An unbearable pain ripped through his lower back, followed by an intense, almost crucifying heat that only got worse by the second. For a moment, he could’ve sworn he was laid out inside a furnace.

He tried to reach out to a nearby bystander, but his arm felt like lead, unresponsive and heavy. Though he doubted they would’ve helped him anyway.

(So, this is how it ends, huh? Even the world itself wants me gone.)

He felt alone, like the vast world had somehow shrunk just around his dying body.

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Until he saw the child, prodding at his cheek as he hovered above.

He looked to be about ten or so. He was dressed in a tattered prisoner’s onesie with a single metal shackle around his left wrist. But he was anything but chained. Not with those wings that flowed freely.

(Even in my final moments, this damn thing won’t leave me alone. What are you anyways? Some ghost? A messenger? If that’s the case, I’ve got a message for your boss. Kiss my ass and go to hell... You damn twisted God.)

Just when the heat became a bit more bearable, an overwhelming chill washed over him. The kind of chill that doesn’t just stop at your skin but licks down at the bones too. The sudden change felt almost soothing, a relaxing numbness that distilled the pain.

His vision began to fade, his body accepting his cruel and unrewarding fate.

(And make sure… I don’t see you when I get there.)

On this day, Akuma Tiryns… has died. Forgotten like trash, abandoned by fate. Yet, the world marches on.