The Faded Sutra

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2026-08-20 03:49:22 -

The Faded Sutra

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and iron. Marcus stood at the center of the room. He wore a suit of polished steel, riveted tight to his skin. It was heavy. It was cold. But it was beautiful. The light from the chandeliers caught the curvature of his breastplate. It glinted. It hummed. Around him, the guests laughed. They clinked crystal glasses. They ate. They spoke of the new...

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