Round 179 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, sharp enough to make my teeth ache. I can feel its hunger through the channel of the dildo pressed against the wall socket—it's pulling at the energy I'm trying to hold steady, trying to use our desperation as a conduit for its power. I glance over my shoulder where Silra is crouched between joists, pressing her palms flat against the floorboards. "Silra!" I snap, keeping my voice tight with control despite the panic crawling up my throat. "Find an exit now or reinforce this door properly. We don't have time for half-measures."

Hera shrinks back against the wall opposite me, her eyes wide and panicked—her fear is spreading through the group like a disease, feeding the wardstone's hunger. I can't afford to let it destabilize us all. "Halie," I say sharply, "Use Hera's body as leverage against the doorframe if you need to brace that mirror." The floor is slick with water and spilled lubricant from earlier, and my boots keep sliding when I shift my weight trying to maintain the barrier. Every pulse of the wardstone feels like it's sucking more energy out of me. The building groans around us again, louder this time—a long, creaking sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. We have minutes at most before whatever's holding this floor up gives way completely. I tap deeper into my demonic reserves to keep the barrier spell active for just a few more seconds. The corruption taste in the back of my throat intensifies—I'll need to replenish that energy soon, but right now it's keeping us alive.

The mirror slips again. Water from the ceiling leak mixes with the spilled lubricant on the floor—we're losing traction faster than we're gaining ground. Hera's standing too close to that door, and I can't hold this brace much longer. My burned hands scream every time I adjust my grip. We need a real plan or we'll be crushed when this floor gives out, and I won't let her die in this hellhole while some stone monster tries to claim her soul.

I'm not dying in here because of slippery floorboards and Jeane's panic-fueled stupidity. This building is coming down whether we like it or not—wardstone or no wardstone—and I'm getting us out before it turns us into architectural rubble. The mirror won't hold that door forever, especially not with Hera pressing against it like a lovesick teenager at her first concert. And if you keep channeling through that dildo, Jeane, the wardstone's going to pull your energy right out of you and we'll have an even bigger problem on our hands. Halie's trying, but she needs actual leverage, not just muscle. I need thirty seconds flat—just give me a fucking minute to feel these joists and find us a way through before the entire floor decides it hates all of us personally.