides us.
“Like I said – I have a villain’s backstory. By all rights, I should be heeling it up with the heeliest heels this promotion has to offer. Really get my dark brooding on.”
He glances around, looks himself over, and gives the audience a cheeky little grin.
“Don’t judge me by the set and get-up today – it’s Halloween.”
Spreading the cards out on the table, he considers before drawing one toward himself.
“But I’ve never felt the temptation to take that plunge to the Dark Side. Meanwhile, Cat, you’ve had every advantage. Affluent, famous family…”
He pauses, shrugging.
“…or infamous, depending on your point of view, who had your destiny ready for you to step right into. And you’ve been trying to resist some evil impulse every step of the way.
“I’m going to hazard a guess that you’ve never had to worry about where your next meal is coming from, let alone where your life should be going. We both have backgrounds that put pressure on us. You come from a dynasty.”
Silvio raises a brow and gives a sardonic smile.
“I know who my grandparents were, and that’s about it. You come from everything. I come from nothing. And that – not the spooky candles and fortune-telling – should terrify you. Because if the difference between a creature and a monster is whether God accepts or rejects it? I think the categories we each fall into are pretty clear. And the division of our motivation and self-understanding is stark.
“Here’s the thing, Cat. If you’re a creature, you have your path plotted out for you. You’re welcomed. You’re told what you are, so you don’t have to worry about figuring it out. It’s a much easier place to begin. You’re a professional wrestler descended from lucha royalty. You demonstrate that pedigree every show you’re on by performing incredible feats of athleticism and being a tenacious fighter. All of this is done in order to win gold.
“The problem is, that motivation is external. As a creature, the world is expecting you. It has your table ready and your appetizer on the way. Not the case when you’re a monster. The world didn’t ask for you, so you’d better justify your existence constantly if you even want crumbs from the table. There’s no external motivation, so the only place to find it is by turning inward, getting to know yourself, understanding what you want, and why you want it. That’s not easy; it takes time. But it’s worth it.”
He lifts his hands, moving them as if weighing something on a scale.
“I know who I am because I had to work for it. You think you know who you are because you believed someone when they said you were special; part of a legacy. Why go looking for something else or engage in serious introspection when someone says you’re already worthy of inheriting a legend? Who wouldn’t want to believe that? It’s a golden cage fit for a creature beloved by its god.”
Lowering his hands, Silvio takes a deep breath in through the nose, then exhales through his mouth. He half expects to see smoke coiling out from between his lips. His eyes briefly close, then turn back to the camera.
“But me? I believe we’re at our best when we constantly question and search for our better selves; challenge the status quo and the roles others assign to us. I believe in the power of controlling your own narrative, and feel that Carnage provides the appropriate platform for mine. I get to engage with the Legion in a visceral, dynamic story told in the medium of blood, sweat, and tears. And it’s a tale that makes the world bigger for the people who hear it. It’s one that says, ‘You don’t need a special lineage to accomplish great things. Anyone can do this.’ I am going to win this match because at the end of the day, it boils down to one simple fact that separates us completely.”
Gaze hardening, Silvio continues.
“Regardless of what direction you take it – hero, villain, or otherwise – someone else chose this life for you. I am choosing this life for myself. Being the Chosen One pales in comparison to being the One Who Chooses.”
Finally turning over the card he chose for himself, Silvio reveals a woman kneeling on a riverbank holding two ewers of water. Above her, the sky is rife with stars.
“The Star,” he says, smiling. “Hope. Faith. Renewal.”
Winking, he kisses the card and flicks it at the camera as the scene goes black.
“See you at 101, Legion.”
oracularmysteries 