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... torted stone tile like a toothpick into cheese. Upright, the weapon remained, while its owner rolled her neck, shoulders, and relaxed her fingers. All the while, Arkeidos was beholding the space around them.
Although it had been a while since Metra had last seen this environment for herself, it was the same old mess that she expected. The environment was beholden to constant, inexplicable transformation. Stone boiled without apparent reason or heat; cliffs curved in often nonsensical way ...
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