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... The wound I had inflicted on my arm for Mictantecuhtli’s tribute oozed with a dead sun’s curse. My blood, once black and dry, now burned like oil once it escaped my veins. Raging purple flames arose from it when it spilled onto the ground. I could feel their hunger and spite, their all-consuming desire to spread and burn everything that came within their reach.

The fire did not consume my flesh, however, far from it. It flowed over my skin and my feathers harmlessly, sliding along them l ...

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