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... ragment refused to let him crumple before Zarvok, even if only for appearances.
Inside, though, the truth burned: he had no path but the one laid before him. The demon lord owned him, body and soul.
Still, a small ember whispered in the back of his mind: Puppets can cut their strings if they find the right knife.
Zarvok, lounging with casual poise on his throne, smirked as if he had overheard every unspoken word clawing at Rattan’s mind. And in truth, he had. The abyss wa ...
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