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Miles surged forward, sword in hand, into the writhing maw of the abhorrent amalgam of cultists that had become the winged beast. More of them appeared, after a while, howling without mouths, their bodies convulsing in tandem with the pulsing cocoon.
The ink in the air thickened, clinging to his coat and blade like tar, and with every step, the pressure grew.
This wasn’t just corruption. The air around Miles did not feel like air anymore.
It was as if the [Dark Fores ...
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