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... scowl marred Mikoto’s delicate features. A single line of blood dripped from the corner of his lips, a vivid crimson. He spat, the blood hitting the charred, molten ground with a hiss, evaporating almost instantly upon contact with the superheated floor.
The metallic taste lingered, thick and putrid on his tongue. His jaw ached, no doubt fractured. His ribs—shattered, splintering into the soft organs beneath. His entire skeletal structure felt as though it had been turned to brittle glas ...
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