Round 112

The walls' synchronized breathing stopped completely—everything except that low pulsing hum growing stronger like heartbeat counting down seconds until next adaptation phase. Silra watched her flame flicker at 15%—barely holding—and calculated thirty seconds before the walls adapted again. She needed to report the corruption status immediately upon reaching safe space, but maintaining six-meter separation during close quarters movement required physical effort against pressure plates that were now grinding together with ominous finality. The elf woman's right arm hung at her side, the dead tissue covering nearly sixty percent of it now. She could feel the cold spreading further up her shoulder blade, the permanent nerve damage already confirmed by her own medical training. But tactical focus held back the rising panic—barely.

"Six meters," she said, voice steady despite the desperation clawing at her insides. "Maintain distance at all times. The walls are learning our signatures—probably every six seconds now, given their synchronization pattern." She glanced at Jeane's flame, noting how it flickered at barely fifteen percent output. That meant Halies' barrier magic was already straining against the downstairs corruption that was clearly adapting to divine magic and learning ward patterns with terrifying speed.