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I can’t tell you how many times I’ve died.
No, you didn’t read that wrong, I honestly don’t know how many times I’ve died.
Stabbed, autopsied, hit by a car, those are the few I can remember. I’m not immortal, far from it in fact, but rather trapped in an endless cycle. Thing is, I’ve died so many times I can’t recall how or why I was trapped in this state.
Among others I can recall, I’ve been burned alive, had my lungs forcibly ejected from my body, been run over by an ambulance, decapitated, poisoned over a long period of time, crushed by falling rocks, exploded, and impaled through the stomach before being thrown back an ungodly amount of meters only to slowly bleed out.
Every single time I die, every single time I awake after each painful death, I wonder why I suffer like this, who I angered, if I can even escape.
I’ll do anything to escape this cycle. Absolutely anything. Hell, just knowing what I did to deserve this would be nice.
The only thing I can recall is my name. That’s it. If you know who I am, for the love of fuck, find someone who knows who I am and, more importantly, if they can find a way to break this cycle or get a message to me.
My name is Diavolo, and I am in hell.