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... t his chest. Beneath the dirty bandages wrapped tightly around him, his wounds throbbed, but oddly enough, most of the blood coating his body wasn't his own.

He was filthy, slick with dried crimson, yet of the entire group, he was the least injured. It wasn't because he had run from battle—he had fought just as fiercely as the others—but he had danced through the chaos, weaving between enemies like a lethal specter, striking with precision and vanishing before they could retaliate.

< ...

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