We pulled up to a large, two-story New England-style house with a loud neon sign that read "Murphy's Saloon." A painted shingle above the door said, "On the Corner of Lost and Found." I was renting a room above the bar. I got out and headed for the entrance.

Best bar in town. Helps that it’s the only bar in town. Seeing figures outside the bar wasn’t unusual. The stairs to my place were inside and to the back, and you had to go in through the bar to reach it. It was called Murphy’s because anything that could happen there, did. It was called Murphy’s because it defied all logic, where magic was just another word. Might also have been called Murphy’s because the owner’s name was Murphy.

"Goodnight," I said, flashing Cali a smile as I climbed out.

She leaned out the window, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Goodnight? That's it? Not even a 'thanks for the ride,' old man?"

I chuckled. "Thanks for the ride, m'lady." I bowed with a grimace and tipped an imaginary top hat. "Good?"

Her grin widened. "That was terrible, but I suppose it'll have to do. You better get out of the rain. You’ll likely melt."

"Thanks, Cali. I mean it. Now git. And be safe out there."

Cali rolled up her window, leaving a thin crack. She gave me one last look before pulling away. "You too, Jack."

I watched as her taillights disappeared into the night, the thrum of the engine fading into silence. I stood outside, feeling the raindrops on my skin, taking a moment to gather my thoughts.

The thunder and rain created a peaceful overwhelm, the sound drowning out all other noises. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth. I closed my eyes and listened to the storm. I felt peaceful despite everything. Logically, I knew I shouldn’t, but I did. It was as if Mother Nature herself was placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

A distant noise shattered my reverie. I focused, straining my ears to listen. There it was again—a blood-curdling scream. I cautiously made my way around to the side door, the scream growing louder and more frantic with each step.

Instinctively, my hand reached for where my gun used to sit. I’d gotten rid of it a long time ago, but old habits died hard. I reached to the other side where I kept my sword, only to find it missing. I’d lost it to the ocean when I died. Reality hit hard—I’d left behind my days of being a hero. What was I doing? I should just go home. I was barely alive. I’d been given a single shot at life again. This could only end badly.

But I couldn’t walk away. I moved faster toward the sounds.

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Through the rain and darkness, I could barely make out four figures at the other end of the parking lot, not more than fifty feet away. The streetlights were out, but a car had its headlights on off to the side. The figures appeared ghostly in the dim green glow of a distant neon sign. As I drew closer, the scene became clearer. Three large men huddled around a lone woman, drenched in the rain. Her once pristine clothes were now ripped and torn. My gut twisted with anger, fear, and something darker as I realized what was happening. Her purse lay discarded on the wet ground.

Her screams resonated through my bones, and the question of fight or flight hit my fraying nervous system. It wasn't a question.

“Hey.” I tried to sound menacing, but it was hard to shout without tearing open the stitches in my neck under the tape.

They didn’t notice me.

"Hey! Back off!" I shouted.

They stopped and turned toward me. A nasal, sharp voice cut through the storm. "Why don't you mind your own business, pal?"

"How about I make it my business? Lay another hand on her, and I’ll end you."

Hero complex, Jack? What the hell am I doing?

The leader sneered into the darkness. "Looks like the old-timer wants to play hero, boys."

Heat surged along my spine, flooding every extremity with fierce, visceral rage. I felt the amber shard pulsing in my chest as a guttural roar tore from my throat, and I lunged forward, transformed into crude fury.

Without warning, a man I hadn’t seen before charged at me from behind, knocking me to the ground. With a quick buck and a fierce thrust of my shoulder, I sent him flying over my back, his body colliding with the slick pavement with a sickening thud.

Before I could take a breath, a sharp pain erupted at the base of my skull—the impact of a foot hammering down on me. The force knocked me off balance, and I tumbled face-first onto the cold, unforgiving gravel.

A never-ending barrage of heavy boots descended upon me, each one slamming into my body with ruthless abandon, obliterating any coherent thought and reducing my world to one primal instinct: survival. The stitches were like gossamer against the onslaught. Cali was going to kill me... if I survived this. Every muscle in my body strained to absorb the relentless blows.

The storm raged on, a symphony of pain and madness. My world narrowed to the rhythm of fists and boots, each impact a note in a brutal, relentless score. I could feel my stitches pulling apart, my flesh giving way, but amid the tempest, something shifted.

Calmness. I felt it again as I let my breaths slow and the world wash over me.

The blows didn't hurt as much as they should. It was as if my nerves were remembering pain that my body no longer truly felt. I let them think I was done for, a lifeless sack beneath their feet. I certainly looked the part. As they turned back to her, I rose.

The rain dripped from my hair, the cold water mingling with the faint glow of my eyes. "I warned you." My voice moved through the storm, raw and powerful, the voice of a man who had danced on the edge of death and returned.

The men froze, their heads whipping around. They saw me, standing there, undead and unbroken, a revenant in the rain. It was then I saw it—the look on their faces; the slow, creeping grip of fear. And for the first time in a long time, I felt none.