The Distant Blade
The iron collar was not merely metal; it was a complex lattice of interlocking gears and hydraulic pistons, a mechanical chrysalis that had swallowed your throat whole, humming with the low, vibratory thrum of stolen life. You stood in the center of the Atrium of Echoes, a vast, circular chamber carved from obsidian and veined with pulsing, bioluminescent fungi that cast the world in a sickly,...
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