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... orious monument to my own magnificent impatience, was secure.
But it was a fortress built on a knife’s edge, a tiny island of demonic power in a vast, angry ocean of humanity.
"This is a problem," I announced to the assembled commanders, my voice a low, dangerous purr that echoed in the pre-dawn gloom.
Pixia, my tiny, flying encyclopedia of all things statistical and annoying, zipped anxiously around my head.
"My Lord, our successful establishment of a forward ope ...
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