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Essay on Fanfic: A Short Story

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The Genovesan sighed. Jory Ruhl was such an idiot. Fires only left survivors and drew attention. What could he possibly be thinking?
It wasn’t the purple-clad man’s job to catch slaves, he just made sure everyone did their job. And if they didn’t…
The Genovesan smiled. Ruhl was going to find himself out of the kettle and onto the fire if he continued his stunts. Or worse, on the leading edge of his blades.
His name was Nezzera, and he was a Delóis-class killer, the best of the best in Genovesan culture. Tales of his hook-and-blade executions terrified small children into being good and drinking their milk.
If only Bacari and Marisi could see him now. And they thought he’d never amount to anything. Scum.
A glowing ember flew past his face,
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He clutched the wound and was speaking rapidly under his breath. Cursing or praying, Nezzera couldn’t tell which. The woman lay face down, probably in shock. Her back and left shoulder were badly burned. Sheathing his knife, he flipped her over and checked her pupils. They were enormous. Definitely shock.
He rolled the two survivors next to each other and stood, brushing the grass off his knees. The woman had the best chance of surviving, and, being fairly young and fit-looking, would probably fetch the better price. Stooping, he loosened her collar and propped her feet up on the only stationary thing - the corpse.
The man was a whole other story. He would need to be carried, tended to, and rebandaged every few days, not to mention that he was a little too old, and his injury would most likely cripple him for life. It was decided then. Nezzera rolled him over and pulled out his knife. The deadly-thin poignard glinted as it left one sheath for another. The man’s eyes, already wide in pain grew huge in fear. He opened his mouth to speak - to plead or something. Nezzera drew back his arm, and stopped.
“Don’t.” The woman croaked. She was desperately fighting the urge to pass out. Maybe his wife? No matter. As the dagger plunged down, he saw her turn her head away.
Dropping the body, he moved over to the woman. Holding his knife up, he spoke to her, deliberately making his voice harsh.
“Don’t try anything, or
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