Liam's consciousness slowly stirred, an almost eerie calm spreading through him as the world came into focus. His body was still broken, his wounds were vast, but they didn't feel as they should. He wasn't drowning in pain like before—no, his mind was sharp, his senses clearer than they had been in the chaos of the fight. The blood on his chest was still warm, the wound made by the bone-like projection was still there, but… his heart was still beating.
His gaze wandered to the blood-red sky above, the rain still falling in sheets. It was as if the world itself had frozen in time, trapped in the aftermath of battle, everything suspended in the false weight of this simulation.
His fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for the wound on his chest. He touched the slick blood, feeling its texture against his fingertips. Without thinking, he brought his fingers to his lips and tasted it.
The metallic tang was too familiar. His stomach churned.
"This isn't even mine."
