Chapter 1: A Fan's Final Edit
My last thought wasn't of my family, my friends, or any great life achievement. It was a spike of pure, undiluted annoyance.
Seriously? A truck? Of all the clichés...
The impact was a brief, explosive symphony of shattering bone and rending metal. Then, silence. And a light.
Not a tunnel, not a choir of angels. Just… a featureless, infinite white expanse. And standing before me was… well, "God" is a strong word. It looked like a harried office worker, scrolling through a glowing tablet that flickered with what looked like a trillion lines of code.
"Right, right, let's see… Ah. Yes. Quantum fluctuation in the isekai-initiator particle cascade. A real paperwork nightmare, you are. The truck was not on the schedule." The being sighed, not even looking up at me. "Suffice it to say, a mistake was made. A cosmic-scale 'whoopsie'."
I was dead. I knew it. But the fear was secondary to the sheer, baffling absurdity of it all. "So… what happens now?"
"Standard procedure is recycling. Soul gets cleaned, memories wiped, popped back into the cycle. But," it finally looked up, and its eyes were like swirling galaxies, "since this was our fault, management has authorized a… discretionary package. Three wishes. Within reason. No 'infinite more wishes.' The universe hates that."
Three wishes. My mind, the mind of a lifelong consumer of fiction, didn't even hesitate. This was the ultimate cheat code. And I knew exactly what to wish for.
"First," I said, my voice firming with conviction. "I want the powers of Michael Morningstar from Ben 10."
The being blinked. "The energy vampire? A bit niche, but alright. Granted. You can absorb life energy and—"
"With modifications," I interrupted. This was the crucial part. The edit I'd always dreamed of. "I want the power amplified, specifically in its effect on women. When I drain a woman, I don't want her turned into a desiccated husk. I want her will broken. I want her to become my utterly loyal, devoted slave, her mind and soul bound to mine, while retaining her health, vitality, and abilities. For men they are use full as slaves so same effects , if i want or they become dust."
The being stared at me, a faint look of distaste on its ethereal face. It typed on its tablet. "Modification logged. Psychic-somatic dominion override instead of cellular necrosis on female subjects. A rather… specific tweak. Wish one, granted."
I smirked. Michael was a fool. He used his power for petty theft and cheap thrills. He never saw its true potential for building an empire.
"Second," I continued, the blueprint of my new life unfolding in my mind. "I want to be reincarnated in the Marvel universe. Earth-199999, the cinematic one, preferably just before the fun really starts."
"A high-demand destination. Volatile, but full of potential." More typing. "Wish two, granted."
"Third," I said, finishing my masterpiece. "The body I'm reborn in. I want it to be perfectly healthy, peak human physical condition. I want to be handsome, charismatic, and most importantly… I want a body with a highly adaptable biology, capable of integrating and mastering new powers or energies I might… acquire."
The being finished typing and looked at me, its galactic eyes unreadable. "A soul with a plan. Or at least, a very detailed power fantasy. Very well. The trio of wishes is logged and approved. Enjoy your… fresh start."
It snapped its fingers.
The white light dissolved into a vortex of color and sensation. I was falling, spinning, my consciousness being squeezed through a cosmic straw. Then, with a jolt that felt like a second birth, it stopped.
---
Sensation returned in a nauseating wave.
The smell of diesel fumes, rotting garbage, and rain-soaked concrete. The sound of distant sirens and a dripping pipe. I was on my knees in a grimy alley, my hands—my new hands—braced against the wet ground. They were strong, with long, elegant fingers. I pushed myself up, my body responding with a fluid grace I'd never known.
A broken windowpane in a nearby fire escape served as my mirror. I saw a man in his mid-twenties, with sharp, aristocratic features, high cheekbones, and hair the color of polished silver. My eyes, however, were what held my gaze. They were a vibrant, electric amethyst, glowing with a faint inner light. Michael's eyes. The power was already there, waiting.
A laugh bubbled up from my chest, rich and confident. It worked. It all worked.
A voice, cool and mechanical, echoed in the depths of my mind. It wasn't a separate consciousness; it was my power, articulating itself in a way I could understand. Perfect.
My jubilation was interrupted by a gruff voice. "Well, look what we got here. A pretty boy lost in the wrong neighborhood."
I turned slowly. Three men emerged from the shadows of the alley. They were big, armed with a knife and a lead pipe. The classic New York welcome wagon.
The leader, a hulking brute with a scarred face, grinned. "That's a nice jacket. Why don't you hand it over, along with your wallet, and we might let you walk away."
I didn't feel fear. I felt a thrill of anticipation. Lab rats. My first test subjects.
"I'm afraid I'm a little short on cash," I said, my voice a smooth, hypnotic baritone. "But I can offer you something else."
I took a step forward, and my eyes began to glow brighter. The men hesitated, unnerved by the unnatural light.
"The hell are you?" one of them muttered, raising his pipe.
"Your end," I whispered.
I reached out, not with my hands, but with my will. Tendrils of invisible energy, the color of bruised twilight, lashed out from my fingertips. They connected with the two lackeys first.
They didn't even have time to scream. A horrific, dry cracking sound filled the alley as their life force was violently ripped from them. Their skin shriveled, their bodies collapsing in on themselves in seconds, leaving nothing but skeletal figures draped in cloth and a fine dust settling on the wet ground.
The leader stared, his eyes wide with primal terror, the knife shaking in his hand. He was paralyzed.
"Please…" he begged, a wet stain spreading across his jeans.
"For you," I said, a cruel smile playing on my lips, "a different fate."
I focused the energy, refining it, weaving the dominion protocol into it. The violet light enveloped him. He convulsed, his back arching as a silent scream was torn from his throat. I wasn't just taking his energy; I was scouring his mind, burning away his will, his identity, his very sense of self.
After a moment, the light faded. He stood still, his eyes vacant, a docile, empty shell. He was breathing, his body was healthy, but the man he was… was gone.
"Kneel," I commanded.
He dropped to his knees without hesitation, his head bowed.
A wave of power, warm and intoxicating, flooded my veins. The energy from the two men I'd drained filled me with a sense of invincibility. And the slave… he was my first asset. A tool. A proof of concept.
I looked down at my perfectly manicured hands, then up at the skyline of New York, where the Stark Tower was just visible in the distance. A world of heroes, gods, and monsters. A world filled with powerful, remarkable women.
"Michael Morningstar was an idiot," I said to my new slave, my voice dripping with contempt for my former idol. "He saw this power as a means to take. I see it as a means to own."
I smiled, a predator's grin in the dark.
"Welcome to the dawn of my empire. Now, get up. We have work to do."