Round 162

The corridor's darkness swallowed them whole, each pulse of the wardstone making the walls groan like a dying beast. Jeane pressed her palms flat against the stone, feeling the vibration travel up her arms like a living thing trying to burrow inside. Her wings tucked tight against her back, leathery membranes trembling with each beat of power that hammered against her barrier spell.

"Two minutes," she said through clenched teeth. "Maybe less." The numbers were guesses, desperate mathematics of survival calculated in heartbeats instead of seconds. She could feel the demon inside her coiling tighter with every pulse, hungry for release, for the chaos it promised if only she'd let go of this fragile control.

Silra moved past her without a word, boots finding purchase on the comparatively stable ground beyond the worst of the slick. Her eyes glowed faintly in the darkness as they adjusted—elven sight cutting through the blackness like a blade through water. The corridor stretched ahead into nothingness, walls smooth and featureless except for the occasional crack that oozed water or something thicker, more viscous.

"I'll find an exit," Silra said, already moving. Her voice carried barely enough volume to be heard over the building's creaking death rattle and the wardstone's insistent pulse. She didn't look back at Jeane, didn't need to see the sorceress's face pale even in the gloom, or the way her fingers twitched with the effort of holding the barrier together.

Halie shifted her weight, muscles screaming protest as she fought to keep the heavy mirror braced against the door frame. Her burned hands throbbed with each movement, but the alternative—letting the wardstone's energy seep through—was unthinkable. Especially with Hera pressed close, the other woman's corrupted skin visible where her shirt had torn during their fall.

"How long?" Halie asked again, voice steady despite the fear that made her heart hammer against her ribs. She needed specifics, needed to calculate exactly how much time she had left to hold this position before the building came down around them all.

Jeane didn't answer immediately. She was too busy counting pulses—one, two, three—and trying to estimate how many more her spell could handle before it shattered completely. The demon inside her growled its displeasure with each passing second of restraint, but she pushed it back down. Not yet. Not here.

"Two minutes," she repeated, louder this time. "Maybe less." Her crimson eyes locked onto Halie's face, reading the other woman's expression for signs of panic. She couldn't afford to lose control of the group—not when her own was already fraying at the edges.