The Golden Master
The hammer fell. Again. And again. The sound was not a clang but a wet, heavy thud, like a heart beating against the inside of a ribcage. Thomas Bradshaw did not blink. His knuckles were split, the skin pulled back to reveal the raw, red meat beneath. The blood was thick. It ran down his wrists and pooled in the hollows of his elbows. He was in the Hall. The Hall was not a room. It was a space...
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