Round 113 Transcript

As I crouch beside Halie, my crimson gaze meets hers directly, concern etched on my face. "Can you move?" I ask again, trying to keep my voice steady despite the magic burn still shrieking protests through every nerve ending. Halie struggles to sit up, wincing as she attempts to prop herself against the stone wall. The air crackles with residual magic, making every hair on her arms stand on end. Suddenly, a faint blue glow emanates from Halie's body, and she stirs, her eyes fluttering open. However, her voice is barely above a whisper, laced with pain and concern. "Silra...Jeane...I think it's broken. The binding...it's too much." Halie's words hang in the air as the containment field holding Silra's power begins to falter, its glow dimming to a faint hum. Thirty seconds left... The pressure plate's soft whisper echoes through the room once more: "Containment field collapsing... thirty seconds left..." Zha'thik's footsteps outside grow louder, more insistent, as if he's sensing our desperation. The air is thick with tension, and I can feel the weight of our situation bearing down on me.

The binding snaps audibly—a sound like piano wire parting—and I recoil instinctively from the sudden sharp pain of it. Halie's eyes meet mine across the space separating us now, wide with shock despite her best efforts at composure—she understands what just happened as clearly as I do. I force myself to focus through the magic burn screaming protests throughout my entire nervous system. "Silra," I snap, voice harsher than intended because every syllable feels like pouring salt into open wounds but there's no time for gentleness right now anyway. "Stop. Whatever you're thinking about helping Halie—whatever ritual or spell you're trying to access in that panicked mind of yours—just stop." The binding might be gone but your magic is still unstable as fuck and we don't need another explosion ripping this room apart again. The containment field holding Silra's power barely flickers under strain despite all my concentration funneled into maintaining it—the field wavers visibly in places now like heat shimmer over desert road. Thirty seconds before collapse according to the room itself talking directly into our heads which is either psychic magic or psychological torture and honestly at this point I can't tell the difference anymore. Zha'thik's footsteps outside grow louder—he's testing the door frame now, metal scraping against stone with deliberate patience that says he knows we're trapped in here somehow and he's willing to wait us out if necessary because he has all the time in the world while we have approximately none.

I force my body upright despite the screaming protest from every muscle and joint, my hands pressing against the stone floor for leverage. The binding's remnants still pulse beneath my skin like a second heartbeat gone wrong—discordant, insistent, unwanted. Jeane. Her name tastes bitter in my mouth, but I can't ignore her warning about Silra. The teal-eyed elf's magic is still unstable, barely contained by Jeane's field. One misstep could collapse everything, and we'd be facing whatever monstrosity Zha'thik has become with no defenses left. I meet Hera's concerned gaze across the chamber, offering a nod that I can stand, even though every bone in my body feels like it wants to stay where it is on the floor. The glow from within me pulses again—reminder of what we've done here, what lines we've crossed for survival. "We need to move," I say, my voice hoarse but steady despite the magical backlash still singing through my nerves. My eyes find Abby next, huddled against the wall with that wide-eyed terror. She's free from whatever presence inhabited her earlier, but the experience has clearly left its mark. We can't leave her behind, not after everything we've been through together—even if it means accepting her gratitude and questions as part of the cost. I push myself to my feet, legs shaking with effort but holding. The binding's residual energy crackles along my skin like electricity seeking ground, making me hiss between my teeth at the sensation. "The door is blocked," I say slowly, letting everyone process what that means. "There has to be another way out of this chamber." My gaze sweeps across the stone walls and ceiling, searching for any sign of a hidden passage or weak point we can exploit before Zha'thik forces his way in. Focus. We're not helpless victims here. We've survived worse—though I can't quite remember what that might be right now through this haze of exhaustion and lingering magic burn. But survival is its own kind of faith, and right now, it's all I have left to offer.