Page 28 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"Mine is already corrupted. Yours is still partly purified." His gaze shifts to Cassius and Nikolai, still battling Mortimer at the platform's edge. "We'll need theirs as well. The bond you share with them creates a circuit we can use to channel the purification."

At least these bonds can be useful for something.

"They're a little busy at the moment," I point out, watching as Cassius barely dodges a swipe from Mortimer's claws. I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge Mortimer's stamina for a “multi-decade” dragon shifter. "And I'm not sure they'll be eager to participate in blood magic."

"They'll help," Atticus interjects as if they really don’t have the privilege to object,which is technically true."Or they'll watch everyone here succumb to corruption. Not much of a choice."

The confidence in his assessment would be reassuring if not for the grim reality it acknowledges. Corruption spreads through all of us to varying degrees – Atticus and I most visibly, but Lysth's worsening condition suggests the infection can transfer through injury.

"We need to move quickly," I say, noting the darkening veins now visible on my own arms. The purification Atticus performed bought us some time, but the corruption continues its insidious advance. "What's the first step?"

"A circle," he explains, already scanning the platform for an appropriate location. "Blood freely given at cardinal points, with the corrupted subject at the center."

"Mortimer's too large to position properly," I observe, watching the dragon's massive form as it continues its assault.

"We're not starting with him," Atticus clarifies. "He's too far gone for a direct purification. We start with you, then extend the cleansing outward."

The logic makes sense, though the thought of being the ritual's focal point sends a shiver down my spine. Blood magic carries risks beyond the obvious physical danger – ancient taboos exist for reasons often forgotten by modern practitioners.

But what choice do we have?

"Grim," I address the shadow being still supporting me. "Can you get Cassius and Nikolai over here without getting them killed in the process?"

The featureless face somehow manages to convey amusement.

“Greeeeeee.” His response is far deeper in range, but I can see the hints of excitement dancing in those hollow eyes, having new found purpose.

Without further explanation, he releases me, ensuring I can stand on my own before his form dissolves into multiple shadow tendrils. These shoot across the platform with astonishing speed, reassembling behind Mortimer in a towering silhouette that mimics the dragon's own proportions.

The shadow dragon roars – a sound that carries no physical vibration yet somehow penetrates the mind directly. Mortimer whirls toward this new threat, momentarily forgetting his assault on the princes.

In that instant of distraction, two additional shadow tendrils wrap around Cassius and Nikolai, yanking them across the platform toward us before Mortimer can react. They landin undignified heaps near our position, confusion and alarm evident on their faces, though Cassius seems to recover in a flash compared to Nikolai’s dubious expression that I dare admit is funny to see on the usual face of absolute perfection.

"What the—" Nikolai begins, golden aura flaring defensively.

"No time," Atticus cuts him off, already drawing a complex pattern on the obsidian surface using blood from his corrupted arm. "The corruption is spreading. We need to purify it before it claims us all."

I’m unsure if they even know what Atticus is referring to, seeing as I had to be unconscious for a hot minute, but understanding falls upon Cassius’ features as he pays attention to us.

"Blood magic," Cassius observes, shadows coiling protectively around him as he recognizes the ritual's components. "That's forbidden arts."

"So is letting your bond mate get doused in urine while you watch," Atticus retorts, the words emerging like reminding them of their obvious faults and lack of response will lead to their doom. "Yet here we are."

Nikolai flinches as if struck, the first genuine reaction I've seen from him since my public humiliation. The sight should bring satisfaction, but I find only weariness beneath my anger.

He’s all about show anyways. He doesn’t care about what happened…he just needs to project that he’s an asshole. We’re at Wicked Academy, remember?

Despite the obvious reminder, I can acknowledge that Atticus didn’t treat me ill since arriving here. Will it have consequences? I’m not sure, but oddly enough, deep within my heart, I feel even if there was capital punishment for not treating me like a rotting disease, he’d take it with open arms.

Just to not betray me…

"This isn't about retribution," I continue more softly. "It's about survival. Mortimer's corruption is spreading to all of us. You've seen what it did to me, what it's doing to Atticus. We also have to work faster to get Lysth out of his predicament."

“He’s probably dead…” Nikolai grumbles.

“It doesn’t matter,” I hiss. “We should at least try. Its my fault he has a damn blood crystalline in his chest. Not sure what Sylph’s survival rates are with injuries like this but we most certainly can try to assist.”

They exchange looks, clearly knowing I’m not going to take no for an answer even if they try to discard the member whom we’d just met. He aided us in some way to get this far, and half of his body is still in the barrier, so we could have a chance in retrieving him.

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