The ululations of the waste dwellers pierced the morning
silence with the same savagery that their crude knives pierced the villager’s
chests. Thanatos was standing in his small, rented room, bleary-eyed, when one
of the raiders burst through the door, covered in dirt, gore, and madness. The
man lunged at him. Thanatos thrust his arms out, catching the knife. But the
man was so covered with blood that his slick arm slipped free, leaving Thanatos
with a long gash on his forearm. The rough man seized Thanatos and stabbed him repeatedly.
He feel limply when the man finally released him.
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