Round 186 Transcript

Jeane channels demonic reserve through the dildo into the wall socket, holding the mirror braced against the door as it groans under the pressure. The building's energy shifts, and the wardstone pulses once more, its frequency matching the growing urgency of the structural collapse. Water seeps in from the flooded floor, making the surface slick with lubricant and water. Halie's hands, injured and slippery, struggle to maintain grip on the mirror as the floor tilts beneath her feet. The sound of creaking wood and groaning metal fills the air, growing louder by the second. Suddenly, a loud crack echoes through the corridor, followed by the faint scent of ozone. The wardstone's energy surges, bathing the dark corridor in an intense, pulsating light.

The wardstone pulsed again—faster now—and the building groaned like a dying animal beneath us. I had maybe two minutes left before this entire structure came down. Hera was hyperventilating, her fear thick in the air like smog, and Silra looked frozen between obedience and hesitation. "Stop looking around in panic," I snapped at Halie, voice tight with barely controlled fury. "You have a job. Keep that mirror braced or we're all buried alive." My grip on the dildo I was using as a channeling focus slipped—the lubricant from our earlier activities had seeped everywhere, making every surface slick and treacherous. "Silra," I growled, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "You have thirty seconds to find us an exit before I kick this door down regardless of what's waiting on the other side. And trust me, dear—what's in that darkness is better than being buried under several tons of concrete."

The wardstone pulses again. I hate this game. Thirty seconds isn't a timeline—it's an ultimatum. Jeane's channeling, Halie's gripping the mirror like her life depends on it, and Hera's hyperventilating is making me claustrophobic. The floor slants now, water pooling from the broken shower mixing with spilled lube that's turned this hallway into an ice rink. I push through the darkness behind us. Floorboards are giving way under pressure—water seeped in when the plumbing burst. There has to be another route out. I'm not dying in a penthouse orgy gone wrong, and I'm certainly not letting Jeane go full-demon because she's panicking. The wardstone's answering my movements now, pulsing like it knows we're here. I don't need her to snap at me—I heard the thirty seconds loud and clear. But barging into darkness without a plan is what gets people trapped or worse. I find gaps in the floorboards, feel for structural support beneath them. The building's groaning shifts—wardstone energy matching the structure's strain. It's like they're talking to each other. This whole situation is too fucked for my usual brand of problem-solving. Jeane's got a dildo plugged into the wall socket and she thinks that's going to save us. Fine. Let her channel demonic power—I'll find an actual solution. The darkness ahead isn't empty space; it's the corridor we came from, leading back toward the main room where everything went sideways in the first place. I hate the idea of doubling back, but sometimes retreat is tactical. We need to regroup, reassess, and I need to keep Jeane away from that wardstone before her demonic side decides to eat this entire building along with whatever ancient evil it's guarding. This isn't heroics—I'm not built for that shit. This is survival calculus. And right now, the odds of finding an exit in thirty seconds by groping blindly through structural damage are worse than my chances of talking Jeane down from her power trip long enough to think straight. "Jeane," I call back, voice even despite the panic clawing at my throat. "Give me sixty seconds. If I don't find something, we'll come back and you can kick that door down with whatever demonic strength you've got."

Halie shifted her grip on the mirror, burned hands screaming despite the demonic reserve flowing through them from Jeane's channeling. The wardstone pulsed again in response to their presence—she felt it like teeth scraping bone. "I can't hold this much longer," she called out, voice tight with effort. The door frame cracked, fresh dust pouring down as the building groaned around them. "Hera, get behind me." She tried to position herself between Hera and the dark corridor beyond without actually touching her corrupted skin—a maneuver made nearly impossible in the cramped space and slick floor. Jeane's voice snapped like a whip: "Hold it! Sixty seconds, you said." The Sorcerer's grip on the spare dildo slipped, more lubricant spilling from its surface onto an already treacherous floor. Halie's mind flashed back to earlier—their hands sticky with lube and blood, Hera's terror when she'd touched her. No. Focus. "Halie!" Jeane barked again. "Mirror! Now!"

She grit her teeth and pushed against the mirror with every ounce of strength left in her scorched muscles. The heavy glass shifted slightly—too little, too late as the wardstone pulsed yet again, matching the building's desperate groan for groan. They were running out of time on both counts.