Round 82 Transcript

As Jeane shoves Halie toward the corner of the bathroom, she orders the group to remain silent. The air is thick with tension as the wardstone's pulses grow stronger, like fingers stroking against her skin. She starts moving heavier objects toward the door to add time to their survival. Suddenly, a loud creaking sound echoes through the bathroom, followed by the unmistakable groan of metal bending under stress. The floor begins to buckle, and water from the broken shower stall surges forward, threatening to engulf them. Jeane's control over the barrier spell falters, and the wardstone's energy surges, making her skin crawl. In a desperate bid to stabilize the barricade, Silra grabs lubricant and lines up along the door frame. "You're maintaining?" she criticizes, her voice laced with frustration. The floor shifts beneath them, and the sound of crashing metal grows louder. As the bathroom's structural integrity fails, the group is forced to confront the reality of their situation: they must either find a way to escape or succumb to the collapsing building.

The bathroom door groans ominously as the building shifts around us. I can feel the fear radiating off the others, but there's no time to panic now. We need to act fast if we want to survive this.

The wardstone's pulses are like a heartbeat accelerating outside my skull. I shove Halie toward the corner—not gently—and snap at them all to shut up. Silra's mechanical competence is cold comfort when every pulse makes this bathroom feel smaller, more final. I order her to help me with the heavier pieces—wardrobe, dresser—dragging them across the tilting floor and shoving them against the door frame because we need every second my spell can buy us. The barrier flexes under each impact like stretched leather, holding but straining. I can feel it pulling at the edges of my concentration. My breasts are heavy with milk now—I've been aroused for hours—but that's a problem for after we're not dead in a collapsing building with a hungry wardstone outside. I tell Silra to line up more bottles along the base, even though it's useless, because it gives her something to do besides ask stupid questions about my control.

The wardstone pulses again, harder this time—something alive in there, reacting to our fear. Jeane's shoving Halie around like furniture and demanding silence. Right. Because what we need right now is more quiet tension. I grab a few of the lube bottles, line them up along the door frame where the wood's already starting to split. "This isn't going to hold shit," I say, because it won't. But it's something. Jeane's got sweat running down her face, trying to maintain that barrier spell while the whole fucking building decides to have a seizure. Her eyes meet mine for half a second—terrified but controlled. That's my Jeane. "How long you maintaining?" I ask, already knowing the answer is 'not nearly long enough.' The wardstone pulses again, and something in me clenches. It wants us. Wants our panic, our desperation.