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... ss shattered into shards of dying color. Whispers slithered through the air, twisting around him like unseen serpents. The scent of burned parchment and old blood clung to the ruins.

At the altar sat the Trickster.

His throne was a tangle of bones and rusted blades, shifting restlessly beneath him, as if trying to escape his weight. He grinned like a skull, tapping his fingers against the armrest.

"Ah, little shadow. Have you come to confess?"

Dante narrowed his e ...

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