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I knew the deal when I made it; the terms were clear, and the devil didn't deceive. With a bone of metal and muscles of steel wire, my punch breaks through concrete walls, and I lift steel as if it were feather. All for the price of my soul, yet the deal clearly states that I can freely cancel anytime before my death, so God can accept me again.
I rule these streets; my territory expands wide. I hammer fear and respect into my name. I'm not one to start havoc or initiate a war, but when someone messes with me, rest assured they won't come back in one piece.
Till one night when I walk home drunk with one of my gang, these punks show up. Words go hazy in my head, but they don't come in peace. Words turn into fights, and with my unyielding strength, I stand my ground, fearless of their threats. I'm more than ready to handle them myself. But then I see a metal in their hand reflecting the moonlight, followed by a loud bang echoing in the silence of the street.
At that brink of a second, suddenly my drunken mind snaps out of it. Everything becomes clear, like sun rays on a foggy day. The devil's deal flashes before my eyes. There's no way God would accept me now, not with that contract still tied to me. Time is not on my side; no more chances to fix what has been done. Facing death isn't new to me; not a hint of fear flashes in me. If my soul's a goner, so be it. I've lived my life hard; I'm going to meet death the same damn way—unyielding, no regrets.