Round 176

Jeane hovers above the pressure plates, her arcane strain visible in every labored wingbeat. The air is thick with tension as she watches Halie's fingers brush against the seam in the wall—the rhythmic humming growing stronger, pulsing now in sync with Halie’s own heartbeat. Jeane’s flame resistance ticks down toward zero—48% remaining according to her internal countdown. Every moment feels like an eternity suspended above certain death between grinding plates that could converge at any second.

The walls upstairs have stopped their synchronized breathing pattern completely now replaced by this low pulsing hum that vibrates through the stone itself growing stronger with each passing heartbeat. It’s almost hypnotic quality makes concentration difficult even for someone used to arcane strain—Jeane grits her teeth against the urge to descend and help Halie manually, knowing physical contact would mean instant corruption spread through her own exposed skin. The corridor feels like it’s breathing around them now, walls pulsing with each beat of that unseen thing’s heart counting down seconds until...

Halie documents everything methodically despite her corruption spreading to 98% coverage already—tactical documentation more important than her own survival apparently. Jeane resents the recklessness that got them trapped here between these plates but also understands the desperation driving Halie’s actions—she can’t let Silra’s complete consumption accelerate any faster than it already has. The timeline estimates are dropping rapidly now down to 60 hours remaining before Silra transforms into something beyond recovery.

The seam in the wall where Halie’s fingers brush—the flesh there pulses with each beat of the walls’ shared rhythm, breathing in sync with the corruption spreading through her system. Jeane hovers higher, maintaining distance as best she can while still seeing what’s happening below. Every second feels like a victory against gravity and failing magic resistance—47% now, 46%. The plates shift slightly beneath her, grinding together just enough to send a fresh wave of panic through her system.

She needs Silra’s calculations desperately—how many seconds until the plates converge completely? How much longer can she maintain this altitude with failing flame resistance? The arcane strain makes thinking difficult but Jeane forces herself to focus past the pain in her wings and the growing desperation.