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Personal Gulag
There was mist, but not that usual white cold mist of the winter. Oh no... It was a red mist.

Red

Like the mud that disrupts the pathways. Like the sun painting the skies as it hides from the fear inside the creatures below him. As red as the blood that is released slowly among the screams of innocents.

Mad and uncontrolled carnage that grows demons within the land, leaving no...