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... y standing amidst the cacodemons, her blood ran cold. She couldn't feel darkness in the boy's body, but for some reason, his existence was enough to make her stand back.
She gripped her sword tighter, her knuckles white. This was no ordinary child—she could feel it in her bones.
And then it hit her. That face... she knew it.
"You... you're that damned witch's son!" she hissed, pointing her sword at him as her voice cracked with a mix of fear and fury.
Claude tilte ...
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