Heihachi's heart pounded against his chest; pain filling every part of his body it could grasp. He could barely make out the smoke that corrupted the sky, which remained a shade of iridescent blue. It was so much like that day, except the sky was bloody and the pain was only in his chest, right where his heart should have been. The day he gave and destroyed everything only to help himself; the day he committed the ultimate taboo. The day he become a true sinner.

As his body endured through the pain, his memories and opinions of himself flittered across his mind. So many were terrible, yet his memory sent fear into his heart. If he saw him now, he was sure he would hate him. He would believe he was pathetic and worthless, like he should have when they first met.

Traitor

He had betrayed them yet again. He was still alive, when even he knew he should've been dead a long time ago. His lips whispered the despicable word, sending shivers he could barely feel down his spine. The pain increased as he turned to stare at the pitiful, burning rice fields. He hadn't been joking when he said he'd be with the rice. He smiled bitterly, forcing himself to look back up at the sky. It eased the pain, but his heart told him he should be in much more pain than he was currently in.

Heartless

His heart ached, the pain dull and cold. He felt every beat, remembering the name of every person he'd betrayed. Name after name of his entire regiment came, each one making his heart beat even more pained. "Kambei," he moaned, "Kyuzo, Katsushiro, Kikuchiyo, Shichiroji." He couldn't bring himself to say the last name, but his mouth always was against him. "Gorobei..." Tears fell down his face as he opened up his eyes. "I'm sorry!" His feeble apology sounded pathetic in his ears, sounding more like a lie than truth. His heart pounded against his chest, trying to convince him that he was not as heartless as he'd like to believe. He knew that his heart was wrong; trying yet again to trick him into believing that he was not the heartless, cruel person he thought he was.

Murderer

The pain brought back memories of the betrayal. The pain had become nearly unbearable, but it could have been worse. "M-murderer," he choked, tears staining his cheeks. He remembered holding the gun to his friend's chest, hesitating to pull the trigger. It was the signal that they could strike and kill all of them, save for one-the murder. He remembered pulling the trigger and watching the crimson that stained his friends chest. The word on his friend's lips scared him though. His friend's eyes were filled with shock and hatred; they screamed murderer. He remembered hardening his heart as he turned away, but his hand let go of the gun as he ran towards his sanctuary. There, maybe he would die with the rest of his regiment and forget that he was a murderer.

Damned

He knew from then on he was damned to a life of eternal pain. His wings had been torn off and he was forced to close his eyes to all that was beautiful in the world.
If he still had wings, they were stained black. His body now was chained to the stake where he would be burned for his treachery.

Wicked

He was wicked, through and through. He had no more purity than the demons in Hell. He deserved it, however, because of his wickedness and spite.

Weak

He had been too weak. He should've known he wouldn't have survived the war without treason. His weakness had stolen the lives men who had their whole loaves ahead of them. He was to weak and cowardly to ever be considered samurai.

These painful thoughts filled Heihachi's mind until he thought it would burst. He felt his heart slow until he could barely feel the beats. His eyes fluttered close as he whispered his last word, the word that described him.
"Sinner."