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... ripping water. Whitepalm moved through the dimly lit tunnels, his steps deliberate, his breathing steady. The scent of iron and blood filled the air, clinging to the damp, corroded surfaces around him.

As he approached a heavy iron door, his keen senses detected a faint but distinct sound—a low, guttural growl that sent a shiver down his spine. He pushed the door open, revealing a gruesome scene: blood soaked into the walls, an artificial arm dis ...

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