Page 87 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

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.

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