Round 115 Transcript

At dark corridor in 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 press my ear against the door frame, trying to parse the rhythm beneath the groans of the building. The wardstone's pulse feels like a drumbeat now—faster and more insistent than before. We don't have time for Hera to slip on lube and crack her skull trying to brace this door. Jeane, hold your position. That barricade across the corridor is our only real defense right now. And whatever you do, keep your hands off that wardstone until we're out of here or dead trying.

I grip the dresser I've pulled across the corridor, bracing it against the door frame while keeping my burned hands away from direct contact with the wood. The wardstone pulses are becoming visible now—faint blue light bleeding through cracks and seams. Hera's crouched behind me, her breathing ragged, and I can feel the fear radiating off her like heat. Jeane, don't just press your hand against it! That thing's calling to you—the demon half that's always lurking under your skin. We need a plan that doesn't involve feeding its hunger. The building groans around us, and water seeps through the ceiling in several places now. The floor tilts slightly—structural integrity failing. I shift my weight, trying to keep Hera shielded from both the collapsing roof and whatever's pushing against that door from the other side.