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With a soft glow, a magic circle bloomed across the stone floor, sigils pulsing like veins of molten silver before collapsing inward the moment Grayfia’s heel pressed against it. The circle shattered like a broken mirror, scattering faint sparks of light that fizzled into the oppressive gloom. The silence that followed was deafening, a stark contrast to the roars and shrieks of Gluttony’s capital she had left behind.
The Morningstar Safe House in the Eighth Hell was no ordi ...
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