PREVIEW
... at stabbed upward like a forest of blades.
Now was the ebb of the Black Sun's pulse — dawn.
That shackled, dying star hung as always above the city, casting down its cold, malignant gaze.
The air reeked of metal, rotting flesh, and pungent spices — acrid, grotesque, yet sickly alluring.
Few dared walk the streets. Somewhere, unnoticed, more posters had been plastered across walls, with even more leaflets scattered on the ground.
As if no one ever cleaned t ...
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