Round 201

The walls pulse faster now, teeth gnashing against her consciousness even through stone—Halie can barely see anymore but she feels them learning between each breath cycle, adaptation accelerating beyond anything doctrine prepared her for. Forward movement splits defensive capabilities into vulnerable positions between channeled windows probably forty percent success chance—that calculation offers little comfort when walls adapt intelligently between breaths and downstairs influence pulls constantly downward. As she stumbles forward, her right arm feels heavy and unresponsive now, the corruption spreading through muscle and bone faster than she can contain it with prayer alone.

I watch Hera stumble past me, her body tensing as she enters the narrow corridor where the walls press close on either side. I see the glow from ahead pulsing brighter now, casting an eerie light on everything. The whisper carries weight: "Your time is running out." My heart hammers in my chest as I wait for my turn to move, counting pulses of the walls' synchronized breathing pattern. Three... four... five... six. It's my window.

Halie signals frantically from where she covers our retreat, her left hand still gripping the stone floor with desperate determination while her right arm hangs useless at her side—she needs to document this somehow, needs to leave some record of what happened here even if no one ever finds it. The walls' next adaptation phase is in two minutes—tactical positioning critical. Forward movement splits formation into vulnerable targets but sealing behind loses Silra permanently.