Round 220

The stone archway chamber felt wrong in more ways than one as the noxious spores began to clear from Jeane's system. Her demonic nature recoiled instinctively from the bio-digital hybrid tech that had nearly shut down her magic entirely—but at least Silra's emergency antiviral cocktail had worked, even if the elf woman delivered it with her usual clinical detachment. "Trust isn't the issue—tactical competence is," Silra repeated coldly as she finished injecting herself and pocketed the empty vial. "You're the one who needed emergency heat and thermal contact despite being a fucking succubus capable of generating your own warmth in small bursts." Jeane's crimson eyes narrowed dangerously, her voluptuous demonic form barely maintaining its composure as the lingering hypothermia effects made her skin feel like ice. "Oh, so now it's my fault that your little 'heat bubble' wasn't enough to keep me functional? Maybe if you hadn't pulled away the moment I started getting some actual benefit from it—" "Enough," Silra snapped, cutting off Jeane's tirade with a sharp gesture...