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... too voracious. Bloody filaments stretched out like greedy roots, seeking to close the horrible maw opened in Dylan’s chest. Bones clicked as they fused back together with a sound like dry wicker, muscles wove themselves in a grotesque, accelerated dance.

The black blood no longer flowed – it crawled towards the wound, sucked in by this unnatural regeneration. New skin, a sickly, glistening pink, spread like living mold, covering the horror before their eyes. A sickly-sweet, metallic odor ...

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