The air inside the lower rifts of the Shifting Abyssal Trenches was thick enough to choke a normal human. It wasn't just the dark grey smog; it was the absolute compression of dark energy. Kyle could feel the ambient pressure scraping against his skin, a constant, irritating friction that kept his invisible devil scales on high alert.
Elara followed closely behind him, her hands tucked neatly inside her cloak. She was moving with a careful, fluid grace, ensuring her boots made absolutely no sound against the jagged basalt floor. Her mana core was still dangerously low, but she had managed to patch up her spiritual stamina enough to keep her mental focus intact.
Kyle glanced at the translucent holographic mini-map floating in his peripheral vision. The decoded blueprint from the cracked crimson core fragment was a maze of intersecting subterranean maintenance ducts, localized patrol routes, and primary heavy-machinery rooms.
