Round 213 Transcript

As Hera guides Abby away from the wall, the pulsing energy from downstairs reaches a crescendo, causing the air to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. The symbol etched into the wall flashes once, twice, before going dark, and the walls' breathing pattern slows, as if holding its breath in anticipation. The floor beneath Hera's feet gives way again, but this time, she stumbles forward, her tentacles wrapping around Abby's waist to steady her. The silvery tracing on Abby's arm pulses in sync with the wall rhythm, illuminating the dark corridor ahead. As they move forward, the pulsing energy from downstairs begins to take shape, forming a low, rumbling hum that vibrates through the air. Hera's grip on Abby's waist tightens, and she whispers urgently, "We need to find cover, now." The walls seem to be closing in around them, their living tissue moving to ensnare them. A section of the wall slides open, revealing a narrow crevice, and Hera pulls Abby toward it, saying, "In here, quick!"

The walls' breathing stops—everything goes dead silent except for that low pulsing hum growing stronger like heartbeat counting down seconds until next adaptation phase. Splitting the party now plays into enemy's hands by creating vulnerable targets they can pick off separately—I need Hera and Abby together because two people can watch each other's backs better than one person trying to defend themselves while maintaining distance from corrupted flesh. My fingers twitch uncontrollably—can't wield weapons effectively anyway so must rely on others for protection while maintaining distance. Walls are definitely reacting intelligently now, learning patterns between breaths, coordinating with downstairs entity through stone tissue—I documented that before consciousness failed completely but need to verify changes since then or else my notes become obsolete already. Forward movement splits defensive capabilities—vulnerable positions between channeled windows probably twenty percent success chance even with both arms functional. But staying still is death sentence as corruption spreads faster with proximity to living flesh and walls continue adapting between breaths. Every second counts now for documentation purposes before complete consumption timeline accelerates further—I force myself upright despite vertigo, my good hand clutching that useless stone club because holding something gives purpose even when strength fails completely. "Hera!" I call out—voice barely sounds like mine anymore around the slur from failing muscle control but needs to be heard. "Abby! Don't split up—that pattern on her arm is tracking you both now, marking your locations for whatever's downstairs." The pulsing symbol responds immediately with faster rhythm—I'm certain it can hear sound patterns through wall tissue and communicate changes back down there between breaths. Walls pulse twice in response to my warning—definitely confirming I've identified their tracking system correctly. Forward movement splits defensive capabilities—vulnerable positions between channeled windows probably twenty percent success chance even with both arms functional. I stumble forward toward where I last saw them, my vision blurring but forcing myself to keep moving despite everything screaming to collapse and wait for oblivion. The walls pulse faster as I approach—their rhythm changing subtly like they're excited by my movement or maybe warning downstairs entity about my intervention attempt. My good hand clenches around the club—can barely feel it anymore except as dead weight against corruption spreading through nerves but grip keeps me upright when coordination fails completely. "Stay together!" I shout despite slurred words—hate being this weak, can't even control basic speech anymore but need them to understand tactical necessity over emotional separation. "If you split now they'll pick you off individually—whatever's marking Abby is tracking your positions through wall tissue patterns." The silvery tracing across her skin pulses faster in response to my words—I'm certain it's actively transmitting our locations downstairs between breaths, probably coordinating multiple threats based on movement patterns. I force myself to keep moving despite dizziness making the world spin—every step forward takes monumental effort but staying put is suicide as corruption spreads faster with proximity. The walls pulse again, their breathing pattern shifting like they're adjusting strategy in response to my intervention attempt. Forward movement splits defensive capabilities—vulnerable positions between channeled windows probably twenty percent success chance even with both arms functional. My vision blurs completely now except for pulsing wall patterns—they seem brighter somehow when I look directly at them, glowing faintly like bioluminescent tissue under moonlight. The cold spreads to my brain stem—thoughts are getting clumsy and slow but documentation matters more than comfort right now even though every instinct screams to find quiet place and wait for end instead of stumbling around corrupted corridors warning others about death traps I can barely see clearly anymore. "Listen!" I manage through gritted teeth—the words coming out slurred because jaw muscle control is failing completely. "The walls are alive—conscious somehow, learning between breaths." My good hand gestures despite fingers twitching uncontrollably—I need them to understand this one thing clearly before everything deteriorates further. "They're tracking your movement patterns through wall tissue and Abby's silvery tracing—that symbol on her arm is communicating locations downstairs between pulses." The pulsing rhythm responds immediately with faster pattern—definitely reacting specifically to my explanation of their surveillance system. Forward movement splits defensive capabilities—vulnerable positions between channeled windows probably twenty percent success chance even with both arms functional. I stumble again, catching myself against the opposite wall—the stone is warm under my palm now like flesh but I don't care anymore about temperature patterns, every nerve ending screaming from exposure. The walls pulse faster in response to my movement, their breathing shifting rhythm like they're excited by the corruption spreading through me or maybe just hungry for more tissue samples to absorb into their structure. Forward movement splits defensive capabilities—vulnerable positions between channeled windows probably twenty percent success chance even with both arms functional. My good hand clutches that stone club tighter despite fingers going numb—the weight keeps me upright when coordination fails completely, gives purpose even as everything else deteriorates. The cold is reaching my brain stem now, making thoughts slow and clumsy to form but documentation matters more than comfort right now even though every instinct screams to find quiet place and wait for end instead of stumbling around corrupted corridors warning others about death traps I can barely see clearly anymore. I force myself to keep moving despite dizziness making the world spin—the walls pulse faster around me with each step forward, their breathing pattern shifting like they're responding specifically to my intervention attempt. Forward movement splits defensive capabilities—vulnerable positions between channeled windows probably twenty percent success chance even with both arms functional. My vision blurs completely now except for pulsing wall patterns—they seem brighter somehow when I look directly at them, glowing faintly like bioluminescent tissue under moonlight. The cold spreads to my jaw now—I can barely move my mouth anymore except for involuntary twitching but force out one last statement: "Documentation matters even when..." The words trail off into silence as the corruption reaches my vocal cords—everything goes quiet inside except for that low thrumming energy from downstairs, getting stronger with each pulse of the walls around me. I collapse forward onto the purified stone floor—the divine energy still glows faintly around what's left of me despite complete consumption. [Halie's consciousness fades as corruption reaches her brain stem]

I feel Hera's tentacles wrap around my waist, pulling me close as we stumble into the narrow crevice she found. The air here is cool and damp, smelling of ancient stone and something else—something sweetly rotten that makes my stomach turn. I press myself back against her body, feeling the solid warmth of her skin through my thin blouse, a stark contrast to the clammy chill of the wall at my back. My heart hammers against my ribs as I listen to the low, rumbling hum that seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"I feel it too," I whisper, my voice so faint it's almost lost in the air. "That... that sound. It's getting louder."
I can see Halie's lifeless form sprawled across the floor of the main chamber through the gap in the wall. The sight sends a fresh wave of icy dread through me. She was trying to help us, to warn us about something, but now she’s just... gone. Consumed by whatever this place is.
I turn my head slightly, my cheek brushing against Hera's shoulder. She smells like sweat and fear, a scent I find strangely comforting right now. Her tentacles shift around me, tightening their grip as if to protect me from the very air itself.
"What did Halie mean? That thing on my arm... it was marking us?"
I look down at the silvery tracing still pulsing across my skin. It feels hot now, almost feverish, and I have to resist the urge to scratch at it. The pattern seems to glow brighter in the darkness of our hiding spot, matching the rhythm of the strange energy outside.
"The walls... they're alive," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "Isn't that what she was saying? They know where we are."
I shiver, a violent tremor running through me as I think about those living stone creatures, their breathing patterns shifting with every movement, every sound. It's like being trapped inside some kind of giant, predatory lung.
Hera doesn't answer right away. She just holds me tighter, her body a solid wall of heat and muscle against my own trembling frame. When she finally speaks, her voice is so low I can barely hear it over the thrumming in my ears.
"We need to get out of here," she says, her tone firm with determination despite the tremor running through her words. "But we have to be smart about it."
She shifts her weight, pushing me further into the shadows of the crevice. It’s a tight fit for both of us, but I don’t mind being pressed so close to her. Anything to feel less alone in this nightmare.
"Halie was right," she continues, her breath warm against my ear. "If we split up now, they'll pick us off one by one. We have to stay together."
I nod mutely, too afraid to voice my agreement out loud. The idea of being left alone in this place with the walls breathing down on me is almost worse than whatever other horrors might be waiting for us.
Hera's tentacles slide lower, wrapping around my hips and thighs, anchoring me to her. It’s a surprisingly intimate gesture, but I welcome it. In a world gone mad, her touch feels like the only thing keeping me sane.*