MGS MONTH STARTED..... SO RECALLING PREVIOUS CHAPTER ALONG IN THIS.....
Nishanth's return to consciousness wasn't gentle. It was a sledgehammer blow of sensation. The sterile, ozone-tang of the med-bay air scraped his raw throat. Every breath was a laborious heave, met by a jagged protest from his left side where three ribs screamed their betrayal.
The memory of godhood – the effortless power, the absence of need – was a phantom limb, agonizing in its absence. He remembered the crushing weight of Mammon's final blow, the sickening crackle as divine energy extinguished within him, leaving only this fragile, aching meat-sack.
He groaned, pushing himself up on trembling elbows, the rough med-cot fabric scratching his skin – another new, unwelcome intimacy.
