Note: This is an original AU with a new MC. Expect unique skills and abilities not seen in canon.
Note 2.0: The MC has no prior knowledge of this world or its inhabitants.
Medicine is the art by which humanity conquers death.
Research is the pursuit of absolute understanding.
In medical history, those who ignore breakthrough discoveries are doomed to watch their patients perish while those who embrace innovation save countless lives.
I had always believed this with every fiber of my being. Dr. Sarah Chen, Chief of Pediatric Cardiac Surgery at Seattle Children's Hospital, had dedicated fifteen years of her life to proving that no case was truly hopeless. Every child that came through those operating room doors deserved every chance at life, regardless of how complex their condition might be.
Today's patient was Emma Rodriguez, age seven, born with a rare congenital heart defect that three other hospitals had declared inoperable. Her parents had traveled across the country after hearing about my experimental surgical technique—a procedure that existed only in theoretical papers and computer simulations.
The morning had started like any other. I'd arrived at the hospital at 5 AM, reviewing Emma's case files over my third cup of coffee. The imaging studies were spread across my desk like a puzzle—echocardiograms, CT angiography, MRI sequences that painted a picture of a heart that defied conventional understanding.
Congenital corrected transposition of the great arteries combined with multiple ventricular septal defects. In layman's terms, Emma's heart was built backwards and inside-out, with holes between chambers that should have been separate. Three major medical centers had declared her inoperable. The fourth had suggested palliative care.
I had suggested they were wrong.
"Doctor Chen, the OR is ready for you," Nurse Patterson informed me as I finished my pre-operative review. Margaret Patterson had been my surgical nurse for eight years—she could anticipate my needs before I voiced them, hand me instruments with the precision of a mind reader. If I was the conductor of the surgical orchestra, she was my first violin.
"Patient status?" I asked, falling into step beside her as we moved through the corridors toward OR 7.
"Parents are in the family waiting area. Father's pacing, mother's praying. Standard pre-op anxiety levels. Emma's been premedicated and is asking for her stuffed elephant."
I smiled despite the weight of what lay ahead. Children possessed a resilience that never ceased to amaze me. While adults would be paralyzed by the knowledge of their condition, seven-year-old Emma was primarily concerned about whether Mr. Peanuts would be waiting for her when she woke up.
"Make sure someone brings the elephant to recovery," I instructed. "She'll want to see him as soon as she opens her eyes."
The OR was a temple of modern medicine—gleaming steel surfaces, monitors displaying waves and numbers that told the story of human life in digital precision, instruments arranged with military precision. My surgical team was already assembled: Dr. Martinez, my resident, whose steady hands and quick mind had made him invaluable over the past two years; the anesthesiology team led by Dr. Kumar, whose expertise would keep Emma balanced on the knife's edge between consciousness and oblivion; and the perfusion team who would manage the heart-lung bypass machine that would keep her alive while I performed what many considered impossible.
"Doctor Chen, her vitals are stable," Dr. Martinez reported as I reviewed the pre-operative scans one final time.
Emma lay on the operating table, looking impossibly small beneath the surgical drapes. The monitors around her displayed the steady rhythm of a heart that beat with determination despite its structural impossibilities. Oxygen saturation at 89%—low for a healthy child, but remarkable considering her anatomy. Blood pressure stable. Heart rate appropriate for her age and the mild sedation.
"Scalpel," I requested, my voice steady despite the magnitude of what we were attempting.
The familiar weight of the surgical instrument settled into my palm like an extension of my own body. Fifteen years of training, thousands of hours of practice, countless successful procedures—all leading to this moment where I would either validate years of theoretical work or learn the hard limits of human innovation.
The initial incision was perfect, as always. A clean line through skin and subcutaneous tissue, following the anatomical landmarks I had memorized from dozens of similar procedures. Blood welled along the incision line—not too much, indicating good hemostasis, but enough to require the constant attention of the surgical assistants who worked to maintain a clear visual field.
"Excellent exposure," Dr. Martinez commented as I worked through the layers of tissue. "Clean dissection."
The familiar choreography of cardiac surgery unfolded around us. Retractors were positioned to hold the incision open, exposing the sternum beneath. The sternal saw made its characteristic buzz as I divided the breastbone, creating access to the pericardial cavity that contained Emma's malformed heart.
"Beginning pericardial exposure," I announced, carefully opening the protective sac around Emma's heart.
What I found inside made me pause for just a moment.
The anatomical drawings and computer models hadn't fully captured the complexity of the malformation. Emma's heart was not just structurally abnormal—it was anatomically beautiful in its impossibility. The great vessels were not only transposed but twisted in a helical pattern that somehow maintained circulation despite violating every principle of normal cardiovascular development.
"My God," Dr. Martinez whispered. "How is she even alive?"
It was a valid question. By every rule of cardiac physiology, Emma should have died in utero. The fact that she had survived seven years with this anatomy spoke to the incredible adaptability of the human body when faced with impossible circumstances.
But I had come too far to be deterred by complexity.
"Initiating cardiopulmonary bypass," I announced.
The next thirty minutes were spent carefully connecting Emma's circulation to the heart-lung machine. Cannulas were placed in her right atrium and ascending aorta, creating the artificial circulation that would keep her brain and organs oxygenated while I worked on her motionless heart.
"Patient on bypass. Cross-clamp applied. Cardioplegia delivered," Dr. Kumar reported. Emma's heart, now isolated from her circulation and bathed in protective solution, lay still in the operative field.
This was the moment of truth. The point where theoretical surgery became reality.
I began the delicate process of reconstructing Emma's cardiovascular system from the inside out. The ventricular septal defects—holes between the heart's chambers—had to be closed without interfering with the conduction system that controlled her heart rhythm. The transposed great vessels needed to be repositioned in a way that would create functional circulation while maintaining adequate blood flow to vital organs.
Each suture was placed with the precision of a watchmaker. Too tight, and the tissue would tear. Too loose, and blood would leak through the repair. The margins for error were measured in millimeters, the consequences of mistakes measured in human life.
"Looking good, Dr. Chen," Nurse Patterson murmured as she handed me a fresh set of sutures. "The repair is holding beautifully."
Hours passed in focused concentration. The outside world ceased to exist—there was only the operative field, the steady rhythm of the bypass machine, and the intricate work of rebuilding a child's heart. My hands moved with automatic precision, guided by years of training and an intuitive understanding of cardiac anatomy that had taken decades to develop.
"Final suture placed," I announced as the last repair was completed. "Ready to separate from bypass."
The moment of truth had arrived. Everything depended on whether my reconstruction could support Emma's circulation when her heart resumed beating. Computer models and theoretical calculations were about to meet biological reality.
"Removing cross-clamp. Heart is filling..."
Emma's heart began to beat again, tentatively at first, then with increasing strength as it adjusted to its new anatomy. The monitors showed improving pressures, better oxygen saturation, the mathematical proof that the impossible had become routine.
"Separation from bypass successful," Dr. Kumar announced. "All parameters stable."
But our moment of triumph was interrupted by an alarm from one of the monitoring systems. My eyes went immediately to the displays, searching for the source of the alert.
Blood pressure dropping. Heart rate increasing. Something was wrong.
"Martinez, hand me the—"
Pain exploded through my back like liquid fire, so sudden and overwhelming that it drove every rational thought from my mind. The surgical instrument tumbled from suddenly numb fingers as I stumbled forward against the operating table. Warm wetness spread across my surgical gown as my vision began to blur around the edges.
"Dr. Chen!" Martinez's voice seemed to come from very far away, distorted by shock and the growing roar in my ears.
I tried to turn, tried to see what had happened, but my body was no longer responding to my commands. My legs gave out, sending me crashing to the OR floor in a tangle of surgical gowns and scattered instruments. Emma's heart monitor continued its steady rhythm in the background—she was still alive, still fighting, her newly repaired heart beating strong and steady.
I can't die now, I thought desperately as darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. Not when she needs me. Not when I've just proven this procedure works.
The operating room erupted into controlled chaos around me. I could hear Dr. Martinez calling for additional help, Nurse Patterson relaying information about my condition, the anesthesiology team working to stabilize Emma's anesthesia without my guidance. Someone was performing CPR on me now—I could feel the compressions against my chest even as my consciousness faded.
Through the growing haze, I caught a glimpse of the person standing over me. A man in surgical scrubs, his face hidden behind a surgical mask, but his eyes... his eyes burned with a hatred so intense it was almost physical. In his hand was a scalpel, its blade stained with my blood.
Why? I tried to ask, but no sound emerged from my lips.
The man leaned closer, and I heard him whisper: "You killed my daughter. Now you know how it feels."
Who? When? My mind raced through hundreds of cases, thousands of patients. Someone's child had died under my care—it was inevitable in a career spent pushing the boundaries of possibility. But I had never stopped trying, never given up on a patient, never...
Emma's heart monitor faltered for a moment, then resumed its steady rhythm. She was still alive, still depending on someone to finish what I had started.
Please, I prayed to whatever force might be listening. Let someone save her. Don't let my death be the reason she dies too.
The last thing I remembered was the sound of Emma's heart monitor, still beating strong and steady, a seven-year-old girl fighting for life while her surgeon died on the floor beside her.
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The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, speaking directly into my consciousness rather than through my ears. It was followed by a sensation like warm honey flowing through my mind, carrying with it knowledge I had never studied but somehow now possessed completely.
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More voices, more knowledge flowing into me like data uploading to a computer. Each new skill felt natural, as if I had been born with these abilities rather than suddenly acquiring them.
What's happening to me?
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The pain and confusion that had been overwhelming me moments before faded to manageable levels. My thoughts became clearer, more focused, driven by an unshakeable determination to preserve life at any cost.
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Perfect Life Control. The name resonated through my consciousness like a bell tolling. With it came understanding—absolute mastery over biological processes, the ability to diagnose any condition instantly, to repair damage at the cellular level, to literally hold death at bay through force of will alone.
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The sensation of power that flooded through me was beyond description. This wasn't just medical knowledge—this was dominion over the very essence of life and death. I could feel the skill's components crystallizing in my consciousness, each one a tool of impossible capability.
But underlying it all was something even more profound—the ability to simply say "no" to fate itself. Once per day, I could refuse to accept an outcome, could unravel the threads of destiny and rewrite them according to my will.
This was what I had dreamed of as a medical student. This was the power that could save everyone.
But where was I?
Consciousness returned gradually, like surfacing from the deepest anesthesia. The first thing I noticed was the absence of pain—not just the stabbing agony that had ended my life, but any physical discomfort at all. No muscle aches, no tension headaches, no chronic fatigue from eighteen-hour surgical shifts.
I felt... perfect.
Opening my eyes revealed rough stone walls illuminated by an eerie blue-green glow. The air was humid and carried the mineral scent of deep underground spaces. I was lying on what appeared to be natural stone, completely naked, in some kind of cavern system.
How did I get here?
I sat up carefully, expecting dizziness or disorientation, but my balance was flawless. Looking down at myself revealed skin that was impossibly smooth and pale, almost translucent. When I held up my hands to examine them, they seemed to glow faintly in the cavern's dim light.
This isn't human skin.
More unsettling was what I didn't see. No scars from childhood injuries, no surgical calluses from years of precise instrument work, no familiar landmarks of the body I had inhabited for thirty-two years. My torso was completely smooth—no reproductive organs, no gender characteristics, just perfectly symmetrical anatomical forms that defied classification.
What am I?
Standing revealed that my new body moved with fluid grace, each step silent against the stone floor. My vision had adapted to the low light conditions instantly, revealing details that should have been invisible in such darkness. The cavern walls were lined with crystalline formations that pulsed with gentle light, their rhythm somehow familiar.
Like a heartbeat, I realized. They're pulsing like a heartbeat.
The cavern stretched away in three directions—one passage sloped upward toward what might be the surface, another descended deeper into the earth, and the third curved away into unknown territories. My enhanced senses could detect air currents, moisture levels, even subtle geological indicators that suggested structural stability or potential collapse.
How do I know all this?
The knowledge felt natural, as if I had always possessed this understanding of biological and geological systems. It was similar to the way surgical anatomy had become second nature after years of practice, but more immediate, more intuitive.
My contemplation was interrupted by movement near where I had awakened. A gelatinous blue creature, roughly the size of a volleyball, was slowly making its way across the cavern floor. It was translucent and glowing with the same bioluminescence that provided the cavern's illumination.
My medical training immediately began analyzing the creature—unknown organism, possible pathogen vector, unpredictable behavior patterns. But as I watched it move, consuming small organic debris with apparent contentment, it seemed completely harmless.
A slime, I realized with growing wonder. Like something from a fantasy story.
But if slimes were real, what else might inhabit this place? What kind of world had I awakened in?
I needed answers, and the upward passage seemed like the most logical place to find them. But first, I should probably find some way to protect myself and create basic tools in case I encountered hostile organisms.
The cavern floor was littered with stone fragments of various sizes. Using my enhanced understanding of anatomy and my memories of surgical procedures, I began shaping crude but functional tools from the available materials.
The process felt as natural as performing surgery had in my previous life. My hands moved with perfect precision, finding stress points in the stone and applying exactly the right pressure to create sharp cutting edges. Within minutes, I had crafted several instruments that would have taken a professional toolsmith hours to produce.
The transformation of my abilities was remarkable. In my previous life, I had been skilled with my hands, capable of precise work under pressure. Now, that skill had been enhanced beyond human limitations. Every movement was perfectly controlled, every action calculated for maximum efficiency.
Incredible. It's like my surgical skills have been enhanced and generalized beyond anything I could have imagined.
With primitive but well-made tools in hand, I began my ascent toward the surface, eager to discover what kind of world I had awakened in and what opportunities it might offer for someone with my unique abilities.
The climb through the cavern system proved to be an education in this world's fundamental strangeness. What had initially appeared to be ordinary limestone passages revealed themselves as something far more complex and alive.
Skills Acquired:
Unique Skills:
Unravel Fate: A 1/day ability to negate a single death or fate-bound event for herself or one person she marks.
Ultimate Skill: [Merciful God of Flesh (Asclethoth)]Origin: Fusion of [Healing Magic], [Dissection], and [Mental Analysis]
Components:
Perfect Diagnosis: Can instantly scan a creature's full physical, magical, and mental condition upon touch or eye contact Soul Scalpel: A cursed surgical technique that allows her to "cut out" corruption, mental illness, curses, or even skills — with or without consent Organ Reforging: Can reconstruct or mutate organs using mana or foreign tissue. Grants target new magical affinity or resistance Emotional Transplant: Allows her to "operate" on someone's emotions or personality—can dull trauma, implant loyalty, or sever attachments Mortal Stitch: A resurrection-type effect usable once per day. Revives a target by reconstructing their body from ambient life force—but they return changed (potential for mutations or visions from beyond)
Basic Skills Acquired:
Medical Intuition → Divine Diagnosis Life Sense → Vital Manipulation → Perfect Life Control Surgical Precision Pain Tolerance Emotional Suppression Healer's Resolve,
The passage upward wound through geological formations that defied conventional understanding. What had initially appeared to be natural cave systems revealed themselves as something far more intentional—corridors carved with mathematical precision, walls that curved in patterns that suggested both organic growth and deliberate design.
My enhanced perception allowed me to navigate the darkness with confidence, each step calculated to avoid loose stones that might create noise. The crude tools I had fashioned felt perfectly balanced in my hands, extensions of my will rather than foreign objects. It was remarkable how my surgical precision had translated into this new environment, transforming basic survival tasks into exercises in controlled artistry.
The air grew fresher as I climbed, carrying scents that my transformed senses could analyze in extraordinary detail. Plant matter, definitely—but species I couldn't identify from my previous life's botanical knowledge. Water, both stagnant and flowing. And something else, something that made my new instincts sharpen with attention.
The metallic tang of blood.
I paused at a junction where three passages converged, my enhanced hearing picking up sounds that would have been inaudible to human ears. Breathing, labored and irregular. The wet sound of fluid in damaged lungs. Somewhere ahead, something was dying.
Every instinct I possessed as a surgeon demanded investigation. In my previous life, I had taken an oath to preserve life regardless of circumstance. Death was the enemy, suffering the challenge to be overcome. These principles hadn't changed with my transformation—if anything, they had become more fundamental to my existence.
Following the sounds led me through a narrow passage that opened into a larger chamber. Bioluminescent formations provided enough light to reveal the scene that awaited me, and what I saw made my new heart race with both professional urgency and deep concern.
A creature lay crumpled against the far wall, its breathing shallow and wet with internal bleeding. At first glance, it appeared humanoid—two arms, two legs, a torso and head arranged in familiar proportions. But the details were distinctly non-human. Gray-green skin covered in what looked like natural armor plating, pointed ears that twitched with each labored breath, and facial features that were sharp and angular in ways that suggested predatory adaptation.
A goblin, my mind supplied, drawing on half-remembered fantasy literature from my previous life. But this wasn't the cartoonish creature from children's stories. This was a living being, clearly intelligent, and undeniably dying.
The creature's injuries were severe but not immediately fatal. Deep puncture wounds in the torso, consistent with being impaled by something sharp and narrow. Internal bleeding, certainly, but the placement suggested the vital organs had been missed by millimeters. In my previous life, this would have been a complex but manageable case for a skilled trauma surgeon.
Now, with my enhanced abilities, it was simply a problem to be solved.
The goblin's eyes opened as I approached, revealing intelligence and wariness in equal measure. It tried to speak, producing sounds that were clearly language but not any I recognized. When I knelt beside it, however, my long silver hair catching the bioluminescent light of the cavern, something unexpected happened.
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The creature's words suddenly became clear: "Stay... stay back, demon. Haven't you... done enough?"
Demon? I looked down at my pale, glowing skin and ethereal appearance, my silver hair flowing around my shoulders like moonlight made tangible, and realized how I must appear to this injured creature. My transformed appearance, emerging from the depths of a cave system with an otherworldly beauty that seemed to defy natural law, probably did suggest something supernatural and potentially malevolent.
"I'm not here to hurt you," I said, surprised to find that my words came out in the goblin's own language. "I'm a healer. Let me help."
The goblin's eyes widened with shock. "You... you speak our tongue. But demons don't... don't heal."
"I'm not a demon," I replied, already beginning my diagnostic assessment. My enhanced senses were providing detailed information about the creature's condition—three puncture wounds, two causing significant internal bleeding, damage to lower intestinal tract, early signs of infection setting in. "What happened to you?"
"Cave crawlers," the goblin gasped. "Hunting party... scattered. I got separated, ran into their territory. One of them got me with its stinger before I could escape."
Cave crawlers. The name meant nothing to me, but the injury pattern was consistent with attack by some kind of predatory creature with a pointed appendage. In my previous life, I had treated similar injuries from industrial accidents and animal attacks.
"What's your name?" I asked, my hands already moving to examine the wounds more closely.
"Grik," the goblin replied. "And you... what are you?"
It was a fair question, and one I wasn't entirely sure how to answer. "My name is Sarah. I'm... new to this world. But I can help you, if you'll let me."
Grik's expression shifted from wariness to desperate hope. "You really are a healer? Not just saying that to... to get close enough to finish me?"
The question hurt more than I expected. In my previous life, the idea that someone might pretend to be a medical professional for malicious purposes was abhorrent. The trust between healer and patient was sacred, the foundation upon which all medical practice was built.
"I swear to you," I said, and felt power flow through the words, "I will do everything in my power to preserve your life. That is what I am."
Something in my voice must have convinced him, because Grik nodded weakly and stopped trying to pull away from my examination.
My diagnostic abilities were providing a complete picture of his condition now. The injuries were serious but not beyond my capabilities to address. More concerning was the infection beginning to set in—whatever had attacked him had left behind some kind of toxin that was interfering with natural healing processes.
"This is going to feel strange," I warned, placing my hands over the worst of the puncture wounds. "But I need you to trust me."
Drawing upon my new abilities felt as natural as picking up a scalpel had in my previous life. The Ultimate Skill [Merciful God of Flesh] responded to my will, power flowing through my hands into Grik's damaged tissue. I could feel the cellular structure beneath my palms, could sense the disrupted blood vessels and torn muscle fibers, could identify the foreign toxins that were preventing proper healing.
The Soul Scalpel component of my ability manifested as a sensation of cutting away the infected tissue without making any physical incision. The toxins were severed from healthy cells, isolated and then destroyed by my body's own energy. The Organ Reforging aspect kicked in next, guiding the rapid reconstruction of damaged tissue.
Grik gasped as his wounds began to close, the bleeding stopping as if controlled by invisible sutures. His breathing became easier as internal injuries healed, and color returned to his gray-green skin.
"Impossible," he whispered, staring at where his fatal injuries had been only moments before. "Even the shamans can't... how did you...?"
"Medical training," I replied, which was technically true even if it didn't explain the supernatural aspects of my abilities. "How do you feel?"
Grik sat up slowly, testing his range of motion. "Like I was never hurt at all. Better than I felt before the attack, actually." He looked at me with an expression that mixed gratitude with something approaching religious awe. "You didn't just heal me. You made me... stronger somehow."
That was interesting. I had focused purely on repairing the damage, but it seemed my abilities had some beneficial side effects. The Organ Reforging component might have optimized his cardiovascular system while making the repairs, improving his overall physical condition beyond its original baseline.
"Sarah," Grik said, his voice formal now. "I owe you a life debt. By goblin law, I am bound to serve you until this debt is repaid."
A life debt. The concept felt familiar from various fantasy stories, but having it offered to me in reality was somewhat overwhelming. In my previous life, patients had expressed gratitude, but nothing quite this formal or binding.
"That's not necessary," I began, but Grik cut me off.
"It is law," he said firmly. "And more than that, it is honor. You could have left me to die, could have taken my belongings and continued on your way. Instead, you saved my life with power I have never seen before. The debt must be acknowledged."
I could see that arguing would be pointless and potentially insulting. Besides, having a guide who understood this world would be invaluable as I tried to establish myself in my new existence.
"Very well," I said. "But I want to be clear—I expect you to make your own choices. I'm not interested in having a slave."
Grik's expression brightened considerably. "A fair master as well as a powerful healer. The spirits have smiled upon me today."
He stood and performed what appeared to be a formal bow, then began gathering his scattered belongings. His equipment was crude but functional—leather armor, a bronze-tipped spear, a collection of tools that suggested he was part of a hunting or scouting party.
"Where were you heading before the attack?" I asked.
"Back to Gromak Village," he replied. "My hunting party was tracking a wounded elk, but we lost the trail in the deep caves. The others will be gathering at the emergency rendezvous point—they'll assume I'm dead if I don't return by sunset."
"How far is your village from here?"
"Two hours' travel if we take the direct route. But that means crossing cave crawler territory again." He paused, studying my appearance. "Though with your powers, perhaps they would not dare attack."
I considered this. Meeting other goblins would provide valuable information about this world and its inhabitants. It would also give me the opportunity to learn more about my abilities in a relatively safe environment.
"Lead the way," I decided. "But stay alert. I may be able to heal injuries, but I'd prefer to avoid them in the first place."
Grik nodded and began leading me through passages I never would have found on my own. As we traveled, he provided a running commentary on the local geography, the habits of various creatures, and the social structure of his people.
"Gromak Village is small," he explained as we navigated a particularly narrow passage. "Maybe two hundred goblins, mostly hunters and crafters. We trade with the human settlements sometimes, but mostly we keep to ourselves. The chief, Urok, is old but wise. He'll want to meet you."
"What will you tell him about me?"
Grik was quiet for a moment. "The truth," he said finally. "That you appeared in the deep caves like a spirit of healing, that you saved my life with magic I have never seen before, and that you speak our language as if you were born to it. The chief will decide what that means."
As we continued through the cave system, I found myself reflecting on the strangeness of my situation. Less than an hour ago, I had been a confused newcomer to this world, trying to understand my transformation and new abilities. Now I was traveling with a goblin guide, heading toward my first encounter with an entire community of intelligent non-human beings.
The medical professional in me was fascinated by the biological diversity I was encountering. The enhanced being I had become was eager to test the limits of my new abilities. And the human soul at my core was simply grateful to have found a purpose in this strange new existence.
Whatever challenges lay ahead, I would face them as I always had—with skill, determination, and an unwavering commitment to preserving life in all its forms.
After all, medicine was still the art by which humanity conquered death.
Even if I was no longer entirely human myself.
Skills Status:
Ultimate Skill: [Merciful God of Flesh (Asclethoth)] - Active use confirmed Language Comprehension - Goblin dialect acquired Perfect Diagnosis - Successfully identified toxin contamination Soul Scalpel - Used to remove foreign toxins Organ Reforging - Enhanced subject beyond baseline capabilities Unique Skill: [Unravel Fate] - Unused (1/day remaining)