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Chapter 90: My Fault
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Chapter 92: Chaos 2
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... breath. The rhythmic chants of the natives rose to a fevered pitch, their eyes shining with bloodlust and wild devotion. The priest’s face twisted in a fanatical grin, his painted body shimmering with oil and streaked with red pigments, symbols of their gods and death. His hand moved—swift, practiced—and the sharp stone knife came down in a clean arc toward Eleanor’s throat.
Blood sprayed onto the altar.
Eleanor gasped—eyes wide, heart halting. She felt the warmth of liquid splas ...
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