In an instant, Ashok's body surged forward—not just shooting upward like before, but now soaring in a graceful, almost smug arc through the sky, still upright as if he were casually strolling on an invisible bridge.
The rooftop zipped out of his vision like scenery on a speeding carriage, and his new trajectory carved a clean, elegant curve that carried him high above the courtyard—directly above the cluster of unsuspecting Third Years.
Gravity. Negative. 1x.
His speed dropped sharply, from meteor to majestic glide, as if the very air had started admiring his form and decided to slow him down for a better look.
Below, the Third Years, who had until now only seen him rise and fall like a magic-powered yoyo.
Ashok, still as calm as ever, let his crimson eyes sweep across the courtyard beneath him.
There was a quiet, terrifying calculation in that gaze—like a hawk sizing up a field mouse.
