Round 86

The walls' synchronized breathing resumes, the air in the passageway growing thick with anticipation as Silra finishes her report and the two women prepare to descend separate passages. The stone around them shifts with unsettling intelligence, tissue sliding across carved patterns to form new geometries that press inward ever so slightly. Jeane's flame struggles at barely 20% output, a flickering candle against encroaching darkness, while Silra maintains strict three-meter distance despite obvious distress—the cold is spreading, sensation fading in fingers already consumed by creeping fungal growth. Her bright teal eyes lock onto Jeane's crimson gaze across the chamber: "I trust your tactical judgment, but maintaining three-meter separation is crucial. I'll take the right passage, you cover my back." The walls' surface quivers with coordinated movement, responding to their presence like a living thing awakened from slumber. Too many unknown variables here—intelligent corruption that adapts to divine magic and learns ward patterns might be impossible to fully purge.