Round 88

As Sister Hale took her next step onto the bridge, Jeane's eyes remained fixed on the wooden planks beneath them, her arcane sight probing for any sign of weakness. The lantern's flame danced wildly, casting eerie shadows that seemed to writhe like living things on the bridge's surface. "Seventeen distinct patterns suggest this is calculated containment rather than random corruption," Jeane whispered, her voice barely audible over the creaking wood. The rusted key in her palm pulsed with an otherworldly energy, as if urging her forward.

The bridge groaned and swayed ominously beneath their combined weight, its wooden planks protesting the strain. Jeane's grip on Sister Hale's arm tightened, her crimson eyes scanning the bridge structure for any sign of danger. The air grew colder still, heavy with the weight of terrors past and present, as if the very fabric of reality was beginning to unravel. "We don't retreat," Jeane hissed back at the frightened informant, trying to keep her own voice steady despite the rising panic.