Round 102

The bathroom door groans under strain, the wood beginning to split along grain lines as the building moans around them like a dying beast. Hera braces herself against the barrier with shaking hands, her amber eyes wide with terror as she calls for help from Silra across the room.

Silra moves quickly, grabbing a heavy mirror from the counter and wedging it into the gap between door and frame in a desperate attempt to reinforce the barrier. For a moment it seems to hold, but then another wardstone pulse hits like a physical blow—Hera gasps as nausea washes over her—and the wood cracks audibly at multiple points.

This won't hold forever, Halie warns from her position braced against the opposite side of the door frame. Her shield arm burns with magical backlash from contact with the corrupted stone, but she grits her teeth and maintains pressure. Whatever you're doing—it's feeding it. Can you tone it down? Or step back and let me handle this side? She tries to keep judgment out of her voice as she glances at Jeane through the gap, but there's an edge to her words that betrays her growing frustration with the cleric's reckless approach.

The water continues rising from the shattered shower stall, now ankle-deep across the tile floor and spreading fast due to the broken pipes. The slippery surface makes every movement treacherous—one wrong step could send someone tumbling into the rapidly filling basin or worse, against the unstable door.

Hera's voice shakes as she responds to Silra's question: Abby, is there anything else we can use? This floor's getting too slippery—we need more barricades before it collapses completely! Her eyes dart between the rising water and the groaning door frame, clearly torn between panic and desperate problem-solving.

The air crackles with each wardstone pulse, sending visible distortions through the magic-saturated atmosphere. The entire room feels wrong—like standing inside a giant's mouth that's about to bite down hard.