Round 74

Halie knelt beside Merrin, her silver holy symbol held tight in both hands as if it could ward off the creeping corruption that twisted the elf's features. The stone chamber felt too small suddenly—confined by ancient walls that seemed to close in with every pulse of the central rune's sickly green light.

"I can try a spell," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "Warding magic, maybe even a glimpse if this interference lets up." Her voice trembled slightly, betraying the fear she tried so hard to suppress. "But we need Merrin steady first."

Varrika stood at the top of the descending staircase, her scarred hands gripping her mace with white-knuckled tension. The stairs wound down into darkness, swallowed by shadows that seemed to cling to the very walls themselves—an invitation to certain death for any fool brave enough to accept it.

"Stop!" Jeane's voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade, her dark wings half-spread in instinctive resistance. "Merrin is dying down there. We can't let her—"

The succubus's pale skin crawled with each pulse of the rune beneath them, her crimson eyes wide with barely contained panic. She knew this feeling—the insidious pull of ancient magic that made her feathers ache and her stomach churn.

"We need the sword," Jeane continued, her voice dropping to a desperate plea. "But not at the cost of our lives! Let me scout ahead—flying is my strength, I can—"

Varrika's grip on her mace tightened until her knuckles ached. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, to flee this nightmare and its hungry presence. But Merrin... her life was slipping away with every passing moment.

The central rune pulsed again, brighter still. Whatever lay below, it knew they were coming—and it was waiting.