Round 178 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.

I press my palms flat against the warm wood, fingers spreading wide. The floorboards groan back at me like a dying man telling secrets. Feel the joists give an inch beneath my weight—settling before breaking. Water seeps around my hands now, mixing with whatever slick substance is already coating this fucking floor. Wardstone pulses through the soles of my boots, sharp and insistent, like teeth gritted too long. I look up at Hera standing by that doorway like a target painted on canvas. Get back from there, will you? The whole wall looks ready to kiss us goodbye. Jeane's staring at the wardstone again, eyes hungry in a way that makes my stomach turn. How many seconds until this door goes? Tell me something useful.

The wardstone pulses again, sharp enough to make my teeth ache. I cut off channeling for two seconds—just long enough to speak without magical distortion. "Silra! Find an exit now or reinforce this door properly." My voice stays steady despite what I'm feeling inside. "The next pulse cracks the floorboards. Move."

I don't wait for acknowledgment. Channeling resumes through the dildo—I can feel the wardstone fighting back, pushing against my spellwork like a physical weight. Two minutes. Maybe ninety seconds now. Hera's skin is going translucent again—her fear feeding the thing downstairs. I need her contained before it spreads to the others. Contained and controlled. "Halie." I keep channeling while speaking. "You're doing well with that mirror, but your grip will fail in thirty seconds unless you brace properly. Use Hera's body as leverage against the doorframe—her weight becomes your strength instead of burden."

I can see Halie processing instructions through her pain. Good. Following orders keeps people alive when thinking fails. The floorboards under Silra creak loudly this time—a wet, strained sound that means we're seconds from structural failure in this section. I need her competent but she's hesitating again. "Silra!" sharper now "Brace those joists or find an exit through the ceiling—both options require action NOW before we're buried alive."

My demonic reserves are starting to fray at the edges—I'm pulling too much power for too long, and it'll demand payment later. But that's my problem. I glance at Hera standing uselessly by the wardstone doorway. Her fear is a tangible thing now—spreading through the group like poison. If I don't contain her soon, the wardstone will pull everyone down with her. One minute left before this barrier fails completely. Time to make hard choices.

I push harder against the mirror, my burned hands screaming protest but I don't care. "How many seconds, Silra? Tell me how much time we have left." The wardstone pulses are sharper now—almost rhythmic—and with each pulse, Hera flinches beside me. She's trying to be brave but her hand keeps reaching for mine and then stopping halfway because she remembers the corruption on her skin. Jeane is channeling power through that dildo again, the whole thing vibrating with energy that tastes like ozone and old magic. It should look ridiculous but right now it just looks desperate. I can see her jaw clenched tight—she's trying to hold everything together by force of will alone. The floor under us feels less stable with every passing second. Water has mixed with spilled lube to make the surface slick as ice, and each time the building groans overhead, I feel a fresh wave of terror that tastes like copper on my tongue. My grip slips on the mirror frame—my palms are too burned—and for one heart-stopping moment I think we're done. "We need leverage," I say through gritted teeth. "Hera, press your shoulder against the doorframe opposite me." She looks at me with wide eyes but doesn't argue. When she moves into position, I see the translucence of her skin again—she's fighting not to scream from the pain of it—and something in my chest twists sharp and sudden. "We're not dying here," I mutter, mostly to myself. The wardstone pulses feel like they're coming from inside my own skull now, a throbbing rhythm that makes my vision swim. But I push harder anyway because that's what we do—we keep pushing even when everything hurts.