The golden light struck Jagger before the pain could decide where to hurt most.
Warmth poured into him from above, flooding torn muscle, fractured ribs, bruised organs, burned skin, and the exhaustion buried deep within his body. It was not gentle.
It was absolute.
His body arched where he lay sprawled across Marcus's ruined armor. Broken bones shifted beneath his skin, and Jagger sucked in a sharp breath as something cracked inside his chest, followed by another.
One by one, the ribs that had begun to buckle beneath the Rampager's grip pulled themselves back into place. Torn muscles knitted across his side, while the puncture through his thigh closed from the inside outward. Flesh pressed together beneath the shredded leg of his bodysuit until only blood remained to prove there had ever been a wound.
His lungs expanded properly for the first time in several minutes.
Jagger drew in a deep, clean breath.
He was alive.
"Whoa," he whispered.
Then the System arrived.
