Chapter 80: Saint Hilarius Hospital (12)
— Valisera’s POV —
At the absolute, suffocating depths of "Elysium," there are no Transcendents to answer the desperate prayers of the dying.
The heavens do not watch over these subterranean slaughterhouses.
Down here, there is only cold, unforgiving concrete, violently twisted metal, and engineered monsters that feed hungrily on the raw despair of the Awakened.
Floor B3—once a state-of-the-art classified Chimera Lab—had been completely pulverized, turned into a vast, jagged stone graveyard following the devastating reverse-gravity attack I had executed moments ago.
Thick, gray concrete dust choked the stagnant air, hanging heavily from the shattered ceiling like a thick curtain of volcanic ash.
It mixed sickeningly with the metallic scent of aerosolized, burned blood and the highly toxic, pungent chemical fumes continuously leaking from the thousands of shattered containment glass tubes.
Amidst the hundreds of tons of collapsed rubble, tangled rebar, and shredded chimera corpses, I knelt on both knees.
My body—engineered and trained for decades to be an absolute vessel of untouchable, invincible spatial power—was systematically being torn apart, simultaneously from the inside and the outside.
The supreme "Elixir of Dawn’s Tears" I had consumed prior to this nightmare was waging a desperate, violent biological war against my imminent death.
It wasn’t a gentle healing process.
The mutated cells within my body forcefully divided and rapidly regenerated at a manic, terrifying speed to force the gaping physical wounds closed, but the sheer volume of blood loss was immense, painting the rubble beneath me in a dark crimson puddle.
The agonizing toll caused by this forced, hyper-accelerated regeneration felt exactly like boiling water being injected directly into my veins.
My internal temperature skyrocketed.
With every single, heavy heartbeat pumping in my chest, it felt as if microscopic shards of crushed glass were violently flowing through my torn arteries, tearing my insides apart just to stitch them back together a second later.
I slowly, painfully raised my heavy head.
My long silver hair, which I had always maintained with aristocratic pride, was now completely ruined—matted with thick, sticky mud, pulverized concrete, and coagulated crimson blood.
My eyes, which had always carried a look of absolute, cosmic coldness and superiority, now violently trembled.
They shook not out of fear, but from the sheer, raw human effort required just to keep my eyelids open and remain somewhat conscious through the blinding waves of physical agony.
Before me, emerging slowly from within the thickest cloud of the wreckage, stepped "The Surgeon."
The S-Rank mechanical nightmare had not died.
Despite the massive, structural dents violently crushed into its black, heavy-duty spider frame, the forceful amputation of three of its eight hydraulic legs, and the complete, sparking destruction of its left glowing laser lens, it was still fully operational.
Its exposed, luminescent blue mechanical heart emitted a broken, heavy, and threatening hum that vibrated through the floorboards.
Violent electrical sparks constantly flickered and snapped from its damaged steel joints—yet, it advanced toward me with terrifying, unwavering steadiness.
It moved exactly like a soulless machine programmed by a madman for one singular, absolute purpose: total biological excision.
"Pulse rate highly unstable.
Systolic pressure dropping.
The patient is currently suffering from Class-IV severe physical and neurological shock," its sick, polite, artificial voice rang out clearly through the dust.
As it spoke, it slowly raised the massive mechanical arm holding the rotating, diamond-tipped bone saw.
The jagged teeth of the saw were still spinning, dripping with a sickening mixture of yellow biological pus and my own dark blood from the previous clash.
"Medical recommendation: immediate surgical amputation of both upper limbs to prevent further neural and magical resistance."
Look at yourself...
Suddenly, the dark, ancient voice—the cursed cosmic entity residing deep within the darkest corners of my skull—whispered.
Its voice was incredibly clear now, no longer suppressed by my focus.
It dripped with absolute mockery and a deep, cruel satisfaction that made my stomach churn.
You are nothing but fragile flesh and blood, Valisera.
Weak, pathetic flesh, tearing, melting, and bleeding all over the dirt.
This mindless scrap of metal is going to meticulously slice you into a hundred bloody pieces, and I will be forced to sit here and watch you die like a helpless, beaten dog... surrender!
Break the ether chains!
Let me out!
Let me take the wheel and I will erase this arrogant toy from the very fabric of existence!
"Shut... up..." I growled through my tightly clenched, partially shattered teeth.
A fresh trail of thick, dark blood leaked slowly from the corner of my mouth and dripped down my chin.
"I... do not... lose..."
Drawing upon a well of willpower I didn’t even know I possessed, I heavily braced both of my trembling, blood-soaked hands against the broken, uneven floor.
Gritting my teeth until my gums bled, I forced my torn, exhausted body to stand up.
Every single muscle fiber in my thighs screamed in absolute, tearing pain.
My left leg, which had been brutally melted and burned by the highly concentrated sulfuric acid, could barely support a fraction of my body weight, violently shaking as I stood.
The Surgeon’s AI did not wait for me to find my balance.
It ruthlessly lunged at me, utilizing its remaining five hydraulic legs to propel its heavy frame through the ash-filled air like a wounded, yet incredibly deadly, black mechanical spider.
Its remaining surgical arms struck simultaneously in a perfectly calculated, inescapable pincer maneuver: the blazing white laser scalpel aimed cleanly for the right side of my neck to sever my carotid artery, while the roaring, rotating bone saw aimed directly to bisect my waist.
"Crush!"
I roared with whatever breath I had left in my lungs, desperately attempting to channel the remaining spatial and gravitational energy through the frayed ether circuits in my palms.
But... the power was no longer the absolute, impenetrable force of nature I was so used to commanding.
Total ether exhaustion, massive physical blood loss, and the intense, paralyzing internal mental struggle to keep the cosmic entity locked away had severely taken their toll.
The resulting gravity wall that materialized before me was incredibly fragile, violently fluctuating, and visibly unstable, completely lacking its usual, crushing spatial density.
Kraaaaaaaanch!
The Surgeon collided head-on with the weakened gravity barrier—but this time, it was not crushed into a metal pancake.
The concentrated white laser scalpel, burning at an excess of 5000 degrees Celsius, instantly pierced through the rapidly destabilizing spatial shield exactly like a red-hot knife slicing through warm butter!
"Aaaaaaaaaaah!"
The scalpel narrowly passed by the side of my face.
It didn’t sever my neck—but the sheer, radiating ambient heat of the plasma blade violently scorched my left cheek.
It left a horrific, agonizing black burn that instantly melted the outer dermal layer of my skin, terrifyingly exposing the raw, red muscle tissue just beneath my cheekbone.
The smell of my own burning flesh instantly filled my nostrils.
I staggered backward blindly, clutching my ruined, burned face with one hand, gasping violently in blinding, disorienting pain.
But the Surgeon did not stop its assault for even a millisecond.
Its quantum processor instantly exploited the massive breach in my spatial shield.
It bypassed my upper guard and forcefully struck out with its thickest, solid steel spider leg, aiming directly toward my unprotected, soft abdomen like a massive metal spear.
"Fracture!" I screamed in pure panic, utilizing purely instinctive muscle memory to fold the space directly in front of the incoming, lethal strike.
A thin, razor-sharp black line materialized in the air and cleanly, perfectly sliced the thick steel leg completely in half.
But physics was a cruel mistress.
I had cut the leg, but I hadn’t stopped its momentum.
The sheer inertia of the severed, heavy steel limb—combined with the immense, supersonic speed of the Surgeon’s initial attack—caused the detached, fifty-pound section of jagged metal to violently slam into my chest with the devastating kinetic force of a fired tank shell!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The impact was catastrophic.
I was violently thrown backward, soaring ten meters horizontally through the dust-filled air.
My fragile, exhausted body brutally crashed back-first into a massive, load-bearing concrete pillar that had somehow miraculously survived the initial ceiling collapse.
I clearly, sickeningly heard the loud crack of my own ribs snapping under the immense blunt-force trauma, threatening to puncture my lungs.
I fell heavily to the ground at the base of the pillar, collapsing exactly like a discarded, torn rag doll.
I violently coughed up a terrifying amount of thick, dark blood that splattered across the gray concrete.
I desperately tried to move my hands to push myself up... but I couldn’t.
My body refused to obey my commands.
My right arm was cleanly broken at the elbow joint, hanging at a sickening, unnatural angle.
My left arm merely twitched and trembled uncontrollably, completely paralyzed by severe neurological shock and trauma.
(You are entirely helpless!) the dark entity roared triumphantly inside the confines of my mind, violently hammering against the fragile, cracking walls of my consciousness, desperately trying to break the elixir’s mental prison while I was physically incapacitated.
(You will die, Valisera!
You will slowly, painfully diiiiie!)
For the very first time in my entire, arrogant life, deep within the core of my usually icy, untouchable heart, I felt a terrible, sinking sensation I had never truly known before.
I felt... absolute helplessness.
A profound, suffocating despair—as cold, dark, and final as death itself—crept slowly into my veins, freezing my blood.
I, Valisera, the spatial anomaly who had effortlessly crushed elite generals and casually torn apart massive S-Rank abominations with nothing more than a simple snap of my fingers, now lay completely broken on the blood-stained tiles.
I was utterly unable to even lift my head, while the diseased, relentless machine systematically approached to permanently end my life.
"The patient is currently in a state of complete motor paralysis.
Commencing final surgical incision," the Surgeon stated in its flat, monotone voice as it advanced slowly, methodically.
It slowly raised its glowing, buzzing laser scalpel high into the air, the harsh white light casting a terrifying glow over my pale, ruined, and broken face.
I could only lay there, paralyzed.
Watching death slowly approach.
Waiting for the final, blinding blow.