Round 701

Merrin's voice cuts through the oppressive silence of the chamber, her cry of warning sharp and terrified. The sudden lurch sends a fresh wave of panic through her already overtaxed system—she can feel every individual strand of the rope above them straining, imagines it parting with terrifying ease. Her hand shoots out instinctively towards Varikka, fingers seeking purchase on the other woman's arm or the hilt of the sword she clutches so precariously. "Varikka!" The name tears from her throat, a desperate plea mixed with genuine concern. "Careful!"

But even as she speaks, Merrin's own body betrays her. A fresh jolt of agony shoots up her leg from her injured ankle—the twisted joint protesting the sudden shift in weight distribution. She gasps, teeth grinding together to stifle a pained cry, but can't quite suppress the sharp intake of breath. The movement sends another dizzying wave through her already compromised system—noxious gas still thick in her lungs, making each breath a struggle.

Suddenly, over the sound of their own labored breathing and the ominous creaking of the rope, there's a new noise—a loud crack from somewhere above them. Merrin's head snaps up instinctively, dark eyes wide with fresh terror as she scans the ceiling for the source.