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... ounds of the Hecatoncheires battling the three strongest Olympians. Achilles stood perfectly still, Jörmungandr’s Kiss held loosely in his grip, its drill tip still stained with the ichor of war gods.
When he finally spoke, his voice was steady as granite. "I remember the pain, yes. The confusion of a wound that shouldn’t have been possible piercing my protected flesh." He began to walk toward Apollo, each step measured and deliberate. "But most of all, I remember the lesson."
Ap ...
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