The Elixir didn’t just heal the flesh and bone. When a welder put two pieces of metal together, they weren’t just stuck or glued, they were melted through extreme heat with a third molten binding metal introduced between them, and when that heat was gone, the three pieces became one. That’s what the Elixir did to his body. Some thought of Franks’ physical form as a collection of parts, but thanks to the Elixir, he was an aggregate whole. His features and his genetic makeup changed over time based upon an ever-adjusting rolling average as new parts were introduced and assimilated. The Elixir was an alchemical miracle. It made him stronger, faster, and better than any mortal man. The more he took, the more physically powerful he became, but as the fire intensified, so did the pain, and Franks was not sure exactly how far he could push before it finally consumed him.

So he’d continue using it as he always had, small amounts to repair his body, and a bit more for when he needed to do something particularly difficult.

But he was running low, so he’d better not do anything stupid.

After the physical repairs were done, Franks concentrated on plotting his dispassionate revenge. His stash had a radio. Of course the MCB had already flipped all their encrypted channels, but coasting through the local police bands and the unencrypted Fed channels gave him some clues as to the current situation. He also had a tablet that let him access the internet, though he’d had to steal an extension cord from the historical society and run it down into his secret chamber so he could charge it. He was all over the news. Franks was a suspect in multiple homicides—they had no idea—was armed and extremely dangerous—yes—and should not be approached. . . . That last bit was actually very good advice.

It was remarkable what could be learned from the internet. The Founders would have killed to have such knowledge at their fingertips, but most humans used it to watch videos of kittens or to launch birds at pigs, or other strange things. Franks really didn’t get it. The coverage of the attack helped him decide his next move.

First and foremost, Kurst had to be dispatched back to Hell where he belonged. Stricken might be a ruthless manipulative bastard, but there was no way he’d knowingly let something like Kurst into the mortal world. Project Nemesis had to be stopped.

They had underestimated Stricken. Over the centuries Franks had seen men like him come and go. They were always looking to control the uncontrollable, and they were always too clever for their own good. Such men inevitably ended up in positions of authority and their only goal in life was always to amass more. Franks had seen it happen in a dozen countries and he’d even seen glimmers of it here.