The Golden Maze
The iron of the blade bit into the wet, rotting flesh of the beast, a sensation that was less like combat and more like the slow, agonizing act of carving a path through a thicket of living, screaming wire, as the soldier, whose name had long since ceased to be a label and become instead a heavy, cold stone in the throat of history, drove his shoulder forward with a desperation that mirrored...
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