Page 83 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

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’ttry 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.

---