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... o identical axes. Their edges glow an ominous crimson. A wolf-like cloak covers his head, only leaving a braided blond beard visible. He bellows. The axes bite and shred through the roots I send after him. It hurts. I lunge and push him back with a carefully aimed, miraged attack. We exchange a series of strikes, him, the furious whirlwind of destruction and I, the elusive flayer. I manage to land a few hits, but the wolf skin inflates and covers the wound. I am running out of time. He is pushin ...
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