Kaelen paced, his brow furrowed in concentration. "And the mages out there... they're nearing their breaking point. Even Sixth-Tiers can't withstand this mental assault indefinitely. We buy them a few hours of uneasy rest each day, only for it to escalate the next night." He stopped, turning sharply to Rattan. "But have you noticed, Nixbolt? The demons out there. They don't suffer this. They wade through that psychic miasma as if it's the air they breathe. No mental fatigue, no shattered minds. Why?"
Rattan, still leaning against the crate, offered a weary shrug. "It stands to reason, doesn't it? They're from the Abyss. Perhaps they're immune, or perhaps they're simply... too far gone to be affected."
