The wind felt like a solid wall.
Even while I was unconscious, sand must have been forced into my lungs—but at the time, I felt nothing.
In a twisted way, being knocked out early and thrown around like a ragdoll may have saved me from the worst of the sandstorm's torture.
I remembered hearing that sandstorms could stop a person's heart.
With an undying body like mine, that meant enduring repeated heart attacks—an experience I imagined would be far from pleasant.
In the end, I was stranded—unconscious, alone, in the middle of nowhere in the Abyss.
Somehow, luck had favored me. I had survived the massive sandstorm.
But if I were truly fortunate, I wouldn't have suffered because of it.
With tremendous effort, I forced my eyes open. Pain exploded through my body instantly—sharp, overwhelming—as if every nerve had been set ablaze.
But nothing compared to the terror that seized me when I looked at my left hand.
A bone was pushing out from beneath my skin.
It was half broken, cutting through the flesh—yet by some cruel twist, it still retained enough structure to move slightly.
The surrounding tendons weren't completely destroyed, but staring at the exposed bone took far longer to process than the pain itself.
My eyes remained fixed on the damage the sandstorm had inflicted upon me.
This was the first time I had ever truly seen my own bone.
It was white—unnaturally so. Whiter than I remembered bones being in my previous world. I faintly recalled that bones were never this pure, yet now I could hardly distinguish it from milk.
My lower body and abdomen were in terrible condition as well, covered in cuts and bruises.
But none of it compared to the horror of my left hand.
After some time—how much, I couldn't tell—I resolved to fix it myself.
With a scream that tore itself from my throat, I stretched my arm and tried to force the protruding bone back inside.
The skin resisted, refusing to accept it. It felt as though I was only causing more damage by forcing it inward.
Still, I remain persisted, scraping away torn flesh and loose skin as best as I could.
The pain was unbearable. More than once, the stretched skin pushed the bone back out, making the agony even worse.
After several failed attempts, I finally managed to align it well enough that my hand remained in something resembling its original shape.
At least… I hoped it would.
With no bandages available, I resorted to using dead tree branches—shoving one inside to keep the wound steady.
It was a cruel solution, but it was the only one I had.
As I lay there, I began to notice something else. The biome itself had changed.
The ground was far more solid—closer to a wasteland than a desert—and trees were sparse, almost nonexistent in this region. The star above shone even brighter here, its light harsher, its warmth more intense than the cold desert I had crossed before.
With nothing left to lose, I began to crawl toward the nearest dead tree.
Each movement sent fresh waves of agony through my body.
Blood stained the pale wasteland behind me, marking every inch of progress.
Still, I crawled forward, driven by desperation alone.
As I ate the dead bark, the pain didn't disappear—but it dulled slightly, no longer blinding, just constant.
Once again, I realized how truly alone I was. There would be no help.
No one but me in this world.
I devoured more bark. None of it mattered anymore.
The bitterness burned my mouth and throat as the toxins took hold.
Soon, my body gave in.
Numbness spread through me, and I slipped back into unconsciousness—surrendering once again to pain, exhaustion, and the merciless embrace of the Abyss.