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... sleeping on his back, his mouth wide open and his mouth drooling.
Cheyenne is like a scorched sculpture, motionless, his chest, five piercing holes, terrible. His eyes are wide and his breath is full.
The ghost claws stand indifferently, the gray scorpion, a little more sharp than the past, like a rusty knife, grinding away the outer layer of rust, revealing the ripples inside.
He turned and walked to Tang Tian, plopping, Xia An fell to the ground and came behind him.
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