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... ing with black ichor. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the acrid stench of werebat insides filled the night air, clinging to his tattered robes. His chest rose and fell in steady, unnecessary breaths - a lingering habit from life that his undead body maintained out of muscle memory rather than need.

With a practiced motion, Ludwig raised his sword high above his head, the blade catching the moonlight in a deadly shimmer. The first Werebat lunged at him with a guttural screech, its ...

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