Round 120

In the corridor of the doomed penthouse suite, the building's structure began its final groan. The wardstone pulsed faster now, each beat a countdown measured in seconds rather than minutes. Jeane felt it first—the demon blood in her veins responding like iron filings to a magnet—and her fear translated instantly into aggressive action.

"Silra," she snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the creaking timbers, "I need you thinking about exits, not toys." Her eyes never left the door frame where the wardstone's energy bled through. "Every pulse is structural stress—we have maybe thirty seconds between failures now."

Hera crouched beside the barricade, hands shaking as she helped brace the door with a heavy mirror. The wood around them settled with a sound like ancient bones shifting. "Is there anything else we can use?" she asked, voice tight with barely controlled panic.

Jeane's response was immediate and brutal. "We need structural support, not more lubricant." She gestured sharply at the scattered sex toys and bottles across the floor—now coated in water from the broken shower stall and making everything dangerously slick. "Those won't stop a wall from falling."

The building groaned again, louder this time, and something heavy shifted somewhere above them. Jeane's fingers twitched toward the wardstone reflexively before she caught herself. The barrier spell between them warped visibly with each pulse—her control fraying along with her patience.

"We need to find another way out," she growled, more to herself than anyone else. "Or we need to contain that thing." Her eyes glowed crimson for a second before she blinked it away. "And I don't mean my way."

The wardstone pulsed again, faster still, and the entire corridor seemed to flex outward before settling back into place with a sound like tearing cloth. Time was running out—fast.