Round 146 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 hate this. Every second that passes is another second closer to death—or worse. The wardstone pulses feel like teeth on my skin now, and Jeane's panic isn't helping. The dark corridor beyond the door shifts in the bad light. I can hear it breathing. Fine. If there's a way out, it's through there. I'm not dying in here with my pants down, figuratively or literally.

The wardstone pulsed harder this time—like an angry heartbeat thrumming through the stone itself—and I felt my hold on the barrier spell waver. "Silra! No!" My voice snapped out sharp and commanding, but she'd already pushed past Halie's barricade into that dark corridor beyond. The building groaned around us like a living thing in pain. "Get back here!"

I couldn't let her go alone into whatever waited there while holding this spell against the wardstone surge. But I was the only thing keeping us from being pulled apart by that damned stone's hunger, and if I followed... Hera whimpered beside me, clinging to Abby with wide eyes fixed on where Silra had disappeared. The building shuddered—like a deep breath before screaming—and fresh water sprayed from the ruined shower stall. My breasts ached with renewed milk flow; the magic strain always made it worse. "Halie!" I barked. "Keep that door shut! Push everything against it if you have to!"

I shifted my stance on the slippery floor—someone's spilled lubricant had mixed with water—and focused every ounce of will into maintaining the barrier spell. The wardstone pulsed again, and I tasted iron in my mouth. "Hera," I said through gritted teeth, "stay behind me. Don't look at the door, don't think about it. Look at Abby."

The corridor beyond that door shifted in the bad light—shadows moving where they shouldn't—and something breathed down there. I could hear it now over the building's groan: a slow, wet sound like lungs filling with fluid. "Silra!" I called again, louder this time. "Answer me!"

No response. The wardstone pulsed a fourth time, and I felt my vision go white with effort. My shield held—barely—but for how much longer? And what was waiting in that dark corridor beyond the door? I had to make a choice: abandon the barrier spell and risk immediate disaster trying to follow Silra, or maintain it and hope she didn't stumble into something worse than whatever waited on this side. The wardstone pulsed again. My breasts leaked milk down my stomach, arousal spiking despite everything because that's how demonic magic worked—life and death tangled together in flesh and fear. "Halie!" I shouted over the building's groan. "How long can you hold?"

I can feel it through my burned palms—the wardstone pulsing harder with every heartbeat. The door groans under the pressure of my weight against it. Hera's behind me, breathing ragged. I shift the mirror brace again; it slides on the slick floor from all this spilled lube and water. How long can I hold this? My arms are screaming already. I call out without turning: "Jeane, how much longer?" The building sounds like it's tearing itself apart around us.