Round 143

Seraphine pressed her palms flat against the rough-hewn walls, feeling the vibration of impending collapse through her fingertips. The stone passage groaned around them, ancient mortar crumbling with each labored breath. Dust motes swirled thick and choking in the air, reducing visibility to mere feet. "You have some nerve," she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the oppressive silence. "You'd abandon Merrin down there? After she risked everything to—" A chunk of stone the size of a man's head came loose from the ceiling with a grating crack, cutting off her words as both women instinctively ducked. Jeane didn't turn around immediately, her focus split between the precarious binding magic and the need to navigate them through this death trap.

When she finally did face Seraphine, her expression was unapologetic despite the dust coating her pale skin and the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. "We can't save anyone if we're dead," Jeane said flatly. "Everyone needs to move—now. We're seconds from being buried alive under this collapsing shitpile." She strained to maintain the binding runes, but the magical structure was clearly creaking under the strain of holding back whatever malevolent force lay beyond.

Seraphine felt a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold stone walls. She knew better than to question Jeane's tactical judgment in situations like this—knew that the succubus woman had survived far worse than a collapsing tunnel—but she couldn't shake the feeling of being manipulated into following a dangerous plan without proper preparation. "Fine," she spat, stepping away from the wall and readying her crossbow with trembling hands. "Lead the way, oh great savior. But if this tunnel collapses around us because you were too reckless, I swear by all the gods I'll haunt your miserable ass for eternity."