Round 260

The water closed over Merrin's head in one long, cold rush. She dove deep, eyes straining against the sudden darkness, lungs burning with held breath. The lake was alive with movement below—shadows shifting, bioluminescent eyes flaring like malevolent stars. She found Varikka easily enough, a pale shape writhing at the end of those tentacles, dragged inexorably downward.

Merrin struck out hard with her mace, the weapon connecting with chitinous plates with a sickening crunch that vibrated up her arms. The creature didn't release its prey—if anything, it tightened its grip, more appendages snaking out to wrap around Merrin's torso and legs. She was being pulled down, the surface receding above her, torchlight dimming to nothing.

She tried to scream but the water filled her mouth instead. Her vision began to blur at the edges as panic surged through her system. The creature was strong—too strong—and she had maybe seconds before consciousness failed completely. Merrin's mind raced through options, each more desperate than the last. She couldn't save Varikka like this, not while entangled and drowning herself.

The mace felt useless against this foe, heavy and unwieldy underwater. Her crossbow was equally worthless at close range in these conditions. The healing potion? Worthless for her own predicament but perhaps... no, that was madness. She couldn't reach Varikka anyway, couldn't even see clearly through the swirling silt and darkness.

The ropes were her best bet—if she could get them free, maybe use them to cut herself loose or find purchase on some underwater structure. But the creature held her too tight, every limb bound fast. Her lungs screamed for air, vision tunneling now as oxygen deprivation set in.

Merrin's last coherent thought before darkness claimed her was a desperate prayer that Varikka would somehow escape this fate—and that she herself might yet draw another breath. The water closed in, and everything went black.