Alena, her hands trembling with concern, rushed to Michael's side. His pallor was ghostly, and his suit jacket was stained with his own blood. With a weak gesture, he directed her to Lucian, prioritizing his comrade's welfare.
She turned her gaze towards Adam's lifeless form, the gruesome scene threatening to overwhelm her. Summoning every ounce of strength, she pushed through her revulsion and hurried to Lucian's side.
Carefully assessing Lucian's wounds, she identified the most critical one—his back. Gently repositioning him, she began the arduous task of healing. Although the blade hadn't struck any vital areas, the process was still taxing on Alena.
After two painstaking minutes, Michael succumbed to unconsciousness, collapsing to the ground with an audible thud. Alena's attention darted between the fallen men, her heart pounding with urgency.
"What do I do, what do I do?" she fretted, torn between her two wounded comrades.
