13. The Trials Of The Wicked Elites Part One
13
THE TRIALS OF THE WICKED ELITES PART ONE
~GWENIVERE~
T he deafening roar of crumbling stone fills the air as the slate of darkness smashes into the pillar beneath me.
The eerie runes etched into its surface pulse malevolently, devouring the magical barriers of those unfortunate enough to be caught in its path. I barely register the anguished cries of students being absorbed into the slate before the dark structure begins to rise again, towering over the remaining pillars like a monolith of despair.
Displacing the winds that are getting tricky to maintain, I allow myself to descend enough to grab a piece of stone that’s hovering in the magnitude of magic pulsing in the atmosphere. My heart rapidly drums against my chest, while my ears are ringing at the piercing intensity of the echoed screams of agony humming like an endless hymn.
I clutch the edge of the dissolving stone platform beneath me, the soles of my boots scraping against the crumbling surface. My breath catches as I glance around.
Fuck…
Only a handful of students remain — those who either summoned barriers or were lucky enough to leap to the lower pillars before the slate consumed everything in its wake.
The rest…gone.
It’s one thing when it comes to speaking about death and the implications that can lead one down the various paths that embrace it, but witnessing it with your own eyes and how close you were to being one of the struck victims leaves an emptiness of fright coursing through your body.
“What in the Abyss is this?” I murmur, my voice hoarse with disbelief.
The air is thick with the stench of sulfur and charred magic, the very essence of the trial corrupted by whatever unholy force now holds dominion here.
A sharp whistle cuts through the chaos and my instincts scream. Something is coming. I spin just in time to see a cluster of dark, barbed vines streaking toward me, their tips dripping with a sickly green ichor.
Poison.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up.
The wind answers my call, swirling around me in a furious spiral. The gusts form a protective vortex, shredding the vines and scattering their remnants into the abyss below. Arrows of similar dark energy follow, but they, too, are deflected by the storm raging around me, a protective onslaught that saves me from whatever plague of agony that would have ignited.
Lowering myself carefully to the unsteady pillar, I extend my senses, trying to feel out the source of this onslaught.
My pulse races as the realization sets in — the pillar beneath me is dissolving, its edges crumbling into dust that vanishes into the void.
“We need to get off this thing!” a panicked voice cries from one of the adjacent pillars. I glance over to see a group of students clutching their injuries, their eyes wide with terror.
I understand their urgency but at the same time, I’m hesitant for multiple reasons.
If we jump off we’ll be targets for those vines and arrows.
I’m confident in protecting myself, but there’s no level of confidence I have for these students.
Then again, I’m not meant to be a hero here. At least, that’s not the original objective. I feel the need to reunite with the others. Though this is about survival, yes, there has to be some sort of group play that will come into fruition at some point.
Well…I can only hope because I’m a damn noob in this field of wicked madness compared to these royals who’ve either experienced this before or have some sort of insight on what’s expected from us.
“It’s going to collapse!” someone else shouts, their voice trembling.
My jaw tightens. I should be panicking too, but the part of me that is Gwenivere — the strategist, the survivor — clings to the realization that the slate of darkness has a purpose.
It’s not just destroying pillars; it’s herding us.
I look down at the dissolving platform beneath me and shake my head.
“Not yet,” I whisper, forcing myself to stay rooted. If I jump now, I’ll end up like the others, aimlessly leaping from pillar to pillar until exhaustion or the slate claims me.
No…I need to figure out what it wants.
What it’s testing.
My gaze sweeps the battlefield. Students who had initially survived the first onslaught are now fighting for their lives. Those with elemental magic wield it with a desperation that borders on brilliance.
Fire scorches the incoming vines; water shields deflect the poison-tipped arrows. The air is alive with the hum of magic, but it’s not enough. For every student who manages to deflect an attack, another falls, their screams echoing as they plummet into the abyss or are absorbed by the slate.
And then there are the “tainted bees,” as someone had called them — small, insect-like creatures made of writhing shadows.
Their stingers glow with a faint green light, and the moment they pierce a student’s skin, the reaction is immediate. Veins turn black, the afflicted collapsing as their life force is siphoned away.
It’s not just poison; it’s corruption, spreading like wildfire through their bodies.
I watch in horror as one student — a fae, judging by the shimmer of their summoned wings of glittering gold and woven nature —tries to flee, only for a swarm of tainted bees to overtake them.
Their barrier shatters like glass, and the swarm descends. Their screams die out as the slate consumes them, leaving nothing behind but silence.
Fuck…where are the others?
My eyes rush to scan the surroundings, fighting to pierce through the chaos to find the familiar men that have unexpectedly become some root of normalcy in this unknown space of uncertainty.
“Where are they?” I mutter, my eyes darting to the other pillars.
Damien, Nikolai, Cassius…
They’re alive. I can feel it.
But they’re dealing with their own battles, too far away for me to reach or even call out to.
The pillar beneath me groans, another chunk breaking off and falling into the void.
A faint glow catches my eye, and I realize it’s coming from the slate. The runes on its surface are brighter now, their patterns shifting as if feeding off the chaos and death around it. My stomach churns, as dread sinks in.
This isn’t just a trial; it’s a massacre.
Another whistle of approaching danger pulls me back into focus. A second wave of vines shoots toward me, accompanied by a flurry of arrows.
I grit my teeth and channel the wind again, but the effort is draining. My parents and heritage may have gifted me with an abundance of power; more than the average individual has, but even I have limits.
Especially when I haven’t been training like I used to.
It makes me feel measly for being so confident in coming to this academy that is known to be a space that encourages the rise of some of the strongest paranormal beings across the world.
I thought it would be easy to overcome such a place, but I never would have imagined I’d be experiencing a trial as difficult as what we’re facing. Other trials start small. Do advance challenges that everyone is used to attempting to achieve, but using advanced magic that I’m positive a good chunk of students have no clue how to defeat is madness.
Merciless…which is what Wicked Academy lives by, isn’t it?
The tornado around me weakens, allowing one of the vines to break through. It lashes across my arm, and I hiss in pain as the poison seeps into my skin.
“Damn it!” I stagger back, clutching the wound. The edges of my vision blur almost instantly, and nausea claws at my stomach. I force myself to stay upright, drawing on the remnants of my strength to heal the wound with magic. I’m not a healer by any means. I’m rough when it comes to my execution as a witch, but I can do the basics in healing attributes and spell craft.
It’s sloppy, but it’ll have to do.
The students on the adjacent pillars aren’t faring any better.
I watch as one of them — a male with fire magic and scales along his arms — summons a blazing inferno to incinerate a swarm of tainted bees.
For a moment, it looks like he’s succeeded, but then the slate pulses, and a tendril of darkness shoots out, extinguishing his flames. He barely has time to scream before the tendril wraps around him and pulls their burning body into the abyss.
My fists clench.
This thing isn’t just feeding off our magic; it’s adapting to it.
My mind is already racing to life, the gears racing to figure out an alternative to get out of this madness. This is a cycle that’s only going to continue until its struck in the root of chaos.
“Focus,” I mutter, shaking off the lingering effects of the poison. The pillar beneath me is almost gone now, little more than a jagged stump.
I need to act.
A sudden cry draws my attention, and I turn to see a small group of students attempting to escape by leaping from one pillar to another. Their desperation is palpable, but their timing is off. One by one, they miss their marks, their screams fading as they fall.
“Fools,” I whisper, though the word tastes bitter.
They had no choice. None of us do.
A fresh wave of tainted bees swarms toward me, their stingers glinting ominously.
I don’t have the energy to summon another tornado, so I reach deeper, calling on the part of me that I’ve tried to keep hidden. Sometimes you got to use fire against fire to see who can burn out faster.
If I’m going to perish, no way am I doing it without pulling every string of defiance to heighten my chances in survival.
Magic flows through me, wild and untamed. The air around me crackles with electricity, and with a flick of my wrist, a bolt of lightning arcs out, striking the swarm and disintegrating them in an explosion of light and shadow.
The effort leaves me gasping, but I’m still standing.
For now.
Magic has always been my forte, not because of the coursing energies given to me from the unique combination of forbidden partnerships, but because of the rare ability to create based off visibility.
Imagination and creation in heightened capabilities of creating anything I put my mind to, which is such a rare trait for any magic user to accomplish. To execute and initiate it correctly without grave consequences. I may have the power to strike this thing down once and for all, but that could risk me dying in a few short heartbeats, too.
I feel fucking screwed at this point…
The slate of darkness shifts, its runes glowing brighter as it releases another wave of attacks. This time, the air itself seems to warp, distorting reality and making it harder to focus. I feel the pull of its malevolent energy, trying to draw me in, but I resist, anchoring myself with sheer willpower.
“You want me?” I growl, glaring at the slate. “Come and get me.”
The pillar beneath me gives one final groan before collapsing entirely. As I plummet into the abyss, I channel the wind once more, propelling myself toward the nearest stable platform.
“Motherfucker,” I curse, my landing less than graceful. My knees buckling as I hit the stone, but I’m alive. Barely. Catching my breath, I’m looking around the chaos as students are running while others are doing the sign of whatever spiritual belief they believe in before they deliberately jump off the pillar to their ends.
The sight is mind boggling to think these men who were cocky and bold, speaking of how powerful they are, accepting their ends and plummeting to their deaths. I can’t imagine doing that to myself because despite the pride and cockiness I gained from being Gabriel, I could never discard the life I worked so hard to keep.
Despite all the challenges I’ve gone through to keep Elena breathing long enough for me to reach this striking moment of time, I could never end my life on my own accords with suicide. I would rather die trying than give up.
Fuck all that shit.
I’m a fighter to the end…and if that means dying alone in this makeshift world of death…so be it.
I rise to my feet, my body trembling with exhaustion. The slate looms above, its runes pulsating with a sickening rhythm. It’s coming for me. I can feel it.
But I’m not done yet.
If this trial wants to break me, it’ll have to try harder.
Gritting my teeth, I square my shoulders and prepare for the next attack. Around me, the battlefield is a symphony of chaos and despair, but I refuse to be just another victim.
Not today.
The swarm of tainted bees thickens, a cloud of malevolence blotting out the faint, sickly light that filters through the chaos. Their stingers glow an eerie green, and the sound of their collective wings is a bone-chilling hum that vibrates deep in my chest.
My muscles tense as I brace for the inevitable.
I’ll die a fighter. That’s what matters…not a failure.
Then, without warning, the air shifts.
The oppressive darkness around me seems to recoil, replaced by a wall of writhing shadows that erupts behind me, swallowing the swarm whole. The bees’ hum turns into a cacophony of sharp, splintering cracks as the shield of shadows condenses, crushing the insects into piles of coal-like fragments that fall uselessly to the dissolving pillar.
I whirl around, heart pounding, to see Grim emerging from the darkness. His form is like a void given shape, a mass of swirling shadows that seem both solid and incorporeal. His eyes—if they can be called that—are glowing pinpricks of light that pierce through the gloom, locking onto me with a strange intensity.
“Grim?” I breathe, my voice cracking with a mix of surprise and relief. My head turns too quickly, the sudden motion sending a wave of dizziness crashing over me.
I sway, my knees threatening to give out beneath me.
Strong hands catch me before I can hit the ground.
Cassius.
His cold, shadow-laden presence wraps around me like a second skin, his grip firm but not harsh. I blink up at him, and the stern frown etched into his features is the first thing I register.
“You’re poisoned,” he says flatly, his silver eyes narrowing as they scan my face. “What were you thinking?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I snap, trying to shrug him off. “Maybe I was just trying not to die. Not that it’s any of your business.”
His grip tightens slightly, pulling me closer as his gaze sharpens.
“It becomes my business when you’re apparently bonded to a Duskwalker jerk like me.”
My breath catches, the words slicing through the haze of pain and exhaustion clouding my mind.
I open my mouth to retort, but the dizziness returns with a vengeance, forcing me to lean heavily against him. My vision blurs, and for a moment, all I can do is focus on the cool steadiness of his touch.
Cassius frowns, his expression softening ever so slightly.
“Stop fighting me and lean, Gabriel. You’re pale, and you’re burning through magic at a reckless pace. You won’t last much longer like this.” Him scolding me should feel more out of concern than mockery but man, my insight must be different as a male because I feel insulted by the gesture.
“I’m fine,” I huff, though the sweat dripping down my temple and the trembling in my limbs betray the lie. “But what are we going to do about this trial? The slate…it’s…”
I trail off, the words caught in my throat as a new wave of nausea surges through me. Grim shifts in the corner of my vision, his shadows rippling as he intercepts another wave of tainted bees. They dissolve against his shield like ash scattered by the wind, but even his power seems strained, the edges of his form flickering with faint instability.
“What about the slate?” Cassius presses, his tone low but urgent. “What do you know?”
I take a steadying breath, forcing the nausea down as I meet his gaze.
“It’s feeding off the students. The ones who fall…they’re not completely gone. The slate’s absorbing their essence, their magic. That’s why it keeps growing stronger. It’s using their souls to thrive.”
Cassius’s expression darkens, his grip on me tightening as if to anchor himself.
“If that’s true, then we…”
“We have to stop it,” I say firmly, my voice steadier now. “If it’s feeding off their magic, then destroying the slate might free them. But it’s too strong as long as it’s connected to those souls. We need to sever that connection.”
Cassius’s frown deepens, his silver eyes flickering with thought.
“Severing the connection could destabilize the entire trial. We’d be risking everything.”
“And if we don’t?” I counter, my voice rising. “More students will die. Or worse—become fuel for that thing. Do you want that on your conscience?”
I doubt he cares, but I mean, even if we’re supposed to not give a shit, the idea of those souls being stuck forever in the slate for the next set of trials to gather students like collectable cards doesn’t sit well with me.
He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the ground as he processes my words. Grim intercepts another attack, his shadows weaving into a protective barrier that deflects a volley of darkness-infused arrows. Despite his efforts, the air is thick with tension, the slate’s runes glowing brighter as it prepares another onslaught.
“Fine,” Cassius says at last, his voice low but resolute. “But what about the bees? We can’t fight the slate and deal with those swarms at the same time.”
I glance at the mass of writhing shadows still hovering in the distance, their stingers glinting like poisonous daggers. My stomach twists at the sight, but I force myself to think.
“The arrows…Grim can handle them. His power is rooted in shadow, just like theirs. But the bees…” I shake my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “The bees are going to be a problem. I don’t have the energy to summon another storm, and we can’t rely on Grim alone to hold them back.”
Cassius studies me for a moment, his frown softening into something almost unreadable.
“You need to stop pushing yourself. Just for a moment.”
“I can handle it,” I snap, but my body betrays me. My knees buckle, and I barely manage to catch myself before I fall. A string of curses leaves my lips as strong arms catch me from behind, steadying me once again.
“Careful there, hero,” a familiar voice drawls, laced with smug amusement. “I know it must be a dream come true to find yourself in my arms, but try not to swoon too hard. I despise weaklings.”
I tilt my head back, glaring up at Damien’s infuriatingly handsome face. His crimson eyes gleam with mirth, and his fanged smirk only deepens as he takes in my scowl.
“Shut the fuck up,” I bite out, shoving him away with what little strength I can muster. “I’d rather fall and die than accept your help, you arrogant?—”
Before I can finish, the pillar beneath us shudders violently.
Cracks spiderweb across its surface, and a deafening crack splits the air as it begins to collapse.
“Shit,” Damien curses, his smirk vanishing as he grabs my arm to steady me. Cassius’s gaze sharpens, and he lets out a sharp whistle that echoes across the battlefield, its sound cutting through the chaos like a blade.
The slate pulses, the runes flaring brighter as the ground beneath us begins to disintegrate.