Follow my substrack to know the struggle behind every chapter
https://substack.com/profile/158263180-mrgarg/note/c-283654492?r=2m84ng&utm_source=notes-share-action&utm_medium=web
Chapter 23: Information (Part 2)
A faint silver light spread from my palms.
Not like the energy I'd used in combat — this was quiet. Precise. Every strand moved exactly where I directed it, no excess, no waste.
Healing wasn't just pouring energy into someone and hoping for the best. It was reconstruction. The human body is an unreasonably complex arrangement of bones, muscles, tendons, nerves, blood vessels, and organs, all of which have to fit together in a very specific way. One mistake could leave permanent damage.
I closed my eyes and extended my perception inward.
The internal picture formed almost instantly.
Bad. Much worse than the outside suggested.
His ribs hadn't merely cracked — several had shattered, fragments driven close enough to his lungs that only his body's natural toughness had kept things from going catastrophic. One piece had already grazed the tissue. His left forearm had multiple fractures. His right shoulder was partially dislocated. Large sections of muscle throughout his chest and back had been torn from repeated high-impact collisions. Internal bleeding in the abdomen. Hairline fractures along his spine from being slammed through structures over and over.
I let out a slow breath.
"...You idiot."
The words came out before I'd decided to say them. Khan had smiled through all of this. Joked. Laughed. Meanwhile his body had been one hard hit from complete structural failure.
I pushed it aside. Focus.
Universal energy moved deeper. First priority: prevent further internal damage.
The shattered rib fragments trembled, then drifted — millimeter by millimeter — back into position. Cracks sealed. Sharp edges smoothed. Bone tissue regenerated in layers, weaving over the damage until solid structure replaced the fragments. Painstaking, careful, deliberate. Healing yourself was straightforward because your own body cooperated instinctively. Healing someone else meant constant correction, every reconstruction matched against a template I was reading in real time.
Sweat gathered at my temples.
The damaged lung sealed as fresh tissue formed around the puncture. Internal bleeding stopped. Ruptured vessels reconnected, collapsed capillaries reopened. I checked the organs: liver undamaged, kidneys bruised but functional, heart —
Still strong. Of course it was. I doubted even death could convince Khan's heart to stop permanently.
Something almost like a smile threatened to surface. I kept moving.
The muscles took the most energy. Fiber doesn't simply reconnect — it regrows, millions of microscopic strands forming and weaving under guidance into dense bundles. Layer after layer. My breathing became heavier. Universal energy was draining from my reserves faster than I liked.
Too fast.
I ignored it.
The skin came last. Deep cuts sealed from the inside out — flesh, dermis, outer layer. Scars dissolved before they could form. Burns faded, blackened tissue replaced by healthy skin. Bruises cleared as trapped blood reabsorbed into repaired vessels.
The world outside contracted until nothing existed except the body in front of me and the energy leaving my hands.
Eventually I reached the last injury — a hairline fracture near his collarbone. It sealed.
Silence.
I withdrew my hands and sat back.
Khan looked completely normal. No cuts, no burns, no bruises, nothing broken. As though the last several hours hadn't happened to him at all. Only someone who could sense universal energy would notice the difference — his aura had thinned considerably. Healing repaired flesh. It couldn't replace blood loss or the vitality spent during a fight. That required food, rest, time.
But he'd live.
The weight on my chest eased slightly. "That should do it."
I leaned back and exhaled — and noticed a translucent screen floating above his body.
**Khan's Datafication: 4.7%**
"...Four point seven."
More than double mine.
I thought back through the battle. Khan had fought almost entirely through physical force, burning through his reserves and recovering repeatedly. Which meant every time he'd pulled energy from the surroundings to push past his limits, he'd been absorbing the contaminated version without knowing it. Again and again, the percentage climbing with each recovery burst.
I stared at the number.
Would it drop once we left this dimension? Was there a threshold where the effects became irreversible — ten percent, fifty, one hundred? I had no answers, and the uncertainty bothered me more than the number itself. Unknown variables inside a system with rules I didn't fully understand were exactly the kind of thing that got people killed.
I memorized the value. If it moved again, I'd know.
Anita looked unharmed by comparison. No blood, no visible wounds, no torn clothing.
But she looked worse.
Skin gone pale. Dark circles around her eyes. Breathing uneven. Both hands trembling despite clear effort to hold them still.
Psychic exhaustion. I'd seen it once before during Bloom's experiments. Mental energy wasn't infinite, and when a psychic pushed past the limit, the brain started shutting down in ways that medicine couldn't reach. Only rest fixed it. A lot of it.
"You okay?" I asked.
She looked up slowly. That single movement carried enough fatigue to make me wince.
"Define okay."
"Still alive."
"Barely qualifies."
I crouched beside her. "How are you feeling?"
She looked at the shifting digital sky for a moment. "...Like someone scooped my brain out with a spoon."
"That sounds unpleasant."
"They put it in a blender afterward."
I paused. "...That's less encouraging."
A laugh came out of her — small, fragile, but real. Some of the tension I'd been carrying since the fight released by a fraction. If she still had enough left to make jokes, she wasn't at her actual limit.
"Don't use your ability again unless you have absolutely no choice," I said.
She gave me a look. "You think I want to?"
"I know you."
"I have the worst headache of my life."
"I know."
"My brain feels like it's melting."
"I know."
"I think I forgot three languages."
I stopped. "...You knew three languages?"
"I don't remember."
"...Fair point."
She rolled her eyes weakly. "I wasn't planning to use it."
"Good."
"I don't think it would work even if I tried."
That wasn't nearly as reassuring as she probably intended it to be. I kept that observation to myself.
Arjun was still where we'd left him.
Special Agent of the World Government. Still unconscious — though the slight tension around his jaw suggested that wouldn't hold much longer.
I walked over and studied him for a moment. He'd been strong enough to survive fighting us and strong enough to survive this dimension. There was no guarantee the unconsciousness would last until we were ready, and discovering he'd escaped while we slept was not a situation I wanted to find myself in.
We needed proper restraints.
I looked around at the digital landscape. Raw materials weren't exactly scattered around conveniently.
That was fine.
I placed one hand against the shimmering ground and let universal energy flow outward.
"Transfiguration."
The surface rippled like disturbed water. Then it began rising — panels lifting, metallic structures folding upward with mechanical precision, rectangular segments sliding into place and locking with crisp clicks. Support beams extended from beneath. Joints assembled themselves.
Within seconds: a chair. Not a simple one. A restraint platform — heavy, stable, reinforced. Mechanical cuffs formed next. Locking restraints. Support braces. Anchoring chains. Each piece clicked into position with the kind of exactness that came from working from memory rather than guesswork.
I'd copied the design entirely from memory. No blueprint, no measurements. Just experience.
Bloom had used equipment almost identical to this when restraining dangerous experimental subjects.
Including me.
The memory surfaced without invitation. Cold metal against my wrists. Bright laboratory lights overhead. Scientists discussing in calm, professional tones whether I'd survive the next procedure. The chains locking. The inability to move.
I looked at the completed chair.
"...Life has a twisted sense of humor."
I lifted Arjun into it. The restraints snapped shut around his wrists, ankles, chest, and neck — no unnecessary force, just enough to make escape functionally impossible. I tested each lock twice.
Only once everything was confirmed did I let myself breathe.
For the first time since the battle, nothing required my immediate attention. Nothing was trying to kill us. Nothing was collapsing or on fire.
I sat down on the digital ground.
And just breathed.