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... e just couldn't believe what Zeldris had handed him.

A scroll. Old. Black. Buzzing with unfamiliar chakra and etched in symbols that practically whispered to him.

"Eternal... art?" he murmured.

His voice barely registered, but the emotion in it was real. Heavy.

For most people, "art" was a concept. For Sasori, it was a damn religion. He had turned himself into a puppet in pursuit of it. Killed for it. Lived beyond his expiration date for it. ƒreewebɳovel.com

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