Round 140

The barrier spell flickers visibly in the dim light, Jeane's concentration fraying at the edges as she fights to maintain it against the wardstone's insistent pulse. Her crimson eyes flash dangerously, demonic nature barely contained by professional discipline. The dark corridor beyond the door remains ominously silent and empty, but every creak of the building and every fresh pulse from the stone feels like a predator stalking closer.

"I can maybe hold this for two minutes," she admits through gritted teeth, sweat beading on her pale skin despite the cool air. "Maybe. But each pulse... it's taking more energy, more control. The spell wants to feed back into itself." She glares at Hera and Silra in turn, her expression a mix of barely controlled panic and aggressive protectiveness. "You two are not walking into that death trap. I don't care what kind of magic dick you need to fix this—find another solution before the building collapses around us."

The mirror Halie is using as a brace shifts ominously, the whole barricade groaning under renewed pressure from within the main suite. Water continues to pool on the floor from the broken shower stall, mixing with spilled lubricant to create an unstable and treacherous surface. The air grows heavy with the scent of sex toys, water damage, and something else—something wrong and ancient emanating from beyond the wardstone.

Silence falls for several seconds as everyone processes Jeane's declaration. Even Hera swallows her protest, eyes wide with genuine fear now mixing with grudging respect for the sorcerer's desperate determination. The clock ticks down in every pulse of the wardstone beneath them.