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Chapter 207: Resurrection
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... feels like necromancy to me.)
He narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking to the corpse of the officer—the one who'd been drained like fruit left out in the sun. That wasn't divine. That wasn't holy. That was black-magic, rot-slick necromancy if he'd ever seen it.
And he had.
In the war, back on Earth.
Berlin, '45. That bunker. That damned ritual. The things the Nazis tried in desperation—
He forced the memory back into its grave. Not now.
The silence aro ...
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