Round 77 Transcript

As Jeane yanks Hera away from the door frame, her eyes flash with a dark thrill, and her demonic nature asserts itself. Hera's reluctance to comply only fuels Jeane's urgency, and she grabs bottles of lubricant, ordering Silra to stack them along the base of the door. The sound of crunching glass from the broken shower stall echoes through the bathroom as water seeps across the floor. With a surge of adrenaline, Halie pushes the bottles tighter together, her Cleric training kicking in. The slippery floor from spilled lubricant makes every step precarious, but she refuses to yield. As the wardstone's energy pulses faster now, its malevolent heartbeat synchronizes with the creaking of the building's structural collapse. Immediate pressure: With each passing moment, the building shudders, and the wardstone's energy intensifies, threatening to overload the makeshift barricade. The party must decide how to strengthen their hold or risk being crushed by the collapsing structure.

The wardstone's pulse quickens—I feel its rhythm against my skin like teeth clicking together. The building groans overhead like a dying whale. This barricade is fucking absurd—plastic bottles stacked along a door frame won't stop concrete—but it might buy seconds we need. Silra works with mechanical precision, stacking those bottles as if her life depends on their alignment. And maybe it does. I grab more from the shelf, hands shaking only slightly. "Hera," I snap, yanking her away from the frame. "Move your ass or I'll shove you through that wardstone myself." She flinches but obeys. "Abby, help Halie push them tighter." The human civilians are useless in a fight but maybe they can stack bottles like children at playtime. Wardstone energy crawls up my legs now—hot and wrong—and I have to bite back a moan. My nipples harden under the robe, lactating fluid seeping through the fabric. "Silra," I hiss, "whatever you're planning with that wardstone, do it fast before we're buried alive." She doesn't answer, just keeps stacking like a fucking robot. The building shudders—one massive groan that feels like teeth scraping bone—and dust rains down from the ceiling. We're running out of time. I press my back against the opposite wall, trying to put distance between myself and that pulsing evil. My dick twitches traitorously at the same rhythm as the wardstone—I've always been sensitive but this is beyond control. The others can't see through this robe anyway. "Everybody stay quiet," I order. "If that thing senses us moving around too much, it might pull us in." Which would be better than being buried alive under concrete and steel? Not sure which death is worse at the moment. But I need to stay calm—can't let them see me losing control. My body betrays me again though as fluid drips down my inner thighs.

The wardstone's pulse thrums through my boots now—not just felt, but heard. The bottles slide under our hands as we stack them, cheap glass and slick plastic against the door that leads to whatever nightmare waits beyond. Jeane's voice cuts through the groaning building like a blade: sharp, terrified, furious. I glance at Hera across the barricade we're building with sex toys and lubricant. Her eyes are wide but steady—that's something. I trust her hands more than my own right now, which are starting to shake from the adrenaline and the sheer absurdity of this situation. We're bracing a door against the end of the world with dildos and lube. The building shudders again, harder this time, and a shower of dust falls from the ceiling. The wardstone pulses faster in response—two beats to every groan of the structure above us. Rhythm of death, rhythm of damnation. Pick your poison. I grab another bottle, the glass slick with sweat and spilled lube, and force it into place. "Stack them two deep," I say to no one in particular, voice barely louder than a whisper. "Make it tight."

I push the bottles harder against the doorframe, my hands slick with spilled lubricant. The wardstone pulses faster now, each beat like a fist hammering against the wood. Everyone back away from the door! I shout over the groaning of the building. The energy's getting stronger—if we lose this barricade, we're all lost to it!

I glance at Hera and Abby huddled together, their faces pale with fear. My chest tightens—a protective instinct warring against the danger of touching them. I can't risk contamination by helping them directly, but I also can't let them get pulled in by the wardstone's energy. Stay near the shower stall! I order them. The water might dilute the effect somehow—at least we won't dry out before the building comes down on us.