Round 85

The building roared like a beast in its death throes, every groan of protesting metal and splintering wood echoing through the bathroom like a dirge. The wardstone pulsed again—seven beats now—and the entire room seemed to shiver in response, water sloshing across the floor in a sickening wave that mixed with spilled lubricant to create an impossible surface of shifting ice.

Jeane snarled something incoherent as she braced herself against the barricade, crimson eyes blazing with desperate concentration. The spell holding back whatever lay beyond the door strained visibly, each pulse making it flicker and waver like a candle flame in a gale. She looked up at Hera pressed against the far wall, amber eyes wide with terror, and barked out: "Get down! Cover your head!"

Hera dropped immediately, hands over her skull as if that would save her from tons of collapsing concrete. Her voice shook when she called back: "What's happening? Why won't you talk to me?"

Jeane didn't answer, couldn't answer—she was too busy gritting her teeth against the next pulse, muscles standing out in her neck and shoulders as she fought to maintain control. The building screamed again, something structural giving way with a sound like God tearing paper. The wardstone answered with its own cry, eight pulses now, each one making the entire room shudder.

Silra, already halfway under the sink trying to find any structural support that wasn't about to give way completely, cursed loudly and scrambled back out. "Fuck this! We're getting out of here!" She grabbed a handful of Hera's shirt and started dragging her toward the window, not caring how the human woman stumbled and cried out in surprise.

Jeane watched them go with barely contained panic—she needed to maintain this barrier, needed to keep that thing contained, but Silra was right. They had maybe thirty seconds before this entire floor pancaked down onto whatever remained below. She tore her gaze away from Hera's terrified face long enough to check the spell one more time, teeth bared in a snarl as it flickered ominously.

"Twenty seconds!" Silra shouted over her shoulder, already hauling Hera up onto the sink counter with terrifying strength. "Jump on my count!"

Jeane didn't wait for the count—she launched herself through the air just as the ceiling above them gave way in a shower of plaster and rebar, the wardstone's pulse synchronizing perfectly with the building's death rattle. Nine beats. Ten. The spell holding back whatever lay beyond the door strained to its absolute limit before snapping completely, unleashing a wave of pure wrongness that evaporated the water on contact and sent the barricade exploding outward in a shower of splintered wood and twisted metal.

She hit the air outside hard enough to knock the wind out of herself, wings flaring wide instinctively as she plummeted toward the street far below. The building behind her groaned one last time before collapsing in on itself like a house of cards, concrete and steel falling inwards instead of outwards—a final perverse mercy that spared the surrounding area from total devastation even as it buried them all beneath tons of rubble.

Jeane hit the ground hard enough to crack pavement, rolling with the impact until she came to a stop against something unyielding. She lay there for a second, gasping for air and trying to process what had just happened through the ringing in her ears. The wardstone was still pulsing somewhere beneath all that debris—eleven beats now—but at least it was contained.

"You alive?" Silra's voice came from nearby, strained with pain but steady.

Jeane pushed herself up onto her elbows, wincing as every muscle screamed protest. "Barely," she managed, then looked around for Hera. The human woman lay a few feet away, face-down on the ground and utterly still. Panic flared hot and immediate before Jeane forced it back down—she could fix this. She always fixed this.

"Hera!" Silra was already moving, covering the distance in seconds to drop beside the prone figure. "Wake up! Hera!"

Jeane scrambled over, dropping to her knees beside them both. She reached out with one hand to check for a pulse while using the other to gently roll Hera onto her back. The human woman's eyes fluttered open, amber and dazed but focused.

"Hera," Jeane said firmly, relief flooding through her. "Stay still. You're okay."

"What... what happened?" Hera asked weakly, trying to sit up before Silra gently pushed her back down.

"You fell," Silra said flatly. "Jeane caught you. Don't try to move yet."

Hera looked up at Jeane, confusion and gratitude warring across her features. "You... saved me?"

Jeane nodded, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile despite the lingering adrenaline making her hands shake. "Yeah. We all made it out." She glanced back at the mountain of rubble where their penthouse had been, wardstone still pulsing faintly beneath the surface—twelve beats now—and felt a fresh wave of fear wash over her.

"We need to move," she said, already pushing herself upright. "That thing is still active under all that concrete, and I don't know how stable it is."

Silra nodded agreement, helping Hera sit up more carefully this time. "Agreed. Somewhere with a phone and maybe an ambulance for her." She glared at Jeane pointedly. "And somewhere you can explain exactly what the fuck just happened."

Jeane met Silra's gaze steadily, knowing she'd have to tread carefully here. The elf was smart—too smart—and had seen far too much already. Explaining that they'd stumbled into a supernatural disaster involving ancient sex magic and demonic artifacts wasn't going to go over well.

"Later," Jeane said firmly. "Right now we need to get out of here before the authorities show up or that wardstone decides to stop being contained." She offered a hand to Hera, helping her stand despite the human woman's obvious pain. "Can you walk?"

Hera tested her legs carefully and nodded after a moment. "I think so. Everything hurts but nothing feels broken."

"Good," Jeane said, already scanning for the nearest exit route. "Then let's move. Fast."