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Down in the basin, the ultraviolet streetlamps flickered to life, casting a toxic pink glare over the shattered concrete of the museum platform. Below the jagged edge of the terrace, the black tar began to churn. The fluid, two-dimensional shadows that had stretched across the corrosive sludge slowly detached themselves, rising into three-dimensional horrors.
They were Ink-Wash Stalkers.
They looked like starved, elongated hounds stripped of their skin, their muscu ...
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