"Walk me through it," Lucifer said.
"The Cohort established along the Corridor's northern face three weeks ago. Sixteen hundred units -- mid-tier through upper-mid level of power, formation-capable.
Asmoday's Ashward Lattice is running at disruption-class six across the full Corridor width. My legions cannot maintain coordinated intent inside it long enough to engage at an equal battlefield."
Paimon had his clean sheet out, the pen moving before Bael had finished. He stopped.
And looked up with eyes gone very still amber. "The Ashward Lattice." Flat.
The voice of a man who has heard something he requires confirmation before he responds to it. "Disruption-class six? Targeting collective intent?"
"Yes."
"That work...," Paimon said, "is mine. The underlying principle. The frequency architecture. Someone took a derivation of my domain's root structure, weaponised it as a suppression field, and pointed it at your legions."
He looked at the Corridor ahead in the red dark.
