My Abyss Survival Diary

Chapter 87 Acute Suppression Methods for PTSD

"Those who survive must complete the unfinished work of the dead."

Upon hearing this, the nun raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears.

"They wouldn't want you to do this." Simon paused for a moment. "You must carry on their will and continue the fight."

He was an only child, or more accurately, an orphan-like only child. His parents had been engaged in a certain kind of research for a long time, and he grew up in an imperial boarding school. He had never comforted anyone as an older brother before, and this was the most "imperial" way of comforting him that he could imagine.

The nun gripped his robe tightly for a long time before slowly letting go.

She stepped out of Simon's arms, lowered her head, wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, and her long, silvery-white hair slid down from her shoulders, covering half of her face.

Simon didn't give her any more time; he needed her to do something, something only she could do.

"Karl wants to unite the Ironforged Warriors and the fanatical legions; he wants to overthrow the Empire."

The nun's hand, which was wiping away tears, suddenly stopped. She looked up, her dark gray right eye staring at Simon with disbelief on her face.

"What did you say?"

Simon took a deep breath and revealed the information he currently possessed to her:

"That madman Karl has six pieces of flesh containing evidence of the Abyss's offspring, and two legions of steam armor serving him. His purpose in holding the Slaughter Game is to select a new Iron Emperor here to lead the rebels to overthrow the Empire."

Simon said earnestly and solemnly, "You must return to the first floor and tell the old priest this news. The Empire will send someone to stop him."

"But I promised them I had to bring back the evidence of their guilt!" The nun suddenly became agitated. "I must bring back the samples my sisters obtained at the cost of their lives!"

"Getting the samples back is important, but the most important thing right now is to bring the intelligence back!" Simon insisted.

The nun remained silent as she turned to face the boundless sea of ​​flowers.

Her long, silvery-white hair fluttered in the wind, the hem of her nun's robe billowed up, revealing her silvery-white leg armor. Her back was straight, but her shoulders were trembling slightly.

She finally made up her mind: "Okay, I'm willing..."

But when she turned around, the flower field disappeared, and the "brother" in front of her and another unfamiliar woman also vanished without a trace.

She stood on a barren hill, surrounded by black mist.

The fog was thick and stuck to the skin like glue; with each step, you had to pull your legs out of the fog with effort.

The air was so humid it felt like walking underwater, and you could taste the rust with every breath.

She stepped on something, and she trembled as she looked down, feeling as if she had fallen into an ice cave. What she was standing on was an arm.

Below the elbow, his fingers still gripped the handle of the holy hammer, the hammerhead covered in grayish-white bits of flesh.

She recognized the hand—Ilya's arm, with pale pink nail polish on the nails.

Other corpses began to appear from the black mist. Ilya stood in the mist, his face turned toward her, his mangled body reduced to only one arm.

All she could see was black mist and those silent, contorted corpses.

She kept walking, running desperately forward, but she couldn't escape the black mist. The corpses stayed by her side, neither too close nor too far, always following her.

"It's all your fault."

The sound came from behind her. She turned around abruptly, and Ilya's face suddenly appeared behind her, letting out a hoarse and unpleasant scream.

"It's all your fault!" Selena's folded body had turned around at some point, and her distorted face was facing her, her mouth split open to her ears, revealing two rows of teeth soaked in blood.

"It's all your fault!" Claudia, with only half her body remaining, crawled on the ground, her surviving hand gripping her heel.

"It's all your fault! It's all your fault! It's all your fault!" The three voices overlapped, like a stuck, endlessly repeating incantation.

The sound grew louder and denser, pressing in from all directions, enveloping her like a black fog.

The nun crouched down, her face contorted in pain, clutching her head in her hands as she faced the relentless malice directed at her. Her fingernails dug into her scalp, and her long, silvery-white hair fell through her fingers, obscuring her entire face.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, it's all my fault..."

Simon saw her eyes become empty for a moment, as if someone had ripped her soul out of her body, leaving only a still-breathing shell.

Her body began to slide down, her consciousness could no longer support her body, and she collapsed to the ground.

"What's going on?" Flani hurried forward with the birdcage.

Symptoms of PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder; she may be experiencing painful flashbacks, he quickly reached out and supported her shoulder.

Can you hear my voice?

She didn't react at all. Her eyes were open, but they were vacant and she wasn't looking at anything. Her lips were moving, and she kept apologizing.

"Look at me."

There was no reaction; her body continued to slide downwards, her consciousness sinking into a terrifying illusion from which she could not extricate herself.

Simon stuck the harpoon into the mud at his feet and cupped her face in his hands.

His palm was pressed against her cheekbone, his thumb against her brow bone. Her skin was cold, as cold as meat taken out of an ice cellar.

He forced the nun's face up, so that her dark gray right eye was facing his own.

The skin-to-skin contact brought her to a brief moment of clarity, and a slight glint appeared in her eyes.

"Take a deep breath, take it slow. Your breathing is too rapid. Take a deep breath in and then slowly exhale."

Treating PTSD was not Simon's specialty, but he did know about acute suppression techniques for PTSD.

The prolonged exhalation method stimulates the vagus nerve to signal to the body that "the crisis is over," allowing the patient to break free from the prison of illusion.

Her chest began to rise and fall, and she subconsciously followed Simon's instructions, falling into his rhythm.

Her breathing slowed down from rapid to slow, from shallow to deep, the tears on her eyelashes were gradually dried by the wind, and the light in her eyes gradually became firm.

Tell me who you are and what you do.

The hallucination was fading, the screams in her subconscious were gradually subsiding, and her vision was becoming clear. She was trying hard to pull her consciousness back to reality.

"Sissi, Sissi Richter," she finally spoke, "a member of the Third Exploration Team of the Sisters of the Holy Hammer."

Finally, she broke free from the hallucination and regained consciousness.

Simon held out his hand to her: "How are you feeling now, Sissi?"

To be honest, if she hadn't introduced herself, he wouldn't even know the nun's name.

Sister Sisi looked at Simon and his outstretched hand, a moment of bewildered confusion flashing in her eyes, followed by a cold alertness!

Oh no! Simon slowly withdrew his hand. Could it be that she had completely broken free of the illusion and recognized him as not her brother?

The next second, the nun swiftly reached out and grasped his hand.

"Let's go, brother."