Lysander's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed fractionally.
He looked toward the observation window.
"Increase the level to 20."
Icarus's voice came through strained.
"Marshal, Level 20 is the highest mental pressure below S rank threshold. It will cause–"
"Do it."
The command cut through Icarus's protest like a blade.
BOOM!
The pressure multiplied, crushing down with force that should have liquified Damian's consciousness.
His body bent forward, spine curving as every muscle locked and trembled.
Blood vessels burst across his exposed skin from the strain of keeping himself upright, crimson spreading in blooming patterns.
But his smile kept widening.
His teeth showed red from bleeding gums.
And slowly, impossibly, he began to rise.
Something shifted in Damian's vision, notifications flickering at the edge of his awareness.
Changes were happening in his status screen, numbers climbing as his Will stat responded to the crushing pressure.
