Round 91

The water wasn't supposed to be alive. That was the problem in a nutshell—Merrin had spent her entire career avoiding problems that involved sentient liquids. But here she was, waist-deep in what felt like a thousand grasping hands, each one trying to tug her off balance or pull her down into the depths. Her heavy mace was useless at this range, too awkward to swing effectively while maintaining her footing on the slick stone floor.

The carvings on the walls were worse than the water. Twisted figures contorted in eternal agony, their expressions seeming to shift and writhe when she looked directly at them. Each one felt like a physical weight pressing against her chest, demanding attention she didn't have time to spare. The entire passage felt wrong—like the stone itself was alive and hostile.

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, on...