Page 23 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

With a final surge of effort, I press my bleeding palms directly against Gwenivere’s corrupted runes. The contact completes the circuit, my blood flowing into her veins as the purification spell reaches its crescendo.

Pain erupts through my nervous system – not simply physical agony but something deeper, more fundamental. The corruption fights my interference, retaliating with concentrated attacks against my own life force.

Black veins spread up my arms from the point of contact, the infection attempting to claim me as it has Gwenivere.The purification spell wavers as my concentration fragments under the assault, the carefully constructed magical architecture threatening to collapse.

In that moment of impending failure, I make the final sacrifice the spell requires. Not more blood – I've already given more than most could survive.

Instead, I offer memory.

Specifically, the memory of my transformation – those dark years in prison when I remade myself from victim to avenger. I allow it to thrive on the emotional agony. The negative roots of pain that fought to destroy every ounce of forgiveness I could muster as one still sane despite the obstacles placed against them.

It’s the best counteractive measure.

To use what no longer serves me to benefit the retrieval of the very purpose that kept me going through those agonizing moments of captive despair.

The spell consumes this offering greedily, using the emotional energy contained within those recollections to fuel its final stage.

Light erupts from our point of contact, blinding in its intensity. The corruption recoils, then attacks with renewed ferocity, determined to maintain its hold on Gwenivere’s unconscious form.

The purification wavers, teeters on the edge of collapse...

And tips toward success as Gwenivere’s eyes clear momentarily, purple slits receding as her natural eye color fights to reassert itself.

"Atticus?" Her voice, weak but her own, reaches me through the chaotic energies surrounding us.

"I've got you," I assure her, maintaining the purification circuit despite the corruption's continued assault. "Just stay with me a little longer."

Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining as the spell completes its work. The black veins beneath her skin begin to recede, the twisted runes straightening back into their proper protective configurations.

The victory is short-lived.

A massive force slams into the portal from outside – Mortimer's attack, I realize, the corrupted dragon attempting to destroy what he cannot control. The dimensional pocket destabilizes, its translucent surface rippling with increasing violence.

"We need to get out," I tell Gwenivere, supporting her partially purified body as the void around us begins to collapse. "Can you move?"

She nods weakly, though her eyes still show traces of corruption around the edges. The purification isn't complete, but it's progressed far enough to restore some of her autonomy.

The portal's exit seems impossibly distant, the translucent surface contracting as the dimensional pocket begins its final collapse. Outside, I catch glimpses of chaos – Mortimer's corrupted form attacking the platform, Cassius and Nikolai defending against both the dragon and the countdown's expiration.

"Hold onto me," I instruct, gathering Gwenivere’s weakened form against my chest. The movement sends fresh waves of agony through my corrupted arms, but I force the pain aside. "This is going to be unpleasant."

With the last reserves of my strength, I channel the remaining blood magic into a propulsion spell. The forbidden art responds sluggishly, my vital essence dangerously depleted from the purification ritual.

Nevertheless, the spell takes form, power building around us like a compressed spring.

The portal continues its collapse, the void shrinking toward a singular point that will erase anything caught within. We have one chance – a single, desperate attempt to escape before erasure claims us both.

I release the propulsion spell, its energy catapulting us toward the shrinking exit with violent force. The acceleration pins Gwenivere against my chest, her weakened form unable to resist the tremendous pressure.

The platform rushes toward us – or we toward it, perspective becoming meaningless in this collapsing reality. The opening of a red barrier that must be controlled by Mortimer is narrowing with each passing second, our escape window diminishing to a pinpoint of possibility.

We strike the translucent surface at the exact moment of its final contraction.

For one terrible heartbeat, I believe we've failed – that the red barrier cylinder closed in front of instead of around us, sealing our fate in this dimensional trap.

Then reality tears, and we emerge into chaos.

The platform comes into view as we hurtle from the collapsing portal, momentum carrying us toward its obsidian surface. Mortimer's corrupted form dominates the scene, his massive body engaged in combat with Cassius and Nikolai who fight with desperate coordination against his overwhelming power.

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