Page 25 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

The world tilts dangerously as I straighten, my equilibrium compromised by more than mere physical exhaustion. Something foreign writhes within my consciousness – the remnants of that malevolent entity that nearly claimed me completely.

It scratches at the edges of my mind like a parasite seeking purchase, whispering seductive promises of power if I would only surrender control. The manipulation feels oddly familiar, reminiscent of how Darius would attempt to bend my will to his – soothing words masking violent intent.

But I didn't submit then, and I won't now.

“Queen of Spades.”

Atticus’ voice is softer now, filled with a hint of worry despite the obvious chaos happening around us.

"I'm fine," I lie, forcing my legs to steady despite the corruption still lingering in my system. The magic underestimated me once; it won't get a second chance.

I have to be more careful…

I’ve let my guard down in comparison to the first Trial, which is something I have to ensure doesn’t happen again.

I’m very lucky this didn’t lead to worse consequences.

My immediate surroundings come into sharper focus as my vision clears.

The platform trembles beneath continuous assault from Mortimer's corrupted form. Nikolai maintains his golden barrier against repeated attacks, while Cassius's shadows lash out with diminishing strength, both princes clearly approaching their limits.

But it's Atticus who commands my primary concern.

Black veins spread visibly up his arms, corruption seeping deeper into his system with each heartbeat. He saved me at tremendous personal cost, and now that same infection threatens to claim him instead.

My throat tightens with fear. If the corruption could so easily take hold of me despite my protective runes, what chance does Atticus have? The others may underestimate him, dismissing him as merely Gabriel's unexpected ally, but I know better.

I know what he is, what he's capable of.

Pureblood.

The word carries weight far beyond ordinary vampire lineage – a rare evolutionary branch supposedly extinct for centuries. The abilities that blood contains haven't been seen in generations.

Movement near the platform's edge draws my attention.

Lysth stands there, his crystalline form fractured like glass struck by a hammer – and protruding from his chest, a thick blood crystalline thorn pulses with malevolent energy.

"What the fuck happened to him?" I gasp, horror washing through me at the sight of such violence. The sylph's normallyprismatic body appears dull where the corruption spreads from the wound, fractures extending outward like dark veins.

I feel the urgency to help him, but then it’s as if he’s in between the border of protection and outside of it. Atticus sighs, glancing back at the injured sylph.

"You're kind of the culprit there," he says carefully, looking pitifully in Lsyth’s direction, surely feeling the same way that I do in wishing to help him, but wondering how we will do that exactly? "When the corruption had hold of you..."

"That's impossible," I frown, shaking my head. I’ve studied plenty of information in regards to various techniques used by various shifters, witches, and beings in the realms of elemental power and shifter traits. "I can't create blood crystalline constructs. That's..." I pause, the implications suddenly clear. "That's a pureblood ability."

"Yes," Atticus agrees, “It’s most definitely a Pureblood capability that’s usually passed down by generational…” his words measured before he stops mid-sentence.

He turns slowly, crimson eyes widening as he truly looks at me – not with the desperate focus of our rescue mission, but with dawning comprehension.

"What?" I ask, unnerved by his sudden scrutiny.

He doesn't answer immediately.

Instead, his gaze drops to my legs, drawing my attention downward as well.

Beneath the shredded remains of my uniform, strange markings flow across my skin like living calligraphy. Unlike the protective runes I've carried since childhood, these patterns pulse with newly awakened power – crimson lines intertwining in designs I've never seen before.

The markings move independently of my will, shifting and repositioning with each of Mortimer's attacks that rock the platform. They respond most dramatically when Cassius andNikolai come within view, as if recognizing their presence even when I'm not looking directly at them.

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