Page 85 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

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.

Not when I can see them…

The faces of the souls still trapped within.

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