Evelyn Parker

Chapter Twenty-Two

Evelyn braced herself, squaring up to the sorceress who appeared before her, also in an astral form. She had never been taught how to fight in her astral form, but she hoped that her skills in the physical realm would translate to the intangible one.

Their gazes interlocked, a silent challenge passing between them.

Evelyn launched forward, her fist arcing through the air and connecting with Asema’s visage. The sorceress, propelled by the force, spiraled backward, her form a blur against the astral winds.

Yet, she recovered with a grace that defied the very laws of their reality, floating upright, unscathed.

Asema’s lips curled into a smile, her tone dripping with a poised amusement.

“Impressive for one so young. But allow me to demonstrate a more… refined technique.”

Asema’s leg whipped out, striking Evelyn squarely in the chest. The impact sent her reeling back, her form crashing against the astral echo of an observation window, the sound resonating like a gong through the void.

Gasping for breath that wasn’t needed here, Evelyn managed to sputter, “Why are you doing this?”

Asema responded with a cruel smile, launching herself at Evelyn with a series of relentless attacks. Evelyn tried to dodge, but one blow landed squarely on her jaw, knocking her back.

The battle was a whirlwind of chaos. Evelyn was tossed around as if she were a doll, crashing through walls and furniture until she found herself on the cold metal of an operating table. Her physical body lay there, unconscious, surgeons attending to her wounds.

It was a bizarre sight, seeing her own body from an outsider's perspective.

But before she could grasp the oddness of it all, Evelyn was snatched up, her astral form dragged across the operating table.

The young barista forced herself to stand, ready to confront the sorceress once more. However, before she could make a move, she was struck with a final devastating blow, and everything faded to black.

.•° ✿ °•.

In the sterile chill of the operating room, Evelyn lay motionless on the table, her body a battleground for life itself. Her heart, once steady, now raced—a frantic drumbeat against the encroaching silence.

Melissa, her eyes wide, watched the monitors dance. “Her vitals—she's seizing!” she cried out.

Dr. Harrow, his face a mask of concentration, moved with purpose.

“Lorazepam, ten milligrams, stat!” he commanded.

A nurse, her hands a blur, fetched the medication. With a practiced hand, Dr. Harrow injected the drug into Evelyn’s arm, his movements both swift and gentle.

“Steady her,” he instructed, his gaze never leaving Evelyn’s convulsing form. “We need her still.”

Melissa’s hands found Evelyn’s, her grip both a plea and a promise.

For a moment, calm reigned. Evelyn’s heart slowed, her breaths evening out. But then, the steady rhythm faltered, the beeps merging into a singular, ominous tone.

“She’s flatlining!” Dr. Harrow’s voice was a thunderclap. “Defibrillator, now!”

The team sprang into action, the defibrillator’s pads placed firmly against Evelyn’s chest.

“Clear!” The room held its breath.

Electricity arced, Evelyn’s body arching in response. But the monitor remained silent.