Round 337

The walls had gone quiet, too quiet. The breathing rhythm that had been their constant companion for what felt like hours had stopped entirely, leaving only the low pulsing hum that seemed to vibrate through the stone itself. It was unnerving in a way the synchronized groans never were—this silence felt calculated, deliberate. Every step forward now required careful placement, both women moving as one entity with painstaking precision on the pressure plates. The walls remained still, their surface texture shifting from slick bioluminescent slime to something drier, almost like old skin stretched tight over muscle. The air grew colder still, and Halie's breath misted visibly in the gloom as she led them downward. "Something's changing," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The whole place feels... wronger." Silra nodded inside their shared senses, feeling the same wrongness coiling in her gut despite the corruption's attempts to mask it with false pleasure. The walls were waiting, and whatever lay beyond the next turn was probably waiting too.