Page 34 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Mortimer's corruption fights our containment with terrifying strength, the cage walls bending inward with each blow from his massive form.

"We're losing him!" Cassius calls, shadows stretching to reinforce his contribution to the prison. Even with Grim's essence pooled at his feet, supplementing his natural abilities, the Duskwalker prince struggles to maintain the necessary output.

Nikolai curses, his perfect composure finally cracking under the strain. \

"I'll have to use more," he mutters, almost to himself. "No choice."

Before I can question his meaning, the Fae prince undergoes a startling transformation. The careful glamour he's maintained since I've known him –the one that presents him as merely an extraordinarily beautifulfae – shatters completely.

Golden light erupts from beneath his skin, not just surrounding him but seeming to pour from within. His hair, already long and lustrous, grows further until it reaches past his waist, the strands moving with independent life like tendrils ofliving gold. His features sharpen, cheekbones becoming more pronounced, jaw more defined.

Most dramatic are his ears, which elongate dramatically into the pointed shape of pure Fae royalty – not the modest points many Fae display, but the true ancient markers of original bloodlines. They extend outward and upward, at least four inches in length, adorned with what appear to be naturally occurring crystalline formations that catch the light in hypnotic patterns.

Runes materialize across his exposed skin, far more extensive and complex than anything I've witnessed on other Fae.

These aren't tattoos or artificial markings – they seem to emerge from within him, ancient birthright rather than acquired decoration. They spread across his face, neck, and hands in swirling patterns that suggest cosmic forces rather than mere magic.

His eyes transform last, the golden irises expanding until no white remains visible. The pupils elongate into vertical slits reminiscent of a cat's, but more alien in their perfect symmetry.

When he blinks, I catch glimpses of secondary eyelids moving horizontally across those transformed eyes.

"Fuck," Cassius whispers, clearly as stunned by this revelation as I am.

The transformation complete, Nikolai's contribution to the blood prison increases tenfold. His beam of energy thickens dramatically, golden light so intense it's almost painful to look at directly.

The prison walls solidify in response, closing tighter around Mortimer's thrashing form.

"More!" Atticus urges, his own power surging to match Nikolai's increase. "We almost have him!"

I push deeper, drawing on reserves I didn't know I possessed. The markings across my skin burn with the effort, power flowing outward in a torrent that leaves me lightheaded. My vision tunnels slightly, darkness creeping in from the edges as I channel more than my body is prepared to give.

Just a little more...

Mortimer roars again, this one carrying notes of desperation rather than rage. The corruption within him senses its impending containment, fighting with renewed ferocity against our combined assault.

The countdown continues its merciless progression – sixty seconds remaining. Whether it marks the end of the trial or something more ominous remains unclear, but none of us intend to discover the consequences of failure.

"One final push," Atticus calls, his voice strained almost beyond recognition. Black veins have reappeared on his arms, not from corruption this time but from the sheer effort of channeling so much blood magic at once. "Everything you have!"

I close my eyes, reaching deeper than I ever have before. Beyond the vampire, beyond the witch, beyond even the newly awakened aspects of my nature I’ve yet to truly harvest.

The core essence that makes me a unique prize no one is ready to acquire: untouched by classifications or limitations.

Power answers, surging upward from depths I never knew existed. It pours through me like a tidal wave, overwhelming in its intensity yet somehow perfectly controlled. My beam strengthens dramatically, matching Nikolai's golden light and Atticus's crimson power.

The blood prison contracts sharply, walls solidifying into impenetrable barriers around Mortimer's corrupted form. The dragon fights desperately, claws scraping against magical constraints that no longer yield to his strength.

"It's working!" Cassius shouts, his own contribution stabilizing as Grim's pooled essence rises to join the effort.

The five points of our pentagon pulse with synchronized energy, the prison walls contracting further with each beat. Mortimer's massive form begins to shrink within the cage, his corrupted essence compressed by the relentless pressure of our combined magic.

Thirty seconds remain on the countdown.

I push harder, every cell in my body screaming with the effort. Darkness continues to encroach on my vision, the world narrowing to a single point of focus – the corrupted dragon at the center of our magical construct.

So close...

Something shifts behind me – not a physical presence but a disturbance in the magical currents flowing through the platform. Before I can turn to investigate, a hand touches my shoulder with gentle but unmistakable authority.

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