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...
It was cracked open—like the earth itself had screamed, and the heavens answered in blood.
Raen Valor stood among corpses of angels and demons, the shattered wings of false divinity scattered like burned parchment. His hands shook around the hilt of a nameless sword—a weapon that drank light, memory, and soul.
He couldn't remember how many he had killed.
Only that none of them were enough.
Before him stood the Throne.
Ancient. Immovable. Breathing.
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