A/N: I thought I'd keep the PC mostly 'faceless' for imagination purposes (bald PCs need not apply). I'm not even sure what gender he/she is. :P Lyrics and title are both from "Until the End" by Breaking Benjamin. I tweaked their order to mold with the story. Also, this is my debut attempt at first-person. Enjoy. :)

My only company was their snores and the pop of the dying fire. I had volunteered to remain awake for first watch even though, as always, I ached right down to the bones with exhaustion. But that ache, so physical and so normal, was nothing compared to the ravenous spirit-lust.

I eased a hand under the linen of my tunic, pressing against my chest. The old scar was cool beneath my equally cool fingers.

...I feel it growing colder...

Fire just couldn't warm my flesh anymore. The other made certain of that. Like a cancer, it diminished even the simplest of comforts.

As my thoughts wandered to the presence, it writhed within my breast. Pulsing, beating in time with my heart. It was growing aware of me, its host.

...I feel it growing stronger...

Near the edge of the grove we camped in, a telthor stirred amongst one of the thickets. So close, so very near. The other moved again, tempting my senses with the memory of their taste; pure and clean like mint, yet with a bitterness that reminded me of Duncan's cheapest ale. I grinned humorlessly to myself in the firelight. Everything about the spirit-eater was both a blessing and a curse, even the relief.

...it's not enough, it never is...

Because the relief was always brief; a momentarily exhilarating release where all perception of my surroundings fell away until there was nothing, nothing but painless calm. Regret, guilt, and self-hatred chased soon after. Along with the fear of what I had done. And what I had become.

In those moments, I felt like the monster Kazimika of the Wychlaran had decried back in the streets of Mulsantir.

...I've lost my way...I've lost my way...

I braced myself in the grass beneath my bedroll, gouging furrows into the earth with my fingers as I allowed the anger to overwhelm me. The presence twisted in anticipation. Wanting, needing. Eager.

And then I unleashed the fire of my anger, my hatred, my defiance, the self-same willpower that had once tamed an unwelcome blade of broken silver, and drove them all like a whiplash into the spirit-eater.

Why give up? Why give in?

It quailed from within my chest. The ripple of nausea it sent throughout my body almost made me vomit all over our campfire.

We fought.

I wasn't sure how long I lay there on my stomach with my forearms grinding into the ground and my hands clenched in the loose dirt. Gradually, I blinked away the watery film in my eyes.

The fire had died. The telthor had moved on to more interesting terrain. And I was trembling as if I had just recovered from a violent fever. Breaths came quick and painful. A light breeze seeped through my clothes, freezing my clammy skin. There was a stench on the air, and I glanced at the ground; so I had vomited after all.

I crawled next to the fire's ashes on my feeble elbows and collapsed. Wood-smoke always managed to comfort me. Home had always smelled of wood-smoke at one time or another, no matter if that home had been West Harbor, or the Flagon, or the Keep after reconstruction. Even the Veil had excellent fires in the rounded walls...

I felt the other writhe again just as my consciousness drifted. It was a half-hearted movement, though, like from a punished child. A punished, very vengeful child. I drained its power, and it drained mine. A vicious cycle for both.

We've become desolate...

We pulled each other in opposite directions in a tug-of-war that never ended, at least not for the spirit-eater. I died regardless of whether I denied or embraced the hungry void. Lady Luck had really dealt me a shit hand on that one.

We would suffer together, host and parasite, until I forgot even my reasons for suffering. Until I forgot my friends, those I'd loved, my past...until I forgot myself.

I was forgetting them all already.

It's easy...to fall apart completely...

A powerful muzzle nudged my aching head. I almost knocked the breath out of my lungs, but I managed to roll over onto my back, facing skyward. The Bear God's luminous eyes gazed down on me. As always, his face was ponderous and fathomless.

"Your moans woke me from my slumber, little one," he rumbled.

And then, before I could apologize, his breath ruffled my hair again. "Rest, little one, and dream the dreams of your kind. Tomorrow carries you one step closer to your freedom, and you must be ready to fight."

I watched as he lumbered a handful of paces away from me and settled down on his great belly to observe the stars, his fur a blaze of color against the cool darkness of the grass.

I grinned as I had earlier in the firelight. Only this time, there was warmth and humor. With just a sentence, the Bear God had trampled my doubts beneath his mighty paws. For the moment anyway. I already felt the disquiet begin to twist in my chest as I lowered my aching limbs to my bedroll. This disease was tenacious. But then, so was I.

I'll live to die another day, until I fade away.

I'd overcome githyanki, duergar, lizardlings, undead, orcs, werewolves, demons, devils, fire giants, dragons, shadow reavers, an ancient embodiment of the Shadow Weave itself, and countless other monsters since my time in Rashemen.

Akachi the spirit-eater, my ravenous parasite, was one more.

I might fail. I might lose everything. I might become as warped and mindless as the beasts I fought every day.

But damn it to all the Nine Hells if I'd disappear quietly. I'd grasp that tug-of-war rope until my hands bled and my throat was hoarse from the finest of West Harbor curses. Knuckles out, chin high, heels firm.

I will go on until the end.

For now, I yawned until my jaw popped, and then, ignoring the agitated flurry around my heart, I spared just enough strength to get comfortable. After a few breaths, my buzzing thoughts of hope died down like the fire's embers. My sleep was undisturbed.

The final fight I win.