Round 125 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 push Hera behind me toward the far wall as Jeane shouts at Silra to stop risking her neck against that door. The mirror slides again—I can feel the wardstone's energy bleeding through, pulsing with sick rhythm, like a heartbeat trying to force its way out of stone. We don't have minutes here anymore. "Enough," I say, voice sharp. "We're not holding this door any longer." I turn to Silra: "That service shaft—can you actually get us through it? Be specific. Time matters more than optimism right now."

The floor beneath my boots creaks—I'm not imagining that. The building sounds like a man with terminal cancer, each groan louder than the last. Water from the shattered shower mixes with whatever lube was spilled back here in better times, and the combined fluid makes the floor slick as ice. I don't look at Hera pressed against the wall behind me. If I do, I'll remember how her skin felt when we touched earlier—how the wardstone's corruption didn't seem to hurt her—and that's a line of thought that leads nowhere good right now. I need to focus on keeping all of us alive, not just her. Jeane's got her hands up like she might cast something, and Silra's still staring at the door like it owes her money. The wardstone pulses again, stronger this time, and dust falls from the ceiling in a fine gray rain. "We're done playing defense," I say to no one in particular. "Someone tell me what our next move is before this building decides to fold its cards."

I step across the slick floor and grab Silra's arm before she can throw herself uselessly against the wardstone's energy again. "Enough! You're going to die for nothing." My voice is sharp, barely containing the demonic edge that wants to claw free. The building groans like a dying beast overhead—the sound of concrete and steel giving up their struggle. We have minutes at best before everything comes down. The wardstone pulses through the door frame with sickening rhythm, each beat stronger than the last. My magic strains against it, holding but not winning. Hera crouches by Halie, fear written plain across her face—and that terrifies me more than anything else right now. If she panics, if any of them lose control, the wardstone will take us all. "We're getting out through that service shaft," I say, gesturing to where Silra pointed earlier. "But you have to follow my instructions exactly." My eyes lock with each of theirs in turn—Hera's wide and frightened, Halie's steady but questioning, Silra's sharp with understanding. I already know what I need to do keep them alive through this. It's not pleasant, but it's necessary—and the demon inside me purrs at the prospect of finally being useful again instead of locked away by human pretense and civilized manners.