Round 280

The walls flexed and writhed like living flesh, their surface covered in pulsing symbols that shifted and changed with each labored breath. Hera convulsed in her sleep, fever high, skin flushed red where the fluid touched it. Abby stumbled backward, hand pressed against the slick wall—it felt warm, too warm, and seemed to pulse against her palm like a heartbeat. The humming filled the tunnel now, vibrating through bone, and something moved deeper within the liquid's swirling depths—a dark shape that resolved into tentacles or appendages reaching upward from below. She yanked her hand back with a choked gasp, stumbling into Hera's unconscious form. "Fuck," she hissed, voice barely audible over the pulsing rhythm of the walls breathing in unison. "What the hell is this place?"