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Diavolo gasped violently for air as he came to his senses, his body still reeling from his last death. Although his mind had gone numb what seemed like ages ago, the physical pain never went away. All he could do was try to get his bearings each time before he was swept into another agonizing death.
This time, it appeared he was in a dark room, but if he squinted he could see the silhouette of a person standing directly in front of him. It must be my next killer, Diavolo thought passively to himself. He did not bother to even push the hair out of his eyes to get a better look, but instead waited for the inevitable. It did not matter anyways, as Diavolo never knew the people who killed him. He supposed there was some irony in that, as the majority of those who had died by his command had simply been names on a list.
"You." Diavolo froze. He knew that voice. But it was impossible. It couldn't have been who Diavolo was thinking of, and yet he hurriedly tucked his hair behind his ears to free his eyes. In disbelief he stared at the man before him.
"No," he whispered. "No...not-"
"You," repeated Doppio, pointing an accusing finger at the broken thing kneeling before him that had once been a man. "You left me to die." The room seemed to become ablaze with light, centered behind Doppio's head so that his face was shadowed in darkness. Were his eyes always glowing like that? Diavolo couldn't remember.
"I did everything for you and you left me there, full of holes..."
"Doppio?" called Diavolo, still not fully believing what he was seeing. "How is that you're here?"
"...bleeding out." continued Doppio as if Diavolo had never spoken. How strange, thought Diavolo absentmindedly, as Doppio had never interrupted him before. The boy looked like he was going to continue, but became choked up, and fell quiet. They stayed that way for a while, staring each other down in silence.
Doppio then stepped forward, close enough to touch, though Diavolo could not move. Whether it was from that infernal stand or his own weakness, he could not bring himself to shatter the illusion. Because it could not be real, he could not be real. Diavolo could no longer afford himself such luxuries anymore.
And yet there Doppio stood, with tears running down his face. Don't cry, Diavolo wanted to say, but his tongue felt like less in his mouth, for once speechless in front of his underling. Suddenly Doppio's face contorted in anger and pain.
"So let's see how you like it." he snarled. Too late, Diavolo saw the mark of King Crimson on Doppio's forehead. He tried to scramble backwards, but his body would not obey him, frozen in place. All he could do was stare. There was some poetry in that, if he thought about it. (And he would, for the rest of his dying days).
And as his other half drove his fist through his stomach, tears still rolling down his young face, Diavolo could feel his heart tearing in two. Because somehow this hurt more than anything he experienced before. Your fault, your fault, whispered the traitorous shadows. As Diavolo slipped into darkness once again, he couldn't find it himself to disagree.