Dredged

We had to leave Aurora, there was no other choice. They'd have us killed, executed for the crime of being tainted with the Hells, if the elders would have let them. Better to take a chance on the rumored mutants and monsters of Tannis' dark sea to the west than suffer one more second of Frostchain's cruelty. I just hope that wherever we end up, Piper will finally be happy. I miss her cute smile, her adorable laugh where she snorts sometimes. It pains me to see her like this.

— An entry in Sylros' sea-bound journal

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All I can remember was the storm that tore everything apart. The other children's final cry before sinking below the waves, my sister slipping from my grasp when the ship buckled and snapped. Her blood painted the wall that she slammed against, and she was unconscious when I was thrown overboard by the violent waves. I cried her name—Piper, Piper... Piper!—before slipping beneath the foam and debris. I fought, fought like the armies of all nine Hells against the surging current and all consuming darkness that stretched on infinitely below me.

I watched the last bubbles of precious air float up and away from me as I sank. Everything burned as the frigid salt water rushed into my lungs, down my throat and up my nose. It stung at my eyes and I could feel my ears pop with every foot of depth I plunged. This was it, I thought—my end would be to drown at sea on some vain attempt at finding a better life. That's when They appeared, deep within the abyss. Four, gargantuan verdant eyes glowered up at me from the depths, seemingly weighing my worth as my own vision faded. That's when I felt the skin and muscles on the sides of my neck begin to split apart.

It felt like frozen fire when the water first coursed through those openings. The muscles ripped and tore, the skin regrafting to fit the mutation. Just as I thought I was dead to the world, and could possibly find peace, my lungs no longer ached for air. Those new openings, gills, filtered the water—I was breathing underwater! I tried to swim upwards but, no matter how fast I flailed my arms, I continued to sink like an anchor. Light from above faded, leaving me in nothing but pure darkness, with only the leviathan's emerald glow peering up at me.

A harsh crack of wood against skin brought Sylros back from his lulled, memory-riddled state. His abdomen stung from the rod's blow and he doubled over, at least as much as he could against the ropes that bound him to a rickety chair. He was still dressed in the sodden clothes that he went overboard in, and his surroundings looked to be that of some tavern. Only a lone figure loomed over him, clad in ornate, emerald green robes and a golden, featureless mask.

He coughed up lung fulls of rotten sea water, full of dark algae and a few glowing shrimp. The air in that abandoned tavern carried the taste of sulfur, and the acrid stench of decay burned both his nose and newfound gills. He blinked the sand from his eyes and leaned back against the chair with a groan, letting his head lull back to gaze at his assailant. The man carried a large satchel on one hip, and wore a pendant depicting an open maw around his neck.

“So, Her chosen is truly still among the living?” The man stepped forward and roughly grabbed Sylros' chin, turning his head in several directions before settling on the mask. “What do you know of divinity, boy?”

Sylros spat towards the masked man and jerked his head, attempting to free it from the man's grasp. His spittle landed true, though some inches off as it bounced off of a shimmering, arcane barrier. The man tutted behind the mask, hardly audible as the heavy cane in his hand cracked against both of Sylros' legs in quick succession. He felt his bones crack and break beneath the sturdy wood, and a howl of pain errupted from his throat.

To his horror, he did not bleed red anymore. Thick, green ichor spewed from the wounds where bone ruptured through his purple, Infernal skin on impact. Within moments, he felt his bones shift of their own accord; muscles warped and wrapped around the fracture and pulled it back beneath. The bones set with a sickening crunch and the pain grew fainter and eventually eased into a dull ache. His skin smoothed over, leaving no evidence of the man's brutality.

“Mmh, The Vicar will be pleased, indeed.” The man produced a blood-stained cloth from his robes and cleaned off his cane, careful not to touch the green blood with his bare hands. “Welcome to the Reclamation, kid.”