Round 476

The water was cold, biting into their skin as they stood ankle-deep in the rising flood. Merrin's grip on the Time-Splitting Sword tightened, her knuckles white against the ornate hilt. She had no idea if the legendary blade could even cut through stone, let alone whatever horrors lurked beneath the surface of these cursed waters. But it was all she had left—her last shred of hope against the encroaching doom.

Varikka moved forward with a grim determination, her injured ankle screaming in protest but ignored. She raised her crowbar, the heavy iron tool a poor substitute for her usual arsenal of weapons. "Merrin!" The halfling's name tore from Varrika's throat, a desperate cry that echoed off the damp walls. She swung the crowbar with everything she had, the metal clanging against the Guardian's outstretched arm—a sound like a funeral bell tolling in the enclosed space.

The impact sent a jolt up Varrika's arms, but it was enough to loosen the creature's grip on Merrin's ankle. The rogue stumbled forward, gasping for breath as she broke free from the water's pull. They had mere moments before the rising tide claimed them both—moments to decide which way to run, which path of certain death to choose.

The narrow stone corridor ahead beckoned with its promise of escape... or perhaps just a different kind of doom. The ancient runes on its walls seemed to pulse with an ominous light, warning them away even as the water lapped ever higher around their boots. Merrin looked at Varrika, seeing her own terror reflected in the dwarf's eyes. They were out of time.