Round 22

Jeane crouched before the ancient runes, tracing their edges with crimson eyes but never touching the surface. The symbols pulsed like infected veins beneath her gaze—these weren't mere warnings, they were alive. Merrin's wound had become the anchor point, shadow tendrils snaking from her leg toward the ancient stonework, each pulse drawing more corruption into the rock. She muttered syllables that scalded her tongue, drawing symbols of banishment in the air between them and the gate, but they flickered and died like snuffed candles against the field's hunger.

"Elric!" Merrin snapped, rounding on the hermit despite the pain lancing through her injured leg with each movement. "You said you knew about this place. Well, now would be a good time to share what you know before that thing consumes me whole." She tried to take a step back, but the pain was excruciating—it felt like shards of glass were embedded in her thigh muscle, each movement grinding them deeper.

Seraphine approached the ancient gate, her heart pounding in her chest as she took in the intricate runes carved into its surface. The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with an unsettling energy that prickled at her skin. It was dark magic, one she recognized all too well from her studies of forbidden lore. The symbols on the gate writhed under her gaze, screaming ancient warnings. She extended a trembling hand toward the barrier field, feeling its malevolent presence push back against her like a physical force—cold and hungry.

The field resisted her probing fingers, sending a jolt of wrongness up her arm that made her stumble back. This wasn't simple magic; it was something older, something that fed on suffering and drew strength from pain. She began chanting under her breath, arcane syllables forming a protective ward around herself and Merrin, but the field seemed to pulse in response, drawing more shadowy tendrils from Merrin's wound toward the stone.