Round 472

Merrin's hands shake as she grips her crowbar, the weapon held at the ready even as her eyes are drawn to the water's surface. The creature that erupted moments before has submerged again, leaving only rippling evidence of its presence. Every movement sends fresh waves through the rising flood, and Merrin feels the icy tendrils lapping higher around her calves with each passing second. "Varikka," she hisses, voice barely audible over the growing rumble from deeper within the tower. "We need to move. Now." Her gaze flicks between the water and the approaching tunnel junction where The Guardian's relentless pursuit grows louder with every heartbeat.

Varrika shifts her weight, wincing as pain shoots up from her sprained ankle—a sharp reminder of their earlier misadventure. She glares at the narrow stone passageway ahead, a dark maw that offers little comfort. The water swirls around her thick thighs now, cold and insistent, threatening to pull her off balance with each surge. "Well?" she demands, voice echoing slightly off the stone walls. "What's down there? Another dead end or something useful for once?" Merrin squints into the darkness, her rogue's instincts screaming warnings about what might lurk in the shadows beyond.