Round 127

The building's death rattle grew louder, concrete groaning like a dying beast. The wardstone answered with pulses that felt almost eager—sickeningly alive and hungry. Halie pressed her back against the door, hands shaking from the earlier contact burn as she braced it closed with her entire body weight. "Hera!" Her voice was sharp with panic and something else—arousal? Confusion? The floor beneath them tilted slightly, water and lubricant mixing into a dangerous slick.

"Stay behind me!" Silra moved like a shadow, teal eyes scanning every angle. "The service shaft’s too small for all of us—not practical with our gear or Jeane’s… current condition." She crouched low, voice dropping to something between command and prayer. "The wardstone’s getting stronger with every pulse. We need an exit now."

Jeane braced her shoulder against the door frame, feeling the wardstone's pulse shudder through the stone like a diseased heart. Enough. Her voice was cold steel. "We're not dying in this hallway because you can't fit through a tunnel, Silra. I don't care if it's tight—get everyone through that shaft except you and me." Her crimson eyes glowed with barely controlled fury. "Halie first since she can heal, then Hera because panic spreads faster than disease. I'll hold the..."

The wardstone’s pulse thudded through the floor like a slow heartbeat gone wrong—too strong now, too steady. Silra didn't have to look at Jeane to know she was listening to it, not just hearing it. The shaft was maybe big enough for one person at a time, and they needed someone to hold this door long enough for her to get through it and call for help. But the thought of leaving Jeane alone with that wardstone energy made her stomach twist.

"Jeane," she said, voice tight, "you know what that energy does to you. You can't—"

"I know exactly what it does," Jeane snarled, eyes flaring brighter. "And I also know we're running out of time. Move. Now." The air around her seemed to shimmer with barely contained power.

Halie pushed Hera back again, further down the corridor toward Silra's service shaft opening. The barricade groaned under its own weight—wardstone energy bleeding through every gap like a diseased pulse. "Jeane," she said, her name tasting wrong in her mouth after what just happened between them, "if you're going to brace that door with magic, do it now before the whole thing comes down." Her hands were still burning from the earlier contact, but she couldn't let go of the barricade.

The wardstone pulsed again, stronger this time. The entire corridor seemed to shudder, and a fresh wave of corrupted energy seeped through the doorframe. Jeane hissed, doubling over slightly as if struck physically. "Fuck," she gasped, straightening with visible effort. "Fine. Everyone move. Now." Her wings unfurled slightly, catching the dim light like oiled leather.

Silra didn't hesitate this time. She grabbed Hera's arm and half-dragged her toward the service shaft opening. "Go! Crawl through if you have to—just get out!" The wardstone pulsed again as she shoved Hera into the darkness of the shaft. It was a tight fit, but Hera wriggled through with desperate determination.

Halie stared at Jeane for one agonizing moment, conflicted by her duty to protect and her terror of what might happen if that wardstone energy corrupted her further. Then she turned and ran after Hera, disappearing into the shaft seconds later. The corridor seemed to hold its breath around them—dark, slick with fluids, filled with the groaning of dying concrete and the insistent pulse of something ancient and hungry.

Jeane stood alone now, shoulder braced against the doorframe, eyes glowing with unnatural light. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like profanity mixed with prayer, then reached out toward the barrier with both hands. The air around her shimmered again as she began weaving magic visible only to those who could see such things—wards within wards, designed to hold back the corruption even as it tried to seep through every crack.

The wardstone pulsed once more, a slow, heavy thud that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building. Dust fell from the ceiling in several places, and a fresh crack appeared in the wall beside them. Jeane didn't flinch. She simply poured more power into her barrier spell, teeth gritted against whatever it was costing her.

Silra emerged from the service shaft just as another wardstone pulse hit. The entire corridor shook, and she had to brace herself against the frame to stay upright. "Jeane!" Her voice echoed in the confined space. "How long can you hold that?"

"Long enough," Jeane snarled without turning around. Her entire body was tense, muscles corded beneath pale skin as she maintained the spell. "Now get out of here and find help before this whole fucking building comes down."

Silra hesitated for one second—she hated leaving Jeane alone with that thing, hated the idea of abandoning her friend to whatever was happening. But the building groaned again, louder this time, and a fresh cascade of water mixed with lubricant poured from the broken shower stall. She didn't have a choice.

"Fine," she said, voice tight. "But I'm coming back as soon as I can get help through that shaft." She scrambled back into the service tunnel, leaving Jeane alone in the darkness with only the pulse of ancient corruption for company.

Jeane didn't respond—she was too busy maintaining her barrier spell and trying not to think about how good the wardstone's energy felt when it pulsed against her magic. The temptation was almost overwhelming: just let it in, just for a moment, just enough to fuel her power completely…