Round 118

The entire chamber seems to hold its breath for a moment before groaning again, the sound like a great beast in pain. Jeane presses herself against the crumbling wall, her dark leathery wings tucked tight against her back. "Seraphine!" she hisses, her voice barely carrying over the ominous creaking of stone. "Feel that? The whole fucking place is about to come down! We need to move—now!" The Bound Spirit's form twists violently within its circle, its coal-black eyes fixed on Seraphine with an unsettling intensity. The air around them grows colder, and faint whispers seem to brush against their skin. "You're playing with something far beyond your comprehension," Jeane adds, her crimson gaze flicking between the writhing spirit and the increasingly unstable ceiling.