Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 63: Team Assembled?

The Askert brat just stares at me, her yellow eyes wide for a heartbeat—and then she doubles over, laughter bursting out of her like she can't help herself. The sound echoes weirdly in the ruined corridor, a little too loud, a little too close to hysteria. Elijah and the shorter boy both shuffle back a step, glancing at each other like they're not sure whether to join in or run for cover. She keeps laughing, wiping at her eyes, until she finally looks up and realizes I'm not joking.

"Wait, wait—" she gasps, catching her breath wiping tears from her eyes, "you're deadass?"

I shrug, the smile never leaving my face. "Why wouldn't I be? The bastard needs to die. And the proctors are either mia or busy with his accomplice on the lower floors." My voice is casual as if I'm discussing the weather. "If no one else is going to do something, it's on us."

The shorter boy with black hair and auburn eyes stares at me like I've grown a second head. "I saw most of your duel with Alaster," he says, voice small but steady. "You're strong, but... don't you think this is crazy? There's only four of us."

I flash him a grin, sharp and reckless. "Yeah, and do you think this killer's expecting a bunch of terrified first years to come after him? We have the element of surprise. That's all we need." I meet each of their eyes in turn, letting them see I mean it. I'm not giving them a choice, not really. If we're going down, we're going down fighting.

The short boy just nods, jaw tight and hands trembling a little as he weighs what I've said. He looks like he wants to protest, to run the other way, but something—fear, or maybe just the lack of any better option keeps him rooted in place. Elijah watches me with a wary, analytical stare, like he's already measuring the risk of following someone as reckless as me.

Elijah finally breaks the silence, lifting his chin. "Okay, what's your plan then?" His voice is steady, but the way his gaze flicks to the broken doors next to us suggests he's just as desperate for direction as I assumed them to be. Fantastic.

I flash a wolfish grin again, letting a bit of bravado settle my nerves, and lean against the nearest section of wall, making sure to keep my back to the stone and not the plants weaving through them. "First things first: what are your names?" I nod at the short boy and the Askert girl in turn. "And I need to know what your marks are. No point making moves if I don't know what cards we're holding."

The Askert girl snorts, crossing her arms, chin raised in defiance. "Asking for that information without giving it yourself is pretty damn rude, you know."

I chuckle, letting a little of my own arrogance show. "You already know my name; it was announced at the end of the duel, but if you need a reminder, it's Ayato." I smirk, watching her expression twist as I continue. "And you already know my Mark is one of illusions... right?" Her face flushes with color, and I know exactly what she's remembering: that moment I casually flicked her aside when she was screeching at me to stop.

The short boy clears his throat and steps forward, looking troubled but determined. "My name's Kaizen. My mark is pyrokinesis. I can summon and manipulate fire as long as there's enough oxygen to keep it burning."

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

I nod in approval; fire against plants is a favorable matchup, and then I turn to the Askert girl, letting my gaze settle on her with unblinking curiosity. She sighs in defeat, straightening up, shoulders back, chin up, like she's about to recite a family line in front of an emperor. I roll my eyes as that's exactly what she does. Noble pride is so boring.

"My name is Artemis von Askert," she says, voice steady. "My mark is Beast Master." As the words leave her lips, her eyes flare a brilliant, brighter yellow. Her pupils slit like a cat's, and as I watch, her fingers elongate, nails blackening into claws. Her ears pull back, shifting into sharp, pointed tips, and when she smiles, it's all razor teeth and predatory promise.

I blink, genuinely surprised at the transformation. "Another transformation mark?" I muse aloud, watching the flex of her claws, the way her posture shifts more animal, less human. "How interesting."

I can already see the possibilities spinning out in front of us. With fire, invisibility, illusions, and raw bestial power, maybe we're not as helpless as I thought.

Artemis catches the look on my face and lets her lips twist into a smirk, her teeth slipping back to normal in a smooth, practiced movement. The rest of her stays altered, ears sharp as daggers, pupils slit, black claws flexing at her sides. "Yeah," she says, her voice carrying a low, wild edge, "I can take the best features of any animal I touch. It doesn't matter if it's mammal, reptile, insect if I lay hands on it, I can borrow something useful." She glances down at her claws, then back up at me, eyes glinting like gold coins. "The last animal I touched was a cat. That's why my form's like this right now. Increased speed and agility—easily twice what a normal Awakened can manage. I can hear things halfway down the hall, even through these damn walls. And I see in the dark, which is more than I can say for most of you." She grins, flashing the tips of her fangs before she swallows them away again. "Downside is, colors are mostly washed out; I can't see saturated colors, so things are mostly black and white.

I study her, this time with real respect. That mark isn't just brute force like Alaster's was; it's versatile and adaptable. She isn't contained by the limits of a single body or a single set of weaknesses. With the right menagerie, she could pick what she needs for any fight: scales, wings, venom, or claws. Suddenly, she seems less like a brat and more like a walking weapon. How scary.

My lips curl into a smile before I even realize it, and I push off the wall, straightening to my full height. "Now that I know what we're working with," I say, eyes flicking between Artemis, Kaizen, and Elijah, "I think I've got an idea on how we win this."

The voices in my head stir. They always do when blood is about to be spilled. They laugh softly, eager. Yes, yes, let's hunt; let us put on a show. They slither through my head with glee, eager for incoming chaos. They see it too, the pieces sliding into place, the illusion, the fight, the kill. Turning the killer's own sadism against him. We will hunt him, a reversal of everything the bastard expects. For the first time since the carnage started, I feel something like anticipation: the thrill of being the predator, not the prey.