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Cultivator of the End: I Refine My Own Death - Chapter 147 – Spirits That Beg for Chains
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It whimpered.
It crawled across the stone like dying breath clawing from split throats, dragging behind it the spectral weight of countless unseen mouths. Rin stood at the precipice, his shadow bent and thin in the waning, ashen light of a cracked sky. The gorge stretched for miles, a jagged wound in the earth flanked by obsidian ridges shaped like screaming faces, as though the land itself had once wept and then hardened into despair.
This was where forgotten spirits came ...
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