Page 11 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

It stands thirty feet tall, a horned beast forged from volcanic glass that seems to drink in light. Every surface reflects distorted images of ourselves—twisted versions that show our fears made manifest.

In its reflections, I see myself alone, shadows dissipating into nothing while Gabriel walks away without looking back.

I try to ignore the coiling depths of dread that dare to taunt me in the pit of my stomach.

"Magnificent," Mortimer breathes, scholarly appreciation overriding survival instinct. "Obsidian elemental, but the craftsmanship... this is ancient work. Pre-realm construction."

Are we surprised that out of all of us, Mortimer would be the intrigued one in such a frightening scenario?

Nope. Not surprised at all.

"Can we appreciate it from a distance?" Atticus suggests, pulling Nikki further back as the beast's attention focuses on our group. "Preferably while running in the opposite direction?"

He let’s go of Nikki when she mutters she can stand on her own, moving closer to us, ready to move just as we all widen ourstance in anticipation to fight this being in question. Guess that sets the beast off, because its response is to charge.

Fuck…

The groundshattersunder its weight, each step creating spider web cracks that glow with molten light. There's no dodging something that large moving that fast—only reacting. My shadows surge upward, forming a defensive wall that the beast smashes through like tissue paper. The impact sends me flying, body hitting scorched earth with enough force to drive the air from my lungs.

Through blurred vision, I see Nikki step forward again.

"No," I try to call out, but my voice emerges as a wheeze.

She raises her hands, Fae magic shimmering around her like desperate hope. Charm magic—I recognize the signs, the subtle shift in atmospheric pressure that indicates she's trying to influence the beast's mind. For a moment, it seems to work. The creature slows, its charge becoming less focused.

Then its massive hand swipes almost casually, catching Nikki across the torso.

The sound of breaking ribs echoes across the hellscape.

She flies through the air in a graceful arc that ends with brutal finality against a jutting spire of obsidian. Blood—too much blood—spreads beneath her still form.

"NIKKI!" The scream tears from multiple throats simultaneously.

Atticus moves with vampire speed, reaching her before her body fully settles. His hands shake as he checks for signs of life, crimson eyes wide with something I've rarely seen in the ancient vampire—genuine fear.

The beast turns its attention to the rest of us, volcanic glass body shifting with each movement. Mortimer attempts dragon fire, the flames hot enough to melt ordinary stone. They washover the creature without effect, absorbed into its form like water into sand.

"Dragon fire at that temperature should have at least scored the surface," Mortimer gasps, scholarly mind racing even as he dodges a swipe that would have removed his head. "It's not just absorbing—it'sfeeding."

Zeke's frost magic fares no better.

He creates intricate patterns in the air—snowflakes the size of shields, each one reinforced with magical intent that should flash-freeze anything it touches.They strike the beast and simply cease to exist, not even creating steam. The absence of reaction is more terrifying than any explosion would have been.

"Conventional magic won't work," Mortimer shouts, rolling away from a foot that craters the ground where he'd been standing. "It's designed to counter standard elemental approaches!"

I push myself upright, shadows coiling despite the pain.

If traditional attacks fail, perhaps something more primal will succeed.

Duskwalker magic isn't elemental in the conventional sense—we manipulate absence, void, the spaces between reality.

My shadows race along the ground, not attacking directly but seeking gaps in the creature's form. Every construct has weakness, points where the magic binding it grows thin.

I just need to find?—

The beast's foot comes down where I'm searching, forcing me to recall my shadows or lose them entirely. Its intelligence is obvious—this isn't a mindless guardian but a tactical opponent.

"Spread out!" I command, sending tendrils of darkness in multiple directions. "Don't give it a single target!"