His skin, drenched in his own blood, burned uncontrollably. The weight of his listless body pressed against the cool cement floor, a stark reminder of his diminishing physical abilities. As the seconds passed, the ache in his feet intensified, turning into an unbearable throbbing. The passage of time felt sluggish, as if it were stuck in a perpetual loophole.

For a moment, he believed he was in hell, enduring divine retribution for all the misdeeds he had committed in his life. The idea of being at the road’s end was less intimidating than the reality that unfolded before him.

It was too cold for hell.

Above him, a black shadow hovered and covered his body in its never-ending darkness. It swallowed him up, ready to eat him alive, flesh nothing but an appetizer. He envisioned his innards being torn asunder and feasted upon, uncertain if it was a remnant of memory or a foreboding of what was to come. Yet, there was no pain. Instead, his dark, lifeless eyes were drawn to the crimson liquid dripping onto the ground below and pooling near his feet.

A deep, throaty laugh echoed from behind him.

He didn’t dare to look back, not that he could.

The shadow clenched its fingers around his throat, tightening its grip. Powerless to resist, he gasped for air as it drained the life from him.

He knew he deserved what was coming. In his brief existence, he had been anything but a saint. He killed many, hands stained with the blood of the innocent as much as the guilty.

He was a shell of his former self, painstakingly awaiting his eventual departure.

Too bad he would never get it.

The suffocating grip transformed into an uneasy embrace as whispers in his ear sent tremors to his very soul. He found himself at the gates of hell, coerced into a pact with the devil.

By the time those words processed in his mind, he had already forgotten them, forgotten everything.

He woke up chagrined, surrounded by corpses and covered in blood.

His body was still there, but he was gone.