Round 95

As they burst into Gravehill's market district, the stormy sky seemed to darken further, its leaden clouds like a physical manifestation of their collective unease. The air vibrated with the relentless thrumming of the pressure plates, now silent except for the distant rumble of collapsing structures and the soft clinking of Sister Hale's dagger against her belt. Silra's eyes locked onto Gravedigger Renn's lifeless form, his legs stiff from collapse, while Sister Hale's gaze darted between the surrounding buildings, her silver holy symbol clutched tightly in her hand.

"We can't stay here," Silra said, her voice laced with conviction as she grabbed Sister Hale's arm. "Whatever is down there isn't just waiting for us – it's watching our Intent." The words tumbled out in a rush, punctuated by the jingling of the rusted key from a dead magistrate in the wind. Sister Hale's eyes widened, her face set in a determined expression as she nodded in agreement.

The two women sprinted across the market district, dodging panicked vendors and civilians fleeing in all directions. The stormy sky pulsed with an ominous light above them, its darkness seeming to grow thicker with every step. As they ran, Silra's thoughts turned to their next move – rebuilding the abandoned church, starting a new sex cult, and growing their religion – but for now, it was just survival that mattered.