Round 241

Silra moved through the crumbling penthouse like a ghost, every muscle coiled tight with barely contained fury. The forty-minute timer had hit zero—five minutes remained before this entire building came down around their ears. And Jeane... fucking Jeane was writhing on the floor like a bitch in heat, her eyes gone wrong and her skin flushed with unnatural fever.

Halie stood between them, arms raised in some pathetic gesture of protection that meant jack shit against a succubus. Her barrier flickered visibly, divine energy bleeding out like water from a leaky bucket. Silra could see the strain in every line of her body—she was running on empty, and it wouldn't last much longer.

"Halie," Silra bit out, voice sharp enough to cut glass, "your faith isn't going to stop a succubus rampage." She took two steps closer, positioning herself between Halie and the threat. "I'm not abandoning her—we're preventing her from hurting you or anyone else in this godforsaken building."

The structure groaned again, louder this time, and a fresh cascade of dust rained down from the ceiling. Silra ignored it, eyes locked on Jeane's convulsing form. Five minutes. That was all they had to keep Halie alive, reinforce what they could, and pray to whatever gods might be listening that Jeane didn't tear them all apart before the inevitable collapse.

This wasn't about friendship anymore—this was about survival. And if Silra had to choose between saving one friend or preventing a succubus loose in New York City, well... the city would win every fucking time.