Damon struggled to his feet, his legs heavy as lead, but obeying. The simple act of standing felt like a victory over death itself. His body wobbled for a moment, his vision blurring, but he forced his feet forward.
One step.
Another.
The dry crunch of his boots crunching on the snow echoed in the cave, accompanied by the steady creak of his bones and muscles readjusting.
The system window still glowed in his mind, reminding him of something obvious:
[HP: 1000/1000]
But Damon laughed, a weak, almost ironic sound.
"One hundred percent... my fuck," he spat, feeling the sting in his ribs with every breath. "That number is just makeup..."
The pain throbbed in waves, and though his skin no longer split open in bloody fissures, every movement reminded him that his body had been torn apart from the inside. The cold didn't recede either. He no longer shivered as before, but the sensation was like wearing invisible armor made of ice—hard, heavy, unwavering.
Still, he walked.
