Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 53: King Augustus Malik Part Five

The King lets silence drag once again. The echo of the Legion's chant still lingers in the marble, vibrating in my bones, but he waits. Watches. Glances across the room with cold, dispassionate eyes. When he finally speaks again, his voice is calm too calm and it cuts through the hush like a whip.

"Awakened Daath," he says, and the way my name rolls off his tongue is... wrong. Possessive. Like it already belongs to him. "You have garnered much debate in my court. Three marks, where others are grateful for one. A rare phenomenon. An interesting one"

There's no warmth in his tone, only a quiet fascination stretched thin over something darker. A hunger, maybe. He lifts one pale hand just slightly, as if guiding a string I can't see. "Step forward," he says.

I obey before I even register the command. My boots click against the polished stone as I move. I can feel every gaze latch onto me. Adrian's posture is stiffer than usual, his sister too still. The four overdressed ugly noble women are silent now, their nervous energy prickling in the air around them like static.

He leans back in his throne, gold eyes narrowing. "Remove your robe. And your shirt. Let us see these marks with our own eyes."

The command isn't cruel. It's worse it's casual. Like I'm a specimen being unveiled for study.

I hesitate for a breath cursing his life in every vile way I can think of. Then, without a word, I reach up and pull the clasp of my robe free. It slides off my shoulders in silence. My shirt follows, the cool air of the throne room biting against my skin. I glance down briefly, letting my hand brush the edge of my sternum, before looking up again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the princess watching me her lips press into a line, and her eyes rake over my torso like she regrets looking but can't stop. The prince stands beside her, his jaw tense. He doesn't look at me in the same way. His stare is direct, weighing me, and there's something close to begrudging respect in it.

I exhale slowly and begin, voice steady despite the silence around me.

"Over my heart," I say, touching the mark etched into my skin, "a Möbius strip. It represents the Veilshaper. I can craft illusions so real they bend perception. To those caught in it, the lie becomes their truth."

I shift slightly, letting the light catch the next mark. "Here, on my ribs, a wolf. The Fearmonger. I can sense what someone fears most. The sins and fears they hide even from themselves the kind of fear that never lets go."

Then my hand slides lower, resting above the unbroken ring etched near my sternum.

"And this," I say, "the Regenerator. Wounds close, pain fades, and if I die... well, it depends how thorough they are. I wager I can come back. Unless I'm erased completely."

The words hang in the air.

The King chuckles.

Not cruelly. Not kindly either. It's a sound full of satisfaction, of a man who's just solved a very long equation. He glances toward his wife, and for the briefest second, his face shifts. Victory. Pure and absolute. But it's gone just as quickly, leaving me wondering if I imagined it.

The royal siblings say nothing. Not a single whisper from the four overdressed noblewomen standing nearby either. Silence. And yet, I swear I feel fear radiating off all of them. And now that I think about it: why are they even here?

The King leans in, bracing his chin against his hand, gold eyes gleaming with that same glint a cat might have watching a caged bird. "And your triggers, Mark-Bearer? What provokes these powers?"

I feel the everyone hang on my answer. I've already played this game this far; there's no point in lying so I don't. "Illusions and Fear both are linked to hate, Your Majesty. I need resentment. Bitterness. Something dark." I pause, already anticipating the next question, but the truth chafes on my tongue. "My Regenerator... that one's different. I haven't found what triggers it yet."

His smile stretches wide far too pleased for my liking. "Hate as a trigger. How amusing." "And no issue on the other; we'll find it, I'm sure." The way he says "we" - like it's already out of my hands sends give me goosebumps. I don't let it show, just bow my head in empty acknowledgement.

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Before I can dwell on it, the Queen speaks and her voice doesn't sound real. It's smooth, delicate, almost too perfect, like a song from a dream It flows through the air like a song spun on silver strings, and for one horrid instant, my whole body aches to impress her, to win even the faintest approval, to make her happy. The urge is so sudden and alien that it almost makes me stagger. What the hell am I thinking? I crush the feeling, replacing it with practiced caution and distrust.

"Well now," she says, her tone playful, "the debates have been put to rest. You really are the first three-mark bearer... and such strong marks, too.

The way she says it, I can't tell if I'm being praised or inventoried.

My mouth is dry. I swallow. There's no comfort in any of this, none at all.

The King waves a dismissive hand, pleasant as a wolf among lambs. "You may put your clothes back on Awakened Daath."

I waste no time retrieving my shirt and robe, grateful for the brief cover. Even so, the Empress doesn't let me slip from her gaze. "Is it true?" she continues, her voice still that strange melodic melody. "Did you kill thirty-five men in just a few seconds with no hesitation at all?"

Their eyes rest heavy on my skin, curiosity and appraisal sharp enough to sting. I finish dressing, schooled my face stiff and cold, and try not to shudder at the memory or at the hunger hiding behind her song-sweet tone.

"...Yes," I say quietly.

The King and Queen smile this time not with cold indifference, but with genuine satisfaction, like I've just confirmed something they've been hoping for. The King lets out a low chuckle and begins to roll his ring between his fingers, the metal catching the light with each turn.

"Ahh, no need to trouble yourself over it," he says, still focused on the band glimmering on his hand. "I've already heard the full report from my Spellbreaker. He placed you as defending yourself." "Not that I really care either way" Even through the careful tone, the way he says my Spellbreaker, claiming Cain as casually as he'd claim a hound or a sword, makes something crawl beneath my skin. I keep my response clipped and neutral, just a nod. I get it. Everything here is owned by him.

The King presses on, voice buoyant now that he's had his fill of spectacle. "Now that I finally verified your marks with my own eyes, I can postpone Aren's blabbering for a while." His eyes fix on me with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable. "You can be very useful to our Empire, young Daath. And with the correct guidance, I'm sure you will be."

He glances sidelong at the Queen, who gives the smallest nod approval. With practiced flourish, he slips the ring back on, and then gestures broadly at the little cluster his children and the four overdressed women, their painted faces suddenly pale with unease.

"Tell me, do you know why they are here?" He says it softly, as if inviting me in on a private joke. My stomach knots. I don't, and I don't like the direction of any of this, but I answer anyway dispassionate and honest. "No, Your Majesty."

He looks almost pleased. "Good." Like my ignorance is part of his design. Then, with easy authority, he turns his gaze to his children. "Adrian, Julia," he calls, his voice echoing with finality. "Step over here. There's something I'd like you both to watch."

They exchange a look wariness flickering between them and then they move, expressions tight, crossing to stand by the throne near where I'm already planted. Seconds crawl by, the King watching us all, eyes unreadable. I keep my face carved from ice, cold, indifferent, the controlled mask I've worn what feels like hundred times now. Inside, I'm burning. I can feel my pulse thundering in my throat, anticipation and terror swirling as I try to guess what kind of test is coming. I glance toward the four noble women Ugly 1, 2, 3, and 4, with their painted faces warped by fear now. They must sense it too, because they stand stiff and trembling, a few feet away.

The King breaks the silence, his voice suddenly stripped of its amusement, all emotion bled away. "These women here are wives and mothers, did you know that?"

My mouth is dry. "No, Your Majesty. I... I don't know much about the royal court, if I'm honest."

He nods, like it doesn't matter at all. "They are loyal to their families. Which is admirable. But loyalty to a criminal family over the Crown is still treason."

All four women collapse to the floor at once, wailing and begging, their voices rising in perfect, mindless panic. Begging for mercy, proclaiming their innocence, the sound twisting up to the throne like a dying animal's cry. I watch the Prince and Princess shift beside me, Prince Adrian's face twisting in open disgust. He knows, as I do, what's about to happen.

The King raises his voice, cutting through their sobs. "Silence, you vermin."

The room falls quiet but for their hiccupped, muffled weeping. I realize, with a sick lurch, what this is. What I'm about to be made to do.

The King's gaze settles on me, golden eyes glowing hard and pitiless. "Their husbands are collectively and secretly running an underground slave trade, which is unacceptable." His tone is bored. "I do not let noble families break my laws. Slavery is outlawed in my territories save for what is permitted in Crown-funded prisons. Their houses will be dissolved." He says the last word with a finality that leaves no misunderstanding.

Dissolved.

He wants me to do it. The lesson. The test. I am here to be used.

Then the King's gaze lands on me his eyes sparkling with cruel amusement, lips peeling back in a smile that feels anything but human. "I want you to show me your power on these filthy traitors. Kill them."

The second the King's order cracks through the room, Princess Julia lets out a tiny gasp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Prince Adrian only scoffs, crossing his arms and turning his face away like the sight of all this disgusts him, muttering something under his breath that I can't make out.

I sigh internally. So this is it. All of my hope dying quietly.

There's no escaping what I am. No escaping him. No escaping this room, this throne, this stage where the script has already been written for me. The only way out is obedience.

So I do what I must.

With a sweep of cold theatricality, I bow to the King and Queen, my voice hollow. "Your wish is my command, Your Majesty. It shall be done."

The women flinch. They rise on unsteady legs, tear-streaked faces trembling as they try to plead, try to speak but the words don't reach me. I've already given the hate to the voices.

Look, look at them. So ugly and undesirable. Wives of slavers. The only one who can own slaves is you Ayato not them who do they think they are? 

I raise my hand and squeeze the air. The illusion wraps around them like a net of barbed wire. A storm of horror unleashed and their minds shatter. I trap each one in a personal hell, nightmares clawing through their souls in a heartbeat. Then it's over. Four corpses collapse to the marble floor, makeup smudged and mouths frozen in silent screams.

The voices inside shriek with laughter, mocking the fallen, delighting in death, but all I feel is a cold, empty ache. I turn back to the thrones, the Royals watching me with overt pleasure gleaming, predatory glee from the King, and the Queen's smile sharp as cut glass.

I bow again, mechanical, empty. "It is done."

The King laughs, full and bright and awful, applauding his new monster as the Queen's smile widens, ineffable and cruel. I keep my head bowed not wanting to see the horror and fear in the eyes of the royal siblings.

I am a Reaper.