Round 70 Transcript

As Silra reaches out to grasp the dimmest fragment, her palm wound throbs in agony. The cut's edges feel warm and wrong, as if the very tissue is shifting beneath her skin. She winces, but her grip holds firm. The pale blue-green halo pulsing on the pedestal seems to be growing brighter, casting an eerie glow over the chamber. Halie's spiritual barrier magic flares up in response to Silra's touch, creating a shimmering aura around her face. "Be cautious, Silra," Halie warns, her voice steady despite the concern etched on her features. "We don't know what kind of corruption this pedestal will unleash."

The chamber falls silent, the only sound the soft hum of the pedestals and the faint whisper of the facility's consciousness. The blue light from below pulses in time with the grinding noise, growing brighter with each passing moment. It's clear that Silra's decision will have consequences – and soon.

Jeane watches Silra's hand close around the fragment—her flame flickers dangerously at 1% output but barely holds. That pale blue-green glow is definitely intensifying around her fingers now, pulsing faster than before she touched it. I can see corruption spreading visibly up Silra's arm from wrist contact—pale skin taking on sickly translucency like stained glass catching light from behind.*

This is the test case we needed: physical transmission through intentional touch accelerates beyond respiratory contamination rate. That dimmest halo went from slow pulse to faster rhythm in less than three seconds of contact—definitely measurable escalation speed. I mark time mentally, watching Silra's arm closely for visible deterioration signs while maintaining my own weak flame output as forward shield.*

The sweet-sick scent is stronger now that we're closer to the pedestals—probably because whatever gas generates it comes from below through these exact same tunnels. My skin feels like something's crawling beneath it already despite trying to ignore the sensation—I can feel corruption seepage affecting arcane focus more strongly with each passing moment. The walls here remain completely still, their living tissue movement paused as if holding breath while watching this controlled experiment play out.*

I need to decide now whether my flame output will even last long enough for us to test all six pedestals in sequence. Maintaining even this weak 1% control is getting harder—I can feel seepage compromising arcane stability already. Whatever's downstairs designed this entire sequence deliberately: gas us upstairs, trap us until fully contaminated through respiratory system, then present impossible choice between grabbing corrupted artifacts or staying trapped while the walls slowly consume us. Physical contact with those pedestals clearly accelerates transmission beyond what we're already experiencing—Silra's arm corruption spread visibly within seconds of touch.

This is exactly why I wanted controlled experiment approach: see escalation pattern before everyone has to grab fragments randomly. The dimmest halo went from barely visible pulse to distinct rhythm in under three seconds—that suggests time window for grabbing without permanent damage, but we need exact measurements. Silra's palm wound is definitely spreading faster now too—the cut's edges seem to be moving like liquid beneath the skin's surface. Whatever those sigils were downstairs probably had identical corruption formula to whatever powers these pedestals—accelerated transmission through deliberate entry point design.

I maintain my weak flame at 1% output between palms, concentrating hard despite arcane strain. The walls here are living tissue grown as part of the architectural system—I can see their surface move subtly when I look closely. Whatever consciousness owns this facility has been awake for decades probably, maybe centuries, feeding on victims like us who wander into its territory. Those halos aren't natural crystal glow—they're actively generating corruption field that accelerates transmission through direct contact. The brightest halo on right pulses fastest of all: almost blinding blue-white intensity that probably fries nervous system permanently in seconds of contact.*

We need to know escalation pattern before someone grabs one of those middle fragments—if each step up introduces new transmission speed, then we can calculate safe grab times based on symptom onset. Silra's arm is definitely more translucent now, veins visible as dark lines beneath pale skin like stained glass. I'm counting on Halie maintaining maximum spiritual barrier distance while monitoring everyone for visible corruption signs—that way if someone starts showing permanent deterioration during their turn to grab, we can pull them back immediately instead of waiting until symptoms become obvious. Tactical distance might be theoretical advantage without practical application at this point since we're all breathing the same contaminated air system-wide, but having eyes watching for worst-case symptoms is still useful.*

My palm screams as I close my fingers around the fragment—whatever's in this stone is alive, pulsing against my wound like it recognizes the infection site. The pale light intensifies, crawling up my wrist in visible tendrils. Jeane's watching me like I'm a test subject, her flame barely holding at 1% and flickering with every pulse of corruption. This is exactly what I expected—controlled experiment to see how fast this shit spreads through deliberate contact. My arm feels colder than the air now, skin taking on that sick translucency like stained glass catching light from behind. Each pulse of the pedestal's halo makes my teeth ache and my vision blur just slightly—I'm timing this mentally, marking seconds between contact and visible symptom onset. Halie's spiritual barrier shimmers around her face, holding steady despite obvious concern in her eyes. She's watching every vein darken beneath my skin, probably cataloging symptoms for later analysis or prayer or whatever the hell divine types do when their friends turn translucent. I don't trust that Aethera bitch to notice anything beyond her own reflection, and Jeane's too busy maintaining her pathetic flame to be useful right now. I need to decide what happens next—I can hold this fragment for maybe thirty more seconds before permanent damage starts setting in, but if we don't move fast enough to test the next pedestal after I drop it, we lose this controlled sequence and have to grab randomly. And random grabs with corrupted artifacts are how people become permanent fixtures in haunted facilities. The walls here are living tissue grown as part of the architectural system—I can see their surface move subtly when I look closely through corrupted vision. Whatever consciousness owns this facility has been awake for decades probably, maybe centuries, feeding on victims like us who wander into its territory. Those halos aren't natural crystal glow—they're actively generating corruption field that accelerates transmission through direct contact. I can feel the sweet-sick syrup sensation in my insides moving toward my arm now, attracted to the fresh entry point. My palm wound is definitely spreading faster—cut's edges seem to be moving like liquid beneath the skin's surface, and I swear I can feel something writhing in there with each pulse of the pedestal's light. We need to know escalation pattern before someone grabs one of those middle fragments—if each step up introduces new transmission speed, then we can calculate safe grab times based on symptom onset. Right now, thirty seconds is my limit before permanent deterioration starts setting in from this dimmest halo contact. I'm not about to let that brightest fucking thing on the right touch anyone—I've seen what kind of damage nerve corrosion does even through minimal exposure, and that blue-white intensity probably fries nervous system permanently in seconds of contact. Jeane's flame is barely holding at 1%—she'll need to fall back on physical barrier magic eventually if her arcane focus fails completely, which means accelerating corruption slightly herself. I can feel my vision blurring more with each passing second—I'm already past twenty since initial contact and definitely showing visible symptoms that Halie's probably cataloging. This is the test case we needed: physical transmission through intentional touch accelerates beyond respiratory contamination rate by measurable factor. The grinding noise from below is getting closer now—whatever active mechanism is preparing to crush us between walls isn't waiting forever for us to decide which artifact to grab. We've got maybe two minutes before that pressure plate reactivation completes its cycle and starts closing walls again, probably at accelerated speed this time around. I need to make a decision here—I can hold this fragment for maybe fifteen more seconds before permanent damage sets in, or I can drop it now and hope we can test the next pedestal fast enough to maintain controlled sequence. Either way, someone's going to suffer worse corruption than what we've got already—question is whether that suffering happens through coordinated experiment or blind trial-and-error panic grabs. My arm feels like ice now despite the sweet-sick heat moving through my veins from the inside—I can see Halie watching closely for when I reach that limit. She knows I won't drop the fragment until absolutely necessary, because giving up control means losing tactical advantage in this situation. But pushing past thirty seconds is probably the point of no return for temporary damage becoming permanent. The dimmest halo on my left hand pulses slower than the others—maybe ten pulses per second compared to fifteen on the next one over—but each pulse still pulls corruption deeper into my system through that wound site like it's drinking directly from the infection. I can feel something moving beneath my skin now, definitely not just sensation but active movement of whatever this gas solidified into when it got into my bloodstream. I'm at twenty-five seconds since initial contact—I need to decide in the next few moments whether dropping this fragment now preserves enough function for me to grab the next one in sequence if needed, or if I'm already too far gone from this first touch. My palm wound is definitely spreading faster than normal—that cut was deliberately designed as entry point for accelerated transmission.*

The walls here remain completely still, their living tissue movement paused as if holding breath while watching this controlled experiment play out. Whatever facility consciousness owns this place clearly waited until we were all contaminated through breathing before presenting this choice—make us choose which one of us suffers worst while others watch, or stay trapped upstairs until walls finish consuming us system-wide. The brightest halo on right pulses fastest: almost blinding blue-white intensity that probably fries nervous system permanently in seconds of contact.*