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Bandit City, Justisar

Kets stepped out of the tavern, dragging her hammer by her side, then dropped it when the weight had exhausted her too much. She knelt by the man, and rifled through his pockets, searching for some form of identity or clue to discover who could have sent him to attack them.

Inside the tavern, Stag stepped forward and grabbed the front of the other man’s tunic. Locke stood by his side, taking in deep breaths. He felt proud of himself, and how quickly he had reacted and called on his fire. He did not want to think of what could have happened if he did not meet the attacker’s energy ball in time.

Stag hoisted the man to his limp feet, staring down at the rags and bruises that covered the man from head to toe. Stag had very rarely felt such wrath in his life. ‘Who sent you.’

The man said nothing.

‘Who sent you!’ Stag repeated, slamming the man against the wall.

‘To the Coordinator,’ the man said, a sly grin creeping up his mouth, ‘next time, bring live bombs. Sylderitha!’ His body glowed
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