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... ghting prodigy. He could read his master’s attacks with alarming accuracy, almost as if she had become a predictable NPC in a poorly coded game.
Each time she swung with enough force to turn his bones into confetti, he managed to deflect or dodge just in time—by the hair on his skin, mind you, and he did not have hair on his skin since it was full of scales.
Whenever there was no escape route and he found himself staring down the barrel of her wooden sword, he’d redirect the blow ...
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