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High Priest Bowden lay sprawled on the blood-slicked floor.

His body was still warm, but his face was frozen in the kind of expression most people only make once in their lives — right before they die.

His final moment, captured forever.

It was almost poetic.

Except I wasn’t feeling particularly poetic right now.

I stared at him for a long moment. Then, sighing again, I crouched down and grabbed his arm.

"Heavy bastard," I muttered while st ...

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