Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 42: Out Of Control

Castle Ravenstone looms ahead; it never stops looking like a threat—even when it's home. I lean back in the carriage seat, arms crossed, still chewing over every word from Bishop Lark's lips. That whole conversation left a bitter taste in my mouth.

You're going to die.

His voice echoes in my head. The worst part is that I don't even think he was lying to me. The Archbishop and his cardinals saw me as a threat—something unnatural, something dangerous. The first three-mark bearer in history, a power they didn't understand and couldn't control. And what men fear, they seek to destroy.

I exhale sharply through my nose. I need to talk to Cain. Now. But another thought creeps in as the carriage jolts over the stone path. Maybe I won't need to worry about the Order's assassins at all. Maybe Cain will do their job for them.

A soft weight presses against my shoulder, drawing me out of my thoughts. I glance down to see Cecilia curled up against me, her short blonde hair falling messily over her face, her breathing slow and even. She must've dozed off sometime during the ride. In sleep, she looks... peaceful. Not like an Inquisitor. Not like someone I should be wary of. Just a girl, exhausted and resting against me like she belongs there.

I nudge her lightly. "Hey. We're here."

She stirs, making a small sound in the back of her throat before hazel eyes flutter open, dazed with sleep. "Mmm... already?" Her voice is soft, still heavy with drowsiness. She murmurs something else, too quiet for me to catch, then leans in, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to my lips.

"I still don't get why you tagged along," I mutter, leaning away slightly, not missing the way her lips curl into a smirk. "You should go back."

Cecilia just tilts her head, studying me like I'm amusing. "I just wanted to spend a little more time with you." Her voice is light and flirty.

"I don't know when I'll get the chance again."

I snort, a dry laugh escaping me. "Is that why you slept the whole ride here?"

She grins, stretching her arms above her head in a way that's both effortless and completely intentional. "Something like that," she says, winking.

I roll my eyes. She's full of shit.

But still, something lingers between us. We haven't spoken about what I said back in Bishop Lark's office—the way I talked about the gods, about the Order, about all of it. It sits in the air like a storm waiting to break. She hasn't pushed. I haven't brought it up. And I don't know if I want to.

For now, I just hope she doesn't think she's coming inside with me. Not into Castle Ravenstone. Not where Cain and the others are. I don't want her meeting anyone here.

The moment the carriage slows, a sudden boom cracks through the air like the wrath of a god. My stomach drops. No. No, no, no. I know exactly who that is.

As the carriage lurches to a stop, I move on instinct, already dreading what I'm about to see. I step out, my boots hitting the stone path, and there he is.

Cain Nekran.

He stands a few paces away, the air around him alive—magic crackling through his fingertips, bending the atmosphere itself. The sheer force of it twists around his body, forming a barely visible sheath of power, an armor of wind that distorts the very space he occupies. His presence is suffocating, a storm barely contained in human form.

His disgusting bright blue eyes lock onto me, and his lips curl into something that should be a smile, but it holds no warmth. Only danger.

"Lo, Ayato," he drawls, his voice deceptively light but edged with something sinister. "Long time no see, huh, my good man?"

I swallow thickly and look down, shame clawing up my throat. I really, really regret my life choices.

"Hey, Cain," I start, already bracing myself. "Sorry for missing train—"

I don't even get to finish before he moves.

Cain launches forward, his body a blur. I barely register his fist swinging toward my face before instinct takes over, my arms snapping up just in time to block. The force of the blow sends shockwaves up my bones, my boots skidding an inch across the ground.

Pain blooms in my forearms, but I don't have time to dwell on it.

Cain grins darkly. "No matter," he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. "We can have our lesson right here, right now."

Steel sings as he unsheathes his blade.

My heart skips a few beats. Shit.

I scramble for my own weapon, barely managing to draw it before he's on me again. There's no time to think, no time to call on my powers—just survival. Cain doesn't hold back. He never does. Each blow he delivers carries enough force to shatter a normal human's body. If I slip for even a second, I'll be eating dirt.

Sparks fly as our blades clash, the sound ringing. In the span of seconds, we've already exchanged over a dozen strikes, my muscles straining to keep up. Cain moves like a wraith, his footwork flawless, his swordplay ruthless.

I barely have room to breathe, let alone fight back.

The fight moves across the front gates, our blades clashing with barely contained violence. The guards stationed had retreated dozens of meters, watching in a mixture of terror and awe. But I barely register them.

Because Cain redoubles his efforts.

His strikes come faster, heavier, more precise, forcing me back step by step. Every muscle in my body screams from the strain, every block rattling my bones. Between blows, his voice slithers through the chaos, a low, dangerous hiss.

"You better have a damn good explanation for missing training without so much as a word."

I don't answer. I can't answer. All of my focus is on my footwork and my positioning. I force my body to adapt—to synchronize with the movements of my opponent. But the problem is Cain is the creator of this very sword art. I'm trying to match a man who has years more training and more experience.

The difference is staggering.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I manage to create a sliver of space between us, gasping in a lungful of air. But it's a mistake.

Cain doesn't let up.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere. A subtle compression in the air.

Shit—!

I hear it before I see it. An invisible air bullet, fired with pinpoint accuracy. My enhanced hearing catches the sharp whine of compressed wind, and I twist—barely dodging it in time.

But the moment I evade, my eyes track the projectile's new course—

And my stomach plummets.

The carriage.

Cecilia.

No—!

A second later, the air bullet collides with the side of the carriage, sending the entire vehicle flying several feet before it crashes onto its side with a sickening crunch of splintering wood.

I stare in shock not comprehending what just happened. And like a dam I lose control of the balance I had.

The voices surge into my skull, a tide of whispers and cackles, eager and insatiable.

"Yes... yesss... that's it," they purr, slithering through my thoughts like a snake.

"You always come back to us in the end. Did you think you could keep us leashed forever?"

I clutch my head, but the images strike before I can even think—Cecilia, crumpled inside the carriage. Blood pooling beneath her like ink spilling from a shattered bottle. Her lips parted, her golden hair tangled in ruin. Eyes, vacant. Lifeless.

"Look at her," the voices croon, their whispers curling into something venomous.

"So still. So cold. She was your light, and he snuffed it out."

The world tilts, my breath catching in my throat. No, no, she—

"He took her from you."

"He did what he always does." 

"Cain Nekran. Spellbreaker. Brother-slayer. "You know his story, don't you, Ayato? Ahh we guess not its the one he never tells after all..." And now, he's written her into his tragedy, too."

My head snaps up, and I see him standing there—Cain. His fury is gone, his posture wary, his expression something close to... worry?

"Aye, Ayato... what's wrong, man?" he asks, his voice tight with unease.

I don't even recognize my own voice when I spit, "You killed her."

Cain's brows knit together. His gaze flickers toward the carriage, and I see the moment the truth dawns on him—the way his body goes rigid, his mouth parting slightly in horror.

"...There was someone in there?" He breathes, like he can't believe the words even as they leave his lips.

"There it is," the voices whisper in delight.

"Regret. Guilt.

I should think. I should take a second to look to make sure she's actually dead, but the voices won't let me. Their laughter fills every crevice of my mind, their words pressing into my skull like claws.

"She's gone." 

"He did it. He knew she was there; why else would he aim at it?"

"And still, he struck."

"He'll do it again."

Cain takes a slow step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Ayato... listen to me." His voice is steady, but I can hear the edge of concern in it. "Control your emotions. Don't let them control you."

The images shift, twisting into something even more wretched.

Cecilia—her body is still crumpled inside the carriage, but now I see the way her bones jut out at unnatural angles, the blood seeping from her temple, the shallow rise and fall of her chest that suddenly—stops.

"Too late," the voices croon.

"She's gone."

"Because of you."

I stagger back, shaking my head, but they're relentless. The vision changes again.

This time, she is somewhere else.

A void. Dark. Endless.

She is screaming.

"Ayato!" Her voice is raw, filled with terror and betrayal. I can't see her, but I can hear her. The way her breath hitches between sobs, the sheer agony laced in every syllable.

"Ayato, why didn't you save me?!"

Something inside me shatters.

"She's calling for you," the voices whisper, their tones sickly sweet, dripping with mock sympathy.

"She trusted you. And you failed her."

"But you can still make it right."

"You know what must be done."

I clutch my skull, nails digging into my scalp. "Stop it," I rasp, but they don't listen.

"You must destroy your enemies."

"Or else everyone you love will suffer the same fate."

"You're like a grim reaper, boy; everyone dies around you because you lack the conviction to save them." 

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

My breathing is ragged, my hands shaking. The world blurs, but one thing remains clear—Cain.

Standing there. Watching me. Horror and pain etched into his expression.

A storm flickers behind his eyes, concern deepening the lines on his face.

"Ayato," he says again, firmer this time. "Don't let them control you. Control yourself."

But the voices laugh.

And when I open my mouth, the words that slip free are not mine.

"I feel her calling out." My voice is hoarse, venomous. "Ayato, save me!"

Cain's expression shifts—guarded now, tense. "Ayato—"

I cut him off, my eyes blazing with violet flames.

"I am a Reaper," I whisper, and as the words leave my lips, the voices shriek in pure, unfiltered delight.

"Control it," Cain snaps again, his brow furrowing in distress.

I bark out a laugh, bitter and broken. "Control?" My fingers tighten around my blade. My vision narrows, the edges of the world fading into meaningless shadows.

"Did you hear him?"

The voices seethe, choking out every last thread of reason.

"Control yourself, he says".

Their tone shifts—mocking now, cruel.

"That's all he's ever wanted, hasn't he?"

"Control."

Cain's face blurs in front of me, but I see the worry there. I see the fear—masked behind his usual steel—but it's there.

And the voices pounce on it.

"Remember when he spoke to that dreary little healer?"

"Whispering about you behind your back? Plotting?"

"How you'd be such a great asset" 

"No..." I mutter, but my voice lacks conviction.

"Oh, yes." The voices drip with honeyed poison now, wrapping around my thoughts like a noose.

"You think you're friends? That he cares?"

"He's done nothing but give you orders. Use you. Push you like a beast of burden."

"He praises your strength and then muzzles it.

"Tells you to be calm. Be quiet. Be tame."

Cain's voice cuts through again—"Ayato, whatever you're hearing, it's not real—this isn't you—"

But the voices howl in laughter.

"Isn't it?!"

"Nothing is more deplorable than a slave who begins to trust his slaver." "And that's what he wants you to be. Nothing but a slave to him and to the Empire that has taken everything from you." "You should be tired of being used, hurt, thrown away. It's your turn to use. Your turn to hurt."

My blade quivers in my hand. My teeth grind.

I look up at Cain—his stance open, not attacking, hesitating. As if worried by making a false step, my powers will ravage his mind.

I try to resist the hold over my rage, but it's like trying to empty the ocean.

The voices surge again—louder now, more vicious than ever. They don't whisper anymore. They scream.

"Look."

The image slams into my mind like a hammer—Cecilia, sprawled out in the shattered remains of the carriage. Blood dripping down the curve of her jaw. Her eyes glassy, empty, staring up at the sky that she'll never see again. Her body twisted, broken in ways I can't even describe.

"You must avenge her, Ayato.

"She called to you—do you remember?"

"You saw her light... and now it's gone.

I try to resist—try to tear the image away, but they slam it back down, harder, meaner, clearer.

The pain is too much. The grief curdles into rage.

"You can lie to yourself all you want, boy. But we know.

"We know how much you loved her."

"You let her in. You held her. You kissed her.

I roar, blood pounding in my ears, and my powers detonate. My eyes ignite in a blaze of pure violet flame.

Cain raises his hands in one last desperate, pleading movement.

"AYATO—CONTROL YOUR EMOTIONS!"

But I don't hear him. I just hear the victorious laughter of the voices.

And then I move —this time with no hesitation, no fear. Only hate