Round 78

Jeane slammed more bottles into place with her full demonic strength, muscles straining beneath pale skin. The wardstone's pulse synchronized with the building's groan—two beats of death per structural shudder—and she felt every click like teeth snapping together. This barricade was fucking absurd—plastic bottles stacked along a door frame wouldn't stop concrete—but it might buy seconds they needed.

Abby pressed herself against the wall opposite, her wide brown eyes fixed on the treacherous floor where water mixed with spilled lubricant. The gush from the broken shower stall was relentless now, rising ankle-deep around them all. She watched Jeane's aggressive movements with fear warring against relief—at least someone was doing something—but the sorcerer's crimson eyes blazed with more than just adrenaline.

The wardstone pulsed again, harder this time, and concrete dust rained from the ceiling. Jeane felt it in her bones, a hunger that made her skin crawl despite her demonic nature. She needed to maintain control, needed to keep the others safe—especially Hera—but Silra's methods were testing every shred of patience she possessed. The building groaned overhead like a dying beast, and there was nothing anyone could do but wait for the inevitable end.