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... ellish geometry. Black smoke, thick and oily, billowed from the jagged craters that now scarred the edge of The Wailing Woods. The torrential rain, which continued to pour with a vengeful intensity, failed to extinguish the flickering purple flames—the remnants of Dayat’s anomalous energy—that were slowly consuming the silver-armored remains of the Inquisition.

Dayat stood in the center of the devastation. His breathing was a series of heavy, metallic rasps. Steam rose from his drenched ...

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