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... the edge of the battlefield, her breath heavy and uneven. The once-controlled rhythm of her teleportation had become erratic, and the strain of continuously bending space was beginning to show in every movement. Her chest heaved as sweat dripped down her face. Every pulse of magic from Maris was a reminder of the precarious situation she found herself in.

She clenched her fists, glancing at Maris, who stood composed at the center of the battlefield. The marionettes, now numbering in the ...

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