The Golden Maze
The mud of the trench was not merely dirt; it was a living, sucking thing that held the weight of the world in its black, viscous grip, and Elias Thorne felt it pulling at his boots, at his mind, at the very fibers of his soul. He was on his knees, the wet earth seeping into the joints of his knees, his rifle a dead weight across his chest, and he could feel the tremor in his hands that had...
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