I had just shown Nick my marks.

If he could read mine like I could read his, unknown. However, I hoped not. The mechanics governing these marks were strange; I decided to avoid guessing either way.

While Nick purportedly received his singular tattoo from Thanatos, a god of death, mine were far more uncertain.

While Nick had only a single tattoo on a single of his forearms, I had two, one for each.

Comparing our markings, the largest difference was on my left forearm, the second tattoo, that tattoo that I interpreted as ‘Blessings.’ What Body, Mind, or Spirit did, Unknown.

So many unknowns. Maddening.

“Interesting,” Nick said, sounding unhappy that I had two to his one. Knowing people, he would likely end up blaming me for having more than him. Before this could come back to bite me, I changed the subject.

“We both have Spells, it seems. How do we use them?”

He shook his head, rebuffing my attempt at redirection.

“Are you really not going to tell me who gave you your marks? Why are you keeping it a secret? From anyone else, I would understand caution. But I showed you my godsmark. Right? Right?! I told you about Thanatos. It’s only fair if you tell me.” He took a breath, as though to calm himself down. Then he added, “trust, remember? Goes both ways.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to sound as genuine and earnest as possible, doing all but batting my eyelashes. “I just don’t remember anything. This is frustrating for me too… at least–” I switched to a slightly tremulous tone “-at least you remember.” I finished on a weak note.

My acting could use improvement. He only partially shifted stance. Though he did soften. Some.

“Amnesia?” he wondered. “Maybe you were sponsored by a trickster god?” He shook his head, as though brushing it off. “Either way, I suppose it doesn’t matter right now. Though I think you might be the lucky one. Without your old life to hold you back, and with double the ‘blessings’ from whatever sponsor you have.”

“Me, the lucky one?” I asked. I tried arching an eyebrow, but the motion felt off. “You’re the one that knows who you are. Where you came from. How you got here. I have nothing.”

“Wrong,” he corrected. “You have twice the blessings, with nothing holding you back.”

I meant to chuckle, but the sound came out as more of a low pitched yip. Embarrassing. But I would not allow myself to get sidetracked. “Memories are who we are. They cannot hold us back.” However, I realized something as I said this, and as I put myself in his shoes. “But I find it interesting that you believe it to be the opposite. Just what exactly is it that you remember?”

He grimaced.

I knew it!

“Know what I think?” he said, more than asking, reverting to some of his previous hostility. “I think that you and I both have pasts filled with ill deeds. Normal innocent people don’t wear knives strapped to their thighs when they die. Normal innocent people wouldn’t get plucked from the void by some god that’s high on their own power. Normal innocent people don’t get forced to take lopsided deals…” He paused to take a breath. He was getting flustered. Only, the blue and purple veins were spider webbing across his forehead and neck now, seemingly spreading. He continued. “What I think, is that you and I? We aren’t normal innocent people. I think that not remembering your life is a good thing. In fact, I’m downright envious.”

I licked my upper lip, running my tongue over it. My teeth scratched my tongue. I was still unused to the sensation. It felt positively monstrous. But that was besides the point. I gathered a breath and sighed loudly. I had no idea how to respond to this. But I needed to try, to say something.

“Do…” I started, then trailed off. He looked at me with something mixed with both misery and hopefulness. So I continued, “do you want to talk about it, to get it off your chest? It sounds like you have a lot weighing you down.”

“That…” he paused, looking around and settling his eyes on a boulder. He moved to sit down, and patted the stone beside him, offering me a seat. I took him up on the offer to show my support. Though I was ready to spring to action if he double crossed me, and my knife was still in easy reach. “That might help. But you need to understand, I served as a Chief Financial Officer for a very prestigious pharmaceutical umbrella company. We focused on making lives better, at least that was what we told ourselves. We made most of our profit off some big name brands, and by buying out a few patents.”

I narrowed my eyes. The way he was talking, it sounded like there might have been regrets. Was this a ploy to gain sympathy, or were they real? Did that even matter, given where we were now? But if he was having regrets, then I had a sinking suspicion. A company would not make profit off buying a patent unless they forced other companies to pay a premium, thus raising the price for downstream consumers, or in this case, people that needed the medicine. And oftentimes, those people were not in the best financial position to pay that increase, especially if they lacked insurance. I could definitely see how he would have regrets for that, though empathy would be atypical for the usual corporate fat-cat. Still, I needed to know more.

“Which drugs did you make?” I asked.

He broke eye contact and looked away. “A few off-brand versions of pain relievers.”

“Which ones?” I asked, thinking that was rather mild for his reaction thus far. Though I wondered how I would recognize any of the drugs, given the state of the rest of my memories.

His discomfort grew. He diverted. “We also made insulin.”

That last one sounded familiar, but I had trouble placing it.

“Is that a pain reliever then?” I asked. I knew it was not, at least, I thought it was not, judging by the context.

He sighed a bit. “No, those were fentanyl look-alikes.”

My eyes narrowed. I did recognize that.

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“Heroin?” I spat.

“No,” he said, sounding angry. “That’s only a rough analgesic. And consumers need a prescription for it; sure it might have similar characteristics to Heroin, but the drugs served a purpose. The market wouldn’t be there otherwise. There were a lot of hurting patients that needed those drugs. We added value. If not from us, then someone else. Would you rather people hurt?”

I was ranting all the while. “A drug pusher on the street sells it, they get life. A big corp sells it, they get awards. Such–” I growled. I wanted to swear, but years of training caused me to refrain by reflex. Still, my speech cadence had been thrown off a bit.

“Will you let me finish?” he said, no, he demanded.

I bit my tongue and repressed an almost growl.

“Like I mentioned, I convinced myself that the company–that we–were doing a good thing, while making profits for our shareholders. And arguably, we were succeeding.”

I was skeptical, but I refrained from interrupting again.

He took a deep breath and shuddered. “We were prepping for our quarterly report to the commission, all of us were, Stan, the new CEO, all of us, and–and…” he trailed off, a tremble to his hands as he covered his face and shook his head.

I might not have liked him, but that did not mean I was without sympathy. Trauma was trauma… regardless of who. Rushing him, pressuring him now, would do neither of us any favors. I was willing to wait while he had his moment. In fact, a small part of me was relating to him. I tried isolating that part of me, to figure out why. It was another one of those almost-memories.

Yet, I was confident I had never been powerful. It did not feel fitting. But how did I know? Beyond these vague feelings? A part of me pondered this further, while only half listening to the man’s soliloquy.

He continued. “We were meeting, and we all heard shouting from the outer hall. There were loud pops–which I now realize was gunfire–and a young disheveled man burst through the doors… he was wounded, bleeding from a shoulder. He shouted something–I don’t remember what–then–then he–the scum–he pressed something in his hand. I remember a loud pressure, and that was that….”

“Then it was the void. I had died. And I kept thinking, over and over, all the people I hurt? That I deserved this. That I deserved worse. But just as suddenly as I was sitting there, I was suddenly not there. I know that doesn’t make sense, but time, it doesn’t make sense there. Yeah. And as soon as I had left that horrid horrid place, I was in a Grecian rip-off looking temple meeting some bigwig calling himself Thanatos.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Dressed like the Grim Reaper. I thought it was my time for judgment, then and there. And it’s strange, I understand the gist of what he and I talked about, but looking back at it, I cannot for the life–unlife? Yeah, unlife of me, remember his exact words. Were I to hazard an educated guess, I think that space transcends mortal understanding. But what I do know is that he sent me here. What I don’t know is why.”

If Thanatos, a purported god of death, sent him, then that explains why he looks akin to Skeletor. But if that was the case, then the fact that I looked like a fox, did that mean some sort of fox-god sent me? It lacked cohesion. He might have had a few screws loose. Which was more likely, gods, or this guy was having a bad trap?

But, I refused to alienate my only potential ally here. Especially when he could so easily overpower me. So diplomatically, I spoke, at least after he had stopped and began looking at me expectantly.

“That is a lot to process,” I said. “But one thing I am struggling with: what are you, exactly?”

He wheezed and laughed. “All that, and that’s what you ask?”

I shuffled, embarrassed. The question might have lacked the tact I had originally thought it did. But it did take his mind off his sob story. So I guess it worked. I still hedged the previous faux pas a bit, explaining myself.

“Sorry. It’s just… I know I don’t look the way I used to,” I said. “I’m still trying to make sense of it.”

“Alright,” he said, nodding. “Well, I think I’m some sort of revenant. Thanatos didn’t exactly say. But whatever I am, I’m here, and I feel better than ever.” He finished as he leapt to his feet. Are you ready to unlock a Talent?”

I almost spoke out. Afterall, that mood change was sudden. But I was hardly one to judge; he and I had both been through severe alterations in personal circumstances. Besides, his mood might not be so ephemeral as it just appeared; he could have been faking good humor, following a similar tact as I would have in order to bury the unpleasantness.

In addition, there was a far more interesting subject to discuss.

“How do you know which Talent to unlock?” I asked. “And how would you unlock it?”

“Good question,” he said, giving me that skeletal smile of his. His teeth were a bit pointed, and there were too many of them in his smile. He lifted both arms over his head, striking a dramatic pose. “As you can see, this world is not civilized. If we are to survive, we’ll need to defend ourselves.”

“A survival skill then?” I asked. “Or something that can hide us from enemies?”

“Hm… maybe,” he said. “But I believe, and I have learned this the hard way, that the best defense is always a strong offense. We cannot control where our enemies will strike, or when. But we can always attack first.”

“What enemies?” I had to ask. I glanced around nervously. Other than the wind and the rocks, and the occasional plume of exhaust, there was nobody nearby. Well, I supposed that there were bones littering the ground. But that was hardly conclusive of active hostilities.

“Oh, I have no doubts they’re out there,” Nick said firmly. “If you and I were dropped here with supernatural powers, then there must be others with powers as well. And if so, then there must, there absolutely must, be conflict. And even if these natives are peaceful, it would do us well to have a way to mitigate the risks.”

I thought about it for a bit. He did have a point. And while I could think of other ways to mitigate that risk, as he put it, having a method of offense could likely go a long way towards guaranteeing safety. Besides all of that, I would lose nothing by following along and watching what happens. In fact, I would probably lose more from antagonizing him at this juncture. No, it was best to do it his way for now. If I found it disagreeable, then I could always escape later.

“Alright,” I said, climbing up to my feet to join him. “What do we need to do?”

“As I mentioned, our marks act like a CV. They are a record of our actions. If we want a Talent to protect ourselves, then we need to actively defend ourselves.”

“You want us to fight each other?” I asked, worried that I would need to escape sooner rather than later. I had no intention of fighting Nick–his size had already proved overwhelming. I would need to strike a debilitating blow and then flee. Preferably I could open and catch him by–

“What? No! No, of course not.” He answered quickly. “For one, I doubt you could challenge me. For another, it would be too risky. I might hurt you, and then…” he trailed off, shook his head, and grinned. “It’s best if we find something we can both fight, together.”

I did not trust him. He seemed entirely too focused on combat and fighting. And he had attacked me. And he could likely overpower me. All the more reason to abandon him the first chance I got. But then… then I would be alone. And there were no guarantees I would find any other allies nearby. In fact, it might be other enemies I came across instead.

For safety’s sake, I followed along behind him. For now.

Blessed by ___

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 10

* Mind: 11 (+1)

* Spirit: 10

Talents

* Open (9/9)

* Closed (1/9)

* Closed (1/9)

Spells

* Illusion (1/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)

Gifts

* Obsession (1/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)