Shadow slave Self insert: Blinded by love

why m i alive ...

[bearer of the unk-]

"GHAAAH!"

I gasp and wince as I make harsh breaths. My heart is pounding like never before, and I feel bruises all over my body.

'What... what happened?'

I glance left and right, freezing as I take in the scene. Men in their twenties and thirties are lying around, wounded, wearing strange medieval-style armor. Some are sitting on rough hay bales turned into makeshift beds, too hurt to even stand. Some have lost an arm, others a hand.

I stare in horror at two men dressed in white, like doctors—or at least they were supposed to be. Their sleeves and faces are smeared with blood and sweat, their eyes empty and thunderstruck, like the doctors I sometimes saw passing through the halls of my medical room... medical... room.

"Cassie..."

I mutter as realization hits me. I quickly look at my wrist, my eyes widening. Long bruises and cuts run along my arm, some of them stitched poorly with black thread, mostly soaked red with blood. But the most shocking thing?

'No needles.'

My arm is in pain, but it's not because of the countless attempts to find my veins.

"Ha... haha... I’m dead."

There’s no other explanation. I’m in hell. Soldiers are all around me, wounded. Women dressed as nurses rush to help them, and—

"Kid, are you alright?!"

"Huh?"

I look up at a woman approaching me. She looks exhausted.

"Thank God you woke up. I’m sorry, but if you’re able to stand, could you leave the bed? We have more patients that need urgent treatment."

"Urgent... treatment? I’m sorry, ma’am, but... what is happening?"

The woman’s face pales, and she bites her lip, looking worried before letting out a small curse under her breath.

"We’re at war, kid. The gods are fighting the demons, and the world is in shambles. Right now, the southern quarter is being destroyed by the battle between the Shadow God and the Demon of Dread."

I freeze.

'Shadow... Demon of Dread... the voice I heard before I woke up... what... what is this?!'

But I don’t have time to dwell on it as I hear more screams of pain from patients being rushed in.

"WE NEED A FREE SPACE!"

"SAME HERE!"

I turn toward the men carrying the bodies of soldiers on makeshift emergency beds—really just rigid sheets.

"Here! There’s space here!"

The woman next to me shouts, then looks at me with concern before sighing and grabbing my arm.

"I’m sorry, kid, but we really need space now."

"Ah, wait—"

Before I can finish, she pulls me off the hay bale. In the next moment, the bed is already occupied by another wounded soldier.

"Bring stitches! We need stitches and alcohol!"

"Needles! Someone needs to disinfect the needles!"

I cover my mouth, shuddering at the thought. Slowly, I back away from the horrifying scene, my stomach churning.

"Kid!"

I freeze as I look back at the woman.

"We need some water! Can you fetch some? Please—"