Exit wounds in enemies piled on wreckage

Bursting the enamel of an egg, I the great writer communicate to you in a manner mind shocking. Imagine as I would imagine. As you absorb the pictures from my mind into your skin, think of the sky lords. They exist not needing discipline, their actions already perfectly maneuvered. I see one of them, laid down and defeated. The fourth sister arrived and made short work of him.

Michael, the greatest of angels was humbled by a human taught by a lesser, who existed simply to work a craft while thunder above mountains roared.

If I say the right words, you will follow. My words are sweet, sweet human. Humans well-trained defeat angels.

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