The Impotent King Rises

Three Days Between Life and Death

The Brooklyn Docks beneath the Williamsburg Bridge were deathly silent. In the two a.m. darkness, a pale hand gripped the edge of the pier.

With a single, long breath, David Vexley hauled his body onto the wooden planks.

He coughed, spitting out brackish water mixed with mud. His chest heaved, sucking in the polluted but strangely sweet New York air.

**[Biological Reconstruction Process Complete.]**

The robotic voice echoed again inside his skull, cold and emotionless.

**[Cost Report: Skull Fracture Healing, Pancreas Regeneration (Diabetes), Male Genital Tissue Repair, and Core Muscle Stimulation. Total Cost Consumption: 4 Years, 11 Months, 27 Days.]**

David’s eyes widened. The "5 Years" he had glimpsed in his subconscious had drastically shrunk in an instant.

**[Current Remaining Lifespan: 3 Days, 0 Hours, 5 Minutes.]**

"DAMN IT! Three days?" David hissed, his voice sounding heavier and more commanding, no longer the squeak he used when apologizing to his boss. "You brought me back just to kill me by the weekend, Grandpa Zypher?"

There was no answer from Zypher, only a heat spreading across the back of his hand.

David stood up. His legs were solid, not wavering in the slightest. He walked past a closed electronics store. In the dark storefront glass, he saw his reflection.

The man in the glass was not David the janitor. His formerly dull skin was now taut, his jawline sharper, as if chiseled anew, and his posture perfectly straight. But the most terrifying thing was his eyes. In the gloom, his irises radiated a faint, savage blue flash, like a wolf tasting its first blood.

"Good," David muttered. He clenched his fist, feeling the strength coursing through every muscle fiber. "Time to visit the only person who won't shoot me on sight."

***

Thirty minutes later, in a cramped studio apartment in Queens.

*Knock! Knock! Knock!*

The thin wooden door was hammered hard.

"Who the hell is it?! It's three in the morning, asshole!" a voice shrieked from inside. The voice was shrill and panicked.

"Open the door, Franky. It's me," David replied flatly.

Silence for a moment. Then the sound of a door chain being hesitantly slid back. The door opened slightly, leaving a two-inch gap. An eye surrounded by dark circles peered out.

Franky Divine, 30, a small-time hustler with an afro, widened his eyes until they nearly popped out. His face was ghostly pale.

"D-David?" Franky stumbled backward, tripping over a stack of pizza boxes. "B-but... Camelia just posted a 'Condolences' status on F******k an hour ago! She said you died in a river accident!"

David didn't wait for permission. He shoved the door open with one hand. The force was so great that Franky was sent flying onto his worn-out sofa.

"I did die, Franky. But hell rejected me because it was too full," David stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Franky scrambled backward, grabbing a baseball bat from under the table. "Don't come closer! You're a ghost! For God's sake, did your spirit come here because I haven't paid you back that ten dollars? Don't eat my brain! My meat is tough, full of cholesterol!"

David rolled his eyes. He snatched the baseball bat and snapped it in half as easily as breaking a dry twig.

*CRACK!*

Franky shrieked like a girl.

"Touch my hand," David commanded.

Franky trembled, but he touched David’s hand. Warm. Real.

"You... you're alive?" Franky felt David’s chest, sensing a powerful heartbeat. "Insane! Your wife said you drowned! She's even running an online funeral fundraiser!"

"Drowned?" David gave a cold laugh. "Robert smashed my head with my prized trophy, then dumped me in the East River. Him and Camelia."

Franky’s mouth hung open. "The cop? Your wife? They were in on it?"

"They were screwing in my bed, Franky." David sat down on a wooden chair. "But forget that. How is my mother? I need to get to the hospital now. I have to pay for her medication."

Franky, who had been hysterically terrified, suddenly fell silent.

"Franky?" David felt a terrible premonition. "Answer me. How is my mother?"

Franky didn't dare look his friend in the eye.

"Dave..." Franky's voice trembled. "You don't need to pay for her medication anymore."

David's world stopped spinning. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother..." His voice caught. "She passed away yesterday."

It felt like a thunderbolt struck David’s chest.

"Passed away?" David whispered. "No way. The doctor said she was stable as long as she had insulin. I... I was only late by two or three days..."

"It was because of Camelia, Dave," Franky quickly interrupted.

"Camelia?" David stared at Franky.

"That bitch..." Franky clenched his fist. "A few days ago, when you went missing, that deed to your mother's house you kept in the closet? Camelia stole it last week. She pawned it to a loan shark."

David's jaw tightened until his teeth ground together.

"The loan sharks came to the hospital yesterday, Dave," Franky continued, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. "They went to see your mother because Camelia listed the billing address there. They caused a scene. Your mother... She suffered a heart attack in the hospital lobby while being escorted out by security."

Franky sobbed. "I only got there when the nurse was covering her face with a sheet. I'm sorry, Dave... I didn't have the money to save her."

Silence.

David didn't cry. There were no tears. All that remained was a black hole in his chest that sucked away every last trace of humanity.

The system in his head blared.

**[Warning: Negative Emotional Spike Detected. Rage Level: Critical. Adrenaline Hormones Increased 500%.]**

**[System Synchronization Accelerated. Physical Strength Increased.]**

David stood up slowly.

"Dave?" Franky called out fearfully. "Are... are you okay?"

"Okay?" David turned. His blue eyes now glowed brightly, making Franky flinch backward. "I've never felt better, Franky."

That wasn't David's voice. It was the voice of a Devil who had just lost his only reason to be human. His mother died because of his wife's greed. He was murdered because of his neighbor's lust.

There was no more forgiving David. No more patient David.

"How much cash do you have right now?" David asked flatly.

Franky reached into his pocket. "Only... only fifty dollars, Dave."

David snatched the money.

"Fifty dollars," David stared at the crumpled bills.

**[Remaining Lifespan: 2 Days, 23 Hours. Warning: Seek Resources Immediately.]**

Time was running out. He needed capital. He needed power. And he needed sex tonight.

"Dave, what are you going to do with that money?" Franky asked frantically. "Don't tell me you're going to buy poison!"

David walked to the door, then turned back to look at Franky.

"Suicide? No, brother," David said. "I'm taking this pocket change to the place where human greed gathers and where this money can multiply fast."

"You mean..."

"The Underground Casino," David cut him off. "I'm going to turn these fifty dollars into millions, or I die trying."

"But Dave! That's Mafia territory! They'll cut your hands off."

"Let them try," David's eyes flashed purple for a moment as Zypher's reflection overlapped with his face. "Tonight, I'm not the one who needs to be afraid of them. They're the ones who should be praying not to get in my way."

David opened the door and stepped out.

Franky followed David, shuddering with horror. His friend had returned from the dead, but he knew... the man who walked out that door was no longer the David he knew.

New York had just welcomed a new monster.

****