Give me nothing but your death.

Give me nothing but your crushed and mangled corpse.

I wish for nothing but to see you covered in blood - human blood.

Not the blood that they've given you. Not the blood of a 'God.'

You are no God. You are a man.

You are no force of nature. You are a weak-willed human.

I will stalk you until my last breath.

I will make you squirm.

I will deal unto you a pain which I have dealt unto no other.

Your divine bones will snap and I will drain the marrow out with my mouth, if I have to.

With every force imaginable, I will cut you down again and again and again and again until you return into your true, frail self.

I will cut out your tongue once more, for you shall spill so much blood that you will begin to lap it up back into your body, with your mouth, in desperation.

I will let you keep one eye, so that you could observe your torture in horror.

To begin the true pain of the torture, I will skin you by your feet until your muscles and tendons expose themselves to the air; I will rip and tear each and every connective tissue located inside your feet one by one.

Next, using my knives, I will pluck out the nails on your toes and survey the miniature waterfalls of blood that would spill out as a result.

It is a fitting punishment. Serpico bled out from his wounds after your forces had had his feet lopped off.

I will not remove any of your limbs. I want you to feel everything.

Next, your hands shall be twisted and turned in unsightly, horrific ways. And I will pierce your elbows and shoulders with crossbow bolts sharp enough to pierce even the strongest Apostle's flesh.

Farnese's hands were severed by you, personally. Right before you had her thrown to the most depraved of your men. Right before you'd defiled her to her death.

I will carve the skin off your stomach slowly. I wish to savor the pain you shall experience.

Your stomach. Your ribcage. Your intestines. Your lungs. Your heart.

All exposed before me. All exposed, all vulnerable to pain.

I'm sure you remember Isidro's cries for mercy as you let Zodd crush him to pulped meat.

And I will make sure that each and every one of your exposed internal organs shall be exploited to terrifying degrees.

Your intestines shall be pried off from your insides and roasted atop a scalding flame.

I will cup the blood that shall fall from your exposed innards and force you to drink them.

Next, your heart and lungs. They shall be removed, extracted. And I will smash them to nothing.

As you die, as you look at me one last time, I will remember Schierke's open eyes. I will remember how she stared at me as she died of blood loss.

And as a final show of defiance, I will cut down what you'd used to destroy Casca's mind.

And then - only then, will I let you die.

Let the God Hand strike me down.

Let me fall into the pits of despair.

Give me nothing.

But your death.