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... worst assignment she could imagine. The air was dry and acrid, heavy with the stench of sulfur and ash. Demons, when they died, eventually crumbled to dust, and now she was forced to breathe and wear the remains of the damned. She was covered in dead demons.

Only Serchax would think it fitting to conjure gilded chairs and a touch of courtly grandeur directly behind a trench line, as if the slaughter before them were nothing more than a stage play to be enjoyed from the best seats in the ...

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