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... pider surged forward from the shadows, her legs clicking against the stone like the ceiling itself had come to life. Her eyes — all of them — followed me with hunger. And me? I was still burning from acid, reeking of fermented booze, with no choice left but to run.
The bottle slipped from my hands, shattering on the floor like a poorly calculated plan. Alcohol ran down me like a liquid curse. I was, at that point, a walking wick.
She struck.
The first web zipped through t ...
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