Round 7

As the crimson sigils lurch forward, they push the guard's sword-arm back with a sudden, icy sting, sending him stumbling into the freshly opened fissure. The ground shudders again, and a low groan echoes through the ruined city. Jeane lets the sigils fade, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the thick, dark fluid coating the guard's armor, its slow heartbeat-like pulse unnerving.

She steps forward through the rain, despite her tired bones aching for rest, and gestures sharply to Silra. "Fall back," she says coolly, drawing her own sword as she moves towards the guard. The black fluid spreading from him is... wrong, Silra thinks, watching with a mix of fascination and fear. It doesn't behave like water or mud—it's too alive for that.