Round 90

The water found every seam in Merrin's worn leather armor, every gap between her fingers and toes, every inch of exposed skin. It was alive in a way stone shouldn't be—cold and hungry and relentless. She waded forward into the passage, the liquid rising to her chest with each step, her heavy mace held awkwardly above the surface.

The walls here were different from the rest of the tower—a rougher stone covered in carvings that seemed to writhe when she looked at them directly. Twisted figures locked in eternal torment, their expressions contorted in agony. Each one felt like a physical weight pressing against her, demanding attention she couldn't spare.

Behind her, the sound of rushing water grew louder—a fresh torrent pouring in from somewhere deeper inside the tower. The entire structure was coming down around them, piece by groaning piece. She had maybe minutes before this whole section collapsed entirely, taking her with it. And Varrika would drown long before that happened if something didn't pull her back up.

Merrin's heart pounded in her chest as she pressed onward, one hand trailing along the wall for guidance while the other gripped her mace tightly. Every shadow held a potential threat, every swirl of water might hide teeth or claws. But she couldn't turn back now—not with Varrika's life hanging in the balance and the entire tower trying to bury them all.

The passage opened up ahead into what looked like a larger chamber, the water swirling faster as it poured in from unseen sources. And floating near the center, barely visible through the churning liquid, was something that made Merrin's blood run cold. A massive shape, dark and organic, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm. The thing that had taken Varrika.

It hadn't pulled her under after all—it had brought her here. To its lair. And now it was waiting for Merrin to join them.