Round 38

Jeane yanked hard on the door handle, her fingers slipping on the slick surface. The door shuddered—it was alive somehow—and then slid open with a disgusting wet sound that made her stomach turn. A fresh wave of putrid air rushed out, thick enough to choke on, and Jeane stumbled back, gagging. Her wings beat instinctively, trying to clear the stench, but it clung to everything like old death. The corridor beyond was shrouded in darkness except for a faint, pulsing light deeper within—a light that seemed almost alive, drawing them forward with an otherworldly allure.

Seraphine followed Jeane into the corridor, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The air was thick with the stench of decaying flesh and something else—an acrid, ancient scent that burned her nostrils. Her robes rustled loudly in the narrow space as they moved deeper into the darkness, and she felt a jolt of panic when Jeane's mace went flying out of her hand. She didn't seem to notice at first, too focused on pulling open the strange door with its glinting handle set into the organic wall. The corridor stretched before them, leading into unknown depths, while behind them, the sounds of pursuit grew louder—a chorus of growls and wet tearing that spoke of hungry things closing in.

Jeane's crimson eyes scanned the corridor ahead, considering their options. Every moment we stand here debating is another moment those things catch up to us, she said, her voice tight with urgency. The sorceress reached out with her bloodline magic, trying to sense what pursued them through the stone walls.*