Another Night, Another Life Saved

In the dimly lit medical wing of the war outpost, Azazel sat down, reminiscing about how he first decided he’d volunteer his expertise against the war. His hands moved over a tray of surgical instruments, inspecting each one with the care of someone who knew the weight of every decision, every incision. He could hear the distant sounds of battle, the war against the voidlings still raging outside, but here, in this sterile chamber, it was his battlefield.

The door swung open abruptly, and two Stelciars rushed in, carrying a Phosray on a stretcher between them. Its leg was bent at an unnatural angle, the wound still oozing from the deep gash torn by a void creature's claws.

"Azazel! We need you, now!" one of the Stelciars barked urgently.

Without hesitation, Azazel nodded, gesturing to the table. "Place them down gently," he instructed, his voice calm and steady. The Stelciars laid the Phosray down, their eyes flicking to Azazel with unspoken trust. They had brought many to him before, and Azazel had saved countless lives.

The Phosray, gasping in pain, tried to lift its head, eyes wide with fear. "My leg… will I be able to walk again?"

Azazel knelt beside the table, his eyes meeting the Phosray’s. "You’re in safe hands. I’m going to do everything I can. Just stay with me."

He quickly assessed the damage. The bones in the leg were shattered, and the flesh had been torn quite a bit.

Azazel stood and barked orders to his assistants, who sprang into action. One prepared the anesthesia, another sterilized the tools, while a third mixed a salve to neutralize any void corruption still lingering in the wound.

He scrubbed his hands clean and donned his gloves, moving to the operating table. "Begin the anesthesia," Azazel said. "We need to stabilize before anything else."

As the Phosray’s breathing steadied, Azazel worked quickly. First, he cleaned the wound, cutting away any void-tainted flesh. His hands moved very precisely, extracting splinters of bone with his surgical instruments. The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the Phosray’s vitals, a steady reminder that time was against them.

"The damage is extensive," Azazel muttered under his breath, "but manageable."

He turned to one of the assistants. "I need the bone replacements. We're going to rebuild the leg from the inside out."

The assistant handed over the perfect size of fake bone, and Azazel began the painstaking process of reconstructing the shattered leg. He inserted the new bone pieces into the leg, using biodegradable screws to help them stay together as they’d fuse over time. His skills were unmatched, and despite the severity of the injury, his movements never wavered.

Hours passed as Azazel worked, every second crucial. At one point, the Phosray’s vitals dipped dangerously low, but Azazel, calm as ever, administered a quick injection, stabilizing them once more.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last of the incisions was stitched closed, and the leg, though now reinforced with new fake bones, was whole again. Azazel exhaled slowly, wiping his brow as he stepped back from the table.

"The surgery was a success," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "The Phosray will need time to recover, but they will walk again."

The Stelciars, who had remained silently watching from the corner, let out a collective breath of relief. "Thank you, Azazel," one of them said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Azazel gave a tired but kind smile. "This is just the beginning. There are more out there who need our help."

As the Phosray was wheeled to recovery, Azazel looked out toward the battlefield. He could see the shadows of voidlings in the distance, and he knew there would be more injured to come. But for now, he had saved one more life, and that was enough to keep him going.