Round 288

Merrin scrambled up the rusty pipe, her boots finding precarious grip on the slick metal. Water churned below, already waist-deep in the pit trap and climbing fast. She could feel the current tugging at her legs, trying to drag her back down into the depths. Her lungs burned for air, but she forced herself to breathe shallowly, conserving what little oxygen remained.

The tentacled horror had retreated back into the shadows, its bioluminescent markings fading as it vanished from sight. But Merrin knew it wasn't gone—not really. She could feel its presence lingering in the water below, waiting for an opportunity to strike again. Her dagger was still clutched in her hand, useless against such a creature but comforting nonetheless.

She looked up, searching for any sign of Varikka. The elf woman had been her anchor throughout this nightmare journey—her friend, her lover, her reason for continuing when every instinct screamed at her to flee. Now Varikka was trapped above, pursued by God-knew-what horrors, while Merrin was drowning in a rapidly-flooding dungeon. The thought sent fresh adrenaline coursing through her exhausted body.

The water rose another inch. Two inches. Merrin's boots slipped on the pipe's surface, and she had to grab onto the wall with her free hand to maintain balance. She could feel the pressure building, the weight of all that water pressing down from above. Her ears popped painfully as the water level continued to climb.

She needed a plan. Needed to find higher ground, or at least something solid to cling to while she figured out how to get them both out of this mess. The pipe extended up into darkness—perhaps it led somewhere safe? Or maybe just deeper into the labyrinth of horrors that was this cursed tower.

But first things first: stay alive. Merrin took another shallow breath, her eyes never leaving the churning waters below. She wasn't going to drown here—not like this, not alone. She would find a way out, or die trying—and take any monster that got in her way with her.