Round 100 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'm keeping my back to the wall opposite the door because the floor is slicker than a sorceress's promises and I have no intention of becoming a lubricant-slicked corpse in a collapsing bathroom. The wardstone's pulse feels like a sick heartbeat now, getting stronger with every breath Jeane takes, which means her panic is making it worse. This is bad. Very bad. The door groans under Hera and Halie's combined weight—I don't trust the wood or their faith to hold much longer against that thing. I'm not dying here because some wardstone got thirsty for female magic.

I press my back against the cold tile wall of the shower, trying to get as far away from the wardstone's energy as I can. The air in here is thick with humidity and something else—something dark and hungry that makes my skin crawl. My eyes dart around the small space, landing on the broken glass from the mirror Jeane used to cut herself earlier. Water continues to gush from the broken showerhead, pooling at my feet and swirling with the spilled lube. The sound of it is deafening.
I flinch as another wave of energy crashes against the door, the wood groaning ominously under Hera's strength. I can feel the vibration through the soles of my feet, a chilling reminder of how fragile our situation is. My heart hammers in my chest, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.
"Hera," I call out over the roar of the water, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound calm. "Is there anything else we can use to brace this door? That pipe isn't going to hold much longer."
My gaze falls on the pile of toys scattered around the room. Dildos, vibrators, restraints—all items meant for pleasure, now looking like potential weapons in a battle against an unseen foe. I take a hesitant step towards them, my bare feet slipping on the slick tile.

Halie's shield arm burns where it presses against the door—wardstone energy bleeding through wood and handle. The pulses feel wrong, like sickness in her bones. She grits her teeth, holds position. Hera, I've got this side. Her voice tight but steady. Abby, find something to brace from your end. We need weight on both sides if the frame gives out.

She shifts her stance, feet finding better purchase on the slippery floor. The water from the broken shower is ankle-deep now, cold against her skin. Wardstone's energy pulses faster in response to Jeane's magic—Halie can feel it, a sickening rhythm that makes her want to vomit. Jeane, your magic—the wardstone reacts to it. Can you tone it down or find another way? The pulses are getting stronger. She tries to keep judgment out of her voice but fails. This isn't working. They're making things worse with each passing second. She looks at the door frame critically—it's groaning under stress, wood splintering where the wardstone energy pushes against it. Her shield arm feels like it's on fire now, blisters rising beneath the fabric of her sleeve. But she doesn't move. Won't let them touch that stone.