Round 151

The penthouse groans around them, a dying sound of stressed concrete and shifting timbers. Hera scrambles upright, slipping on the slick floor coated in water and lubricant, her hand finding the wall for balance as she stares at the barricaded door with wide amber eyes. The mirror clatters away from its position, useless now.

Jeane! Her voice shakes, barely controlled panic bleeding through. How much longer? We can't stay here—this building is coming down. She takes a step forward, slips again on the treacherous floor, catching herself with both hands against the opposite wall. The wardstone pulses in response to her movement, a sickening rhythm that makes her skin crawl.

I stand near the junction between the main room and the dark corridor, maintaining the barrier spell with visible effort. My wings are half-spread for balance, crimson eyes fixed on the door while my hands move in intricate patterns holding the magic together. The spell flickers, wardstone energy pushing back against it like a physical force.

Two minutes, maybe three if we're lucky, I answer through gritted teeth. The wardstone's master is answering our intrusion directly now—something alive and hungry inside that stone wants out. Each pulse makes the barrier wobble, requires more concentration to stabilize. The floor under us groans again, louder this time.

Halie shifts her weight, pressing both hands against the door frame despite the obvious pain from her burns. Her face is pale but determined, blue-grey eyes narrowed in focus as she stares at the barrier between them and the wardstone.

Hera! Stay back—this floor is giving way, Halie calls over her shoulder, voice strained. The wardstone pulses through the wood like a sick heartbeat. It knows we're here. She glances back at Hera's position, then at me struggling with the spell. We need more weight on this door, something heavy to brace it until Silra gets back or until that spell fails completely.

The building settles with a sound like a coffin lid closing, dust falling from the ceiling in visible clouds. We're running out of time faster than I'd hoped.