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CraftPrime

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  1. Smoke lays back on a stone wall inside the Delver ruins. The palms of his hands resting on the back of his head, with his arms contracted in the process. He looks up at the empty, cracked and lifeless ceiling as he continues to reminisce about the deadly event that just transpired. And how much he wished he would've done more. Smoke gives off a small cough not lasting even a second, but even this small push of air out of his lungs gave an equivalent strike of pain to the sides of the injured warrior. 

     

    It was a hard battle, and many were definitely bruised, cut and battered more than Smoke ever was. Taking a deep breath, Smoke stood, his right arm holding onto his left side. He scours the desolate and rusty entrance room, particularly focusing on the gates. A small chuckle comes out of Smoke, even after knowing that pain comes afterwards.

     

    "Heh. That was indeed fun, but if lesser injuries are to come in order, then I must get better at what I do..."

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