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... traints that chewed purple into his wrists like rotting vines, and the mana drains that peeled his skin off in slow, flaking ribbons—Liu Xian thought he’d catalogued every variety of hell this place had to offer. He thought he knew every face that drifted into that white, humming room with its too-bright lights and the constant antiseptic stench. Thought he’d stopped reacting, stopped feeling.
But then they brought him back—slumped like a corpse over someone’s shoulder, dropped into the ...
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