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... r in the basement felt suffocating, thick with the stench of decay and the oppressive weight of something far worse.

Father Hugo, the Moonscorch Commander, was a living nightmare.

His dark, priestly robes clung to his massive frame, and his face, twisted and swollen with corruption, barely resembled anything human.

Stark wiped the sweat from his brow, eyes scanning for weaknesses.

But he found none.

There was a flicker of hesitation, but he shook it off. < ...

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