King finally decided he couldn't stay hidden in the alley forever.
He took a cautious step toward the street, but immediately recoiled as a rank smell wafted up from himself.
He sniffed his shirt, scowled, and muttered,
"Yeah… definitely need a shower. And an industrial scrub."
Still, stinking or not, he couldn't afford to lurk in the shadows all night.
So he edged closer to the mouth of the alley and peered out into the world beyond.
And there it was, a bustling street, alive with some kind of festival.
Bright paper lanterns swung overhead.
Crowds shuffled along the sidewalks, laughing, chatting, and vendors shouting over the noise.
Colorful banners flapped in the breeze.
Children darted between adults, chasing balloons.
He watched all this, eyes narrow.
No wonder those petty thieves had bragged about a big haul tonight.
With this many people packed into one place, wallets and phones were practically begging to be lifted.
But as he kept observing, something else struck him.
He had no idea where he was.
Was this the same city he'd lived in before? The same country, even?
He doubted it.
The language was familiar, the festival traditions didn't seem alien, but he was definitely far from home.
And then… he noticed something even stranger.
Above every person's head, he saw a small tongue of flame.
Some flames were pure white, no bigger than a pinky finger.
Others blazed black, growing as large as an open palm.
He squinted, trying to see if the flames interacted with people but they didn't.
The flames flickered and pulsed, but no one else seemed to notice.
They walked right through each other's flames without even a flinch.
He frowned.
Why the hell can I see this?
And then he remembered the conversation with that… being after his death.
Of course.
He'd been sent back to Earth, not just as himself, but as a demon.
With powers.
In a human body.
It still felt ridiculous to believe.
Honestly, it was somehow easier to accept that he'd been granted eternal life than to accept he'd come back as a demon.
But that would explain the flames.
Still… what exactly was a demon supposed to be?
By traditional definition, a demon was a supernatural creature tied to the devil, lurking in hell, feeding on the souls of the damned.
He stiffened, eyes widening.
Wait.
Don't tell me I'm supposed to start eating human souls.
A shiver raced through his body at the thought.
He pressed a hand to his stomach.
Well… he was hungry.
But until he got himself an actual meal, he wasn't about to assume he needed to start slurping up souls.
Wasn't that how demons killed people?
Shaking his head, King slumped down against the brick wall of the alley.
Time to take stock.
First off, he was definitely stronger than a normal human, that garbage truck incident was proof enough of that.
As for the flames, he couldn't figure out a clear pattern.
Some people with white flames seemed perfectly normal.
Others with black flames looked like average citizens too.
The size and color varied randomly, with no clear link to age, gender, wealth, or behavior.
He tried staring harder, focusing deeper into individuals when suddenly, a piercing pain slammed into his skull like a hot spike.
He gasped, clutching his head, and everything went black.
.
.
.
When he finally came to, he was still slumped in the alleyway, tattered and filthy, only now surrounded by the sounds of frantic scuffling and the sharp edge of pleading cries.
King woke slowly, feeling groggy and disoriented.
Shapes blurred into focus in front of him and what he saw made his eyes narrow.
Two men, not the petty thieves from earlier, but bigger, stronger, and far better-fed were struggling with a woman on the ground.
Her clothes were half torn away, fabric hanging in shreds.
King glanced around.
Apparently, he'd passed out near the entrance of the alley and somehow rolled deeper inside.
Now he was slumped against a rusted iron fence blocking the far end of the alley.
Do demons even need sleep? he wondered, massaging his temple.
He glanced up.
The fence was at least ten feet tall.
Strange… he'd always assumed alleys connected to other streets.
Why was this one sealed off?
He shifted his attention back to the scene in front of him.
The busy festival-goers outside hadn't noticed anything.
Meanwhile, the two men kept tearing at the woman's clothes, stripping her further.
Off to the side, King spotted a young man slumped against the bricks, half-hidden in shadow.
Blood soaked the kid's shirt.
He was clutching his stomach, eyes glassy with pain, watching helplessly as the two men forced themselves on the woman.
Tears streamed down his face, even as he struggled to stay conscious.
King blinked, letting it register.
The woman's upper body was fully exposed now.
Smooth skin, tearful eyes, trembling lips.
She looked up, and for a split second, their gazes met.
She reached out a shaking hand toward him, sobbing:
"Help me… please…"
King's face remained blank.
At first, he felt nothing, not desire, not sympathy.
Just curiosity.
A tiny part of him almost wanted to see how things would play out.
Then… his stomach growled.
And an overwhelming hunger surged through him.
His mouth watered as he stared at the two attackers.
Something inside him screamed:
These men are your food.
He clenched his jaw.
He'd be a hypocrite to pretend otherwise.
Besides, the two men had already noticed him moving.
"Hey, I thought you said this dude was dead," one of them snapped.
The other sneered.
"Doesn't matter. He'll stay dead either way. Hold her down."
He stalked toward King, squatted in front of him, and smirked.
"Goodnight."
And drove a knife into King's gut.
Again.
And again.
And again.
But the man's arm suddenly seized up, pain shooting through his wrist.
His eyes went wide with confusion.
Blood dribbled from his mouth as he glanced down and realized King was holding his heart.
He gurgled in shock, his hand trembling over his own shredded chest.
Only then did he notice where he'd been stabbing King… and saw that King's shirt wasn't even cut.
Not a drop of blood.
And that… was how he died.
King, still gripping the man's heart, blinked at the mess in his palm.
The sight was… repulsive.
It'd be nicer if it were a bit neater, he thought absently, before snapping back to the present and glancing at the corpse.
But he wasn't the only one staring.
Everyone else around him, both the would-be rapist and the bleeding kid was frozen in shock.
Though not for quite the same reason he was.
Because the man who'd just died was now… hovering outside his own body.
A ghostly, translucent replica of the dead man floated upward, glaring fiercely at King.
King dropped the dripping heart onto the ground and stepped closer to the soul, curiosity shining in his eyes.
He reached out a tentative hand.
But the soul suddenly shimmered and scattered like smoke, then reformed a few steps away.
Everyone else kept staring, eyes wide, as King hesitated, lost for words.
He didn't get another chance to try.
The ghost lunged at him, as if to attack, but suddenly a chain of black energy shot out from the concrete, wrapped around the soul's chest, and yanked it downward.
In an instant, the spirit was gone.
A sharp ache twisted in King's gut.
He stood there, stunned.
Because he suddenly understood:
It wasn't the soul he needed.
It was those colored flames floating above people's heads.
As the soul vanished, so had the flickering flame over the dead man's body.
His stomach growled again, louder this time, reminding him how hungry he was.
Only now did he realize how many people were watching him.
Blood dripped from his right arm.
The other man, the one still holding the half-naked woman stared at him, eyes darting between King and the fallen corpse.
Meanwhile, King's thoughts were entirely elsewhere:
'How the hell do I get those flames?'
He glanced at the sky.
Dawn was approaching fast.
He'd been unconscious longer than he thought.
He could feel his body growing weaker, the hunger gnawing deeper.
But at least… he still had three subjects standing right in front of him.
King raised his right hand, palm outward, toward the remaining attacker.
"Come closer."
It was only then that he noticed something strange about his own hand:
Long, black claws were sprouting from his fingertips, glinting in the dim light.
He stared at them as they slowly retracted back into normal human nails.
The remaining man hesitated, then released the woman and stood up, trying to look brave.
He shot King a cold glare.
"I'll act like this never happened, and so will you," the man said.
"I don't know who the hell you are, but if you cross us, there'll be more blood. And I guarantee, it won't be mine."
He lifted his shirt slightly, revealing a handgun tucked into his waistband.
"Now move. Get out of the way."