Page 32 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"He's too far gone for simple purification," Cassius observes, shadows gathering as he regains his strength. "The corruption has had him longer, integrated more completely."

"Then we modify the approach," I decide, rising to my feet with newfound determination. The completed ritual has left me not just cleansed but somehow more – my hybrid nature feeling balanced in ways I've never experienced before. "Instead of purifying, we contain and extract."

That’s what’s unraveling in my mind, though the knowledge doesn’t feel like it’s simply mine? It’s hard to explain, but then again, I try not to think about it for too long because that can be confronted or figured out later.

Mortimer is on our priority list in saving now.

"Blood prison," Atticus suggests, crimson eyes meeting mine with shared understanding. "Similar principle to the purification circle, but designed to isolate rather than cleanse."

Nikolai frowns, golden aura flickering with concern.

"That's advanced blood magic. None of us are trained in those arts."

I’m impressed that he knows so much about blood magic tactics, leaving me curious if it was something he was trying to dive into despite being a Fae, or maybe did research for others?

Maybe for Damien’s interest?

"I am," Atticus corrects without elaboration. The simple statement hangs between us, raising questions none of us have time to explore.

"And I'm a quick study," I add, the newly awakened pureblood abilities humming beneath my skin. "Together, we might manage it."

Cassius steps forward, shadows coiling with fresh purpose. "I think we’re going to have to figure this out sooner rather than later,” he announces and points upward, forcing us allto acknowledge the sudden countdown that has replaced the COMPLETE with a two minute counter in red.

Oh no.

I look to Lysth, realizing he’s most definitely alive, on his knees in the covered barrier within the platform. His chest is slowly healing itself, allowing us to see his beating heart, which is sickening, but it’s clear that he’s alive, which means there’s six of us on the platform.

The crystalline must have temporarily killed him or made his heart stop for the trial to believe he had permanently perished.

The revelation about Lysth sends a chill through me. If the sylph is still alive – his crystalline heart visibly beating within his fractured chest – that means six of us remain on the platform.

Not five as intended.

Someone is still meant to fall, according to the “prophecy” for this trial.

The thought makes my stomach clench with renewed urgency while wondering whether we’ll be forced to eliminate someone too.

"We need to act now," I declare, eyes fixed on the countdown that has replaced the COMPLETED notification. Less than two minutes flash in angry red numerals above us, time slipping away with merciless precision.

"Blood prison ritual," Atticus confirms, already moving to the center of the platform. "We'll need a different formation than the purification circle. Pentagon shape, with Mortimer as the focal point."

Without hesitation, the others move to follow his instructions. Even Nikolai, normally resistant to direction from anyone, recognizes the gravity of our situation. His golden aura flares as he takes position at what will become one point of our magical pentagon.

Cassius mirrors him, shadows spreading outward in preparation.

"What about Lysth and Mordax?" he asks, nodding toward the injured sylph still kneeling within the protective barrier. “And where’s Mordax specifically?”

"They stay where they are," Atticus decides. "The ritual should contain Mortimer's corruption without harming them, but they need to remain within the barrier." Atticus emphasizes before adding, “And not important where he is unless that threatens all our hard work.”

Grim begins to dissolve back into pure shadow. His features melt away, substance becoming intangible as he retreats to a more fundamental state.

I can’t help but frown, worried he won’t be able to revert back into the shadowed being who I obviously grew a liking to. Atticus must notice because he quietly adds.

"He's conserving energy," Atticus explains, noting my concerned expression. "The shadow duplicate fighting Mortimer has drained him. He'll recover faster in his natural form."

The shadow being swirls once around me, an almost affectionate gesture, before flowing toward Cassius. Unlike their usual merging, however, Grim maintains separation – becoming a shadow pool at the Duskwalker's feet rather than fully rejoining him.

That’s new.

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