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... ittle status bar now, and boy did it sting like a paper cut dipped in lemon juice.

He accepted it. Bitterly. Helplessly. Like a man biting into what he thought was a chocolate chip cookie, only to realize it's raisins. Death had become such a casual affair for him lately, he almost started ranking them: "Death #6 was more painful, but Death #9 had better visual effects." But now that his head wasn't spinning from eleven consecutive deaths like a cursed Beyblade, the existential weight of ...

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