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... ophony of whispers, its voice a thousand tortured souls crying out in anguish. The sky above twisted and churned like a living thing, black clouds swirling as if in torment. And in the heart of the storm, slitted eyes blinked in and out of existence—watching. Mocking.

The Wind Shikiban had no fixed form. One moment, a jagged mouth split open in the mist, too wide, teeth sharp as knives. The next, a limb lashed out from the storm—only to vanish into nothingness. It was mo ...

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