Page 31 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Cassius follows, shadows forming a thin blade that opens his palm with surgical precision. His silver gaze remains fixed on me as his blood joins the ritual – darker than human blood, almost black in the platform's strange light.

Nikolai hesitates only briefly before drawing a golden dagger from within his aura. The blade slices his perfect skin, releasing blood that glimmers with internal light.

When it strikes the pattern, small blooms of golden flowers materialize briefly before dissolving into the greater design.

Finally, Grim extends what passes for his hand – shadows condensing into physical form just substantial enough to bleed when he draws a claw across his palm. The liquid that falls isn't blood as I understand it, but something more primordial – essence rather than biology, concept rather than substance. It’s the most fascinating to witness, and maybe even cunning with how we’re bending the usual circumstance needed for such a ritual, but if it works, it works.

That’s what matters if it means getting this foreign tainted magic out of our bodies.

As the four offerings merge within the ritual circle, the pattern begins to glow – first with the individual colors of each contributor, then blending into something new. The light pulses with increasing intensity, spiraling inward toward my position at the center.

"Your turn,"Atticus says, voice strained as he maintains his connection to the ritual."Blood freely given to complete the circuit."

I draw a deep breath, centering myself despite the corruption still fighting for control within my system.

With steady hands, I extract a small blade hidden in my boot – one of many weapons concealed throughout my uniform, preparations for contingencies I hoped never to face.

The blade catches light as I position it above my palm. One clean slice and my blood joins the others, completing the circle of power now humming with potential.

The moment my offering touches the pattern, the real magic ignites.

Light erupts from the bloody designs, no longer constrained to the obsidian surface but rising in three-dimensional structures around us. The cardinal points Cassius, Nikolai, Atticus, and Grim occupy anchor pillars of concentrated energy– shadow, gold, blood, and void – that arch inward to meet above my head.

Where they converge, something new forms – a crown of intertwined energies that slowly descends toward me. The corruption within my system rebels against its approach, black veins pulsing beneath my skin as the foreign influence fights for survival.

Shit…this is rather…demonic.

I grit my teeth, attempting to do my best to remain still despite the agonizing urge to run away from this sealed ritual.

"Don't resist the purification,"Atticus calls, his voice distant through the rushing energy surrounding me."Accept it completely."

Easier said than done when every instinct screams against surrendering control.

But I force myself to relax, to open rather than shield, to welcome rather than reject.

The crown touches my head, and the world dissolves into light.

Pain and pleasure become indistinguishable as the purification sweeps through my system. Every cell feels simultaneously destroyed and rebuilt, death and rebirth occurring in the same impossible moment. I hear myself hiss, but even sounds are suddenly distant as all I can focus on is the foreign energy’s desperation to remain within my every vein.

The corruption fights desperately, clinging to whatever purchase it can find within me.

Through the overwhelming sensations, I become aware of the bonds connecting me to the others – not just visible but tangible within this altered state. Cassius's link pulses cool and steady, ancient shadows offering stability amid chaos. Nikolai's connection burns golden and vibrant, fae vitality feeding thepurification process. Atticus's bond flows crimson and powerful, blood calling to blood across the ritual space.

The crown above me pulses once more, then shatters into countless fragments of light that scatter across the platform. Where they land, corruption recedes – black veins fading from Atticus's arms and surprisingly cracks healing in Lysth's crystalline form as the blood crystalline that pierced him begins to shatter and disintegrate.

Even the obsidian surface beneath our feet on this platform itself seems to brighten as malevolent influences retreat.

The ritual's culmination leaves me gasping in the center of the circle, physically drained but spiritually lighter. The corruption that clawed at my consciousness has vanished completely, taking with it the whispering manipulation that sought control.

As I raise my head, I find four pairs of eyes fixed on me with varying expressions – concern from Atticus, calculation from Nikolai, guarded wonder from Cassius, and something like satisfaction from what passes for Grim's hollow glowing features.

"It worked," I whisper, examining my arms where the black veins have vanished completely. The pureblood markings remain, however – permanent evidence of my bond with Atticus, just as the other marks signify my connections to Cassius and Nikolai.

"For us," Atticus confirms, his own corruption visibly receding. "But we still have one more patient."

As one, we turn toward Mortimer's massive form. He seems to be distracted, staring into the distance as though a new enemy has emerged in his line of sight that we can’t comprehend.

The corrupted dragon shows no sign of the purification that's cleansed the rest of us – his scales remain that sickly green, eyes still burning with malevolent purple light.

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