Page 13 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Ahead looms a massive cloud unlike any we've encountered so far. Where the previous formations were merely threatening, this monstrosity radiates active malevolence. Pitch black at its core, the periphery crackles with purple electricity that arcs between floating spines like nervous systems gone haywire. Noxious fumes escape in hissing jets that suggest internal pressure seeking release.

"Holy fuck," Mordax mutters, his voice modulating through several octaves as his form instinctively tries to find a configuration that might withstand what's coming.

"Whatever's in there," Cassius observes quietly, "is going to hurt when we come out."

The understatement hangs between us as we hurtle toward the ominous formation, our chain of linked bodies maintaining course despite individual reservations.

"Now or never," I declare, scanning the distance between this final obstacle and the platform that awaits beyond. "Time to execute the plan. Mortimer needs to shift and aim for the landing zone."

Mordax glances between us uncertainly. "You actually expect to ride a dragon through that electrical deathtrap?"

"Got a better idea?" Atticus counters without looking back.

Mortimer clears his throat, adjusting his glasses in that scholarly way that seems increasingly incongruous with the scales spreading across his skin. "I should warn you that taming a dragon to abide by your orders once I've shifted may prove... tedious."

"Rest assured," Nikolai interjects with casual arrogance, "you're our 'pet' after all. You'll abide by our commands."

"Indeed," Cassius adds, his tone carrying that cool certainty of royalty accustomed to obedience.

The presumption might have rankled me once, but now it simply highlights the disconnect between these princes and reality. Their certainty that Mortimer will obey, based solely on his designated status as their "pet," showcases the entitlement that allowed them to watch my humiliation without intervention.

And I was falling madly in love with them…ugh.

Love is truly blind.

Mortimer's expression remains impassive, but when his gaze meets mine, a tiny smirk forms at the corner of his mouth. His eyes twinkle with mischief – a silent communication that suggests their confidence may be misplaced.

I can't help but return that smirk, a moment of conspiracy passing between us. Whatever Mortimer has planned, it seems it may not align perfectly with the princes' expectations.

Then again, as long as I survive with Atticus, it’s not my problem.

"Let's do this," I announce, focusing on the approaching electrical nightmare before us.

Mordax and Lysth exchange glances, clearly recalculating their odds of survival now that they've attached themselves to our chaotic group. The sylph's crystalline features remain difficult to read, but there's a resignation in the set of histranslucent shoulders that suggests he's committed to our course of action, however dubious it might be.

"On my signal," Mortimer instructs, his voice deepening as the transformation accelerates. Scales now cover his neck, creeping up his jawline in a pattern that suggests the change will be complete within moments. "Release the chain and position yourselves on my back once the shift completes."

The imminent transformation forces us to adjust our strategy. Our human chain begins to spread out slightly, maintaining contact but allowing room for what comes next.

"Duskwalker," Mortimer addresses Cassius directly, though I’m coming to realize he’s using their titles for some sort of reasoning. Maybe a professional reminder, especially with how his voice now carries harmonic undertones that vibrate the air around us. "Your shadows will need to shield us through the cloud. Can you maintain coverage for approximately fifteen seconds?"

Cassius nods, his silver eyes narrowing in concentration as his shadows begin to thicken around him.

"Fifteen seconds," he confirms. "Not a moment longer."

"Fae," Mortimer continues, turning to Nikolai. "Your golden light should counteract some of the electrical discharge. Focus it outward, create a field that dampens the energy without attracting the lightning."

Nikolai's expression suggests he's not accustomed to taking orders, but he inclines his head slightly.

"I can manage that."

"Sylph, your crystalline structure will refract any light-based attacks. Position yourself at the dorsal ridge once I transform. Shifter, adapt for electrical resistance – silicon-based if you can manage it."

Mordax and Lysth nod their understanding, their expressions showing newfound respect for the scholarly "pet" who now commands with the authority of an ancient being.

"Hybrid and..." Mortimer hesitates, his gaze shifting between me and Atticus with that same calculating assessment he applies to complex magical theorems. "...Pureblood.”

Wait a damn minute. Pureblood?

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