Round 242

Seraphine's eyes widen in horror as she realizes what she's unleashed. The crystal orb pulses with an eerie inner light, each beat sending a visible tremor through the air around them. Her fingers remain pressed against its surface, seemingly unable to break contact despite her mounting panic. "Jeane," she chokes out, "I think it's... alive." The walls of the chamber begin to shift and warp, ancient symbols crawling across stone like living things. The very structure groans ominously as if the tower itself is crying out in pain or rage. Jeane staggers back, one hand pressed against her temple while the other gropes blindly for support. "You idiot," she hisses through clenched teeth, "Now we're really fucked." The binding circle she'd spent precious minutes constructing lies in smoking ruins on the floor, its magical energies dissipating harmlessly into the suddenly charged atmosphere. Merrin draws her dagger with fluid grace, eyes scanning every angle of the rapidly changing room. The air grows heavy with the scent of ozone and something else—something ancient and wrong that makes her skin crawl. "Ladies," she says, voice tight with barely contained alarm, "I believe we have attracted unwelcome attention."