14. The Trials Of The Wicked Elites Part Two
14
THE TRIALS OF THE WICKED ELITES PART TWO
~GWENIVERE~
T he ground beneath us collapses in a roar of crumbling stone, but before the abyss can claim us, vines of gold and green burst from the void.
They spiral upward in a graceful arc, catching us mid-fall. The vines twist and weave with mesmerizing precision, wrapping around my waist and limbs like living tendrils as they slow our descent.
Cassius is the first to steady himself, his shadow-laden form pressing against the vibrant tendrils as if testing their integrity. Damien curses under his breath, his grip still tight on my arm as the vines gently lower us.
Then, with a sudden flourish, the vines snap taut, forming a platform beneath our feet. A lush canopy of oversized, iridescent leaves materializes, their veins glowing with an ethereal light. The platform is large, sturdy, and somehow alive—a living refuge in the chaos.
I have just enough time to catch my breath before the familiar hum of danger pierces my senses. A swarm of tainted bees hurtles toward us, their stingers glinting with deadly intent. My heart leaps into my throat.
“Here they come again!” I shout, summoning a weak gust of wind to shield us, though I know it won’t be enough.
But before the swarm can reach us, another force joins the fray. From above, a dazzling swarm of bees—red and pink, their bodies shimmering like gemstones—descends with violent precision. They collide with the tainted bees in midair, a clash of light and darkness that sends shockwaves rippling through the air. The tainted bees explode or decay into ash upon impact, their corrupted forms no match for the blazing vibrancy of their new foes.
The air hums with residual energy as the battle rages on, but the platform beneath us remains untouched. My pulse steadies, though my mind reels. What the hell is happening?
“This is really tiresome,” a voice drawls, so drenched in boredom it’s almost insulting.
I whip around, my gaze darting to the source of the voice. Damien stiffens beside me, his crimson eyes narrowing. Cassius’s expression doesn’t change, but I can sense his tension in the way his shadows coil tighter around him.
Floating above the platform with effortless grace is Nikolai. The Fae prince exudes an aura so potent it feels like the entire battlefield bends to accommodate him. Golden light radiates from his skin, his hair levitating with an almost hypnotic rhythm, charged with immense magic. He lands on the platform without a sound, his every movement a study in ethereal perfection.
I’m speechless. Despite the chaos still unfolding around us, my eyes are drawn to him, unable to look away. The sheer force of natural magic emanating from him is overwhelming. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, a primal power that thrums in the air, commanding both reverence and awe.
He turns to me, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement as a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You’re staring, Gabriel,” he says, his tone teasing but sharp. “Careful now. If you fall for me, I might just have to indulge you.”
My face flushes, and I immediately look away, scowling. “Oh, please,” I mutter, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Take your egotistical, glowing ass elsewhere.”
Nikolai’s smirk deepens as he steps closer, the light radiating from him casting long shadows across the platform. He leans down, his fingers gripping my chin with surprising firmness, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.
“Unlike Damien’s incubus tendencies,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, “I don’t hesitate to take the lead when someone shows even the slightest hint of attraction.”
I yank my chin free from his grip, my scowl deepening. “Take your sexy ass away from me,” I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
Nikolai’s laugh is a low, melodic sound that somehow feels more dangerous than comforting. He winks at me, his violet eyes sparkling with mischief.
Groaning, I step back, muttering under my breath. “I forgot how cocky Fae can get when they’re hopped up on power and might.”
“And yet,” Nikolai retorts smoothly, “you’re still staring.”
I roll my eyes, but before I can reply, he raises a hand. A wave of golden light surges outward, forming a barrier just in time to deflect another onslaught of dark arrows. The arrows shatter harmlessly against the glowing shield, falling to the platform like brittle twigs.
Nikolai lowers his hand, his expression calm and unbothered. “Now that we’re done flirting, what’s the game plan?” he asks casually, his gaze flicking between the three of us.
Cassius steps forward, his silver eyes glinting with determination. “Gabriel believes the slate’s power source is tied to the souls it’s absorbed,” he says. “Severing that connection might weaken it enough for us to destroy it.”
Nikolai tilts his head, considering the explanation. “Sever the bond and free the souls,” he muses. “A bold strategy. Dangerous, but bold.”
“The bees are the problem,” I interject, glancing at the remnants of the swarm still circling in the distance. “If we can’t handle them, we’ll never get close enough to the slate to sever anything.”
Nikolai’s lips curve into a confident smile. “Leave the bees to me,” he says. “Nature has its own ways of dealing with corruption. I’ll make sure they don’t bother us again.”
I nod, relief washing over me. “Good. That’ll give us a chance to focus on the slate.”
Nikolai’s gaze sharpens as he studies me, his violet eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Anything else you’re worried about, Gabriel?”
I take a moment to survey the battlefield, my mind racing. The slate looms in the distance, its runes pulsing with dark energy. The air around it shimmers with the heat of unleashed magic, and I know we’ll need more than brute force to bring it down.
My gaze shifts to Damien, who’s been unusually quiet. “Do you know how to use blood magic?” I ask abruptly.
Damien blinks, staring at me as if I’ve just grown a second head. “Blood magic? Are you serious?”
I groan, running a hand through my hair. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
Cassius, however, seems intrigued. “Explain,” he says, his tone neutral but probing.
I hesitate, glancing between them. “It’s forbidden magic,” I admit, my voice lowering. “But it’s powerful. If used correctly, it could disrupt the slate’s connection to the souls it’s absorbed. I learned a few things about it in… unconventional ways.”
Damien crosses his arms, his crimson eyes narrowing. “If it’s forbidden, you shouldn’t even be considering it. Let alone using it here.”
A sharp laugh escapes me, bitter and edged with exhaustion. “Oh, come on. Since when has Wicked Academy cared about what’s forbidden? Do you think they’d stop this trial just because some of us are playing dirty?”
Neither of them replies, their silence speaks volumes. I smirk, though the weight of the situation keeps my amusement brief.
My gaze shifts back to Damien.
The air crackles with tension as I glare at Damien. My patience is running on fumes, and his blank, slightly bewildered expression isn’t helping.
“Just make sure your energy levels are up,” I snap, crossing my arms against the faint trembling of my muscles. Exhaustion is gnawing at me, but I can’t afford to show it.
Damien arches a brow, his crimson eyes gleaming with mockery. “And how, pray tell, do you suggest I do that? Should I ask the bees to kindly leave me alone so I can take a nap?”
I roll my eyes, biting back a scathing retort. Instead, I take a deep breath, fixing him with a hard stare. “Do you know nothing about how vampires fought in the 1900s against the zombie-like Fae manipulated by purebloods?”
Damien’s smirk falters slightly. Next to him, Cassius tilts his head, his silver eyes narrowing. Even Nikolai, who’s been exuding an air of detached amusement, looks mildly intrigued. Grim, perched in the shadows nearby, leans forward slightly, a puff of oddly sweet-smelling smoke escaping from his form.
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. “None of you have any clue what I’m talking about, do you?”
Grim lets out another puff of smoke, this one vaguely sharper, almost like the scent of burning sage. The way his unblinking gaze rests on me confirms it: not a single soul here knows what the hell I’m saying.
“You guys need a damn history lesson after this,” I mutter, lowering my hand.
Damien crosses his arms, his fanged grin making a triumphant return. “Please, enlighten us, Professor Gabriel. I’m dying to know how this ancient vampire trivia is going to save our asses.”
“It’s simple,” I say sharply. “In those days, vampires didn’t just suck blood to replenish themselves. They could do the opposite. They pushed energy into their allies to keep them from collapsing in battle.”
Damien blinks, his expression twisting into something halfway between skepticism and mild horror. “That… doesn’t sound real.”
“Well, it is,” I snap. “And you’re going to do it. All you need to do is bite my wrist?—”
“Finally, some sense,” Damien interrupts with a smirk.
“—and instead of taking blood, you’re going to push energy into me. It’s like reverse-feeding. Think of it as shoving your aura into mine to keep my energy balanced.”
Damien frowns, the cocky edge fading from his expression. “That… doesn’t sound hard,” he mutters, though there’s a note of uncertainty in his voice. “But I’ve never done that shit before.”
“Suck it up,” I retort. “I’ve never met a vampire who didn’t bully the shit out of me, so consider this payback. It’s a first time for everything, right? Even if it’s an ancient method of power hidden in books that shall not be named.”
“If he messes it up, we’re all dead anyway,” Cassius says calmly, though his shadows ripple like restless waves around his feet. “Why not?”
Nikolai chuckles softly, folding his arms as he leans against a vine-covered pillar. “He’s barely mastered his own magic,” he points out, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re really trusting him to pull this off, Gabriel?”
“Well, if he can’t, we’re all dying, so… yolo,” I say with a shrug, though my tone is far more acidic than casual.
Damien glares at Nikolai, baring his fangs. “Watch your mouth, Fae prince. I’ll show you just how capable I am.”
“Mm-hmm,” Nikolai hums, waving a dismissive hand. “Just don’t drain him dry in the process, darling. I’d hate to lose Gabriel before his brilliant plan fails spectacularly.”
Before Damien can retort, Cassius stiffens, his gaze snapping toward the slate. “Something’s happening,” he says, his voice low and grim.
We all turn to look. The slate’s runes are pulsing erratically now, their malevolent glow casting harsh shadows across the battlefield. The remaining pillars are crumbling faster, and the few students still standing are barely holding on. Most are lying motionless, their magic drained to the point of collapse. The air is thick with the stench of burning flesh and dark magic.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my throat tightening. From thousands of students at the start of this trial, we’re down to maybe a hundred. And even that might be generous.
Far below, at the very base of the slate’s domain, a group of students has managed to huddle together on a single, massive pillar just above the ground. But the ground itself is… wrong. It’s not solid. It’s a sea of flames and swirling darkness, an endless void that seems to devour everything it touches. The students’ barrier is flickering, barely holding, and it’s clear they won’t last much longer.
The sight is haunting, a grim reminder of just how far we’ve fallen. My stomach churns, but I force myself to focus. If we’re going to do something, it has to be now.
“It’s now or never,” I say, my voice steady despite the chaos roaring around us. “Get ready. We’re launching the attack.”
“What exactly is the plan?” Nikolai asks, his tone curious but not particularly concerned.
I shoot him a sharp look. “If it all goes to shit, just know I fucking hate you all.”
Grim lets out a puff of smoke, this one tinged with an almost citrusy scent. I sigh, correcting myself. “Not you, Grim. I like you.”
Damien growls, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “Why the hell are we helping you again?”
Cassius glances at him, his expression as calm as ever. “Because if Gabriel’s plan doesn’t work, we’re all going to die anyway. What’s the harm in trying?”
Damien mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t argue further. Instead, he steps closer to me, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studies me. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
Nikolai smirks, his golden aura flaring slightly. “I’m actually quite fascinated by this plan. I doubt Gabriel will let us die, but if Damien messes up… well, he owes us lunch.”
“Fuck off, Nikolai,” Damien snaps, his voice dripping with venom. “Watch me prevail.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure,” Nikolai says with a wave of his hand. “I’ll be waiting.”
I take a shaky breath, my wrist trembling slightly as I raise it to my lips. The moment stretches endlessly, a fragile silence hanging in the air despite the chaos raging around us.
I force my mind to still, shutting out the exhaustion and the doubts gnawing at the edges of my resolve. There is no room for hesitation now.
The faint tang of copper fills my mouth as my tongue grazes the skin of my wrist. I close my eyes, focusing intently on the ancient incantation that begins to form in my mind. The magic buried within me stirs, reluctant but eager all at once. It’s a raw, wild thing—untamed and dangerous, like a fire waiting for the chance to consume.
Runes bloom to life along the veins of my wrist, their lines glowing with a faint blue-white light. They pulse in time with my heartbeat, their ancient language whispering secrets in a tongue I barely understand but instinctively obey.
The glow spreads, lines of power seeping across my skin like rivulets of light. They wrap around my arm, crawling up toward my shoulder as the spell takes hold.
I exhale slowly, steadying myself as the darkness within my mind expands.
It envelops everything, a void so absolute it’s almost comforting. Within the blackness, I focus on the spark of life—not the tangible world around me, but the invisible energy that binds everything together. One by one, lights begin to flicker into being, like stars piercing an endless night.
The first aura I see is my own. Its glow is unmistakable, a vibrant blend of silver and gold. It burns fiercely, brighter than I expected, and for a moment, I almost don’t recognize it.
My breath catches as the form solidifies.
It’s not Gabriel I see reflected in the light — it’s the true me, Gwenivere. My hair floats weightlessly around me, a cascade of shimmering strands that defy gravity. The energy pouring from me is endless, and infinite in a way that fills me with both awe and dread.
A fragment of my reality.
This is who I truly am, beneath the facade, and for a fleeting second, I wonder if the others could see me like this… would they understand?
The thought vanishes as quickly as it comes, replaced by the next flicker of light.
Cassius.
His aura is darker, shadowy tendrils coiling and writhing like living things. Yet those shadows are held together by thin strands of white and purple energy, a tenuous balance that seems almost fragile but is deceptively strong. His power feels like the stillness before a storm, a quiet yet overwhelming force.
Then there’s Nikolai.
I swallow hard as his aura bursts into existence, an endless expanse of gold that nearly blinds me. His energy flows like an unbroken river, vast and eternal. It’s mesmerizing, terrifying even, in its immensity.
There is no bottom to it, no end to its reach.
A constant cycle of power.
It’s no wonder he walks with such confidence—to wield energy like that is to command the world itself.
And then my gaze shifts to Damien.
His aura flares to life, a deep red with jagged streaks of black and white threading through it. The sight makes me pause, my stomach twisting.
That combination…it’s not normal for a vampire. The black suggests his vampiric nature, but the white?
A marker of purity, of lineage.
It’s rare — incredibly rare — and it only appears in those who might be purebloods. But Damien has never mentioned anything like that, and I can’t dwell on it now.
Still, the sight of it leaves me unsettled.
Finally, Grim. His aura doesn’t glow the way the others do for obvious reasons.
Instead, it’s a barrier of sorts, a swirling shield of shadows that encase his form. The shadows ripple and shift, giving off the occasional puff of smoke. The scent is oddly comforting, like the faint trace of cedar mixed with something sharper. It’s odd for him to have a scent, but I guess in our current circumstances he’s protruding an aroma to help identify his presence through the madness unfolding before our eyes.
His barrier is strong, and impenetrable.
Even the faintest suggestion of tainted energy recoils when it nears him.
As I take in the auras of my companions, the rest of the environment begins to come into focus. Beyond the barrier formed by Grim’s power, the world is alive with tainted energy.
It’s a sickly, pulsating force, thick and suffocating. The sheer volume of it is overwhelming, and for the first time, I truly understand what we’re up against.
The tainted energy flows in waves, converging on the slate. It’s massive, far larger than it seemed from the outside.
Tendrils of darkness snake out from its surface, latching onto the souls trapped within it. Each soul is a faint, flickering light, struggling against the pull of the slate’s power. The sight makes my stomach turn. There are so many… hundreds, maybe thousands.
Each one represents a life lost, a student who came to this academy full of hope and potential, only to be consumed by this monstrous creation.
The weight of it is suffocating. My breath hitches, and my vision wavers. How are we supposed to fight this? How can we possibly break the slate’s hold when it’s been feeding on souls for years, maybe decades?
“Gabriel?” Nikolai’s voice cuts through the darkness, sharp and clear. “Are you alright?”
I blink, the vision fading slightly as I turn my attention back to him. His expression is calm, but there’s a hint of concern in his eyes.
“I…” I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat.
For a moment, I consider lying, brushing off his concern with some snarky remark. But the truth is too heavy to ignore.
“I don’t think we have enough energy to take out all the slates,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe the biggest one, but… it’s too much. This thing has been collecting souls for years. It’s… haunting.”
The others exchange glances.
Cassius’s shadows ripple uneasily, and even Nikolai’s confident aura seems to dim slightly.
Damien, however, lets out a low growl.
“So what?” he snaps. “We’re just supposed to give up?”
“I didn’t say that,” I bite back, frustration flaring. “I’m just saying we need to be realistic. This isn’t some simple trial we can brute force our way through. If we screw this up, we’re all dead. Or worse.”
“Then what’s the plan?” Cassius asks, his tone calm but pointed.
I close my eyes again, forcing myself to focus. The runes on my wrist pulse faintly, the magic waiting for my command. I take another deep breath, steadying my thoughts.
“We go for the biggest slate,” I say finally. “If we can sever its connection to the souls it’s absorbed, it might destabilize the rest. But…”
“But what?” Damien demands.
“But it’s going to take everything we have,” I admit. “And even then, it might not be enough.”
The silence that follows is heavy, but there’s no hesitation in their auras. Despite everything, they’re ready. Ready to fight, to risk everything for even the slimmest chance of survival.
“Fine,” Nikolai says, his golden aura flaring once more. “But if you’re wrong, Gabriel, I expect an apology before we’re all incinerated.”
I let out a faint laugh, though there’s no real humor in it.
“If we’re incinerated, you’re not getting anything, Nikolai.”
“Pity,” he replies with a smirk.
Despite the tension pulsing around us, having him add a bit of humor in such a dire situation makes me feel a pang of hope.
Grim lets out another puff of smoke, this one darker and more pungent. It feels like approval, though I’m not entirely sure. Either way, it’s enough to steady my nerves.
I take one final breath, letting the runes on my wrist guide me as I prepare for the inevitable.
Please don’t let me down.
I shut my eyes, allowing the darkness to consume my vision once more.
The faint hum of energies surrounding us becomes my focus, the vibrations of life and power thrumming like an orchestra tuning before the performance.
My breathing slows as I concentrate, pushing past the strain and exhaustion gnawing at the edges of my resolve.
Raising my left hand, I let my fingers glide through the air until they find the runes etched into my wrist. They hum beneath my touch, eager to be ignited.
I exhale slowly, channeling my intent into them. With a whispered incantation, the runes blaze to life, their light searing through the shadows around me. The magic burns hot, radiating up my arm as if eager to escape.
Before I can second-guess myself, I bite into my wrist.
Pain blooms, sharp and immediate, but I push through it, letting the blood flow freely. The metallic tang fills the air as I whip my hand out, the droplets transforming into luminous strings that glow with a crimson brilliance.
Each thread hums with power, stark against the void of darkness and the pulsating energy around us.
My eyes remain shut, but I can see everything through the web of connections the strings illuminate. They stretch outward, shooting through the expanse like a spider weaving its intricate trap.
The largest slate looms ahead, its surface a grotesque mass of writhing runes and dark tendrils feeding on trapped souls. The threads wrap around it, latching onto every crevice and crack like thousands of tiny needles sewing their way into its core.
A faint tremor courses through me as I focus on the slate, readying the attack. The magic surges through my veins, raw and volatile, demanding release.
But just as I’m about to unleash it, something catches my attention.
The threads are not stopping at the largest slate. They spread further, connecting to others scattered throughout the battlefield. The slates are not isolated entities—their energies are entwined, a vast network feeding into one another like veins in a monstrous body.
My breath hitches as the realization sinks in.
“They’re connected,” I mutter, my voice strained. “If we destroy one, they all have to go. Otherwise, it won’t work.”
Cassius’s voice cuts through the haze of concentration.
“What’s the probability of pulling that off?”
I hesitate, feeling the weight of their eyes on me. The magic is taxing, the threads trembling with the effort it takes to maintain them.
Finally, I answer.
“Five percent. Maybe.”
Damien scoffs.
“That’s too risky. We can’t bet everything on those odds.”
“And what’s your alternative?” Nikolai interjects, his tone light but cutting. “Run and hope the slates don’t devour us like the others?”
I clench my teeth, annoyance bubbling to the surface. “It doesn’t matter what I think,” I snap. “We’re fucked if we don’t try something. So unless someone else has a brilliant plan, shut up and let me concentrate.”
Nikolai’s chuckle is soft, almost infuriatingly calm.
“Well, if Mortimer and the others are watching, a success like this would make for quite the bonus entry to the academy’s hall of fame.” His voice drops, laced with teasing encouragement. “I say go for it, Gabriel. Let’s see what you can do.”
I groan, the dizziness from the blood loss creeping in, making my head swim. The threads falter slightly, and I grip my wrist tighter to maintain the connection.
“I’m not sure I can handle it,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
Damien’s growl is immediate.
“Stop being a weak little shit,” he snaps. “You’ve come this far. A little blood loss isn’t going to kill you. Don’t fuck this up now.”
I shoot him a glare, though my eyes remain shut.
“Go eat grass, Damien.”
Before he can reply, Cassius speaks, his voice steady but tense.
“A time limit just popped up. The slates are reacting.”
My heart sinks further.
“I can’t open my eyes,” I say quickly. “If I do, I’ll lose the connection.”
“Two minutes,” Nikolai announces, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “That’s all we’ve got.”
A chorus of curses echoes around me, but the tension solidifies into something sharper.
Determination.
It’s now or never.
I take a deep breath, letting the magic surge through me once more.
“Alright,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Let’s do this.”
My fingers spread wider, the threads of blood stretching further to wrap around the remaining slates.
Their surfaces pulse with dark energy, oozing a malevolence that makes my skin crawl. I can feel the magic pulling at me, threatening to unravel my control.
“Gabriel,” Nikolai’s voice comes softly, almost reverent. “Your magic…it’s incredible.”
I frown, barely able to focus on his words.
“Not the time for compliments, Nikolai.”
“No, really,” he says, a note of awe creeping into his tone. “You…you look radiant. Handsome, even.”
“Stop fucking admiring him and do your part,” Damien snaps, his voice tight with nerves.
“Says the one who isn’t doing what was asked of him,” Cassius replies coldly. “You talk a lot when you’re nervous, Damien.”
Damien growls, but I feel the weight of his hand on my arm, steadying me.
His grip is firm, and I can sense the hesitation in his movements before he leans closer. His breath brushes against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. Then comes the sharp sting of his fangs piercing my arm. But instead of drawing blood, I feel a surge of warmth, a foreign energy pushing into me, merging with my own.
It’s strange and invasive but not unwelcome, and it bolsters my strength.
“Alright,” I warn, my voice tight with strain. “I’m going to launch it. Be ready for whatever happens next.”
The air around us grows heavier, the slates pulsing violently as if sensing the impending attack.
My threads glow brighter, trembling with the force of the magic coursing through them. I take one final breath, steadying myself for the inevitable chaos to come.
The words come unbidden, ancient, and unrelenting.
They flow into my mind like a raging river, each syllable burning as they escape my lips. The runes carved into my skin ignite, their glow searing bright enough to pierce the darkness. It’s as if they’re alive, consuming my energy as they pulse in rhythm with the incantation.
The blood strings surge forward, tightening their grip around the slates. The immense network of threads glows crimson, illuminating the void-like realm.
My body shakes with the force of it, my breathing faltering as an invisible weight presses down on my chest. I’m suffocating, yet I can’t stop. The cries of the trapped souls grow louder, each wail a dagger to my heart.
“Gabriel, you’re losing magic too fast!” Cassius’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and filled with worry.
I hear him, but his words feel distant, muted. My entire being is consumed by the screams, the pleas for freedom that echo around me.
And then I see them.
The souls trapped within the slates come into focus, their faint teal light flickering like dying embers.
They are packed tightly within the confines of their prison, their forms translucent and hollow. Some are young, barely more than children, their wide eyes filled with confusion and despair.
Others are older, their features etched with the weight of a life cut short. Their sadness is a palpable force, suffocating in its intensity.
One soul, a boy no older than fourteen, floats closer to the surface of the slate. His hollow eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, time seems to freeze. His voice, soft and trembling, reaches me through the cacophony.
“I just wanted to go home,” he whispers, his words laced with sorrow. “I didn’t even make it past the first trial. They said it would be easy. They lied.”
My chest tightens as more voices join his, their words weaving together in a haunting chorus.
“I didn’t want to fight. They made me. I didn’t stand a chance.”
“My family… I never got to say goodbye. Do they even know what happened to me?”
“Please… let us go. It hurts. It hurts so much.”
Their desperation claws at me, their pain a tangible force that makes my legs buckle.
Beads of sweat run down the sides of my face, stinging my eyes as I grit my teeth. My entire body trembles, the strain of maintaining the blood strings and channeling the magic pushing me to the brink.
An arm hooks around my waist, steadying me before I collapse.
I don’t need to look to know it’s Cassius. His shadows coil protectively around us, their cold presence grounding me just enough to keep going.
“Gabriel,” The sternness of his voice seems to snap me out of the haze that fights to pull me under. “Focus!” he says, low but firm. “You’re breaking the slates. Look.”
I force my gaze forward, my vision swimming as I take in the sight before me.
The smaller slates, the ones closest to the ground, are cracking. Fissures run across their surfaces, glowing with an intense light as the blood strings tighten.
One by one, they begin to shatter, their dark energy dissipating into the void. The souls within them spill out, their teal forms rising like wisps of smoke.
Their cries shift, turning from pain to relief as they fade into the ether.
It’s working…
It’s actually working!
But the largest slate, the monolithic prison at the center of it all, refuses to yield.
It pulsates violently, its runes flaring as it fights against the magic trying to destroy it. The pressure is immense, a tidal wave of resistance that slams into me, threatening to snap my concentration.
“It’s holding on,” I manage to rasp, my voice barely audible. “It’s…it’s fighting back.”
Nikolai steps closer, his golden aura flaring as he surveys the battlefield.
“Damien, push more magic into him,” he says sharply.
“I can’t,” Damien snaps, his voice tinged with frustration. “Something’s blocking me. It’s like I’m hitting a wall.”
“Then break through it,” Nikolai retorts, his tone clipped. “If Gabriel falls now, we’re all as good as dead.”
I can hear them, feel their urgency , but my focus remains locked on the slate. The blood strings pull tighter, the crimson threads glowing brighter as they draw more energy from me.
My aura flickers, dangerously low, but I can’t stop.
Not now.
N ot when I can see them…
The faces of the souls still trapped within.
A male, his face lined with age, presses his hands against the inside of the slate. His voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the noise like a knife.
“My son…I never found him. Please, let me see him again.”
A young man, his eyes hollow and lifeless, stares at me with an expression of quiet resignation.
“We trusted them. They said this place would make us stronger. Instead, it broke us.”
A boy, no older than seven, clutches a tattered doll to his chest. His voice is barely audible, a faint echo in the void.
“I’m scared. I just want to go home.”
Seeing someone so young leaves me feeling eerier, wondering how the hell he got here in Wicked Academy. Was he here visiting one of the students and getting pulled into the trials without realizing it?
My stomach sinks at the mere idea, feeling sad that this little boy's future has been completely ruined for what could have been a simple mistake of innocence.
More voices seek my refuge, yearning to be heard after what could be years of endless solitude.
Their words weigh on me, a heavy burden that threatens to crush me entirely. My body trembles, my knees threatening to give out despite Cassius’s steady hold.
The pressure of the magic is overwhelming, the slate’s resistance nearly insurmountable. The drive to save them is there, the motivation to push every strand of restraint to destroy this prison once and for all couldn’t be more vibrant.
But…
“I can’t…” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Cassius tightens his grip, his voice steady despite the chaos. I feel as though he can’t show weakness. Can’t emphasize a strand of sympathy. Yet, his presence is helping more than I’d dare admit, especially when we’re practically strangers.
“You’re stronger than this, Gabriel,” his praise is barely audible, as though he only wants it to be between us. “You have to be. Look at them.”
His encouragement proves that he not only sees the extent of this situation, but he sees them.
He sees the world of ether that I’m witnessing behind my closed eyes.
I force myself to focus, to see the faces of the souls once more.
Their eyes…they’re watching me, their hope fragile but undeniable.
They’re counting on me, trusting me to free them from this nightmare.
“You can do this,” Nikolai says like an affirmation, his voice softer now but no less firm. “You’ve already come this far. Don’t let them down.”
Damien growls, his hand gripping my arm tightly.
“You’re not allowed to quit,” he says, his voice low and fierce. “You’ve survived worse. I’m sure you have if you managed to make it to Wicked Academy. Don’t let some ancient piece of shit slate take you down.”
If I wasn’t fighting to destroy this slate, I would have rolled my eyes with his bickering, but behind his approach, I sense the genuine encouragement in its depths.
Their words anchor me, pulling me back from the edge.
This academy is created to test our limits in a world where mercy is never given by accident. So what if I’m the first to give mercy to those who are victims of it?
I grit my teeth, summoning every ounce of strength I have left.
The blood strings blaze brighter, their glow cutting through the darkness as I push forward.
The slate groans, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. The resistance intensifies, the dark energy pushing back with a force that nearly knocks me off my feet.
But I don’t stop.
We’re so fucking close!
Not when freedom is within reach.
The slate trembles violently, cracks spreading across its surface like jagged lightning.
The blood strings wrapped around it glow with an intensity that threatens to blind me, the power coursing through them reaching its apex. My breathing is shallow, my chest heaving as I pour everything I have left into this final effort.
Victory is so close, I can feel it—the slate is seconds away from shattering completely.
Then it stops.
The cracks freeze mid-spread, the glowing runes flicker and dim, and the blood strings tremble as if something has seized control of them.
A sharp, suffocating cold washes over me, and the air grows heavy with an oppressive force that feels ancient and unyielding. My eyes widen as I see a single thread of darkness snake through the chaos, slithering with a sinister intent.
It winds its way toward the slate, coiling around it like a predator claiming its prey.
“No,” I whisper, my voice trembling as my focus shifts to follow the dark thread. My gaze traces its path, watching as it descends toward the ground, where a lone figure stands unmoving at the base of the battlefield.
My heart clenches.
“Malcolm?” I whisper, barely able to breathe his name.
“Who?” Damien asks, his tone sharp with confusion and irritation.
Cassius mutters, his voice low but laced with unease.
“Isn’t that the gothic dude everyone’s freaked out about? The one they say might be a Duskwalker like me?”
Nikolai frowns, his golden aura flaring faintly.
“Why are you bringing him up now, Gabriel?” he demands, his tone edged with suspicion.
But I can’t answer.
My entire focus is locked on Malcolm.
His jet-black hair falls in unkempt strands around his face, and his pale skin glows faintly in the eerie light. His hollow, piercing stare meets mine, and for a moment, the battlefield fades away.
Everything narrows to just the two of us.
“So you’re a female,” he whispers, his voice as soft as silk but laced with a venom that makes my blood run cold.
Confusion floods me, but I have no time to process his words.
The single black thread releases its hold on the slate and snaps toward me like a viper striking its prey. Before I can react, it pierces my chest with a force that steals the breath from my lungs.
W…What?
I’m frozen, paralyzed by the shock.
My body feels weightless as if I’m suspended in time.
Then, the pain hits — a deep, searing agony that radiates outward from the tendril embedded in my heart. My vision blurs as I feel the shattering of something deep within me, like a mirror breaking into a thousand pieces.
The image of Gabriel falls away, fragmented and fragile, leaving me bare.
Gwenivere.
I’m no longer hidden, no longer masked.
The illusion crumbles and the weight of my true self crashes down around me.
Voices reach me as if from a great distance.
“Gabriel!” someone shouts.
Another voice curses loudly.
I can’t tell who it is; their words are drowned out by the roar of blood rushing in my ears. Warmth trickles down my face, and I realize from the metallic scent that plagues my failing senses that it’s blood, dripping from my nose and pooling at the corners of my mouth.
I glance down, my body trembling as I take in the sight of the shadowy tendril that pierces through me.
It’s alive, writhing like a serpent, pulsing with an ominous energy that seeps into my veins. My knees buckle, but I force myself to stay upright, my gaze snapping back to Malcolm.
But he’s no longer on the ground eons away.
My breath catches as I realize he’s standing inches from me, his presence suffocating.
His hollow eyes are darker than the void itself, empty yet piercing as if he sees straight through me. His smile is eerie, and unnatural, curving just a little too wide to be human. His skin is pale to the point of translucence, almost waxy, and his very being radiates an unnatural stillness that sets every nerve in my body on edge.
“You,” I rasp, my voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re the one who did this. You’re the one…behind all of it.”
He tilts his head, his smile widening as if amused by my realization.
“It took you long enough to piece it together,” he says, his voice a soft purr. “But I suppose I shouldn’t expect too much. After all, you’re new here. Fresh meat. Compared to the dimwits I’ve dealt with for years, finally, one unselfish being is willing to test my limits.”
His words send a chill down my spine.
The rumors flood back to me — whispers of Malcolm, the strange, gothic student who seemed to linger in the shadows of Wicked Academy. The eerie presence, his habit of repeating Year One over and over again, and the sense that something about him was fundamentally wrong.
It all makes sense now.
He’s not just a student.
He’s the ruler of this chessboard, the puppet master controlling the game.
And now, he’s making his final move.
“Checkmate,” Malcolm murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
I try to pull away, to break free, but his hand shoots out, gripping my chin with inhuman strength.
His touch burns, the skin of his fingers morphing into long, sickly tendrils that coil around my face like the limbs of some monstrous creature.
“This is the first time I’ve seen a female flawlessly blend into Wicked Academy,” he muses, tilting my head slightly as if examining me. “How fascinating. Perhaps that makes you special.”
I struggle to breathe, my chest heaving as I try to fight off his hold. The runes on my body flare to life, burning with an intensity that makes my skin sear.
But no matter how hard I push, his grip doesn’t falter.
My vision blurs as blood pools in my mouth, the metallic taste flooding my senses. Tears stream down my face, but they’re not clear— they’re red, tinged with blood.
“Let…me…go,” I manage to choke out, my voice weak but defiant.
Malcolm’s smile widens, his hollow eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement.
“Oh, but why would I do that? You’ve walked into my cage of endless ruin, and I’ve no intention of letting you leave.”
I blink, and suddenly, I’m staring at my reflection.
Above me, a portal shimmers to life, its surface rippling like dark water. The image it shows is haunting.
My body is wrapped in tendrils of shadow, their inky blackness crawling up my limbs and torso like vines seeking to consume me. Each rune on my skin pulses with a desperate intensity, their light flickering as they fight against the encroaching darkness.
But for every inch of light they gain, the shadows take another.
My body burns, the searing pain almost unbearable. But then, the fire fades, replaced by a creeping numbness. It spreads slowly, starting in my fingertips and toes, crawling upward like a sinister tide.
The darkness is winning, its suffocating grip closing in around me.
Malcolm watches me with a predator’s gaze, his smile never wavering.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had prey as perfect as you,” he says, his voice almost reverent. “These royal princes…they’ve finally proven useful. They brought you to me.”
I frown, confusion cutting through the haze of pain.
“What are you… talking about?” I whisper.
Malcolm chuckles a sound that sends shivers down my spine.
“You’ll understand soon enough,” he says. “After all, you’re the most fascinating piece on this board. And it’s time for you to meet your destiny.”
The suffocating grip of Malcolm’s shadows presses down on my chest, and the fire in my veins begins to flicker.
The world grows faint, a muted cacophony of screams and whispers clawing at the edges of my consciousness.
My eyes feel too heavy to open, and the pain…it’s all-encompassing, a searing, biting thing that gnaws at my very core.
And then, I hear her voice.
“Gwenivere.”
It’s soft, barely a whisper, but it cuts through the storm raging inside me like a beacon.
My mind grasps it, desperate for something—anything—to anchor me. The darkness shifts, unraveling into a swirl of faint light, and suddenly, I’m standing somewhere else entirely.
I’m not on the battlefield.
I’m in a graveyard.
The scent of damp earth fills my nose, and the air is heavy with the weight of stillness.
Before me stands a pair of grand tombstones, their surfaces polished to a mirror sheen, glowing faintly with intricate runes carved into their faces. The runes hum softly, a melody of ancient magic that resonates deep within me as if the stones themselves are alive and aware of my presence.
My parents’ names are etched into the stone, their elegance stark against the simplicity of the surroundings.
The magic woven into the inscriptions is intricate, so powerful that the runes seem to shift and shimmer when I stare at them for too long.
“Why am I here?” I murmur, my voice trembling.
I feel a warmth in my hand, and I glance down to see my fingers intertwined with another’s.
I look up, and there she is…
Elena.
Her familiar features are soft, her expression tinged with sadness as she gazes at the tombstones. The sight of her makes my heart ache, a bittersweet longing that catches me off guard.
“Elena?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “What’s wrong?”
She turns to me, her sad smile not quite reaching her eyes.
The sight of it makes my chest tighten. I realize then that my voice sounds different, higher, lighter. I glance down at myself and gasp softly.
I’m a child again?
My hands are small and uncalloused, my form unburdened by the weight of years and pain.
The scene shifts in the blink of an eye.
One moment, we are children standing hand in hand before our parents’ graves, and the next, we’re adults. Our hands remain joined, but now my form is taller, my limbs stronger.
My gaze shifts to Elena, only to see the faint shimmer of tears pooling in her eyes. Her hand squeezes mine tightly, grounding me.
“Life isn’t fair,” she says softly, her voice cracking.
“Why would you say that?” My voice trembles, and I frown deeply. “Is it because…our parents left us? They’re in paradise now, aren’t they?”
Elena shakes her head slowly. Her tears spill over, trailing down her cheeks as she exhales shakily.
“It’s not just that,” she whispers. “The world is too wicked, Gwenivere. Too wicked for people like you.”
Her words hit me like a blow, and I struggled to comprehend their weight.
Before I can respond, the world shifts again.
It’s disorienting, like being tossed into a new reality without warning. My breath catches as I look down at myself. My form has changed.
I’m no longer Gwenivere.
I’m Gabriel.
Elena’s appearance shifts, too. She stands before me, a perfect reflection of myself, only in stark contrast.
While I’m clad in white, she is adorned in black. Her features mirror mine, but her eyes are darker, her presence heavier.
“Why are we different?” I ask, confusion knotting my brow. “We’ve always been the same. We’ve acted the same.”
Elena’s lips curve into a sad smile, her hand still gripping mine.
“You’re right,” she says softly. “We’ve always been the same. But…we were destined to be opposites.”
Her words make no sense, and I shake my head, my frustration mounting.
“I don’t understand,” I say, my voice tinged with desperation. “Something is wrong with me, but I can’t figure it out. Everything feels…cold. Frightening. How did I get here? I can’t even remember.”
Elena’s gaze softens, but she doesn’t answer.
The scene shifts again, and my form changes once more. I’m back as Gwenivere, and standing before me is Elena once more as she pulls me into an embrace.
Her arms wrap around me tightly, but the warmth I expect never comes. Instead, there’s a hollow chill, a haunting emptiness that makes my chest ache.
“The boys were destined to be cruel,” she whispers into my ear. “The environment…it was woven to be diabolically ruthless. Ancient words seek refuge, and your agony…your agony will be the catalyst of a revolution no one is ready for. Not even you.”
Her words send shivers down my spine. When she pulls back, I see the tears glistening in her eyes. She cups my face gently, her hands trembling as she holds me.
“I didn’t have a fighting chance,” she says, her voice breaking. “That’s why things are the way they are. But you do, Gwenivere. You can do this. You just have to rely on those who’ve been placed in your path.”
My throat tightens, and I swallow hard, struggling to find my voice.
“How?” I ask, my words barely audible. “How do I do this? How do I survive?”
Elena’s smile is faint but filled with quiet strength.
“Open your heart,” she says. “Not to love in the usual sense of affection and harmony, but to something deeper. Words are fleeting, but actions are everything. Remember that. Always.”
The world around us begins to fade, the vibrant colors draining into a grayscale void. My heart pounds as I grip her hands tightly, desperate to hold on.
“Will I ever see you again?” I whisper, my voice trembling. It’s odd to think as though this is the last time I’ll see her. It doesn’t make sense, impossible to comprehend in this state of unwavering certainty, but I can only hope she won’t flicker away from me.
Pray I’ll remember why we’re not together again…
Elena laughs softly, the sound bittersweet.
“You’ll have no choice but to see me again,” she says. “I’m your purpose in this wild chase wayward. But be confident, Gwenivere. Generations of magic chose you for a reason. Your purpose has no choice but to prosper. No matter what.”
Chose me? When…where…how?
Suddenly, I wonder how I acquired the power that coursed through me. The magic I’ve been so comfortable manipulating into my favor.
The rooted essence of power that pushed me into thinking I can come here…wherever that “here” is.
“Farewell, little sister.”
Her words echo in my mind as the last traces of her form fade into the void.
I’m left alone, the stillness pressing down on me as I struggle to comprehend the weight of her message. The darkness begins to shift again, pulling me back toward the waking world.
Little sister.
But…I’m the older one…aren’t I?