Round 210 Transcript

As Halie makes her decision, she gestures for Hera to follow her along the corridor. The soft blue-green glow from the crevice between the pillars casts eerie shadows on the walls, making it seem as though the ancient stone is alive and watching their every move. Halie's good hand tightens around the makeshift club, her eyes scanning the corridor for any sign of danger. Suddenly, a section of the wall to their left begins to shift, revealing a narrow passageway that appears to be slightly larger than the one they just left. However, upon closer inspection, Halie realizes that this new passage is actually a trap, designed to ensnare and disorient them. The air around the entrance seems to ripple with a faint, pulsating energy that makes it difficult for her to breathe. Hera's eyes widen in alarm as she takes in the situation, her hand instinctively reaching for Halie's arm. "What do we do?" she whispers, her voice laced with a mix of fear and determination.

I grip my makeshift club tighter—this new passage feels wrong, the air shimmering with that same sickening energy downstairs but closer now. "Don't touch those walls," I warn Hera sharply despite my voice cracking. The corruption spreading up my legs is cold and relentless—I stumble a bit, catching myself against the opposite wall before I can fall. Wrong move—the stone pulses under my palm like a heartbeat, and I snatch my hand back with a gasp. "It's learning touch," I manage through gritted teeth. Every nerve ending in that hand screams from exposure—this is exactly what I need to avoid for Hera. She moves closer instinctively and I hold up my good arm in warning: "Stay back, don't come near me." The words taste bitter even as they're necessary—the cold spreading through my chest makes it hard to breathe properly now. Hera hesitates, hurt flashing across her face despite the dim light—she doesn't understand what's happening yet fully but she can see I'm deteriorating rapidly. "The corruption spreads through contact," I explain quickly before the walls pulse again in response to too much speech. My vision blurs—I blink hard trying to focus on the new passage entrance and its shimmering energy field. Forward movement splits defensive capabilities—vulnerable positions between channeled windows probably twenty percent success chance even with both arms functional. The walls pulse faster, their breathing pattern shifting like they're responding specifically to my explanation of what's happening. I make another mental note: vocal communication about corruption spread patterns might be accelerating their learning process—they're definitely analyzing sound data now too. "Find an alternative route," I repeat, forcing the words out despite labored breathing. "I'll maintain this barrier and document wall pattern changes between breaths." The stone floor still glows faintly with divine energy—a bulwark against whatever's downstairs pulling at us like gravity—but it's fading already as my own corruption consumes the magic from within. Hera's silhouette shifts, torn between concern for me and the need to find another way forward or back up. I can barely see her clearly now through the blur of spreading cold but I hear her voice steady despite obvious worry: "What do you think we should—" She stops mid-sentence as the walls pulse again in response to our voices—they're definitely analyzing sound patterns for information too, not just visual/tactile data. I cut her off before she finishes: "No more talking unless necessary," I say firmly despite dizziness making my words slur slightly. The corruption is reaching my brain stem now—critical timeline collapsing rapidly but I need to document this properly before consciousness fails completely. Every breath feels like ice water filling my lungs—I force myself to stand straighter despite the urge to collapse into the purified stone floor and wait for oblivion. "Find another way," I repeat one last time, barely a whisper as the cold spreads to my jaw and makes speaking difficult. The walls pulse faster again—learning every syllable.

Abby stands frozen at the edge of the corridor, her heart pounding in her chest as she watches Halie and Hera struggle with the decision before them. The air is thick with tension, and the strange, pulsing light from the crevice between the pillars only adds to the oppressive atmosphere. She wants nothing more than to run, to get away from this nightmare, but she knows that would be a death sentence for all of them.
"I-I can go," she whispers, her voice so faint it is almost lost in the air. She takes a tentative step forward, her eyes fixed on Halie's back. She sees how the cleric is leaning against the wall, her movements slow and labored. "Maybe I can find another way down and come back for you guys."
Abby knows she is being foolish, that going off alone will only make things worse, but she feels a desperate need to do something, anything, to help. She takes another step, then another, her feet moving almost of their own accord toward the new passage entrance.
As she approaches, the air shimmers around her, making it hard to focus on anything else. The walls seem to pulse in time with her heartbeat, and a wave of dizziness washes over her. She stumbles, catching herself against the cold stone, and feels a jolt of ice-cold energy shoot up her arm at the point of contact. It's like nothing she's ever felt before—a strange, numbing sensation that spreads rapidly from her fingers to her elbow.
Abby gasps, jerking her hand back as if burned. Her eyes widen in fear as she looks down at her arm, watching in horror as a faint, silvery pattern begins to trace its way across her skin, matching the shape of her palm perfectly. "Oh God," she breathes, her voice trembling with terror. She tries to rub the pattern away, but it doesn't fade. Instead, it seems to glow brighter, more insistent, as if it has a life of its own.
She looks back at Halie and Hera, who have turned to stare at her in shock, their expressions a mixture of concern and alarm. Abby can see the fear in their eyes, the same fear that is now coiling deep within her own gut. She wants to scream, to cry out for help, but no sound comes from her throat. All she can do is watch as the silvery pattern spreads further up her arm, creeping toward her shoulder with terrifying speed.