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Dust cracked off his chin and forehead, exposing the glowing hieroglyphs etched into his skeletal face. Yet despite his condition—his armor in shambles, his limbs twisted at odd angles—he grinned.
"How... did you do that?" Soilandor wheezed, voice thin and ancient, like wind whispering through a crypt.
Elius wiped a streak of blood off his chin and replied with an offhand shrug, "It’s a martial skill I learned inside this dimensional rift. The system assigned it to Monkaar ...
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