I was stranded, unconscious in the middle of nowhere in the Abyss. Somehow, luck was on my side—I'd managed to escape the massive sandstorm, though if I were truly fortunate, I wouldn't have suffered as I did. With tremendous effort, I forced my eyes open, only to be met with unbearable pain that seemed to course through my entire body. But nothing prepared me for the terror that seized me when I saw my left hand: a bone was creeping out from beneath my skin.
The bone was half broken and had pierced through, yet, by some cruel twist, it retained enough function to move slightly. The surrounding tendons weren't as badly damaged, but it took me a long while to accept the grim reality of my wound as my eyes stared blankly at the horror that sandstorm caused me.
While staring at the wound, it was the first time I was truly confronted with the sight of my own bone. It was as white as milk—that bones were not fully white as I remembered from my previous world, a question that would linger in my mind.
Other parts of my lower body and abdomen were in terrible shape, but nothing was as distressing as the state of my left hand. After some time had passed, I resolved to fix it myself. With a scream of pain, I stretched my arm and painfully attempted to push the creeping bone back inside. The skin resisted, refusing to let the bone settle, but I persisted—scraping away torn flesh and skin scraps as best as I could. The process was brutal; the stretched skin would sometimes force the bone back out, causing even more pain. After several failed attempts, I finally managed to align the bone so that my left hand could, at least, remain in proper shape.
At least, I hoped it would.
Having managed to partially realign my broken bone, the relentless pain, though still terroizing, was slightly diminished. Desperate to ease my suffering, I realized I was utterly alone—no one was there to help me.
With nothing left to lose, I began to crawl toward the nearest dead tree. The effort was monumental: each movement sent fresh waves of pain through my body, and I left a trail of blood in my wake. The sandstorm had ravaged everything, and trees were few and far between, yet I pressed ahead, clinging to the hope of some relief.
Fatigue soon overtook me as I struggled onward. In my desperation, I attempted to dig for water—a vital resource in this harsh realm. Most of the trees yielded nothing; nine out of ten provided no solace. But persistence paid off. When I finally discovered a source of the elusive white liquid, I used it to cleanse my wounds.
As I was cleaning my wounds my eyes falls towards the dead tree with desperation.
And this desperation turned into reckless resolve as I devoured tree bark to dull the pain. I cared little about the risk of infection; all I wanted was a momentary reprieve from my torment. The tree bark, bitter and poisonous, soon took its toll. Overwhelmed by the numbing effects of the toxins, I lost consciousness, surrendering to the darkness of pain and fatigue.