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... he oppressive darkness. He summoned another wave of ice-blades, cutting down the remaining Imperfections with ruthless precision. Their death throes echoed like the fading hum of broken glass.

"Purification progress: Eighty-seven percent," Noctis reported, his tone brisk, his focus clearly sharpened by whatever anomaly they were now dealing with.

Azvoid grunted, swiping sweat from his brow. The refinement process was supposed to be straightforward. Excruciating and demanding, yes ...

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