The Allbright System - A Sci-Fi Progression LitRPG Story

- POV: Ukuar Rurix -

The theatre full of command staff fell into a hushed stillness as the enormous explosion razed the Stellar Republic's artillery base in the Azure Forest, the screen flickering with the brilliance of the blast.

Major Ukuar had initially dismissed Staff-Sergeant Venn as reckless for entrusting such a critical mission to a meagre four-person team. But as the smoke on the screen cleared, Ukuar found himself quietly revising his earlier thoughts.

As the silence lifted, it became apparent he wasn't the only one recalibrating expectations.

"What the fuck was that? How could we have known they had a Disruptor?! Who authorised Venn to have that for this assessment?!" another Major burst out, his arms flailing in disbelief.

His neighbour, erupting into raucous laughter, shot back, "That's on you, Zosten. Should've done your homework on the assessment participants. Venn's reputation for unpredictable brilliance isn't exactly a faction secret. You lost the bet, no squirming your way out of it now!"

Ukuar recognized the laughing Major—Landon Blackwood.

Their paths had crossed during an earlier campaign in the Seraph cluster. Though they hadn't been particularly close, Ukuar had made it a point to memorise the key players in any strategic setting. Understanding the dynamics among the command staff was vital, after all.

"Yeah, yeah. Let me have my moment, Landon. Your 50k is safe, don't worry," Zosten retorted as he settled back into his seat with a heavy sigh.

Turning to face the Colonels seated further behind him, Zosten spoke directly at one of them, "Say, Thalia: Would you consider transferring Private Viladia and Private Morin to my command? I'm willing to offer 1.2 million for Viladia and 700k for Morin. As a bonus, you'll get first dibs of 12 recruits from the next drive—9 for Viladia and 3 for Morin. What do you say?"

Major Ukuar observed the exchange between Zosten and Colonel Thalia Magale, two contrasting personalities highlighted by their respective appearances.

Thalia was a portrait of dignified grace, a woman whose good looks were not her defining feature but a mere footnote to her impeccably polished demeanour. Every strand of her platinum-blonde hair seemed to be in perfect alignment, her uniform flawless and crisp, almost as if she had just stepped out of a recruitment poster for the Federation.

Zosten, on the other hand, was more rugged in appearance. While not exactly dishevelled or unattractive, his demeanour lacked the refinement and meticulousness that set Thalia apart. His uniform looked worn, as if it had seen more live action than parades, making him seem less put-together in comparison.

Thalia's eyes met Zosten's, a calculated pause filling the air as she considered his offer. Finally, she spoke, her voice laden with the same poise she exuded.

"I appreciate the offer, Major Zosten, but I have to decline. Both Private Viladia and Private Morin have demonstrated exceptional potential for future development. Additionally, they are integral components of Staff-Sergeant Venn's special unit. Removing them would diminish his effectiveness as well, which would be a considerable loss for me."

Zosten sighed, acknowledging his defeat with a wave of his hand. "Fair enough, Colonel. Can't blame a guy for trying."

Just as he started to pivot away, Thalia's voice arrested his movement mid-turn. "However, I would be open to discussing a trade involving Private Morin for that recent addition to their squad—the marine Viladia calls 'Patches.' Their synergy is likely to surpass even what I envision for the Morin-Viladia pairing in the long term. If you can facilitate that swap, we could certainly reach an agreement. I'd even be willing to sweeten the deal with additional incentives, if necessary."

Ukuar was taken aback by the sheer ruthlessness and strategic cunning of Colonel Thalia's offer.

By openly discussing a trade for 'Patches'—which he knew was that one particularly troublesome Recruit from his own ship—she had not only thrown her offer into the public arena but had also cleverly feigned ignorance about which ship and legion Thea was affiliated with. Anyone familiar with the assessment profiles, which were available to everyone in the room with the simple push of a button, would instantly see through the ruse, and she knew it.

Thalia was using Zosten's initial public offer as leverage to amplify the value of her own proposition.

If someone from the Sovereign didn't want Morin but was willing to trade Thea, they could acquire him through the proposed trade and then, in turn, trade Morin to Zosten, capitalising on his initially public offer. The chain of potential transactions was set up perfectly, and all under the guise of a simple trade discussion with Zosten.

The Colonel's gambit was designed not just to acquire valuable assets, but also to flush out anyone from the Sovereign who might be interested, thereby revealing their positions for further negotiations. It was a high-stakes play that revealed her resourcefulness and raised the tension in the room considerably.

Ukuar had to admit, he was now incredibly intrigued to see how this complex tableau would unfold. One particular issue presented itself immediately however, as he was one of the only two Majors from the Sovereign present in the room. He had initially arrived in this particular theatre alongside Majors Quinn, Daxton, and Nyra.

But both Quinn and Daxton had been urgently summoned to Captain Cross's office right after the destruction of the Stealth tech generator inside the Azure Forest.

An involuntary shudder passed through Ukuar at the memory of how Captain Cross had demanded their presence. He had overheard the stern tone in the message sent to them, and it was clear that Quinn and Daxton were unlikely to be enjoying themselves at this moment.

Locking eyes with Major Nyra, who sat beside him, Ukuar sensed that she was equally captivated by the intricate dynamics unfolding before them. Both were newcomers to the rank of Major, and thus, this was their inaugural experience with the assessment theatres, a privilege reserved for officers of Major rank and higher.

The spectacle revealed an entirely new layer of intra-faction politics—ones involving the transactional exchange of marines—that they had never been exposed to in their careers. Unlike the more tactical and operational concerns they were used to, this was a realm where entire battalions, divisions, and in the case of Colonel Thalia, even legions of UHF marines were discussed as tradable assets.

Furthermore, this seemed to be the norm among the seasoned commanders in the room.

Far from being shocked by the trading of promising Privates, they observed the negotiations with varying degrees of engagement, as though assessing a familiar holo-command match rather than the fates of individual, hundreds or even several thousands of UHF marines.

Caught in the intricate web woven by Colonel Thalia, Major Zosten found himself cornered. Ignoring a Colonel's counter-offer in such a public setting would be tantamount to social hara-kiri. Besides, it was no secret to anyone present that Thalia likely knew full well that the marine in question, 'Patches,' was not under Zosten's command.

"Regrettably, she's not one of mine, Colonel," Zosten answered, emphasising Thalia's rank as if to express a sliver of his displeasure.

"Unfortunate," Thalia responded. Her tone caught Ukuar off guard, and a quick glance around confirmed he wasn't the only one. She had infused the word with a sense of genuine disappointment so palpable it felt as if her very soul had been crushed.

Ukuar had to consciously wrestle with his instincts to keep from blurting out all he knew about the marine in question—Thea. He had to forcibly remind himself that Thalia had likely known this all along and it was all part of her plan to garner more intel on the only marine who didn’t have a profile from before the assessment.

Still, despite his best efforts, he felt an almost gravitational pull toward spilling what he knew to the Colonel.

'By the Emperor's light, this woman is dangerous,' was the singular thought that thundered through Ukuar's mind, just as he finished fighting to regain his composure. A single word, delivered with easily the deepest well of disappointment and sadness he had ever encountered in spoken language, had nearly toppled his defences in an instant.

“Well, if that ever changes, the deal’s open until further notice. Do keep me apprised if you happen to acquire her, Zosten,” Thalia added, clearly ending the conversation with another bombshell.

‘With just a couple sentences she’s made sure that everyone is aware of her interest in Thea, as well as put out multiple offers—her own and Zosten’s—for any potential interested parties. Making it an open deal on top of that, means she’s fully committed to getting her hands on Thea… I should inform Quinn and Daxton about this. They’ll surely want to know.’

Ukuar's eyes locked with Nyra's, both Majors evidently sharing the same unsettling realisation. Just as Ukuar prepared to send an urgent message to his senior majors, his senses were suddenly overwhelmed by a heady floral aroma that induced a momentary dizziness.

"Excuse me, my dear Majors. Would you happen to know anything about the marine in question? After all, you do hail from the same ship," Thalia's mellifluous voice seemed to materialise out of nowhere, striking Ukuar and Nyra like a bolt. To their surprise, the Colonel had silently manoeuvred behind them, positioning her head between theirs to initiate conversation.

Caught off guard, Ukuar found himself gazing into Thalia's piercing red eyes—seemingly so close they nearly touched his own.

A cocktail of dread and fascination flooded his senses.

His pressing need to alert Majors Quinn and Daxton splintered into a million pieces, as if shattered by a hammer of unnatural strength, his entire focus irresistibly drawn to the complex, otherworldly allure of Thalia's eyes.

They were an impossibly vivid shade of crimson, a red so intense it verged on the surreal.

But it was their crystalline structure that truly captivated him—a maze of interlocking facets, like a naturally formed ruby given life and awareness. Each individual plane seemed to catch and reflect some different aspect of his soul, leading him deeper and deeper into a hypnotic labyrinth from which he had no desire to escape.

It was as if he were being pulled toward an infinite, fathomless chasm, a compelling abyss that existed deep within those spellbinding eyes…

- POV: Karania -

Cutting into the mangled piece of flesh, that had once been the functional shoulder of the marine before her, Karania deftly snagged the last piece of shrapnel with her bone tweezers, before quickly, but precisely and carefully, pulling it out of the wound.

With the characteristic sound of bones cracking and breaking, her left hand transformed into the stapling tool that had become one of her main uses for [Surgeon’s Toolkit]. With quick and efficient movements, Karania squeezed the mangled flesh together and used the staples, made of her own fingernails, to suture the wound together.

Finally, she ripped off a long slice of flesh from her own hand’s back, before applying it on top of the sutures and activating her Ability.

‘Coagulate.’

Immediately, the fresh blood solidified, anchoring her skin graft to the marine's shoulder and ensuring the sutures would withstand any intense activity.

Rising to her feet, Karania addressed the marine she had just treated. "You're cleared for action, Private," she said with measured calm. "You've been given a dose of Pontiax P-13 and another of Soris S-04. Expect around four hours of efficacy from each before they wear off. Make good use of that time. Your medical records will be updated with a detailed account within the next thirty to sixty minutes."

As Karania finished speaking, her gaze shifted from the marine before her, finally registering her surroundings.

The din of explosions, lasers, and gunfire tore through the air like a malevolent orchestra, an ear-shattering cacophony that she had previously tuned out with almost supernatural focus while attending to her patient. Shrapnel and debris raced past her head, dinging off of her helmet and visor, as she looked around for the next patient that needed her expertise.

The marine she had just treated cautiously rose to her feet, gripping her weapon.

"Thank you, Medic," she said, her voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Her eyes flickered momentarily to Karania's medical implements—crafted eerily from the bones of Karania’s own hands—and lingered on the rapidly regenerating patch of skin.

Shaking off her astonishment, the marine turned and dashed back into the fray, rifle at the ready, as if propelled by the newfound life Karania had literally stitched back into her.

With a final nod to the departing marine, Karania turned her attention to the teeming backline of the battlefield. Beyond her immediate area, the Azure Forest had become a nightmarish tableau of violence and valour. Arcs of laser fire cut through the air, intersected by the rumbling booms of distant explosions. Plumes of dirt and foliage erupted skyward, mingling with the acrid smell of burnt wood and the metallic tang of blood.

Amidst this uncontrolled chaos, the backline that Karania found herself in resembled a makeshift MASH unit under siege.

Dozens of medics rushed to and fro, their faces set in grim determination as they darted from patient to patient. They triaged wounds, administered emergency treatments, and shouted for medical supplies, striving to pull as many marines back from death's door as possible—or at least get them back into the fight. The urgency was palpable, every medic knowing that seconds could mean the difference between life and death.

With a quick thought, Karania activated her Ability.

‘Eyes Of A Medic.’

With the help of the System Ability, coupled with her own training and experience, Karania quickly scanned the scene for her next priority patient.

A few dozen metres away, Karania's eyes locked onto a marine hunched over, clutching his abdomen tightly, her System Ability displaying a critically low level of Health remaining, but one that she figured was sufficient enough for her to intervene.

His face was a mask of acute suffering as he writhed on the ground, leaving no doubt that his injuries were severe. As she rapidly closed the distance between them, her mind shifted into overdrive, clinically dissecting the visible symptoms from afar.

‘The way he's holding his abdomen suggests internal trauma,’ she mused internally. ‘His pallor and expression indicate severe pain—more than just a surface-level injury or punch-through. Likely internal bleeding—potential shrapnel inside. The tautness of the abdominal muscles could signal a ruptured organ, possibly the spleen or a kidney. Prepping for haemorrhage control and potential organ repair…’

Her mind raced through possible scenarios, weighing probabilities and pre-empting complications, all within the span of mere fractions of a second. With each stride she took towards the injured marine, her hands instinctively reshaped themselves. Bones splintered and reformed, assembling into a set of highly specialised tools—scalpels, clamps, and sutures—each crafted for the precise medical procedures that awaited her.

By the time she arrived at the marine's side, Karania's [Surgeon's Toolkit] was fully deployed, every instrument attuned to the challenge at hand. Another split-second assessment confirmed her initial diagnoses. She was ready to operate, her hands poised to mend the broken and bring yet another marine back from the brink…

Many gruelling hours and numerous lives saved later, Karania found herself enveloped in the sanctity of a sterile operating room. With the deftness of a seasoned surgeon and the keen instincts of a battle medic, she navigated the complex labyrinth of the marine's internal anatomy.

A high-velocity bullet had breached the marine's medium-type armour, bringing a storm of fragmented shrapnel into the soft tissue and organs within. Already, she had meticulously extracted over two dozen shards of the bullet and shattered armour plating, each piece posing its own set of complications and hazards.

With surgical precision, she had repaired three damaged internal organs—a lacerated kidney, a punctured spleen, and a perforated intestine. To accelerate the healing process, she administered highly potent regenerative stimulants directly into the affected tissues, ensuring that they would regenerate at an optimal pace once she completed the shard extractions.

Taken from NovelFire, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Now, her focus was honed in on the precarious area surrounding the marine's heart, where the highest concentration of shrapnel had lodged. Her instruments—crafted from her own skeletal structure—quivered with an almost sentient readiness, as if eager to dive into the delicate work ahead.

Yet fortune had been kind to this marine; despite the proximity of these fragments to the cardiac muscle and its surrounding vascular network, none had inflicted severe or irreparable damage to the heart or major arteries. Otherwise, Karania knew she would be dealing with an entirely different—and far more dire—scenario.

Satisfied with her assessment, Karania's bone-formed clamps and tweezers danced with clinical efficiency, moving with an expertise that verged on artistry. Each shard was gingerly isolated, grasped, and removed, as if she were disarming microscopic landmines implanted in the very flesh of the man before her. With every successfully extracted fragment, she felt another step closer to victory; another instance in which she had bested her eternal nemesis.

It was the fifth gruelling day of the planetary assault on Nova Serene, marking Alpha Squad's fifth day of assessment as well. The campaign had kicked off disastrously, marked by lethal ambushes and shocking revelations about the technological capabilities of the Stellar Republic. Stung by the events of the first day, the UHF had shifted gears, advancing on Nova Tertius with a swiftness and ferocity that defied their usually calculated approach.

The command's fervour seemed stoked by a blend of urgency and humiliation.

The early ambushes had not only resulted in a grim toll of lives but also massively ate into the precious time of the first 24-48 hours, effectively bogging down the troops around their own headquarters. This had spurred the high command into what could only be described as a tactical frenzy.

Karania and the rest of Sovereign Alpha remained attached to the 32nd, still under the steely and skilled command of Staff-Sergeant Venn. Their forward push had swelled dramatically in manpower.

On the first day alone, reinforcements from the 27th and 28th had joined them—companies Karania had found herself fighting alongside after respawning from her untimely death in the second ambush. The arrival of the 13th and 16th companies to reinforce the push into the Azure Forest had followed mere hours later.

Fast-forward to the present, and Staff-Sergeant Venn found himself commanding seven full companies. He deployed them with a tactical acumen that bordered on brutal negligence in Karania’s eyes. That said, she could not deny the efficiency of his approach.

The pace of their advance and subsequently, the pace of the injuries sustained, had been so relentless that the medics, including Karania, had been relying on a volatile cocktail of hope, sheer will, and an alarming array of stimulants to keep up with the vast number of marines requiring their attention to continue to be fit for combat.

Over the course of these intense five days, Karania had been utterly immersed in the biological carnage of warfare. Her hands had delved into the innards of her comrades for more than a hundred hours, pulling more than four dozen marines back from the precipice of death.

She had spent less than three hours with the rest of Sovereign Alpha since her return, devoting nearly all her time to either battlefield triage or more complex surgical procedures in the makeshift field hospitals.

At this very moment, Karania was deeply engrossed in yet another critical surgery, her skilled hands working tirelessly to tip the scales in favour of life over death. Surrounding her were half a dozen other makeshift operating rooms, each one buzzing with ceaseless activity and staffed by a motley crew of surgeons, general physicians, and field medics.

The ideal scenario—a seasoned battlefield surgeon in every room—was an unattainable luxury given their staffing constraints. They made do with the expertise they had on hand.

Despite the gruelling workload, a constant but subtle smile graced Karania's face.

This chaotic, relentless fight against mortality was precisely the challenge she had envisioned when she'd enlisted for the UHF’s cube trial years ago. Here she was, in the thick of it, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with other healthcare professionals in an ongoing battle against her timeless adversary—Death itself.

No breaks, no distractions; it was just her, her unparalleled medical skills, and the life laid out before her on the operating table.

Ironically, her demanding schedule had left her with no time to even collect the Merit, Credits, or CP she'd earned from her relentless toil. For five days straight, she had not experienced a single uninterrupted stretch lasting more than two hours.

Her scant and unpredictable breaks were typically devoted to checking on one specific patient—a life so important, that she had been closely monitoring it throughout this hellish five-day marathon, despite her utter exhaustion.

As her hands performed intricate manoeuvres within the marine's thoracic cavity, Karania expertly sectioned off a portion of a vital artery with surgical clamps.

With extreme care, she incised through the isolated stretch, creating an opening that granted her better access to the elusive shard of shrapnel lodged deeper within. Her hands were a textbook-like representation of focused precision, each movement calculated to minimise risk while maximising efficacy.

It was at this exact moment, amidst the life-or-death minutiae of the procedure, that a fragment of overheard conversation snatched her attention.

With her remarkable gift for unswerving focus, Karania could operate under the most dire circumstances—be it the sky collapsing overhead, bullets zipping perilously close, or even suffering grievous wounds herself. Nothing could deter her from her mission if it meant pulling another life out of the maw of her nemesis.

However, the words that now invaded her consciousness were of a different calibre altogether, and against them, even her remarkable concentration buckled, regardless of how often she tried to ignore them.

"... honestly think they'd be better off dead."

At the utterance of that phrase, Karania felt something inside her snap—a searing bolt of emotion that threatened to derail her impeccable focus. It took every fibre of her being not to yank her hands out of the open cavity in the marine's thorax and charge at the source of those words.

"Get out," she growled, her voice slicing through the thin sheets that partitioned her operating room from the other bustling sections of the field hospital.

The individual responsible for the comment seemed visibly taken aback by the sudden, almost feral command. "I mean no offence; you're all doing your best, but some of them truly would be better off—"

"OUT!" she interrupted, her voice amplified by a level of anger she rarely showed, but laced with an air of finality that brooked no argument.

"Out? Do you even know who I—" the individual began, incredulous and indignant.

"Don't care. Didn't ask. Out, now!" Karania's voice was ice-cold, seething with a tightly controlled rage, but it left no room for debate. It was a tone that ended conversations and terminated any notions of protest.

Regardless of the speaker's identity, Karania's stance was unyielding. In her operating room within the field hospital, her authority was absolute.

Even if the offending words had been spoken by the Emperor himself, her response would have remained the same. In the sanctum of her operating theatre, her command was the law, and her focus on saving lives was paramount.

For a taut moment, an indignant silence enveloped the room, as the individual weighed their inflated sense of pride against the inevitable court-martial that would result from defying Karania's authority as a medic in this instance. Ultimately, reason—or perhaps the fear of repercussions—prevailed, and the person, along with their entourage, promptly exited the field hospital.

As she contended with a torrent of blinding rage, Karania found it increasingly difficult to keep her hands steady, a crucial requirement for the surgical task at hand. 'The audacity to suggest someone is "better off dead,"' she fumed inwardly.

'Life is the ultimate gift—a complex combination of unending change and endless potential! Regardless of one's pain, suffering, or circumstances, the mere fact of being alive means that change is within reach. If anybody was “better off dead” it would be you, you utter waste of air…!'

Recognizing her emotional surge was compromising her professional competence, Karania took a mental step back, entering her internal sanctuary with a mere thought.

Instantly, a sense of tranquil calm washed over her as she found herself in the limitless expanse of her meticulously organised mental library.

"These emotions serve no purpose right now—perhaps they never will," she muttered, as she opened a new memory vault. Methodically, she compartmentalised the preceding minute of emotional turbulence, sealing it away behind the towering door of the vault, which she closed with a resonant clang.

Emerging back into the real world, her hands regained their natural steadiness as if guided by an invisible force. The turbulent emotions of the prior exchange were now securely locked away in the depths of her mental archives.

With her composure fully restored, Karania returned to her work, the laser-like focus that defined her professionalism rekindled.

After successfully completing four more surgeries that saved the lives of her fellow marines, Karania received permission to step away for a much-needed respite. As had become her ritual over the recent days, she directed her steps toward the Intensive Care Unit to visit her most pressing concern—Thea.

'Can't decide if I'm relieved you're unconscious or not... Part of me thinks you've earned a serious thrashing, but damn it, I miss your presence, Thea,' she mused internally, navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the makeshift encampment en route to the ICU.

Along the way, she accessed Thea's medical records on her data-pad.

Her friend had been in critical care since undergoing surgery to repair her skin structure, along with multiple administrations of Cordis Z-32—a neuro-regenerative agent crucial for reseating her damaged nerve endings. These procedures were necessary due to the severe Focus Overdraw Thea had experienced during the second ambush they faced on Nova Serene.

As Karania scrolled through the medical data on her pad, her eyes narrowed in puzzlement and concern. The readings were a paradox; Thea's vital signs were stable, just like that had been for the past few days—heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation levels all within the optimal ranges.

Her GCS was an unsettling contradiction; perfect health on paper, yet unresponsive in reality. Her electroencephalogram showed normal brain wave activity, and her MRI scans displayed no signs of physical trauma to the brain. All blood work—including CBC, metabolic panel, and even the more specific biomarkers like C-reactive protein and procalcitonin—were unremarkable.

'Why the fuck are you still unconscious, Thea? You're not presenting any hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy, there's no indication of metabolic disarray like hyperammonemia, and your intracranial pressure is perfect,' Karania found herself thinking, almost as if willing the medical data to offer some clue. 'It's as though you're just asleep, simply to spite me and my efforts; it's driving me mad!'

If it weren't for Staff-Sergeant Venn's direct orders, Thea would have been transported back to headquarters along with other ICU patients requiring more specialised care.

The mobile field hospital, advancing each day in tandem with the combat companies toward Nova Teritus, was not an environment conducive for the long-term care of a coma patient.

The risks were enormous; from the potential for nosocomial infections to the inadequacy of continuous neurological monitoring, everything was a compromise.

Still, Thea remained— physiologically stable but neurologically elusive, a perplexing medical puzzle that even baffled the seasoned medics and surgeons within the company’s entire medical corps, who were now at Karania's disposal, as long as they weren’t otherwise preoccupied, which was often the case.

Two specific issues tormented Karania regarding Thea's prolonged unconsciousness.

Firstly, a specific request that had surprised her when it had originally come in. She briefly commanded the System to open her [Mission] interface and selected the only available one.