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[They catch him, briefly. Briefly, but not enough. He's faster. Their muscles are too overtaxed, too wiry, too stretched to their absolute limit.]

[The sound of voices, like klaxons. The high-pitched noise of a child crying out in pain and distress.]

[It rips into something nestled in their chest, in the crimson glow of their SOUL.]

[Burns.]
[Burns.]

[They fall back with a muted cry.]

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