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墨書 Inktalez
In the chaotic ambulance, the ticking of medical equipment and the radio interference intertwined into a melody of life and death. The eyes of the paramedics were filled with urgency, knowing that every second was crucial. One paramedic tightly held a flashlight, its beam piercing through the darkness and fog, directly into Rayal's pupils. They needed him to be conscious, to have his pupils react to light; this was a critical moment to assess his neurological response.
Under the stimulation of the flashlight, Rayal struggled to keep his consciousness clear. He felt an irresistible drowsiness sweeping over him, but the instinct for life made him resist. His lips moved slightly, trying to tell the paramedics that he was still fighting, but his vocal cords couldn't produce sound, like a withered plant unable to immediately regain vitality.
The weak movement seemed to have drained Rayal of what little energy he had left, and his consciousness began to blur once again. The light, the sound, the pain in front of him all started to fade away. His world slowly became quiet, and all sensations seemed to be surrounded by gentle darkness. Rayal's eyes lost their luster, his body relaxed, and he once again sank into the unconscious abyss. The paramedics, seeing this, felt a sinking feeling in their hearts, but they did not give up. They continued their emergency measures, hoping to pull this faltering life back to reality once again.
When Rayal struggled to awaken from the dark abyss in pain once again, everything was as clear and vivid as a relief sculpture. The dazzling surgical light was like a glaring sun, and even with his eyes closed, he could feel the intense heat. He forced his eyes open, and his pupils contracted in pain, just to catch a glimpse of the truth of this world.
But what this truth brought was a deep shock to the soul. His gaze seemed to be pulled far away, as if his soul had left his body, far enough to overlook the figure lying on the operating table. His consciousness seemed to float in an invisible bubble, slowly lifted by an invisible force, away from the suffering of the mortal flesh. The blazing surgical light shone through his eyelids, casting a dazzling white light, like an angel's halo, surrounding his soul. Rayal struggled to open his eyes, just to explore the abyss of this cruel reality.
What he saw was a scene of bloody battle. Inside the operating room, doctors and nurses moved swiftly and precisely, each step a challenge to defy the grim reaper. The mechanical sounds, the beeping of the heart monitor, and the nurses' somber statistical reports wove together into a desperate movement of the symphony of life.
The head nurse's voice once again pierced Rayal's eardrums as she reported a chilling string of numbers: "Multiple fractures throughout the body, over eighty percent, open fracture in the left leg, dislocated right arm joint, and significant blood loss... Increased cardiac pressure, dilated pupils, declining liver and kidney function, requiring immediate multiple surgeries to stabilize the condition." Her tone was so calm that it was almost ruthless, but it was the only professionalism that could be maintained in this near-death state.
On that operating table, Rayal's fragile body was undergoing an epic challenge. His arms, legs, and ribs looked like branches after a storm, shattered and broken. The doctors had to reassemble and fix his bones like puzzle masters, and then maintain the faint spark of his life with various tubes and devices.
Rayal tried to command his body to move, but he could only feel a faint stirring deep in his soul, like throwing a stone into a lake and only causing a few feeble ripples. His consciousness was forcibly pulled back to his almost unresponsive body, where he saw hands delivering shocks to his chest, each accompanied by a deep electric crackle, a call to resist the grim reaper, each tremor telling him that life had not yet given up on him.
Rayal's heartbeat leapt on the monitor like a war drum, and the doctor's face showed a professional anxiety. The cold, stern voice sounded again, not just a command, but a cry against fate: "Increase the voltage! Prepare for the third shock!" His fingers swiftly danced over the complex instruments, adjusting the energy about to be released. The air in the operating room seemed to freeze, everyone's heartbeat synchronized with the tense atmosphere.
The doctor stared at the screen, confirmed everything was ready, took a deep breath, paused for a moment, and then came the decisive moment: "Clear!" The sound echoed in the empty operating room. Rayal's body was once again struck by an invisible giant wave, shaking violently. The wheels under the operating table squeaked, as if occupying a place in this tug-of-war between flesh and soul. Electricity passed through his body, as if a force was trying to anchor him in this real world.
Rayal struggled on the edge of fainting and consciousness. Every shock was accompanied by painful convulsions, and each pain was deeply imprinted on his soul. He felt his consciousness bound by iron chains, and every flash of electricity blocked his path back to that boundless realm. He wanted to shout, to resist the agony that tore his soul, but his voice disappeared in his throat, like a drop of water in the endless sea.
In this struggle on the brink of life and death, his consciousness once again became elusive. Everything in the operating room began to blur, the figures of the doctors and nurses became distant, and Rayal's mind seemed to be drawn by a mysterious force, falling into an unknown darkness. This time, accompanied by the doctor's deep shout and a flat line on the monitor, the darkness seemed to open like a giant beast, silently swallowing Rayal.
Finally, at that moment, Rayal's consciousness, like a wisp of smoke in a flame, slowly faded away, merging into the endless darkness. He felt as if he had crossed some kind of boundary, entering a silent and quiet space where there was no pain, no burden of life, only profound and absolute silence.
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