Round 64

The central rune pulsed with sickly green light that seemed to thicken the very air of the chamber. Jeane felt her wings twitch involuntarily, the ancient magic making her skin crawl and feathers ache as if resisting some unseen current. Each beat of those dark leathery appendages felt wrong—like swimming against a current that wanted to drag her down. She forced herself to take a step forward into the field, muscles tensing as she fought the instinct to flee.

"Stay back," Jeane hissed over her shoulder, crimson eyes fixed on the pulsing light beneath her feet. "I don't think this is meant to be crossed." The ground shook again, a low rumble that vibrated through the stone floor and into her bones. Dust sifted down from cracks in the ceiling, and she heard Halie's sharp intake of breath behind her.

Halie descended slowly, one foot testing each stone before shifting weight fully. The air here felt wrong—caked with something ancient and hungry—and Merrin's condition was deteriorating faster than she could explain. Her Protection spell shimmered like heat haze, barely containing whatever was corrupting the other woman from the inside. "You need to drop that sword," she said, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

Varrika stood at the top of the staircase, crossbow aimed down into the darkness below. The air grew thick with each step, an ancient malevolence seeping from the very stones. She tightened her grip on the mace, muscles coiled and ready for whatever horrors may await at the bottom of this treacherous staircase. "Stay sharp," she growled to Jeane as the succubus edged forward, wings half-spread in defensive posture. "And watch your footing. This tower's been dead a long time—it don't want us here."