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... e stench of rot.
Sarissa’s sword split another undead down the middle, her boots skidding across a blood-slicked plaza. Vyle was down beside her, one leg torn open, but still swinging his blade with grim defiance, healing the wound only enough to allow him some movement.
Iron Roar’s line had broken, Dawnshade’s snipers had fled the rooftops, and Ethercore’s medics were nearly out of mana.
It felt like the end.
And then, light.
Not fire, not spellflare. Not ...
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