Round 162 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.

The wardstone pulses again—closer now, each beat driving spikes of pain into my temples. My barrier spell shudders but holds. Barely. Two minutes, maybe less before this building comes down around our ears. Silra's grip on my arm is firm, grounding me against the rising tide of panic and something else... darker. The demon inside me strains at its leash, hungry for surrender, for chaos. I push it back with an effort that tastes like bile in the back of my throat. Now is not the time. Hera's sobbing echoes off the corridor walls—hysterical, desperate—and I feel Halie's fear radiate outwards from her position at the door. If Hera loses control completely, we all do. Her panic feeds on itself like wildfire in dry grass. We need more time. More power. The obvious solution hovers just beyond reach—the wardstone could fuel my magic if I let it touch me directly—but that's a last resort. A death sentence masquerading as salvation. I take a deep breath, centering myself. The smell of sex and desperation mingles with the metallic tang of fear sweat. Time to lead or die trying. "Silra," I say, voice barely controlling the tremor beneath it, "check if there's another door behind you. Now."

Halie stirs at my command, shifting her weight against the barricade. "Jeane?" Her voice cracks on my name. "How long?"

I don't answer immediately. The wardstone pulses again, stronger this time, and I gasp as the spell falters for a fraction of a second. Two minutes. Maybe less. I look at Silra, her face illuminated by emergency lighting that casts harsh shadows across her features. Trust me, her eyes seem to say as she moves away to check behind the barricade. Don't let the demon win. I can't afford hesitation anymore. The spell requires constant focus and I'm already splitting my attention between maintaining it and managing this situation. Every second counts now. So I make a choice—cold, calculated, and terrifying in its simplicity: if we're going to die anyway, I might as well go out on my own terms. With purpose. Not cowering in fear like some common civilian. I meet Hera's eyes across the dark corridor. Her terror is almost palpable, a living thing feeding off her desperation. But there's something else underneath—trust misplaced or earned through shared danger—and that's what I cling to now as I take another step forward into the darkness.

I release Jeane's arm gently. "If there's another door behind us, I'll find it faster alone." The darkness beyond is absolute, but my eyes adjust quickly enough—I can see well in this lightless hellhole. The floor here is less lubricant-slick than the disaster zone behind us, which means we might actually stand without sliding into a pile of our own mistakes. The wardstone's pulse feels wrong—it's not just steady thrumming anymore. It's accelerating, like someone's winding up a clockwork demon. We don't have minutes. We have seconds. I move toward the darkness with my back against the wall, feeling for door frames or structural weaknesses that might give way first in a collapse.

The mirror slips another inch in my weakened grip. The wardstone pulses behind it feel like teeth gnashing against oak. Hera's trembling beside me—her corrupted skin visible where her shirt ripped during our fall—and I can't let this thing touch her again. My burned hands scream as I readjust, bare skin on the slick floor giving no traction. "How long?" I ask Jeane, voice steady despite the panic climbing my throat. "Because if it's minutes instead of seconds, I need to brace something else."

The mirror won't hold much longer, especially with every tremor from above sending dust raining down and weakening its grip on the frame. My mind races through options—none good—and settles on the most practical: use my body as a second barrier if needed. "Jeane," I say, "if you feel it slipping, call out immediately." Because I'll throw myself against that door before I let any of them face what's behind it alone.