Round 83

Hera froze mid-pour, looking from Jeane to Silra like she'd been caught doing something deeply wrong. The wardstone pulsed again—two beats of death per structural shudder—and everyone felt it 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.

Jeane braced against the tiling, her wings instinctively trying to flare before remembering there was nowhere to fly. The wardstone pulses were accelerating now, like some ancient heart beating them to death by seconds. She grabbed Hera's wrist mid-pour. "Stop it. Pouring more lube just make..." Her voice trailed off as the building groaned louder, concrete shifting somewhere above them.

Silra glanced at Jeane's panic, then back to the wardstone door. The thing pulsed again—faster now—and she felt it in her teeth. "We need something heavier," she said, already moving toward the wardrobe. "This shit won't hold, but it might slow things down."