Matthew’s POV:

There was a brief moment where everything blurred. Colours were pulled into streaks that dragged across each other. Then, his senses fell away. His ears could no longer hear, everything cloudy and dull. His eyes could no longer see. He could faintly taste blood in his mouth. Everything went black.

And then, everything became nothing.

If Matthew had been capable of being aware, he might’ve remarked on the whimsy of it all, the loss of physicality that made everything feel like it was drifting away.. Or he might’ve noticed that the darkness around him was the darkest he had ever seen in his life. He remained there for a period of time he couldn’t calculate, as to him, time had been swallowed by nothing, just as everything else had been.

The colour of the darkness that engulfed him never changed or shifted, but Matthew’s awareness did change, and all of a sudden, everything felt physical again.

He could move forward, turn around, or at least, he thought he could. With no true way to gauge his surroundings, and everything being a mind numbing, indistinguishable black, it was hard to tell if different parts of the void were revealing itself to him as he turned, or if he was motionless, staring at the same dark barrier as he tried to move.

The whole thing was giving Matthew some serious Deja-vu, which he was not okay with. He waited, furious, for the angel, waited for the sound of a car alarm or the beeping of a hospital machine. Maybe all of this had been a coma dream, and now he was waking back up in his world. Maybe his family would be there, sitting at his bedside.

Or maybe he had just died again and the angel was coming to whisk him away to another confusing world where he’d have to completely relearn how to survive amongst other things.

Matthew wasn’t sure what he’d do if that was the case. He played the conversation out in his mind now, his blood getting hotter by the second as all the things he wanted to shout at the being who did this to him filled his mind.

He could faintly feel the deer, which was different than the last time he had died, where he couldn’t really feel anything. But the deer was significantly detached from him, somewhere far off where Matthew couldn’t quite reach. He could feel its panic and confusion in the back of his mind.

Somehow, the darkness got darker, until it was completely devoid of any possible light. The former shadow Matthew had been staring into had seemed grey in comparison to this new darkness.

“All enter my domain, but I was beginning to think your feet would evade the shadows forever,” a voice spoke from the shadows. Its words were cold and forceful, with an inaudible undertone that somehow reminded Matthew of a snake, or a spider. “Time runs on, however. Everything else, well, everything must rest at some point.”

Something in the way the word ‘rest’ was said, as if it was some inside joke, made the voice laugh, and it echoed in the dark void. Matthew remained silent, motionless, despite the urge to whip his head around to try and tell where the voice was coming from.

The blackness pulled away, the shadows writhing around a figure that slowly appeared. The darkness seemed to flinch around its every movement. There was a chill that ran up Matthew’s spine that he knew was actually an emotion felt by the deer.

The smell of death hit Matthew hard, but he didn’t gag—likely because he didn’t have the body to be able to. It reminded him of a decaying pigeon on the side of the road, or fruit left out for too long.

“Who are you?” Matthew demanded after the silence continued. “Why am I here?”

“I am everlasting. I have always been present, and I always will be. I lurk in the shadows of street corners and cling plainly on the shoulders of passer-bys. My path is marked in stone and blood and rot. My name is spoken in many names and in many tongues,” there was a grin in the figure’s voice, “King of the Dead, Grimm, the Ferryman, Orcus. But you may call me Graves.”

Matthew looked around the void. “So I’m dead then? Are you going to bring me to your kingdom or whatever? Because I hate to break it to you man, but I’m a little done with this whole life after death thing. It’s kind of what got me here in the first place.”

This was a god of death, and Matthew really should be more respectful. He was certain that this was a feared deity in this world, and the god’s name was not to be used lightly. But Matthew was tired. And he missed his family and his home, and he’d much rather just be dead than have to jump through all these hoops.

Besides, he was dead, wasn’t he? What did he have to lose?

“Death, life, the in between, all conversations for different times. "Graves waved a hand dismissively, and Matthew thought he saw skin peeling away from bony knuckles before they disappeared back underneath the dark robes. “Inevitability is tiresome, but straying from the water-carved path brings life back to the dead horse.”

“Then what are you here to talk about?" Matthew paused. "Did you send those hunters after us? And why me?"

“Fate is a river with many hands in it. No lead can be wrapped around its neck,” Graves said. “But a hand in a hand, well, that could alter its course. You could do much with a rein in your hand and death at your heels.”

Matthew frowned, trying to translate. “Alter the course of what?”

“Accept my offer and the world will turn to clay in your fingertips. The water of the Styx will wet it, and you can shape it in your image,” the god said. “Life follows the heels of death, just as Death follows the heels of Life. With Death at your hands, Life shall follow, and a world is nothing but Life and Death.”

Matthew didn't like how the God said the word ‘offer’. He was unsure about a lot in this world, but he knew that it typically wasn't a good idea to go and make a pact with an eldritch being that you met in some dark void somewhere. “Does the world need a lot of shaping? I'm not very familiar with it. Just got here, y'know?"

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Matthew could feel Graves' eyes on him, calculating. He knew he was being rather difficult, but in his defence, the last time something like this happened he got turned into a shard of something, torn away from his dying family and thrown into a cave in a world that definitely was not his own.

So yeah, he had a right to be ‘difficult’.

“Power is nothing without the right blood. Black and powerful runs through your veins. And your heart beats the truth. But every wildfire needs the storm, just as flint is useless without stone. Allow me to be the lightning.”

And then, Matthew could feel the power that surrounded him. It teased at his fingers, promising him full control. All he had to do was make the deal with Graves and it would go to him, ready to be harnessed. He wondered what kind of spells you could unlock with the help of a god. Would he be able to raise the dead? Shoot bones or rays of darkness?

“What’s the catch?” He asked.

Graves sighed. “A name is no good when it is whispered on the street, thrown about like a curse. The Kingdom of Death does not reveal itself to those not ready for it, and thus, its image remains unknown. Imagination sparks more horror than reality. Death and decay do not inspire the same comfort as life and knowledge. My comforts must be sought out in the dark corners, where many dare not to go.

“But time has no conscience. Time cannot hate. It is the aftermath of nothing that is filled with such emotions. But with something must come nothing, and with so much something, well, nothing must dip its hands into the world.”

In the god’s hands an ornate, deep red teapot appeared. Two cups floated in front of the god, who calmly filled both cups. The liquid inside was deep red, and smelled of a pungent mix of spices that almost chased the smell of decay away. A brimming full cup was offered by a skeletal hand to Matthew.

He remembered a myth in his world about taking food from a Death god. He shook his head, and the cup and teapot disappeared.

“Power brings a need for power, and a great many voices are powerful. A symbol on the chest of the revered, a tale of mercy and balance on the lips of the celebrated. These are very powerful things, yes? A fair exchange for patronage.”

“You want me to advertise you? Become a follower?” he cocked his head.

Matthew could hear Graves’ grin widening. “Follower implies a sheep in a closed pasture. No, my champion, you will be my shepherd.”

Matthew frowned. “If I don’t agree to this, I die, right? Or you’ll hunt me down for eternity because I wronged you or something?” In all the myths Matthew had heard about mortals making deals with gods or deities, things never worked out for the mortal. The house always won.

The god laughed, and Matthew couldn’t help but shiver a little. “Your eyes are clever, you see the truth in the nature of things. Strong blood runs through the veins of many, but I have faith in your eyes. Paths stand before you, trust your feet to take you down the right one. Your river is not dry. It, like your blood, still runs.”

"You're a lot...more relaxed than I thought you'd be," Matthew admitted, watching Graves pour himself another cup of tea.

Graves shrugged. “Very few bridges present themselves to me, it would be a waste of fire to reduce them to ash. Especially a bridge such as this.”

"And if I agree, that's it? You're my patron for forever, or...?"

Graves chuckled. “Power comes easy to your blood. It thirsts for it.” The god paused for a moment. “There are many fish in the barrel of the pantheon. The sky is watching you. The waves hesitate to crash. The trees hold their breath as you pass. Your port will remain open, even if you grant my ship a stay. But others may be more hesitant to enter your harbour.”

Matthew spent a couple of seconds looking around the void. The god was right, the offer was tempting, and the thought of having access to more magic caused a sort of buzzing in his bones. He could still feel the magic around him, and he really didn’t care too much about the god being the King of the Dead or whatever. A symbol was just a symbol to him.

But if there were other gods interested, other gods that might be able to offer more, or might pull out if they found out he had made a deal with Graves—he had a feeling the god of death wasn’t all too popular—then making a decision right now could harm more than it could help.

What other kinds of gods were there, anyways? He imagined the classic, but there were a lot of other aspects of this world that he didn’t know about, aspects that could be the domains of other gods. And how finite did it get? Were there gods with small domains that only accounted for a type of food or a plant, or was it all broad, like death?

Graves had said the sky, sea and trees were watching him. Could those be hints to other gods?

But if Matthew refused, what if he never had this chance again? Death was a powerful thing, it was literally death. If he made this deal, if he carried Graves’ symbol, there was a chance that everyone would be too afraid of him to fight him. They could be safe. They would have the god of the dead on their side.

Why does this have to be so hard? Matthew internally groaned.

Graves seemed pretty desperate for this deal, despite all the laughter and the riddles. There was a shakiness in his hands as he poured his tea, there was a caution in his voice as he spoke to Matthew. And if there were other gods watching him, they had to share that desperation.

And they all needed him to make a deal with them.

He was in control. He could choose his path, and if he didn’t like it, the paths would shift for him.

Graves would come back if Matthew wanted him too. Any of them would come back if Matthew wanted to.

So he would wait and see who he wanted to make a deal with, and afterwards, he would call upon them and make the pact.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I’m not sure I have seen enough of this world to make a deal as binding as this.”

The god’s shoulders fell slightly. “Caution is a falter in confidence, but a display free of arrogance. It is a trait fallen on neither scale, a grey area of character.”

“What happens now?”

The cup of tea in Graves’ hand disappeared, along with the figure itself after a moment. “Now,” the god spoke, “now you may see how Death can grant life.”

The blackness began to fade, and Matthew scrambled as he was suddenly overwhelmed with sensation. He was back in the deer's body, and they were standing, running. His mind flooded with stimulus, but he had just a moment to realise that all of their wounds were gone, healed over as suddenly as they had woken.

A gift, a display of power, a promise. Matthew wasn’t sure which it was.

A voice spoke in his ear, the same cool and powerful voice he had heard in the void now speaking over the beating of his heart. “The bridge will always be there for you, should you wish to cross.”