Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) Keith Ahrens (best e reader for epub txt) 📖

my grip on the scalpel, not to stop a shaking hand, just to get a better grip. I think back to all the anatomy classes with all the different dissections I've done and every autopsy and surgery I've observed. Without further ado, I pierce the skin with the rounded head of the surgical blade and cut a deep, long line.

Nian's body twitches, and he whimpers a little, like a dog that’s having a bad dream. I glance at Thorn, but she's already chanting harder and a little faster. His blood flows slower than I expect, and his skin is still ice cold from Thorn's spell. I wipe the wound with a gauze pad and slide my finger down the arrow's shaft.

I get to the last knuckle on my index finger when I feel a smooth piece of metal. Blood pools in the incision and blocks my view of anything.

“Des, mop up some of this blood, quick.”

He tries, with shaking fingers, but manages to wipe most of it up. I widen the hole with my fingers and slide a hemostat down and clamp it onto the arrowhead. For those of you who don't know, a hemostat is a clamp-like tool that locks in place, normally used to clamp off blood vessels or things like that. Right now, it's holding that damn arrowhead in place so I can cut around it.

I cut more tissue and muscle out of the way to try and see the edges of the metal. No good, blood begins gushing in, pumping in rhythm with his heart.

“Thorn, I need you to lock down that bleeder,” I say with what I hope is a steady voice. I grab some gauze and stuff it in the wound, trying to put some pressure on it. Her chanting gets more rapid and louder. Her breathing is harsh, and her face looks paler than usual.

“His tattoo is less than half-red now; it just dropped a lot,” Des says, worry thick in his voice.

The bleeding slows and then stops. “Good job, Thorn, keep it up,” I mutter as I make another cut to the other side of the arrowhead. I push more meat and tissue out of the way and see a bit of crimson red, thick tissue. Damn it.

The arrowhead is in the liver. This is one of the worst-case scenarios I was dreading. The liver is extremely vascular. That means, wherever I cut, it's gonna bleed bad and be hard to control.

I look at Thorn. Her shoulders are slumping and beads of sweat are running down her face.

“Hey, Caleb, his Hit Points are down to almost a quarter and dropping even quicker now…” Des says in a quiet voice.

I wipe the sweat off my own face with my sleeve and stop to think. If we keep going, Thorn will pour all her own energy into healing Nian, to the point where she could die. If we stop now, Nian will die; but if we don't, Thorn may die. Can we chance losing Nian and Thorn? I know what she would say, but I make the choice for her.

I move forward with the only decision I can. I have to think of what’s best for everyone. And I hate myself for what I must do now.

“Thorn is too weak; we can't risk her too. I think she has to stop,” I say with regret in my voice. I know this will kill Nian. “I'll keep trying, but I don't think it’s likely he'll survive. You guys might have to hold him down if he wakes up.”

Thorn's chant stutters and falters for a moment as she tries to protest and keep healing at the same time. She gasps for breath for a moment, sweat beading on her brow. I can almost feel her pain and anger at me.

“Now, wait a sec; we can't just let him die. Lemme try something,” Des says as he drops the bloody gauze in his hands. He gets up and jogs around the patient and kneels down behind Thorn. He puts a hand on the base of her neck and closes his eyes, concentrating.

I study the elf's face. Already, I see some color coming back to her lips and cheeks. Not a lot, but enough to give me hope. I mop up the blood again and see no more seeping in. I'm not sure how Des did it, but I think he just bought Nian and Thorn some more time. I jump back in, attempting to move faster.

I concentrate on what I'm doing. More cutting, more digging. Trying to uncover the barbs of the arrow and loosen it from the organ. I run out of gauze and begin to use the rags that Miles cut for me. Good thing we don't have to worry about infection; the magic seems to take care of that somehow.

The bleeding gets worse for a moment, and I hear Des gasp out loud, as if in pain. I glance up and see Olivia kneeling down beside him and putting her hand on the back of his neck. She closes her eyes, and a moment later, Des's expression eases a bit.

I go back to cutting. I now understand why Civil War doctors were called butchers. That’s what I feel like right now, clumsily hacking through delicate tissue that should never see daylight.

After what feels like an hour or two, I make a final cut and see that I've cleared both sides of the barbed arrowhead. I hold the gaping wound open with one hand and slide my fingers around the arrowhead and pull. It pops loose with a slight sucking noise, and I feel it cut my index and middle fingers on its razor-sharp edge.

Blood sprays up with a renewed vigor, hitting me in the face. I toss the arrowhead aside and begin stuffing rags into the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Now some of you might be thinking, "why isn't he heating up a knife and burning it shut? That always works in