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... t bled out of the East Tower like spilled ink. The air was dense, almost too heavy to breathe, humming with invisible tension.

Claude stood in the center of the chaos, calm amidst the roaring storm of magic. His gloved hand extended, threads of mist trailing from his fingertips like living tendrils.

He moved with unsettling grace, as if dancing through the battlefield, while his eyes glinted with a predator’s precision. Within his mist, only one person’s silhouette remained stand ...

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