Ethemon deftly spun his twin longswords in a blur, sheathing them into the slots on his back without sparing a glance at the imp blood spattered across his clothes.
The few imps were hardly a challenge. Not only was the Githyanki warrior clearly battle-hardened and utterly ruthless, but even Ethemon, despite having lost his memories, moved as if guided by pure muscle memory—one strike per imp, without the slightest hesitation.
The two new weapons he now carried had been scavenged from bodies lying on the ground. Evidently, those armed unfortunates had clashed with the imps not long ago, only to be overwhelmed and devoured.
"Not bad. Looks like you're adapting to combat pretty well," the warrior, who revered strength, praised him. Ethemon offered a faint smile and took the opportunity to exchange names.
"Lae'zel," the Githyanki replied.
Armed with their new weapons, the pair, accompanied by an Intellect Devourer, made their swift way toward the Nautiloid helm.
As they climbed upward via a network of dense, pulsating blood vessels, a violent shudder nearly shook them loose. Ethemon looked up to see that black clouds had completely swallowed the sky above.
"The Nautiloid can't take much more of the Red Dragon's attack. We have to get out of here, now."
Neither of them was prone to dawdling. Regaining their footing, they scrambled upward.
Passing through yet another sphincter-like membrane, Ethemon stepped into a chamber where his first sight was the control console positioned dead center. His sharp eyesight allowed him to read the distinct inscriptions on the three stone panels, but unfortunately, he could recognize none of them.
He glanced back at Lae'zel, who shook her head to indicate she was equally clueless.
Fine then; best not to touch anything at random, just in case.
Ethemon was about to skirt around the console when he noticed that the two experimental chairs flanking it—occupants he would have assumed dead—were still faintly breathing.
Watching the Githyanki press onward without a care, Ethemon shrugged and chose to ignore the pair as well.
"Let me out!"
"Bang!"
"Help!"
Such a familiar feeling.
Ethemon paused, his gaze irresistibly drawn toward the source of the noise.
A black-haired half-elf woman was pounding frantically against the outer wall of a pod. She lacked his good fortune; the malfunctioning pod was jammed, trapping her inside.
"I'm talking to you! Get me out of this damn thing!" Clearly, being trapped in the pod had made her furious.
"We have no time to waste on stragglers," Lae'zel beside him said, her expression grim.
Ah, right. Githyanki apparently loathed the weak, so of course she couldn't be bothered with someone trapped in a pod.
Ethemon, however, held a different view. The combat strength within the helm was currently unknown; they were in the Nine Hells, facing not just imps but a Cambion. An extra person meant an extra pair of hands. Besides, judging by her attire, the half-elf looked like a pious cleric. If anyone got injured, she could heal them—not a bad deal at all.
"Hold on, let me see if there's a way to open this."
"Hurry, please!"
Gesturing for the half-elf to calm down, Ethemon regretted that he lacked a barbarian's brute strength, otherwise he might have tried prying the pod open bare-handed.
In truth, the method to open the pod wasn't hard to find. A control panel sat right beside the half-elf, though something was missing from its slot. A brief exploration of the adjoining side room revealed a key wedged into a similar console.
Playing a dead horse as if it were alive—there were no better options anyway.
Ethemon inserted the key into the slot, and the console hummed to life. He pressed both hands against it, feeling the connection between the machine and the parasite in his brain.
The flashing lights and living, pulse-like veins made the device look more like a heart than a piece of machinery.
The sickening connection vanished, and Ethemon felt as though he had gained an extra limb; he could control the machine.
"Open pod," Ethemon commanded.
The console obeyed his command. The locked pod slowly slid open, and the exhausted half-elf tumbled out instantly.
"Phew, thought I was a goner," the half-elf girl muttered, kneeling on the ground.
Ethemon reached out to pull her to her feet, earning a look of faint gratitude. "Thank you. I thought I was going to die in that thing."
Yet before Ethemon could respond, much like an automatic greeting upon meeting, the Mind Flayer Tadpole in his mind uncontrollably linked with the person before him once more.
Though grateful, the half-elf harbored a trace of wariness—likely because of the scowling Lae'zel standing nearby, who happened to be a Githyanki.
Ah, their race's reputation wasn't the best; being met with suspicion was only natural.
"Your companion looks dangerous." Reading something from Ethemon's mind, she offered a faint smile. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a friendly grin, but paired with her previous remark, it sounded suspiciously like provocation.
Seeing Lae'zel's brow furrow, Ethemon immediately stepped in to smooth things over. "Only dangerous people are useful in a fight. Come on, let's get moving; we can't afford to waste any more time."
The two women exchanged glances, let out mutual, disdainful scoffs, and thankfully refrained from starting a brawl.
Ethemon felt a twinge of helplessness, yet found this familiar dynamic—two people on the verge of a shouting match while he played peacemaker—oddly nostalgic, though he couldn't grasp why.
Without further ado, the group readied themselves and headed toward the helm. As Lae'zel checked her weapon, Ethemon caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of Shadowheart retrieving something from the pod. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before Ethemon calmly looked away; after all, they were hardly acquainted.
He hadn't expected their makeshift, mismatched little squad to be quite *this* disunited, however. Right at the doors of the helm—where Ethemon could already hear the shrill, piercing shrieks of imps within—Lae'zel and Shadowheart started arguing again.
"We're about to enter the helm. Once inside, follow my orders."
We're doomed. Ethemon silently closed his eyes.
"Don't act like you're the boss of me. I only trust my own judgment."
Help me, I'm really starting to miss you, ***.
Ethemon froze. That once-familiar name swirled in his mind for a moment before dissolving completely, slipping away just as it reached the tip of his tongue.
He let out a helpless sigh, wondering if he would ever recover his memories after getting off this Nautiloid.
Fortunately, Lae'zel was currently single-minded about rushing in to fight. Uttering what sounded like a swear word in her native tongue, she dropped the argument, spun around, and charged straight through the doors.
Ethemon, Shadowheart, and the Intellect Devourer followed closely behind.
Absolute chaos reigned inside. Mind Flayers, imps, Cambions, and stray hell boars were locked in a chaotic melee. A Cambion wielding a burning greatsword leaped through the air and cleaved a Mind Flayer down in a single blow; in the corner, another Mind Flayer raised a hand to unleash a psychic blast that wiped out several imps.
Taking advantage of a moment of distraction, a Mind Flayer grabbed a Cambion by the horns, yanked him backward, and tore his head open with its jaws to devour the brain. With a few flaps of its massive, crimson leather wings, the creature slumped, motionless.
Having just dispatched a Cambion, the leader standing in the very center swept its gaze over Ethemon and the others, barking an order without a hint of politeness: "Slaves! Connect the transponder's nerves! We must escape—move, now!"
The moment the words left its mouth, another Cambion lunged through the air, engaging it in a grapple.
"Do it. Let's get out of here first," Lae'zel said, drawing her greatsword with a dead-serious expression as she plunged straight into the fray. The Intellect Devourer eagerly scampered along behind her.
Instead of rushing into battle, Ethemon kept his eyes on the sole remaining Cambion in the arena—specifically, the flaming, long-bladed sword clutched in its hands: the Everburn Blade.
"Shadowheart, do you know Command?" Ethemon glanced sideways, gesturing toward the Cambion. Shadowheart caught his meaning instantly and nodded.
"I'll cover you. Get closer." Impaling a hell boar that lunged to its doom, Ethemon jerked his weapon upward to slice the beast open, methodically clearing a path for the cleric.
"Command: Drop!"
A beam of light struck the Cambion. Before it could react, its fingers loosened, and the Everburn Blade plummeted to the floor with a dull thud.
Seizing the moment, Ethemon leaped forward directly toward the Cambion. Spotting Lae'zel hacking furiously through a swarm of imps, he snatched up the Everburn Blade on the fly and hurled it straight at her.
"Lae'zel, catch!"
With reflex speed defying belief, the female warrior discarded her notched sword, snatched the greatsword out of midair, twisted her waist with explosive force, and cleaved an imp clean in half.
"Destroy the intruders! Avernus is ours!" roared the disarmed Cambion in furious humiliation, lunging to grab Ethemon. Fortunately, Ethemon was agile enough to duck away quickly, leaving the nearby Mind Flayer exposed to take its place. Now, both brutes were forced to fight bare-handed.
"Go connect the transponder!" Lae'zel's voice roared like a shattering explosion. Ethemon looked back, his pupils shrinking as he saw two more Cambions burst through the entrance they had just used. Enemy reinforcements had arrived!
He thrust his sword through a pair of imps, but when he tried to pull it free, the blade jammed. Abandoning the weapon entirely, Ethemon sprinted toward the alien transponder.
Sea urchin-like neural cables swayed freely in the air, but there were simply too many; before he could figure out which went where, a massive red head thrust through a breach in the ceiling, its gigantic wings casting a vast shadow below.
Watching the Red Dragon draw in a massive breath, Ethemon hastily grabbed two random cables and twisted them together. He let go and leaped back just as a terrifying wave of intense heat washed over his back, scorching his skin with a sharp, burning pain.
When he turned back, the dragon was gone. The floor began to tilt wildly, and the scenery outside the Nautiloid morphed into a mad blur—they were leaving Avernus!
Before Ethemon could grab hold of anything, a violent jolt flung him violently through the air. His already-scorched back slammed hard against the metal flooring, drawing a grimace of pure agony across his face.
Before he could curse, another shockwave flipped the entire Nautiloid over, sending Ethemon tumbling in the opposite direction.
Enough was enough!
His face hardened, and he grabbed onto a bolted-down console to anchor himself. Suspended in midair, Ethemon guessed he had probably wired the wrong cables together in his haste. Reaching out, he seized the single, most frantically thrashing nerve cable in the air and, driven by a touch of personal grievance, yanked down on it with all his might!