Round 60

The tower groaned like a dying beast above them, rubble cascading down stone walls that seemed to weep dust. Merrin stood knee-deep in the rapidly rising waters of the newly revealed passage, her eyes fixed on the skeletal hand still gripping the edge of the pit where Varikka fought for breath against unseen horrors.

The water lapped at her thighs now, cold and swift, carrying with it the stench of decay and something else—something ancient and wrong. She could feel the current tugging at her legs, trying to pull her off balance into the depths below. Her crossbow felt heavy in her hands, useless against whatever lurked beneath the surface.

She heard a scream echo from somewhere distant—the sound of collapsing stone or perhaps Jeane's voice, lost in the maze above. It didn't matter. Right now, nothing mattered but Varikka's desperate gasps for air and the knowledge that something was watching them from the blackness beyond the water's edge.

The surface broke again, closer this time, and Merrin tensed, ready to fire into whatever emerged. But it was only the water itself, disturbed by movement below. She strained her eyes in the gloom, searching for any sign of what held Varikka underwater—tentacles or claws or worse. The water churned once more, then stilled, leaving only the sound of rushing liquid and Varikka's muffled cries for help.

There was no time to think. The water was already waist-deep now, climbing steadily toward her chest. She had maybe minutes before it reached her chin, perhaps seconds before whatever pulled Varikka down decided Merrin would make a tastier meal. Her fingers tightened on the crossbow trigger as she took another step backward, trying to put distance between herself and the hungry darkness below.

She could feel the structure shifting around them, stone grinding against stone, supports groaning under immense pressure. The entire tower was coming down, and they were trapped in its belly with monsters for company. This was how legends ended—not with a bang but a crushing collapse into oblivion.

But Merrin wasn't ready to die yet. Not like this, not in cold water with her lungs full of lake instead of air. She backed away slowly, eyes never leaving the surface as she searched for higher ground—anything solid that might offer sanctuary from the rising tide and the things it carried.

The water lapped at her breasts now, cold and insistent. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the groans of the collapsing tower above. This was it—the moment when courage turned to terror or luck ran out completely. She took another step backward, crossbow aimed at the water's surface, praying to any god who might be listening that she'd make it out alive.

The darkness below watched her retreat with patient hunger, waiting for the moment when fear overcame sense and Merrin stumbled into its embrace.