First Steps and Strange Fortunes

The halls of the Nautiloid were chaos.

Organic walls pulsed and oozed, fires breaking out in patches along the fleshy floor, while the distant screams of combat echoed through the corridors. Whatever controlled this ship was losing, and chaos reigned supreme. Lae'zel moved ahead with sharp, purposeful strides, her hand never straying far from her blade. I kept pace behind her, still adjusting to the weight of my new body, the hum of magic curling lazily in my veins as we pressed deeper into the heart of the crumbling Nautiloid.

We turned a corner — and were immediately set upon by three imps.

They were hideous things: leathery wings, jagged fangs. They shrieked and dove toward us, eager for blood.

Lae'zel was a blur. Her sword flashed out, severing the wing of the first imp before it could even land. It hit the ground with a wet splat, screeching in fury.

The second imp darted at me, and instinct seized control. I raised my hand, feeling the charged power—and with a thought, I unleashed it. Eldritch Blast, the bread-and-butter of any Warlock, surged forward—but unlike the familiar one I knew from the game, this crackling bolt shimmered with pink psychic energy. It slammed into the imp mid-flight, and instead of a typical **** scream, it let out a wail of twisted pleasure that caught me completely off guard.

The third one hesitated at that — and Lae'zel took advantage, carving it neatly in two.

The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun. Lae'zel sneered, wiping her blade clean on the nearest fleshy wall, shooting me a raised eyebrow at the imp's bizarre reaction to my spell.

I grinned, shaking my hand out as Eldritch Blast still tingled along my fingers. It was good to know that, despite everything else, the classics hadn't changed too much.

We pressed on, navigating the twisted, pulsating corridors of the dying ship, until a few turns later we stumbled upon something unexpected: a massive tank of glass and fleshy tubing embedded into the wall, with a woman floating inside.

She was pounding on the glass with frantic fists, her mouth moving in **** screams for help. Her dark hair was bound in a long, neat ponytail, whipping around her in the fluid-filled tank. She was lithe and athletic, her body shaped by a life of discipline rather than brute strength. Her clerical armor, sleek and practical, hugged her form without any showy embellishments or clear symbols of allegiance. A glowing artifact pulsed faintly against her chest, casting eerie light across the tank, highlighting the tense lines of her slender frame.

Shadowheart.

Lae'zel scoffed. "Another infected weakling. Leave her."

I rolled my eyes, feeling a sharp spike of irritation; she felt way more annoying than when safely contained behind a screen.

"If she can walk, she can fight," I said simply. "Better numbers if we run into more trouble."

Lae'zel grunted noncommittally and moved on. I lingered, studying the tank. There had to be a release mechanism around here somewhere.

While searching, I noticed something else: a small chest, grown from the same alien organic material as the walls. It blended into the environment enough to seem unimportant to a casual glance. But to someone who knew what to look for, it screamed of a debug container modders used to stash gear. I couldn't afford Lae'zel to become suspicious of my familiarity with the Nautiloid, so casually, pretending to just be rummaging through debris, I flipped the lid.

Most of the contents inside were completely unusable — a result of the new patch's overhaul, which had rendered much of the modded gear incompatible. Weapons and armor flickered with error glyphs, inert and useless. Only one item stood out: a pair of sleek purple gloves, humming with magic. Gemini gloves.

I quickly opened the HUD to look at the stats. The gloves granted the wielder the ability to shoot an additional projectile when casting a simple spell — essentially doubling basic offensive capability. It wasn't flashy legendary loot, but for a Warlock just starting out, it was invaluable. Enough to tip smaller fights in my favor, and maybe even swing the odds if I played it smart.

I smiled to myself, pocketing the goods quickly before Lae'zel could double back and start asking questions.

After pocketing the gloves and silently closing the chest behind me, I turned my attention back to the floating cleric. A quick scan of the nearby console revealed a simple release rune that I quickly activated. The tank hissed violently as the fluid drained away, and with a wet thud, Shadowheart tumbled out, coughing and gasping for air. She looked up, our eyes locking for just a second — distrust and a flicker of gratitude flashing in her vivid green gaze.

[Approval: Neutral: 45] [Corruption: 5%]

Before I could deliver a clever one-liner, Lae'zel's sharp voice cut through the corridor, calling from down the hall, "Move, or die with the ship!"

I offered Shadowheart a hand. She hesitated, then took it, pulling herself up with surprising strength.

"Thanks," she rasped.

"No problem," I said, already turning to follow Lae'zel. As I did, I noticed Shadowheart quickly snatching up the curious artifact she had worn in the tank, slipping it under her armor with a furtive glance. I knew better than to ask any questions at the moment. "Come on. We've got a ship to escape."

Shadowheart fell into step behind me, shaking the water from her hair.

The ship shook around us, but all I could feel was the steady, patient hum of power thrumming under my skin.

I couldn't help but smile.

The game was about to start in earnest.