Consciousness seeped back slowly, as if navigating through a dense fog. The pungent smell of chlorine and medication assaulted my nostrils, yanking me from the soft oblivion. White ceiling, blurred light… hospital. Again.
I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in the back of my head slammed me back onto the pillow.
"Looks like the brick found its target," the thought flickered through my mind.
The door creaked open, and a young nurse bustled in. Her vibrant red hair, gathered in a careless ponytail, was sprinkled with freckles, like someone had splashed coffee on her face. Her slender figure, draped in a white coat, betrayed her youth, almost a teenager. Seeing me awake, her green eyes sparked with relief, and a subtle smile touched her lips, quickly replaced by a stern expression. With a flick of her red braid, she spun around and vanished, returning moments later with a doctor.
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Unlike her young assistant, the doctor looked like a cruiser cutting through the waves of hospital chaos. She was a stout, tall woman in her fifties, with a straight posture and a stern gaze from steel-gray eyes that pierced right through you. Gray hair, neatly tucked under a white cap, did not hide her resolute chin and thin lips, which were now tightly pressed together. Her white coat was impeccably clean, and a badge with her name and title hung on her chest: "Olena Petrivna Kovalchuk, Head of Traumatology Department." The woman radiated an aura of confidence and professionalism, and her mere presence eased my pain and nervous tension.
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"Remarkable resilience, Mr. Alex," she said with a faint smile. "You seem to be a regular at our establishment. Tenth time, if I'm not mistaken? Congratulations on the anniversary!"
"Thank you," I croaked. "What… what happened this time?"
"Amnesia?" the doctor raised an eyebrow. "Well, for now, the official version is this: you beat up three men who are currently residing in the next ward, and then fell and hit your head on a brick."
"Beat up?" I was surprised. "But…"
"Yes, yes," the doctor interrupted, "At least that's what the 'victims' claim. By the way, a policeman is waiting for you regarding this matter. He's been sitting in the hallway for quite some time. I suggested he return tomorrow when you're more lucid, but he's young, impatient. Oh yes, how do you feel? Headache?"
Without waiting for a response, she grasped my chin with her cool, strong hand, turned my head towards the light, and shone a flashlight into my eyes.
"Astonishing," she muttered, "Another person in your place would be singing with the angels, but you only have a mild concussion. It seems you have armor plates instead of bones. Do you know what our nurses call you?"
"Who knows," I smiled.
"Wolverine," the doctor laughed, "I even had to watch the movie to understand what they meant. So, appreciate it! Should I call the policeman, or give you some more time to rest?"
"Call him," I sighed, "It's better to deal with these things immediately."
Olena Petrivna nodded and left the room. I closed my eyes, trying to recall the events that led me to this hospital bed. Three figures in a dark alley, an attempted robbery… a fight… And then – a blow, darkness.
"Well, the Living circulating in my body will handle the concussion. It also saved me from a fractured skull. Only in movies do heroes get hit on the head with a brick and get up unharmed. Who threw the brick? And why? Was it an accident, or did someone decide to get rid of me?" Questions swarmed in my head, refusing to let me rest.
The door opened again, and a policeman entered the room. Young, about twenty-five, with red hair, like it had been bleached by the sun, and freckles that made him look like the nurse's older brother. He wore a slightly crumpled uniform and a cap, which he didn't remove upon entering the room. He scrutinized me from under his brow, trying to appear stern and experienced. His eyes were pale blue, almost transparent, and seemed cold and indifferent.
"So, suspect, tell me why you beat three victims half to death!" he declared in a voice that didn't quite match his youthful face.
"Well, first of all, good afternoon, dear officer. That's one. Two – you should take off your cap, it suits you, of course, but this is a closed space – it's impolite. And three – since when is a mild concussion, even without severe fractures, considered a state of near-death?"
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"Ha, you're a smart one, aren't you? You should know that one of them has a broken jaw, and another has a bruised chest!" the officer hissed rather than spoke, but he did remove his cap.
"Well, and I have a concussion. And I think there's a fracture too," I winced, feigning pain and suffering. Oh, such wasted acting talent.
"And if there isn't, I'll kindly ask you to find one, although I'll have to conduct a couple of extra charity acupuncture sessions in the local children's ward, but I'll be happy to. I've had to help treat young teenagers before. Olena Petrivna is a wonderful organizer, with a strong business acumen! She tested the effectiveness of my methods on herself and started involving me in the most difficult and neglected cases." But for obvious reasons, I decided not to share these thoughts with this red-haired officer.
"What's a bloody knife doing in your belongings, comrade victim?" the policeman asked, emphasizing the word "victim," taking a different approach. "Are you a cultist?"
"Well, you yourself said it was a knife, not a dagger," I smiled, "I even have a document stating that this beautiful piece of iron and silver is not a cold weapon. And the blood – well, it's either mine or pig's. I like fresh blood sausage for dinner, you know. And no, I'm not a cultist and I don't worship any dark gods or demons."
"By the way, I do have a conclusion from a specialist friend, I'm tired of explaining to every patrol that my ritual knife doesn't fall under the legislation on cold weapons. And there's no human blood on it, except my own, and there can't be."
"If it were a cold weapon, we'd be having a different conversation. And about the blood – the experts will figure out whose it is. We have a witness who saw you attack these three people, what do you have to say about that?" the policeman declared, his nose held high.
"I'll say you can immediately reclassify your witness as a suspect. Someone hit me on the head with a brick. Do you really believe I did it myself?" my voice grew weaker with each word, "and anyway, leave my room, captain, I'm tired. I'll write a statement about the assault on these four with the intent to rob and kill tomorrow."
"Hmph," the captain grunted, but he left the room.
The boy was gone, but I knew it wasn't the end. The case definitely smelled fishy. Who was this witness? And why did the thugs decide to attack me in that particular alley? Coincidence? Maybe.
I had no time to relax before the door opened again. This time, the nurse entered with a tray containing syringes and ampoules. She approached me, her rosy cheeks once again adorned with a stern grimace, as if she were about to do something very unpleasant, not save a life.
"This is a painkiller and anti-inflammatory," she mumbled, drawing the medicine into a syringe, "it might sting a little."
The beauty treated the injection site with alcohol, and I felt the cool touch of her fingers. The injection was almost painless, but I still winced.
"Don't be afraid, I don't bite," she muttered, preparing the next syringe, "although maybe I should."
"And if I ask you to?" I smiled, hoping to melt the ice in her eyes.
She held my gaze for a moment, then, without answering, continued her work.
"There you go," the nurse said, finishing with the injections, "if you need anything, press the call button."
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The nurse left my room, and I was left alone with my thoughts and a pleasant feeling of warmth spreading through my body, not only from the medication but also from the red-haired beauty's smile.
Tomorrow will be a difficult day. I need to sort things out with the police, learn more about the witness, and understand who's behind this attack. And also... I have classes at the university. Damn it. I'll have to borrow someone's notes and copy them again.
Turning my head towards the window, I saw that the sun was already setting, painting the sky in crimson hues. Another day had passed. Another day that I almost ended in the next world.
Closing my eyes, I tried to sleep. But thoughts of the attack, the witness, the possible threat wouldn't let me rest.
After tossing and turning and still unable to fall asleep, I decided to meditate for a bit. Sitting on the couch and tucking my legs under me, I entered a meditative trance. No, I could meditate lying down, after all, my experience allows me to enter a light trance even during a fight, but the lotus position is familiar to me and acts like a sedative.
First, I need to examine the injury more closely. A brick to the head is no joke. There are a couple of cracks in my wristbone. I won't even have to deceive anyone. But my brain, thank God, is intact. Okay, I won't heal the bones yet. I'll wait until I'm discharged, otherwise, I'll really be like Wolverine, God forbid they take me for experiments. Of course, they won't find anything exceptional, but the hassle...
My heavy thoughts were interrupted by a surge of energy. For Babylon, such a phenomenon would be common. So what, some deity was born, that even happened three times in my memory, but here, in a world without magical energy... This really caught my attention. And the pressure of mana was growing stronger and stronger with every second. It was as if all the mana of the world, which had disappeared from this dimension, suddenly returned. And it was frightening.
My weak mana channels, which I had been developing since birth, were literally bursting at the seams from the strain. If I hadn't been in meditation, I would have already received severe injuries to the magical shell of my soul. But this way, with more than 50 years of experience working with this energy, I managed to somehow balance on the very edge of the abyss. All the reserves of the Living that I had accumulated in my body over the years, I used to strengthen the mana channels, and the mana that flowed to me in an unrestrained stream, I transformed into prana. But even so, deep cracks were growing on the channels. This body didn't have a mana core, and thank God, otherwise it would have burst like an overripe apple.
Gradually, the mad flow of magical energy began to subside, and I, coming out of meditation, opened my eyes. There was only one question in my head. What was that?
But the sound of a loud air raid siren on the street prevented me from thinking about the situation, this rarely happens here. Again, some kind of training? And then there was an explosion that shook the walls of the hospital, and then another and another. And again, darkness.