Round 168 Transcript

Jeane's hands tremble as she selects a dildo, its rubberized surface glistening with lubricant. She positions it against her body, the metal shaft gleaming under the faint light that filters through the cracks in the door. Her fingers dance across the controls of a bullet vibrator, its motor whirring to life as she begins to power up the spell. The device hums, emitting a low-pitched thrum that resonates through Jeane's entire body. She focuses her magic, channeling the energy into the dildo, which begins to glow with an otherworldly light. The vibrations intensify, causing Jeane's body to shudder as she works to stabilize the wardstone's energy. The dildo's light grows brighter, illuminating the dark corridor and casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air is filled with the scent of lubricant and ozone, the wardstone's energy crackling with anticipation.

Hera takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The building groans ominously around them and she can feel the wardstone pulsing with dark energy mere feet away. "Okay, we need to focus," Hera says, her voice shaking only slightly. "Silra, keep working on that door. Jeane, I need you to power up that spell as much as you can. Halie...Halie, just stay right there and let me know if anything changes."

She looks around frantically, trying to think of something else they can do. Her eyes land on the pile of adult toys and she feels a flicker of unease. "Um...Jeane? Is it weird that I'm worried about those sex toys right now?" Hera asks, gesturing towards the pile. "I mean, I know we're in a life or death situation but...they seem kind of out of place, you know?"

She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "Never mind. Just...focus on keeping us alive. All of us."

Hera moves to help Silra brace the door, her muscles tensing as she pushes against the heavy wood. The corridor stretches ominously behind them, dark and full of unknown dangers. But for now, all that matters is survival. Hera grits her teeth and puts everything she has into holding back the encroaching darkness, praying that whatever Jeane is planning will be enough to save them all.

The wardstone pulses again—slower this time—and I feel the spell strain through my fingers like piano wire pulled too tight. Hera's pushing against the door with desperate little shoves, and I can taste her fear sweet in the air between us. It makes me want to bite something. Silra's got that mirror wedged in now, but it won't hold long if the frame keeps groaning like a dying whale. The water from those busted pipes is mixing with all the lube spilled across the floor—creating this slick mess we're trying not to slip on while keeping our balance against impending doom. I grab a decent-sized dildo off the floor and a bullet vibe, weighing them in my hand like weapons because right now they are. The magical energy from downstairs is pulling at me—an ancient thing wanting company—but I shove that thought down hard. Direct interaction with that wardstone means corruption on a scale these amateurs can't handle. The dildo glows faintly as I channel through it, stabilizing the barrier pulse by pulse. Each beat makes my teeth ache and my cunt throb in sync. I focus on the rhythm—wardstone heart beating time for our execution—and force the spell to hold despite every instinct screaming at me to just touch that dark energy directly. "Hera," I snap without looking back, "stop pushing or you'll crack the frame completely." She flinches and steps back immediately—that's fear talking, not sense. Fear makes people stupid in useful ways sometimes. I power up the bullet vibe too—just enough to add a second layer of resonance against the wardstone frequency. The dual vibrations harmonize weirdly in my hands, creating feedback that makes my nipples harden instantly and my demon nature surge forward before I shove it back down with iron discipline. "This won't hold forever," I mutter more to myself than anyone else as another structural groan rumbles through the floorboards under our feet. "Need an actual solution here or we're all dying tonight." The dildo's glow intensifies, and I feel something ancient answer my challenge from below—the wardstone recognizing its own energy being wielded against it. I keep channeling power through both toys while calculating options in my head at mach speed. Direct interaction is out—too risky for the civilians and probably more than Silra can handle too. That leaves us with structural engineering I'm not qualified for, magical solutions that might make things worse, or hoping maintenance guys show up soon enough to save our asses. The dildo pulses in my grip, matching wardstone beats exactly now. My own heartbeat speeds up to match it—demonic blood recognizing ancestral magic even if human brain refuses it. The vibe I'm holding buzzes against my palm like a trapped hornet trying to get out.

I can feel the building shifting above us—the sound is changing, becoming more final—and the wardstone pulses are accelerating. We don't have minutes now. The door frame is groaning under pressure. I need to know what we're actually doing here. Hera's pushing against that door like it owes her money. Stop. You'll crack the frame completely if you keep doing that. Let Silra brace it properly. I shift my weight, trying to stabilize the mirror with my burned hands—the pain is sharp but I can hold. Jeane, what are you doing? Channeling through sex toys? That's...that's not a spell component in any book I've read. I watch her work, feeling the vibrations through the floor—lube mixing with water from the burst pipes, making everything slick and unstable. This whole setup is wrong. We're trapped in a collapsing building using porn paraphernalia to fight ancient evil while trying not to touch each other because we're all infected somehow. I take a breath. If we die here, it'll be the most absurdly ironic cleric death story ever told. My hands are burning—literally—and my grip is slipping on the mirror frame. I can feel Hera watching me, concerned. Don't look at me like that. We're not going to touch each other because we're not risking infection and we're definitely not indulging in desperate deathbed scenarios. Someone needs to say what has to happen next that isn't 'hold this door shut until we starve or the ceiling falls.' Because I can do the holding part, but I need a plan. I meet Jeane's eyes across the dark corridor. What are you calculating? Escape routes don't exist in a collapsing building. If you're about to suggest something involving that sybian or group orgies for magical power, I'm going to pray for divine intervention right now and hope it includes getting us out of this cursed apartment complex. Silra's voice cuts through the tension—practical, focused. Good. Someone who understands we need solutions, not fantasies. How long can you hold that barrier? Because the building sounds like it's about to decide our fates for us whether we're ready or not.