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... and blood boiling as he took in the grim scene. Camille stood there, her eyes vacant, pouring her own blood into a glass. The sight twisted his stomach, and rage bubbled up within him. "She's compelled," he muttered under his breath, fury sharpening his focus.

His gaze darted around the room, locking onto a wooden chair nearby. "[Spiritokinesis]," he whispered, channeling his newfound magic. The chair trembled, splintering into jagged pieces. One shard hovered in the air as Michael aimed ...

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