PlagueRoot
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When Leon plucks off his glove, finger by finger, his only thought is that something is wrong. It’s been two weeks since Spain, and yet, the black veins have not faded. They still crawl across his skin like ugly fault lines, festering under his glove like decaying rot.
Something is very, very wrong.
...
“Hello, Agent Kennedy. I’ve been expecting your call.”
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or: sometimes, all it takes is a mortal man to make a god heel.