PREVIEW
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Amid the shattered remains of the towering ancient temple, Azazel, the archon of destruction, stood with an imposing presence atop the blood-stained altar that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Time here twisted unnaturally—sometimes flowing backward, then racing forward, before pausing as if uncertain of its own course—filling the air with a thick tension and casting deep shadows that seemed to breathe with hidden menace. In his hand, he gripped a shard of the time chain
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