I DO NOT OWN KATEKYO HITMAN REBORN!

That's my disclaimer for the whole story.

Don't diss out on me if you didn't read this new updated version!

Fire, heat scorching his lungs as he stumbles along the destroyed street. He could barely breathe, lips terribly chapped and bleeding as his eyes threatened to close forever due to dangerous heat. But he won't; for he had one last thing he had to do. He stops before a decimated house and went up to the door. The air, cool and refreshing at first when he opens the door was suddenly turned to hellish temperature. He shuts the door, offering slight relief from the beat, burning heat from outside.

It won't last long, however, for the town is burning down to the ground. He slowly climbs up the stairs, breathing harshly from the exertion from his lungs and the pain from it. He made to the destination, opening a door to reveal a cool bedroom that is covered in shadow and dust. He shuts the door behind him, turning around then to stumble toward to bed to lay upon it. He kicked off his shoes and crossed his legs, his head resting on a small pillow. The sheets, dusty and stiff from disuse over the time, reminded him of his childhood.

After all, it is his old bedroom. He reaches his hand up to the ceiling, feeling the air around him starting to get warmer. "Fhuu, looks like it's my time to die..." he began to mumbles, in horse voice that is unused to soft whispering. He bring his dirtied hand, once clean and lightly tanned from the sun, upon his chest where his left hand reside over. He fingers an heirloom ring, knowing what causing the heat to be like this. "It's a shame, that I failed everyone..." He closes his eyes, once liquid chocolate that turned dangerous amber over the recent use of his own flames. His spiky, dark hair (never it been tamed under his care until now, for it limps underneath all of the dirt, soot and dust from the battles) frames his tired expression. The man, seemingly twenty-four, never noticed a gentle caress of flame that came from nowhere. The flame, now turned into a hand, revealed to be the man's doppelganger, only cleaner and blonde version.

"Sleep, Decimo. It's time to let go," the eternal voice called out, knowing that the ears already shut down as the body enters the final phase of shutting down, for good. The blonde's hand reaches up to brush away the bangs from the forehead, feeling the layer of defiant dirt against his skin. "For it is not over. Let go and follow what your heart tells you to do. Let go..." He mumbles softly, leaning over at the last words then kisses the center of the forehead. The chest shudders in stress, only for it to stop at its down stroke. The blonde pulls back, vanishing slowly as he looks outside the tainted window, seeing flames now encroaching the house truly.

He, Vongola Primo, couldn't hold back one final tear for his descendant's death in this world.

Oh why, Dio, must we suffer this curse? Jumping from one end to another, forever ensuring the Time's continuance...

Checked for issue(s): March 11th, 2016