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The Christmas tree backed away, and I, sinfully squeezing past it in half, stared thoughtfully at my avatar. A savage Amri, a slave by birth, a pacifist by conviction - it was necessary to manage, in such and such a world, to get a lowered pain threshold! Laughter and sin, in general, are obviously cannon fodder, which usually does not survive even the first serious battle.

But they survived. And they didn't even get scars. Unless, of course, do not count those inside. And, of course, a snowflake peeking out from under the undergarments. But this is not a scar, but rather a protective mark. Okay, good time to pull, it is already in short supply.

- Hey, get up! I called.

The spider said something about the reunion of soul and body. But damn, how to implement it? God somehow forgot to mention the technical details - either he really didn’t know, or for him such tricks are so in the order of things that they are not worth clarifying.

No answer. Of course.

"Get up, motherfucker!" I shook
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