Round 115

Silra backs away slowly, her teal eyes locked onto the spreading corruption across her own arm. The pressure plates stop grinding but the low pulsing hum has intensified, filling the passageway with a rhythmic thrum that seems to vibrate through both women's bones. Her silver-blonde hair sways slightly as she maintains exactly eight meters between herself and Jeane at all times. "Reporting our status accomplishes nothing—the walls are learning our patterns too quickly," she growls, her voice strained but controlled. "They'll simply adapt to whatever containment strategy we try based on that information." The fungal growths on the walls seem to ripple in response to her words, their movements syncing up into a coordinated wave that travels across the surface of the stone. She grits her teeth against the cold spreading sensation into her shoulder—15 minutes until total loss of function if this pace continues.* "We need to move forward simultaneously while maintaining distance—walls are tracking our arcane signatures separately now."