PoV:
1. Great Chief Dralix (Leader of the Great Polsan Clan)
2. Elinor Irkalla (Ereshkigal, The Sumerian Goddess Of The Dead!)
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A light rain drizzled down Great Chief Dralix’s slick, pink skin, his green stripes glistening in the dull light of the partially veiled noonday sun that managed to bleed through the ominous clouds overhead.
He streamed out the air in his lungs while watching the mystical projection that hang over Great Chief Israg and his joint armies—this was a handicap and showpiece of the mysterious goddess’ power—and Empress Irkalla stood alone against their united 10,000 soldiers. Yet, for all their might, after their doctors examined the devastated Komath and Roxim clans’ corpses, the results of this battle were obvious.
Dralix’s somber gaze wandered between the grim expressions of Israg and their colonels; of the ten that stood with them not long ago, one was missing—Chief Sidal—Dralix’s mentor back when he was just a Lieutenant under his father and a competent leader in combat.
Sidal directed his platoons to engage the lone figure in the vast field with his 1,000 volunteers—willing sacrifices that marched to certain death—as they bravely moved to reveal this Supreme One’s powers.
Israg must have seen Dralix’s tight fist by his frown; Israg was his fellow Great Chief, Dralix’s best friend, and elder, which the man hated to be called.
The Morseng’s Great Chief turned his gaze to the weeping heavens to observe the strange lump of meat; it somehow cut past the light mist of the rainfall to display Irkalla, calmly waiting for the platoons to engage her. “Do you remember the war with the Casnic Union?”
Dralix’s chest shook as his memories of the event returned at his elder’s question, but he didn’t look away from the supernatural entity that had conversed with beings beyond their understanding less than twenty minutes ago, only to dismiss them and prevent their interference.
“Hehe. Such a long time ago… What brought that up?” he whispered, hearing General Mantix discussing various reports with the scouts and doctors in the tent behind him.
“Hmm… Do you suppose this is how they felt? Staring at an impossible force with their tiny, rag-tag group, yet fighting to the last man and woman?”
Relaxing a bit in his slick leather chair, Dralix waved his hand. “Not even close… We face one enemy—one—with 10,000 strong, and… as hard as it is to believe we cannot lose, we’ve seen her powers over life and death… Now this disease? Hmm.”
“Not wrong,” his friend and rival sighed. “I meant this feeling of impending destruction; knowing you can’t back down.”
“But why?” a neutral voice spoke nearby, being the first to redirect Dralix’s focus.
High Xaria Redrix’s brownish-brick skin was a deeper shade when wet, and the desert clan elite warrior’s yellow spots flashed as he spoke in their cryptic language, likely talking in private to the mute female Xaria beside him; from what Dralix heard from his guards, she’d cut off her own tongue after attacking Empress Irkalla.
Israg chuckled. “The Cartalian isn’t a religious clan, correct?”
“No, Great Chief,” he evenly replied. “We do not subscribe to the superstitions of the smaller Ri’bot clans that have been described to us, and I believed your Great Clans had dispensed of such faith.”
Dralix wasn’t fooled by their neutral tone; Redrix was possibly more skilled in combat than Israg and he, which meant the desert Ri’bot must have felt the insurmountable weight of the colossal entities that had surrounded Irkalla not long ago—one of which brought overwhelming dread, more so than the others.
The White Cancer had been in that crowd, and Irkalla had already shown herself capable of resurrecting the dead; horror stories were passed down through generations regarding the invincible overlord of the Quen’Talrat, who would face battalions of enemies alone and come out unscathed.
“Belief or not,” Dralix muttered, “your people tested her strength, and you were there personally to witness it. In addition, I assume you had some of your spies stationed near the Komath and Roxim camps when she destroyed them the other night and recovered the humans held captive. Can you not tell me she is beyond mortal understanding?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he returned, grip tightening at his back as he followed the calvary positioning at Irkalla’s back; the other four platoons of shield and spearmen got into position to act as the anvil. “There are many mysteries unsolved, yet knowledge is given to those that have the strength to seek it.”
His focus shifted to his female companion as her yellow spots flashed before translating. “If you do believe she is a Supreme Chief or this One Above All, then what divine law have you trespassed to be forced into this conflict?”
A chuckle came from their left as Pontis, Darlix’s Skyspeaker Advisor, moved to join him after studying the heavens. “You misunderstand, High Xaria; to Empress Irkalla, she is granting us a gift in this battle. It is not punishment.”
“Was it the same for the Komath and Roxim? I don’t understand your mental state; she kills who she punishes and who she blesses. What’s the difference?”
Dralix’s weary smile returned to the welcoming smile Irkalla gave the soldiers slowly advancing toward her.
“The way I see it, this only makes sense from a leader’s perspective; Irkalla approached us and laid it out clearly… Our lifestyle will clash, and she holds no ill will toward us, which is why she offered a way for us to show our dedication and courage to our way of life.”
Israg leaned against his armrest, supporting his head with his fist. “Irkalla gave us a warning and showed her respect by revealing she could spread that maddening disease to our citizens…”
Dralix huffed at just the chilling thought that ran through his mind. “Think about the consequences of such a plague; she could have introduced it secretly into our ranks and turned our entire nation against itself without an idea of what was happening. She thinks far into the future and showed us that.”
“My thoughts, as well,” Israg grunted. “Instead of our nations’ slow, painful, internal decay, she prepared a stage for us to show our people how much their lives mean to us… to fight for them; displayed in grand fashion against the leader of this empire. She is merciful.
“If she’s a Supreme One or not isn’t on our immediate minds; she’s a ruler that has taken the battlefield, and it is the best opportunity we have to stem the change she threatens to bring to our culture. Our people will be the judges of her actions after this is over.”
Redrix’s brow furrowed while staring at the calvary, who were picking up their pace to engage her. “I suppose I can grasp that outlook, but I am not convinced she has the strength to overcome your army based on the power she showed in your camp alone… Still, her tactics against the Komath and Roxim show she is not stupid.”
Chains split space as they watched the battle begin—to no one’s surprise—yet she used it to redirect the soldiers, as a foothold in the air, and to maneuver rather than as an offensive tool.
Dralix sat straighter, following her elegant and unhesitant attacks. “All nonlethal… What did the sky tell you, Pontis?”
Pontis emptied his lungs in a low chuckle. “Great Chiefs, we will not see another sunrise… at least while alive.”
General Mantix exited the tent with General Na’dsin, Israg’s war leader, and started preparing things for the following assault, swiftly going over what tactics to use after seeing the nonlethal strikes Irkalla used to spread her maddening disease and its effects.
Silence took them shortly after three more colonels were sent to prepare their troops with their next strategy, and after the majority of the first platoons were devastated, Israg broke the quiet rain and thunder-filled atmosphere.
“Stone toes… do you see her movements, Dralix?”
“Mmh… the control, cadence, and poise is the same we saw against Fennel… but this new power? Either she was hiding how strong she was, using Fennel’s own momentum against him, or…”
“She grew stronger… far stronger in the last few days alone,” Israg muttered. “It’s obvious she’s holding back, too, and respects the efforts of those that are brave enough to face her in single combat. Irkalla is testing us to see if we can overcome the infection and face our turned brothers and sisters.”
Dralix caught Redrix’s tight expression—he’d paid close attention to the man’s subtle attitude tells when speaking privately to his companion—the Xaria was agitated by what he saw, and he wondered if the Elite Warrior was regretting not killing Irkalla the first time they’d met.
“What is she doing to their bodies?” Na’dsin asked, many of the colonels voicing their own notice of the action.
Israg fingers bit into his chair, splitting the wood. “Marking them for resurrection, perhaps? There’s no way to tell yet, but some had the infection already, while others didn’t… It’s too late to send a runner to warn the next push and changing the drum rhythm will only confuse them.”
Three thousand soldiers, each with a life of their own back home—loved ones hoping for their return—pushed forward to be the next to meet the unphased Empress, yet the air in Dralix’s lungs locked as she looked up at them through the fleshy device, her sudden declaration making every colonel, general, and desert clansmen freeze in place.
One distinct snap of Irkalla’s fingers projected through the battlefield from the fleshy mass in the air, causing every corpse the small entity marked to explode, blanketing the plain in a crimson fog, and when it was drawn away, chaos reigned.
Dralix couldn’t be sure how many had been caught in the detonation—at least a thousand—and with that simple gesture, a flood of soldiers were infected, swiftly overwhelming the remaining troops, who scrambled to recover.
“It’s time we leave…” Redrix hissed, giving Israg and him a respectful salute while noticing Irkalla’s maelstrom. “We appreciate the opportunity you gave us to observe the war.”
Four cyclones drew in all the carnage across the war zone to meld into a bubbling mass of tongues, nails, teeth, and eyes; several pumping hearts beat in rhythm as they sent a chilling screech to the heavens.
Flexing his numb fingers as Irkalla directed the monstrosities to march on them, Dralix sniffed back the fear gripping his stomach and stood next to Israg. “Never did I think this would be how it ended, old friend… I can’t remember the last time I felt terror like this in my gut.”
Israg drew his unusual, bladed-chain weapon to flip it expertly around his hands, seeing his colonels perform the same salute with the two generals and Skyspeaker. “Guess it was always meant to go down like this… Safe trip back to your desert, High Xaria Redrix.”
The powerful warrior promptly turned and retreated into the building storm to enter the forest; Mixi, his mute Xaria companion, showed a rare bit of emotion—frustration—before turning and following the High Xaria of the Blood Sand.
Skyspeaker Pontis forced a chuckle. “Quite the lives we’ve had, Great Chiefs; I will support you as I am able.”
“Right…” General Mantix whispered, seeing the colonels’ mounts being rushed to the site to allow them to reach their armies; General Na’dsin sent new orders to the drummers, taking control of directing the ground forces. “I suppose I’ll see you on the other side of the Supreme River In The Sky, Great Chiefs.”
“Haha. I thought it was called the Great River, and when did you start believing in the fairytales,” Dralix returned, limbering up for the conflict that was to come.
“Well… look at those things. Heh. What’s the harm at this point, huh?”
“Not wrong, General,” Israg roared, spinning away with the chain blurring in his short practice. “Never tried to kill something that big before. What about you, Dralix?”
“Brain going on you? You know I haven’t, ya old fool,” he mused, drawing his two short swords to spin them around his hands. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve felt this pulse in my heart… I’m going to die.”
He held up his hand, Israg mirroring him as they laughed at the young retainers hauling their armor out of the tent. “I don’t think that is going to save us in this fight, boys.”
“What you can do is tell all the support forces to retreat… only the soldiers will remain.”
The young three-year-old puffed up, despite his trembling legs as he tried not to look at the approaching monstrosities in the distance. “I… I want to fight, Great Chiefs!”
Dralix swapped his sword to his other hand, holding both hilts as he placed a hand on the boy’s quaking shoulder. “We need brave men like you in the future, Issim. Your mission is to save as many of our people as you can; this is a soldiers’ fight. Report back to our people how brave their parents, siblings, and friends were.”
Tears in Issim’s eyes as another retainer, a girl two years older than him, pulled him toward the drums to report the priority order; blinking away his wet eyes, he nodded. “I’ll be a Great Chief like you one day!”
“May the ancestors save us then,” he laughed, making Israg join him.
“We need to go, Dralix.”
“I know…”
Seeing Pontis meditating nearby, wind picking up around him, Dralix steeled his resolve and smiled as he centered on the swiftly approaching horde of infected and the colossal horrors trampling over them to reach the defenses they’d managed to erect.
Our people may see this, but they can’t understand how it feels… We’ve run into the Pit. I’m sorry, Ulissa; I won’t be seeing our child’s face.
“I’m ready.”
Sharpening his focus and emptying his mind of all but the battle ahead, he launched forward with Israg, rain sliding off his slick skin as his webbed feet found perfect grip against the moist ground.
Leaping meters into the air over defensive formations, he saw their war machines—rocks and long arrows—fired at the swift monsters, which were closing the vast gap between the center of the battlefield and their formations by the forest.
As Great Chiefs, they were unrivaled combatants in their massive clan, and it was up to them to find the weakness of these creatures, setting a path to victory, even if hopeless; it was their duty, and after probing its weak points, they had to face the opposing leader.
Reaching the frontlines at an incredible speed, they heard the shouts of their people, mentally psyching themselves up for the approaching mass.
Selecting the closest as an arrow of hyper-focused air pierced the storm and slammed into the titanic creature’s chest, parting the wind and rain to rip apart a single heart, spraying blood everywhere, yet the opening swiftly closed.
Dralix feinted left, easily weaving through the chaotic rush of his plague-ridden soldiers to deflect one of its lurching tongues—it was as if trying to stop a boulder rolling down a mountain—and he swapped mid-swing to allow the momentum to carry him upward.
Israg maneuvered closer to its split legs, dancing around its swipes and tongues to flick his chain around one of its limbs. It latched around the stump and another monstrosity’s tongue that brushed by them; dozens of their swiveling eyes tracking their leaps.
Barely diving between the crushing forces, Israg’s chain pulled tight as Dralix landed on their target’s raised leg, careful to stay clear of the twitching fangs that pulsed in and out; the metal-binding pulled taut with the opposing horror’s tongue and leg split again, yet for all of Israg’s finesse, the weapon snapped under the titanic forces.
Israg laughed as his bladed chain was cut to a quarter of its previous size, dodging the shrapnel, and changed tactics to begin flicking the shorter weapon at the eyes to blind the horror as it paused to deal with their agile flips across its bodies.
Dralix’s two swords met organ after organ in his jumps between reaching tongue and leg, its black blood slicking the edge; it was like cutting tree bark.
The rocks that rained down on the fleshy beasts did practically nothing as they were destroyed by the powerful tongues before touching the monsters, but the long spears could punch several centimeters into their muscular bodies; all they needed were the stones to pound them in, yet that was hopeful thinking.
Dodging became easier as they blinded it; unfortunately, several minutes after engaging them—distracting one of the four abominations—the destroyed eyes and hearts resurfaced in their previous positions. This strategy wouldn’t work
The tongues scooped up the packs of infected attempting to chase Israg and him, absorbing their poor diseased soldiers, which appeared to rebuild the titanic beast’s strength.
Launching away from the high-velocity battle with Israg landing beside him—chest pumping—Dralix forced a laugh; the fleshy mass didn’t even bother chasing them, likely following Elinor’s order to move forward rather than backward.
“Haaa-huu-haaa… haha. They—they’re immortal! Our only hope…”
“Yeah—Irkalla…”
Clapping came from behind them as she neared at a casual pace; they had to take out the person controlling them. “You’ve worked hard to perfect your fighting styles; if you had appropriate tools to match your skill… hmm—such as the weapons the Cartalian use—I believe you could have killed one.”
Dralix’s fingers were shaking, and not just from the intimidating presence the small female human in front of them radiated, but the stress of penetrating the dense muscle and organs of the creatures behind them.
“A shame… I guess.”
“One…” Israg mused, slowing his pumping lungs and heart to swing his broken chain around. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long, Empress Irkalla.”
* * *
Elinor let the rain and thunder roll around them as the sharp wind whipped her braid around her front; their movements had been superb for their frail, mortal bodies, and the fact they could still stand at all after confronting a Lesser Titan Abomination was a feat in itself.
“No need to rush, Great Chiefs; we still have plenty of time.”
Her illuminated emerald irises penetrated the storm to see the life force of the various armies and zombies falling, one by one, and with every corpse the abominations consumed, they rebuilt their stamina; it wasn’t as if they could outrun the amalgamations that could move over a hundred kilometers an hour in full stride.
“Only forty-seven soldiers fled thus far… out of ten thousand; impressive in the face of such insurmountable terror.”
“I assume… they won’t get far,” Israg laughed.
“Mmh… I have their spirits marked, and the Titans will prioritize them, buying more time for your brave soldiers to recover.”
Dralix slammed his short swords into the wet grass before leaning against them with a short chuckle. “Hmm-hmm, I suppose their cowardice is worth something, at least.”
Elinor’s focus returned to the two Great Chiefs after several seconds as Dralix removed his swords, working around his shoulders; they had an example to set, and it was being televised to various people.
“Are you ready to see the gates of Irkalla?”
“I guess so,” Israg sighed, moving to her right as Dralix circled to the left. “What tricks will you have for us?”
Elinor smiled and held up her glowing staff, the condensed seed of life energy trapped in its center. “No tricks. No chains. I will make you a promise.”
She twirled her spear to her back, leaving a trail of Death Energy as she shifted to glance between the two Great Chiefs. “For every minute after you engage me, I’ll revive one of your soldiers.”
Eyes narrowing as the roaring wind and pelting rain increased, the two gave each other one look before jumping into action.
Israg threw his chain at her in incredible strength, his blitz ramping up as Elinor sidestepped the broken weapon; Dralix’s left sword slid between the links perfectly as it passed her, twisting to fling the blade back at her. Elinor flipped over it, Israg snatching it out of the air with the pair closing into close range.
Dancing around the two swords and defending against their kicks or punches, Elinor played the defensive with a light smile as she tested their coordination and skill.
There were fumbled combinations, flaws, and gaps in their attacks; their pace wasn’t in the same realm as her battle against Thor, but for mortals who trained all their lives, they lived up to their position.
Exploiting their mistakes, she spun between their upper and lower sword sweep, keeping her spear close to nicking Israg’s wrist; with every pass, she added a new cut, yet they didn’t falter and even learned from the flaws she abused.
They disengaged in their fourth minute, marred skin slick with their own blood, and Elinor stabbed her spear into the ground, not a mark on her clothing. “I’m impressed, Great Chiefs.”
“He… haaa-haaa-haha,” Dralix coughed, ragged lungs sucking air down his dry throat. “You don’t… slip.”
Israg mirrored him, legs shaking and near their limit. “How… long?”
“Four minutes and thirty-three seconds so far. You could keep up with some of the Nalvean High Ruler’s personal guards. It’s an achievement.”
“Six, Dralix.”
“Yeah…”
They shot forward again, and Elinor left her spear in the mud, maneuvering her arms to guide the swords’ sides away from her; she kicked out Israg’s weak legs for Dralix to come to his aid, attempting to give him room to regain purchase, but she flipped over him to strike his kidney, sending him into his friend.
Elinor clapped as the two managed to keep themselves from being entangled by wordlessly breaking away in opposite directions; they grimaced as she bent down to pick up Israg’s discarded chain weapon, rotating it around one hand in an expert manner.
“Impressive resolve, Israg; you’ve gone beyond your limits… multiple torn ligaments, and yet you don’t scream or show weakness. Five minutes and fifteen seconds.”
Using the arm with Israg’s weapon wrapped around it, Elinor motioned for them to continue. “Let’s increase the difficulty.”
“Haa-haaa… Incredible,” Dralix choked as Israg’s nose flared with the effort of feeling his lungs. “Hmm?”
Israg’s shaking hand lifted to hand Dralix his sword back. “I’ve… been handicapping you, Brother. Huu-haaa. Let’s finish this.”
“Hehe. I wouldn’t say that, but… let’s go.”
Shifting the dual blades in his hands, Israg shot forward, and Elinor spun his weapon in a circle, yet he jumped to tackle her, disregarding safety.
Well fought.
Sliding under him, Elinor cut through his throat and stomach in quick succession in passing before pivoting at Dralix’s approach; she snatched the slick chains out of the air and defend against the blurred short swords—no screams or curses—only focused resolve to make his friend’s wish come true.
Elinor twisted under his arm, smacking his nose with the back of her hand before disarming him, grabbing the hilt before it hit the ground, and met his second mid-swing. Twirling it out of his grip, she kicked out his feet to take his other sword.
Failing knees hitting the mud, she held both blades to his throat with a short laugh. “Congratulations. Six minutes.”
Edges sliding together, she beheaded the Great Chief, passing cleanly between his bones.
A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky soon after the warrior fell, and Elinor looked up at the receiver. “Be proud of those that fell this day; this is only the beginning of their journey. They gave their lives for your future.”
She placed the Great Chiefs’ weapons beside their fallen corpses and turned to observe the end of her war; the soldiers learned how to handle the zombies, but with the fleshy titans devastating their defenses, there was no hope of survival.
Elinor closed her eyes and chuckled, calling her staff; holding it in front of her, a blast of condensed air was split around her. Seconds later, Skyspeaker Pontis fell to the flood of zombies.
Seventy-two warriors fled at the end, which was far better than Elinor predicted, and, forty minutes after her mass Corpse Explosion, no soldier remained. Some had tried to use the retainers or craftsmen that joined the fight as shields, yet the titans were ordered to only target those spirits she subconsciously marked.
Flipping the switch on the zombies, keeping careful track of where those uninvolved in the conflict ran, Elinor breathed out a heavy sigh and walked to the center point between the battlefield and war camp.
She slammed her spear into the ground, looked into the sky, and smiled; days she’d prepared for this moment. Releasing the cap on the prison confining the life energy, a nova of bright white light shot into the heavens, destroying her body.
The field of death she’d created, overflowing with the essence left behind by the severed souls, was compressed between the holy ceiling—placed at her entrance from the excess Life Energy—and the budding energy she’d just released, fracturing the spiritual wall between worlds.
Reconstituting herself in its passing, Elinor looked up into the golden beams blanketing the heavens through the fissure in the sky, regaining her true appearance as Ereshkigal with a warm ray that clothed her—likely her sister’s twin songstress’ doing—and she could feel Aidrh’ruz reach through the crack to start his journey to taste the Divine Dream.
Sari’aél was soon by her side with the teens, Thor, and Apate as they were carried to the open gates of Irkalla, and, when things cleared, they stood at the beaches of the River of the Dead, legions of spirits kneeling with Lamashtu, the demoness’ host, and Pazuzu awaiting her return.
Elinor’s gaze went to the beautiful blonde twins, each with large, white-feathered wings and wearing white and blue silken dresses that had their sides cut out to display their wide hips. “Welcome back, Lady Ereshkigal.”
“Ninatta, Kulitta… it seems your efforts in activating the Life Fruit allowed for this success; you always were more proactive than most of my sister’s court.”
They lowered themselves into a deeper curtsy, likely a tad surprised at receiving her praise, the older—Ninatta—speaking first.
“We live to serve the High Heavens.”
“Lady Ishtar appears well again; we thank your mercy, Great Earth Mother.”
Elinor smirked at their mention of her sister. “Quite well after absorbing those Lesser Seeds.”
As the others gazed at the lapis lazuli sand, titanic gate, and colossal walls of the seemingly endless borders of Irkalla, Elinor used her total control over her realm to summon a mirror; Thor and Apate caught on quickly that she’d changed to her true appearance.
Shapely, and presenting a devious, snake-like expression, Elinor examined her matured form with the elegant black and white, mermaid-style, slit dress the twins had clothed her in; the roses and fluffy silk were more Inanna’s look, but she could make anything appear ravishing.
Her thick, white hair was done up in a neatly crafted bun, which should have been black if it was its original shade, but this would do fine for the time being.
She snapped her fingers to open up a gate to Ganzir, her palace—where her heavenly court would be gathered—and removed the purified white diamond to toss it into the sand beside her.
“You can quit the games, Ishtar,” she snickered, using her sister’s new identity rather than her archaic name.
The others watched in stunned silence as chants from various other massive entities cried out their names for mercy.
A shimmering globe of light lifted the discarded earring before condensing into Elinor’s mirror, excluding her bright blonde hair and cross expression.
“Sif save me—another…”
Elinor giggled at Thor’s groan upon seeing her reflection; Kulitta swiftly crafted another gown for the naked woman. She actually felt bad for the Asgardian, averting his gaze to observe the colossal gates while Apate’s questioning gaze lingered between them.
The pair were amusedly symmetrical when it came to everything they made; if they made a hairpiece for Ishtar, they sent the opposite color to her via Ninazu, her middle child, who was a sucker for their lovely voices and attention.
“Mistress!”
“My Queen!”
Ishtar gave her two trembling attendants, overjoyed to see her, a compassionate smile before directing a dirty glare at Elinor. “Sister… are you actually not going to revive me?”
“Heh. You can take on spiritual form inside Irkalla; it will do for now,” Elinor teased, motioning to the gate with the item her two songbirds gifted her. “I do like the fan, girls, and don’t you recall our bet, Ishtar?”
Her rosy lips fell into a scowl as she tightened her crossed arms under her bust. “I lost in the end… yet I suppose I have had a rather significant effect on you by your current attitude, which is… off-putting, to say the least. At least I got you to be a peppy cheerleader for a time; that was amusing, looking back”
“Hmm-hmm.” Elinor’s expression tightened at her light jabs and seeing the Ri’bot she’d slain floating through the River of the Dead. “I wouldn’t say it’s significant, but… yes, you surpassed my expectations, at least… Now march!”
Maps:
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