six times matthew williams was dead, and those six times he survived. six times he was buried after his death, and six times he dug himself out. devils can't do that, but angels surely can. although angels aren't equipped with purple eyes, blonde curly hair and glasses. only devils were meant to look innocent over their horns and tridents.
matthew williams hadn't died in a long time, and he needed his release from the century that he lived in.
standing atop the roof of his ten story hotel, he pushed the end of his boots over the edge, bending his knees before springing in the air, starting his leave from the world. wind flew past him, and it felt as if time stood still. the ground was racing towards him in a mark epiphany. he laughed, and that was the last he uttered before his head cracked on the ground, startling the people below, who began to freak. calling ambulances and police, but matthew williams was all but alive.
a white spark shot into his eyes, as he opened them, sitting up in his bed, stretching his aching body.
seven.
the twenty-first century was upon him, and his new life was about to begin.