Chapter 392: Echoes

Itching is a rather special bodily signal. Counterintuitively, it and the itch felt when being tickled actually belong to two different things.

The latter originates from mechanoreceptors in the skin, with pathways related to touch and movement, activating a defensive response that makes one aware of something intruding on a safe distance, prompting avoidance and struggle.

The former, however, is governed by a dedicated set of nerve fibers, activated by various inflammatory mediators, running parallel to and independently of pain, yet mutually inhibiting it; thus it can be relieved by scratching, and the temporary relief makes the brain inclined to continue scratching, even to the point of breaking the skin when the itch becomes unbearable.

The former is inside, the latter outside.

And an "itch that penetrates to the very marrow" undoubtedly signals a violent transformation within the organism, an unexplained reaction proceeding rapidly, spreading like a prairie fire in a short time.

He rolled up his sleeves and saw a rash spreading in sync with the itching sensation, centered on fragments embedded in the skin, congested and swollen, forming large red patches resembling severe hives.

Beneath the epidermis, the itch continued to diffuse deeper, gradually developing into a slight burning sensation. A dull pain, like copper beads rolling, wandered across the bones, while the joints stiffened as if cast in molten iron.

The arm felt like a water bag filled with boiling water, hot and tight, yet always seeming capable of holding more; there was no moment of rupture, only an ominous numbness rising from the most severe area, swallowing normal tactile sensation.

A dim, unobscurable pale white luster appeared on the surface of the embedded bodies. They had lain dormant for a long time, always hiding beyond the immune system's surveillance, so long that the host had sometimes grown accustomed to their presence.

At this very moment, it seemed a trace of residual will from the depths had been awakened; they had once again become "foreign bodies," rejecting this body while simultaneously being rejected by it.

The result inherited the consistent characteristics of a hypersensitive reaction: rapid and violent, with bone, flesh, and blood instantly becoming a cruel battlefield of attrition.

The influence was even spreading. A massive release of immune inflammatory mediators circulated through the blood vessels throughout the body, bringing waves of dry heat and palpitations.

As the itch crossed the sternum and reached the neck, he felt his breathing becoming difficult, as if a compressed ball of dry cotton were stuffed in his throat, impossible to swallow down or cough up.

This was not an illusion, but one of the most severe complications of an allergy: laryngeal edema. At the narrowest point of the glottis, a swelling of just a few millimeters could bring about extremely significant ventilation restrictions.

The footsteps of suffocation were already echoing in his ears.

Without hesitation, without wasting energy on meaningless calls for help, he strove to calm his emotions and reduce oxygen consumption. On the neatly stacked shelves, he easily found what he wanted—the endotracheal intubation kit.

Theoretically, it is almost impossible for a person to perform endotracheal intubation on themselves. The intense stimulation of the catheter passing through the oropharynx, the severe coughing and vomiting reflexes, are extremely difficult to endure while conscious.

Furthermore, limited by posture and field of vision, an operation that is not easy to begin with becomes even more difficult; even the most skilled veterans struggle to find a suitable angle.

But some have overcome even more extreme discomfort, and their field of vision is not limited by two eyes.

He tilted his head back, opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and probed the leather-wrapped soft tube into his throat, forcing open a passage before the edema completely blocked the glottis.

The sensation was like swallowing an entire charcoal stick whole; dry, itchy, stinging, and burning the throat, yet breathing was maintained.

However, this was merely the beginning of a series of reactions. Seemingly triggered by some component in consciousness or spiritual senses, the progression of the allergic reaction climbed another level.

A hazy black border enveloped his field of vision; he noticed he was shivering. Within just a few minutes, the dry heat began to shift toward the opposite extreme.

Blood vessels throughout the body dilated under inflammatory infiltration, their permeability increasing. Like a skin bag constantly expanding while simultaneously leaking, internal pressure plummeted, unable to reach the circulation's extremities, leaving the skin wet, cold, and icy.

His heart beat like a drumstick striking, each beat farther away than the last.

Anaphylactic shock, the most lethal link in acute allergic reactions, arrived as promised.

Unlike hemorrhagic shock, it cannot be effectively corrected by fluid replacement. The body does not lack fluids; it simply cannot keep them within the blood vessels.

Fortunately, its treatment is somewhat easier. Biological evolution has naturally formed a mobilization signal in the face of the highest-level life threats—epinephrine.

A single injection can block almost all pathological links, including but not limited to constricting blood vessels, expanding the airways, strengthening the heart and raising blood pressure, suppressing inflammation, shutting down excessive non-essential immune responses, and directing resources toward sustaining survival.

Unfortunately, this cheap drug, routinely stocked in any ambulance and costing only a few yuan per dose, was now out of reach.

The blackness in his vision continued to deepen; retinal ischemia made noon as dark as midnight. Time was running out.

Perhaps it was a few minutes, or perhaps the next second; the brain, deprived of effective blood supply, would simply shut down. By then, he would best pray that his spirit could detach from its biological foundation and exist independently.

Alternatively, he would have to invent a miracle drug on the spot, no less potent than epinephrine, possessing equally broad and rapid inhibitory effects.

Obviously, that was unlikely.

The lingering warmth of consciousness struggled in the cold darkness, trying to grasp any spark of inspiration.

A rustling sound like overlapping scales sliding arose, as if something had discovered the loosening of the cage. Listening again, it sounded more like an invitation; the world beyond cognition opened a slight gap to consciousness, waiting only for the loss of all that could be lost, perhaps allowing passage through it.

The invitation was rejected; a peaceful death was easier to accept than a meaningless immortality.

Before accepting death, biological instincts were still making a final calculation.

Rapid-acting? Inhibitory?

There was no epinephrine, but there was indeed something that perfectly matched the description, because a safe alternative option had appeared, unseen by the light of day for a very long time.

A cold, trembling hand opened the bottom layer of the sample case. The pure black liquid flowing in the glass bottle waited, as always.

Its patience, like its unfading color, would endure forever. One day it would be drunk; the outcome was destined at its birth, whether someone yielded to the summons or it was forced by some accident.

Kraft took out a single drop, dissolved it in water, took a small sip, and held it under his tongue.

At Wendeng Port, he had witnessed the reactions of others after taking it far too many times; therefore, before swallowing, he sat on the floor, waiting for the crisp sound of the back of his head hitting the ground.

The development did not proceed as expected, or at least not entirely.

After sitting still for several dozen seconds, his wavering consciousness still supported his body.

There was a barely perceptible sensation of falling, as if a thick carpet had suddenly been laid beneath his feet, or the mattress had been pulled away; it was hard to distinguish from the dizziness brought on by shock.

The diluted black liquid had indeed taken effect. It was not yet enough to carry the spirit and body into the depths, but its physiological effects were being released without reservation.

The spread of darkness in his vision was gradually checked, until it stopped completely, like slowly rising from underwater; the air was turbid and heavy, and a wave of nausea surged up.

Coldness and numbness were replaced by soreness, swelling, and stinging; temperature and tactile sensation slowly returned to the skin.

Before the joy of escaping death could be born, some message arrived first.

He "heard" a dull thud, as if some impact had occurred. It was distant, yet not from the thunderclouds and electric charges beyond the horizon, but an echo from the past: celestial bodies shattering, scales tearing.

When the conflict reappeared by coincidence, the aftereffects followed the overlapping trajectories, summoned to this place.