Round 227

The symbols etched into the ancient wooden box began to glow, each one lighting up like a star in some cursed night sky. The lid trembled slightly—once, twice—and then slowly, agonizingly, began to open wider. A swirling vortex of dark energy erupted from its interior, engulfing Abby's arm and torso.

"Oh god," she whimpered, her wide brown eyes fixed on the sight. The energy coursing through her veins felt both terrifying and strangely intoxicating, like a drug pumping straight into her heart. Her vision was blurred by the intense light emanating from the sigils on the floor, but she could see Jeane's face clearly enough to read the shock and fear there.

I'm... I'm okay, she managed to say, though her voice sounded distant even to her own ears. The words felt hollow as they left her lips; nothing about this situation felt okay. Her body was no longer her own, controlled by some ancient magic she didn't understand.

Jeane's eyes darted around the chamber, trying to think past the panic clawing at her throat. The portal was still open, pulsing with that same strange light that had drawn them here in the first place. The skeletal dust figures were circling closer, their bone-fingers reaching for anything they could grasp.

Fuck, she thought desperately. We're running out of time.