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... pses, fingers slick with congealed blood, ripping through flesh and bone like apocalyptic butchers. The stench was unbearable — a sickening cocktail of iron, guts and ash. But sentiment had long since left the building. Each gem they pulled out gave a faint thrum in the hand, as if it were still breathing. Alive, almost.

They gathered around thirty of them, arranging them in a crude circle near the fire in the centre of the village. Stones laid out on old military rags formed a sort of m ...

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