Round 433

The water rose with terrifying speed, already lapping at their waists. The main chamber groaned around them, concrete dust raining down like snowflakes turned grey and heavy. Merrin's heart hammered against her ribs, every beat a frantic plea for escape. She helped Varrika onto the dais, the dwarf woman's face twisted in pain as she put weight on her sprained ankle.

"Merrin," Varrika gasped, leaning heavily against the stone wall, "I can barely stand." Her voice was strained, but there was no panic in it—just cold calculation. The warrior had survived worse, though Merrin doubted this counted as 'worse.' This was a tomb designed to kill them.

"Come on," Merrin hissed, dragging Varrika towards the narrow ledge she'd spotted. It jutted out from the wall about ten feet up, just above the rising waterline. "There! Our only chance!" She scrambled up first, her rogue's agility serving her well despite her own exhaustion and the noxious gas still clouding her thoughts.

Varrika followed more slowly, her movements labored and pained. Each step was a visible effort, her scarred hands gripping the stone with white-knuckled determination. She reached the ledge at last, collapsing against it with a sharp intake of breath. The water was now chest-deep below them.

"We need to find another way out," Merrin said, her voice tight. "Climb?" She already knew the answer. Varrika's ankle was swollen and discolored, clearly beyond just a simple twist now. Full sprain at best, possibly worse. The dwarf woman looked up at her, blood and grime streaking her face, but her eyes were clear.

"I can't," Varrika said flatly. "You need to go on without me." She reached for her heavy mace, the weapon a comforting weight in her hands. "Get out of here, Merrin. Find a way back to the surface. I'll hold them off as long as I can."

Merrin stared at her friend, horror and desperation warring inside her chest. The water was still rising, the sound of rushing liquid filling the chamber like a death knell. They had minutes, maybe less. "Varrika—"

"Go!" Varrika cut her off, her voice sharp enough to make Merrin flinch. The dwarf pushed herself upright, using the wall for support. Her face was set in grim determination, all trace of pain pushed aside for now. "This is my fault. I got captured, I got you dragged into this mess. Let me... let me make it right."

Merrin felt tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely. She couldn't afford to break down now—not when Varrika needed her to be strong. The water was already lapping at the edge of their precarious ledge, cold and relentless.

"Fine," Merrin choked out, her voice barely audible over the roar of the flood. "But I'm coming back for you. With help. We're not leaving you here." She turned away before Varrika could argue further, scanning the chamber for any sign of a way out—anything that might save them both.

The dwarf watched her go, a strange mix of pride and sorrow in her eyes. She knew Merrin wouldn't abandon her, and that knowledge was both comforting and terrifying. The water continued to rise, now lapping at her thighs. Varrika gripped her mace tighter, her gaze fixed on the submerged corridor where Merrin had disappeared.

Alone on the ledge, surrounded by rising water and crumbling stone, Varrika waited for whatever came next. Whether it was death or rescue, she'd face it standing—even if she had to use the wall for support the entire time. That was how dwarves did things.