Round 18

Silra's rapier presses against Aethera's back, the cold steel a stark contrast to the creature's warm flesh-like hide. The ancient entity's single eye swivels to fix her with an unnerving stare, tendrils twitching in what might be irritation or amusement. Jeane shifts forward, wings half-spread in a posture of barely contained aggression. "Let's cut through this bullshit," she snarls, voice tight with barely suppressed panic. The tentacled horror in the corner explodes into motion, a writhing mass of appendages that slams against walls and furniture with bone-jarring force. Halie moves to interpose herself between Aethera and Hera, holy symbol clutched tight. "Enough posturing," she says, voice low and controlled despite her obvious fear. "Release the girl and we'll talk like civilized beings." Her eyes narrow as she studies the tentacle still coiled around Hera's wrist, assessing for signs of corruption or control.