Page 54 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two
"The thing about ancient blood," he explains, casually examining his lengthening nails, "is that it remembers. Centuries of torture techniques, passed down through genetic memory. Every method of prolonging pain that humanity and paranormal kind have ever devised, stored in our very essence."
He started with Darius's followers, he tells us.
Made their leader watch as he systematically broke each one. Not just physically—that would have been too simple. He broke them mentally first, using abilities that predate modern magic to trap them in endless loops of their worst fears.
"I made them experience every moment of terror they'd inflicted on others," he says, something ancient and terrible gleaming in his eyes. "Not just with Gwenivere, but with every victim they'd ever tormented. But they experienced it from the victim's perspective, feeling every ounce of fear, every moment of helplessness."
“When I finally allowed them physical death,” he continued, “it wasn't swift. I made each one last precisely as long as they'd tormented Gwenivere, matching their suffering to their crimes with mathematical precision.”
I try to ignore how my stomach seems to flip at the explained implications, already knowing how merciless Purebloods normally are.
"As for Darius," Atticus's smile carries no warmth, "he required special attention. You see, he'd made the mistake of claiming ownership over something that was already mine. My Queen of Spades, marked by fate long before he dared lay hands on her."
He describes how he took Darius apart — not just physically, but magically. Stripped away his powers layer by layer, forcing him to feel the true vulnerability of his victims.
Made him watch as his coven was systematically destroyed, unable to do anything but observe their destruction.
"The authorities found him weeks later," Atticus states, watching Nikki's face pale further. "Or rather, they found what was left of him. Enough to imprison, enough to suffer, but no longer the proud vampire prince who thought he could break my Queen."
Now that explains it, recalling an incident that was discussed in public records.
"The newspapers called it a massacre," I recall quietly. "Said it was one of the most vicious attacks in vampire history." Death is an obvious trajectory in our world of paranormal beings, but this one was so unique and obviously targeted that it got people talking.
"Oh, that wasn't the attack," Atticus corrects, his tone almost gentle. "That was merely the prologue. True suffering is what came after…what continues even now in the deepest cells of that prison. Where ancient magic ensures he relives every moment of torment he inflicted on others, over and over, for all eternity."
Cassius's shadows writhe with obvious discomfort. Even his Duskwalker abilities, so attuned to darkness and death, seem disturbed by the level of calculated vengeance Atticus describes.
"You see," Atticus continues, reaching out to catch a drop of tea as it falls from Nikki's hair, "when you harm what belongs to ancient blood, the consequences extend beyond mere death. We believe in messages that echo through generations, ensuring that none dare repeat such offenses."
His gaze sweeps over us all, carrying weight that feels like judgment from something far older than mere vampiric royalty.
"Remember that the next time you consider allowing harm to come to my Queen. What happened in the cafeteria may seem trivial compared to Darius's crimes, but the principle remains the same."
He lets the tea drop fall, watching it splatter against the floor.
"I protect what's mine. The only question is whether you'll prove worthy allies in that protection, or if you'll join the ranks of those who learned too late what it means to cross ancient blood."
The silence that follows feels heavy with implications. None of us doubt the truth of his words — the power radiating from him carries too much weight for deception. This is what true vengeance looks like when wielded by beings old enough to have perfected its application.
And somehow, this creature of ancient power and calculated retribution has chosen our Gwenivere as his Queen.
"Even now," Atticus continues, satisfaction coloring his tone, "Darius remains bound in the deepest level of confinement any Paranormal Prison has ever constructed. His suffering serves as a reminder that some lines should never be crossed."
For the first time in centuries, I feel my jaw actually slacken in shock. Beside me, Nikki's eyes have widened with genuine fear, her golden aura dimming further under the weight of Atticus's dark satisfaction.
"But that's not even the most interesting part," he continues, finally releasing Nikki's chin. "You see, my bond with Gwenivere isn't new. We were first connected the day I saved her from Darius's cruelty. I simply allowed that bond to lie dormant, knowing it would reignite and blossom into something far more significant when the time was right."
Wait a minute…
Something clicks in my mind now that its clear he’s also bonded to her.
"When she said she was royalty..." I whisper, pieces clicking into place with dizzying speed.
"That's what she meant," Atticus confirms with a predatory grin. "Well, to a hidden degree. My Queen shares her ownsecrets, but as of now, it seems Mortimer is in the lead for being a reasonable enough elite within Wicked Academy to uphold such information."
He pauses, turning that unnerving gaze toward Cassius.
"You're almost there," he adds almost casually, "but until Gwenivere fully forgives your lack of action in the cafeteria, you're still on the shit list."
