Page 18 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

The sylph manages to catch Mordax's limp form, but the added weight disrupts his aerial control. Both begin to descend toward the lava fields below, momentum carrying them away from salvation rather than toward it.

With a crystalline cry of determination, Lysth manipulates his molecular structure, extending a glasslike bridge from his body toward the central platform. The construct strains under their combined weight, fractures spreading through its translucent surface with each passing second.

Nikolai reaches the platform first, golden light still surrounding him as he lands with perfect grace. Immediately, the corrupted dragon swivels toward this new arrival, jawsparting to reveal the black ichor now dripping from between serrated teeth.

"Any time now," the fae prince calls, his casual tone belied by the intensity with which his power gathers around his hands.

Cassius arrives next, shadow-stuff coalescing beneath his feet as he touches down on the opposite side of the platform. His silver eyes lock with Nikolai's gold across the expanse, some unspoken communication passing between them before they move in unison.

Light and shadow converge, striking Mortimer from opposite sides. The dragon roars in pain or rage –perhaps both– his corrupted form thrashing against the combined assault. Scales crack under the pressure, releasing jets of noxious purple vapor that hiss as they contact the air.

My own approach brings me within yards of the platform's edge when Mortimer's attention suddenly fixates on me. Those purple eyes lock onto mine with malevolent recognition – not the scholarly acceptance I'd grown accustomed to from Mortimer, but something alien wearing his form.

"Gabriel, move!" Atticus shouts from somewhere behind me.

The warning comes a heartbeat too late.

Mortimer's tail, momentarily forgotten in our focus on his head and jaws, whips toward me with devastating force. I try to twist midair, vampire reflexes pushing my body beyond human limitations, but the angle is wrong, the timing impossible.

SHIT!

Impact drives the air from my lungs, sending me careening off course.

Instead of reaching the central platform, I hurtle toward a section of volcanic rock that had remained hidden until now. The collision is brutal, my body slamming into unyielding stone with enough force to crack ribs and rattle consciousness.

Pain blossoms across my torso, sharp and immediate. Gasping for breath that won't come, I cling to the rough surface, fingers digging into volcanic rock as I fight to maintain my grip to prevent a steep glide downward to the burning lava eons below.

"Gabriel!" Nikolai's voice reaches me, concern evident despite the chaos surrounding him. Surprising for him to sound so urgently bothered when he’s acting as if we didn’t fuck on a whim and had some sort of connection.

I try to respond, to signal that I'm still conscious, but movement from the rock beneath my hands distracts me.

What I'd taken for ordinary stone now writhes with unnatural life, black vines erupting from its surface to coil around my wrists and ankles.

Fuck! No, no, no.

I struggle against the living restraints, realizing exactly what this is, but each movement only seems to encourage their growth. The vines spread rapidly, wrapping around my limbs with constricting force.

The first jolt of electricity takes me by surprise – not ordinary lightning but corrupt magical energy that courses through the vines directly into my body. Every nerve ending ignites simultaneously, a symphony of agony that threatens to overwhelm conscious thought.

I grit my teeth against the scream building in my throat, determined not to give these abominations the satisfaction. The runes beneath my skin flare in response, ancient protection magic fighting against the invasive corruption.

Through vision blurred by pain, I see the central platform where the others continue their battle against Mortimer's transformed body. Lysth has finally reached the edge, dragging Mordax's semi-conscious form behind him. The sylph collapsesimmediately upon reaching safety, his crystalline structure showing numerous stress fractures from the effort.

Atticus stands at the platform's edge closest to me, crimson eyes locked on my restrained form. The expression on his face carries a promise of violence so profound it would terrify me under different circumstances. Now, it offers only comfort – the knowledge that whatever happens to me, retribution will follow.

Another surge of corrupted energy tears through my system, stronger than the first. My back arches involuntarily, muscles spasming beyond conscious control. The vines tighten further, drawing me against the volcanic rock as more tendrils emerge to wrap around my torso and neck.

"Atticus!" My voice breaks on his name, pain and desperation tangling the syllables. “Don’t…cut…the vines!”

I know what’s going to happen if I’m kept captive by these tainted living creatures, and I can only pray it's a quick end if Atticus and the others can’t retrieve me in time.

An ending I truly wouldn’t want for my worst enemy…

Atticus moves as if to leap toward me, but Mortimer's massive form interposes between us, cutting off any potential rescue. The dragon's corrupted body blocks my view of the platform, those purple eyes finding mine with what almost seems like satisfaction.

"I'm sorry,"Mortimer's mental voice reaches me, distorted and fragmented but recognizable beneath the corruption."Can't... control... it... taking... over...grand prize. Royal…need…throne…"

What does he mean? Royal need throne? Those words don’t even make?—

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