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... as he pulled the needle-like thorns from his body one by one. Each sting was a sharp reminder of the pain, but he barely flinched. In his previous life as a slave, he had endured far worse than this. Compared to the whips, the starvation, the fangs, the abuse, the hopeless nights — this was nothing.

One by one, the thorns came out, tiny punctures riddling his body like a worn-out cloth. Yet, curiously, no blood flowed from the wounds. Just as he suspected.

No matter how injured ...

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