Round 72

The walls begin to close in, their living tissue moving with sinister purpose as the grinding noise intensifies. Silra stands before a pedestal, her hand extended toward its surface—an experiment designed by Jeane to identify which artifact fragment holds the key to stopping the corruption spreading through the City's core systems.

Jeane watches from a safe distance, her flame magic flickering weakly at her fingertips. She knows the risks: maintaining proximity to such powerful artifacts while arcane defenses are compromised is suicide. But someone needs to monitor Halie's barrier spells, and Silra's rogue skills are essential for navigating whatever lies beyond this chamber.

The brightest halo on one of the six pedestals pulses with almost blinding intensity—Jeane marks it mentally as priority one for further investigation once they have the full set. Each fragment is a piece of the shattered Starheart artifact that powers the entire City's infrastructure, and according to Halie's research, only reassembling it can stop the corruption from spreading system-wide.

Halie herself stands near the center of the room, her divine magic visible as a shimmering barrier around the group. She's maintaining multiple overlapping wards designed to slow the corruption's spread—her expression shows the strain clearly despite her professional composure. Every second she holds those spells is a victory against an enemy that adapts to divine magic faster than she can adapt her defenses.

Silra's hand trembles as she reaches for the pedestal surface. The moment her palm touches the cold stone, something shifts visibly—her skin begins to pale along the contact points, and fine blue veins spiderweb across her wrist. She curses softly but maintains contact, her eyes scanning the artifact fragment intently.

"Thirteen seconds," she reports without looking away from the pedestal. "Visible symptoms appearing already." Her voice stays steady despite the obvious pain in her expression—rogues don't scream when their nerves start dying.

Jeane shifts her weight subtly, wings half-spread for quick escape if necessary. This controlled experiment approach was necessary even if it means sacrificing one person's arm temporarily, she thinks, watching Halie's reaction closely. The priestess is cataloging symptoms with obvious concern despite trying to maintain professional detachment—her spiritual barrier shimmers more visibly as she monitors everyone for corruption spread.

She's marking time and visible deterioration signs, Jeane notes mentally. Every second Silra maintains contact adds data about the artifact's effects and how quickly it spreads through organic matter. The sweet-sick stench in here is worse now, thick enough to taste metal and decay—her flame barely holding at 1% functional capacity anymore. Maintaining even this minimal arcane focus requires constant concentration, and she can feel her own defenses weakening with each passing moment.

But we need to move fast before my grip fails completely, Silra thinks as the ice spreads up her forearm. Her fingers still work despite the nerves screaming—muscles responding to command even if sensation is fading rapidly. Thirteen seconds on the second pedestal before visible symptoms start appearing. She's already calculating how many more touches she can afford before permanent damage becomes total loss of function.

We need to move fast before my grip fails completely, Silra thinks as the ice spreads up her forearm. Her fingers still work despite the nerves screaming—muscles responding to command even if sensation is fading rapidly. Thirteen seconds on the second pedestal before visible symptoms start appearing. She's already calculating how many more touches she can afford before permanent damage becomes total loss of function.

She knows what Jeane is thinking without needing to look—the sorceress watching with that clinical assessment mixed with genuine concern. This experiment was necessary, yes, but at what cost? Silra's palm is already showing early corruption symptoms—pale skin, blue veins spreading like frost along her wrist—and the cold has reached halfway up her forearm now. Her hand trembles but maintains contact with the artifact fragment. Thirteen seconds, she reports again, voice steady despite the pain. Visible symptoms appearing already.

The grinding noise intensifies as the walls begin to close in—Jeane's flame flickers dangerously at her fingertips, barely maintaining its presence against the ambient corruption that seems to thicken with each passing moment. She watches Silra maintain contact with the artifact fragment, her rogue companion's hand already showing visible signs of corruption spreading up the wrist. This controlled experiment approach was necessary even if it means sacrificing one person's arm temporarily, she thinks, watching Halie's reaction closely. The priestess is cataloging symptoms with obvious concern despite trying to maintain professional detachment—her spiritual barrier shimmers more visibly as she monitors everyone for corruption spread.*