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... ed, reacting to something inside Logan. At first, it twitched, then wriggled, then grew.
Like tentacles, the ends of his cuts would reach out to connect, pulling back any blood still running down. Then came his arms, which had been twisted beyond repair.
Or, it should’ve been. Compulsively, they churned—only, in the direction opposite to how they’d been injured. In mere moments, his arms were straight, turning warm from whatever regeneration was occurring inside.
’This po ...
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