Breathe. It's finally done.

Shoulders shift with a sour disquiet. The scent of acid and flesh hangs in the air.

A hum grows into a roar.

I'm rattled by violent turbulence.

Something writhes behind my eye. Bending. Slipping. ...alive.

I retch. My head cracks into something unyielding.

Blurs of black and red dimly radiate through warped glass.

My wet palms slide across it, feeling it bend around me.

My back hits the surface as I press my foot against the wall until my bones ache. It doesn't budge.

I punch it. My knuckles split. I press my forehead against the blood-smeared glass.

At the center of the chamber beyond, a pool of caustic fluid sits cracked and leaking. Tadpoles spill onto the ground. Parasites.

Illithids... the word comes to me like a haunting. I-

No.

I press my fingers over my eye.

I'm infected.

A shudder rushes through me, and I sink into a crouch, but my knees wedge halfway.

Robbed of the dignity of curling up in a ball and dying properly.

...

I'm not asking for much. I just want the door to open.

The tadpole squeals and shifts with a profane squelching in my head.

Something psionic pulses from my mind.

I press my hands over my face as my shoulders coil.

"Stop..." I whimper.

The door shifts and I drop out. I lie flat and take a quaking breath.

"Gods."

Slowly, I rise, keeping steady.

The room is taut with rippling flesh. Many pods line the chamber. The shadows bury the spaces between.

My elbows are pinned tightly to my sides.

None of this should feel as familiar as it does. No memories, only nameless sensations.

I stumble past the brine pool toward a strange sphincter. My limbs drag, toes scraping against the ground.

The sphincter opens into a laboratory with a wet squelch.

Alien atriums hum with biomes of life, anchored next to cold chitinous tables.

My hand lands on a tablet with strange etching. My mind collects fragments of goblin traditions. My eyes go wide and I frantically look around.

Knowledge is a violent weapon to hold.

Several tablets are strewn across a table toward the back. I move, but the chamber rattles and tips. The tablets slide into an open corridor. I lunge forward, only managing to grab one.

Knowledge of illithids seeps into my mind.

With horror, I watch the rest drop into the air. The lakes of Avernus roil below.

I clutch the edge of the hull before sinking back.

I'm flying through the hells on an illithid warship. A fucking Nautiloid.

I pat myself down. Clothed in stinking rags. Unarmed.

...

I need to commandeer this ship.

The tadpole bends inside my head again and I grip my face once more. "Stop!"

A rippling sensation tugs at my consciousness and words echo in my mind. "Help Us!"

Busy work. I only just awoke. Still, strength in numbers.

I swallow and send a query back. "Where are you?" The psionic pulse hums behind my eyes, and I grip my knees.

"Chair. Hurry!"

Gathering myself, I scan the chamber. I spot the aforementioned chair on a platform just above me. Using broken pieces of hull, I climb up. The twitching body of a man is strapped firmly into the seat. His eyes are shifting and possessed. Brain exposed and quivering. A vivisection, abandoned.

His brain squeals, caught tight in the swollen tissue surrounding it. "Savior! Please free me!"

The damned thing should have been removed hours ago.

I look at my hand. Fingers twitch.

Gingerly, I press a finger between the brain and the tissue lining the cranium. The tissue separates on the edge of my finger. With a satisfying rip, I pull the brain free.

Then a voice hisses in my ears. C-crush. Cripple. Kill...

My fingers twitch again and begin to tighten around the brain. I quickly set it down and wipe my hands on my ragged tunic. "Can you..." I clear my throat. Mouth dry. "Can you navigate the ship?"

The creature sprouts four fleshy legs with padded skin-paws. It sits peacefully for a moment, communing with an unseen entity.

I loom over it, impatient but reserved. "Well?"

Its thoughts echo in my mind once again. "They are calling. We must go to the helm."

"The helm. Lead the way. What do I call you?"

The creature taps its flesh paws excitedly. "Us. We are Us!"

A burst of flames arches through the cracks in the hull, grazing me.
"Fuck!"

A red dragon screams past; the ship is under attack by Gith raiders. Of course. The githyanki and illithids have been enemies for centuries.

I gather Us into my arms and leap onto the main floor. My ankles are battered by the force of the landing, but I manage to dash over to the open corridor and duck behind a wall.

In a moment of reprieve, I sprint across. To my left there is nothing but open sky and it tugs at me, a siren of my ruin. I propel myself forward with every bit of strength I have.

As the next chamber draws near, I am waylaid by a Githyanki woman in a flash of silver armor. She lands cleanly in front of me, her sword held high, her voice barely masking the rising panic within her. "Thrall! Your day has come!"

The young warrior holds her ground with impressive zeal. I lock eyes with her. I'm unarmed and unarmored. But she's half my size, and still very green. Pun intended.

I'm going to go through her.

Her jaw tenses. She swings, nimble and precise. Through Tymora's grace, I barely dodge. I stumble forward, lowering my head and catching her on my shoulder.

She snarls and flails. "Istik! Put me down!"

With a roar, flames erupt behind us as a red dragon darts past. The heat bites at my heels.

I launch myself forward, landing hard on the chitinous ground. The warrior and Us slide out of my arms as we careen toward a wide crack in the floor.

Us and I slip over the edge, and a chill runs through me as I drop, catching the edge in a panic. Us whips a tentacle skyward, wrapping around my ankle. It squeaks, dangling over the hells.

I pull it up, cradling it in my arm. Last thing I need is to lose my map.

The woman appears above us. I hold up Us and she recoils. "I will not be handling that abomination!"

I grunt and my hand begins to slip. "I swear on Bhaal's blood! If I fall because of you, I will crawl out of the hells and strangle you!"

She stares at me and then curls her nose, gingerly taking Us from me.

I drag my carcass to safety, rolling onto my back. My breath is heavy, arms and shoulders aching from the strain. Us leaps from the woman's hands and totters onto my chest, tucking its legs in as it nestles. I place my hand on its... brain-body, feeling centered for one merciful moment.

I hear a sigh and glance up at the woman. "It seems you are not a thrall." She sneers.

"No." I breathe.

"Then we must stick together. In numbers we may make it off this wretched ship."

"What is your name?"

"My name?" She lifts her chin with an air of dignity. "My name is Lae'zel, of Creche K'liir."

Do I know my name? Since waking, two names have clung to the forefront of my mind. V-asha. Neels. No. Vash... Neel?

"I'm Vash Neel."

...that felt wrong.

Before I have a chance to reflect, I see movement.

With a shriek, three imps glide onto the ship. Hells' vermin come to feed on corpses only to find fresher meat. Us. I mean... us.

I grunt and get to my feet.

Us leaps from me, immediately swiping one of the imps with a gelatinous fury.

I steady myself, head swimming. An imp slams into my chest. Its scream splits my ears. My hands move. Twisting. A soft pop. The chaos goes still as I stare down at the small creature, limp in my arms. It's head dangles loose.

I breathe heavy out my nose.

Us slaps an imp out of the air. I pin the fiend beneath my heel and my vision narrows as I press until it falls still.

"Enough playing, Istik, our time runs short!" Lae'zel's voice cuts through my focus.

I blink and take a sharp breath in. "Apologies." I murmur, nudging the body through the crack in the floor.

She thumbs through the pockets of a corpse and gathers a few daggers, handing them to me. "Perhaps now that you're armed, you'll remain focused."

The weight of the blades in my hands. Another uncanny memory.

She moves and we follow.

We enter a chamber with more pods lining the walls. The moment we enter a shrill scream echoes from a pod, followed by heavy pounding. A woman is awake and trapped. I approach her, and her panic seems to rise. I watch her for a moment and a chill rushes through me. I grip my elbows.

Us feeds me the schematics of the ship. The helm is to the right, but the chamber ahead has several chests, anchored near more pods.

The resonant screams of the woman become shrill as I pass her.

I spot them lining the back of the chamber. I stumble toward them and begin throwing open lids, rummaging through endless piles of paraphernalia. I find trousers and a tunic that look clean enough. I pull off my rags and get dressed.

Lae'zel runs up behind me before throwing her hands in the air. "Are the people of this realm no better than beasts? Where are your clothes?"

I glance back at her briefly before noticing a fold of dark wool among the detritus. I tug it free.

The weight. The feel.

My cloak.

I bury my face in it, taking a deep inhale, closing my eyes. It smells of road dust and the vague ichor of aged gore.

My eyes glaze over as another memory bites at me. The smell of rotting flesh. The bright lights of a surgical table. A man's voice, cracked and shouting. "Get him out!"

A fair declaration.

Something lands on my foot. Beige ribbons coiled on the ground. I stoop and pick them up. As if by instinct I begin to wrap my hands, weaving them between my fingers and around my wrists. Muscle memory.

I throw open the final chest and instantly get a whiff of linseed oil.

My greatsword is sitting in a pile of random items. Like a toybox for the damned.

I hold it up, cool steel blade gleaming red in the ambient light of the ship.

Paladin.

I'm a Paladin.

But what is the nature of my oath?

If I manage to survive maybe I'll have the honor of finding out.

I arm myself with what the chest has to offer. The moment my scabbard rests across my back I feel a sense of wholeness. My breath settles and my eyes close briefly before turning back to Lae'zel.

"Come." I brush past her.

She drops her arms, grunting. "Finally."

Us scuttles dutifully behind me.

I make my way to the woman in the pod. She's doubled over, fists feebly pounding on the lid. Her resolve has worn thin and she's settled into exhausted sobbing. "P-please!"

I scan her. Dark mail. Mace. Her armor looks like it belongs to some holy order. A cleric? Another Paladin? It dawns on me that this woman isn't just a victim, she's a prisoner.

Even better.

Reluctantly, I focus on my tadpole and attune to the console. My connection with the mechanism is tenuous. I work quickly, trying to dispel the warding runes that have her pod locked. I chase sensations, feel for resonance, anything that will let the lock relent.

My connection begins to slip, but with one final push the runes shatter.

Thank the gods. I have no fucking idea what I'm doing.

I give the command and the lid slides open. She collapses in front of me, exhausted and shaking.

Lae'zel and I give her space. I offer my hand and she takes it, carefully climbing to her feet. She steadies herself, wiping her face clean as best as possible. "I thought... I thought I was lying in my coffin."

My lips straighten. "A truly horrifying dilemma."

She looks at me and nods silently, another latent tear tumbling down her cheek. "Thank you for your rescue, but we're not out of the woods yet. Do either of you have a plan on how to get out of here?"

Lae'zel chimes in, impatient. "Yes! We must find the helm!"

The woman's face falls, and she becomes guarded but resigned. "She's right."

I smell the tension and glance at Lae'zel, before turning back to the woman. "Come with us. I'm Vash Neel."

Her face softens, and I think I see a vague smile. "Shadowheart."

Us squeaks with finality. "To the helm!" The words resonate with all our tadpoles.

Lae'zel clutches her ears. "Out of my head, fiend!" She arms herself, ready to strike.

I step into her. "That fiend is our map."

She stares at me, jaw clenched, her teeth grinding. She finally sheaths her sword. "...Map?" She mutters, looking down at Us.

I turn to Us. "Go ahead."

Us scuttles forward, tentacles alert.

There is a haze that fills the air from burning equipment scattered across the bridge. The acrid smoke chokes me, and my eyes begin to water. I blink, waving my hand in front of my face foolishly assuming that will help me.

I crouch next to Us as I appraise the pandemonium through the ruin.

The last living Mind Flayer stands among its dead brethren, caught in a duel with a large Cambion. At the very back of the bridge is the helm. A large mechanism connected to whipping tentacles that are floating haplessly, waiting for direction. The illithid navigator lies skewered in a pool of silver blood beneath it all.

"Gods!" I hear Shadowheart cough through her own words. "Where's the helm?"

"This way!" Lae'zel cries, charging forward.

Through the haze I see the pulsing heat of a hellsboar, wild with fury as the ship rattles around us.

An imp dive bombs us, and I batter it in the back with the hilt of my sword. It tumbles to the ground, and Us slashes at it with gusto.

The hellsboar squeals and charges us. I use my foot to slide Us across the floor, out of the hellsboar's charge.

It meets me with tusks flailing and molten skin seething. I crack it in the face with the edge of my blade. It squeals and bucks, sliding past me as the ship tilts.

I begin to run toward the helm. Shadowheart chokes out a cry. "Vash!" She points toward the cambion. "The sword!"

The long sword he clutches streaks the air with a hellish flame.

An asset.

I rush the devil.

"Drop." Shadowheart casts a commanding spell, but the devil holds fast.

The mind flayer unleashes a burst of psionic energy that rips through the cambion's mind. He staggers, disoriented and looking sickened.

"Drop!" This time he relinquishes the weapon. It lands on the ground with a clatter and I dive for it, snatching it out from under him.

"Lae'zel!" I hurl the sword toward her.

She's forced to make a decision. She makes the right one. Her longsword falls and she catches the hells' blade. With one fluid motion she rends the imp cleanly.

There is a pause as she looks at her longsword on the ground. She steps over it, making her way toward the final barrage of hell beasts.

From the edge of my vision, I see the seething heat charging me again. The hellsboar. I brace myself and grab its tusks on impact. It drives me back, my boots sliding across the ground as I lean with the momentum.

It bucks with a fury, throwing me off balance. I regain my footing but cannot let go, lest I get pulled to the ground.

My jaw clenches until my teeth ache. I woke up naught 1 hour ago. I'm shaken and weary, and I feel my grip slipping from this fucking thing's face.

What do I have? Even if I could get to my sword, I have no God, no conviction. Nothing.

I steady my mind and breathe. If my power came from a God, hopefully they will answer my call.

I close my eyes and suddenly feel chilled and breathless. Utterly drained of my essence, as if I were in the presence of death itself.

The world goes quiet.

Then a power rises from below and I am consumed by a dreadful divinity.
Whispers flood my mind.
I am witnessed.

My dagger comes free and splits the face of the Hellsboar with a sacred reckoning. It crumbles. Hapless and still.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel have been waylaid by more hellbeasts. I charge past them and trip, landing against the helm. A pulse of psionic power echoes simple instructions.

"Connect the nerves."

I quickly connect the whipping tentacles and pluck them.

Reality blinks and everything goes dark.

There is nothing, until the roar of rushing skies fades back into my senses. Hells' heat, red dragons, burning lakes, all of it gone. The cool air of Faerûn kisses my skin, but the damage to the ship is done. The nautiloid is going down. I grab the wheel and try to steer the ship into an even landing.

Turbulence throws me to the ground, and I slide across the floor. I reach for the hull's edge, bracing to catch myself.

My fingers slip and I drop into the open air.

They say a champion's death should be a grand climax to their life.

So, who am I?

Just another broken body, buried by the silt of time.

A man incapable of reflecting on his own life in his final moments.

How embarrassing.