Round 147

Jeane's crimson eyes blazed with barely contained panic in the flickering torchlight, her grip on Seraphine's arm tightening painfully. "We can't just stand here arguing," she snarled, her voice rough with urgency. "Merrin could be buried alive down there while we waste time!" The thought of their friend trapped beneath collapsing rubble, unable to escape or call for help, was enough to make Jeane's stomach churn.

Seraphine pressed herself against the wall, her sharp elven features tight with apprehension as she watched Jeane. "We can't just rush forward blindly," she hissed, her voice low and urgent. "The entire tower is coming down—can't you feel it?" The air was thick with dust and the acrid smell of ozone mixed with something metallic and wrong, a stench that seemed to cling to the very stone.

Jeane's voluptuous succubus form was silhouetted against the pulsing blue light of the failing runes. "And what if Merrin's buried alive down there while we stand here arguing?" she snarled back, her grip on Seraphine's arm tightening painfully. The thought of their friend trapped beneath collapsing rubble, unable to escape or call for help, was enough to make Jeane's stomach churn.

Seraphine dug her heels in, resisting the pull. Her injured shoulder ached with every movement, but the fear of what lay ahead drove her.