After my fall from grace, I would be corrupted and embittered, eventually rising to power and conquering the world under a brutal and tyrannical regime. After years of atrocities, I would finally be shot through the chest by a righteous do-gooder. As I lay bleeding 'pon the throne room of my mighty battle-scarred citadel, I would gasp in between breaths: "Bullets... my only weakness... how did you know...?"
(OK, I stole the quote from some friends. But still.)
It's far more likely that I'll die from a heart attack, uttering "Totally worth it..." as my last words.