The doctor washed their hands in a nearby sink before opening a cabinet and dragging out a string of tools that he then used to carefully pry off the discolored hands and fingers around Rierdan's neck. He didn't even bother trying to save them since it was clear at a glance what had happened.
The doctor could also tell that aside from being a bastard, the man who had attacked Rierdan wasn't in a state where it mattered if he saved a couple of arms. He was already beyond saving. And it wasn't due to being knocked into the wall hard enough to make a dent.
The man's eyes were glazed over, discolored, bleeding, and unfocused. His chest was barely moving, and, the most clear sign of all, the dark red, almost black blood flowed like mud out of his severed arms. There was no pressure from the man's heartbeats, and it was not the blood a healthy person would have.
