21 million.

The number after which Diavolo simply stopped counting.

He died and died and died until it became routine. At first, after each death, Diavolo felt a whirlwind of emotions: hope, hatred, a primal horror; he tried to use the Stand, to summon the Epitaph, but all his efforts remained in vain. Now, after several million deaths, it all seemed too far away. He had "survived" every death for which a Darwin Award had ever been given, and clearly deserved at least another million such awards. It got to the point where the deaths began to repeat themselves; they became more and more boring, though not less painful. Diavolo learned to just go with the flow: appear, wait, die, and reappear.

---

Tick-tock.

The ticking of a clock sounded in the background. Diavolo slowly opened his eyes and looked around the room: a nice kitchen, a vase of flowers on the window sill, the very clock whose ticking had brought him to consciousness. And something else. The pleasant smell of someone's perfume was faintly in the air. It seemed as if its owner had just left the room. But Diavolo didn't take a step, only staring at the hand of the clock. In any case, if the "script" demanded it, he would move involuntarily.

A minute passed. Then second. Fifth, tenth...

Diavolo's eyebrows frowned. Time kept running, having long since passed his survival record. Blinking, he turned his gaze to the doorway and took a step. But suddenly a floorboard creaked, and you looked out into the kitchen.

Diavolo's eyes widened. For the first time, you appeared in his deaths. Young, beautiful, just as he remembered you to be. The only thing that didn't match was the baby in your arms, laughing and holding out his arms to him. You were saying something to him, but all his attention was taken by a kid that looked suspiciously like him. Now there was no point in hiding his identity and trying to kill his offspring... But did he finally get a chance to die of old age?