Round 173 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.

Jeane Cromwell's eyes flash with demonic fire as she grits her teeth against the wardstone energy pulsing through her, each surge threatening to collapse the building around them. The dildo in the wall socket provides a precarious channel for maintaining her barrier spell, but every second feels like an eternity. "Silra," she snaps, voice tight with strain, "if you don't reinforce that barricade right fucking now, we're all dead weight." Her gaze shifts to Halie, trembling and clutching her holy symbol. "And you—either help or stay the hell out of our way before your fear makes this worse."

The floor beneath them groans again, louder this time. Jeane feels the wardstone's malevolent presence probing at her mind, seeking entry through her demonic nature. She shoves harder against the barrier spell, sweat beading on her forehead despite the cool air. "Find something to brace that door properly," she barks at Hera, "or we're done." Her attention flickers to Abby—at least she's not causing problems yet. But time is running out faster than sand in an hourglass, and Jeane needs a solution that doesn't involve direct wardstone interaction or certain death. The demonic sorceress considers her options: switch channeling methods, find another energy source, collapse the corridor to seal it off... The possibilities spin through her mind like a kaleidoscope of horrors. But none of them feel quite right—not yet. For now, she focuses on maintaining the spell and trusting her companions to keep them alive long enough for inspiration—or desperation—to strike.

I yank the lamp back inside and shove my shoulder against the door alongside Hera, feeling the wood flex dangerously under pressure. This is suicide, I mutter, glancing sideways at Jeane still straining against her spell. If that thing gets through we'll all be wardstone paste on the floor below. The building groans around us like a dying beast, and I have to fight the instinct to run blindly down the dark corridor where we can't see what's waiting. I turn to Hera: Hold it here, I tell her, pressing my back to the door opposite. Lean your whole weight into it. Then to Jeane: You're channeling too much—switch out with me before you short-circuit something important like your brain stem.

Jeane's eyes are wild, pupils blown wide, but she nods once and stumbles back from the barrier spell just as another wave of wardstone energy pulses through the floor. I step forward into her space without hesitation, press my palms flat against the shimmering air where her magic is holding, and try to feel what's on the other side. It's like pressing against a sun: wrong heat, wrong pressure, something that shouldn't exist trying to force its way into our world. I grit my teeth and push back, constructing my own barrier layer over Jeane's more unstable one—thin and precise instead of broad and showy. It costs me nothing in terms of raw power but every ounce of concentration as I try to contain the energy without absorbing it. Can you hear that? I ask Hera sharply while maintaining the spell. The floorboards are cracking beneath us. She nods, face pale but determined as she shifts her stance to distribute weight more evenly across the door. Good—someone with sense still functional. I glance at Halie across the narrow space, see the cleric already trying to brace the door from a safer angle now that we've taken over primary barrier duty. Smart move for someone with no magical defense against whatever's on the other side of this wall. I respect resourcefulness when I see it even if I don't particularly like the person demonstrating it. Then my eyes track sideways to Abby, curled small and terrified near the ruined shower stall, and something twists in my chest that has nothing to do with magic or survival calculations. I can't look away from her for several seconds too long—watching the way she trembles, the dark curls stuck to her neck with sweat—and then force myself back to the task at hand before someone notices the distraction. This is no time for sentimentality or whatever that was supposed to be. We're trapped in a collapsing building with an unstable magical artifact trying to breach through the walls and Jeane's barely contained panic making everything more dangerous by the minute. Prioritize: structural integrity, wardstone containment, get everyone out alive—especially one civilian I'm definitely not developing feelings for because that would be inconvenient as fuck right now. I feel a spike of energy against my palms as the wardstone pulse intensifies and redirect every thought into maintaining the spell structure without letting any of it bleed through to me. This is what I'm good at—finesse, precision, control where brute force fails. Let Jeane handle the big flashy destruction magic; I'll manage the subtle containment that actually keeps us breathing. Hera, I say without turning my head, tell me if you feel any cracks spreading wider than a hairline fracture. She nods again—I see it in peripheral vision—and shifts her weight slightly. Good—someone with attention to detail still functional despite the obvious terror written all over everyone's face. Behind us, the dark corridor stretches into impossible geometry I can't quite resolve no matter how hard I stare at it—walls that tilt wrong and floor that seems to slope downward in places even though it should be level. The wardstone energy is doing something to perception as well as structure. Probably trying to lure us deeper inside where containment would be harder. Not happening on my watch. If we're getting out of here, it'll be through this door or no way at all—and I'm not letting whatever's in that dark hallway have an easy path to the rest of the building full of civilians who don't deserve this shitstorm we've walked into.