Ritual Pratice.

After returning to their dorm and freshening up with showers, the three boys follow Alfred's ethereal guidance toward the ritual site. As they walk, the true scope of the Academy unfolds before them. What they'd initially thought was a simple school reveals itself as a labyrinth of sectors, each designated for different years, capabilities, and security clearances.

Leaving the office sector with its familiar dining hall and dorms, they enter the Awakening Sector. Two imposing guards flank a doorway that mirrors the grandeur of the teleportation room they'd seen before. The sentinels remain motionless as the boys pass, their stillness suggesting an expected arrival.

Following Alfred's luminescent trail, they enter a chamber that steals their breath away. It stretches vast as a cathedral, its ceiling disappearing into shadow-shrouded heights. Before them spreads an intricate ritual circle, spanning the length of an American football field. The elaborate patterns etched into the stone pulse with an inner light, as if anticipating the power they're about to channel.

Standing before them are three familiar faces: Merlin and Professor Bain, deep in discussion, and unexpectedly, Vespera. Gone is her formal uniform, replaced by casual attire similar to the professors.

'Damn she's hot.' All three boys think at the same time seeing Vespera.

Vespera notices them first, her neutral expression melting into one of enchanting warmth. Her transformation from stern enforcer to charming mentor is as fluid as quicksilver.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite kiddos," she coos, her voice carrying that same hypnotic quality that had nearly overwhelmed them before. Her fingers dance through the air in a beckoning gesture, each movement deliberately seductive. "Come, come hurry. We need to discuss some itty-bitty details." The playful lilt in her voice contrasts sharply with the ancient power humming through the ritual circle behind her.

Understanding Vespera's seductive cadence, Alex tried to ignore it as he walked over, though a telling blush crept across his face. Her hand found his shoulder, fingertips grazing each pore with deliberate slowness, sending electric signals straight to his brain and shaking him to his core.

"You know, when you mentioned your immunity," Bain observed, watching the scene unfold, "I was skeptical. But seeing it firsthand—even I must admit this is rather intriguing." His eyes narrowed as he noted how Alex, Max, and Randy seemed to resist Vespera's overwhelming aroma.

"I told you, Bain," Vespera purred, her voice like silk over steel. "These little kittens are something special. Something to be savored. Why not hand them over to me? I'll take good care of them."

"Oh, Vespera," Professor Bain shook his head at her antics, "we all know you're only interested in having children with potentially greater bloodlines than your brother's. Still trying to take over the family, I see."

The boys' eyes widened collectively at Vespera's implication, the reality of her interest striking them like a bolt of lightning. Alex's mind raced traitorously, a small part of him not entirely opposed to the idea—though perhaps dinner and a movie should come first.

"What's wrong with wanting a few little kittens to play with?" Vespera pouted at Professor Bain, her lower lip jutting out in an expression that somehow managed to be both childish and dangerous. "You're no fun at all, Bain."

"Enough, both of you," Merlin interjected, though amusement danced in his ancient eyes. "While the situation is indeed intriguing, we have more pressing matters at hand. Namely, awakening their bloodlines and unveiling the true power that lies dormant beneath their skin."

Alex watched this exchange with growing bewilderment, struck by how casually Merlin responded to Vespera and Bain's antics. The mighty wizard, supposedly the strongest human alive, treated their bickering like an everyday occurrence. 'Is this normal?' Alex wondered, his perception of the legendary figure shifting with each passing moment.

Before Alex could dwell further on his thoughts, Professor Bain stepped toward Randy, his movements precise and purposeful. "Alright, Randy, you're up first," he announced, his voice carrying a practiced calm. "Nothing personal—we drew straws, and you got the short one. Come, stand right here."

With gentle guidance, he led Randy to the ritual circle's center. "Now, we'll be using this specialized tool," Bain explained, holding up an ornate device that gleamed in the ambient light. "It's designed to extract exactly one hundred milliliters of blood. The process is quite straightforward—it will tap into one of your veins, draw the necessary amount, and the puncture will heal almost instantly."

Professor Bain gestured to an ancient stone tablet covered in mysterious symbols, its surface seeming to pulse with latent energy. "Your task is to recite these words while we conduct the ritual. Don't worry about pronunciation—your OSAI will whisper them directly into your ear. Simply follow their lead, matching their cadence and tone."

"One final thing," he added, positioning Randy's hand above an intricately carved bowl. "Keep your palm extended like this throughout the ceremony. If we maintain proper form, everything should proceed smoothly."

With practiced precision, Professor Bain drew the ornate syringe across Randy's arm, extracting exactly one hundred milliliters of blood. The crimson liquid flowed seamlessly into the ritual bowl, its surface gleaming with an otherworldly sheen. His task complete, the professor retreated to join the others, leaving Randy alone in the circle.

"Begin whenever you feel ready, Randy," Professor Bain's voice carried quiet assurance.

Randy squared his shoulders and drew a steadying breath, the tension slowly bleeding from his frame. Extending his hand above the bowl, he closed his eyes and listened intently as Bridget whispered ancient words into his consciousness. The syllables felt foreign yet achingly familiar, as if they'd always resided in the depths of his soul, waiting to be awakened.

"Largos thall. Dia vuhl. Lunacris stellae caelorum, cordis tuis reductum lingua Solaris flexorus magnar." The words flowed from his lips, each syllable carrying weight and power. Though similar to languages he knew, the pronunciations felt alien, yet undeniably right. As he spoke, something deep within began to fracture.

Like a delicate glass vessel shattering, Randy felt an essence break free inside him. A rush of cold power flooded his system, reminiscent of stepping into air-conditioned sanctuary on a sweltering day. This sensation, dark and frigid, coursed through his veins with increasing intensity, transforming his very essence with each passing moment.

The dark power surged through Randy's consciousness, attempting to twist his thoughts into unfamiliar patterns. Yet he stood firm, resisting its influence. Though he acknowledged this power as rightfully his, Randy refused to let his bloodline's dark nature reshape his identity. His determination held strong even as the blood in the bowl began to transform, its crimson hue deepening to obsidian black. The altered substance reached up like living shadow, seeking his outstretched hand before seeping through his pores in rivulets of darkness.

"What's happening to him?" Max's voice cracked with concern as he turned to Merlin, demanding answers.

"This is perfectly normal," Merlin assured them, his ancient eyes tracking the transformation with scholarly interest. "We see similar reactions in those whose bloodlines resonate with necrotic essence."

"Necrotic essence—like a necromancer?" Max asked, years of fantasy shows and games suddenly providing useful context.

Their attention snapped back to Randy as the dark liquid found its path to his heart, weaving a cocoon of shadow around the vital organ. The transformation spread through his circulatory system, his blood shifting from vibrant red to a deeper, more mysterious shade. Within this darker tone, pale green specks danced like ethereal stars, giving his transformed blood the appearance of a midnight sky scattered with luminescent constellations.

Randy's heart thundered in his chest with newfound power, each beat reverberating through his body like a war drum. Thump. Thump. THUMP. Raw energy coursed through his veins as he continued his mental battle against the darkness that sought to consume him. Just as his psychological defenses began to crack, the ritual reached its crescendo.

CRASH.

Randy doubled over, his body convulsing as he expelled thick, black substance from his lungs. The viscous liquid splattered against the ancient stone, each cough bringing forth more of the shadowy residue. His shoulders heaved with the effort, his transformed blood adapting to its new nature while his consciousness remained firmly his own.