Round 8

In the penthouse suite, the air vibrated with tension as Jeane, her crimson eyes gleaming, drew closer to Halie. The cleric's hands, one extended toward Hera on the bed, the other palm flat between herself and Jeane, formed a clear warning. Halie's voice, low and firm, cut through the charged atmosphere: "This ends now." Her scent, thick and cloying, mingled with Jeane's, making the space feel claustrophobic.

Jeane's smile, slow and dangerous, curled her lips as she regarded Halie's defiant stance. The demon's wings unfurled with a soft rustle, their leathery membrane catching the light. She circled, her eyes locked on Halie, purring a velvet-venomous phrase: "Do you truly believe your faith can withstand me? How... quaint." Silra leaned against the doorframe, elbow propped up, watching the scene with a mixture of fascination and frustration.