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... that clutched the crossbow, Enzo ground his teeth together until his jaw ached. Sweat slid down his temple, stinging his eyes as he tried to line up the shot on the figure standing ahead of him. The forest felt warped, as if the air itself was bending against his will.
No matter how he adjusted his stance or slowed his breathing, the bolt never found its mark. Each time he focused, the figure split apart, fragments of it peeling away and crawling straight into his mind. Images overlapped ...
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