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... stly shit.

For nine centuries, I’d watched humans die, and they always soiled themselves at the end. No matter how pretty the songs made it sound, death was messy and gross. The poets never mentioned the shit part.

From my formless vantage point, I observed today’s carnage. The Ōnin War, they’d call it later. Brothers killing brothers over who received the Emperor’s blessing. Yoshimasa hiding in his fancy pavilion while Kyoto burned. Civilization’s entire spectacle fell apart, an ...

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