Page 14 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

I’m already looking at Atticus with curiosity, but he simply smirks, knowing damn well everyone is looking his way at the obvious revelation. If Mortimer is acknowledging it, that means it’s legit.

Duskwalker, Fae, Dragon, and a Pureblood…all tangled with a Hybrid.

The sudden wonder if Atticus has any royal background hums through my mind, but I quickly push it to the back as Mortimer is continuing with the game plan.

“You'll take position directly behind my head. Your runes should provide additional protection, and your friend's unique resistance to magical threats will be valuable at the forefront."

The careful way he phrases this, acknowledging Atticus's unexplained immunity without directly questioning it, reminds me why Mortimer earned his place among the Seven.

His intelligence extends beyond mere academic knowledge – he sees patterns others miss, connections hidden beneath surfaces.

"And if this goes sideways?" Atticus asks, his voice calm despite the looming danger. "What's plan B?"

"Aim for the platform and hope you survive the impact," Mortimer answers frankly. "Two will fall, remember? The prophecy doesn't guarantee we all make it."

Well…shit.

The blunt assessment silences further questions.

The cloud approaches rapidly now, its electrical discharges increasing in frequency and intensity. Purple lightning arcs between spine-like protrusions, creating a deadly web we'll need to navigate.

"Now," Mortimer commands, his voice no longer remotely human.

His transformation happens with explosive force – one moment he's a man with scaled skin, the next a massive dragon unfurls in our midst, wingspan blocking out the volcanic glow from below.

Deep crimson scales armor his serpentine body, reflecting the hellish landscape in metallic highlights of gold and orange. His head extends on a sinuous neck, horns spiraling backward from his skull in elegant curves that speak of age and power.

The change in scale is disorienting – where once stood a man of normal proportions now hovers a beast large enough to carry all six of us comfortably. Our chain breaks as each person scrambles to find purchase on the dragon's back, following the positions Mortimer outlined.

Atticus reacts with impressive speed, pulling me toward the base of Mortimer's neck where scales form a natural seating area.

We settle there just as Cassius and Nikolai take their positions further back, their movements betraying years of coordinated action. Lysth finds his place at the dorsal ridge, his crystalline body merging partially with the scales beneath him in a defensive posture. Mordax brings up the rear, his form now gleaming with silicon hardness, adapted specifically for electrical resistance as instructed.

"Hold tight," Mortimer's voice booms, no longer coming from a mouth but resonating directly in our minds. "And whatever happens, don't let go."

The warning comes just in time.

Massive wings beat once, twice, adjusting our trajectory toward the electrical cloud. Cassius's shadows stretch outward, forming a dome-like barrier around us all that ripples with protective magic. Simultaneously, Nikolai's golden aura expands, creating a field that seems to bend the ambient energy around us rather than blocking it directly.

My own runes flare brighter in response to the imminent danger, their protective enchantments resonating with the ancient power of the dragon beneath us. Atticus's arms wrap securely around my waist, his presence solid and reassuring against the chaos that surrounds us.

We hit the cloud at full velocity.

The impact is unlike anything I've experienced – not pain exactly, but a sensation of every molecule in my body trying to vibrate at a different frequency. The electricity doesn't shock so much as rewrite, attempting to reconfigure my very essence into something other than what I am.

Cassius's shadow barrier absorbs the worst of it, but even that formidable protection begins to fragment under the assault. Purple lightning penetrates in by thin tendrils, seeking weaknesses, hunting vulnerabilities with an intelligence that suggests this is no ordinary storm.

Nikolai's golden field creates a secondary defense, bending the energy away from vital areas, but sweat beads on his perfect brow as the effort taxes even his considerable power.

Through it all, Mortimer drives forward with single-minded determination, massive wings beating against the resistant medium of the cloud. Each movement costs him – I can feel the tremors running through his scaled body as the electrical discharge targets his vulnerable wing membranes.

"Almost through," his mental voice assures us, though the strain is evident in its harmonics.

The fifteen seconds Cassius promised stretch into what feels like eternity. His shadows begin to thin dangerously, holes appearing in our protective dome as his power reaches its limits. Through these gaps, purple lightning strikes with increasing accuracy, scoring direct hits that draw hisses of pain from various members of our group.

A particularly vicious bolt penetrates directly above me, and I brace for impact.

Instead, Atticus shifts, placing his body between me and the attack. The electricity strikes him squarely between the shoulder blades, but instead of causing harm, it seems to absorb into his skin, leaving him completely unaffected.

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