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Chapter 82: [81] The Butcher’s Tempo
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... ack ink of the fountain surged up over my head, muffling the sound of the celebrating city.
The transition wasn’t like the golden portals or the violet dimensional warps we’d become used to. It was slow, thick, and suffocating. It felt like being submerged in cold molasses that smelled faintly of old parchment and damp basements. For a heartbeat, there was no up or down, no gravity, just the sensation of falling through a liquid that was trying to read my thoughts. My right arm, still nu ...
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