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... d perimeter, black ash drifted over cracked earth and twisted rebar, coating the skeletal remains of broken machinery. The air stank of ozone and scorched silicon, heavy with the rot of long-dead circuitry and the iron tang of oxidized blood. Distant echoes groaned through warped steel frames—like machines remembering how to scream.

The Synthlord stood at the center of it all.

He was still humanoid—barely. Once sleek and precise in form, his figure now wore the grime and warping ...

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