The Devil's Fate Beyond Hell

Chapter 1: Without The Truth of Death

1,047,168. One million, forty-seven thousand, one hundred, and sixty-eight. That was the number of times Diavolo had died. He had hoped that one day he would grow numb to the pain, but he never did. It never lessened, in fact, he felt the torment becoming worse with every death.

By his fifth death, he was screaming in rage, vowing to escape his hell and make Giorno Giovanna, the one who placed this fate upon him, suffer the same hell that Diavolo did. Between the painful deaths, he would curse Giorno's name, thinking of ways he could make him suffer the same way he did.

By his twentieth death, he wondered whether Gold Experience Requiem, Giorno's sentient ability, would ever finally run out of ways to kill Diavolo.

By his forty-second death, he fantasized about Giorno eventually dying from outside causes, giving Diavolo his freedom.

By his seventy-eighth death, he didn't want to be free anymore. He just wanted to die. Only six and a half hours had passed.

By the time he had reached one hundred, he was continuously screaming. Ceaseless agonizing yelling was always accompanied by his dying body.

After his four-hundredth death, he was crying. He cried endless tears as his body poured endless blood. He cried, begging for forgiveness. He pleaded with what little soul he still had left, and he prayed. Not to God, but to Giorno. He repented, killing himself on purpose over and over again, waiting for a response.

"Giorno... I can't... I'm sorry, I know I can never undo the actions that I have already done, I killed so many, I betrayed life, cheated death, defied fate... but please... my sins are finite, no one deserves this hell, eternal suffering is a punishment for no one... I just want to die... please let me die..." He never got a response. By two-thousand deaths, he stopped crying and fell silent.

Years passed until eventually, he finally decided to begin screaming into the painful void.

"GIORNO GIOVANNA! HEAR ME! LET ME GO! I DON'T DESERVE THIS! PLEASE SHOW ME MERCY! SHOW ME THE MERCY THAT I COULDN'T GIVE! LET ME SEE TRISH! LET ME CALL DOPPIO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

He would repeat those final three words over and over again. After some time, his voice lowered and lowered, until it became an incoherent jumble of words. At some point, he began shouting "KILL ME!" at the top of his lungs, until that too was drowned out by the pain.

Following months of intense, agonizing pain, and gallons upon gallons of tears, a new scenario started. This time, Diavolo was resting in a bed. The sun was shining on his face. Something felt different... his body was young. He smelled the air, and immediately he recognized the Mediterranean breeze. He was in Sardinia, in his old coastal village.

"Solido! I made you breakfast!"

To be continued...