Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 41: You Will Die

No. No, I must have misheard him. The voices in my head must be playing tricks on me again because what else could explain the absolute nonsense coming out of this old man's mouth?

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I squint at him, my voice slow, deliberate. "What?"

Bishop Lark sighs and rubs his temples like I'm the one being difficult. "Yes, you heard me correctly, Lord Daath." He exhales, like he's weary of his own words. "If you go to Lusa, you will die." His eyes darken slightly. "Or at least, that's the plan, from what I gather."

I just... stare.

For a long second, the words refuse to sink in. There's no way—no damn way—he just said that to my face so casually.

Finally, I scoff. "I'm to die for what, exactly? I haven't done anything worth execution."

Bishop Lark chuckles, but there's no humor in it. "Oh no, it's not an execution. The King would never allow you to die without reason." He gives me a pointed look. "No, this is something being planned by Archbishop Aren and his Cardinals—the twenty Bishops elected as advisors to the Archbishop, voted in by their peers."

I stiffen slightly at the name.

Cecilia mentioned the Archbishop before—how she thought he'd agree with her about me, about what I could be. I almost laugh. So much for that.

I shift my weight, my voice edged with amusement that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "Now, what have I done to deserve the honor of being assassinated by the Order?" I tilt my head slightly, studying him. "And why are you even telling me this?"

Bishop Lark smirks. "Lord Daath, the answer is simple." He steeples his fingers, his gaze sharp, unwavering. "Because you exist."

I feel my jaw tighten.

"Some in the Order see you as a threat to the establishment—to the King's right to rule." He leans forward slightly, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "A few other cardinals, like myself, believe a three-mark bearer is a sign of the gods. As I told you just minutes ago, the gods pass their powers onto champions they believe can be shepherds." His lips curl slightly. "I think you may be the greatest ever."

I roll my eyes. "Wow. How kind of you." My voice is dripping with sarcasm.

Bishop Lark stands abruptly, his movements suddenly restless, pacing the length of the room. His voice rises slightly, his frustration bleeding through.

"Sadly, Lord Daath, it seems the Cardinals like me who think you should live are outnumbered. And the ones who wish you dead have gotten into the Archbishop's ear, much to my dismay." he says his voice tinged with regret.

I seethe, my hands clenching into fists at the thought of a group of old ghouls casually deciding my death like it's nothing more than moving a chess piece off the board. Reached adulthood months ago, barely grown, and they already see me as a threat to their power. How pathetic.

The voices pull at the edge of my mind, whispering, urging, feeding off my fury and hate. They tell me to kill, to maim, to remind these wretched men why they should fear me.

I shove them down telling them to shut their mouths. They just cackle.

When I look up, Bishop Lark has stopped pacing. He's watching me, his brows furrowed slightly, as if he can sense the darkness radiating off of me.

I smile. Cold and sharp. "So, how do they plan to kill me?"

He exhales, folding his arms. "I don't know the exact method. The most likely scenario is an ambush while you're en route to the capital. They'll pin the blame on some criminal group."

I raise my eyebrow. "Oh?"

Lark nods gravely. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but there is a growing terrorist organization taking root in the the empire. Right here in our home country of Avrael, they call themselves the Midnight Rose."

That piques my interest.

"Really?" I muse. "Organized crime typically doesn't last very long in the empire. Inquisitors and Elites tend to rip them out by the roots before they ever spread wide enough."

Lark sighs, rubbing his temple before sitting back down, his voice serious. "It's because they're led by rogue Elites they are annoyingly good at staying off radar."

I chuckle, the thought amusing. "Ahh, I bet they cause so many headaches." 'Rouge elites is a new one as well how did that happen?"

His eyes flash, and he snaps, "It's not funny."

I almost flinch at the pure vitriol in his tone.

"They're destroying our trains, bombing garrisons and more stuff I wont even begin to get into, Lord Daath." His expression hardens. "It's causing a logistical nightmare, especially for supplies going to the front where we're currently at war with the nation of Lumor and their allies they are getting thousands of our men killed with their sabotage." "As for where the rouges come from our best guess is they are deserters or enemy Elites we don't know for sure."

Bishop Lark continues grimly. "And the Midnight Rose doesn't just sabotage infrastructure and mess with our logistics. They kill everyone at their crime scenes. Civilians included." His voice drops, laced with quiet anger. "They leave no witnesses ever." 'The only thing they leave is a Rose painted with black blood." That's how they've been dubbed the Midnight Rose.

I lean back slightly, tapping my fingers against the armrest of my chair, my amusement fading.

Well... that's certainly something.

A rogue faction led by Elites. A proper thorn in the empire's side. I can't say I disapprove of their methods entirely. Anything that spits in the face of the Inquisitors and in turn the Empire earns a sliver of respect in my book. But killing civilians? I frown slightly. There's a difference between war and slaughter.

I don't get to dwell on it for long.

"So, we need to figure out a way to keep you alive," Bishop Lark says, pulling me from my thoughts.

I bark out a laugh, loud and sharp, no humor in it.

"If the Archbishop wants to send assassins, he better make sure they're Elites." My voice is venomous, filled with pure, unwavering contempt. "Because if they're not, they don't stand a chance."

Bishop Lark doesn't look relieved by my confidence. If anything, he looks even more disheartened.

"My dear boy," he exhales, rubbing his temple. "Do you truly believe that the Archbishop of the entire Inquisitor Order cannot find a few Elites to do his bidding? They will send Elites for you."

I shrug. "Let them come."

His patience finally begins to fray. "Do you not understand the position you're in?" "We can not afford you dying."

Another shrug. His tone is starting to annoy me. I don't want his help. I don't want anything that will make me indebted to him.

I stand abruptly, my black robe shifting with the motion. Looking down at him, my voice turns mocking, filled with condescension.

"My teacher is Cain Nekran. Spellbreaker of the Imperial Empire." "I am Ayato Daath the first Three-Mark bearer in history. If the Archbishop wishes to send his dogs after me then they'll be put down."

Before he can retort, I call on the voices.

Bishop Lark stiffens.

And then—nothing.

No sight. No sound. No touch. No breath. No existence.

For those few seconds, I rip away every one of his senses. I let him feel what it's like to be swallowed by the abyss. To exist in a world where there is nothing but empty, infinite void.

Then, just as suddenly, I release him.

The old man staggers, gripping the edge of his desk, his face pale glistening with sweat, eyes wide in sheer disbelief. He stares at me like he's just seen something he cannot explain.

I watch him without an ounce of emotion.

"My power is wickedly attuned to fighting a group of people." My voice is cold, detached. "You should remember that."

Then I turn, my black robe swirling behind me as I make my exit. "I appreciate the warning."

I don't look back as I leave. But I know Bishop Lark is still sitting there, staring agape, utterly speechless.

The voices just laugh in glee as the door clicks shut behind me.