Round 258

Abby froze mid-step, her wide brown eyes locked onto the walls as they began their slow, horrifying undulation. The living stone pulsed with an obscene rhythm, each expansion revealing more of the writhing symbols that seemed to call out specifically to her—an innocent civilian dragged into a nightmare realm designed for heroes and monsters, not convenience store clerks who still lived with their parents.

The low humming had become something else now—a heartbeat, slow and deliberate, counting down seconds until whatever was happening downstairs finished its next adjustment. She could feel it watching through the stone, calculating her distance from the others, noting every inch between them. The smart thing would have been to turn back, to find a safe room and wait for someone competent to handle this mess. But Silra needed help, and Abby knew deep down that she was the only one who truly understood what it felt like to be completely out of her depth in a situation like this.

So she forced herself to keep moving forward, maintaining the strict twelve-meter radius around herself that she'd calculated as safe distance for now. Each step felt like walking through molasses, her oversized uniform suddenly feeling flimsy and inadequate against whatever horrors lurked ahead. The walls' breathing had stopped completely now—everything except that insistent pulse that seemed to vibrate right through her ribcage.

She glanced back at the others, noting the tension in their stances, the way even the most battle-hardened among them seemed unnerved by this new development. They needed a plan, and they needed it fast—before whatever was counting down finished its count and decided to collect on its debt.