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ArabicArknights: I'm Pretty Strong With Minecraft — Chapter 9
Chapter 9: Splash Potion
Azazel Clinic. The air inside the underground facility was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp scent of antiseptic.
“Hold on, everyone! Once the injured are stabilized, we move out immediately.”
“We’re just one step away from a successful evacuation. Keep your eyes open.”
Tucked away in a dim corner, Ivan finally let his high-strung nerves unravel. He slumped against the cold, unyielding concrete, sliding down until he hit the floor. A long, ragged sigh escaped his lips. His muscles burned with a dull, throbbing ache, the sheer physical toll of his overexertion finally catching up to him in the quiet of the clinic.
A crisp, measured set of footsteps approached, stopping just inches from his boots. Ivan cracked an eye open. Instructor Dobermann stood over him, her posture rigid, casting a long shadow under the flickering fluorescent lights. He tilted his head back, meeting her intense gaze.
“Need something, Instructor?”
Her expression remained stern, but the usual icy scrutiny that defined her demeanor had thawed. A complicated, almost conflicted emotion flickered in her eyes. She stood in silence for a long beat, carefully weighing her next words.
“Ivan.” She paused, taking in the exhaustion etched into his features. “I owe you an apology.”
He raised an eyebrow, letting her continue.
“Back there, my sole priority was maintaining discipline and ensuring the overall safety of the squad. I judged you prematurely. Your strength…” She hesitated, searching for the right term for his bizarre abilities. “…and your methods of operation far exceeded my expectations.”
She squared her shoulders, delivering her admission with blunt honesty. “You proved your worth. You protected the Doctor, and you kept our people alive. For that, I must formally acknowledge your contribution. Thank you.”
Ivan flashed an easy, crooked smile, waving off the formality. “We’re all on the same side, Dobermann. No need to get all sentimental on me.”
Pushing himself off the wall, Ivan took a deep breath and clapped his hands together. The sharp sound cut through the low groans of the clinic.
“Alright, listen up! Everyone gather around for a second.”
He waved the scattered Rhodes Island personnel over. He didn’t just motion to the combat-ready Operators; he pointed toward the stretchers, gesturing for the conscious but severely wounded to be carried into the center of the room. He wanted them packed tightly into the most spacious clearing the clinic had to offer.
Amiya hurried over, her brow furrowed in deep concern. She reached out, gently tugging at the fabric of Ivan’s sleeve.
“Mr. Ivan, please,” she whispered, glancing back at the bloody bandages. “The severely injured have only just stabilized. Moving them right now could be incredibly dangerous. We shouldn’t interfere with the Medical Operators.”
“It’s fine, really.” Ivan patted her hand, his grin unwavering and laced with absolute confidence. “Just get everyone over here. Trust me, this will take two seconds.”
From across the room, the Doctor observed the exchange. Beneath the heavy visor of his hood, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He had already witnessed enough of Ivan’s reality-breaking nonsense to know the man never acted without purpose. This overpowered anomaly definitely had another trick up his sleeve.
“Do as he says,” the Doctor commanded, his voice calm and authoritative, cutting through the hesitation of the crowd. “Ivan wouldn’t gather us without a good reason. Bring the wounded to the center.”
With the Doctor’s endorsement, the bewildered Operators complied. They shuffled forward, supporting their limping comrades. The lightly injured formed an outer ring, while the critical cases were carefully laid down in the middle of the circle. Dozens of eyes locked onto Ivan, waiting in tense silence.
With a flick of his wrist, a strangely shaped glass flask materialized in Ivan’s palm out of thin air. The glass itself looked crude and thick, yet it contained a viscous, swirling liquid that pulsed with a vibrant, luminescent pink glow. It cast a warm, unnatural light across the grim faces of the Operators.
Ivan didn’t bother with an explanation. He simply weighed the flask in his hand to gauge the arc, stepped back, and pitched it straight up toward the ceiling.
The bottle tumbled end over end, reaching its apex directly above the clustered crowd before plummeting downward.
Crash!
It shattered against the stone floor. But instead of sending lethal glass shrapnel tearing through the room, the vessel simply vanished. In its place, the glowing pink liquid erupted outward. A dense, vibrant mist exploded into the air, expanding with unnatural precision to perfectly blanket every single Rhodes Island member in the blast radius.
The moment the mist touched them, a bizarre phenomenon occurred. Countless translucent pink bubbles materialized out of nowhere, fizzing and popping around their bodies.
“Ah… my arm…”
“What the hell is this?!”
Gasps of shock echoed through the clinic. For the critical patients lying on the stretchers, the effects were violently immediate. Deep lacerations writhed, the torn flesh knitting together at a visible, terrifying speed. Granulation tissue rapidly filled the gaping wounds, sealing them beneath fresh, unblemished skin.
The lightly injured watched in absolute disbelief as their scrapes, burns, and bruises simply vanished, leaving no scars behind. Even the deep, bone-weary exhaustion of their prolonged urban warfare evaporated. A sudden surge of vitality flooded their veins, leaving them feeling completely revitalized.
Eyes widened in absolute awe as they witnessed the miraculous recovery of their dying comrades.
“This… this is impossible,” a Medic Operator murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and pure ecstasy.
It defied all medical logic. The speed and efficiency of the healing completely eclipsed even the most advanced Originium Arts known to Terra.
The Doctor stood frozen, his eyes wide beneath his visor. But his tactical mind quickly recovered from the shock, immediately pivoting to a far more critical implication. He pushed through the crowd, striding directly up to Ivan.
“Ivan,” the Doctor demanded, his voice tight with barely suppressed hope. “Can this potion cure Oripathy?”
The entire room went dead silent. The question struck a deep chord, tugging at the desperate hearts of every Infected soul present. Instantly, dozens of pairs of eyes snapped back to Ivan. Amiya held her breath, staring intently at him, waiting for the verdict that could change their world forever.
Ivan looked at the Doctor, then swept his gaze across the sea of desperate, hopeful faces surrounding him.
He let out a quiet, helpless sigh and shook his head.
“Sorry, Doc. It can’t.”
The brilliant spark of hope in Amiya’s eyes extinguished in an instant.
“It’s just a raw burst of vitality,” Ivan explained gently, breaking the heavy silence. “It instantly maxes out the body’s regenerative capabilities to close wounds and restore stamina. It fixes physical damage, but it doesn’t cure diseases or alter cellular mutations.”
A heavy wave of disappointment washed over the gathered Operators. Amiya lowered her head, her long rabbit ears drooping pitifully against her hair.
But a second later, she forced her head back up, offering a brave, earnest smile. “It doesn’t matter! Mr. Ivan, even so… what you just did is incredibly, incredibly amazing. You saved them.”