Round 47

Jeane grits her teeth as Seraphine kneels beside her, the elf's fingers brushing against the stone shard embedded in her thigh. The wound pulses with a sickening heat, dark magic seeping into the surrounding tissue like poison. Left or right? Both options look equally miserable—dark and probably full of more stabby rock formations. She tries to shift her weight, wings instinctively folding tighter as she attempts to gauge which direction might offer salvation.

The air in the chamber grows colder, the stalactites above seeming to vibrate with an otherworldly energy. Suddenly, the ground shudders, and a massive boulder tumbles down the tunnel they just escaped from. Fuck! Jeane hisses through clenched teeth. Move your ass, Seraphine—The rumble intensifies, and she feels the vibration through her boots, sharp rocks shifting beneath them.

Seraphine drops to her knees beside Jeane, her hands already reaching for the wound. We need to get this out of you before you collapse on us. Her fingers brush against the cold metal of the stone shard, and she wince at the heat radiating from it. It's not just the impact; there's some kind of dark magic clinging to it, a pulsating aura that feels like a thorn pressed deep into her own soul. The grinding sound grows louder, more insistent, and she hears the distant rumble of...