And so, we moved on, following the directions granted by Clairvoyance to carefully navigate the upper deck.

Karlach walked with an easy confidence, her new spectral battleaxe resting lightly against her shoulder, the faint mist curling off the blade in mesmerizing tendrils. Every so often, she would glance at me out of the corner of her eye, as if still trying to process exactly what I was. Still, when our eyes met, she smiled an easy, confident smile -- whatever she thought I was, definitely met with her approval. Lae’zel remained silent, stalking behind me with a practiced warrior’s gait, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her lingering wariness.

Then, without warning, the air filled with the frenzied screeches of winged creatures. From the dark recesses above, a gargantuan cloud of hellish imps poured down in a chittering, screeching swarm. Each was a twisted thing of dark red sinew and claw, their small, leathery wings barely keeping them aloft as they descended upon us like starving vultures. Individually, they were no threat. But their sheer numbers turned them into a writhing tide of claws, fangs, and flame.

I reacted instinctively. With a calm exhale, I prepared to unleash a Thu’um. The ancient language of the dragons rose to my lips. In retrospect, I should have considered leaving such experimentation for later, for I barely got through the first syllable.

“Fus—”

To my enhanced perception, the world itself seemed to... hesitate, freezing and briefly going monochrome as the Word of Power continued to vibrate in the air, a sound that Did Not Belong in this reality. For the briefest of moments between instants, but also -- somehow -- for an endless, blind eternity, the sound hung there, suspended, as if the fabric of existence itself was unsure what to do with this new command.

And then—

F̸̦̗͛͌͐̈́̏͋U̷̹̲̮̪̺̝̒̇̇͊̉͘ͅS̶̫̹̮͂̄

The World responded.

Like an overly-enthusiastic guard beast, finally unleashed from its chain and eager to please its master, the single syllable erupted, amplified beyond what even I would have considered excessive.

A shockwave ripped outward, a veritable tsunami of raw force that violently detonated through the top deck of the ship. The imps closest to me didn’t just fly backward—they were pulverized. Bones shattered and organs pulped as the Imps' fragile bodies came into contact with pure, unrelenting force. The further imps, those just outside the immediate cone of devastation, "merely" had their wings snapped, their bodies flung into one another in a tumbling chaos of shrieking flesh. Even those on the periphery were sent flying head-over-heels, deafened and in shock, like fish exposed to a dynamite blast, they lost their mobility to an uncontrolled tumble.

The very walls of the Nautiloid quivered, even the ship's giant tentacles flinching away in response to the impossible force I had just unleashed.

...

I had, once again, miscalculated.

...

Caught in the periphery of the blast, Lae’zel stumbled. Her stance, stable and unyielding mere moments ago, faltered. She tilted backward, dangerously close to toppling over the edge into the abyss beyond the platform, her eyes widening in fear and panic.

Without thinking, I reached out with my mind. My telekinesis seized the thick metal of her armor midair, halting her fall in an instant, while my other hand sent forth a burst of restorative magic to heal any damage I may have inadvertently caused. She hovered for half a heartbeat, utterly weightless, before I gently set her back onto stable footing.

Lae’zel stared at me, stunned. Her mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came. This process repeated two more times as the air between us crackled with something indescribable. The ship, and the very Hell surrounding us, seemed strangely quiet in the wake of the unleashed Thu’um.

After a few seconds, Karlach broke the tension by letting out a low whistle. “Okay. Gotta say, Soldier… that may have been a bit of an overkill.”

I ran a hand through my hair sheepishly, exhaling slowly. “That... doesn't usually happen. I feel stronger since I woke up, and I really need to learn how to moderate the new strength.”

Lae’zel straightened, rolling her shoulders as if to shake off the momentary loss of composure. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but there was a new edge to it.

“You wield power you do not yet control.” She glanced at the last remnants of the imp swarm, their bodies twisted and broken. “That is dangerous.”

I calmly met her gaze, my own unreadable. “Sorry about that -- new Universe; different rules. I promise I’m working on it.”

She gave a slow nod, then turned, motioning toward the path ahead. “Then let us reach the Helm before you bring this ship down around us.”

On the plus side, the Imps gave us a wide berth after the earlier demonstration of force. Unchallenged, we quickly ascended further into the Nautiloid, climbing rope-like organic tendrils that shifted unpleasantly under our weight, their slick surfaces pulsing like the living veins they probably were. The climb brought us to a familiar chamber at the ship’s upper level, its walls lined with pulsating pods filled with writhing forms—immobilized thralls, their blank eyes staring outward, trapped in an existence neither alive nor dead.

And then there was her.

A pod at the center of the room contained a woman thrashing violently, her face twisted with frustration. The dim, bioluminescent light of the Nautiloid’s grotesque interior cast shifting shadows across her pale skin, highlighting the contours of her high cheekbones and the delicate arch of her brows. Strands of deep black hair, almost blue in the unnatural lighting, floated around her face, half-matted to her skin by the disgusting moisture of the pod’s organic interior. Her striking dark-violet eyes, wide with desperation, glowed faintly as they locked onto me, burning with a mixture of defiance and urgency.

She was armored—though what she wore seemed more ceremonial than practical. Her dark leather-and-metal chestpiece was adorned with subtle engravings that hinted at a religious role. A silver pendant -- the sigil of Shar (way to be discrete, girl!) rested against her collarbone, gleaming dully under the pulsing lights of the chamber. The edges of her armor bore intricate filigree, once pristine, but now marred by the oozing organic residue of her imprisonment. The entire pod pulsed with an eerie, sickly luminescence, its flesh-like walls contracting around her as if eager to do unspeakable things to its captive.

She pounded against the translucent membrane with all her might, her slender but toned arms straining against the fleshy prison. Her voice, though still somewhat composed, was beginning to show hints of desperation.

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“By the Gods, Please! Please get me out of here!”

I hesitated for only a moment before taking a calculated risk. Looking directly at her, I spoke her true name.

The name that should not be known at this stage of the timeline -- buried, as it was, under multiple layers of memory loss and divine tampering. Shadowheart—born Jenevelle Hallowleaf—was not merely another prisoner of the Nautiloid. She was also a prisoner inside her own mind. Ostensibly a loyal disciple of Shar, though she didn’t even realize the full extent of what that meant. A stolen child, raised within the oppressive walls of the hidden cloister dedicated to the Dark Lady. Stripped of her past and reforged in the doctrine of secrets and shadows. She was meant to be a tool, a weapon, but, most importantly, Shar's vanity project created for the sole purpose of satisfying the Dark Lady's egoistical and sadistic whims. Originally a Selunite child, the Sharran clergy had kidnapped and trained her for years. Directed by their wicked Goddess, they made her torture her own parents -- over and over again -- before repeatedly erasing those memories. They made her parents watch as she was slowly molded into a devout servant who would act on their orders without question, her faith seemingly unwavering even as she cast herself further into darkness. But despite all that indoctrination, something had always resisted. Some spark of light deep inside Shadowheart simply refused to die, no matter how many times the Darkness attempted to snuff it out. A hint of kindness to animals. An admiration for the beauty of a flower. A whisper of a life before Shar. A name she could no longer recall. A family she had lost to the schemes of gods and mortals alike.

And now, here she was, trapped, pleading to be freed, oblivious to the truth that had been stolen from her.

The weight of that knowledge weighed heavily upon my thoughts. This woman was a prisoner in more ways than one. She had been tortured, robbed of her identity, shaped into something unnatural... and her mind had been bound in ways few could hope to unravel. If she had any chance at reclaiming what was hers, it would not be through brute force, nor through simple revelations—it would be a slow unraveling, the careful peeling back of layers of deception.

Which meant my goal was clear: I had to help her. How soon she would accept that help... was another matter entirely.

“Jenevelle? Don’t worry, I’ll get you out right away.”

Lae’zel stiffened beside me, her mouth silently opening as if to object—but those words died in her throat as I strode forward and casually ripped through the pod’s outer shell with my bare hands. The fleshy membrane peeled away just as easily as last time, the organic seal crumbling under my grip. With an indifferent flick, I tossed the lid aside, letting it clatter onto the floor.

As the remnants of the pod sloughed away, Shadowheart lurched forward unexpectedly, her balance lost in the sudden release. Instinctively, I caught her, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist as she collapsed into my chest. Her armor was cool to the touch, despite the warmth radiating from her body, her breath ragged and uneven as she found herself momentarily overwhelmed by the situation.

For a few seconds, neither of us moved. The pulsing glow of the Nautiloid’s sickly bioluminescence cast strange shadows across her face, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat clinging to her forehead, the delicate curve of her features. Her body was tense, muscles coiled like a spring, as though she expected some unseen threat even now. Her fingers brushed against my forearm, hesitant, as though some deep, instinctual part of her recognized something she couldn't quite name.

Beneath the filth, she smelled of damp leather and the faintest traces of lilac and shadow, a contradiction as fitting as the woman herself. Her dark violet eyes searched mine, still clouded by lingering confusion, flickers of instinct and lost memories warring just beneath the surface. There was something vulnerable in the way she remained still, something at odds with the hardened edge she had been taught to wear like armor.

And then, as if suddenly remembering herself, she stiffened, taking a half step back. She looked up at me, her expression uncertain, perhaps somewhat thrown off by the... unceremonious manner of her rescue, before her voice broke the charged silence.

“I’m sorry, but my name is Shadowheart. Do… do you know me?”

I met her gaze, my expression unreadable. “My mistake,” I said smoothly, offering a small, knowing smile. “You reminded me of someone I used to know.”

She studied me warily, her dark eyes searching mine for something she couldn’t quite name. But, before any of us could say more, something stirred between us. An unwelcome, foreign sensation pressed against my mind. Our parasites connected.

The world around us faded, or perhaps it expanded—it is difficult to describe with mere words where one sensation ended and another began. There was no forceful invasion, no jarring intrusion of thoughts the way one might expect from a foreign presence. Instead, or connection started slow, almost sensual -- making itself known like the deceptively gentle, warm undertow -- tropical water rising around the ankles, gradually pulling us deeper into an unfathomable sea.

At first, I only allowed only the barest trickle of connection, ensuring the link remained narrow and tightly controlled, careful not to overwhelm her. Shadowheart's mind was already extremely fragile—layers of memory loss and divine tampering had left horrific fractures in her psyche, and I knew instinctively that revealing too much too soon could shatter what little stability she had left. So I kept things tight, limiting the flood of information to something manageable and reassuring.

My presence gently pressed against hers, wrapping around her mind like a protective embrace. I projected warmth, safety, a promise unspoken—you are not alone. In response, her mind shuddered, hesitating, as though unused to the idea of trusting anything that wasn’t cold and calculating. I felt flickers of fear, confusion, but beneath them, something else—hope. A part of her wanted to lean into the connection, to accept whatever answers might come from it.

I showed her little, only fragments—undefined glimpses of a world beyond her reach.

A sunlit glade.

A night sky alight with man-made wonders, untouched by mystic darkness.

The forgotten laughter of a happy family.

All fleeting sensations, nothing whole enough to be grasped, but enough -- hopefully -- to stir something deep inside her.

And yet, Shadowheart resisted. There was a wall in her mind, built not by her own will, but by something older, something vast. The disgusting stink of Shar was everywhere, woven into her thoughts, permeating into her very sense of self. Even now, she clung to it, though not entirely by choice. I could feel the weight of that binding, the insidious darkness whispering in her thoughts, reminding her of what she was supposed to be. In the back of my mind, carefully away from the link, I allowed myself to truly hate Shar in that moment, quietly promising myself that such a violation would not go unanswered...

Still, the link held. And for the first time, Shadowheart felt that she was not alone in that darkness.

Then, something unexpected—a flicker of recognition. Not of me, but of something familiar. A sense of déjà vu, like remembering the shape of a face from a dream. Her mind instinctively recoiled, uncertain, teetering on the precipice of something she didn’t understand.

And so, I quickly pulled back, retreating just enough to let her breathe within her own mind. The warmth remained, the reassurance lingered, but I allowed the connection to loosen, the weight of my presence to lessen and retreat.

The moment passed, and suddenly we were back on the Nautiloid, the chamber around us once again alive with the pulsing, sickly glow of the ship’s grotesque interior. Shadowheart took a sharp breath, stepping further away from me, her expression unreadable, her hands flexing as if to ground herself in reality.

She was shaken, but not broken. Something had changed between us, though she was not yet sure what. Perhaps, in time, she would come to understand. For now, she simply stared at me, wary yet undeniably affected by what had just transpired.

An unimpressed voice broke the silence. Lae’zel let out a sharp exhale, crossing her arms.

"Perhaps you should have mated first before entangling your minds. Or is this what passes for courtship among your kind? Clutching each other in desperation while battle still looms?" Her tone was biting, but there was something else there—an edge of something unspoken, something perhaps closer to… jealousy?

Shadowheart arched a brow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Oh, I’m sorry. I thought your people just beat up their potential mates and let the strongest one walk away?" She flicked an invisible speck of dust from her glove. "I suppose, for a Gith brute like you, it's hard to tell the difference between friend and foe when everyone in your tribe is always busy trying to hurt or kill each other.”

Lae’zel’s hands tightened around her sword in rage. Karlach quickly stepped between the two, letting out a loud laugh, clapping a hand against her hip.

"Alright, alright, let’s save the rivalries for later, yeah? While no one's sprouting tentacles yet, we still need to get out of Avernus before things get really interesting."

Shadowheart blinked. "Wait. Avernus? As in the First Layer of the Hells? That Avernus?"

Karlach grinned wryly, crossing her arms. “That’s right! Welcome to Hell, sweetheart. Hope you packed light.”

Shadowheart’s expression twisted, realization dawning. “I— I didn’t realize…” She exhaled sharply, steadying herself. “No wonder everything feels… wrong.”

Lae’zel huffed, turning on her heel and pointedly stalking forward. I loudly cleared my throat. “Lae’zel – the Helm is actually that way.”

She didn’t have the decency to look embarrassed.

Shadowheart let out a quiet sigh, rolling her eyes before falling into step beside me.

In the momentary maneuver, her fingers twitched toward something within the wreckage of her ruined pod. Truly, her subterfuge was masterfully done, a mere flicker of movement—small, deliberate. The Astral Prism. She seized the artifact swiftly, tucking it into her belt when she thought no one was looking.

Except, I was paying attention. For a fraction of a second, our eyes met, and she knew I had seen.

I said nothing, of course.

For now.