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The ground was blackened—as if it had been burnt—and not a blade of greenery survived the all-consuming miasma. It sucked the magic out of the living. The only reason I was fine was that I could replenish magic faster than the miasma could eat it, even with the magic-binding shackles fastened around my wrists. It’s still a nuisance, though. I stepped on a stone, which crumbled like a husk of a chalk, and vaguely noticed the pain that started to burn my lungs from the poisonous air.
oO
