Round 78 Transcript

At bathroom in a New York high rise penthouse suite, the pressure shifts from waiting to immediate risk. The ward answers the party's presence with a fresh pulse through the stone and no one can mistake it for safety. The nearest sign of danger is now structural collapse imminent. Someone has to answer that change now.

I press myself back against the cool tile wall, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The sound of water gushing from the broken shower stall is deafening, almost drowning out the ominous groans coming from deep within the building's structure. I watch in mute horror as Jeane yanks Hera away from the door frame, grabbing lubricant bottles and ordering Silra to stack them along the base.
My eyes dart around the small space, taking in the scene with a frantic, desperate intensity. The air is thick with dust and the sharp scent of the spilled lubricant that now coats the floor, making it treacherously slick. Everywhere I look, there’s chaos: Halie frantically pushing bottles into position, Jeane barking commands, Silra working with mechanical precision to build a barricade against an invisible threat.
I see Hera’s face, pale and drawn, her eyes wide with fear as she follows Jeane’s instructions. I feel a pang of sympathy for her—she looks so lost, so vulnerable. Then my gaze lands on the wardstone itself, its surface pulsing with an otherworldly light that seems to call out to me like a siren song. A shiver runs down my spine as I remember Jeane's reckless handling of it earlier.
I know we shouldn't be here, not with that thing. But now we are trapped, and the building is coming down around us. I have to do something, even if it means putting myself in danger. My eyes flicker towards the door, then back to Hera. She needs help, but so does everyone else.
"I... I can help," I stammer out, my voice almost lost in the din. I take a tentative step forward, my hands outstretched as if to steady myself on something that isn't there. The floor shifts beneath my feet, slick and unstable, forcing me to grab onto the nearest shelf for balance.
The wardstone's pulse quickens, its rhythm matching the frantic beating of my own heart. I feel a sudden, sharp pang in my chest—a warning sign I've learned to dread. It’s like an ice pick driven straight into my soul by the wardstone itself, a terrible confirmation of our perilous situation.
I look around again, seeing not just my companions but the sheer impossibility of our predicament. We are trapped between two kinds of death: being buried alive under tons of concrete and steel or being pulled in by this terrifying entity. And all I can do is watch as the world seems to spin out of control.

I grab bottles from Hera's hands—she's too panicked to do this right—and shove them against the base of the door myself. The wardstone pulses faster now, a steady heartbeat that makes my teeth ache. "Abby, help Halie push those tighter." I press my back against the wall opposite the door, trying to stay calm even as the floor tilts under us and water floods from the broken shower stall. "Hera, get in the shower or shut up."

Silra works with mechanical precision, stacking bottles two deep along the base. Her hands are steady—either she's got iron nerves or she's too stupid to be scared. Maybe both. We have minutes until this building comes down. The wardstone wants us alive and whole for whatever sick ritual it feeds on. Better to die under rubble than serve that thing.