Page 75 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One
Their barrier shatters like glass, and the swarm descends. Their screams die out as the slate consumes them, leaving nothing behind but silence.
Fuck…where are the others?
My eyes rush to scan the surroundings, fighting to pierce through the chaos to find the familiar men that have unexpectedly become some root of normalcy in this unknown space of uncertainty.
“Where are they?” I mutter, my eyes darting to the other pillars.
Damien, Nikolai, Cassius…
They’re alive. I can feel it.
But they’re dealing with their own battles, too far away for me to reach or even call out to.
The pillar beneath me groans, another chunk breaking off and falling into the void.
A faint glow catches my eye, and I realize it’s coming from the slate. The runes on its surface are brighter now, their patterns shifting as if feeding off the chaos and death around it. My stomach churns, as dread sinks in.
This isn’t just a trial; it’s a massacre.
Another whistle of approaching danger pulls me back into focus. A second wave of vines shoots toward me, accompanied by a flurry of arrows.
I grit my teeth and channel the wind again, but the effort is draining. My parents and heritage may have gifted me with an abundance of power; more than the average individual has, but even I have limits.
Especially when I haven’t been training like I used to.
It makes me feel measly for being so confident in coming to this academy that is known to be a space that encourages the rise of some of the strongest paranormal beings across the world.
I thought it would be easy to overcome such a place, but I never would have imagined I’d be experiencing a trial as difficult as what we’re facing. Other trials start small. Do advance challenges that everyone is used to attempting to achieve, but using advanced magic that I’m positive a good chunk of students have no clue how to defeat is madness.
Merciless…which is what Wicked Academy lives by, isn’t it?
The tornado around me weakens, allowing one of the vines to break through. It lashes across my arm, and I hiss in pain as the poison seeps into my skin.
“Damn it!” I stagger back, clutching the wound. The edges of my vision blur almost instantly, and nausea claws at my stomach. I force myself to stay upright, drawing on the remnants of my strength to heal the wound with magic. I’m not a healer by any means. I’m rough when it comes to my execution as a witch, but I can do the basics in healing attributes and spell craft.
It’s sloppy, but it’ll have to do.
The students on the adjacent pillars aren’t faring any better.
I watch as one of them — a male with fire magic and scales along his arms — summons a blazing inferno to incinerate a swarm of tainted bees.
For a moment, it looks like he’s succeeded, but then the slate pulses, and a tendril of darkness shoots out, extinguishing his flames. He barely has time to scream before the tendril wraps around him and pulls their burning body into the abyss.
My fists clench.
This thing isn’t just feeding off our magic;it’s adapting to it.
My mind is already racing to life, the gears racing to figure out an alternative to get out of this madness. This is a cycle that’s only going to continue until its struck in the root of chaos.
“Focus,” I mutter, shaking off the lingering effects of the poison. The pillar beneath me is almost gone now, little more than a jagged stump.
I need to act.
A sudden cry draws my attention, and I turn to see a small group of students attempting to escape by leaping from one pillar to another. Their desperation is palpable, but their timing is off. One by one, they miss their marks, their screams fading as they fall.
“Fools,” I whisper, though the word tastes bitter.
They had no choice. None of us do.