Round 83 Transcript

Water surges from the broken shower stall, flooding the bathroom and threatening to sweep away the makeshift barricade. The force of the water knocks over a bottle of lubricant, causing it to spill onto the slippery floor. Hera's fear radiates as she clings to the corner of the bathroom, her eyes fixed on the rapidly tilting floor. Jeane shoves Halie toward the corner, ordering her to remain silent. Jeane feels her concentration straining as she struggles to maintain the barrier spell against the increasing wardstone energy. The air is thick with tension as Silra shoves Jeane around furniture, demanding silence and complaining about the makeshift barricade. The creaking sound from the floor intensifies, and the wooden frame of the bathroom door begins to splinter. A loud crack echoes through the room, followed by the ominous feeling that the entire structure is on the verge of collapse.

Halie prays for strength while helping Jeane line up more bottles along the base of the door where wood is splitting. The wardstone's pulses feel like teeth worrying at her skin now—something alive and hungry reacting to their fear. She catches Hera's eyes across the room, sees her own terror reflected there, and has to look away before the protective urge overwhelms her sense. "How long do you think your spell will hold?" she asks Jeane quietly, voice strained around the words.

The wardstone's pulses are getting stronger now, like fingers probing through cloth—no, worse, like teeth worrying at my skin from the inside. I shove Halie toward the corner of this fucking bathroom with all the gentleness I can manage while feeling something primal and ugly crawl under my ribs. "Keep your voice down," I snap, already moving to grab the heavy wardrobe by myself because nobody else seems capable when the building shifts again. The floor buckles underfoot like a cheap mattress giving way—fucking New York architecture—and another creak from outside the door sounds like bone breaking slow. Water floods out from the broken shower stall now, mixing with whatever lube Silra spilled trying to make this shitshow into some kind of porno movie set. I drag the wardrobe across the tilting floor, muscles straining, feeling my breasts bounce heavy and useless despite the fear clawing at my throat. The barrier spell flickers—wardstone energy bleeding through like cold sweat—and I taste copper on the back of my tongue. "Silra! Hera! Help me with this dresser before the whole fucking wall comes down!"

My skin is crawling now, demon blood flaring hot underneath human pretense. I need to focus or it'll show—can't let them see what's under the mask while we're all about to be buried in concrete and regret. The wardstone pulses again, harder this time, and something alive answers it through me. "Jeane?" Silra's voice is sharp behind me. "How long you maintaining that spell? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like your hands are shaking worse than mine."

I grab lubricant bottles from the toppled supply, lining them along the door frame where wood is already splitting. This isn't going to hold shit for long. Jeane's maintaining her spell somehow—her jaw clenched, eyes unfocused in that way she gets when the magic is ripping through her veins—and I don't have time for soft words or reassurances. The wardstone's pulses are like something alive reacting to our fear now, harder and faster with each passing second. "How long you maintaining?" I ask, shoving her around furniture pieces we're trying to brace against the collapsing wall. Her skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in here, and there's that thing happening again under her shirt where her breasts are heavy with milk she can't release because we're trapped in a dying building. She doesn't answer my question directly, just snaps, "Keep it down," as she heaves the wardrobe across the floor. The wood groans—is that the furniture or us? Doesn't matter which. Need to focus on what is solid and what is failing.