The sense of space and time underwent a subtle stretching and compression, as if passing through a warm and elastic film of Water.
The next second, she stood firmly in the center of the underground laboratory of the Malibu Villa.
The thick, hair-raising stench of blood, the burnt smell of flesh and tissue, the acrid odor of overloaded precision circuits, and the cold, viscous "aura of death" unique to life being forcibly stripped away and rapidly fading, rushed at her from all directions like a tangible, filthy tide, attempting to submerge her.
Artoria (Aerith)'s heart contracted sharply at the shocking and tragic scene, and her breathing hitched slightly.
But at this moment, the quality belonging to Aerith Gainsborough flowing in her veins took effect—that was the tenderness and resilience forged deep into her bones after experiencing the destruction of her homeland, witnessing countless sacrifices, and lingering on the edge of life and death herself.
The shock and physiological nausea that had just risen were instantly smoothed away and replaced by a grander, firmer compassion and sense of mission.
I cannot panic. I cannot be afraid. I am his only hope right now, the bridge between life and death.
She stepped forward quickly and knelt on one knee beside Tony without hesitation, not even checking the horrific wound first.
She held the "full metal staff" with both hands and tapped it gently on the cold floor beside her.
The moment the tip of the staff touched the ground, a faint White ripple spread silently, pushing away the nearby bloodstains.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
In an instant, the nauseating stench of blood and burning that permeated the laboratory seemed to be gently diluted, neutralized, and purified by a breath of air that was extremely fresh, carrying the fragrance of earth after rain and the sweet scent of countless blooming wildflowers.
The air remained heavy, but it was no longer suffocating.
"Breeze of healing, anthem of life—"
"Please gather here, surround this body, and protect this flame about to be swallowed by darkness."
"White Magic: 'Cure'! 'Mid-Cure'! 'Recovery'!"
Three consecutive, progressive, and complementary true names of White Magic healing spells were softly chanted in a voice that was clear, devout, and contained an unquestionable will.
There was no flowery chanting, yet every syllable seemed to resonate with some invisible law in the space.
Pure, warm, and containing the most quintessential vitality, light gathered from the halo around her, from the gem at the tip of the "full metal staff," and even invisibly from the void.
Like three warm springs of different natures but the same origin, they ignored the distance of space, precisely and gurglingly flowing into Tony's body, which was already on the verge of collapse and nearly exhausted of life.
The power of "Cure" was the most direct.
It acted like the most precise heart stimulant and pacemaker, forcibly intervening in the heart that had already stopped and the brain activity that was about to dissipate completely.
With soft yet firm life energy, it simulated the most basic heartbeat rhythm and nerve signals, forcibly snatching back the weakest, yet most crucial, spark of life from the cold hands of death.
"Mid-Cure" followed closely, like the most dexterous and invisible weaving needles and repair gel, beginning to quickly and efficiently repair the branches of the aorta, major nerve bundles, and superficial wounds of damaged organs that had been violently torn, and forcibly suppressed the most fatal active internal bleeding with powerful pressure.
The power of "Recovery" was the gentlest, most lasting, and deepest.
Like spring rain moistening the parched earth, it silently permeated every dying cell, nourishing its remaining activity, stimulating its potential regenerative ability, and comprehensively countering the impending chain collapse of systemic multi-organ failure caused by severe hypoxia, blood loss, and shock.
The three magic spells were cast and took effect in almost the blink of an eye.
On Tony's deathly gray face, a trace of extremely faint, almost imperceptible color seemed to return; the horrific, bleeding wound on his chest slowed down rapidly to the point of being almost visible to the naked eye and nearly stopped.
But Artoria "saw" clearly that this was just using powerful life energy to forcibly keep him alive, creating a temporary, fragile balance.
The real, original, and greatest threat still existed—the dozens of tiny shrapnel pieces that had disappeared along with the arc reactor and its binding magnetic field, and were now slowly moving toward fatal vital points like the heart, aorta, and hilum of the lung due to gravity, thoracic pressure differences, and tissue recoil!
They were bombs buried deeper, and they had to be cleared immediately and thoroughly!
She opened her eyes, her emerald eyes as clear as crystal, reflecting the wound on Tony's chest, yet seeming to pierce through flesh and blood, staring directly at the hidden murderous intent.
This time, she did not use area-of-effect healing magic, but instead raised "Aerith"'s sensory perception to the limit of what she could currently control.
The power of the Ancients lay not only in casting powerful White Magic, but more importantly in the deep communication with the Planet's "Lifestream," and in the insight into the most subtle states of life itself.
"Lifestream, please grant me the clear eyes to perceive all things, and the dexterous hands to smooth over the scars."
She lifted her left hand gently, hovering about ten centimeters above the wound, her five fingers naturally spread, palm facing down.
The "full metal staff" held in her right hand seemed to be in sync with her mind; the light of the gem at the tip slightly converged and condensed inward.
A pure White "light thread," condensed to the extreme, as thin as a gossamer, yet exuding astonishing vitality and a sense of order, was slowly drawn out from the gem, formed at the tip of the staff, and stabilized.
This was not an energy beam used for attack, but an extension of healing, a tentacle for separation, a path for guidance.
It was the ultimate embodiment of White Magic applied to the microscopic World within a living body, a superb technique that materialized and precisely manipulated the concept of "healing."
Her consciousness, like the most skilled surgeon holding the most delicate neurosurgical instruments, followed this "light thread" that was closely connected to her spirit, and along the channel opened by the wound, cautiously and steadily probed into Tony's chest.
Under the dual blessing of the "inner vision" that transcended the material level brought by the resonance of the Lifestream and the "microscopic" vision of White Magic, the situation inside Tony's body was presented in her "mind's eye" in an incredibly clear, three-dimensional way, even with dynamic energy flow indicators.
The position, three-dimensional angle, depth of embedding, degree of adhesion to the surrounding pericardium, lung lobes, major blood vessel walls, nerve bundles, and even ribs of every piece of shrapnel, and even the microscopic rust and alloy composition changes on the surface of the shrapnel caused by long-term radiation from the arc reactor and contact with blood and tissue fluids, were all clearly visible, with nowhere to hide.
She "saw" the tip of the most dangerous piece of shrapnel had pierced the pericardium, causing a small amount of bloody fluid to seep into the pericardial cavity; another was stuck at the corner of the second bifurcation of the left pulmonary artery, vibrating dangerously with every weak heartbeat forcibly maintained by magic; and several others were deeply embedded in the lung parenchyma or pressed against the inner surface of the chest wall.
There was no time to marvel at this perception that transcended modern medical imaging technology, nor was there room for hesitation.
The light thread, like a dexterous tentacle with independent life and the highest level of intelligence, and as if it were the most direct extension of her will and perception, gently and precisely wrapped around the first and most dangerous piece of shrapnel near the pericardium.
The power of White Magic demonstrated stunningly exquisite control at this moment—it not only performed the gentlest and most stable physical detachment, carefully avoiding the fragile pericardium and the pulsating myocardium below to avoid causing any secondary damage; it also simultaneously released delicate and gentle nourishing energy, like the top-tier biological adhesive and growth-promoting factors, repairing even the slightest tissue wounds that might be caused by the detachment action, and temporarily strengthening the activity and connection toughness of the surrounding cells, ensuring nothing went wrong.
The detachment process was smooth, precise, and fast.
The successfully separated shrapnel, having lost the tension of the tissue, was gently "wrapped" by the light thread, maintaining stability, and slowly exited the wound along the path it had entered, finally landing with a very slight crisp "ding" sound onto the clean sterile towel that Artoria had long since moved to the side with her mind.
Without the slightest pause, without even wasting a hundredth of a second, the light thread flowed like moving clouds and flowing water, turning to the second piece of shrapnel near the pulmonary artery.
This time, the operation required double the care and precision; it was essential to ensure that the vital vascular intima was not damaged.
The light thread "slid" into the infinitesimal gap between the shrapnel and the vascular adventitia, and then, the power of White Magic demonstrated its characteristics of "harmonizing" and "draining," not by pulling forcibly, but like the most delicate and targeted biological solvent, quietly and non-invasively dissolving the fibrous adhesion tissue formed due to long-term stagnation and inflammatory reactions.
One, two, three...
Artoria's face remained as calm as a deep pool, her breathing steady and long, in stark contrast to the surrounding aura of death.
Only the layer of extremely fine, glistening sweat on her forehead, almost invisible under the cold light of the laboratory, and the absolute focus in the depths of her eyes, as if excluding the whole World, showed what a huge test of concentration and mental energy this microscopic-level, delicate operation requiring the simultaneous maintenance of three different White Magic spells was.
However, unlike the faint sluggishness and the feeling that the vast energy was difficult to control like an arm or finger during the first few times she used high-intensity imprinted characters, at this moment, her control over this power of "Aerith" was becoming rounded, smooth, and in sync with her mind at a clearly perceptible speed.
It was as if this power of White Magic from the "Final Fantasy" World, representing the healing side of the Planet, was not an externally implanted template, but had produced some deep-level resonance and rapid fusion with Artoria's belief in "protection" deep in her soul, and the character she had honed in loneliness and resilience since she transmigrated.
As the power flowed, there was less of the barrier of "acting" and more of the ease of "using."
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