Round 22

The air inside this corridor tastes wrong—old decay and something else, like crushed metal. The runes on the walls aren't just decorative—they're breathing.

Jeane's voice cuts through the oppressive silence. This is exactly the kind of magic I warned you about before we entered this gods-forsaken forest. Dark sorcery that twists space and time, that feeds on fear itself.

Merrin lowers her crossbow slowly, her eyes never leaving the pulsating symbols. If these are demonic runes, then we're dealing with something far worse than skeletons. We need to find another way—

A soft click echoes through the corridor—the sound of stone shifting against stone.

Jeane's crimson eyes widen. A pressure plate? Gods,...

The breathing symbols on the walls pulse faster now, their rhythm quickening like a frightened heartbeat.