SSS-Ranked Surgeon In Another World: The Healer Is Actually OP! - Chapter 312: Beneath Four Heavens

Chapter 312: Beneath Four Heavens

’Heal.’

The beast didn’t just watch, they surrounded him in a tightening circle. Their presence immense. Godlike within this enclosure. The ground beneath them seemed more solid than beneath him. Their movements were unaffected, fluid, natural, sovereign. They were absolute here.

The first hammer swing came low.

Bruce braced. The impact sent him skidding across compressed ice, boots carving trenches. The fourth Turtle didn’t attack physically. It stepped forward slowly, red eyes burning brighter, and Bruce felt the will Domain press harder, his thoughts dulling at the edges. Not confusion. Fatigue of spirit. The sensation of inevitability creeping in like frostbite, numbing not flesh but resolve.

Before he stabilized, the second Turtle closed distance and drove its shield into his side.

Ribs fractured.

Heal.

The third brought its staff down across his spine. He dropped to one knee.

Heal.

He surged upward in defiance, Red slicing across a knee joint with surgical precision. The blade bit, but the defensive Domain blunted the damage. What would have been crippling outside became a manageable wound inside their amplified space.

They punished the attempt instantly.

A hammer struck his shoulder. A shield smashed into his jaw. A staff cracked across his ribs. Each blow stacked within the enclosed space, shockwaves ricocheting inward instead of dispersing, his body becoming the focal point of their god space, absorbing force that had nowhere else to go.

Golden light pulsed again and again.

Heal. Adapt. Heal. Adapt.

But adaptation was slower here. The distortion wasn’t direct damage. The will suppression wasn’t a physical strike. He couldn’t simply build immunity through trauma, these weren’t attacks his body could learn to resist. They were laws, and laws didn’t care how strong your flesh became.

He gritted his teeth. Forced himself upright. Red spun in his grip as he ducked under a horizontal hammer swing and drove a precise stab beneath a raised arm.

The Turtle staggered half a step.

Half a step. That was all.

The shield bearer slammed him from behind. His face struck the ice. Before he could rise, a hammer descended onto his back.

The sound inside the Domain was muffled and thunderous at the same time, a contained detonation with nowhere to bleed.

His spine compressed.

Golden light exploded outward in a flare that illuminated the interior of the four shells like a sun trapped inside a cathedral of bone.

Heal forced vertebrae back into alignment. He rolled, barely avoiding the follow up staff thrust that cratered the ice where his head had been.

He rose again.

Blood streaked his face. His breathing was heavier now, not from wounds, but from pressure. The will Domain had been working on him steadily, quietly, eroding the edges of his determination the way water wore down stone. Every time he healed his body, his spirit absorbed a little more of the weight pressing down on it.

They stood before him like wardens of a sealed heaven. Supreme. Dominant. Omnipotent within their law.

He attacked again, not recklessly, but searching. Testing seams. Testing synchronization points. Testing whether four cooperating Domains could be forced to misalign.

Every aggressive burst triggered distortion resistance. Every heavy strike was absorbed by amplified defense. Every attempt to reposition was denied by sealing curvature.

Golden light flared again as a hammer drove into his abdomen and a shield struck his ribs simultaneously. He held. Barely. Heal restored torn muscle before it could rupture fully.

He slid backward, boots grinding, mind racing.

There had to be interference. There had to be overlap friction. Four Domains cooperating was unnatural, even with shared intent. Perfect synchronization required perfect unity, and perfect unity didn’t exist among four separate minds. Somewhere in the architecture of this layered god space, there were seams. Joints. Points where one will ended and another began.

He analyzed between strikes. Timing of distortion pulses. The micro delay when two Turtles moved at once. The faint ripple where shell silhouettes intersected overhead, barely perceptible, but there, like the hairline crack in a dam that looked solid from a distance.

Another hammer struck. Another shield crushed into his guard. Another staff carved across his side.

Heal surged again.

He was adapting to force. But not to law.

And inside this layered god space, the Aegisshell Turtles reigned.

Bruce stood bloodied, breathing hard, golden light flickering across his skin as he absorbed yet another amplified strike. His body was whole, Heal made certain of that. But wholeness wasn’t enough. Not here.

He couldn’t break the Domains. Not yet. Not with force alone.

He could only endure. And think. And survive long enough.

To find the flaw.

The four shell domes loomed overhead like overlapping heavens of judgment, their curved interiors glowing faintly with crimson latticework, ancient laws etched into the air itself. Within them stood the Aegisshell humanoid Turtles, immense and sovereign, their plated bodies layered like living citadels. Their red lit eyes burned with unified purpose. Not wild rage. Something colder. Deliberate. Territorial. Certain.

The Domain pressed against Bruce from all directions. Movement thickened until even lifting a finger felt like forcing it through hardened resin. Space bent inward, sealing him at the center of their constructed god realm. His will strained under the suppression, like a voice trying to shout underwater. His defenses felt heavy. Sluggish. Every breath dragged across his lungs as though the air had turned to lead.

So he stopped trying to break it.

And instead, he endured.

The first hammer fell with the weight of a collapsing glacier. He saw it descend. He knew he could attempt to twist aside.

He didn’t. He raised his arm and let it hit.

The impact crushed him into the ice. The Domain contained the shockwave, refusing to let the force disperse into the Abyss beyond, folding it inward instead, compressing it through flesh and bone. His ribs bent grotesquely. His shoulder compacted. Blood erupted across frozen ground in a violent spray of red against white.

Golden light surged.

Heal.

The sound of snapping bone reversed itself mid echo. Fragments drew together before they could fully separate. Torn muscle threaded back into place with violent precision. Blood reversed its arc, dragging itself back beneath skin as if time had been ordered to comply.

The Turtles didn’t pause. They had expected resistance. They had measured him. They had decided.