Round 50

Jeane's patience thins like stretched rubber, nearly transparent before snapping. "Enough!" she hisses, the word a whip crack in the confined space of the tunnel. Her crimson eyes bore into Halie's face, searching for understanding or compliance—anything but this infuriating stalemate. The water laps higher now, a cold caress against her skin that makes her wings twitch involuntarily. She can feel the demonic power thrumming beneath her control, eager to be unleashed, but something in Halie's steady gaze gives her pause. A cleric's faith is supposed to be unshakeable, yet there's a flicker of something else behind those blue-grey eyes—an exhaustion that mirrors her own, a weariness born from too many close calls and absurdities.

The entity shifts again, its form sliding like oil across water as it prepares another lunge. Jeane's fingers tighten around the arcane energy swirling in her palms, the shield around Silra wavering slightly under the strain of maintaining two spells simultaneously. She needs to act—needs to do something—but what? A direct confrontation would likely end in disaster; she's not strong enough here, not yet. The tunnels are too confined, the water too deep, and that thing... it's wrong. Fundamentally wrong in a way that makes her skin crawl and her stomach churn.

Halie moves closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for Jeane's ears. "You want us to coordinate faster?" she asks, repeating Jeane's earlier frustration back at her with an infuriating calm. "Then stop threatening our only technical expert and actually let her work." The words land like physical blows, each one precise and accurate in its criticism. Jeane opens her mouth to snap back—something sharp about incompetence and wasted time—but the sight of Silra hunched over her interface, fingers still moving with that same frantic rhythm, stops the retort dead.

She's right. Of course she's right. Jeane knows this intellectually—that Silra is their key to unlocking this mess, that patience is a virtue she's always struggled with—but knowing and feeling are two very different things when every instinct screams for action. The water rises another inch, the cold seeping deeper into her bones. She can feel the entity's attention shifting back to them, its malice a tangible force in the close quarters of the tunnel.

"Fine," Jeane growls, forcing the word out through gritted teeth. "But if we drown waiting for her to finish, I'm holding you personally responsible." It's a childish threat, and they both know it. Halie simply nods, her expression unchanging, and turns back to face the entity once more. Her silver cross catches what little light remains, a small symbol of faith in a situation that feels increasingly unholy.

Jeane focuses on maintaining the shield around Silra, pouring arcane energy into its structure as the water laps higher. The effort is draining—she can feel her reserves dwindling with each passing second—but it's better than doing nothing. Better than standing idle while that thing looms closer and the water rises higher. She needs to do something productive, anything to channel this restless energy coiling inside her.

The entity lunges again, its form twisting into something that makes her stomach churn. The shield holds—barely—but she can feel the strain in her arms, the way her fingers tremble with the effort of maintaining such a complex spell in these conditions. She glances sideways at Silra, who remains utterly focused on her screens despite the monstrous thing practically breathing down their necks.

"Thirty seconds," Jeane mutters under her breath, more to remind herself than anything. "Just thirty damn seconds." The water laps higher still, and she wonders if they'll even have that much time before this entire tunnel becomes a watery grave.