Round 196 Transcript

Jeane's hands tremble with effort as she channels power through her dildo, holding the wardstone barrier steady against the increasing energy. The dildo's metal surface glows with a faint blue light, and Jeane's eyes are narrowed in concentration. Halie leans against the door, her burned hands still gripping the mirror that's bracing it against the structural collapse. The floor tilts beneath them, water flooding from somewhere on the floor, and Hera's hyperventilating is audible. As the wardstone energy surges, the air around them begins to distort, and a low hum fills the corridor. The sound is like the reverberation of shattering glass, and it grows louder by the second. Suddenly, the lights in the corridor flicker and die, plunging them into darkness. The hum stops, and an oppressive silence falls over the group.

The wardstone pulses again—closer now—and I have to grit my teeth against the backlash hitting through the dildo conduit. "Silra! Timeline! Now!" My voice sharpens despite trying to keep it steady for Hera's sake, because we're running out of seconds here and she hasn't answered me yet. The floor tilts again under our feet, water mixing with spilled lubricant making everything slicker than sin in the worst possible way. I adjust my stance, channeling more power through my core—I'm already tapping demonic reserves deeper than I like for this, can feel it burning sweet and dangerous—and the barrier flares brighter before settling back to its barely-visible hum. Halie's got her shoulder against the door, mirror braced sideways in case it gives way completely, and she looks half-pinned there with her burned hands struggling. Hera's hyperventilating again—I can hear her gasps over the building groaning—and that kind of fear is contagious if you let it get to you. I won't let it. I have to be the anchor here while Silra does whatever she needs to do down in that dark shaft. "How many breaches?" I snap, because silence means nothing good right now and we need numbers more than hope. The wardstone pulses again, harder this time, like something's trying to force its way through my barrier—and I have maybe one more minute before these reserves give out completely. One.

I push my weight against the door, burned hands screaming protest but I can't let up—the wardstone's energy is licking around the frame now, tasting our fear. Building groans like a beast waking up wrong, and Hera's hyperventilating behind me, her panic sharper than any pain in my palms. "Jeane!" My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "How long does Silra need? Floor's shifting under us." Water's flooding in somewhere unseen, mixing with the spilled lube to make the surface slicker than sin itself. The barricade's becoming a joke on this wet floor.

I count breaches by sound alone—three major ones above us, spreading like cracks in ice. The building groans like something's tearing inside its bones. We have seconds, not minutes.