Page 18 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

He backs away, frost magic building in desperate defense. But the ice crystals form wrong—twisted into shapes that hurt to perceive. Mortimer's partial transformation activates on instinct, scales rippling across skin. But they're not his normal golden scales—these are black, edged in red. Fear scales. Death scales.

My shadows scream warnings in frequencies only I can hear. Ancient protocols activated. Survival overriding all other directives.Run. Hide. Cease existing if necessary but get away from this thing.

"I think..." Zeke's voice barely carries over the rising roar of power. Reality bends around Gabriel's form, creating distortions that suggest space itself tries to escape. "I think Gabriel..eer…Gwenivere…IS our third guardian."

The crimson eyes focus on us with inhuman intensity. A smile spreads across features I've kissed, touched, memorized.

But this isn't my Little Mouse.

This isn't even the arrogant prince who just revealed himself.

This is something else entirely.

Something that makes the Infernal Realm itself afraid.

The ground beneath Gabriel liquefies—not into lava but something worse. Something that reflects not light but possibility. I see myself in that surface—not as I am but as I could be. Dead. Dying. Never born. All states existing simultaneously until observed.

When Gabriel speaks, it's with Gwenivere's voice.But wrong.Multiplied. Harmonizing with itself in frequencies that make my teeth ache.

"You wanted to understand?"The question is gentle.Terrible."Then let me show you what we really are."

Power builds. Not gathering but unfolding.

Like watching origami in reverse—something small revealing impossible dimensions.

The keys at his waist burn brighter, resonating with whatever awakens.

And in that moment, I understand with crystal clarity:

We're about to face something that was never meant to exist in singular form.

Two souls forced together, each complete yet incomplete, sharing space in violation of natural law.

The third trial hasn't begun.

We're already in it.

And the guardian we must defeat wears the face of the one person I can't bring myself to destroy.

Guardian Of Agony

~GWENIEVERE~

Darkness.

Not the comforting shadows Cassius weaves, not the gentle night that cradles secrets. This is absolute void—a suffocating absence that presses against my consciousness like drowning in liquid obsidian.

My hands grip the sides of my head, nails digging into scalp until warmth trickles down my temples. "Stop," I plead, voice cracking on the single word. "Please, make it stop."

But the memories don't listen. They never do.

A child's scream—my scream—echoing through stone corridors as flames lick at small feet. Elena's laughter, twisted and wrong, as she watches from her golden throne. "You wanted to play with fire, sister. Now burn."

The scene shifts.

Blood on marble floors. Mother's eyes—empty, accusing—staring at nothing while Father's hands wrap around my throat. "You should have been the one to die. The weak one. The mistake."

Another shift.