The Pale Protocol
The iron fog of the Aetheric Foundry did not merely obscure the world; it consumed it, a thick, grey soup of coal dust and suspended soul-fragments that tasted of copper and old grief, and as I stood there, my sword arm trembling not from fatigue but from the sheer, crushing weight of the mandate I had sworn to uphold, I realized with a sudden, sickening clarity that the thing I was about to...
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