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... d, coiling in lazy, reluctant spirals that refused to disperse. The mist hung in the silence like the breath of a sleeping beast, as if the battlefield itself was holding on to the memory of violence, unwilling to release it.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Only the faint hum of dying magic remained—a dull echo in the ears of everyone present. The dark energy was beginning to thin, retreating like a defeated tide, unveiling the wreckage left behind.

Then—movement. ...

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Dear tired Reader, it is an honor that you have chosen this book amidst the heavy, gloomy aisles of the Library.It is with some regret, however, that I must inform you this book is ill.Your fingers should be able to feel the raised Proliferation of tissues on the surface of the Skin of the book,The words written in days of old are like Parasites taking root in the pages, longing for someone to observe their writhing,To sense, to decipher, and to touch the very essence of this sick story.If you insist on borrowing this book, please be sure to regularly check your own physical condition.Keep in mind.