Round 9 Transcript

The crimson sigils erupt from the fissure’s edge, a shimmering field of icy light that lashes outward. It strikes the city guard’s sword-arm with a sudden, searing sting, forcing his hand to recoil and the blade to slip from his grip. He stumbles backward, eyes wide, as the black fluid shimmers beneath the ash‑laden sky.

The black fluid spreading from beneath the guard's armor catches my eye first—a slick glistening that moves with an unnatural purpose, seeping into the ash. The crimson sigils still shimmer on the air, and I feel the cold pressure of whatever woke down there, a presence that scrapes against the inside of my skull. I step forward, pulling the unholy symbol from under my robes—its edges are warm where the fissure's light is cold—and speak in a voice that carries authority despite the fatigue gnawing at my bones. "The streets here belong to us now, not whatever sleeps beneath."

"Listen carefully," I tell the guard, whose sword lies forgotten in the ash. "You have two choices: serve me and this new purpose, or become part of what leaks from your own armor. Choose wisely—my patience is thin tonight."

I watch the city guard stagger back from the fissure's edge, his sword clattering uselessly into the ash. The shimmering field of crimson sigils pulses beneath the storm-dark sky—this is no mundane sewer breach. Gravedigger Renn whimpers something incoherent behind me, and I don't blame him. Sister Hale looks ready to start exorcising demons with her bare hands. I draw my dagger, step forward. "Guard," I call out, voice sharp despite the ache in my wrist. "You want to live through this? Help us move that barrier stone before whatever's down there decides to join the party." It's a gamble—the guard might still try to arrest me for assaulting him with a street sign—but desperate times demand useful bodies and less useless standing around gawking at glowing goo.