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261. Monsters Still Bleed
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262. Leaving
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... phantom limb, no sentimental yearning for what had been cleaved from him. No, this was marrow-deep agony. The kind that throbbed with every heartbeat. The kind that should have felled him days ago.
But he had not stopped running.
The Envoy’s breaths were sharp, rhythmic, his lone arm pumping to propel him forward like a beast on the hunt. His ruined robes clung to him in tatters, plastered with dried blood, filth, and strips of blackened poultice. He had torn half of his robes, ...
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