Pain gnawed deeper into Northern's chest, relentless and unforgiving. His fingers clenched around his uniform, knuckles turning white. The agony wasn't just burning—it was stagnant, festering, as though an infernal force coiled around his ribs, searing through his flesh.
He coughed. Again. And again. But nothing came out. No blood. No bile. Just the hollow, rasping sound of his breath scraping against his throat. Yet, his complexion paled—his skin draining of warmth, his body following suit.
Northern cast a glance down at himself. A minute had passed since the pain began, but each fleeting second left him more pallid, his veins turning to husks.
His blood was drying up.
His expression darkened. He understood immediately. His awareness of his body was unparalleled—so finely attuned that even the subtlest changes within him did not go unnoticed.
And something was happening.
