A sound like the screeching blast of a dozen fumaroles split the air as the enraged ex-god countered with a clawing combination of strokes that pushed the demon backward with their ferocity into his own troops.
“They are the warest of dwagon breeds.
From the ground, Colombo’s port does not look like much. Those entering it are greeted by wire fences, walls dating back to colonial times and security posts. For mariners leaving the port after lonely nights on the high seas, the delights of the B52 Night Club and Stallion Pub lie a stumble away.
There are moments today as ever when you catch that joy on the wing: seeing a little girl standing in a shopping trolley singing a nonsense song or a chortling urchin toepoking a football past the toppling figure of his father in the park.
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