The Faded Frequency
The iron pommel of my sword bit into the flesh of my forearm as I pressed the blade against the throat of the man who had broken into the chapel, and the blood that ran down the rusted steel was not his but mine, a hot and wet testament to the fact that I was still alive in a place where the air tasted of sulfur and old dust. I had been holding the line at the heavy oak doors for three hours,...
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