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Chapter 659: Masquerade Auction (6)
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... s reeked of decay and old blood, the scent so thick it seemed to coat the back of my throat. Crimson symbols covered every surface—walls, floor, even the rusted ceiling beams—their meanings lost to anyone outside the Red Chalice Cult’s inner circle. The artwork was disturbingly beautiful, depicting scenes of mortals kneeling before winged figures with too many eyes. Candles flickered from iron sconces that looked suspiciously like they’d been crafted from human bones, casting dancing shadows tha ...
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