The moment the voice fuses with me, it doesn't feel foreign. The last thin edges of resistance I keep around them fall away and suddenly there's no separation between them and me. Their hunger blooms inside my chest once again and I feel no need to deny them. The world loses its color. Everything drains into the same black-and-white haze as when I fought the abomination. Reds dull first, then browns, then even the lamp-lit gold , and the details snap into focus in a way that's hard to explain. I can see the cracks in the stone walls. The faint twitch of a muscle in Vihaan's jaw. The way Rye shifts her weight on the cobblestones as if she can't decide whether to move closer to me or further away. I hear Zaria's pulse ticking two paces to my left, the scrape of Dominic's boot heel against a cobble, the rainwater dripping from a gutter ten houses away lands like hammer taps in my skull.
It's like my already heightened senses just multiplied fivefold, maybe more.
I breathe in deeply, slow, steady, and look around at my cohort. They look back like they're trying to place something wrong and can't. Lucian's face shifts confusion, then worry. He attempts to reach me through our link. He tries to call me with it. I can feel the tug in my mind but I clamp down on it like I clamp the lid on a box; I will not let him in. He falters, his eyes searching mine in confusion.
Rye's gaze keeps dropping, her brows pulling together like she can't stop herself from looking down away from me. Finally she asks, " Uhh Ayato… are you okay?"
I blink at her. "I'm fine, more then fine you could say" The words emerge flat, frosted. I can feel my lips shape them, but no emotion backs them.
It's true in a way that maybe should concern me but with my Fearmonger mark fully merged, most of what people would call 'me' is filtered. I can tell that my humanity frays at the edges. Empathy becomes a dim thing, a memory. I can still recognize who they are but they don't mean the same thing anymore. They're not people I care about.. They are just useful tools not friends. They are implements I can wield to pry open the world and pull my victory out of it. I feel their shapes in a plan I'm already stitching together: where they are helpful, where they are expendable.
And in winning, they'll witness my glory. That's all that matters.
Rye hesitates, lips parting like she wants to argue. But before she can, Vihaan snorts and points a finger at me. "Your eyes. They're crazy."
I tilt my head, more annoyed than curious. "What?" My voice is flat, deadpan.
Zaria steps forward without theatrics. Her fingers are tight as she grabs my arm, not hard enough to hurt but firm. For a moment I almost strike her for daring to lay hands on me, but I force the impulse down. Instead, I let her guide. She leads me to a window in one of the shops on the street. The glass is still wet as if real rain had just fallen on it and the reflection that stares back is mine, but not the me most people know. I look at my face in the window. My eyes which are normally a bright violet are somehow brighter as if violet flames had replaced my pupils.
I chuckle, small and humorless. It comes out like gravel.
Dominic leans on his spear, eyeing me with a half-smile. "Well, okay then… it just seemed a little odd. You sure you're good?"
The question is polite and I recognize that it comes from a place of concern but I don't have the patience for it. I sigh a long, deliberate thing that carries enough contempt to be a weapon. "I am," I tell him, cold. "We're wasting time by discussing my eyes." I point toward the castle. "We have a job to do. Don't you remember?"
Imara who had been leaning against the building, arms crossed, amusement in the slope of her shoulders smiles like she enjoys a private joke. "Indeed we do, Ayato. Do you have a plan then my good man?"
I let my smile pull wide enough to be cruel, not theatrical but clinical. "Well of course"
I lay the plan out for them. Simple. Clean. Efficient. The words roll off my tongue without hesitation, each piece fitting neatly into place.
When I finish, there's a silence that hangs heavy over the group.
Lucian is the first to break it. He just shakes his head and lets out a short, barking laugh that sounds more like disbelief than humor. "You can't be serious," he mutters, though his grin lingers because he knows I am.
Imara doesn't laugh. She's not leaning against the wall anymore. She's standing straight now, arms at her sides, eyes locked on me with something caught between fascination and outrage. "Are you insane?" she snaps, her voice more outraged than I've ever heard it. "That's not a plan that's suicide."
Vihaan lets out a low whistle, lips curling into something that might be admiration. Or maybe just eagerness for blood. "Insane or not… it could work. I'll give you that."
Zaria's jaw tightens. Her hand lingers on the hilt of her blade. "This is reckless," she says carefully, almost like she's trying not to provoke me. "If one thing goes wrong just one we lose and we will take injuries.
Inside, I almost laugh. That's what you think I sneer internally.
Dominic exhales loudly, shaking his head as he plants the butt of his spear against the ground. "Finished?" He snorts. "What is the alternative? Either way we are finished. At least this way we go down swinging and with a chance of winning." There's no fear in his voice, only grim resolve.
Rye hasn't spoken yet. She's staring at me, eyes wide, her mouth pressed tight. When she finally finds her voice, it's quiet, almost uncertain. "Ayato… this doesn't seem like you."
I glance at her, and and tilt my head at her words that are dull against the wall that's built between me and them. "It's exactly like me," I answer, disgusted with her. "You just didn't see it before."
The group falls quiet again. I can feel the weight of their unease pressing down but it does not phase me. They just need to do as instructed and I'll win. To me, they're already moving pieces on the board, shifting into position whether they realize it or not.
And when we win, they'll know exactly whose will carried them through to victory.