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First Son #14


Great winged creatures flocked above him, as enslaved as he, but infinitely more wicked. A beast caught him in its claws, flew him to his new hell.

Years passed in torment. Under the tainted earth, his arms tore the dark metals and crystallised evils from the depths. He didn't sleep, or eat, or breathe – Surgeon had cut such needs out of him. Instead, he suffered, and dug. That was his purpose. With his hands, he served the masters. With his suffering, he fed them.

The pain didn't break him. Nor the fear.

And then– in the endless dark...


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