Page 27 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"We need to neutralize the corruption so Mortimer comes back," I say, finding my voice despite the shock of multiple revelations. "Not just in him, but in all of us. I’m not sure if this was the original intention of this challenge, but I guess it wouldn’t be surprising."

The Trial in “Year One” had the souls of students stuck with the pillar for decades, so am I really shocked this trial wishes to consume our minds and plague us with darkness?

Nope. Not shocked in the slightest.

Atticus nods, the black veins now reaching his shoulder.

"The purification spell I used on you could work on a larger scale. It wasn’t perfect, but it did enough justice to tug you from the deep depths of it," he suggests, "but it would require more power than I can currently channel."

"What about combining our abilities?" I offer, struggling to stand without Grim's support. "If the bond between us works like I think it does, I should be able to supplement your blood magic."

His eyes widen slightly.

"You've never practiced blood magic."

Well…yeah no…

"No," I admit, "but apparently I have natural talent for it,” I say and slowly gesture over to the sylph in still question. “Just ask Lysth."

Using Dark humor in this situation is far too horrendous but ugh. I need to keep my sanity from this maddening craziness of changes and unexpected turmoil somehow.

The crystalline sylph remains at the platform's edge, his fractured form a stark reminder of what the corruption can accomplish even through an unwilling vessel. The blood thorn still protrudes from his chest, pulsing with dark energy that prevents his natural healing from engaging.

I’m unsure if he’s still conscious, his eyes are open. I don’t think he’s dead, but maybe temporarily asleep in a unique state to preserve him long enough for us to interfere. I’m not sure if it’ll give us more time, but if we prioritize helping him first, it could jeopardize everything.

We need to take down Mortimer and bring him back from this tainted state first. Then we can redirect and serve aid.

Hopefully Lysth can survive long enough for us to accomplish that.

There’s also the sticking realization that Mordax isn’t on the platform.

Where did he go?

"It's dangerous," Atticus warns, though I detect a note of consideration beneath his concern. "Blood magic isn't something you improvise."

No shit, Sherlock.

We wouldn’t be playing with blood magic at all if it was my way because everyone smart or absolutely foolish knows that blood anything involves sacrifices, and if you can’t balance the scale in odds that even serve those entities we call upon, it usually ends in disaster.

Trying to lower the chances of impending doom, thank you.

"We don't have many options," I counter, gesturing toward Mortimer's massive form, now advancing on Nikolai's increasingly fragile barrier. "And I'm not watching anyone else get hurt because of me."

The words emerge with unexpected force, carrying the weight of accumulated guilt. I've brought nothing but trouble since infiltrating Wicked Academy – bonds formed without consent, princes turned against each other, and now corruption threatening to claim us all.

But I can also be the solution.

"What do you need me to do?" I ask, determination replacing uncertainty.

We need to get out of this situation quicker so this trial can end…hopefully.

Atticus studies me for a moment, seemingly weighing my resolve against the risks. Whatever he sees in my expression apparently convinces him.

"I need blood freely given," he says finally. "Not taken, not accidentally spilled – deliberately offered for this specific purpose."

"Take mine," I respond without hesitation, extending my wrist.

He shakes his head.

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