Corvus’ eyes snapped open, and he sat up like a bolt. White. Nothing but white. Corvus sagged slightly, sighing.

“So I’m here, huh?” His voice echoed around the ever expanding white void of his unconscious mind. He stood up on the curiously solid ground and scanned the imperceptible horizon for Gilgamesh. His eyes found something else. A patch of dark in the distance. He couldn’t make it out clearly from where he was standing, so he began to take a step towards it. In that instant, he was face to face with it.

‘This place doesn’t make sense.’. Corvus mused to himself, before his eyes widened at what he was looking at. It wasn’t something in the void that was dark. It was the void itself that was charred and wilted with sickening blacks and violets. Corvus was at a lost for words. He had no idea what he was looking at, but pangs of regret and worry echoed through the chasm of his heart.

“That’s your fault.” Gilgamesh's perfect voice was steeped in rage as he appeared behind Corvus. “Why would you hold that much magic inside a dagger that can’t take it?”

“First of all, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Corvus countered, putting up defences in his voice. “Second, how was I supposed to know it was dangerous when you don’t tell me anything. I'm not surprised that your kingdom celebrates your death.” Corvus turned and put daggers into his stare.

He immediately regretted it.

Gilgamesh grabbed Corvus by the throat and lifted him off the ground of the void and threw him down in front of the charred scar. Corvus looked up in surprise. Gilgamesh wasn’t real, so he shouldn’t be able to touch him. Then again, they weren't in the real world.

While Corvus was busy contemplating this, Gilgamesh stormed over to him, his pitch black eyes burning. He slammed his hand on Corvus’ head and made him look at the black scarring.

“Do you want to keep doing this to yourself? I overestimated your capability for survival and now look at you! Your childish invincibility complex has ruined you!” Gilgamesh was almost screaming with rage at this point, forcing Corvus to keep looking at the scarring. Corvus felt a twitch of anger. He began to force himself up, against the immovable strength of Gilgamesh.

Corvus’ gaze met with Gilgamesh’s, a pitch black abyss of fury. Corvus began pushing himself back up, and Gilgamesh continued to force him down. It was impossible. Gilgamesh was unbelievably strong, and Corvus felt like a child trying to move a castle. Gilgamesh tensed himself, forcing all the resistance out of Corvus.

He was about to give up, let himself be held to the ground and accept that there was no way to go against the might of Gilgamesh. He was perfect in every way. He possessed unrivalled strength, unique and powerful magics, an oppressive beauty that commanded respect from even those who had none. He was unbeatable.

And that made Corvus sick.

The sound of a thousand angry wings filled the void. Gilgamesh glanced up but returned his gaze to Corvus shortly after. Their caws shattered through the ground. Corvus pushed up with all the strength he could muster. Gilgamesh’s arms began to shudder and a wave of confusion passed over his face. Corvus pushed himself up off the ground, pressing his shoulder into Gilgamesh’s hands, pushing back with his whole body.

The white void began to crack from their feud. Their strengths colliding in a slow contest of strength where the winner takes all. A silver streak flashed across Gilgamesh’s eyes as Corvus was finally upright and pushing harder than ever.

“Wait.” Gilgamesh said, curiously. There was no command in his voice, but pure intrigue. Corvus was cautious but stopped their fight. Gilgamesh took Corvus’ chin in his hand and examined his eyes.

There was a look in his eye that was gone in an instant. A large smile began to spread over Gilgamesh’s face slowly. He began to chuckle, then laugh, then fall on the ground holding his sides from his hollering laughter. Corvus had no idea what was going on and was struggling to wrap his head around the sudden change of emotions.

‘Huh. Déjà vu.’ Corvus thought.

Gilgamesh was writhing on the ground, trying to stop himself from laughing, banging his fist against the floor, creating echoes through the void. He gasped for breath, a stupidly happy smile plastered on his face as he filled his lungs over and over again. His eyes were glowing bright silver.

“Having fun are you?” Corvus raised his eyebrow at the curiously elated Demi-god.

Gilgamesh raised his hand, getting to his feet to try to compose his fits of laughter.

“You have my apologies.” Gilgamesh bowed his head in mock apology, his knowing smile growing ever-broader. “I’ll tell you some of what I know.”

Corvus was lost for words for at least a minute, trying to think how someone as narcissistic and selfish as Gilgamesh was even pretending to be nice. Eventually, he figured out what to ask.

“Well…why were you so angry at me?” Corvus crossed his arms.

The smile faded from Gilgamesh’s face, the shining silver of his eyes becoming dark and stormy. He extended his hand, pointing at Corvus’ arm.

“Your right hand. Look at it.” Gilgamesh turned his gaze away slightly.

Corvus raised his eyebrow and uncrossed his arms. His eyes widened in horror.

His hand, from his swallow bracelet down, was charred to a sickening black colour, with cracks of purple over the surface. His skin was twisted and stiff, creating cracks that spewed violet light upon the touch. The occasional whiff of fire leapt out of the light, bringing small hissing sounds with them.

He turned his hand over, his palm creased and broken with large lines of violet fire etched in where he held his dagger. His eyes met his swallow bracelet. It was glowing with a faint golden sheen, with a slight aura of writhing purples, itching to move up his arm.

Corvus had several questions.

“What kind of burn is this?” Corvus asked, curious and cautious.

“A bad one. A very bad one.” Gilgamesh said, his eyes a stormy dark grey.

“Was it the bear?”

“That and your insistence on continuing to hold that dagger.”

“Can’t I just cut off my arm if it’s that bad?” Corvus asked, wrapping his left hand around his shoulder, ready to rip it off.

Gilgamesh shook his head.

“Bad idea. If you’ll resist your temptation for mutilation for a few minutes, I’ll explain.” Gilgamesh pointed to the ground indicating for them to sit.

Corvus let go of his arm and sat down, careful not to further damage his hand.

“So it’s not just a burn? It’s magic, yes, but why can’t I just regrow my arm?” Corvus asked, leaning on his left arm as he sat cross-legged.

“Because it wasn’t just fire. It was a Hex, a nature spell, the kind shamans use.” Gilgamesh began.

“Magic is magic. Get to the point.” Corvus yawned, the void dimming momentarily. Gilgamesh shot him an angry look before continuing.

“Putting a very long explanation about nature affinities and magic attunements short, you’ve been cursed. Badly. The only reason you aren’t dead is that bracelet of yours. If it was anything besides the Enchantment effect, you’d be a corpse. It absorbed and re-directed the majority of the spell back to the bear when you roasted it, but when it burnt your hand, some of the curse came with it.

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“Normally, you’d have a week or so to live. But that bracelet of yours is absorbing and redirecting the spreading curse and layering it over your hand again and again. Essentially, your hand has been cursed so much that it could probably cause irreparable damage from a brushing touch, and likely kill with a prolonged grab. With a bit of training, you might even be able to create and use those purple flames.”

“So it’s a good thing that I got burnt? I get magic.” Corvus mused, looking down at his cracking hand with new appreciation.

“No. Not even close.” Gilgamesh spoke authoritatively, as a emperor would to a misbehaving noble. He motioned to the blackened scar on the void. “That curse has become so powerful, that your soul has been permanently damaged. If you try and channel any death magic through it, you'll probably die. If you remove your bracelet, you will die. If you lose your arm, it will grow back with the same curse and if you don’t have the bracelet, you'll die.”

Gilgamesh’s words hung in the air. The threat of death had been an afterthought to Corvus after Gill had taken that pistol to his head, but now it seemed a close and a very real threat.

“Is there any way to cure it?” Corvus said quietly.

Gilgamesh shook his head, his eyes a sad black.

Corvus lowered his head, the reality of mortality sinking in. The silence hung for what seemed like hours. It was only broken when Gilgamesh made a little gasp. Corvus looked up, confused by the sudden noise and even more confused when he saw the determined and proud face he held on his face.

“It’s mine.” Gilgamesh beamed with self-congratulatory smugness.

“No, the curse is mine, you said so yourself.” Corvus raised an eyebrow at Gilgamesh, as if he had said something incredibly stupid.

“Not the curse, you blithering idiot! The bracelet!” Gilgamesh snapped, like a child who had been scolded.

“So you’ve said. How does that help?” Corvus was still unconvinced by Gilgamesh’s excitement.

Gilgamesh slapped his palm against his forehead and muttering something in a language he couldn’t understand, though it probably wasn't polite.

“Why don’t you understand? It was my armour, so it will still respond to my magic!” Gilgamesh seemed to be trying very hard to sound calm instead of childish.

“Again, how does that help?” Corvus sighed, but he was admittedly curious about where this was going.

Gilgamesh breathed, trying to compose himself.

“It helps because I had more spells than the entire world combined, and one of them allowed me to turn objects into writing. Essentially, it was solid translation. If you could learn it, you could use it to tattoo the bracelet into your skin, the same way that Cleo did with her tattoos. If you did it right, it would be etched into your soul in the same way as the curse.”

“So…I could cure the curse?” Corvus’ eyes widened in realisation.

“Even better. You could seal it. Use the curse.” Gilgamesh’s crazed smile returned as the gears in his mind span faster and faster. “The Enchantment will be burned into your soul, permanently keeping the curse at bay. You’d lose the powers of the bracelet, yes, but you would be able to use a hex, and maybe even use more if you learn to absorb Nature magic.

“Your right hand could curse people on demand with almost no threat to your life. You should avoid touching your skin without some kind of reason though, can’t be too careful. But other than that, it’s perfect!”

Gilgamesh was positively giddy at this prospect, which was mildly entertaining to Corvus. One thought was preventing him from joining the fun though.

“What about my anchor? If I can’t use death magic through my hand, will I lose it?”

Gilgamesh shook his head happily.

“You never summoned it into your hand, but wherever you wanted it. You can use it without issue. Be careful though. I would avoid using your bracelet at all costs. It’s already busy enough with that curse. That, and you could still damage your hand by using it without a gauntlet of some kind.” Gilgamesh’s brow furrowed as he ran through each problem one by one.

Corvus thought of one.

“But…isn't learning your magic impossible?” Corvus raised an eyebrow that Gilgamesh brushed aside.

“Nonsense! I taught it to some of my first reincarnations before the life and death wars broke out. Granted, you need a strong connection to Primal magic, but that will be an easy problem to solve.” Gilgamesh spoke proudly.

“So now I have to follow Cleo to her home, learn about the wielders of death, become one, fight off priests, learn death magic, be tutored into learning almost impossible to learn magic, sacrifice one of my strongest relics and then learn how to not kill myself, all while not hurting my hand?”

Gilgamesh nodded.

“Well…Should be fun.” Corvus stood up, ready to awaken back into the hell of his life.

The caw of a crow caught his attention and he turned around. There was nothing. No crow, no Gilgamesh, no void.

He gasped, opening his eyes to the twilight above his head. A small black beak came into view, two small black beady eyes followed, staring down. The crow poked his cheek and chirped quietly. Corvus lifted his head and poked the crow with his nose. It squawked and hopped away, swishing Corvus with its tail. Corvus sat up and looked down at his right hand. It was carefully wrapped in bandages with his leather bracer still strapped to his wrist.

A flicker of feeling shot through the void in his heart but was gone before it was noticed.

He heard footsteps coming towards him, and reached for Raven. She wasn’t there. His knives weren’t in his belt, in fact he had no belt. He had no weapons. His eyes widened and he readied himself to summon his anchor into his left hand. The steps came closer and closer.

He saw a tall man wearing white armour with accents of red. He was shaking slightly, holding a short-sword in one hand and a large shield in the other. His armour was catching too much light. Corvus almost laughed at how little chance he had.

He turned around and locked gaze with Corvus. Corvus waved.

“Evening.” Corvus bowed his head slightly.

The man didn’t move. He began to run towards Corvus but stopped abruptly. A figure darted behind him and forced a flash of steel through the back of his neck. He crumpled down to the ground with a thud and twitched several times before laying in perfect stillness. The figure stepped over the body and walked over to Corvus, knife still flashing.

The figure held the knife to Corvus’ throat and whispers in his ear.

“Wher’s tha dough, buddy?” his voice sounded like a weasel.

“Right here.” Corvus whispered back.

He grabbed the knife and shoved the weasel-like man backwards. He tripped over the armoured corpse and tried to scrabble to his feet. Corvus leapt to his feet and stormed forward. The man hopped up and stalked forward, knife in hand. Corvus adjusted the bandages on his right hand, careful not to touch the blackened skin beneath. The man hissed and rolled forward and stuck his knife in Corvus’ belly.

He chuckled to himself before Corvus grabbed his head and wrenched it back. His eyes flashed with terror before Corvus wrapped his right hand around the man’s neck. He was initially fearful of being strangled, but soon realised the bigger danger was the violet flames that began spilling from his mouth and eyes. He would’ve screamed but he was dead within seconds. He dropped the corpse to the floor and pulled the knife from his stomach and cleaned it on the man’s dark clothes.

Corvus readjusted the bandages on the right hand, re-covering the cursed flesh beneath.

“Huh. You’re awake. And been busy.” Cleo’s voice called from behind him, with a mix of worry and a chuckle.

Corvus turned around quickly, but relaxed when he realised it was Cleo.

“You’re as quiet as ever. What’s been happening while I’ve been sleeping?”

“Oh you know…” Cleo shrugged, poking the corpses with her foot and cleaning the head of her spear. “Stuff.”

Corvus assessed the surroundings. They were out of the forest and in hilly grasslands now. Corvus made an impressed whistle.

“We’ve come a long way.”

“You’re not that heavy you know.” Cleo sat down beside where Corvus was sleeping and took a swig of water from her flask. She unbuckled a belt from around her waist and threw it towards Corvus. He caught it and realised it was his.

“Sorry. Lost a few of your knives.  Your dagger didn't last long after that fire.” She admitted, poking the ground with the tip of her spear.

“No worries.” Corvus pulled Raven from her holster and looked at himself in her barrels. “How long was I out?”

“Three days.” She stabbed her spear down, lifting it back up with a small wooden panel that covered a small box with Corvus’ pack in it, which she tossed over as well.

Corvus caught it and looked down at himself. His armoured shirt was fully repaired and buttoned around him, and his jacket was folded neatly in his pack. He glanced down to his bandaged hand and sighed, drawing one of the knives from his belt.

“And it was finally repaired.” He sighed sadly. He glanced over to Cleo’s confused face. “Thank you for that by the way.”

“What are you doing?” She lowered her flask and looked on carefully.

Corvus pointed to the armoured corpse that laid a few feet from them.

“Need a new glove. I need a different sized hand for that one.” Corvus shrugged, removing his shirt.

Corvus cut his shirt into several ribbons and removed the long, thin strips of chainmail from the cotton. He pulled the rings open and shut them on the side of his bracer, wrapping the chains around his arm to fix it in place. He did the same to his hand for a bit of extra bulk and protection. He took the strips of clothing and wrapped them around his whole forearm, completing the ensemble.

He walked over to the armoured body and unstrapped the gauntlet. He had pale, white skin and there were flashes of silver hair from beneath his helmet.

‘He was from the south, huh?’ Corvus thought absently.

He slowly moved his hand into the shiny, white and red gauntlet and moved his hand to try to make it comfortable. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for some level of protection in the short term. He glanced over to Cleo, who was watching curiously.

Corvus shrugged to her and she chuckled, offering him her flask of water.

“Cheers.” He said, taking a swig and passing it back. “Go on. I’ll keep watch tonight, you deserve a rest.” He motioned to the nearby bodies. “I’ll move them somewhere the crows can get a bite.”

Cleo smiled back and nodded. She lied down on the ground, looking up to the sunset. Corvus picked up the small man and looked up to the sky. He sighed, glancing to what remained of the man's head, then down to his now-armoured hand.

“Let’s hope I can make it there.”