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... ed, his wrists bloodied, his breath ragged. The dungeon air was damp, thick with the stench of mildew and rust. Shadows flickered like hungry phantoms along the walls, cast by the weak, flickering torch in the corner.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the raw flesh burn, the metal biting into his bones. He had been here too long, felt the cold seep into his skin, heard the distant screams of the others who never made it out.
Not me. I'll make it. frёewebnoѵēl.com
He closed h ...
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