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... “You are in the form of a scorpion.” I said. “But who are you?”
The form of Manajuwejet raised a claw, swept it around as the form became a whirlwind. A red spot on his back rose, became orange, became a flowing head of hair, a mustache, sideburns, a beard.
Within that beard, a smirk that said the OTHER knew he was just better than I was, and dared me to do something reckless to prove him otherwise. That smile extended upward, to eyes that reflected burning cities, storms of cha ...
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