There was always a witty retort, a smirk, a cocky smile. Mathew was the best at what he did. He didn't just think it, he knew it. He had risen through the ranks, and he had defeated every opponent yet in this game of metaphorical chess. Threats and tricks, bluffs and lies, all moves in this verbal game, where his life hung in the balance. He had played it since birth, and he had excelled at it, becoming the Lord of an entire board of hapless pieces, all attached by tiny little unbreakable strings.

With the cracking of bone and the ripping of flesh, the silver spoon was driven deep into the vampire's chest. Propelled by inhuman strength, it crushed the organs and pulverized the bones.

And for once in his life, Mathew has no retort. Faced with this simple act of horrific suicide, his smirk was wiped from his face, his usual cynicism nowhere to be found. His world revolved around wants and needs, and the manipulation of such. And yet, that simple image of a man stabbing himself to death at the merest order, turned his entire view upside down.

His entire life, Mathew had played this game. But that was nothing compared to Bedhivere's experience.

".... yes. Lucy, stop the countdown. It... it didn't really do anything anyway. The nuke was set up to a deadman, the countdown was mostly for show...." The words came out just slightly too fast, garbled, as Mathew tried to return to his calm state of mind. His thoughts had been thrown out of order, and he was attempting to scramble the pieces together. For an awkward moment, he thought of what to say. His curiosity had been dimmed, and his ambition seemed almost childlike in the face of this stark wall of death.

Finally, Mathew simply picked up his tablet and left, remaining silent as he walked through the ornate decorations of the house. Old paintings of stern nobles stared him down, as he walked away, feeling every bit defeated. He had escaped with his life, but not with his dignity. In his arrogance he had walked straight into the lion's den, and walking out unharmed felt almost surreal. Was he not enough of a threat to deal with?

"Drive."

Mathew sat down heavily in the back of his limousine, surrounded by the fruits of his work. A car worth more than most people's houses, a fortune on wheels. He had more like it. And yet, it had never been enough, it had never managed to fulfill his lust for power, his lust for control. He needed more. He didn't simply want to have more than anyone else - he wanted to have everything.

Smiling, Mathew raised the tablet, as he made a little note for himself. He had been defeated, there was no doubt about that. But he would not fall. He would need to set a new goal, and once more he would rise above the common rabble.

He would best the Collector, and he would take it all. In the end, he simply wished to own the world.