Adam hung in the broken void and forced himself to breathe
Blood trailed from the deep gash in his chest and the torn muscle in his left arm. The cracked hip sent sharp warnings as he shifted. Creation answered as he called it forth, but the response was slower, heavier, as if he was pulling water from a well that was nearly dry. He started with the worst of it - sealing the chest just enough to stop the free bleeding, knitting the arm so that it would hold weight, stabilizing the hip so that he could stand without the joint snapping like dry bone. None of the repairs were finished. All were only enough that he could function.
He took stock of the field
