Costa Tropical, Spain

Before a small, yet roaring fire he sat propped up in an old wooden chair that was a far cry from the throne of his old castle. In fact, everything about his new residence was a fry cry from his familiar holdings.

He hadn't known what to expect upon surrendering himself to Interpol's custody. He suspected that this little one-bedroom hovel was Chun-Li's private reprimand for deeds committed long ago; a small price to pay to go on living. Despite former animosities, she had kept her word; "Alive. Not comfortable, but alive."

Luckily, he had maintained some of his underworld connections who had managed to smuggle a bottle of La Vendimia to him. And so he sat, before this pitiful fire, eyes closed, and glass held to his nose, hoping to savor some of his former glory.

Ahh, yes.

The wine was aged ten years, so dry, so potent, so…

Beautiful.

Disgusting.

Vega contemptuously let the fragile glass fall from his hands, shattering on the hardwood floor below. Like all things he once found precious and beautiful, the wine now seemed so trivial.

Such was the way of things. Your priorities always changed when you realized that you were going to die.

Resting his chin on his knuckles, the aging bullfighter closed his eyes and lost himself in the fire and his memories. He had long since stopped asking how it had come to this. When his former colleague Sagat, and then Zangief fell, he knew it was only a matter of time.

Almost subconsciously, he right hand drifted to the simple wooden table to his right, his fingers running over the light iron mask and wrist-affixed claw that had been his signature, in his prime. He remembered the better days; cornering his prey before an audience that paid hundreds of dollars to see him work. He remembered the heavy iron fence that slammed down, protecting the audience from the ensuing mayhem and cornering his opponent at the same time. The audience would gasp as he leapt several feet into the air, descending on his hapless foe like a hawk. The men envied, feared, and admired him, but the women—oh, thewomen—the women wanted him, and would do anything to be with him.

He suddenly wondered if he had sired any offspring in his youth. It was a shame he would never know them.

His fearsome reputation had earned him the attention of Shadaloo, and that lunatic M. Bison. Vega could've cared less for the man or his principles—he could never follow something as base and ugly as psycho power—but he sold his soul for the money. And he gladly dismembered anyone who fell into his den. It all went so well until the day he confronted Ken Masters…

Once, he had vowed revenge against the man who had so decisively beaten him. Now, he had to admire his tenacity. Vega had hit him with everything he had, but each attack he successfully landed on the rich boy had only furthered his resolve. In desperation, with the crowd wavering, Vega had unleashed his final resort; he leapt to the fence, hoping to divebomb the young warrior and open him up with a wide slash. Ken had other plans; as Vega came for him, Ken merely crouched. Vega initially thought that Ken was trying to soften what was coming; instead, at the last minute, Ken had unleashed…what was that move again…oh, yes…the fabled Dragon Punch. The one he remembered "made you feel like dying."

Indeed it had. Ken had hit him with such force that Vega was surprised that his neck wasn't broken. Not only that, but Ken's fist felt as though it was on fire, and Vega flopped to the ground like a dying fish, his entire body feeling ablaze.

Perhaps if he hadn't fallen into depression after that, he might've been better prepared for Chun Li. Unlike Ken, Chun Li had come looking for him; vengeance for a contract he executed under M. Bison's orders. He didn't even remember the man's name…but he never forgot theTenshou Kyaku that had taken him down. Vega had allowed himself to fade into obscurity after that…

Amazing, he thought, that was my entire life…

A shudder went through the room. It was followed by a hot wind that blew through him, around him. And he was no longer alone.

He smiled.

"May I prepare?" He asked, without opening his eyes.

There was no reaction.

Gently, as a man with a gun to his head would react, Vega affixed his claw to his right hand and felt a familiar surge of power race through him. He then placed his mask over his face and felt the Hunter's presence within him again; this was the final performance of the Spanish Ninja.

He slowly stood, turning to face his opponent.

Magnificent.

The shroud of death that hung around this man now was fearsome, unmistakable…beautiful. What better way to meet his end?

His eyes narrowed, beneath the mask he allowed himself a smile. His opponent merely stood before him, waiting.

And so he spoke his last words; "I'm ready."

And with that, Vega leapt at his adversary, even as he witnessed the hellish aura that signaled his life would soon be over.