Tundra knelt beside Raze as he observed her condition first.
He clenched his teeth as he saw her trembling form. Her breaths were shallow, her lips pale, and her armor was cracked beyond repair. She looked like she had been dragged through hell itself.
But what made his chest clench most was the sight of her left side, her arm was gone. The stump was wrapped in scorched cloth, blood crusted around the wound.
"Stay with me, Raze…" he muttered, pulling open his satchel. He didn't have a panacea, no miracle cure that could instantly restore her.
What he had were elixirs, expensive concoctions he had traded for at obscene prices from high‑ranking Survivors who preyed on desperation.
The System's Marketplace was truly a place where you could become rich or poor.
Indeed, each vial had cost him more than he wanted to admit, marked up in the market by profiteers who knew how badly people needed them.
