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... e thousand robed maniacs, all charging down the southern slope like divine vengeance incarnate.

The ants shrieked in some alien chorus as the cultists crashed into their rear lines, spells exploding, blades flashing. The Stranger himself rode in at the front, swinging a crescent-shaped weapon that looked more ceremonial than practical—but still somehow cleaved through chitin like wet paper.

He screamed, "WITH RIGHTEOUS MADNESS! FOR THE OVERLORD!"

The cultists echoed back: ...

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