16. Newfound Mercy In Triumph
16
NEWFOUND MERCY IN TRIUMPH
~GWENIVERE~
“ Y ou guys don’t fucking listen to me,” Damien’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and irritable. “If she fucking tries to kill us, I’m going to be so damn pis?—”
My eyes snap open.
The warmth against my lips vanishes in an instant, leaving a strange emptiness that twists in my chest. Panic seizes me, constricting and all-consuming, my vision swimming in a sea of red.
It’s not supposed to be normal red — the hue like blood pooling in my gaze.
Cassius’s voice reaches me first, calm but tinged with urgency.
“She’s awake. But something’s off with her aura.”
Damien’s face appears in my blurred line of sight, his brows furrowed with a mixture of concern and annoyance.
“Alright, fight or flight,” he starts, his tone instructive as though he’s trying to calm a feral animal. “You’re probably disoriented, so let’s just?—”
Before he can finish, my hand shoots out, latching onto his neck with a strength that surprises even me. I’m moving before I fully register what’s happening, slamming him to the ground with enough force to knock the breath out of him.
He gasps, his hands clawing at my grip, but I’m already lifting my free hand, flames igniting in my palm.
The heat is instantaneous, licking at my fingertips as my nails elongate into sharp, almost claw-like points.
My eyes zero in on his neck, where his veins pulse rhythmically, taunting me. A desperate hunger claws at my mind, obliterating reason. My fangs extend with a hiss that reverberates through the air, and I lean closer, drawn to the promise of life coursing beneath his skin.
Damien’s eyes widen, panic flashing across his face.
“Oh, fuck?—”
Before I can sink my teeth into him, tendrils of shadow and vines wrap around my body, pulling me back just enough to halt my attack.
I hiss, thrashing against the restraints with a strength I didn’t know I possessed. The shadows tighten, but they’re no match for my fury. Flames erupt from my skin, burning through some of the bindings before a third thread of silver coils around me, constricting me like a snake.
“Hold her,” Mortimer’s voice commands, calm but firm.
The combined restraints manage to stop me inches from Damien’s throat. I snarl, my fangs bared, pulling against the binds with everything I have.
The hunger is unbearable, a gnawing desperation that clouds all rational thought.
“For a new student, this one is extremely powerful,” a voice remarks, smooth and laced with intrigue. It takes me a moment to place it: Eternalis, the female professor with an air of unshakable authority. The student conversation regarding the various professors rings in my mind for a few seconds before I turn my gaze momentarily to acknowledge her.
She observes me with a faint smile, her arms crossed as though she’s watching an experiment unfold. My mind is too frantic to take in further details but she looks fascinated by my wakeful reaction.
“Especially with such low blood reserves.”
“Can’t you interfere instead of standing there admiring her like she’s some sort of prodigy?” Damien chokes out, his voice hoarse as he claws at the restraints around his neck.
Eternalis chuckles softly, tilting her head.
“I don’t quite understand why you four keep calling him a she, but I suppose I could interfere. After all, he did complete the trials. But if you’re looking for a quick fix, he needs blood. Lots of it. Are you volunteering as tribute, Damien?”
“Fuck the hell I won’t,” Damien snaps, his voice cracking under the strain of my grip.
Eternalis sighs, shaking her head.
“I expected more honesty from the Vampire Prince. You’re so busy trying to look cool, that I’m beginning to wonder if that’s your eternal premise. You’ll never ascend to Pureblood potential with such attitude."
“What?” Damien croaks, his confusion barely registering before I headbutt him, forcing his vampire instincts into full throttle.
He hisses back at me, his fangs flashing as he lets loose a string of curses.
“Fucking cunt! I’ll show you who's the more powerful being of blood and shadows!”
The interaction is enough to tick me off, flames flaring from my skin in a sudden, explosive wave. The fire changes color, shifting into shades of vibrant purple and sickly green.
The heat forces Cassius, Mortimer, and Nikolai to retreat several steps, cursing as they shield their faces.
“Poison flames,” Eternalis muses, her tone admiring. “Fascinating. I wonder what family line could produce such a remarkable hybrid. A true art, keeping him hidden this long.”
“Anyone going to save me?!” Damien shouts, his voice cracking with desperation as I tighten my grip on him.
There’s a blur of motion, and suddenly, I’m locked in a clash with Cassius. His shadows coil tightly around me, and I’m so focused on Damien that I barely register the change.
My fangs sink into flesh, and the taste of blood floods my senses. I can’t stop my eyes from rolling as the flow of metallic thickness floods my mouth like a fountain of life, the taste-making me groan in relief.
I’ve never felt this thirsty in my life, and how drinking this thick flow of blood is the best thing I’ve had in my existence. It’s intoxicating, almost overwhelming, and I drink deeply before realization slams into me like a freight train.
This isn’t Damien.
I pull back abruptly, my vision clearing just enough to see Cassius staring at me. Scratches mark his face and chest, and his expression is unreadable.
“What the fuck happened to your face?” I blurt out, panic rising in my chest. I must look horrifying with blood dripping from my mouth, but I’m so taken aback by the scratches on Cassius’ face that I can’t think about that.
My gaze snaps to Damien, who’s leaning against the wall, scowling.
“And why the fuck were you useless? You could’ve protected his beautiful face!”
Damien’s eyes widen in disbelief before narrowing dangerously.
“His face versus my life ?! Which do you think is more important?!”
“His face, stupid!” I snap back without thinking. “You’re ugly anyway!”
Damien’s jaw drops before he snarls.
“How dare you call someone as worthy of being an incubus as me ugly?!”
“You’re ugly in my eyes, so go fuck a tree!” I counter, baring my fangs.
“I’d rather fuck a cactus than deal with you, so fuck off!” he roars, his fangs snapping dangerously close to my face.
The exchange escalates into a flurry of claws and hisses, our movements so fast they’re almost imperceptible. The air crackles with tension as our snarls echo through the space, neither of us willing to back down.
“Should we interfere before Gabriel passes out again?” Mortimer asks, his voice calm but weary.
Nikolai crosses his arms, smirking faintly.
“Honestly, I’m kind of entertained. Maybe they’ll both exhaust themselves, and we’ll finally have some peace.”
“Gabriel,” Cassius’s voice cuts through the chaos, quiet but commanding. It stops me in my tracks, my gaze snapping at him.
He’s standing amidst the aftermath of my flames, his presence calm but resolute.
“Are you okay?”
The question disarms me, my rage dissipating as quickly as it had flared. My chest heaves as I take in the scene around me.
Fifty students stand frozen, watching in stunned silence.
And Eternalis… she’s standing off to the side, her arms crossed, observing everything with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
Reality sets in, and I can’t help but groan.
What the fuck did I just get myself into?
“Yes?” The word comes out more as a question than an answer, my voice hoarse and uncertain.
My head swims as I look around, trying to process the chaos left in the trial’s aftermath. The air is heavy with the acrid scent of smoke, blood, and something faintly metallic.
My vision clears, and I take in the scene around me: the shattered remnants of pillars, scorched patches of ground, and the quiet groans of students still standing—barely.
“Is the trial over?” I ask, my gaze shifting to the stunned crowd. No one answers immediately.
Instead, they all turn to Professor Eternalis, their eyes silently pleading for confirmation.
She grins, a mischievous and almost predatory curve to her lips, but says nothing.
The silence stretches, its weight amplifying the tension. It gives me time to truly see her for the first time.
She stands tall, at 5’10” her posture both commanding and relaxed, as though she’s a queen surveying her subjects.
Her leather jumpsuit clings to her form, accentuated by a short, jewel-encrusted skirt that glints unnaturally under the dim light. High boots, equally bedazzled, reach her knees, the jewels seeming more like arcane artifacts than mere decoration.
Her hair is a vibrant pink, cascading in sleek waves that gleam as if polished, and her eyes are mismatched—one a piercing red, the other a swirling purple. They gleam with an unsettling intelligence, taking in every detail with predatory precision.
I can’t help but feel uneasy under her gaze, wondering what exactly she is. A professor, yes, but how is she immune to whatever curse binds Wicked Academy and its rules against women? The professors, they’d said, aren’t affected. But still, there has to be more to it. Otherwise, why wouldn’t the academy employ female staff? Why would secretaries and others work remotely?
Before I can spiral further, a sudden, melodic chime cuts through the heavy silence. It’s a hauntingly beautiful sound, like the delicate toll of a bell, yet it carries an undercurrent of something mechanical.
Everyone stiffens.
A disembodied, monotone voice follows, reverberating through the space:
“Trial Officially Concluded: Victory.”
The word hangs in the air like a lifeline and a curse. Even after the announcement, no one moves. The silence remains, almost as if no one can comprehend what just happened.
Finally, Eternalis speaks.
Her voice is smooth and rich, tinged with amusement.
“Fifty years,” she muses, the words rolling off her tongue as if savoring them. “This marks the first time in fifty years that a trial has ended in victory.”
Fifty years.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
Fifty years of students trapped, their souls condemned to those slates. I feel my chest tighten, the weight of their loss crashing over me like a tidal wave.
Their faces flash through my mind — young, old, desperate — and I have to look away, my throat constricting.
Eternalis’s gaze sweeps over the remaining students, her smile growing wider.
“Congratulations to all of you still standing and breathing,” she announces, her tone almost mocking. “You have not only officially passed the entry trial into Wicked Academy but have also gained immunity for the remainder of the year.”
Her words ripple through the crowd like a shockwave. Whispers break out, confusion and relief mingling in hushed tones.
Immunity? What does that mean?
Eternalis answers the unspoken question with a flick of her hand.
“It means that despite the challenges and ignited trials ahead, you will be marked with a symbol of immunity. This mark will ensure your survival against any fatal challenges designed to test you. Consider it a token of your success.”
Her smile turns wicked.
“The mark will appear by morning. Until then, enjoy the thrill of not dying.”
I blink, trying to process her words.
Immunity. That means… no more fighting for my life. At least not in the way these trials demand. Relief wars with unease. Why grant such a powerful boon? And why now, after fifty years?
Eternalis’s eyes find mine, and her smile sharpens.
“Gabriel Hawthorne,” she says, drawing out my full name with deliberate precision. Her gaze shifts briefly to the others. “Cassius, Nikolai, Damien, and Mortimer of the Seven. If you would all follow me. The Headmaster wishes to discuss your performance privately.”
She spins on her heel, her boots clicking against the stone floor as she begins to walk away.
But before she takes more than a few steps, she pauses, her gaze flicking back to me.
“Oh, and the haunting boy beside you, Gabriel. He’s invited as well.”
Confusion prickles at the edges of my mind.
“The…haunting boy?” I echo, frowning.
Everyone turns to look, their gazes following Eternalis’s line of sight.
My jaw drops.
Standing next to me is a figure I hadn’t noticed before.
He’s slim and slender, his frame almost ethereal, cloaked in an aura of shifting shadows and flickering white flames.
The strange combination of light and dark magic dances around him, giving him an almost otherworldly presence. He’s dressed in the academy uniform, its crisp lines and dark fabric tailored perfectly to his form.
The cloak draped over his shoulders, however, is anything but ordinary. It seems alive, the source of the shadows and flames that writhe and twist like living entities.
He meets my gaze with an emotionless expression, his eyes deep voids that seem to pierce through me.
There’s no malice in his stare, but something about it is unnerving, as though he’s seen more than he should.
And then he speaks, his voice low and resonant.
“Mine.”
The single word sends a chill down my spine, the weight of its meaning settling heavily in the air between us.
I stare at him for five long seconds, my mind scrambling to piece together what I’m seeing.
The cloak, the shadows, the flames… everything clicked into place like a puzzle I hadn’t realized I was solving.
“Grim?!”