The situation outside had grown considerably more chaotic in the span of a short conversation.
Through my Unspoiled Farsight, I kept one thread of awareness anchored to the world beyond the castle walls while facing motionless in front of Lafarhul.
Dozens of demons had pressed their way toward the castle gate, some clashing against one another with enough violence to carve chunks out of the surrounding terrain, others throwing themselves against the infernal guardians that had materialized to hold the entrance.
The mountain ring was no longer a clean perimeter—it became a grinder of malevolent obstacles, and everyone outside seemed thoroughly willing to throw themselves into it.
Not to mention the three powerhouses were there.
The one-winged spellcaster, the brute built like a natural disaster given form, and the eldritch knight with dark tentacles pooling around every movement like a living second shadow.
