If you act as god be prepared to answer to those who came before you.

After receiving a prophecy detailing his downfall, the last living god enters the mortal realm to prevent his death. Too bad he hasn't been there since he was mortal...oh well, it can't be that bad, right?

Notes:

Notes; Ajamu is a reference to the singer known as; King Ajamu. The pic shown was drawn by me and if you're reading this on Quotev or Wattpad acts as the cover for this story. N/n= a nickname, preferably one that would be condescending in nature.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Many don't understand gods.

To be fair, many knew little about the afterlife as well. From reincarnation to the various forms of heaven and hell that might or might not exist, humans had always found themselves unable to get definitive answers. There were many who had, along with those who continued, to spend their entire lives trying ever so desperately to discover the many secrets of religion and the afterlife, but they all continued to come up short.

Not that such a thing mattered.

After all, the age of gods and deities had long since ended, not with a bang but a quiet murmur that left much to the imagination, mainly because they were all dead, or rather, most of them were dead. The one who had killed the golden age of immortals was mere ash, joining the ranks of his victims with little to no grace, meaning there was exactly one god left behind.

That god was asleep. Resting. Or maybe one would rather use the term hibernation for the long time periods the immortal remained in comatose?

Well, no matter which term one preferred, the god was lost to the realm of dreams.

The male in question had a rather striking appearance. His frame, lean, bony, yet clearly muscular despite how lightweight he must be, made even more noticeable because his body was completely bare. Not that many would consider it to be such a bad thing. As mentioned previously, his appearance was striking, yet his beauty was more unnatural than most. Yet a masterpiece all the same. Despite his clear beauty, his body was marred with distinct scars and tattoos. Or maybe not 'marred' depending on one's views, but that isn't important.

The main set of scars were a massive cross-shaped brand on the front of his chest, twenty-five inches from his Adam's Apple to his hips and belly button and twenty-five inches across, then a scar along his throat, that was five inches wide at most and half an inch at the least ripped open in a way that resembled a Glasgow smile, two massive wounds then ran parallel down his back about the same length as the brand, and finally a series of older scars along his legs, mainly burns on his thighs, and a series of thinner scars at his ankles.

The tattoos were clearly of a different story. On the inside of each forearm was a word; Dio on the right, Diavolo on the left. The companion piece to those two words was left trailing down the line of his spine in between the two scars mentioned earlier. It was the word; Giudizio. All together they meant god, devil, and judgment in Italian, with each word being fully capitalized and in jagged, solid black lettering. The other tattoos were much less on the nose, two capital 'X's that resided on the side of each shoulder in that same jagged font. A bluish black band about five inches wide was at each wrist and ankle, more decorative than anything else, and on the outer calf and knee of his left leg was a series of symbols in dark gold that seemed to glow in the low light and stand out against his already pale skin. The top was two lines made to resemble a cobra with the first line being like the symbol 'omega', representing the hood of the serpent, with the other line, more similar to a capital 'I' being the head of the snake and muzzle. The next symbol was a curved seven, and the other a jagged 'v', stopping above the scarring that curved around his ankles as if bone fragments had tried to escape flesh.

Though it was clear, the god didn't care about the possibility of being watched. In fact, all the god did was roll over in his sleep, which sent a rather dark cascade of H/c hair over his shoulder and down his chest. Yet if one were to pull back, they'd see the perch he had chosen was more akin to a sacrificial altar rather than a throne fit for an immortal, but that was neither here nor there. What did matter was the raspy hiss that escaped his lips, and how for a moment his right eye slowly opened, revealing a slit-shaped pupil that narrowed at the light to a mere shard of black in a sea of E/c before the god's eye once again closed with a hum. The universe around almost purred in response.

And, just like that, peace was temporarily restored.

“ You want to know what kind of person you are, don’t you, N/n? But isn’t that obvious? Fine, fine, I'll be the one to break it to you, I suppose.

You're a mess.

What? Do you want something better than that?

Fine.

Let’s see...you’re the person who has to help others despite your nature and clear preference for solitude. You’re nothing more than scenery that gets taken advantage of. You work best alone. You can’t handle other people because you don’t know how to. The few friends you’ve kept have all been people you were willing to die for, so I guess you’re loyal, but it’s not as if you have that many who can stand you. Ironically enough, you have little to no value in family ties, but I don’t think anyone could blame you for that one, given your background. Weirdly enough, you actually have a rather strong sense of propriety, even if you can never keep up the act for long. Especially not with that stand of yours! You’re also the type of person to bury all of that mental and physical pain away and drown in it. You’re attached to the idea of human interaction, but you’d rather live without it. Yet it was you who became a beacon of hope to those in need of succor. You’re emotional, more so because of your stand, and you can’t fully keep yourself under control, especially now that your blood has changed. Tch, I remember how annoying that sensation was, but I didn’t have all of those unpleasant side effects. It must be from that stand of yours. How delightful, even now it will curse you. Anyway, moving on, you’re helpful by nature, as I mentioned earlier, yet you explode at those you care for, and then return to normalcy when the pain is gone. You’d probably be a good actor. Oh, does that upset you? You have a strong sense of right and wrong, but you’re left confused and uncertain in times of stress or when you need to make a tough decision, so it isn’t that special. There's always hesitation when you need your stand to fight, and you never put your own needs first.

That's who you are.

And you'll always be that person, no matter how long you sit in a seat that never belonged to you.

I mean...it's ironic; you know that, right N/n?

You love so much!

That's the reason you're here, because you have to care so deeply about people. Most of them were people you had never met, would never meet, yet you still acted. Admirable, but it also points out how flawed your plan was. To take my place? And then what? Look at you! All you do is sleep or wait for something to happen. Aren't you tired of that? You can do anything, make anything, change anything, and yet, all you do is sit and wait?

You're a fucking fool."

The realm of the gods was...particular.

Currently, it was known as the void, a mere nickname given by its only residence, and it had always carried more presence than a simple location, almost as if it were deeply haunted, but to the gods that had lived in the realm it had only ever been compared to a stand. Many that had lived there in the past had argued for hours with their companions about how the location must've been a stand that had simply continued existing after its user had died. They weren't entirely wrong.

But that wasn't what mattered right at this moment.

The realm shuddered and stalled at the feeling of an event waiting on the horizons that was sure to cause problems for its current resident, and for a moment, it felt as though it had more purpose than it had in two eons. The crystalline bubbles that floated above the god, similar to the number of stars in the night sky, shook, clicking against each other like glasses in a toast before one lone orb finally floated down to the god who awoke.

M/n, for that and that alone was the god's name, pulled himself up into a rather stiff sitting position, and his sensitive ears picked up the sound of muscles that were tearing and ripping from lack of use, only to start healing as blood flow moved at a regular pace again. A low groan escaped the male's lips as his eyes fully opened for the first time in centuries. Pupils left expanding, shrinking with each blink as his eyes tried to adjust his vision to the light. Despite the realm only having a dull purple glow, his eyes still took a few minutes to adjust from centuries of slumber. Not to mention how the purple glow made his already pale skin look even more sickly, giving each dip in flesh a darker shading. Too much. Too many layers.

Finally, his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of his home, allowing him to examine the area and figure out what had awoken him. Mostly, everything seemed in order; the universes that swirled beneath still held him as the center and didn't change pace, and besides for a single orb, the 'sky' remained in perfect condition. He moved forward on his perch, unbothered by the tearing muscles or cracking bones, reaching out a hand and beckoned for it to get closer. His nails, more akin to claws, scraped along the smooth sides of the orb.

"Hm?"

In a moment, the god stilled.

After a long period of no reaction, he snarled, hair bristling as he instinctively bared his fangs, revealing the prominent fork in his tongue as he looked away. It didn't matter; the surface didn't change, and the scene was already ingrained into his mind on repeat. It was disgusting to see one's own death; especially when it looked like a gaudy nightmare. The view was mainly gold and purple, since he couldn't see the male's face, just his long blond hair and the glowing white stand he possessed. It was destroying his own stand, which served as the only known way to kill a god, a process M/n was quite intimate with. Despite not being able to see most of his would-be killer his gaze still lingered on the outline of his biceps, for a gay theater kid turned god, there was no way he could deny the allure of the male, but that train of thought just led to him letting out a rather self-deprecating sigh.

To be drooling over his own killer, how pathetic.

Choosing to ignore that, M/n went over what he could see of this would-be god. The word 'Dio' was lovingly embroidered along both the male's skin and outfit, but that didn't tell him anything given that he had Dio tattooed on the inside of his right arm to serve as a reminder of the position M/n had dedicated himself to. That feature was probably the same on his killer, but taken to an extreme of some sorts. He shivered, despite himself. While he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep...if he didn't move, well, then death would be certain. He snarled again at the realization. For what else could he do at that? It was foolish of anyone, even a god, to deny prophecy. The galaxies below him heated at the beginning, signs of his anger, but he didn't bother to change it, instead choosing to lean back, feeling far more akin to a stray cat than a god.

He found himself unwilling to draw breath.

Why did that even matter?

It wasn't as if he needed air.

Oh...he was having a panic attack.

This whole sensation was familiar, but this time he found himself alone, as if he wasn't always alone these days. Even the voices were soft. Mere whispers. This was certainly familiar, and M/n knew he wasn't stable, judging by how badly he was shaking. His grip instinctively tightened on the orb still in his grasp, making neon blue cracks form until he let go with a soft sigh. To think his own messengers would be so fragile. With a shake of his head, he watched it rejoin the others, and he moved off his perch; the ground rippling for a moment before it was solid enough to walk on, allowing him to pace.

This was strange...no one had tried to kill him in three whole resets.

Had he been doing badly?

Holding out his hand, a delicate motion that had a level of grace most would find odd, a different orb launched itself into his palm on instinct, and when he examined it, he saw a...star.

…what the fuck?

The star was dark red in coloration, honestly it reminded the god of a ruby, though since it was surrounded by a tan hue, M/n quickly made the decision that the symbol must be a tattoo or birthmark. Cocking his head to the side, he watched the image fade away, not willing to understand what exactly it meant.

A god was supposed to be all knowing, is, well, that's what most people would say.

However, M/n didn't enjoy that.

Prophecy was damning in its finest sense.

The image rippled, showing him a street in London, and M/n knew that this was the start of something big.

How interesting.

Maybe his killer's appearance was based on his stand, or some facet of it, given how M/n's stand had led to him developing so many snake-like traits after ascending. Hm, he couldn't say for certain, but that was fine for now. Moving back towards his perch, he focused on the problem of his appearance. Most of his features were inhuman, and he couldn't hide his scars or tattoos. Oh well, he'd just have to accept that. He was more upset about cutting his hair, or rather changing it to appear short for a brief period, though he ignored the mild sense of disappointment as his form changed. Allowing the universe to decide a form for him for the first time. His eyes went from a neon shade of E/c to a regular, human shade along with his pupils not being as slit-like, his skin regained more of its natural pigment, and his hair shortened and stopped floating. He was annoyed by the change in height, but he should be fine.

A mirror formed and M/n quickly looked over himself. Yeah, he was fine.

Back to fourteen again, though.

Or, at least in the god's eyes, his appearance was fine, but most people would describe him as strangely gorgeous or something to draw the gaze. A person could only describe his beauty as that moment where you stared at a dead loved one through the crystalline surface of the coffin, pale yet clean, a kind of beauty that one could admire, yes, but also would send shivers and a chill crawling down their spine. This was a type of beauty to be feared even before one knew of the male's more eccentric lifestyle, or gothic aesthetic from his mortal life. And while at this age it was clearly not a sexual thing or an attraction of the word for anyone with...morals, it was still beauty where you almost felt as if you were looking at something more than human, or perhaps something other than. Like the fae.

So no, saying the god was 'fine' in terms of looks would be the same as one pointing at a model and daring to call him or her plain.

The god stopped mid-step, sensing a sort of questioning from the area he inhabited. Not that he was surprised. It would've been foolish of him to not acknowledge the sentience of his home. Lifting his head, he listened to the silent inquiry, humming softly in response.

"Aut viam inveniam aut faciam." He cooed back to his home, feeling a small shiver go down his spine as he left.

The moment the soles of his newly formed boots, because he couldn't just appear in the mortal world bare, touched the stone, he felt as if something was wrong. Shifting his position to look around, he realized he was standing in the center of the road rather than the sidewalk, like he had originally planned, and that he was directly in the path of a horse-drawn carriage.

"Oh, fuck m-"

Once upon a time, god asked you to build an ark, but all you can do is build a set because you're fourteen.

"I have to go. I need to wear my costume for the show."

"No. Do you know how small your waist is? Here, feel my face."

"What are you doing?"

"Do you want to hear a joke?"

"Sure."

"Since you're a gay art student, you'll never escape the theater or the trauma that came with it."

"That's not funny."

"Well, you've always been too fucking sensitive."

"I'm going to bash your fucking skull in!" So you grab dinner plates and throw them to the ground. The plates are obviously too sensitive, and the ground doesn't change.

Oh well.

This was...impossible.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

Really...it shouldn’t.

He was far from some child that couldn’t sit still for long periods of time, but...No, no, he could sit, or rather lay down on the bed, and play the role of hospital patient. All he had to do was sit. All he could do was lie in wait, for movement should be forbidden when someone was operating on his body, so all he could do, or rather should do, is look back on the annoying events that led to a literal god being tied down with scalpels going in and out of his body. All to help him ‘recover’, but he hated this. He had nothing better to do. That was probably a lie. Even blacking out wouldn’t have distracted him from his cursed train of thought and not even the most potent of drugs...Now, wait just a second...that gave him an idea.

After a few moments, the male could sit up and watch the operation taking place. To think that it had taken him so long to realize that he just needed to use his stand to keep the doctors...in line. Especially when he had already been using it at its lowest level to prevent them from seeing the true coloration of his blood. Now he could do whatever he pleased while they basically dissected him. Not like it hurt. In fact, injuries could only serve as increased pleasure for the god.

To explain, in a sort of biology lesson; a god’s level of regeneration was by definition absurd, even destroying the physical form couldn't kill a god, this was why the stand had to be shattered to kill one, minus a few choice exceptions that mostly remained unknown, but that wasn’t what prevented the male from feeling pain. His blood itself caused the lack of reaction. M/n’s blood was a molten gold color, and it didn’t even classify as blood. In actuality, it was more akin to a series of drugs rather than anything fully organic. Or perhaps purely organic. Hallucinogens, aphrodisiacs, etc. Due to this, the god was cursed to be stuck in a perpetual high. The closest he could ever come to a withdrawal was the loss of blood, but then his regeneration would kick in. Restarting the process. If he looked back and remembered correctly, a bit of a difficult situation given the cursed memory problems he had been given over the years, Ajamu’s blood had been black like tar, so maybe it was based on the person’s stand given what his did.

Then, what did Ajamu’s blood even do...No, it didn’t matter. While Ajamu was dead and gone, he was still alive and that was all that mattered.

So regeneration was an annoyance, pain was something he couldn’t feel, godhood sucked, his entire existence was dull, and his job was a fucking burden.

Still, at least he had a stand that could manipulate those around him, even if most only needed a small push to see his blood as scarlet. Then again, it was easy to trick the human mind to see what it should see rather than what it considered inhumane or something otherworldly. And at least he had his stand, and he wasn't alone. Though he wished, not for the first time, that he had time to dodge without making his inhuman nature obvious to any bystanders, but sadly, such an action would either get him called a witch or a man possessed by the devil himself, and he didn’t like the idea of ‘dying’. In reality, he found the horses boring with most of his problems being force of motion and the back wheel of that carriage, but his time as a mortal had exposed him to worse, and it wasn’t as if he felt anything more than the impact and the weight and pressure of the motion.

Choosing to ignore the doctors along with the golden haze that had filled the whites of their eyes, and even their pupils at points, M/n swiped a hand against the side of his chest to taste his own ‘blood’ dripping down the sides of his frame. It was a familiar taste. Sickly sweet like a dessert, but thicker than mere syrup, flooding his mouth, earning a low hum from the god.

Ichor.

Refreshing.

Yet annoying all the same.

People think of me as gentle and romantic rather than hungry. I wrote a poem about eating a man. People read it in a way that made both it, and me, out to be romantic. Sorry to all the people that fell in love with a version of me that never existed. The act of beating people into bloody messes doesn't make the bat or blood sacred. The soap you're using is milk and honey scented. that doesn't make this place Jerusalem, and it certainly doesn't make our hands holy. When I said things along the lines of; I have a lot of theories on human bodies, and human bodies are meant to hold other bodies. I didn't mean sex. I meant that we have canines for a reason.

Jonathan pressed himself further backwards, the wooden chair pressing a bit too far into his spine, but he ignored how uncomfortable it was in favor of sneaking yet another glance towards his father, who was now deep in conversation with two of the many doctors that had arrived to tend to their guest. Quickly, he looked away the moment his father stopped talking. Instead, looking down at his hands carefully flexing his fingers before looking up at the sound of footsteps showing everyone had once again left the room. The day had just broken an hour ago with the rising of the sun. The doctors hadn't left the room till now, and the few that had, hadn't stopped to speak with anyone. They seemed off, swaying and murmuring, with eyes that seemed to have a distilled, gold tint to them. It must be exhausting. They had been busy, given the thick layer of blood staining their gloves.

Weird, for a moment, and only at certain angles, the blood appeared gold, but that had to be a trick of the light.

Anyway, the real question was; why had he been standing in the middle of the road? If the driver's account was to be believed, and Jonathan chose to believe the older man, then their new guest had simply been standing on the road as if he had just appeared there.

When I was young, I ate a virgin.

He didn't make me holy.

…he made me heavy.

A few hours later Jonathan finally received permission to visit their guest, and he trembled from excitement, or nerves, and he still wasn’t sure if all of those feelings related back to the terrible circumstances leading up to their meeting. Surely no one could fault him for being excited about meeting someone? He wasn’t trying to be too forward, rather; he was lonely. There was no one his age who willingly spoke to him. In fact, most heard his last name and detested him more times than not.

Slowly, he pushed the wooden door open, carefully, to not wake the person sleeping inside the room, but he didn’t even take a step inside the room before he flinched back. He was sure that he had heard something hissing, but this area, especially in the middle of winter, didn't have snakes. There outlined a large figure pressed in the room's corner. Was it a demon? Or rather a guardian angel similar to the one whose stature resided at the main entry point of the house?

"It’s rude to hide in the shadows.” Jonathan flinched, stepping into the room without thinking, an apology dying on his lips at the sound of someone snickering at him. Looking back, he saw the boy sitting up in the bed, staring at him with dim eyes. A shiver went down his spine, yet he found himself unable to look away from the male’s eyes. They were E/c in coloration, with golden flecks mixed in. It reminded him of stars. "Now, who are you?"

“Oh! I’m sorry to disturb you. My name’s Jonathan Joestar, and you’re currently staying in my father’s manor. Are you alright? Do you need anything? I could get you something to drink or some pain medication if needed.” Jonathan tensed as he heard another hiss echo right behind his ears, and when the other paused, mouth still somewhat open, he swore he saw fangs that wouldn’t be out of place in the mouth of a snake, but then he closed his mouth and the room went quiet. He must be imagining things from staying awake too long, though the motion of the male quickly caught his attention. “Wait, you shouldn’t get up! You were terribly injured. Most of the doctors believed it would’ve been more humane to-”

“You don’t need to say anything! I know exactly what my body can handle.” For a moment, Jonathan was frozen, till he realized there was no real anger in his voice, only a growing sense of frustration and annoyance, something that made him relax even at the soft snarl he received when he tried to get the male to lay back down on the bed. He was surprised by how prickly the male was even when he should be comatose from just getting out of surgery. “The name’s M/n. I see no reason to lie, so I won’t call this a pleasant meeting, but I need to thank both you and your father for the hospitality.”

“I understand...I also wish that I could call this a pleasant encounter, but that isn’t possible. Still, we need to know your family name so we can contact them and tell them you've been involved in an accident.” The boy, now known as M/n, tensed under his grasp before slapping his hand away, looking away as his eyes narrowed. Again, he swore that the male’s pupils had been slits, along with those fangs, only for the image to seemingly flicker. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but we really need to-”

"Listen, I get what you’re saying. I just don’t have a family name to give you.” M/n felt the strongest urge to scoff bubble up inside of him, desperate to snap at the look of pure shock on the male’s face. He wasn’t expecting to meet the human embodiment of a puppy, especially since he was much more of a cat person. Not that the statement was a full lie, simply a smaller white one that also served as the best answer he could give him. It had been ages since he was last mortal, and he had the displeasure of dying rather young, i.e.; early twenties, so it was completely understandable, at least in his mind, that his memory had decayed. Not like he wanted to think about his former bloodline or relatives...well, except for one. “Now, since I can’t remember any family members, we should just assume that I don’t have any. I’ve always been M/n, nothing more and nothing less, so don’t go apologizing about it. I would’ve told you to stop talking if I cared, besides it's my fault for getting run over.”

"That's not true!" The god twitched, hands nearly going for his sensitive ears at Jonathan’s panicked outburst, watching him then whip his head around to stare at the door in case anyone had come running at the sound of his voice. After a moment, when no one came running, Jonathan slumped in relief, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. M/n used that moment to adjust his shoulders, already feeling the muscles rip and tear at being knocked around after so little use. Then, after that, knots would form and it would just be an annoyance.

Honestly, he was just annoyed that Jonathan took up so much room, despite this form being a year or two older than the boy.

“Relax. Just trying to make light of the situation, plus it wasn't as if I'm wrong, since I was the one who moved in front of a carriage. I have to deal with the consequences." If he had to switch realms often in the future, then he needed to get better at landing. "Maybe I could work here to repay your father? I could be a bodyguard."

"N-no...there's no need for any of that! I don't need a bodyguard, and we certainly don't need any more servants! My father would never expect that of you, and if you don't have anywhere to go, then I'll do everything in my power to make sure you can stay here." M/n pretended to swallow down a weak protest, though he needed to eat soon enough.

“That would...you have no idea how thankful I am for this, Jonathan.”

It was all going according to plan...is what he would say if he actually had a plan.

I grew up on a farm. When I was younger, animals would sneak into the chicken coop at night to kill whatever they could. There would be dead hens in the morning lying down on their backs and sides. Heads would be torn off. Blood spilled over. Feathers caught in chicken wire. At first I buried them with names on the gravestones till I stopped naming them. My life was entrails strung up like Christmas lights, things hissing on cold mornings, bangs and tails on the walls, fathers asking how old you are and if you'll finally shut the fuck up. A raccoon will kill a chicken for the violence of the act. A weasel will kill for the game. We all have blood on our hands. But you shouldn't cry like it's your body torn apart on the floor. That will give people the wrong idea.

M/n stopped mid-step, frown forming on his face, as he registered the distant sound of kids jeering, and he knew that his anger was well founded this time. It was to where he could feel his stand shifting just a few layers beneath his skin, and finally M/n registered the smell of blood. His frown deepened as he turned on his heel and made his way to the bullies, allowing himself to ignore Jonathan for once. His movements were slightly shaky as if he were nothing more than a newborn deer. He heard Jonathan yelp in pain, and that was enough. He wanted to rip them apart. His mouth watered and his stomach growled.

How did he always get into trouble when M/n left his side?

Then again, it wasn't as if he suspected any less, since Jonathan was strange. Even after knowing him for a while now, M/n still had trouble trying to describe the heir to the Joestar legacy. Maybe it was the long periods of solitude that made M/n so unsure of his own thoughts? No matter what exactly the reason was, M/n was certain that some small part of him enjoyed being around Jonathan, and that was good enough for now. Even if all of Jonathan's attempts at bonding were sports.

"There you are!"

M/n looked up just in time to see the two bullies approaching him with the smell of Jonathan's blood still clinging to their fists. M/n resisted the urge to scoff or groan at them since he didn't kill kids. But still; who were they trying to scare here? Did two mortal children really look at him and think that he was the kind of person to be so easily moved or pushed aside?

"I've heard about you. Aren't you that little street rat the Joestar family took in?" It really felt like mortals were slowly downgrading in intelligence rather than gaining it.

"Yes, I am. Is there anything you gentlemen need?"

"Don't go acting so high and mighty! The two of us already made quick work of your friend! Or is he your master?" It shouldn't have bothered M/n, but that master comment really got to him. His lip pulled back, revealing the sharp fangs he possessed as his stand shifted under his skin, desperate to come out and attack someone. No, he couldn't be bothered by them. They weren't special, after all. So why on earth should he bother with them in the first place? He didn't want to waste his time learning their names, or letting them bitch, and he refused to flinch away no matter how human he was pretending to be at the moment.

He couldn't do anything too bad to them. Even without considering his own morals, Jonathan would never look at him the same way if he knew what exactly M/n thought, or what sins he had committed in the past. He'd be terrified. He'd be left as little more than a monster in Jonathan's eyes...when did he care about a mortal's opinion?

"According to Sir George Joestar, I am to be treated as Jonathan’s equal, so no, he isn’t my master. Is that all you two needed to know?” The bigger one, if he so wished, M/n would call this one the alpha, approached him until they were standing nose-to-nose. A wave of anger sparked through him, and his tongue ran over his fangs, ignoring the amount of drool that filled his mouth. The brute's hand grabbed his side, pulling him closer, earning a low huff from the stand user as he shifted, not bothering to escape the male's grasp.

"Are you really a man?" M/n raised an eyebrow as a hand tugged on his vest, nearly causing his feet to leave the ground as he was jerked forward. "How could someone so dainty have survived in the streets?"

…were they really bothered by his appearance? M/n had never been in denial. He had always been more androgynous than feminine or masculine, especially not the latter when compared to someone like Jonathan who would probably grow to be six foot five or something similar. It would never upset him. He knew his body type, and that was it. Honestly, M/n was more surprised by him even mentioning it.

"Are you gonna give me an answer?"

"I assumed it was obvious that I had no intention of speaking with you. Given your idiocy, there's no reason for me to even attempt conversation." M/n received a rather nasty glare in response, followed by the boy raising a hand, which sent his stand on the offensive. The male was sent backwards, screaming and clutching his face, while the other was also yelling as he ran away, completely abandoning his companion. He licked some of the blood smeared on his face off, humming in enjoyment at the iron flavor. He felt so alive. Still, his stand didn't move to finish the boy off despite its hunger. After all, this was still a child. He'd find someone for his stand. He'd be patient.

"You're a monster!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't even touch you." That earned a panicked gasp from the kid as M/n smiled to showcase his fangs. There was fear in the air, but that wasn't anything special. "By the way, since your friend left, I want you to pass on this message for me; I won't tolerate the two of you antagonizing Jonathan anymore. If the two of you continue this bullshit, I won't be so kind."

At that he ran off, and M/n looked to the bloodstained grass where a single eyeball was lying on the ground. Grabbing it carefully, he had no intention of crushing it. He held it out, watching a giant fanged maw appear and swallow it whole.

I climbed up the tower to see a vulture's nest with eggs in it. We were over thirty feet in the air. A snake was in the nest eating eggs. My mother gave me a square of paper so I folded it into a vulture. I made all of them into vultures. A boy gave me a valentine. I made it into a vulture. The snake didn't like it. He just hissed. The eggs were better. The vultures would kill chickens. The snake is fine. You let it eat vultures. That is a fair deal.

"I live to create," you murmur.

"You only make echoes," the snake replies.

"I live because my room is dirty, you know?"

"How?"

"It'd be embarrassing to die in a dirty room."

"M/N!" The heir to the Joestar family felt a grin form on his face, despite the urge to wince at the small sparks of pain that flared through his cheeks as he caught sight of the male lingering near the tree line. Watching him. M/n was the same as always. He always remained on the sidelines watching Jonathan while waiting for him to approach. Never the other way around. For a single moment Jonathan swore he saw M/n's eyes gain a slight golden glow from his place in the shadows. This seemed to happen more and more frequently since he and M/n became friends. "Where were you?"

"Oh, me? I was just resting by the river." He lazily swiped a hand across his own cheek. When he pulled back, the male could see what appeared to be blood staining his fingertips. Strange. Why would M/n have blood on his hands? A soft sigh escaped M/n's lips and Jonathan felt guilty for potentially making him worry. He looked exhausted. Which wasn't saying much given the ever-present bags under his eyes, yet it felt off this time. He was probably just overthinking it. Stepping out of the shadows, the H/c haired male crossed the distance between them, brushing a hand over Jonathan's cheek, and when he pulled back, there was dark blood. In the same place as the stain he had seen moments prior...Jonathan had wiped the blood off his face, right? "You're hurt."

Jonathan nodded, ignoring his confusion as he placed a hand on the male's slender shoulders, feeling lean muscles and bone beneath. Honestly, M/n was far too thin, but no matter what he said, the male kept his diet sparse. "I had to protect a lady from some bullies, but you shouldn't worry, it isn’t that bad. I barely even feel it, I'm sure-"

"I know it probably isn't serious, but I'll take care of it when we get home. You don't want to risk infection."

Jonathan nodded with little persuasion needed as M/n turned and beckoned for him to follow. Between the two of them, Jonathan knew he had never been the gifted one in academic studies, but he considered himself a decent judge of character. M/n, while quiet, icy, and craving little more than solitude most days, also was a good person, even if a bit awkward. His greatest faults could be his willingness to take a punishment for someone he cared about or his habit of simply speaking his mind while ignoring the consequences. That last one led to him getting into fight after fight, yet never seeming to get any injuries that lasted more than a few minutes. Yet whenever he kept his tongue in check, he showed a surprisingly empathetic and rational side. Even rarer were the moments when he would let down his guard and be, dare Jonathan say, childish.

"Come on, Jonathan, we don't have all day for you to be lost in thought."

"You seem eager to get back. Did I forget a holiday, perhaps?" It wouldn't come as a surprise to Jonathan. M/n also had the tendency to be ahead of most people. At one point, a tutor of theirs had called M/n a devil worshiper, only for his father to fire the man on the spot. No matter what, M/n kept his secrets closely guarded, and one day he hoped that he could have some insight on what went through M/n's head.

"Who knows? Maybe~!" There it is! M/n's voice lightened, gaining a teasing lilt as he spun around to whistle for Danny, who leaped out of the woods and gave chase. Without hesitating, Jonathan chased after the sound of M/n's laughter.

What had put the other in such a good mood?

"No one will love you after knowing you for a month." Would something have better contextualized my pain? Did I miss it? Unless…unless you've been right all this time, and all this ugliness is just my mind trying to bend around the truth? No one will love you after knowing you for a month. You said that to me, dad, and now I'm stuck in the kitchen window.

"I have friends! I do!"

"How long have they known you? Not long enough or they'd have left. I can't even bring myself to look at you. I don't know where I went wrong raising you, but you're a hateful, evil child. You break my heart. I'm a terrible father, I guess."

And what can I say? Arguing with the night sky is something unimaginable. I can't even wrap my head around the thought of it.

'Fuck. Why do I feel as if anything is about to fall apart?' His mind was scrambled, a series of thoughts frantically repeating in his mind. It was that kind of pattern that would make most humans assume they had gone insane. To god it was just normal. Always another voice. Always noise. He couldn't fathom silence. He was always thinking of too much or too little. There was also a quiet layer of acceptance that had taken over any irrational panicking. He didn't know what the future held. Even if part of him liked the weird human existence, he currently had. He enjoyed food, companionship, actually dreaming, etc. Hell, part of him even enjoyed the childish superstitions that Jonathan made him take part in whenever the chance arose.

This would probably be over soon. At one point or another, Jonathan would find someone and M/n knew he would be tossed aside. Merely a thing of the past.

'I feel sad.' He couldn't place why, but his chest itched. It must be the scars on his skin. When the pair and dog arrived back at the manor, a strange shiver ran down his spine. Jonathan gestured for Danny to drink some water when he registered the sound of horses approaching. Oh? 'Why do I feel so eager for this? Just how human am I becoming?'

Jonathan spun around and watched the chestnut horses approach the manor with a confused look on his face before it came to a halt, with the passenger door shooting open and an old worn suitcase was sent flying out, hitting the ground with a low thud. M/n twitched at the loud sound, eyes narrowing at the sight. What the fuck was this? Jonathan and him shared a confused look before M/n simply shrugged his shoulders. Right as they both looked back, a blond male leapt out of the carriage that made M/n look away for a reason he couldn't quite explain. Did he find this guy attractive or something? Then again, the male seemed to be...setting him off. He had a bad feeling about all of this. Not even the dramatic pose the blond did, while being hilarious, could distract him from his scattered thoughts or the sting in his chest when he saw the soft, hopeful look Jonathan gave Dio. Not that such a thing surprised him, considering how badly Jonathan wanted to have more friends his age, and just M/n by himself couldn't possibly hope to fix that, but it didn't make it sting any less.

Not that it mattered, M/n already knew that.

'Is this why M/n wanted us to get home so badly?' Jonathan flinched at the cold glare he received from the blond, his eyes were a cold shade of amber, and even his first meeting with M/n hadn't been as intimidating as this. Still, he forced himself to get rid of that train of thought, although he instinctively took a step to be blocking the male's view with M/n behind him, lost in thought. "You must be Dio Brando?"

"And you're Jonathan Joestar." At that M/n twitched, his vision sparking with a quick flood of images that he had been doing his best to hold back, all burning manors and exploding ships. He didn't allow himself to focus on it.

"Everyone just calls me Jojo." That was a lie. It also acted as a small change in perspective that calmed M/n down. Sure, Jonathan's father and the few people he interacted with may call him Jojo, but M/n, who was arguably his best friend, never called him that. More times than not, M/n would rather gut himself with a rusty spoon than call him by that nickname, but that was just because he preferred the sentiment of saying someone's full name. Jonathan held so much more value in his mind.

As M/n's brain went through jagged loop after jagged loop, the blond standing across from the pair was already formulating a plan of his own. To Dio, this would be an easy affair. Even with these bare bones introductions, he realized it wouldn't take much work to torment the Joestar heir until he broke down. The boy in front of him had no real life experience, had never had to fight for his meals because he was rich, and the rich didn't struggle. But then there was the matter of the other standing behind the blue-haired boy, looking away. He was clearly a different breed entirely. Despite his more delicate and pointed build, Dio could tell from a glance that this one had come from the streets like him.

At the sound of a dog barking, the three turned and M/n's eyes widened at the sight of the Great Dane charging towards his owner, causing his stand to mentally shift beneath his skin.

"Danny!" Before he moved to beckon for Danny, Jonathan looked back towards Dio. "Don't worry, that's Danny, my dog. He won't bite. He'll get used to you soon enough."

Out of the corner of his eye M/n saw Dio lift his leg and without thinking he moved to intercept the male, his stand letting out a low hiss as it grabbed Dio's leg, earning a soft gasp from the male. Dio himself whipped his head around to glare at the male who was holding onto his shoulder, only receiving a cold stare in response. Yes, the two of them were definitely cut from the same cloth.

"M/n, what are you doing?" Like always, Jonathan stared at the surface rather than the murky undertones. He was naïve, always assuming the best of people despite their less than kind intentions, but all M/n did was smile and loosen his grip on the blond while his stand firmly held on. After all, no one could see its hand.

"Dio seemed to be...scared of Danny. I only grabbed him so he wouldn't trip." Dio panicked at that. M/n could feel the shift from the way he held himself to how his eyes widened and then narrowed. "You should probably keep Danny away from him. I mean, we shouldn't force them to interact if Dio's afraid of dogs."

'This M/n must be a servant, or someone else included in Sir Joestar's will, and unlike Jonathan, he seems to be competent, which will make him difficult to deal with. With Jonathan, all I have to do is drive him insane and make his life miserable until he's completely useless, and once I have more knowledge on M/n, I should be able to handle him. First, I need to figure out how he held my leg in place.' Dio watched M/n sigh before following Jonathan, who was keeping a tight hold on Danny, as they went into the manor.

I can't remember the car hitting me. My body certainly does.

"Ah, there you are! You must be tired Dio, it's a long trip to get here from London. But now you're part of our family, so don't worry, you'll live as my son. Like Jojo and M/n." Sir Joestar's voice was light, happy, and it sent a layer of bile bubbling up in M/n's throat. His selflessness was both inspirational and worrisome. Some, the many who came from lives like M/n and Dio, would call such a thing either ignorance or idiocy. M/n also called it carelessness. "These are the household servants since you may be left alone in the house while I'm doing foreign trade. They'll take care of everything for you."

"I find myself highly thankful for the many favors of the House Joestar." Dio cooed, with a voice sweet as honey, while giving a small bow which earned a confused hum from Jonathan and a raised eyebrow from the god.

"You know; M/n also grew up on the streets, and Jojo lost his mother when he was an infant. I hope the three of you get along well, especially since the three of you are the same age." M/n resisted the urge to laugh at the 'same age' comment, since he was nothing of the sort. "M/n, would you be willing to show Dio his room?"

"Of course, Sir, it would be my pleasure." For a moment his gaze had gone to the stone mask, an item that, for some unknown reason, constantly caught his eye, and moved towards the staircase as Sir Joestar left for his office. "Jonathan, stay away from Dio's belongings. Either he'll carry them himself, or a servant will do it for him."

Jonathan quickly jumped backwards from the aforementioned suitcase as Dio whipped around, only now realizing how close the other had been to his possessions.

"Now, come on Dio, I have some chores I need to do, so I need you to keep up with me and get a move on."

"Of course, M/n." Dio's voice held a false sense of joy that caused the immortal to hiss in disgust before he spun around to wait halfway up the stairs. Dio stopped on his way towards the stairs to lean down and whisper in Jonathan's ear. "Now, listen here Jojo; just because I'm staying at your home doesn't mean you should act so high and mighty. I like being number one, do you hear that? I don't let anyone in this world walk over me."

"But I was just trying to be friendly..."

"Oh, and one more thing! M/n was wrong. I'm not afraid of dogs, I hate them. They're nothing but filthy vermin that don't know their place. Don't let that stupid mutt anywhere near me."

"Dio, I won't repeat myself." Was it just his imagination or did M/n's voice have a barely concealed growl to it?

"Oh, of course, sorry M/n." The blond quickly reached the male, who immediately turned and started up the staircase. "Mr. Joestar mentioned you grew up on the streets of London. I hope you don't mind me asking how you ended up-"

"I was hit by Sir Joestar's carriage. He brought me to the manor and saved my life that night. I was a youth that was abandoned by my family when I was too young to remember them, and after learning about my predicament, he gave me a place to stay." With a sigh, they reached the top of the stairs, and M/n turned to meet the gaze of the shocked blond. "Listen, I have nothing to hide. If you want to, I'll let you read my medical records listing my injuries. It actually serves as an interesting read if you want a profession in the medical industry one day. Anyway, to the left are all the guest rooms. They rarely get used. This room is Sir Joestar's room, which connects to his office. All the way down the hall to the left is a staircase that leads to the kitchen and the servants' quarters. On the side is a staircase that leads to the library. This room is Jonathan's and that one's mine. This one's yours. Each room comes with a private bath and basic essentials. I'll be heading to London tomorrow. If you wish to come with me, then please tell me by the end of the day, and if you don't want to go, then just make me a list of anything you need or want. I'll get it.”

"I...can't give you any money for that."

"Sir Joestar forgot to say you'll be getting an allowance. We all do well if we study and behave, so I end up getting Jonathan's as well most of the time. Besides, I don't want you to pay me anything. We'll be living together, so that means that we work together and help each other. Corvus oculum corvi non eruit, and all that nonsense. I'll also be getting things for Jonathan." Dio opened the door to his room, not responding. With a sigh, M/n looked back towards the entrance of the manor. "I...I remember what it's like to live on my own, and the things one has to do so they can survive. Jonathan is...idealistic. He doesn't get the true nature of a person often since he's busy hoping. He could fight his greatest threat and cry for them afterwards. I'm not like that...if you need anything, come to me, but I won't tolerate you being cruel to Jonathan. And Dio, I really hope you find a source of peace in the future. Having such a dark fire fueling your soul never works out. Trust me on that."

Dio was left watching M/n go down the hall towards the staircase that led to the library, and the sense of unease vanished with his figure. He pressed an open palm to his throat. He swore that he had felt something grabbing him. However, he had learned something from this; he had been right when it came to Jonathan. The boy would be easy to get rid of. But M/n? M/n would make a much better ally than an enemy.

Recently, I moved into an old barn. It's falling apart around me. Cobwebs sag because of the thick layers of dust that cling to them like a second layer of skin. According to the documents, the barn belongs to people. Me specifically. The surrounding woods don't care about contracts or deeds. With the roof long since ripped off. The hayloft smells of mold, birds, and snakes. I work in the storeroom watching the grass snakes hunt down mice as spiders knit above me. A few nights ago I heard scratching from outside the window. I looked up. Something was looking back.

"Ow!" The yelp came from Jonathan as the ruler Sir Joestar was holding came down on his knuckles.

"You got it wrong again, Jojo. This is the sixth time you've made the same basic mistake. Six times! I'll keep this up till you understand! Look at Dio and M/n; they got all twenty questions right."

"Dannazione." M/n huffed, his body slumping slightly in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose while ignoring how Dio smirked and puffed his chest out. Sir's ranting became complete static as an old friend laughed in his ears, but that too was ignored. Carlos was long dead.

…this was not going well at all.

I don't get lonely. Never have. I've never been sad because no one's around. Bored. Confused. I've missed people who have left because of what could've been. But otherwise I'm fine with it. Relieved even. Most, including myself, thought that it was just inversion, but most introverts want contact. And though I have friends. And I am often intimate in one way or another. If I ever awoke to a world where everyone had vanished overnight, I'd be fine. Relieved even.

"Sir Joestar,"

"Hm, M/n? Do you need something?" The teen in the doorway maintained the same position; his back straightened, with his eyes focused on a level point on the wall. He didn't know if M/n did it on purpose, but the boy acted more like a soldier than a child.

"I wanted to ask you if I could teach Jonathan from now on."

"You want to tutor him?"

"No, I wish to take over teaching Jonathan completely." At that M/n moved into the room, crossing his arms behind his back, and maybe that was his own version of relaxation. Honestly, George didn't know, and that was worrisome. "I think the way you teach him is being more harmful than good. I want to try a different strategy, plus it will help me better review the material, therefore it works out for everyone."

"Are you sure that's what you want? It's hard work teaching someone, and it will take away from your free time."

"I know what I want, Sir."

"Very well. I still expect you to attend my lessons along with Dio."

"Of course, Sir." With that, M/n turned on his heel and left as silently as he had first appeared. George felt a faint shiver go down his spine when he noticed that the male, seemingly subconsciously, moved in step. Had someone on the streets tried to raise him as a soldier? He never spoke about his past, so the possibilities were there. Being in the army would be a good way to get out of the street and into a more secure lifestyle, but that should be a willing choice, not something forced on someone to prevent starvation. Besides, M/n would hate the military lifestyle...hopefully in time Jonathan would help the other get better, and then the two would help Dio.

Despite my nature. Despite my views. I love religion. There is little else that can paint a cleaner picture of humanity. Religion is humanity's version of itself. It shows beauty. It also shows how different everything is. At the end of the day we are all trying to answer the same question. Some are all-powerful. Unable to make mistakes. Others are deeply flawed. I love it all.

M/n yawned, an action that allowed the few nearby to glimpse the snake-like fangs he possessed, as he then shifted into a more comfortable position. Examining his book with the lifeless energy of a man possessed rather than one actually interested in the material. The sound of a good twenty young men yelling and screaming next to him didn't exactly help him focus on the pile of academics. Even if that currently amounted to little more than some man's whining about 'hysterical women' that this century considered gospel. Sports were a completely different thing in M/n's mind. Nineteenth century spots were, albeit in a mental sense, rather different from the ones of his day and age, but it wasn't something that he did, so he only paid the match an occasional glance, since Jonathan clearly enjoyed it.

"Next, we introduce the challenger; Jonathan Joestar!" At the call Jonathan happily raised one of his boxing gloves, earning a series of cheers from everyone, and when his eyes landed on M/n, the god gave his friend a quick nod. It seemed to boost the male's mood, at the very least. "And the champion; Mark Watkins!!!"

M/n tilted his head, watching how the crowd murmured and looked around the area before it went silent as no one approached the platform.

"Hey, champion, what are you doing? Get in the ring already!!!"

"Quiet, all of you, everyone quiet down!!!" The announcer called, causing the crowd to slowly go silent. M/n leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the sight. What was happening? And how long would they drag this out for? He wanted to read in peace, even if all the books were boring. Dannazione! "We may know his name and looks, but we know nothing of his character! A new friend has joined our game and asked to go in the ring to replace Watkins. I personally believe that watching him box will be a great way to know more about our new friend, don't you all agree?"

The cheer that followed his question nearly blew out M/n's ear drums earning a low hiss. These people were so annoying, surely Jonathan could find something else as time-consuming and 'fun' as boxing. "Just who is it?"

"A new friend...? No way!" Jonathan gasped, eyes widening as the crowd parted to reveal Dio tying his boxing gloves with his teeth.

"IT'S DIO BRANDO!!!"

"All right, let's do it!"

"What kind of guy could he be?"

"Okay! We accept! LET THEM AT IT!!!"

"Okay, now that everyone has accepted Brando, our boxing is no mere child's game. Are you ready to gamble?"

"Of course."

"Oh, that much!"

M/n tilted his head while mentally counting the amount of coins. Not that it was that hard to figure out. The way Jonathan's eyes widened at the amount told him that this was an entire month's allowance. Jonathan looked genuinely freaked out by the amount and M/n's bad feeling only grew.

"What'll you do about this, Jojo? Do you accept this wager?"

"A...all right! Let's do it!" Jonathan dropped the coins in the hat and Dio smirked, earning a low hiss from M/n as he leaned back, ignoring how hungry he felt. He'd eat something later.

"Good! Dio, I'll explain the rules; if you take even one hit to the face you lose, you can take any number of body hits, but a knockout is of course a ten count."

"If I get a hit to his face, I win...that's almost the same as doing this barehanded. One blow settles the fight. I remember these rules from my days in London." Dio murmured, as he lightly tapped his gloves together, testing out the sensation of the material over his fists. He had never used a pair of boxing gloves that much was obvious to M/n as he leaned back, watching the rise and fall of each male's body as they circled around each other before lunging.

"JOJO, BEAT THE CRAP OUTTA THAT OUTSIDER!!!"

"Just what are those moves?"

"His footwork. I've never seen anyone move like that!"

Oh, Dio was using a defensive technique. It was almost like modern swaying in boxing. Interesting, but otherwise a problem for Jonathan. Jonathan couldn't hit him, but his punches were strong enough to potentially knock out Dio if he only landed a hit.

'¿Recuerdas cuando noqueaste a ese tipo, Ouro?'

"...no estoy haciendo humor con un fantasma." He softly growls out, trying to ignore Carlos’ voice.

Then Dio landed a stomach punch, and the god watched Jonathan gasp at the impact. He had aimed for the diaphragm to knock the wind out of his opponent, and then landed a face hit. M/n couldn't contain the panicked hiss that escaped his mouth when Dio jammed his finger into Jonathan's eye and twisted, causing him to bleed from the socket.

'That cheat!' It was certainly hypocritical for him to think that since he would probably praise such an underhanded move, especially given his past, but this was an attack on Jonathan, which he counted as an offense against himself. He closed the book with a thud, setting it back on the pile before hopping off his makeshift perch to go help Jonathan up.

"INCREDIBLE!!!"

"HE'S AMAZING!!!"

"I just knew some new defensive techniques," Dio cooed out, voice maintaining a calm and friendly demeanor, only pausing when he spotted M/n crouching next to Jonathan, wiping the blood off of his face with a handkerchief. "I'd be happy to teach all of you. By the way, I have this too..."

If M/n were paying any attention to Dio, then he'd see the male dazzling the crowd with fireworks he'd obtained. He could register them gasping in delight while Dio made them promise to not tell Jonathan, earning another low growl from him as he helped Jonathan sit up, ignoring the small whimper from the larger male as he attempted to force his eye closed.

"You okay?"

"M/n, he did that on purpose! Why did he...why on earth did he do that...? My eye...is bleeding?"

"Yeah...I know. You won't have any permanent damage, don't worry, but I have no idea why Dio did that...I'll talk to him about it later. Right now, I need you to stand up. We need to get you back to the manor."

I worked at a church briefly. It was strange. Large parts of my life...no, my very existence had been ruined by god. A strange sadness followed me from the pews I walked between. An awkward grief. Like that of a suicide of someone you don't know, but a close friend did. There was a chance at love. At fondness. It was never allowed to grow.

Dio stalled halfway out of his room at the sound of a door opening, soon followed by the soft thud of someone's steps as they made their way down the hall. Waiting for the steps to fade somewhat, he finally left the door frame, only to pause at the sight of M/n, who was looking down the stairway before descending. He found himself impressed with how M/n moved; skipping steps that creaked and moving close to furniture to avoid the floors groaning. Entering the kitchen, he stopped at the doorway, registering the sound of flesh ripping and a groaning. Leaning against the wall to better see into the room, Dio froze in what he could only describe as horror. It was no secret that many hunted in this area and George Joestar often bought the best catches from these parties, and he had just purchased a buck, now he was watching the H/c haired male rip one of the buck's eyes out before eating it. His fingers were stained with blood. Giving a quick shake of the head and then repeating the process with the other eye. He watched M/n go to wash his hands only for his gaze to go back to the buck's head, which was being ripped apart by nothing till only horns and bones remained. By the time it was gone M/n had made a small meal and turned to leave, which caused Dio to move, pressing himself down into the shadows as M/n passed by, with seemingly no problems despite the lack of light.

As soon as he was gone Dio looked back into the kitchen, staring at the skull for a moment before turning to head back to his room, ignoring both the sounds of friendly conversation from Jonathan's room and the series of frantic emotions bubbling up in his chest.

I was biting down into the apple at thirteen. Younger than most. I was going to get in trouble if anyone ever found out. They never did. I was being stupid. I didn't know how to take precautions or safety measures. Nothing bad came from it. I found an old worn box from that time. Full of letters from the first snake. Then the next one. And the one after that. One asked me to homecoming. Most were coded so no one would know of our 'sins'. We were just scared kids. At some point I tried online relationships. Those never worked. I craved. At fourteen, someone put their hands on me while I was making a set. Some people figured it out and asked if I was okay. I laughed. Tell that to him. I broke his jaw and both arms the next week with a metal bat. He didn't dare provoke me with charges. He knew I'd finish it. Even if it meant I'd go to jail. Now that I'm eighteen, I wonder why some guy's dad hasn't killed me for 'corrupting' their son and turning him into a faggot.

Oh well.

"Really, Jonathan, we're just here to smoke a pipe?" M/n asked, pulling himself up onto the branch with ease although he was twenty feet above ground in heels. That differed vastly from Jonathan, who was swaying back and forth, earning a soft hiss from M/n who darted after him. If anyone other than Danny had been watching them, they might've found the sight funny since M/n moved with complete ease, yet kept looking down at the ground in worry while Jonathan didn't treat his constant swaying and stumbling as an issue. Danny barked below them as Jonathan moved to sit down, ignoring the tired sigh M/n gave as he also settled. Teasingly, he raised the pipe up, earning a scoff from the god as he hung his legs off the branch. "Why did you want to come here to smoke? There has to be a better spot than this one."

"What's wrong? Are you scared of heights?"

"Of course not. I just dislike the idea of dragging you back home with two broken legs. So, what happened yesterday that bothered you so much? I noticed Dio leaving your room. Did he do something to you?" It was always interesting for Jonathan to watch Cas. One moment he was looking away with a dignified huff before quickly looking back at him to ask his questions, though Jonathan flinched at the questioning.

"I'm fine...Dio took my watch, um, the engraved one, and I doubt that I'll see it again." With a sigh, Jonathan ignored the low snarl that escaped M/n, already knowing the outcome to this.

He really didn’t want to see M/n and Dio fight, even if Dio was rather rude and acted more like a bully than anything else. There was no doubt in his mind that M/n would pursue this slight if he requested it, or even if it seemed like Dio would continue his behavior, and that made him worry about the other’s safety. M/n didn’t fight. Or, rather, Jonathan had never seen him fight unless verbally, and part of him doubted the male’s ability to hold his own. He was delicate for lack of a better word, even if many who crossed him seemed unwilling to cross his path again, and that wasn’t even mentioning the boy who had been harassing Erina when he first met her who had lost an eye and attempted to blame it on M/n despite how impossible such a claim was. The wounds on his face had been from large claws, not human hands. Of course, many ignored that, leading to the belief that he was possessed or in contact with demons.

“I’ll take care of it. He’s been avoiding me whenever I try to talk with him about his behavior, and it's getting annoying. I swear he darts between being a perfect gentleman and an alley cat more times than not.” M/n looked off towards the deeper part of the woods connecting to the manor with a far off look in his eyes that Jonathan no longer knew how to translate, even if he was familiar with it. Had this been before Dio had become part of their lives, he would’ve assumed that it was something relating to an academic matter or some sort of interaction that M/n didn’t quite get. Those had never been too hard to predict since M/n took to knowledge like a fish to water though he’d end up complaining about it being inaccurate, yet another reason most claimed he was colluding with dark forces, while the other matters were little more than watching M/n pace around and snarl as he tried to figure out what social interaction he had misinterpreted.

This wasn't either of those.

His eyes had changed from a dark shade of E/c to a lighter, almost neon, shade of that E/c with those gold flecks seeming both much larger and brighter than normal. However, before he could ask M/n the sound of people talking interrupted the both of them and the two looked off to see a group of young men around their ages, three, not that it was surprising to see a set of young boys hanging out together, laughing and talking a bit too loudly. Jonathan perked up while M/n groaned. Consider everything restored, or at least it was, till Jonathan started talking and Danny yipped below them.

“Hey! Why don’t you guys come up here and smoke with us?!” His call was loud and the god twitched, eyes narrowing as he watched their faces stiffen up to be cold and stony, only breaking their composure when their eyes left the noblemen and went to M/n. The sight of him was more than enough to make their stage whispers louder and more frantic.

“Do you see that?”

“Yeah, some weirdo is trying to talk to us.”

“Let’s just go back the other way. This place is far too dangerous.”

“The people here must be involved with the occult, or something of the sorts, and even if he doesn’t curse us, that other guy will clearly snitch on us.”

“What did you say?” Jonathan snapped, leaping down from the branch, followed by the god in a similar manner to how a shadow follows its owner. "Wa...WAIT! What do you mean, dangerous? And who's a snitch?"

M/n wanted to snarl as Jonathan got a good punch in, and the god moved to block a hit to the back of his head, using his stand's strength to make his shove just a little more aggressive. The yelp he earned was satisfying enough, he supposed.

"Jojo the snitch and M/n the demon! Let's go! If we stick around here, he'll tell on us, or worse!" With that, they were gone and M/n paused at his new title. Demon? It was fair. He wasn't the kind type of person, was he? A ghost argued, but he had no desire to listen.

"Demon...snitch?"

"Jonathan, just leave it."

"NO! Hey, come back! Who's a snitch? And where did you even come up with a demon in the first place? The two of us have done nothing wrong!"

"Jonathan, stop." The blue-haired male flinched at the venom laced into the god’s voice, even if it wasn't directed at him. Yet it was clear this was bothering M/n, and he couldn't blame him. Sure, he didn't go to church with them, but M/n was no devil worshiper. That was just a difference in religion. "Just...just leave it."

"But...this must be Dio spreading lies about us, and that boy that lost an eye. We could-"

"I know. But I'm tired. I don't want to spend my day chasing them down and yelling."

"You haven't been sleeping well?"

"Of course not. It's been over a month since I was in London too. I...I just need to rest."

Jonathan frowns, but accepts the lie.

The absence of my humanity is akin to a missing limb. No. It's not. But that's the best explanation I can hope to give.

When M/n takes off the bandages, it's a quiet affair.

Jonathan had been waiting for the other to send him out of the room, but he hadn't said a word as he untied the bandages covering his arm, revealing lines of black ink. He could feel his eyes widen at the spiky black lettering that covered the other's inner arms. Dio and Diavolo. He opened his mouth to ask about them, but stopped when the god then unwrapped the bandages on his neck, showcasing the large scar that covered his throat.

"W-what caused that, M/n?"

"Eh, well, I was…actually, I don't remember." M/n murmured, his eyes narrowing as he traced over the massive scar with a single fingertip. His nails were almost unnaturally sharp and had a coating of black nail polish on them. Jonathan couldn’t help but freeze as M/n glanced over at him. "A knife? It must've been a blade...but what…it doesn't matter anymore, does it? I survived."

"I don't understand how you could ever forget the origins of such a ghastly wound." He forced his voice to remain steady, only to then flinch at the sight of a massive scar on M/n's chest. "And…what about that one?"

"Layers of my skin were removed with…scalpels, and then a metal brand was pushed into the wound after being heated. Never quite healed right...is forgetting it really that strange? I was always focused on other things than old wounds." M/n shrugged his shoulders as he peeled back another thick layer of pink-tinted bandages. "At least I can finally take these stitches out."

"Already?" It had only been a few days of M/n being in bed, completely miserable, and while he was glad to finally have a chance to show him around...it didn't make sense.

"The wound's closed, and the stitches are already pushing out on their own. Might as well get them out manually. It...really itches." Jonathan swallowed, averting his gaze, as the other untied more of the bandages.

You're a fool. Just telling the story over and over again and hoping that maybe this time you'll hear it and understand. One can't ward off a monster by just describing the shape of it. The woods might not give you back if you play the fool. Or maybe it will? But tradition demands the fool get skinned.

No one understands the true nature of gods.

But it wasn't as if the god himself understood immortals. For he had entered a role with no mentors, or even instructions after killing his predecessor, and it wasn't as if the god had a good understanding of mortals, anyway.

One, two, three.

The god leaned back, feeling his skin shift and ripple under the bandages, trying to force the stitches out despite them being in place for only a few hours. His eyes opened, the gold had only formed around his pupils, despite the growing hunger pangs that made the god nearly start drooling. He shook his head. Looking around the room, he barely noted any decorations or features, instead his attention was stuck to the fading footsteps of a maid that had been cleaning the outside hall.

…he was back to being completely alone.

Well, was he ever alone with the voices?

House Joestar, currently run by George Joestar, with Jonathan Joestar being heir apparent. A man widowed and unwilling to remarry, as his heart seemed to lie with the deceased. And it was that man who clearly stated that he'd be living here and that Sir Joestar clearly wanted to be something akin to a parental figure, but he had stopped caring about those kinds of bonds a long time ago. He had a father, and he didn't want nor need another, and now he was a god in everything but his own decision. Sides, one good parent was better than a thousand mediocre ones. He wanted to reread Hamlet. His hand trembled when he touched the thick layer of bandages on his throat. He should be smug, proud...annoyed even. But he didn't feel any of that. Emotions still were far too troublesome at the moment...as if they hadn't been real. Yet…that couldn’t be right. Back in the gang, he’d been absolutely…never mind.

Leaning back, hands formed quickly, grabbing at his own, far larger than his own. Even if he hadn't been in a much younger body. He examined the pair of hands, blue and scaly, and he hummed at the feeling of them scraping against his skin. Then again, the long curved claws were just as sharp and at risk of tearing flesh. A long tail swung itself onto the bed, making its way into his view, and his tongue yet again caught the side of his own fang. Funny, most wounds had been forgotten with time, or rather with red vines and a lack of care, but the bisecting of his tongue felt far closer than most. The brass bells tied on its tail jingled softly.

"I know you're hungry. I can't feed you yet...trust me, I would if such a thing was even possible right now." His voice came out as little more than a whisper as he leaned back. Feeling scales and fangs poking at him as well as the slight draw of the pocket. "You know I live only to create, right?"

"All you make is echoes." The stand says that same old line. Not unkindly. Caring.

"È l'unica cosa che so creare."

Gods aren't born...made, perhaps. Does it even matter?

You were damned from the start

Dio examines the other.

M/n is pointed and jagged, mainly wearing black clothing with a gothic aesthetic that only highlights how sharp he is compared to Jonathan, who seems more rounded. His gaze goes to M/n's arms, and he’s left staring at his own name and then Diavolo with a raised eyebrow. The other doesn't notice, too busy with his face hidden in a book about medicine despite Dio being sure that he doesn't even care about medicine, but then again M/n cares very little about most things. He wonders where he got such well done markings; he wonders why he would have tattoos of that nature, but he doubts he'd get an answer if he asked. Yet he knows how valuable this is. Having the devil's name on his arm would make the rumors that circulate around M/n so much stronger. He might even get banned from certain establishments, but that thought doesn't sit well in his mind. Especially since M/n wouldn't fight it. Just raise an eyebrow and let the world act around him. An unmovable object.

"M/n, how are you doing?" The other didn't look at him, instead leaning back in his seat and closing the book with a soft thud.

"Fine, I suppose. What do you want, Dio?" Two E/c eyes landed on him, and part of him noticed the gold haze had faded to a few mere flecks, and then narrowed. His eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the library, and Dio watched the other adjust his weight, almost casually.

"Do you really think I'm only here because I want something?"

"Didn’t you cheat on that boxing match and turn everyone against Jonathan? Why would I trust anything you have to say?"

"You know why I'm doing this, don't you?"

"Does it matter if I know or not, Dio?"

"Of course it does." He reached out, taking the other's hand, watching him go still before accepting the gesture and linking his fingers with Dio's. "You and I are from the same background, are we not? Surely you can understand why I'm doing this. Besides, do you think Jonathan would spare you the time of day if you hadn't been offered a place here? He'd never know you. He wouldn't care."

"So?"

"What do you-"

"That wouldn't be his fault. A man who never encounters me has no stake in my suffering. Jonathan is idealistic, I've said it all before, and yet I'll probably say it again; one can't count the sins of the father against the son, and vice versa."

"You know I could-"

"Ruin me?" M/n laughed before he leaned in. "Go ahead. You can’t make me change my stance on this matter. And if you tell anyone about my tattoos, you might as well mention the third that goes down my spine. They are a set, after all. Dio, Diavolo, Giudizio. God, The Devil, and Judgement. Spin them however you like, but they don't have any pagan meaning. Especially not for worshiping the devil. All they do is talk about two paths and how those paths are chosen. That's all."

"Surely you could have gotten different words to represent those concepts?"

"Maybe, if I had a choice, but I received these a long time ago. I wasn't given any reason for them." Using his free hand, he traced over the lettering of 'Dio' with a fingertip, eyes narrowed in thought. "It's the same with all of my tattoos and scars. They happened for reasons that I was never informed of. Suffering without reason. So, tell everyone. I won't care."

"With that attitude, it almost seems as if the rumors are true," Dio murmurs, ignoring the shivers racing down his spine.

"I don't care about religion. Pagan. Christianity. Or any of them, if I'm being honest. I no longer have any reason to practice. Neither the Devil nor God have any appeal to me." The other shrugged, looking back at their interlocking hands.

"And you won't stand with me? We could ruin them if we worked together. Jonathan wouldn't stand a chance if we just-"

"No. You're lucky that I don't tell Sir Joestar about your plot right now."

"Is that it? What happens if I succeed, M/n?"

"I suppose I've made my grave and I'll lie in it. Or maybe…I should ask you how this story ends if you succeed?"

"You think I'll leave you behind?"

"I think you'd try to cheat the devil out of his own money if given the chance. I worry about you." M/n sighed, placing his head in his hand with a low murmur that Dio couldn't quite pick up. "I swear I'm becoming....advocate Diaboli, ugh, I can't...why are you even making me think about this?"

"It'll be worth it."

"Maybe for you."

I remember you saying that you wanted to be violent with me.

You're an...don't talk to me about safety. As if such a thing would be possible. As if I'd be able to get that. Fuck you for even suggesting it.

"Oh, I just wish that you'd feel safe around me...that you'd be comfortable."

As if you really think I have any more blood to shed for you. Do you think I have anything left?

If I could scream out every apology, I owe both you and myself, which would take an eternity. I'd stand there and scream till my very neck split. How easy it is to fall. Simple. It feasts on you from the inside out. Slowly, the hunger stretches and stretches. It eclipses. You hunger. It hungers. How long till you fall? How long till you starve? Which runs out first? Who knows? I think I hate what I've become, but that would imply that I cared about the original. The story ends in hunger.

…some things just aren't meant to be.

Jonathan looked to M/n, who’d been sitting under that tree since the boys left, seeming far too tired.

"M/n...you and Danny will always be my friends, right?" Falling down onto the grass, he patted the aforementioned Great Dane on the head. M/n looked at him, his eyes more gold than E/c in the shadows of the tree. The gold had nearly overtaken him...strange. The color seemed to wane and grow with time. Maybe it was a seasonal thing? Or perhaps it had to do with the cycle of the moon? Or perhaps it was…

"Of course. I stand by you...my first friend." M/n murmured, eyes practically glowing...his pupils were more slit-like as well. The hiss in his words was also more prominent, a fact his father had grieved over in the past when the state of the other's tongue and scarred skin became known. M/n had just waved the concern away. He didn't plan on being a public speaker, so a slight lisp was fine, according to him. "Trust me, if I found you annoying, I would've said something already. We've had this talk before."

"Yes, we have." His cheeks reddened at the reminder watching how he yawned, a flash of fang visible for just a moment, and then his attention was to a figure behind a tree on the path watching them. "Huh?"

"Is someone watching us?" M/n tilted his head, eyes narrowing once he spotted the figure. "Well, invite her over. True gentlemen, don't hesitate if a lady is waiting."

"O-of course." With a jolt, he moved up the hill to approach her, only for her to hang a basket and take off. Pausing for a moment, he grabbed the basket, staring at her now distant figure in surprise. Shaking his head, he came back down to sit beside Danny and M/n once more.

"Did she leave you that basket?"

"I think so. Who was that girl staring at me? I feel like I've seen her before, but I can't quite place her." He examined the contents of the basket before gasping. "My handkerchief! It was the girl who had her doll taken...she must've cleaned it for me."

"How kind of her." M/n shifted, looking into the basket, remaining unaware of how Jonathan tensed when he leaned against him. "She wrote something on it. Now, is she asking something of you, or is it simply a thanks for helping?"

"It says; 'Many thanks! Say! I'll be here tomorrow, so why don't you come as well?'. I...I'm not sure what to think about the offer in all honesty."

"It sounds as if she's fallen for you. What a fairy tale situation; a kind gentleman saving the fair maiden and winning her heart. Poetic." M/n sounds pleased, yet Jonathan frowns despite himself. "If I remember correctly, she's from the Pendleton family. All doctors...hm, not a it. It's bad for dogs."

"I guess...she is really cute, but she didn't say a word to me." He tried to keep his voice calm as he watched the other pull away, stretching out to his full extent like a cat in the sun. He yawned as Jonathan looked back down at the handkerchief. He felt conflicted at how the other seemed just fine with the idea of him...suddenly courting someone. Especially intending to marry that person…shouldn’t M/n be more opposed to it?

"Think she's shy?"

"...maybe."

"You must've left quite an impact on her." M/n said after a moment, rolling a grape in his palm.

"I guess. I saved her the same day as...well, that was partly my fault."

"No. Some bullies happened upon me and blamed me for an animal attack. You did nothing wrong. In fact, I would say you did pretty good. You saved a fair maiden." His voice is teasing, a raspy purr, as M/n nudges a shoulder against Jonathan's. He leans in. M/n is always boiling hot or ice cold to the touch. Today he's like a furnace. Eyes are full of gold until he blinks and Jonathan can see a hint of E/c beneath the haze. The god laughs. "You're a hero, Jonathan."

Despite everything, he can't stop the smile that appears on his face.

Every chicken egg I cracked open that day was filled with blood. Must've found an old stash again. I dumped them in the garden. Plants love that kind of thing. Horrible noises echoed from the woods. Most noises like that come from the woods. It sounded like someone screaming. Wailing. Terrified. Warped. It was a fox. I lifted the bat. It was mangy. Infected. Fur matted with blood and maggots. My daily shower was earlier that day. Much longer. Hotter.

I can still hear it sometimes.

Calling me back.

"M/n, there you are!"

He stiffened, and had he been in his real form, his hair would've spiked up, yet he didn't move his gaze from the woods below.

"You aren't even going to look at me?"

"Sorry, I'm just distracted." Dio raised an eyebrow at that. After a moment he followed M/n’s gaze, but he spotted nothing out of the ordinary.

"Hm, and what's got your mind so cluttered? Usually you're buried in a book or following Jonathan like a tame dog." The soft growl he receives is almost comical…if only M/n would look at him. "You know, I've heard rumors that Jonathan's been running around with some country girl. I suppose you've been tossed aside like an old coat in favor of this girl, haven't you?"

"No, in fact, I encouraged him to court her."

"Really?"

"Of course, Jonathan's my friend. Why wouldn't I support him having a happy ending? A fairy tale ending fits a man with a noble spirit, and I'd like to be an uncle or godfather in the future if permitted"

"Oh, you don't want to be a father yourself?"

"Doubt I'd be a good one. Being the eccentric type that can come in now and then would suit me much better. Besides, I mentioned it to Sir Joestar, and he liked the idea of the pairing."

"You seem content with it, but you haven't told me this maiden's name. Is there a reason you don't want to tell me, or has it merely slipped your mind?"

"You don't tell the fae your name, you don't make a deal with the devil, and by following that train of logic, I shouldn't give you any info that would hurt Jonathan or the maiden in question. Don't waste my time by continuing this line of questioning, Dio."

"Fine. Still, I can't believe you have such a bad impression of me. But let me ask you this; how did you do it?"

"Be more specific."

"You stopped me from kicking that mutt, and that one kid lost an eye right after he came across you. How are you doing it?"

"All I did was grab your shoulder, Dio, and I still don't understand why that kid blamed me for what was obviously a wild animal. My nails may be long, but they clearly aren't claws or talons, and while I can admit I have a pocket knife on me for safety, there's no way anyone could make three massive wounds appear on someone's face with a simple dagger. Let alone three wounds, like he claimed. No matter how you phrase it, there's no way I could've caused those wounds."

"Yet it happened right after he ran into you? I heard that he and Jonathan had gotten into a spat before he encountered you, but how could you have known that beforehand?"

"I couldn't. That's the point."

"But you don't seem surprised."

"I found that piece of info out when he accused me of injuring him. I didn't know beforehand. All I knew was that he accosted me for no reason and then left with his friend."

"And the two of them blamed it on you."

"For one reason or another." M/n yawned, eyes closing for a moment before he once again looked out to the woods. Tapping a nail against the railing of the balcony in quick repetition, the god sighed when Dio moved closer. He was getting too close. Far too close. "Now, do you need anything else?"

"Why wait for Jonathan to come back? You can come with me and my friends, have some fun, and put aside those rumors circulating about you. It would be good for you."

"I have no desire to meet your 'friends', Dio."

"Fine, fine." He leaned against the god who wanted to snap when he felt the Dio brush up against him. "Then why don't I stay with you for a little while?"

M/n swallowed as he felt the male grab his hand and intertwine their fingers.

"...fine.”

You go in search of your reflection. You find it and then strangle them to death. The corpse is so heavy. You bury them in your backyard and your hands smell like fresh soil and guilt. Yet they come back in the evening. You kill them again and in their place, there is another surge of anger. Louder and louder upon your return. Resurrection becomes a monument to your suffering. Your reflection becomes a ghost, a creature that holds so many untouched memories and griefs. It shrieks at your door. You kill them again and again. And you make more graves and hear more ghosts. Kill them seven times and there are seven ghosts. Fifteen times and there are fifteen. Again and again. Fresh soil and guilt. You can search for a limit because you expect one. You find none. There is no limit to the amount of deaths a body can hold.

A few years ago, Jonathan took him into the woods.

His bandages had come off less than a week ago, and as a hand holds his own and drags him into the woods, all he can think is; why? He had said little to Jonathan, all things considered. He doesn't speak much. His vocal cords, like the rest of him, were far too strained from eons of silence and slumber. He had practiced talking constantly when no one was around, and he was proud that his lungs had put up with him, but even now he could feel the strain and taste ichor in the back of his throat. A part of him knows how bad all of that is, but he could never change it.

How does one change their nature after eons of simple repeated behavior?

One man can't just change the flow of a river by asking, and one can't deny a fox the right to bear his fangs when threatened. He could probably play a fox better than a human. He noticed it in all of his motions. He rarely smiled, yet his teeth were visible when he threatened or was angry, but he rarely did more than hum when amused or pleased by the surrounding people. A long time ago, he wouldn't have all these problems. He'd just do it right with ease because he was human, but traits like that felt so long lost that it might as well not exist. Carlos would help, Jessie would mock, and Ajamu found the whole thing amusing. Whispers intermingle with the world around them.

He looks for animals and other sources of the noises that surround him. His head hurts. The world is noisier than he remembers it ever being, and part of him wants to laugh because he was from the future and he knew how noisy the world could be, but the void is far quieter. Too quiet. Noise is always a bad thing in the void, but here, noise is the norm and he needs to work with it.

"Come on!"

There's a river. He remembers drowning in the past, frequently, and he remembers guys named after bodies of water who had dark eyes that caught him in place. Is this yet another baptism? He hummed as he tossed his shirt and shoes off alongside Jonathan, allowing himself to be pulled in the water. It was cool, but not unbearable. Even for a snake like him. The water flowed with ease and he felt a sense of joy as Jonathan splashed him with water.

It was fun...until it wasn't.

My throat has become a canyon with every apology caught in the depths, never leaving my throat. So I suppose this is an apology echoed throughout a lifetime. Of words. Of sentences. Of actions. I'm sorry for being so...loud. For taking up all this space. For being so sensitive and soft. If I was to see your anger from a different angle, a new perspective, then I'd be in your corner egging it on. So I guess I should apologize for poking the bear. For letting the snake into my home and expecting something else. A different end. For thinking that gentleness could change its nature. As a child, I always hoped that I could change the night sky and make it a loving father. Then again, maybe there's no hope for the night sky.

With a wince, he pulled his hand back, Jonathan's eyes widening at the sight of blood staining his fingertips.

Oh, guess he clipped his head on one of the rocks.

He opened his mouth as he watched M/n stiffen up, eyes almost completely gold, before whipping around to stare at him with an emotion that Jonathan couldn't quite place. Jonathan suddenly found himself pinned against a rock on the bank of the river. M/n holding him down, but there was something else, a second pair of invisible hands pressing his shoulders down. There was something else looming over him, a form that was acting the same as M/n, and he didn't know what it was. He couldn’t see it.

"M/n...are you okay?"

"I...I…" Hands dug into his side. He never realized how sharp the other's nails were till now, and M/n opened his mouth but said nothing. His shoulders were bleeding from the second set of hands. Long clawed furrows in his flesh.

"Calm down. I'm fine, M/n. It's just a small cut." Part of him can register that M/n is straddling his hips. He can feel the male's knees shift, pressing into his stomach, as he leans forward. Eyes focused only on the blood dripping down his neck and mixing with the water still clinging to his skin. "M/n, just calm down."

The air feels thicker.

"M/n...?"

Everything feels...brighter, fuller even, and he sees the other's eyes get even wider as the second set of hands let go of him. M/n nearly pushes himself off of Jonathan's lap before he reaches out and holds the other in place. M/n shakes. He can see the way the male shakes, yet it feels far too...off. M/n doesn't shake. He hasn't known the other long, but he didn't seem the type to falter.

"...are you...?" He felt something smash against his lips, forcing his mouth open, and he tasted something far too sweet...and...and...

…and his vision is getting foggy.

"Jonathan...I'm sorry. You trust me, right? I'm...I'm...Amicus certus in re incerta...right?"

With that everything goes black.

If you follow any love story long enough, you'll find a single truth; someone will die first. Please baby, I'm so tired. Let's speed up the process. You know how much I hate waiting for the story to progress. Here's the chapter where I threaten to eat you. To devour. To show my fangs and to prove to you. I'm a snake. Here's where I fall to my knees and admit to you I can't. I don't have the stomach for it. For a while, I pondered. All those organs sit in the porch freezer. My heart...my lungs...my everything. To make my body hollow for you to move in. Follow any love story long enough, then someone will leave first. You pick up the book. Naturally, it's called 'The Kiss' or something of that nature. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of papers all made to describe one moment. A gesture. That one starry night. That bridge when they meet as they look up to the sky. You close the book with no resolution. Not that a kiss ever ends. Only the failings of an author who can't find the words that would make the immensity of their desire justified instead of depraved.

Lies flow easily.

A wild animal came out and attacked Jonathan. He hit his head. M/n grabbed him and got him away by using a dagger to slay the feral mutt.

…too easy.

He sat across from Jonathan repeating a simple pattern; count down to one hundred, take a deep breath, and restart the whole thing again. He could've sworn that this trick worked, but he still felt conflicted on the matter. He grabbed the hand mirror resting on the boy's bedside table and examined his facial features. His eyes were still mostly gold, but at least you'd be able to tell that they were supposed to be E/c, and not the full golden haze. That wild dog hadn't helped much, if at all, but the smell of his blood had sent it into a frenzy, so at least it hadn't been a tame dog that had been slaughtered just to make the lie work. Not that much had been left. As he dragged Jonathan back to the manor, his stand had taken care of the body.

Scavengers.

Likely other dogs, according to Sir Joestar.

He pondered what expression would fall on Sir if he found out the truth. Horror...terror...shame...disgust? He couldn't picture it, couldn't even imagine the kind man's face morphing into some twisted version of itself. Then again, even the kindest would surely fear the appearance his stand possessed. Even Ajamu had flinched back from it when his stand had first attacked the god, so that spoke of him, given how it was a mirror of himself.

"Why am I even thinking about that right now?" Leaning back, he set the mirror down and looked at Jonathan’s prone form. "You should've never invited me out today."

'...you won't even remember what happened, so why am I acting like this?'

It doesn't matter.

Why would it?

There is no mercy in these texts. How does one explain how something so inherently simple can be so bad? So hurtful. Harmful. A thing that can kill. No one here knows. They laugh. Laugh with them. You aren't ready to talk. What's wrong with you? Don't tell them. Laugh it off. If one would look in your eyes, they'd see the same level of terror found in a sheep before the pack of wolves. You can tell me anything. Lies. People leave bloody for secrets like this. Hands like silk and voices like honey. No pity. Just concern. Prevents you from falling. Pick you up. Drink. Slips from your fingers like sand in the wind. Lies. Lies. Lies.

"Are you alright?" He jumped, slightly looking over at M/n, who was now sitting by the bedside table with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, it's nothing too bad. I'm more upset about the constant headache." He kept his voice light as the other carefully crossed a leg. M/n was looking at where the bandages covered his shoulders, something that would be visible if he wasn't wearing a shirt, and just nodded without any change of expression. "I woke up three days ago…did they tell you not to be here till today?"

"No." Jonathan flinched at that, watching the other stand up, but his request for the other to stay died on his tongue as M/n simply crossed the room, pulling open the curtains and window before he sat back down. "I waited because I wanted to wait."

"Why?"

"It's my fault you got hurt." M/n spoke calmly, his voice completely detached, as he stared down at his lap. Following his gaze, Jonathan looked at the male's hands, which had gone pale from how tightly he was holding onto the fabric of his pants. "You wanted to go out to show me around, and that's why this whole affair happened."

"What?" Jonathan shook his head, hardly believing the other, but when he looked back up, all M/n did was stare back. Blank. Even after getting out of surgery and being hit by a carriage, M/n had shown emotion, granted most of it was negative, but there had been something. Now he just seemed empty. "That wasn't your fault!"

"Can't you see I'm a bad luck magnet?"

"I don't care!" He reached out, causing M/n to freeze as he took the male's hands in his own. Today his skin was ice cold, and the action earned him a confused hiss as M/n flinched, nearly pulling back but stopping halfway and instead just slumping down.

"You won’t change your mind?"

"Of course not."

"I'm not good luck, and I'm sure there's better company."

"Then I'll be cursed."

"...soft-hearted fool." M/n hissed with no actual venom. Jonathan froze...he remembered...M/n on his lap. Why? It must've been to check his head wound and make sure he didn't drown. So what happened after that? Vaguely he could see M/n raise an eyebrow, but he just stayed silent as the realization hit him. M/n...had kissed him? But why would he do that? They were both...there wasn't any reason for that...who even...Jonathan shook his head again, trying to ignore how hot his face was. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Um...no reason!"

Everything after that was lost in a sweet pink haze...he must’ve imagined it.

There are plenty of memories that will never leave your frame. Stuck like salt in the sea. A fly in the web of a spider. Becoming part of you. Pieces of a framework that frames your body. Souls get trampled out when they're too weak. Make the framework out of bone and iron. Make a monster so no one dares to fight. But monsters get slain. Make it a better monster. Be too strong to kill. Things like that would make a good monster. You're a good kid, right? You can do this. It isn't hard. Just take it. Let it happen. You can do it.

…you're a good kid, right?

"I'll see you soon, bye!"

Dio stilled as he watched the girl wave to Jojo, carefully hiking up the edge of her dress to avoid dirtying it as she crossed the manor's yard to reach the path. Oh, so it was just the country girl? His hand rested on the trunk of the tree and he paused, noticing the carvings in the bark. He had carved his and that girl's name...Erina…and it seemed as if even before that M/n had carved his own name in the wood, judging by the thinner and more elegant cuts that spelled out his name. His fingers traced over the crooked heart before settling on M/n's name.

What an interesting situation...placed right at his feet.

All of those hens lay completely still in the chicken coop. Feathers sprawled out like flower petals in a weapon...here comes the bride. I am twelve. My heart and mind are made up of far messier deaths than this. Oh, there's the groom. A rooster. Standing. Waiting for me...I guess. Eyes wide. Neck ripped open and filled with stained maggots. How is he still breathing? How do I fit something like this into an essay? A poem? How do I fit this one little event into anything? My hands were covered in small cuts from the chicken wire. Predators don't care. But I guess I can't blame them. I don't remember the state of my hands more than not. Hands like mine are defined by labor...loss...and grief. In the country, an image wouldn't load from poor connection. I guess the image forgets it's an image.

…did I somehow miss something that would've given all this pain context?

"Hm, Jojo and Danny train hard." Dio murmured, placing his teacup down watching his caretaker do the same, he never understood why M/n insisted with calling the man Sir Joestar when he'd allow the use of his name, but that led to his gaze moving from his 'rival' to the figure sitting on the grass below. Watching Jonathan, like always. "The dog seems to get along with both of them very well."

"Yes, Jojo and M/n have done well teaching them every trick they can think of. He can open most doors and has even learned how to pull out small fires. But I suppose that's the thing," George replied, following Dio's gaze. "The two of them never give Danny orders. They've earned his friendship and trust."

"Friendship...with a dog?" Despite his best attempts, Dio couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice. Luckily, the other didn't call him out on it.

"I think it's how Jonathan makes up for his loss, and I think M/n has a soft spot for Danny, even if he'd never admit it. I bought that dog when my son was five years old...when I first brought him here, Danny was afraid of any new people or locations. Because of that, when Danny and Jojo first met, he bit his arm. He started teasing Danny, but things like that were probably unavoidable for a young boy. There was even a time where he'd throw small rocks at Danny, but then one day at the river behind the mansion Jojo was drowning. No one else was nearby to hear him or help him. This was before M/n had his fateful encounter that led him here, but then a shadow appeared. Despite having no reason for loyalty or duty, Danny came to rescue him the moment he heard Jojo's cries. Isn't he a splendid dog, knowing the value of life? It was that incident that moved Jojo and made him form a fast friendship with Danny."

Dio nodded, watching the dog do a lap around the yard before tackling M/n, earning a panicked apology as Jojo ran over to check his friend, and he forced himself not to sneer at the action. Especially when M/n burst into shaky laughter.

"And what of M/n?"

"Hm, I thought he had explained to you how he arrived at the manor and came to live here?"

"He did, but I'd like to hear it from an outside party, and I'd like to know your opinion about him."

"M/n is a good kid." George says it as if he's had to explain himself far too many times. "He's just...a bit too smart for his age and it leaves people uncomfortable. He's had a hard life."

"But so many incidents seem to follow him," Dio remarks, gently as to not anger the older man.

"True, but I'm more inclined to blame animal attacks on the environment we live in rather than a child. Besides, if he was the beast supposedly causing all those incidents, then Jonathan wouldn't be alive today."

"What do you mean by that?" Dio had heard of the boy who'd lost an eye after a run in with M/n, and as time had gone by more of his peers blamed the other for what actually was a wild animal, that much was obvious, but he hadn't heard about this.

"Not long after M/n recovered Jonathan took him to that same river to show him the manor grounds and have fun...a wild dog attacked Jonathan tearing into his shoulders and knocking his head against a rock...M/n keeps a dagger on his person at all times and slayed the beast before dragging Jonathan as far as he could go and then went to get help."

Dio looked back down at Jojo and M/n with narrowed eyes.

To compare our paths would be a disservice to myself. I'm tired. I'm bitter. But I think that would be a bit too spiteful even for me.

"I swear...all these medical books are so outdated. I need to see if there are better ones available to add to the library next time I get my allowance."

"Really? How so?"

"Most of these books actually suggest things like using leeches and bloodletting, as if using a parasite would actually benefit their health. Idiots, all of them." At that Jonathan nodded, despite himself not fully understanding the problem behind the use of leeches or even bloodletting, but he supposed that was based on the knowledge he clearly lacked.

"So if the procedure is ever offered, I should decline?"

"Of course, but then again, I'd decline in your stead if you didn't." M/n murmured, pausing when he looked past Jonathan, his eyebrows arching at the action. Turning, Jonathan felt a small smile form on his face when he saw Erina standing there, but she turned away before he could say anything. Then she sprinted away.

'Erina…? What's wrong? Her behavior's completely different...something must have happened.'

"Wait, Erina! What's wrong!?!"

"Did you..." He watched as M/n trailed off, feeling off kilter at her strange behavior before he noticed a dawning look of horror on the other's face. M/n clearly knew what happened, but whatever it seemed terrible to think about. Only for both of them to flinch at the feeling of rocks bouncing off their backs. He registered M/n hissing under his breath as he spun to see some of Dio's…'friends' laughing at them.

"Look at that loser! Hey Jojo, you want to know why she's acting like that? We'll tell you."

"Aw, I don't wanna see him get all sad!"

"You...you guys....what did you do to Erina!?!"

"Jonathan," M/n hissed, stepping forward and placing an arm on his shoulder. "We all know these cowards don't have the balls to do anything. So what did Dio do?”

Many have tried to catch me. All failed. At this point in time, I'm little more than a ghost of a ghost. Call me nothing but a magic trick. Every day I see the world and laugh. How fun this is. You can't catch me. You won't see me. There is god in me. Can you feel him laughing? Life and death are old friends of mine. So, what else is there to be afraid of? I know the rules of the world.

'He can't even wait for me?'

Mentally M/n cursed a lot of things as he forced himself to keep up with Jonathan, while also following the others' rushed path, even as Jonathan allowed branches to scrape his skin or stumbled. He really needed to calm down before he ended up hurting Dio, or even worse, Jonathan or Sir Joestar himself. Yet no matter how hard he tried, none of his usual methods were working. If he looked behind himself, he could see the clawed furrows left in his footprints by his stand bubbling up to the surface. He knew that if another stand user was in the area, they'd see the larger form wrapped around him like a thin, nearly see-through, armor.

Ugh, his anger was always holding him back, but it pushed him forward at the same time.

Infuriating.

M/n forced himself to jump over the fountain, hissing as he landed, the scars around his ankles always stung when he landed weirdly and this time wasn't any different, but he really needed to get in the manor and stop whatever Dio had planned. He was certain that the other had been waiting for Jonathan to find out, because Jonathan always blazed when he was angry.

"DIO!!!" He pushed the doors open, leaning against them with narrowed eyes as he watched how Dio stood up, putting his book down.

"And what's this? You're taking my name in vain? And with those firmly clenched fists...I wonder, what exactly could you be planning?"

"I won't forgive you for this! You've been against me ever since you arrived here, and I know you don't care about what happens to me, but you've gone too far!"

"What are you even-Aha! I guess you finally heard about your beloved Erina, and now you're thinking of paying me back with your fists, aren't you? Shame on you Jojo, jealousy is such an ugly thing. Wouldn't you agree with me, M/n?" All he did was raise an eyebrow at the idiotic question.

"I won't forgive you for insulting her!" And with that Jonathan lunged...somehow showcasing the burning anger of a star in its final moments, all while lacking any sort of strategy to better fight an opponent like Dio. Surely he had noticed it in their boxing match...right? Jonathan had raw strength while Dio had speed and agility. A grizzly bear to a mountain lion. A fight like this wasn't balanced if he didn't alter his strategy...but this wasn't his fight. Jonathan had to fight his own battles, especially the ones he rushed into without thinking. He ran his fingers over the side of the wall, slowly crossing the room as his gaze remained on the pair. He didn't look away when Dio broke Jonathan's nose, but he felt the tile beneath his heel crack at the additional slight. "Ah!"

"Just back down. Do you really want me to do the same thing to you again? You fool..."

"I...I can't beat him..." Jonathan raised a hand to his nose, feeling warm blood and wincing at the throbbing pain. His eyes darted to M/n, who had merely prowled along the walls like a stalking cat. He didn't blame him. M/n wouldn't step in unless he truly needed the help, and even then it felt wrong knowing how much the other hoped to avoid conflict. '...but...I can't lose this...if I lose this fight, I'll have to stay in Dio's shadow for the rest of my life! I have to win this fight for Erina's honor! For M/n who's placed his faith in me.'

'So he hasn't heard his lesson? Fine. I'll beat him down once and for all. I'll even do it fair and square. I'll teach him so his whole body remembers that he can't hope to stand against Dio...in a fight or in life!' Dio tilted his head, his gaze moving to M/n's silent figure. 'But as for him...what is he thinking? He doesn't look angry, just impassive. Once this is over, I'll speak with him and surely convince him once and for all.'

…the god tilted his head, angry but unwilling, or perhaps unable, to explain why.

A long time ago, we were all tossed in a pit. Like most things, it had ill intentions. We were to end each other. So no one else would have to do such a grizzly task. Starved of space. Well, it wasn't a surprise that we turned against each other. With hunger like mine...we had to eat each other to survive. Look up. Look up. Look up. At the top of this pit. How does one win when the real threat is too big to face all alone?

Dio leaned against the railing of the bridge and pressed a finger to his temple, wincing both at the pain, and then at the realization that his skin was going to be bruised for the next few days. At least no one would side with Jonathan over the incident and the fight was luckily cut short before he went too far and lost his place in the household. Even if this incident made him want to kill the heir, he knew that stabbing him in a public space would ruin everything he had worked for. No, despite how angry he was, the original plan would work out far better than any violent assault he could commit. Just drive everyone away and watch Jojo slowly go insane from isolation. All he had to do was get M/n away from him, but then again, he didn't know what to do with M/n. He hadn't stopped him from breaking Jonathan's nose, yet he hadn't confronted him about their boxing match, either. M/n was hard to read at the best of times, and at the worst of times, he was downright impossible.

"Why did you do that?" Dio whipped his head around and forced down any surprise at the sight of M/n's lean frame, sitting on the bridge's railing, and once again he couldn't get a proper read on the other's expression.

"You mean kiss Erina? If so, then I think we both know the reason for it."

"Why did you find that necessary?"

"You already know the reason."

"I do, but I want to hear you say it."

"Then I'll have to disappoint you." Dio twitched when he heard what sounded like a hiss and metal being forcibly bent, yet other than tilting his head M/n hadn't done anything. "Why do you care so much? Is it because you told Jonathan to court her?"

"Is that really the only reason I'd care about it?"

"I can't speak for you."

"Okay, then let me ask you; why do you think I find your actions so reprehensible? Why would someone take a violation on someone they barely know so personally? Why do I hate being touched by people without permission? Why am I so angry? You're smart enough to figure it out, so tell me what you think my problem is, Dio."

"You were..." Dio froze, watching M/n raise an eyebrow before smirking.

"And there we go."

"When?"

"Doesn't matter, all you need to know is that it happened, and he went a lot further than you did with Erina." Sliding off the post, M/n walked in front of him and crossed his arms. "So I find your actions sickening on a personal level and on a moral one, and you're lucky I haven't repeated history by breaking your bones with a bat."

"Who...he…?"

"Yeah, and if you ever do that again, then I'll kill you myself." The railing next to him snapped into pieces, and Dio staggered back, looking towards the metal pieces falling into the water below while M/n moved past him. "And unlike Jonathan, I won't miss that knife you keep hidden. Understood?"

"Please, fear isn't in my vocabulary."

"Maybe so, but it’s in your eyes."

"So you want me to apologize?"

"I'd have an easier time convincing you to pull out your own teeth, and we both know it. Leave Erina out of your plans and do nothing like this again."

Notes:

Okay, the first two chapters are edited and combined. I'll fix the numbering once I'm done with each chapter, so chapter 3 will be labeled chapter two and the next new chapter will be a duplicate 18 for a while. Sorry bout the confusion.
Here are the translations;
Dio=God
Diavolo=Devil
Giudizio=Judgment
Aut viam inveniam aut faciam = I shall either find a way or make one
Corvus Oculum Corvi Non Eruit = A Raven Does Not Pick Out The Eyes Of Another Raven
Dannazione=Goddammit
Davvero=Really
¿Recuerdas cuando noqueaste a ese tipo, Ouro? = Do you remember when you knocked that guy out, Ouro?
...no estoy haciendo humor con un fantasma. = …I'm not humoring a ghost.
It's the only thing I can create. = È l'unica cosa che so creare.
Advocatus diaboli = The devil's advocate
Amicus certus in re incerta = A sure friend in an unsure matter

Chapter 2: And they said you were the crooked kind.

Summary:

The years really fly by, don't they? Of course, it isn't as if the good times can last forever. We knew that from the beginning.

Notes:

For those unaware a pounce is a term for a feminine man or a man who makes his living as a prostitute.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rough Ref

~Seven Years later; 1888;

This was the year when Jack the Ripper stalked the streets of London, murdering women in the dead of night, and holding the entire city in his thrall. However, he was nothing compared to the horror that the feud between Jojo and Dio would unleash upon the world. Though, over the course of those seven years, disappearances became more and more common, with officers only finding scraps of clothing or flesh left behind that overshadowed the beginning stages of the infamous serial killer.~

The ponce tilted his head at the sound of heels clicking against cobblestone, turning so he could see the source of the sound, and he glimpsed emerald green. His lips curled up into a grin as he followed ‌the noble. Chances like this were always rare and needed to be taken the moment they appeared.

"Hello there, stranger," he watched the noble turn to face him, only to freeze. His eyes were a solid gold with pupils that resembled a snake's more than they did a human. Shaking his head, he flashed a smile despite his nerves. "Looking for a good time?"

"I suppose. What's the catch?"

"Oh, we can talk about that at my place."

I don't like being quiet. I don't like being easy to swallow. Who does? I want you to be stuck remembering me. I want you to hear all my opinions. I'd rather be so bitter that you nearly choke when you first taste me. I'm not the kind of thing that can be watered down. So if you dive too deep, hoping to easily reach the bottom, then I'm sorry to say you'll drown.

M/n is old.

He stopped knowing how old long ago, and the details didn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter because no one will inform him of those details. But the fact on its own is simple; he is old. Older than any who once labeled themselves as human should age. He knows it, but he also hates it as easily as he breathes. Should his humanity have stopped being his the moment he passed the oldest human's lifespan? Is humanity tied to age? Or is the concept tied to his morals and beliefs? What defines the human in a man or woman and what defines the alien of a beast?

M/n hasn't found the answers to any of that.

Now leaning back in the ponce's dining room chair, he keeps his eyes closed, breathing in and out slowly. He can't ignore the sounds of wet ripping and the pulling of flesh from bone. He remembers the first time eons ago where his stand; it had been so much smaller back then, had craved and led him down a very similar path. Now he was well versed in it all. The act of consumption was well versed in every culture. Everything needs food. What makes the act of eating wrong? What makes the act of eating human?

Is this divinity?

Was it not the titan Cronus who devoured his children to keep power? Was it not the gods themselves who consumed whatever humans had and claimed it as their own? Was that not Ajamu as he stared down at M/n when he was mortal on a throne crafted by his own hand of sin and lies?

The wood creaks at his stand's weight. He wonders how a stand has any weight yet hides from the eyes of those who lack one, but he never searches for an answer. He's merely old and enjoying a passing fancy. Once this is all over, his eyes will lack the golden haze of a serpent waiting to strike and go back to their normal hue. Humanity restored through hunger. He'd be able to ignore the hunger that had stopped fully fading when he became immortal until it once again enveloped all his senses till he was forced to go hunting again.

Everything had to eat.

"In absentia Luci, Tenebrae vincunt." He's too well practiced to have his voice break when he speaks. No one to hear him would ever doubt him. Every claim that he was next to a beast that ripped and tore flesh away from what once was a human. How many times could one cry for the dead they were responsible for? Was it a god's job to cry? The human's job? M/n doesn't know. Ajamu certainly never cried when he had been alive, but maybe he had at first before he realized that even before he had become immortal that with a stand, humans were weak and easy to strike down? Even before it all M/n had known that in his waves of fear and self loathing, that he now had the power to kill unnoticed and with ease. He had mostly avoided it, desperate to not think about the thing that was and wasn't him.

After all, what did it mean when his very soul was so vicious and hungry or that it spoke and carried a completely separate personality?

Not as if he didn't tie his stand to himself in every way imaginable.

"Preferiresti che accada di nuovo?"

"No, no, you and I both know that we can't have that happen." Flesh tearing and bones snapping between sets of teeth. He doesn't respond to the loud hiss that follows his response. His stand may like the sounds of a big feast, but he doesn't. Even if that wasn’t fair to him. He's seen enough carnage. The apartment he was in wasn't that bad. The pounce must've been good at his job. Though it was small, each little sound echoed through the old apartment, and all the floorboards creaked when someone moved on top of them. If any of the windows were opened, the god could easily imagine the breeze and how it would all be like the old barn he had lived in all those years ago. While he would never say it out loud, the Joestar manor was too closed off and ornate in his mind. Never what he'd call home.

"Have we lost our humanity?" The question is one he already knows the answer to, or rather what his stand will say, because it never thinks of humanity in the same way he does. M/n knows it doesn't consider any of that important. He'll ask this question and his stand will repeat the same line. They both know the routine.

"No."

"No?" Like always, he gives the same response.

"You've lost nothing if you just come to terms with it all. There’s no shame in existing in multiple brackets." Regret is an emotion his stand doesn't show. It's an old thing, like him, and he wonders if his soul lacks humanity or if the personality it shows mirrored his own. He's too old for such thoughts, but they always linger in ways he hates. He knows what his stand is like, and that's all that matters. "We can be something in a shade of gray rather than plain black or white morality, right?"

"Oh? And if we just stopped caring, then how many would we kill?" His tone was steady but bitter. His stand snarled and a low chuckle escaped his lips. "Though I suppose we're damned all the same, ain't that right?"

"Hmph, so what if we never know of heaven? We don't belong there at all. Only one angel favors us, and that’s fine." The bells jingle. The table was shoved back and he can feel his stand coil around him. Large hand gripping at his waist. Claws scraping through his clothes and allowing beads of ichor to form. The warm breath of his stand's mouth brushing his ear. "Even if we wanted this to end, we wouldn't see it. To crave heaven is to crave something impossible."

"..."

"Let us be damned."

M/n was tired.

Your mother works for two. Offering love like the sun offers warmth. Your father is cold. Your father is gone. Or rather gone in terms of caring. Of being a family man. You smile and laugh it off. Your mother's there doing a job for two. You wish you could make the room light up the way she does. Your father punches a hole in the wall. Your father tells you he'll kill you. You beat up a kid in school and break bones. You lose your virginity at thirteen. You get pulled back while making a set...

Well...we all know which parent you took after, don't we?

M/n disliked sports.

"Interception! The ball is plucked out of the air by our hero, Jonathan Joestar!"

No...he hated them, and now he regretted the promise he had made to Jonathan about coming to see as much of the game as he could when his own academic pursuits were done for the day. It had seemed innocent enough at first, mainly because in his mind it meant that it was easy enough to avoid, which some would claim as cruel even if it had its truth. College was nothing to him. All he ever did was dart from major to major, unsure of his place or what he was supposed to do, finding each one too easy, only for it all to switch again a month later. He had just finished all his required classes for any of the major options when Sir Joestar suggested ‌he try his hand at taking over the trade business that had been in the family since Jonathan and Dio's profession wouldn't give them time to work in the company. Jonathan had seemed to support the idea, so he followed along. It was a fine profession, but when being honest with himself, ‌this wasn't a job he had any passion for. Just like all the abandoned majors. But it gave him plenty of work to do, especially now that Sir Joestar was sick, leaving him to do a lot of the real trade. It was still easy work, mindless in some ways, but busywork‌. Still, it was now that he forced himself to stand as close to the main building of the school as possible while ignoring the meat of said game.

"Joestar, a gentle giant at one hundred and ninety-five centimeters, sprints for the try zone with a spirited roar! Can he win this, the last game of his university career?!"

Why had he even agreed to this?

"He's tackled from behind! Wait! He's still standing tall! Two more fly in! It's three on one out there! Incredible! He's still making for the try line, undaunted by the men who dog his steps! What power, what determination! He's Hercules reborn! Yet, there's another tackle! Oh, the weight's too much for him!"

The screaming of the announcer was forcibly drowned out as he began to tap a finger against the side of his leg and started to count. These things were always too loud for him and having this enhanced sense of hearing only made the entire thing painful...or whatever could be considered pain these days. Maybe he should've joined a club of some sort? It would give him a rather adequate excuse for when this sort of thing happened?

"He flings it away, and...YES! There's the catch! The ball lands safe in the hands of Dio Brando. It's still anyone's game! Can he make it?"

For now, he just had to wait the game out.

A thief like no other. It was I who stole the wallet of Judas. Inside was a list of regrets and sins that would make a grown man weep. I tried to give it back. Lord knows I need more guilt, but by the time I found him...well, he had already hung himself. It was the most morbid and depressing thing I've ever seen. I fell down the hole. I asked around. Does he have a mother...a friend...someone I can give this to? I was unable to tell if his silence was political or some form of symbolism. I suppose that answered my question. No. I asked the man on the road if there was a place to pawn it off.

"Jesus is that way." Was all he said to me.

“Okay. He's dead. And I don't think he'd want this, anyway.” I replied.

He laughed at me. "Haven't you read the good book? He'll be resurrected soon and will need all he can get. I'm positive that he'll forgive the dark nature of it."

"So? You can say that, but I've heard that he screams to the heavens and can shoot lightning. So you can understand my hesitation."

"Well, he only does that to help. Now he casts no lightning. His glow is that of a star. One that guides. Everyone can see him create a new direction."

"I've heard that most stars are already dead. Half the fucking sky could be gone. We'd all be lost if we only followed the stars. Would someone behead all the astronomers if that happened? Wonder if he has the power to do that."

So I took a rock and threw it at god.

"What kind of father kills his son and leaves the body's light on? It seems cruel rather than kind."

"Hell of a pass, Jojo." Dio laughed, as they clasped hands, while the immortal hesitated to approach because of the crowds.

"All for naught if you hadn't run it in like you did."

"Watching you drag those defenders, I couldn't just let you down."

"Having finished his studies, Dio is set to graduate with top marks in law. Jojo, meanwhile, has set the faculty afire with his bold thesis on archeology. On and off the field, these two young men are giants. "

'Why is he even talking about that?' M/n rubbed at his ears absentmindedly, only jolting when he heard Jonathan call his name and ‌approach him. At least Jonathan drowned out the announcer.

"M/n, did you see that?" Jonathan watched as the male looked up, a small smile appearing on his face.

"Yeah, the two of you work well together. I bet the play will go down in the school's history." He straightened out, the look on his face vanishing as quickly as it appeared, and Jonathan couldn't help but frown at the reaction. He was only getting more closed off as the year progressed. Was something happening to him behind the scenes?

"Jojo, I think we should tell our father about this victory of ours at once. Both of you, wait for me to finish changing so we can all go home together." Dio called over his shoulder, earning a nod from M/n, and Jonathan gave him a soft nod while his mind raced.

'It's been seven years now since my father welcomed Dio into our home, seven long years. Is Dio really calling my father...father instead of Lord Joestar now? Not even M/n has dropped Sir Joestar from his vocabulary. I smile and treat him as a brother, but in my heart, nothing could be further from the truth. I've cared for M/n since our first meeting and the feeling has only grown...I don't trust anyone more, but why? Why can't I feel anything positive for Dio when he's clearly changed? He's nothing if not affable and smart as a whip...but I just can't forgive him for his early villainies. Still, he's been nothing but a nice guy since. Yet...those incidents with Danny and Erina…could I have imagined them both? They might both be something I've made or changed to fit my own narrative. I have no proof! What a despicable man I've been holding these events over his head all these years. But...M/n shared my anger on those topics, didn't he? He isn't the type to fall for a liar's charm.' Jonathan shook his head as M/n gave him a slight nudge, causing him to startle. "Oh sorry, I was lost in my thoughts."

"No problem." M/n's gaze darted away from the Joestar towards the blond who was back to being swarmed.

"Dio, mightn't you give us a quote about your friendship with Jojo? You seem quite close."

"Write about the team then, all of us."

"Come on, tell us how close you are." A different student chimed, lightly nudging at his shoulder. "And we'd love to hear about that M/n fellow since he's so quiet, even after all these years no one knows that much about him...despite how many young ladies have thrown themselves at him."

"Hmm, should I?" The apparent glee in their voices earned a raised eyebrow from the blond as he crossed his arms, watching them practically shiver at the gossip they were hoping for. Or the stories they might make up if he didn't give them anything of value. 'Friendship, huh? The truth is, I despise this grinning imbecile. I've spent seven years making nice to that Joestar brat, but now that I am of age, I shall bring my plans to fruition. At long last, the Joestar fortune will be mine, and may the devil take anyone who tries to stop me.'

"Come on then, stop playing coy!"

"Sorry, I was just lost in thought. Still, our friendship...? You make me blush." His gaze momentarily darted to M/n and Jonathan quietly talking, alongside how Jonathan would subconsciously shift closer to the more feminine male when anyone grew too loud or close. Like a man protecting his dame. With that in mind, he turned to them with a well natured smile on his face. "Me and Jonathan have been raised as brothers for seven years. Of course, there's no one I'd trust more on, or off, the field. Us playing so well together is merely a byproduct of that upbringing."

"And what of M/n?" The other asked, seeming a bit too interested in the quiet male who stalked the campus like a shadow given form.

"A close friend, to say the least."

"Not a brother?"

"M/n doesn't wish to claim that title, and unless he changes his mind, I won't call him one, but that doesn't change the care I feel for him. My entire time knowing him, I've found him to be highly intelligent, if too soft-spoken. As for the young ladies that throw themselves at him, I wish them all the best, but M/n prefers solitude and knowledge, he has no desire for companionship." The two wrote his words down while Dio lightly smiled, forcing himself to maintain a look of joy. To seem that he was still coming down from the high of victory. Still, he wanted nothing more than to turn his head and watch Jonathan and M/n. To think about the conversations they were having without him. As of late, each one left him with an ache in his chest that he couldn't place and a bright flare of anger. He felt sorry for M/n having to constantly endure Jonathan's ramblings, especially since the gaps in their intelligence was a deep canyon, but despite all of that he couldn't ignore how M/n stopped holding himself so high and graceful, finally letting himself relax, or how his lips curved into a slight smile as he watched Jonathan like a man watching the sunrise for the first time.

One night, as I was washing myself after a night of labor, I found a hole at the base of my left heel. At the base of my hollow leg. What a fool I've been. I crave so disgustingly. So endlessly. Maybe that's how I know that reincarnation is real. If I die and lose this body, then I'll just want another. When the sun finally turns into a hardened rock, I'll just snatch it from the sky between my teeth like a wolf with the leg of a deer. In that moment, I will feel all the pain of being full with none of the satisfaction.

Why? Why? Why? My body keeps changing on me. Sometimes I swear it's a threat.

Did I just miss something that would've given all my pain context? I can sleep nowhere but at home. Behind the glass of this window, the night sky merely reflects the idea of warmth in this room. It leaves me feeling cold. That blood. Jesus Christ. All that blood. Self inflicted. We keep buying chickens just to find them dead days later. And then I clean my room only for it to be dirty days later.

Look at them. If they lived by the sea, they'd only think of the pressure at the bottom. If they lived in the deep of the woods, they'd only think repeatedly of how the wind dancing through the trees reminded them of the sea breeze.

Oh, I never ate this fish. That's wasteful of me, I know. I just got lost. In action. In thoughts. I spend most of my time alone. With no real or clear interests. And then my mind just wanders. All that room causes my mind to just wrap around itself like a large snake around a rabbit. Or something dying. I think a lot about death. Ghosts keep walking into my life. It keeps happening. So often I should invest in a revolving door. When I was a young kid, I used to howl and bark up to the night sky, trying to scare god into coming down from the heavens. I was worried that he'd take my soul while I slept. The fear is still there to this day. It's justified.

…I know more dead things than living. Dead chickens. Pigs and piglets. Cows. Ducks. Deer. Sheep. Dogs. Cats. Loved ones. Car crashes, suicides, shootings, and overdoses. And then I killed a fish and never ate it. Ashes again.

The ride to the carriage was quiet, with the two not really speaking to each other while M/n kept his gaze on the frost forming on the glass windows, along with the flurries of snow falling around the path. He always preferred the cold weather, long ago it meant less work, and now it meant his natural temp would stay warm and not spike randomly, and that his stand would be lax compared to the feral snaps in the height of summer's blistering heat.

"M/n, did you enjoy the game?" Dio keeps his voice low, watching the other blink slowly and realize that he was being spoken to and tilted his head in thought.

"It was good. The school will weep next year after the two of you graduate and they have to find new players." M/n mused, earning a chuckle from Dio and Jonathan as his gaze stayed on the cold snow piling up around the slow-moving carriage.

"Did you know ‌they wanted to hear about you for the school papers?" At that M/n turned and gave Dio a truly confused look that even earned a grin from Jonathan, who was now wondering where exactly Dio was going with this conversation.

"No, why? I don't play." M/n cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly at the question.

"You're quiet. They wanted to hear about what went on in your head, and they wanted to hear about the pretty dames and ladies of nobility that dance around you."

"You've been courting people?" Jonathan asked, seemingly cheerful about the idea, but Dio could easily see how his shoulders dropped slightly or how the smile stopped meeting his eyes. Dio also noted the way M/n looked at him as if hesitant to say the truth now that Jonathan supported it. Would he marry some women if it made Jonathan happy? It made his stomach curl in disgust. To think he followed Jonathan's orders like that mutt he had killed all those years ago.

"No," he answered for M/n. "That's what they were so interested in. So many ladies made the first move, only to be rejected."

"Oh..."

"Why didn't they just ask me? Why you?" M/n muttered the last part, seemingly unwilling to confront Dio about the last question. Not that it mattered. Dio had heard him, and just smiled at him good-naturedly.

"I think they just saw me as the most approachable of us three, or rather the two of us, since they probably thought Jonathan wouldn't know about it. Rightfully so, as we just found out." He gave a simple shake of his head at Jonathan, as if mocking him for not paying attention to his best friend. Something that Jonathan clearly picked up on, even if he didn't think Dio was doing it on purpose.

"Fine. What did you tell them?"

"Merely that you preferred solitude and knowledge to a romantic relationship." M/n relaxed at that, even giving Dio a small smile at the realization that he hadn't spread some rumor about his relations with people. "I also apologized for all the broken hearts left in your wake."

"They barely knew me. How could I break any of their hearts?"

Jonathan wanted to snort at how simply M/n put it. M/n was a force of nature in everything. Every little action. Every little relationship. He stirred them up, tossing them and letting the pieces fall back to the ground, unaware that he had been the one to toss them. Even in college, he had never met another quite like M/n or had anyone stir his soul and emotions quite the way M/n did. Especially now. The fire that burned inside M/n was shown in any of his passionate actions and left a burning sensation on any skin he touched. No, Jonathan could easily believe that M/n had broken every girl's heart in a single sweep because to see M/n at his best was an experience that left even Dio star-struck and wasn't Dio one of the most callous he had seen? At the very least, as he practiced becoming a prosecutor. No, M/n could easily win the gaze of anyone and dazzle them just as fast.

"You're a good man. Why wouldn't they fall for you?"

"I barely knew any of them, Dio. I couldn't name them for you now!"

"Maybe they see something you don't?" Jonathan supplied, watching M/n look between the two, obviously trying to find some argument that would prove his point only to come up empty.

"I...I..."

"Come on," Dio leaned forward and playfully nudged the male's shoulder, watching M/n look at him in surprise. "So you're known as the resident heartbreaker, not the worst thing in the world, and it shouldn't be some terrible regret, by any means. Did you care for any of them?"

"Of course not. I didn't even know them."

"Then there was nothing wrong with you politely rejecting them. Were you rude or cruel to them?"

"No...I don't think so. I mean, I guess I wasn't that invested in any of them, but would that be rude or cruel?" He sounded genuinely confused by it and Dio wanted to laugh at how distant M/n truly was with the very idea of relationships.

"Did you appear disinterested in them?"

"Maybe." M/n quickly looked at Jonathan. "Is that bad? I mean, I didn't know them and most of it happened while I was in the library and they disturbed me."

"You're hopeless." M/n slumped at Dio's remark with a slight groan.

"I can't be that bad, can I?"

"You do sound...hopeless." Jonathan replied, earning a louder groan as the male's gaze went to the window and the snow flurried again.

"You two are terrible to me." For once Jonathan and Dio genuinely laughed together as M/n moved his head so neither of them could see the small smile he had.

I can't sleep. Yet again my thoughts are on the moment I foolishly held a box cutter to myself that February in the city proper. I can't fucking die in this apartment, I thought. This is far too much to pressure a roommate with. I can't die on or under the bridge. I know the people that have been forced to live there. I won't do that to him. I can't die till this year of school is over. I tutor kids on Thursdays. When we walk to get water, one boy will put my hands on the top of his head and keep it there. Still young enough to want the casual affection and not regret it. To not know the negative implications of it. And he is so small. On some level, I am so terrified of how small he is. Every day, I make something. And every day that I make something new, I wonder when I'll make something good enough for me to leave. If I make something truly brilliant, then maybe I'll be remembered as something better than I actually am.

…maybe I'll be forgiven somewhere along the way.

When they reached Sir Joestar, the good humor had died because of the loud coughing coming from him, and M/n shuddered at the reminder of mortality alongside the growing realization that he would soon have to leave them and never return. Like most cursed, he had died in his very early twenties and thus was prevented from being any older. Younger, yes. Older, no. He could be what he had been, but never more than what he had existed as. He won't age when he reaches the age he died. Was it twenty-one? Twenty-two? Older? It was faded and he couldn't remember, but whatever it was, he was reaching it quickly. He'd stop aging, and he'd hit a point where he wouldn't be able to lie it away.

…would he even be here to see Sir Joestar's last days?

"Father, how are you feeling today?" Dio asks, a look of worry appearing on his face that doesn't seem to meet his eyes, not that anyone notices. Their eyes were focused on the older man and how he coughs.

"But for this cough, much improved over yesterday. The doctors say I should be in the hospital." The older man admits earning a tense hiss from M/n as Dio also freezes up.

"Why? I fear it would do you no good." Jonathan's head whips around at Dio as M/n twitches, ‌conflicted. "Hospitals only care about profit. They'd measure you for a shroud ere they saw you cured."

"I have to agree, Sir, though I will admit it's for different reasons." M/n added quickly. "They still do bloodletting at that hospital in town. It would probably be the first thing they recommend. You'd get even sicker with that kind of treatment."

"Hm, then here I shall remain. The comforts of home are curative, like as not. My chest doesn't pain me so, and the swelling has gone down. I'm on the mend."

'It was just a cold. Why has it worsened so?' M/n flinched at the slight whimper that escaped Jonathan, and his gaze darted to his boots as he tried, and failed, to ignore how broken his friend sounded. Jonathan swallowed, feeling M/n slowly nudge at his hand, forcing his fist open before linking their fingers. M/n lightly pressed down twice before he responded in kind. 'I should have studied medicine, not archeology.'

"I heard tell of your victory, stunning bit of teamwork."

"Someone told you about it?" Jonathan asked, losing some of his worry and panic in favor of surprise.

"I got word straightaway from an old college chum."

"Whoever he is, he's fast. I'm glad he wasn't on our opponents' team, or we could have lost." Dio growled, earning a roll of the eyes from M/n who felt Jonathan let go of his hand, earning a mental sigh from him as everyone laughed.

"I'm proud of you, lads. You all turned out so well. Providence is too kind. Dio, I'm so glad you've thrived. Pursue your ambitions, whatever they may be. I will lend you aid in any way I can, my son."

"You rescued me from calamity. Already my debt is more than I can ever repay. You do me too much honor." Dio purred, nodding his head with a warm smile, earning one ‌from the ill man.

"Oh, and don't worry about your bachelorhood M/n. Love can be an abrupt or slow affair. Surely the right dame will enter your life soon enough." The god had been ‌turning on his heel, but flinched and spun back around, allowing everyone to see how his face turned a deep scarlet.

"I'm...That's very...you don't need to...I'm not..." His panicked muttering turned to quiet and frantic when the two siblings laughed.

"Don't worry, father, we already comforted him." Dio's arm hooked around the god's shoulders, earning a slight jolt as the other went silent. "Besides, he's already accepted that he'll be known as the college's heartbreaker."

"I have not! Sir...do not listen to him, he is lying, I am not a...I only...I was very-"

"Dozens of women broken-hearted after they worked up the courage-" The god gave a light hiss, attempting to push Dio away with a low growl, gaze darting back to the bemused man laying on the bed.

"I didn't know any of them. I merely told them I didn't feel the same way. That was all. Dio is lying, he's coated his tongue in silver, and now he's making accusations...all false!"

"The school paper wanted to cover the phenomenon, if one could believe it."

"Dio, please stop harassing M/n." Dio rolled his eyes, but let go of the smaller male, earning a huff from the other. George Joestar gave his ward a warm smile. "You'll find the right one, M/n."

"...thank you." The god muttered, face still dark red.

"Lord Joestar, sorry for my interruption, but your tea is ready."

I don't think you need all of a person to make a ghost. Just take their grief. My youth will forever stay twitching on the steps of my home. The other boot hasn't dropped. It just keeps dancing.

"oh, and don't you look like your mother?"

"I suppose we have the same look in our eyes."

"the same eyes I'd say."

"the same tiredness you mean."

"the same hands."

"yeah, we're the creative type. Hands are merely a necessary sacrifice."

"but your mother was never this angry."

"yeah...well, I had to take something from my father."

Fun fact to anyone who wants to know it. An alcoholic parent is just a parent that doesn't want to be there. An alcoholic parent doesn't exist. Just some fool that wouldn't stay sober. Wouldn't raise a kid.

I will never understand how someone could pour their entire soul into something without expecting anything in return. People say that I can't be a parent because of that. I laughed. There are plenty of reasons that barely counts as one. I mean, look at me. I'm not a father or a future one in any stakes.

‘This secret is mine alone. I can't imagine for what purpose this mask may have been fashioned or by whom, but it belonged to my mother, and so having it near is a comfort, strange as that may seem.’ Jonathan hissed softly as he nicked the edge of his finger with the penknife, watching the spikes extend out of the mask in response. Lifting the mask up, he trailed a finger over the spines, feeling them shudder in response. Almost like a living thing. Packing up his notes, he made his way to the library. "Hah, 'What profits can one make with archeology?' was what Dio said when I started pursuing my major. How like him, yet how true...When I finally outwit this sphinx of a mask, it will be the talk of the archeological world."

While the spines of the mask retracted back into place, Jonathan forced a set of steps into place by the shelf he was looking for.

'But this ‌fascinates me. So far, only I truly know the mechanisms that cause this mask to respond when human blood stains it. Well, given his response to it, ‌M/n had some feeling of what it could do, but he seems keen to ignore the mask whenever it's in the same room as him. Even if this paper doesn't reach the same level as Darwin's theory of evolution, I hope I can make a sensation when I solve all the secrets of this mask.'

Sliding the book into place, he yelped when a heavy box fell from the shelf, sending a series of books scattering across the carpet. Leaning over the railing, he examined the items. "My goodness! At least none of the books landed open...M/n would never let me hear the end of it if any of Father's leather bounds had developed bent and skewed pages. Wait, why is there an old letter amidst all of those books?"

Getting off the steps, he grabbed it and then needed a second to parse the old scratchy lines. Running a thumb over one line he could easily imagine M/n doing the same, narrowing his eyes before gesturing at him.

'Looks like the lines were made with a quill that barely had any ink on the end. Wonder why?'

"D-A-R-I-O. Dario Brando? That's Dio's father. Is this the letter that he sent to my father all those years ago? So this is where it's been. Then that means this was written when he was on the verge of death. But what would one even write when on the verge of death? Still, this is seven years old. I can't imagine that anyone would be upset with me reading it."

No, no, I imagine that love at first sight is something false. I don't want to see someone and just have the universe make it all click for me. I want to see someone and see parts of them that make me remember what I was told to look for in a good romantic partner. Every revolution will then start and end with his lips pressed against my flesh. When he asks what he is, I will lean into his lap and tell him ‌he's every little thing I've ever wanted in human form.

"Many thanks to you, Master Dio. The years betray me. Climbing the stairs is much harder than it was before." The butler had been apologizing and thanking him since he asked Dio, although the blond had been doing this for a while now. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Dio politely waved the other off before he could continue to apologize.

"No, no, don't worry about it. Just delivering Father some medicine is no big deal. At your age, the steps are becoming difficult, again no big deal." At the halfway mark of the stairs, he reached into his pocket and switched the medicine with a nearly identical pill and continued up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, he didn't have much time to hide his smirk before Jonathan practically shot out of the library with wide eyes. He watched the male skid to a stop, nearly tripping over his own feet, before looking up at him. "Is something wrong?"

"Dio! That’s father’s medicine…”

The blond raised an eyebrow at that. “It is. He’s due for his next dosage.”

“All this time, you’re the one who’s been bringing it to him…?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“This letter, your father sent it to mine. Guess what it says; ‘Your lordship, sickness has laid me right low. It’s the end of me, whatever it is. My chest hurts. My fingers’re all swole up, and I can’t breathe, but for all this coughing.’ Those are the same symptoms as father’s, blow for blow!” Tilting his head to the side, he watched as Jonathan only grew angrier before holding up an old letter and waving it in his direction. “No way is this mere coincidence, Dio!”

“What are you trying to say, Jojo?” Setting the tray down, he turned and reached for the letter, only for Jonathan to quickly pull it out of his reach.

“I’m having a doctor look at this powder!” Moving to the table, Dio quickly grabbed Jonathan's arm before he could take the poison away.

“Jojo, if you think I would poison father, then from this day forward, you and I…are friends no more! Would you risk that all on some paranoid delusion?"

"Why are the two of you screaming at each other right by Sir Joestar's room?" The pair stopped as M/n exited Sir Joestar's office, now his, as he completed the many jobs that had belonged to the older man, both watching him raise an eyebrow at the position he had found them in.

"It's nothing M/n. Now Jonathan, return the medicine to the tray, and stop these foolish delusions."

‘Try as I might, I can’t look Dio in the eye. It’s because I lack proof. All I have to go on are my superstitions. If he can convince M/n, then Father may die.’

“Now, then, if you put that medicine back on the tray, I’ll be willing to forget about your lapse in judgment.” Wrenching his arm free and successfully taking the poison, Jonathan shoved Dio back and took his own step back to create more distance between the two of them.

“Dio, there’s only one way you’re going to convince me. Swear to me that the contents of this are safe. Do it in Dario's name. Swear to me on Dario’s honor as a gentleman. Do that, and I’ll never bring up this moment again.”

'Swear on his father...?' M/n stared at the hint of the pill nearly being crushed in Jonathan's hand. 'That seems to resemble the medicine I bought for him, but there's something off about it. Oh, I see. Dio's playing to his nature the only way he knows how to...and I either didn't notice or I tried not to. Dannazione!'

‘If my hunch proves true, his father’s honor is the one lie that will catch in his throat.’ Jonathan glared at the blond who had gone still. As M/n found his gaze darting between the two as if he was watching a tennis match. “Say it! What are you waiting for?”

“I s-swear…” Shaking his head, Dio bared his teeth at Jonathan, looking both desperate and feral. “How can I swear on the honor of a man who didn’t have any?! He deserved to die! Swear, you say…as if it were ever that simple. Is that really how you define truth? Someone willing to play the gentleman's card and wear whatever thing you come up with? I refuse! How’s that for the truth, Jojo?!”

"Dio, I may not know the situation that led to this, but I know enough. If you can't swear on your father, would you be able to swear on your late mother?" The blond stiffened up, wide eyes darting towards M/n, for once his expression didn't alter when looking at the other, instead he just seemed even more panicked.

"My...my mother...?" Jonathan had to strain to hear the whisper that escaped his lips, and he watched as Dio shook it off as quickly as it appeared. Instead, he lunged, his fist colliding with Jonathan's cheek, sending him back a step.

“You just gave me all the proof I needed, Dio. Upon hearing his name, you lashed out. I don’t know what he could have done that moved you to such murderous rage, but murder him, you surely did. You didn’t even take the opportunity M/n offered you.” However, as he moved his hand towards the male's eye, Jonathan instead grabbed his wrist with both hands twisting his arm, earning a soft hiss from the blond. “You hurt father. Never again, Dio.”

M/n jolted up a look of genuine shock crossing his face as Jonathan easily lifted the male over his shoulder and tossed Dio into the table where the tray had been set, crushing it and then breaking the railing sending Dio crashing to the first floor with a loud thud. Despite himself, M/n winced at the noise.

"...ugh...damn your eyes."

Hearing ‌the broken railing creak, he looked back up and found Jonathan staring down at him. Despite the distance, he could easily see, or perhaps imagine, the look of disgust on his face. He mentally wondered if M/n would appear by the railing to look down at him, and if his expression would be the same, but the male didn't move into view. Finally, Jonathan spoke, his voice clear in the silence of the main room with the only noises attempting to contest it was Dio's own shuddering breath and racing heartbeat.

“Of course you’ve been planning to murder him for years now. I knew it. I knew that you were playing false with us, but now your villainy is over. Once I’ve learned what this is, I’m taking it to the police straight away.”

"Dead...you hear me, Jonathan? I'll end you for this. You're dead." With a sound that seemed to be a mix between a growl and whimper, Dio pushed his torso up using his elbows. A feat that took more than a few tries. It had also taken a moment for him to register the pain as he finally filled his lungs with air again. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, an action he had to repeat two more times, he jerked his head up, unable to see either Jonathan or M/n from his position. His vision swirled and black spots danced. 'No...not now. If the police get involved now, I'll have to start over. My target hasn't changed...I need to get the family fortune...and I need...never mind. I need to make this the perfect crime and any doctors looking over the poison will probably miss how nefarious it actually is due to it not being of western origin. It will take plenty of time for them to get proof. He's...he's looking down at me. How dare he look down at me as if I'm the mud beneath his shoes! Is M/n thinking the same? Or can he not bear to look at me anymore?'

Shaking his head, he pulled himself up, ignoring the waves of pain and dizziness that came with it. The black spots grew as he slowly blinked, hoping they would fade on their own. A wave of nausea hit him that only grew worse when a set of doors to the servant's chambers shot open and a few servants appeared in a panic. The wave of noise earned another wince, and there seemed to be a ringing in his ears. Were they always so loud?

"Master Dio, what's happened? Are you alright?"

It took a second for him to register it.

"Ah...it's nothing to worry about. I just...slipped and fell through the railing. We'll call someone tomorrow about...watch your step if you go up to the second floor. Tell everyone else." Every word felt forced out of his mouth and he was still swaying on his feet, as if a strong wind could blow him away. He could feel Jonathan's gaze still on him, but Dio didn't dare look back up. Instead, he forced himself to limp towards a room that he knew had bandages and medicine. 'Damn it. Their fortune was within my grasp. Was it fate that Jojo found out when he did? No. It was that letter. He vexes me even now. He drove her to an early grave. Knowing that Cur’s blood flows through my veins, it’s enough to drive me mad! Sir Joestar lives for now. Still, I can fix this...I can fix this...to think some letter from the past would get in my way right when I'm on the verge of success. Too late to back out now. Too late. Think...think...think...three days. Three days. It should take Jojo three whole days to find proof of my actions. I have to finish this in three days.'

'And what are you planning now, Dio? It doesn't matter. Whatever you do, I'll be here to fight you. I am Jonathan Joestar of House Joestar. I won't let you get away with any of your schemes ever again.'

The smell of earth, blood, herbs, and paint clings to my skin like a second layer of clothing. Some call it more human. Or that it proves you're human, maybe even more so when compared to others. You don't get it. Then it changes. Now you smell of ozone, blood, and a spice you don't know the name of.

You may call me insane, but have you ever seen the man that brings the very sun to its knees ‌every night?

And what man truly knows everything? What man would use it to help? What man truly knows the difference between faith and blindly waiting for something or someone?

I love when those I've loved apologize for being hard to love. That they wish they were an easier person to want. How cute. As if I would ever desire something like that. I want nothing easy. I crave a challenge. Besides, as if I'm that easy to love.

Hand in unlovable hand.

"Master Jojo, what on earth are you shouting about? Is everything okay? We heard a dreadful crash." The head butler turned the moment he pushed open the door and moved to allow M/n entry, the male carefully holding a tray of tea, and despite himself Jonathan wished he could stay as calm and level-headed as M/n was. Though he could see how M/n's hands trembled when he set the tray down and poured his father a glass.

"The railing gave way, but everything's fine now. I’ll be back from London in a few days, father. ‘Til then, accept medicine only from the hands of these doctors and no one else.” Stepping back, he allowed the team of doctors entry.

“Master Jojo said he doesn’t want me to bring it up? But you do really not trust us to take care of him? I’m so ashamed.”

“Yes, we will do as Jojo has instructed us. His reasons are a mystery to me, but I trust the boy with my life. Still, Will M/n be going with you?”

“I'll be staying here to continue filling out forms for trade, though once Jonathan's finished I may ‌retrieve him, if all seems well. And I’m sorry that we’re currently unable to explain what’s happening. Dio, to my knowledge, will also stay here until Jonathan returns.” M/n's voice was flat as he set the teacup down and then took a step back, his arms crossed behind his back.

"T-thank you, father. We won't let you down." Lowering his head, he followed M/n out of the room and then had the male wordlessly pass him a coat and hat. "M/n, please speak to me. You're obviously just as upset as I am about this. You shouldn't lock it all away."

"Jonathan, do you think Sir Joestar may resent me for never considering the both of you family?" M/n looked away, seemingly unwilling to make eye contact, as he played with a cufflink absentmindedly. Jonathan froze at the question. Out of everything M/n could've said, he wouldn't have expected that.

"Of course not. He's understood your views on the matter since you spoke with him about it." All the other did was give a hum in response, seeming not to believe him. His gaze remained on the floor. For once, his eyes were nearly a solid E/c with no gold to speak of. It only made him feel worse. "Have you been worrying about this the entire time?"

"Since he grew sick." Without thinking, he pulled M/n into a hug, feeling him tense, and then went completely limp in his grasp. "I...I know that me refusing to claim him as a father and you as my brother might've made it seem as if I couldn't care less about the two of you...but I..."

"Neither of us ever thought of you as uncaring."

"...but what if we can't cure this and he...and he dies thinking that I..."

"He doesn't think that, and I'm going to find a cure." Pulling back this time, M/n actually looked up at him and he gave the male a smile. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course."

"Then trust me to fix this." M/n raised an eyebrow before sighing and pulling him in a hug, earning a confused hum.

"Stay safe out there."

Every day I'll come to you wearing three different eyes. None of them will shed a single tear. I've finally figured it out. Sometimes we can only love a ship for being a wreck.

Yet again I make a bad habit. Even if I want to break it, I barely try. It takes too much effort and I am so tired. In the city I kept on finding and fucking men that treated me like an animal. This inner mind is a sheet of black-colored glass and if I fell, the floor would shatter and I'd fall forever.

People never want permission to touch me. Before they end up touching me.

"Your neck is so small."

Every little thing is predatory.

"So tiny. You're so lean and fragile. Like a wild animal in a hot way, of course! Like a leopard!"

People like to think it's appropriate. People like to think it's cute.

I wish I was taller. Broader. Scarier. Then it wouldn't be so cute.

Leaning back in the carriage Jonathan opened his hand and stared down at the medicine he had stolen from Dio. "With how bad father's symptoms have become, I'll definitely need to find an antidote for him. But I'll protect him."

Meanwhile, the head doctor chuckled as he looked out the window and watched the carriage vanishing. Flashing his patient a polite smile, he covered the window with the curtain. "The two of them seemed to be in a hurry about getting Jonathan on the road. I wonder what that was about. Still, Jonathan and M/n seem to have grown into a rather reliable pair of youths. Didn't Jonathan used to be a rather...unreliable boy? Even his features seemed to have changed drastically. M/n seems to have stayed the same, still as quiet as ever."

"Yes," having another cough that racked his chest, George managed a weak smile. "That was why I used to get so mad at him. M/n, ‌seems to only be becoming more withdrawn."

'I wonder what's troubling them so much?'

And the very thought of him on the bed with his legs spread like an easel with blank canvas makes my mouth water. I've always been ready for you. Are you ready for me? I mean, it's not as if I want you to somehow fill the so-called 'broken' parts of me. I'm already complete on my own. I can light an entire city with my passion. My eternal flame. I want you. i want us to burn the whole city down and make out on the ashes.

One shouldn't try to turn a forest fire into a stream. Mind your hands. I leave behind scorching marks. my hands will burn your skin. My tongue will leave trails of ash along the line of your neck. I will never be cool and gentle against your skin. A silent flame with no crackling embers will still burn, especially when it blazes blue.

You smell of honey and lavender.

I'd like a taste of it.

Don't mind me.

"Woah, woah!" With a harsh pull of the reins, the two horses skidded to a stop, causing the carriage to sway and a yelp to sound from inside the vehicle. Poking his head out a moment later, Jonathan noted the scared expression on the driver's face.

"What's wrong, coach? Why did we stop here?"

"I'm...I'm...sor...sorry si...sir...I...I won't go any further, no, I can't go any further," with a shaking arm he gestured towards Ogre Street and flinched subconsciously. "It's dangerous! To even think about continuing is dangerous. This is not a place for gentlemen to enter! An outsider like yourself might not know this, but to the locals, this place has been known as cursed for over a hundred years. Whenever there's an epidemic, it always strikes here, and it's called Ogre Street."

"Oh, I know." Stepping out of the carriage, he ignored the scared look he received from the driver. 'I've already checked the poison Dio was trying to give my father in the university's laboratory, but they could not properly analyze it. So there's a strong chance this is an oriental poison, since Dio lived in London before joining us, so he probably got it somewhere around here. No, it has to be here. I have to both find proof of his actions and an antidote.'

"Thank you. I'll walk the rest of the way."

"Stop, please, this isn't a place you should go, Mister Joestar!"

"I know that, but I have a reason that forces me to go. I don't care what the costs are." With that, he turned and vanished down the darkened path.

'M/n, please give me luck.'

Every disaster that's ever followed me tends to relate back to a man with a good smile. I always hear him say something nice. Those smiles always get me to pause and question whatever life choices I made that prevented me from seeing it until this point. I tend to jump thinking that a guy with a pretty smile will catch me. What a hopeless desire. A fool with a heart that desires so much. A man whose tongue doesn't know the language of love. That kind of thing will be the death of me.

Someone told me I deserved better. How I shouldn't be caught in a lie because of a pretty little smile. Like every time someone tries to point out my weakness, I choose to snap and bare my fangs.

"He still loves me."

All they ever do is look at me with such defeated eyes. Clearly, they think I'm a lost cause. As if they're my parents coming to terms with the fact that I'm doing something that will hurt me down the line. I don't know why they care so much. I'm used to making bad decisions and getting hurt. I'm not going to break at another heartbreak, you know.

"You know it doesn't mean a fucking thing to me if he loves you or not. All I care about is if he shows it to you."

I didn't like that answer.

But I couldn't do anything about it.

"Dio," the god enters the room like a ghost with the sound of his voice sending the male in a slight panic before he realizes who it is. His mind hums and races like an electric network. Dio's pupils are dilated. Had they been like that before Jonathan threw him through the railing? He feels a pang of something distinctly bitter in chest along with a wave of smugness that doesn't belong to him. His stand shifts under his skin. Despite the cold normally keeping it lax and tame, it wanted nothing more than to lash out, mostly because of his current emotional state.

"Citius venit malum quam revertitur." A sudden tug followed by a forked tongue brushing against the lobe of the god's ear. Had that happened back when he was young and painfully mortal, the sudden tug of his stand pulling itself free of his skin and speaking would've made him startle, but now all he did was move to sit at the chair by Dio's desk moving slowly so Dio could follow his movements.

"Astra inclinant, sed non obligant." His response was done absentmindedly and softly enough that no one would even notice. Instead, his focus was on watching the blond blink a few times before his gaze finally landed firmly on him, though his pupils hadn't changed. Had he hit his head? No, the real question was likely something akin to when had Dio not hit his head during the fall? "You don't look so good. Are you alright?"

"...well, I stopped coughing up blood." Dio scoffed, yet his voice lacked his usual bravado, making the feeling in the god's chest deepen. "And you've taken Jonathan's side."

"Is that a surprise? I've always taken Jonathan's side in these things, and I don't know why it would be any different this time. Besides, you refused to swear on your mother's name, that was answer enough." Dio laughs. Hard. For a moment he swears ‌Dio is swaying until he stops with a strange gasp. The sound is out of place with Dio. Unfitting. The god feels as if he missed a joke.

"I wonder if Jonathan would see you as a saint after he finds out that you've always known about my plans."

"Why would he believe you over me?" Dio laughed again at that.

"We've always been cut from the same cloth, you know. Always. I wonder if things were reversed. I'd be the one wasting my time by sitting at Jonathan's side."

"I don't consider it a waste, despite your clear opinions on that matter. Now, why can't you just behave and let fate attend to its own matters? Or perhaps I should call the officers early and tell them all your sins?" His voice remained cold and indifferent throughout the question despite his own set of thoughts on the subject. As long as he could get Dio to relax and hopefully not provoke whatever head injury he had developed since his fall. While there were times Dio had reminded you of a lion, the statement had never been more true than seeing him now with wild, messy hair and that unhinged look in his eyes.

"And you claim to be ignorant of why you carry the devil's name."

"If you say that, then you're just choosing to ignore everything else about my tattoos. What of god's name? Or perhaps the call of judgment that runs down my spine? Or the symbols down my leg? Claiming that only one of them matters is to purposefully cripple the others and the one that you held in such high regard‌."

"You ask for judgment, but not justice?"

"To call them two different goals would insult them, don't you think? A murderer receiving judgement leads to justice."

"And what if the systems are corrupt?"

"Then you force it to change." A flash of Ajamu before his death made the god shudder. As of late, his thoughts on his own status and past were becoming more and more common. Maybe it is related to him feeding his own stand more often? Either way, those old visions were something he was becoming more and more familiar with. Either way, he ignored the image and focused on Dio, who seemed to doubt your words.

"You say that as if it's easy."

"Trust me when I say that's not my intention." Flashes of broken bodies and your own bones snapping under blows filled your senses. You could easily hear someone laughing, but you pushed it to the back of your mind. "The best things I find require the most work. Change is high on that list."

The look M/n received didn't ‌calm his nerves.

I realize I don't remember you that well. You were always so distant. I completely forgot that you were part of this relationship.

You say; "it doesn't matter. If fate really wanted us to be together, then we'll meet back up and everything will come back together."

I wonder...were you always that naïve? if you really believed that something as fickle and cruel as fate worked like that. As if that figure lays across the clouds and smiles down like a mastermind with a chessboard and then they'd be kind enough to put two pawns together again. As if all our choices mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Now, who on earth would teach you that? Come on, tell me. You seem to think that you've been given a heart to feel and a mind to think, and somehow that doesn't matter. Or that it means nothing. That all your actions do not define who you are or who you'll become.

I want to scream at you; "are you a fucking idiot? This isn't about fate. This is about us! We're the only people that can control what happens with our relationship!"

I don't do that. I sit there and listen to you talk about our relationship as if it doesn't matter.

Why did I even bother?

"What? Last night Jojo just...took off in a carriage on his own? To the university and then Ogre Street, you said?" Dio took the offered top hat from one man, noting how all the servants seemed uneasy. 'Seems as if M/n really put the fear of god in them.'

"Y-yes. I desperately tried to stop him, but both he and Master M/n were very adamant about him leaving. Ah, please don't tell Lord Joestar! We mustn't worry him."

'Hm, I may not have to dirty my hands with him. He's likely either dead or dying.'

"Well, I'll be leaving then."

Please don't be a fool and mistake my salt for sugar and vice versa.

There was one guy that I never liked all that much. Would only tell me ‌he loved me when my hands were slipping down his pants and trailing over the side of his hips. Guess I was the fool. Did I even know the difference between want and need at that point? Either way, what I felt about him was want and not need.

People like to claim I'm a rose. Beautiful, but get too close and I'll make you bleed.

"This is...troublesome." His appearance was losing its humanity, the hints of his godly nature finally manifesting themselves. His skin was suddenly losing more pigment. He had noted this one previously, but justified it by his long hours inside and away from the sun. His hair that he had grown out was developing a slight sway no matter how little air flow was present, and now both his canines and nails were growing longer no matter what he did with them.

The god ripped all four canines out, not even a hiss escaping his lips as the forks of his tongue instinctively tried to fill the gaps created. A moment later, the new fangs forced themselves free. It wasn't hard to force his regeneration to go at its normal state rather than the slow thing he had been using since he got here, and the new canines were even sharper. Not human teeth. The fangs of a cobra.

Fitting.

How had the god forgotten that he himself was venomous?

I hope ‌you know that whatever man you find will only serve as a reminder that you lost me. Any man will be a bootleg version of what I was in our relationship. If he writes poems, then none of them will hit you as hard in the stomach as the ones i wrote for you back then. I hope every word I wrote and said in your presence will be engraved on your brain and marrow till the end of your time. Nothing he does will excite you like me, and we both know this. That will ruin it all. How could he love a man who is so busy loving someone else that won't come crawling back?

Turning yet another corner to see nothing distinct, Jonathan sighed as he looked at the face-like carving on the dead end road. “Another dead end.”

The snow field shifted, causing Jonathan to tense and brace himself. A black blur shot out of the snow pile and he subconsciously took a step back.

“That cat...it was eating a puppy…”

The sound of footsteps against the snow drifts caused him to turn his head and spot three figures charging towards him. Only one, a lad dressed in clothing that reminded him of Native American garb, seemed to possess a weapon. A lone dagger. The other two, while built strongly, only seemed to have their fists. Maybe this would be an easy and quick encounter?

'Never underestimate an opponent coming at you Jonathan, just because you can't see a threat doesn't mean it isn't there. Always be guarded against the man that stands confidently but bears no arms. Especially given your size and build. No hunter charges an ox confidently with nothing available and no plan. Or at least no smart hunter.'

Jonathan nearly smiled despite the moment at hand. How like M/n to look at the glass half-empty and then drill all his own lessons into his head. It was the only reason he had passed some of his classes due to how strict yet patient the male could really be when he wanted to make sure you knew something.

'Prepare for the worst and hope for the best? Of course, I can do this M/n. I promised you...you trust me, so I'll come back with the antidote.' He adjusted his footing without thinking, noting how the snow would slow his steps.

"You do the honors, Tattoo!" The one in the center called his voice filled with raw glee, earning a feral laugh from the one with the blade, Tattoo, he assumed.

"Right!"

“Use that shiv of yours to slice him open. I want his guts for garters.”

"Ogre Street…aptly named." The male jumped and swung the blade down. He spotted his reflection shift and alter as the dagger was brought down, and without thinking, Jonathan caught the blade in his hand, wincing at the hot flash of pain. M/n would surely snap at him for doing that, but it got the male to stop in his tracks.

“Check out this idiot! He grabbed my blade! In all my days, I’ve never seen the like. Ha! Stuck, ain’t ya?” The male grinned at him, or more of a leer, as Jonathan shifted one of his legs. An action that went seemingly unnoticed. “One quick yank of the knife, and they’ll be picking your fingers out of the snow for a fortnight.”

'Do you know what the one good part of Dio spreading rumors about me is, Jonathan? It makes those idiots who like to heckle me scared to get too close. All I have to do is snap my teeth and say something in Italian. They think I'm saying something in Latin, those idiots! Intimidation is a great tactic to use, even if the reasons behind it aren't that pleasant.'

"Do it."

"Eh?" Jonathan leaned his face in, earning a confused whimper from Tattoo.

“Try it, then. The moment you pull, my foot will kick out at your groin with all the force of a sledgehammer.” The look of pure shock he received made him frown. “I’m willing to see our transaction through. Are you, Sir? I’m fighting to protect my family from those who wish it harm. I doubt very much that your resolve is equal to mine.”

"Bah, who do you think you are, brat? This kick will send you to the afterlife-"

With a swing of his hand, Jonathan sent the Asian male skidding back into the snow in a crumpled heap. Vaguely, he noted that he had knocked out a few of the male's teeth and that his blood was turning the pile of snow beneath his hand a deep scarlet. He raised a hand and kicked Tattoo back into the snow alongside his comrade. “That’s quite enough. Now tell me, one of you, where can I find an Asian apothecary?”

Neither gave him an answer, and with a pained sigh, he let go of the dagger. It took a second to remove it from his flesh, allowing it to join the bloodied snow beneath his open palm. Turning his head, he stared at the last man currently standing; blond with a bowler hat. Seeing his blond hair, Jonathan couldn't help but think about Dio making all his actions feel too slow. He needed to be moving faster. He needed to get home as soon as possible.

“Tough talk. If you’re looking to lose body parts, do stick around. Observe.” Jonathan froze as the male tossed his bowler hat up in the air leading to him watching stunned as his hat changed to have blades in place of the cloth brim with the strips of fabric peeling themselves off and landing on the ground while the hat landed back on his head. “I’ll mince ya right finely with a tip of the hat. And now, we dance.”

“I have to find that apothecary, no matter the cost.”

“Don’t tell me this here’s your first proper dust-up! If you mean to block like that, it’ll be your last one, too.” Tossing the hat, Jonathan retaliated by kicking the knife at the male's torso, and then felt the blades of the hat embedded into his arm, shredding his sleeve and hitting something that produced a terrible sound. “Ha! Cut ya straight to the bone, looks like.”

“Granted, I didn’t think you’d hoof the shiv at me like that, but my chapeau still hit its mark.” However, the blond stopped laughing rather quickly and realized that Jonathan had only braced himself at the moment of impact and was now charging towards him. Arms crossed. The hat is still fully embedded in his skin, with rivets of blood running down his skin and the torn shreds of his sleeve. "Eh?"

'Of course, pain will always be a problem. Or so I'm told. Huh, don't give me that look. It was just a joke. Yes, I know what jokes are and I do make them occasionally! Anyway, you need to push past the most painful strikes, otherwise you'll be injured and without advantage.'

Rearing back, Jonathan lashed out with a kick, barely feeling the impact of his foot on the blond's face, sending the male flying back into the snow. ‘Now I know why he weren’t defending himself better. Fingers, hands, legs, he don’t care one whit what he loses. It’s as if his resolve runs deeper than pain or fear. I took the lad for an easy mark. Guess I’ve been right disabused of that notion.’

"Ugh...he was right. It ‌hit bone." It took him a second to find the correct way to grab the bladed hat, especially with the gash on his hand from catching the dagger, but eventually he pulled the embedded blade out and quickly let it join everything else scattered in the snow. Turning his head, he noted more and more figures coming out of the woodwork, causing him to flinch back. 'Were we really that loud? I...I can't possibly fight all of them off, find the antidote, and then make it home in time!'

“That’s enough, lads!” Pulling himself up, the blond screamed at the crowd, which came to a sudden halt. “I won’t let a single one of ya lay a finger on that gentleman there.”

“But why?”

“Tell me something. Strong as a bull, you are. It’s plain to see. You coulda shove my head in with that foot of yours, but you went easy on me, didn’t you?”

“I came here for the sake of my father. Not only that, but I promised a dear friend of mine that his faith in me was well founded. You have a family, people who expect you to return from this dark business. It is not my place to cause them grief.”

‘He means it, don’t he? How’d this fella survive so long? Wait,’ turning his head, Speedwagon noticed his companions pulling themselves free of the snow. “He spared my mates’ lives, just like he did mine. I like the cut of his jib. Sure, he’s naïve, but he’s a gentleman through an’ through, this one.’ Speedwagon rose to his feet with a groan. “I wanna know the name of him who spared me.”

"Jonathan Joestar."

“Well, pleased to make your acquaintance. If it’s Asian concoctions, you’re looking for mind your back. That druggist is one sly customer.”

"You know him?!"

"Aye, and to make up for what me and my mates did to you...I, Speedwagon, will guide you to his store personally."

'Though I can't imagine you struggling for long on your own, even in a fight. Remember what I said all those years ago when Erina left that basket and handkerchief? You're a hero, and above that, you're a gentleman with a noble heart. People would be fools to ignore it. You will get allies when you need them most.'

The bitter taste of black coffee will remind you of every bad thing that led up to you sitting alone in a café watching the sunset. It will make you shudder and feel like shit. Hell, you may even shed a tear, but you won't stop drinking. You'd rather have a bad taste left in your mouth than be left without.

"Sir, I've made a pot of herbal tea and I finished our dealings with the west branch." M/n had forced himself to hide any sign of weakness. Honestly it had been easy to spend more time than usual on his appearance given that going with his normal schedule had only made him more aware that both Jonathan and Dio were away, making him feel off to be in such a silent home. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle on his clothing.

"M/n, how kind of you to bring me some. Would you be willing to sit with me and chat?" He sounded better today, the god noted as he nodded and set the pot and cups down and pulled a chair closer to the bed. He pulled himself up with less difficulty as well.

"The tea is far better with conversation I've found." Talking still felt weird with his canines having changed to fangs, but he could work past it.

"Indeed, it is," watching him pour the two cups, George noted how he clenched his fists till the skin turned even paler. "I'm sorry for putting so much stress on you. When you started taking business, I assumed I'd be well enough that you'd only have to shadow me till you were done with your studies, but it seemed fate had other plans."

M/m frowned at that and mentally George berated himself for mentioning fate when that word was clearly taboo to him, but ‌the male took a sip of his own glass and gave a weak smile. "I suppose it did. Another tally to my endless streak of bad luck."

"You shouldn't think so badly of yourself."

"I ‌try not to, Sir, but history seems to suggest that I have rather bad luck, all things considered. But now's not the time for self pity or loathing. I'm here for you, Sir, not for me. Are you feeling any better? I know the doctors we chose were more or less last-minute choices, but they were all some of the best we could afford."

"I'm getting better, and while I don't know your reasoning behind suddenly hiring them, I appreciate it. But I need to ask you this before I forget; is Dio alright?"

"Dio? Of course he is. May I ask what brought on that question?"

"I haven't seen him since you all returned home from school."

"He and Jonathan both headed to London for their own goals, but they should return at around the same time. In a few hours at most." He stared down at his glass, watching the tea swirl as he continued to tilt the cup back and forth. "But when I last saw them, both were in...good health."

"That's all I can hope for, and what about you?"

"Me?" M/n raised an eyebrow at the question, a look of pure confusion crossing his face, earning a sigh from the 'older' male. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Sir."

"Are you happy M/n?" He flinched at that.

"I'm...I'm..."

"Are you at least satisfied?"

'Satisfied...? When was I last satisfied?' Another image of Ajamu flashed in front of the god's eyes. The moment right before the god died. 'Oh, yeah, that sounds right, or I guess it feels right. But how would I explain to you that the last real feeling of satisfaction I had that I know was genuine was when I killed a god? What could I do to even chase that high? To see a god's eyes widen in fear before their eternity ends, to pull your hands away and watch the blood drip down your fingertips, the moment before everything ends and you become immortal. But to say anything about that would make me little more than a monster, wouldn't it?'

"I'm...I'm content."

And now...more than ever before, I want to save you all from the beast I've become.

But I'm selfish, I suppose.

The alleys of London were mostly silent minus a stray cat hissing as the drunken figure of Dio Brando staggered against a wall, nearly dropping the bottle he was holding‌. Still despite himself, he forced the bottle back to his lips and tipped his head back.

‘God...something's been wrong with me recently! All my emotions are running wild, this pain deep in my chest! Why? No, no...I know why. It's that damn M/n's fault...or Jojo's…or both! Everything that's gone wrong can be traced back to the both of them! No matter. I’m sure Jojo’s laying dead in some alley by now. Did he find the apothecary? Yet with Jojo dead, M/n should lose any reason he has to oppose me, but that’s what worries me! He couldn't have found proof of the poison...or has he? Which is it!?’

Leaning against the wall, he forced himself to swallow more of the drink, already feeling as if he was about to throw it all up before the end of the night. HIs vision hadn't stopped blurring since he hit his head and some part of him knew that the booze wasn't helping him at all. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, taking a slow breath. He felt a hand gently trail over his cheek. Leaning into the touch, he hummed at the sensation of the person's thumb slowly making a circle on his cheek. The repeated motion caused his shoulders to slump. Forcing his eyes open, the first thing he saw was a shade of E/c with gold tracing and then nothing. He flinched and swore that he heard a familiar scoff.

‘'What's wrong with me? And...and...this booze isn't helping me at all! Look at me, swilling it down. Nothing but a drunken fool, just like my bastard father. Damn it! I can't stop drinking and now I'm seeing things.’

'Then you force it to change. Trust me when I say that's not my intention. The best things I find require the most work. Change is high on that list.'

Why...why was he even thinking about that right now? As if people could simply force change without tricks and evidence. Without thinking, he pressed a hand to his forehead but found himself unable to properly tell his own temperature. M/n wasn't here. He was still in the manor. There was no way that M/n would come all the way here to help him. M/n would've only left the manor to make sure that Jojo hadn't got himself killed. But when he looked up, he froze. Sitting on the railing by the river was M/n, or rather someone that looked exactly like him. His hair was wilder, seeming to sway despite there being no harsh breeze and his eyes were brighter, a solid gold with thin black slits for pupils, and the outfit he wore revealed his arms, something he never did to openly showcase all his tattoos from the X's and bands to Dio and Diavolo. He was also grinning, showcasing fangs that resembled a cobra.

"What?"

No, no, he was just imagining this. He had way too much to drink and was imagining things. That's it. Pushing himself off the wall, he nearly staggered and fell over. He crossed the path and, just as he imagined; he went right through the male who completely vanished. Shaking his head, the male slid a hand into his coat, tracing over the mask with a fingertip.

"No, no, I'm fine."

Pushing himself away from the railing, he staggered and continued on his path, occasionally feeling the sensation of something brushing against him as if someone were trying their best to match him step for step. He barely even noted the two people until he pushed past them.

“Watch yourself! Or have you no respect for your elders, boy? Just look at the baby toddling around past bedtime!”

“Look at the man when he’s talking! Didn’t your old man teach you, right?”

Despite himself, he turned, that familiar heat sparking through his veins, and he smashed the bottle into the bastard's face without thinking. He shudders at the feeling of glass shards going everywhere and the man barely being able to make a sound due to him slamming it in the man's mouth.

"Ack-!" The sound he makes is pathetic. Dio wants to scoff at the male, but all he does is raise an eyebrow at the pair. Mocking. Now that's lashed out, and because of the heat not dying out, he wants nothing more than to strike them both down. Some part of him, or perhaps something else entirely, hums and wants nothing more than to prove something.

“My god…Just for that, I’m gonna take your face clean off ya!” The other howls like a broken dog. Like what that mutt would've sounded like if he hadn't tied the muzzle shut with wires as it burned alive. He pulls out a dagger. He knows the ‌dagger by heart, he had bought his first at a young age, and had stolen his first even younger. Behind the pair is that altered version of M/n watching. Is he still grinning? Dio doesn't know. He cares more than he admits and yet not at all.

“Oh, your threat has me quaking in my boots, you old guttersnipe.” He tilts his head, even sticking out his tongue as a taunt. “How will I escape this moment of mortal peril? How about…we use this? It’s meant for Jojo, but you’ll make a fine guinea pig.”

“Just die already!” He lunges with the dagger, but all Dio does is dodge it. As if he wasn't raised in these slums and learned through scar and broken bone how to survive. He grabbed the male's hand, forcing the dagger into the first man's throat and pressing the mask onto the male's face.

“Let’s see what you can do!” The gurgle of a dying man filled his ears and he could only imagine how feral his grin was as the blood splattered onto the mask, extending the spikes. The image or twisted version of M/n looked disappointed in him with his lip slightly downward and eyes narrowed, and he nearly waited for the male to cross his arms. He doesn't have long to wait before he has to step back and raise an arm to cover his eyes. “W-what is that light?!”

The mask is glowing, and he swears ‌he can hear the ghost...or...or whatever it is hissing. The spikes retract, the light fades, and the corpse falls to the ground. Now there were two dead bodies.

“All of that spectacle for nothing?” He kicks the body, hearing the neck crack from the blow and getting not even a sign that the body had any real life left in it. He grins at the hallucination and the frown deepens. He tries to feel nothing for it, but it is the image of M/n and who was M/n if not for the only person alive that could truly spark something hot yet comforting in his chest? He turns to pick up his fallen top hat, and it follows silently, casting no shadows. “Useless. That was boring. I expected more from you, mask. Still, to think that Jojo spent years and years researching this mask and yet I solved it in an instant. As expected, he's dead. Nobody could survive those spikes burrowing into their brain. I guess I just had some strange expectations of the mask because of Jojo's research, but it's just a tool for torture.”

He doesn't know why he's saying it out loud, but he picks up the hat and turns to retrieve the mask. It's still a good plan. People would just assume that Jonathan died testing his own theory. If he even came back from Orge Street. The image looks behind him and he feels something there...and the corpse is gone from the cobblestone road.

“Impossible,” he gasps out when he hears something solid behind him move closer. “He’s alive…?”

The thing, because this can’t be a corpse nor a living man, grabs him. The head is at an awkward angle because of his kick breaking its neck earlier. The mask falls to the ground with a loud chatter as the mirage growls.

“That face…those teeth…This can’t be…”

The blank face of a corpse stares at him.

'What...what is this? What did the mask do to this man?'

The mouth slowly opens, the head moves, and the broken neck groans at the action.

“NO!”

He scrambles back and pulls the dagger free from the other corpse's neck. The one holding him doesn't blink or bat an eye when he escapes its grasp. Briefly when his gaze goes to the image of M/n, he remembers a day of him and the other learning, Jojo had left those classes and M/n was saddled with teaching him on his own, and they were going over the Roman empire. He could remember the smile on M/n's face as they discussed the rise and fall. Betrays and lies leading to bloodshed. Bloody sports were so different from the rugby team he had joined to further the idea that he was an ideal son. M/n mentioned he preferred to think of history as a never-ending story. Easier to digest, he said. The look in his eyes was tired and knowing. The image has that same tired look.

Now holding the dagger and staring at this thing with the image, watching, he thinks he understands, or at least can relate to, those fools who died in the colosseum. M/n had the intelligence, the quiet viciousness, to raise or raze an empire down to new heights or pure ash, so of course he'd be the emperor in this comparison despite his own desire for the role. M/n he imagined could rule the entire world with ease if push really came to shove. He'd claim he hated it, and maybe he would, but he'd be good at it. The citizens would be too mesmerized to even think about stopping him. If only he'd work in sync with him...willingly...then they'd be unstoppable.

It swings a hand at him, the other still grasping for his coat, and he lashes with the dagger. Honestly, it did most of the work leading the blade and the force behind its own swing to nearly cut the entire arm in half. But the hand still hits the building even if he avoided the blow and he thanks the gods ‌he doesn't believe in...hasn't since his mother lost everything after taking him to a nearby synagogue and prayed for their health in a language she never got to teach him. The hand cracks terribly and even though the thing lets go, the building shattering at the blow sends him flying back. He hits the railing but can't tell if something cracked because of his own pulse and blood filling his ears. He can still remember the day he offhandedly mentioned the religion he and his mother came from. M/n had looked over eyes, lighting up and asked if he celebrated.

He didn't.

M/n had asked if he wanted to...that the rich bastard could get him all the supplies and since they celebrated Christian holidays, it was only fair they helped celebrate his own. He had snapped despite himself unwilling to say that because of the man who ruined him and killed his mother; he didn't know how to. What was the point of learning, anyway, when his mother wasn't there? It was the same as the language she'd whisper and coo to him in. Lost.

M/n never mentioned it to him or to anyone else after that.

‘What incredible strength…’ He thought as his body throbbed, telling him to run or get out of his current situation. He doesn't fully feel the pain yet.

The thing took a step towards him, not a sound escaping it.

‘Even now, he advances. But his hand…does the pain mean nothing? He shattered my shoulder with but a glancing blow.’ He presses a hand to his shoulder, feeling blood pooling beneath his two fingertips that land in the center of the wound. It stops and with the non-damaged hand; it lifts a chunk of the broken building and he wants to close his eyes, but he doesn't. The image doesn't move to help him. Why should it? It's not real.

'Besides, M/n always preferred for Jojo to fight his own battles. Why would I be treated any differently?' No, no, no! He takes in a weak breath and swears that he can hear the speech M/n gave him on his first day at the manor. The first sign was that M/n was smarter than those around him. More cunning. He then hears his mother telling him that things will get better. His father doesn't mean it...and she's lying and he always hated it when she lied because that weak smile never met her eyes. She died giving him that weak smile. Had died laughing as she told him about how people had been offended when she told them his name for the first time because she had the courage to name him Dio…god in Italian...how she knew it was the only name that fit him. Would ever fit him. He tries to turn to the gap between the railing. 'The river. The river is below...if I can just get through there...if I can just jump into it...surely that will give me a chance.'

The thing grabs him and Dio wants to laugh because, of course, his luck would deny him a chance yet again. Why wouldn't it? It provided him with exactly one lucky break and dragged him down every other time. It slams his hand on his neck and he wonders if this thing plans on breaking his neck as a twisted payment for the kick, but its fingers, four of them, go through his skin. Not like a stab wound, it almost feels natural, and he hates it. It's both the worst thing he ever felt and a thing that almost feels...good, as if to prevent him from fighting back or trying to escape.

“It’s odd. I was drinking through the night, but suddenly I got such a brutal thirst.” It, no he, exclaims. Skin losing the sickly tint it had. The neck cracking back into place with ease. Age fading into youth.

‘My blood, he’s draining it! What the…so, is this the secret of the mask? I’m dying…?’

The sun is rising.

‘No! I had such plans! Must my last sight on Earth be this damnable sunrise?!’

The world is cruel and unfair. He knows this. He's always known it even as his mother told him old stories and prayers or gave him that weak smile. But he doesn't close his eyes. He looks past the man draining him of blood and finds the image of M/n. It stands there. While his hair isn't tied back, he looks wonderful, with his hair flowing freely in the non-existent breeze. Not a single strand seems out of place. Each one moves to a tune he doesn't know, and while the male's face is purposefully blank, he can see panic blooming in E/c and gold. Like a fire being nearly wiped out in the wind. He's smothering it. No, he didn't want this or the sunrise to be what he saw last, but he can't see the real thing, so this image will have to do. Would the real M/n shed a single tear at the funeral? He gave a weak, pitiful growl as his brain supplied an image of that rich bastard and Jojo sobbing with M/n, just wearing that frown, forcing himself to be a shoulder for Jojo to cry on.

Then the man screams and dissolves into dust as the first rays of sun hit his bare face, leaving nothing but his clothing.

“The…the sun destroyed him…?” He tries to pull himself up, but his collarbone throbs. His coat is torn and now blood continues to run down his side. Blood doesn't leak from his neck and when he goes to touch the spot, he doesn't feel a break in the skin where the man...where he...where...he rolls over and vomits. His throat burns. He hates drinking, but after this he wants to fucking drown in it. He wants to be drunk in a bar and he hates himself for the thought. The pain hits and he whimpers, eyes watering at the sensation. He doesn't cry. He last cried at the sensation of Jojo breaking his nose as E/c eyes watched him like a hawk. He never did it again. He can't and won't. By the time M/n had dragged himself away with Jonathan to threaten him...to show that invisible threat he has...he had cleaned himself up and showed only shock. To this day he hopes that he had been lied to, but you learn quickly when to spot a bluff from truth in the slums and M/n preferred honesty as a weapon, anyway.

"M/n." He says it softly when he catches his breath. He isn't sure why the realization hits now...because he already knew it, but that's the funny thing about this. He always knew it, didn't he? "I…I love him."

He looks up at the image. No longer showing silent panic. He must look terrible and he wants to apologize for the way he looks, but this isn't really M/n and won't comment on it. He isn't sure what hits him next, but he's laughing till he nearly sobs. Not from pain, but from something else. His being feels on fire. He remembers M/n talking about spontaneous human combustion because Jojo was asking him and he wonders if he'll burn from the inside out, but that doesn't happen. Instead, he feels lighter despite having thrown up, his collarbone being shattered, and everything hurting.

"I'm...I mean...Oh...I've been in love with him for...for..."

When did it start? When M/n proved to be the only intelligent person there? When he had seen the male and found his appearance attractive? In college, when he and he alone realized that M/n was attracting people like flies to honey, yet turned them all down because he was aiming for something else? Or because Jojo loved him? Because he wanted everything that Jojo had?

He looked at the image.

At its feet was the stone mask, as if waiting for him to take it, and he laughed harder. Something clicks and he hadn't felt right since Jonathan threw him through the railing and then had the audacity to look down on him, but now it all seems to make sense.

"You knew."

He doesn't care that this is a fake because it raises an eyebrow exactly how M/n would. He's just silent and even if he was only a figment of Dio's drunken mind, he would take it because he knew M/n better than anyone else in the manor or college. If he made this fake, then it was just a silent copy because who else saw M/n fully?

"You knew this entire time. You...you just didn't expect me to do that...right?"

Of course, of course...how could it be anything but that?

"You knew what the mask did when put on a human. You knew it would strengthen me."

…because he knew M/n best.

"That's why you stole the mask from Jojo's room for me, right M/n?"

Notes:

Here are the translations;
In absentia luci, tenebrae vincunt = In the absence of light, darkness prevails
Preferiresti che accada di nuovo = Would you rather it happen again
Dannazione = Goddammit
Citius venit malum quam revertitur = Evil arrives faster than it leaves
Astra inclinant, sed non obligant = The stars incline us, they do not bind us

Chapter 3: And wasn't it Judas who brought us this field?

Summary:

There's nothing good that lasts forever, but you already knew that, right? It never paid to be a good son either, but you really hoped there was a happy ending somewhere in this mess. Instead, it ends in flames. Like always.

Notes:

Take a Dio drawing I did a while ago for this edit/update.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Hm? Do you feel that?" M/n leaned against his bedroom window before leaning back and pushing the glass up with barely any hesitation despite the harsh storm raging outside. Leaning out the window, he extended his arm, feeling the cold water quickly soaking his exposed skin. His stand formed behind him, slowly moving to sit on the floor with an annoyed hiss at it shared the icy sensation. With a hum, he sat back down on his desk chair, allowing the stand to rest its muzzle on his lap while he watched the droplets slowly trickle down, his hand barely illuminated by the lone candle resting on his desk. The few drops that had moved to the band sparkled against his skin, a deep blue. If M/n had been a painter, he would've wanted nothing more than a paintbrush and canvas, despite his art always leaning to writing rather than creating images. "Such a strong storm, and yet I could've sworn that for a few seconds it felt as if the air had gone completely stagnant. A calm in between the storm...like something bad is going to happen."

"Of course I felt it." The large stand replied, for once too annoyed by the cold weather to act with the usual bravado that M/n would claim as an essential part of his stand. "We've had this talk before. If your instincts are telling you ‌we need to be on guard, then take it seriously. Our senses have been heightened for far too long to just call it paranoia."

"You always say that...but often we end up making mistakes for that very reason."

"Better to be paranoid than unprepared in disaster." The stand hissed, mouth lazily opening in a yawn. "Isn't that why you constantly told Jonathan to hope for the best yet prepare for the worst?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." A frown formed on the god's lips as his hand traced over the scar on his neck. He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a black leather strap, and covered the old wound. "I don't like this and I keep thinking that someone is talking about me. I don't want to lose anything. That's selfish, right?"

"Perhaps. What's wrong with that?" The bells jingled and M/n ran a hand over his stand's muzzle, earning a hazy purr.

"I don't know, but this all relates back to Dio."

"He draws in people like a black hole. You should always watch him with bated breath, Master."

"You haven't called me that in a while."

"You didn't want me to."

"Oh, and now I do?" The stand hummed beneath his hand, not responding. M/n didn't pay it any mind. "What's the quote I'm thinking of...it would describe Dio perfectly. Oh, 'The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his hand to me, with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of.' Though a black hole is a good description, that would imply that he's a dead star."

"Say he burned out when he started his evil deeds." The stand snickered, earning a low groan from the god as he drummed his fingers on the desk. "Do you really want to read a book that hasn't even been written yet?"

"It doesn't matter. He'll be arrested soon after he arrives, anyway."

The god went silent when he noticed a figure below making his way to the entrance right as a strong wind blew out the candle, sending the god's room into darkness.

"Speak of the devil and he may appear."

I'll set the stage for us, okay? It's ten pm. You ask me what my problem is. And I just tell you I'm tired. I never know if you'll leave the conversation there. With that sarcastic, sure. Do you want me to buy a thesaurus? Should I take a break from tired? Tell you I'm worn out? Exhausted? Fatigued? Wearily waiting? I don't have the vocabulary to describe the room I'm in. I've never opened the windows or turned the lights on and you're asking for the pattern on the wallpaper. You always like to ask if I'm plotting something. But I don't like to sit in the dark and think of you if I can help it.

Finally getting to the Joestar manor, Dio took off his top hat and tried to shake off the water that had collected in the brim. A slightly difficult task given that his left arm was currently bound in a loosely made sling to help provide his shattered collarbone some form of support. While each movement made the pain flare up, he had no plans to tighten it. Not that he would need to wrap it up for much longer. A crack of lightning illuminated the door as he put his hat back on and adjusted his coat. At least his clothes weren't completely soaked through.

'I bet Jojo thinks he has me cornered, but I have no plans to run away from him. No, I refuse to run from someone like him. I've come back here to fight him...and to take...never mind.' Pushing the door open, he winced and quickly shut the door to avoid the storm outside. Only to be greeted by silence and a pitch black room. Looking around and taking a few steps into the foyer, Dio quickly found himself unable to spot a single lit candle or fireplace. "What's the meaning of this?!? Hello? M/n? Are you okay? Seriously...where is everyone? Why are there no butlers and why are all the lights out?"

The strike of a match caused him to spin around, watching the now lit figure of Jojo step into the room. Each movement was slow and precise, like a lion stalking after his prey. While Dio could easily gather why the male seemed so confident, his focus was directed at the simple fact that Jojo was once again looking down on him. With a low growl dying at the back of his throat, Dio quickly lowered his head so the other wouldn't see his glare.

"I have all the proof I require and then some, Dio." He spoke softly, giving him a small nod despite the deep frown carved into his face. Only stalling when Dio looked back up at him with a soft smile on his face.

‘He’s found his proof. So be it. This moment’s been a long time coming, Jojo. Now I finish what I started.’

"Ah, so you're finally back from London safe and sound? When I first entered and saw that all the lights were off, I got rather worried and almost thought we were being robbed. Where's M/n? Are he and father okay?"

"There's no need for you to fake caring about me anymore Dio." If not for his voice M/n would've appeared out of the shadows in complete silence, that made it seem as if he was formed by them rather than simply emerged, and Dio felt a shudder go down his spine. The image he had seen was becoming reality. M/n's hair was no longer tied back but long and flowing, sharp canines replaced by the fangs of a cobra. Yet M/n didn't acknowledge his thoughts or the sudden change in his appearance, seeming far more concerned with the sling Dio now wore.

But then again M/n had already done everything he needed to, hadn't he?

Still, Dio tilted his head and gave the H/c haired male a more genuine smile despite the silently raised eyebrow he received in response. "Fake caring about you? Do you really think my concern for you isn't genuine?"

“Stop. I tracked down the antidote. Father took it moments ago.” Dio's eyes widened, and he quickly bit at his lip to hold back a remark. “Dio, this pains me greatly. For years, you were my brother, and now I have no recourse but to turn you in. I’m sorry, really. I’m sure you don’t believe a word of it, but I’m telling you the truth.”

“Even now, you show compassion.” With a heavy sigh, the blond sank down into an empty seat at the table, only pausing once to readjust his arm because of the sling before he looked back up at the pair. “Ha, I know. You've always been that type of person, haven't you, Jojo? You too M/n. I...I understand completely."

M/n nearly scoffed at that. He was far from an honorable gentleman like Jonathan, barely even a good man most days, and wasn't it Dio who always liked to argue that they were cut from the same cloth?

“Jojo, M/n, I’ve been a devil, but grant me this one wish. Allow me to do the right thing for once in my life,” Dio's voice was soft, less confident than his usual tone, with shoulders slouching like a man about to be dragged to the gallows. Then again, the god suspected that such a term was rather apt, all things considered. “And turn myself in.”

“What’s this?/Seriously?” The pair spoke in unison with equal looks of confusion at the blond's words.

‘I thought once I confronted him, he’d fight me tooth and nail like a cornered beast.’ Jonathan felt a wave of shock at the sight in front of him. To see the source of all his childhood torment so...defeated was saddening. While M/n may find it easy to put aside his feelings in favor of finishing the task at hand, it was far more difficult for him to just turn a blind eye.

‘Jojo, you should be dead in a gutter right now. I must distract him long enough for the knife and mask to find their mark.’ Adjusting the mask hidden away in the confines of the sling, he looked between the two. He was influencing Jojo. All he had to do was keep pressing the right buttons. “My wicked deeds gnaw at me. The poverty I knew as a child ate away at my moral compass until greed was all that remained. I’m the lowest of the low! Your father took me in off the street, and I repaid his kindness with poison. For what? I was already in his will, for god's sake! The only reason I came back was to surrender myself. If I’d wanted to flee, you never would have laid eyes on me again.”

“I see your point.” Looking at the now crying male, Jonathan lost some of the aggression in his stance.

“Please allow me to make amends.”

“Dio…”

“Look alive, Mister Joestar. He’s trying to lure you in, like as not.”

"...?" Whipping his head around and looking through the tears in his eyes, Dio stared at the newcomer. It was a man he had never seen before, yet all the other did was tip his bowler hat and smirk as if he could read Dio's very thoughts.

“Right about now, you’re probably wondering who I am. Allow me to elucidate ya. The name is Robert E. O. Speedwagon. I had a hunch Jonathan’s run of trouble might not be done, so I followed him back home. I like you, Jonathan, so I’m gonna offer up this little tidbit pro bono. Living in the gutter, you learn to spot lowlifes pretty quickly if you want to see tomorrow. I’ve trained my nose to sort out the bad ones from the good. Just from a sniff. This fella reeks of brimstone and blood, worse than anyone I’ve ever laid eyes on!” With a single swing of his leg, the candle holder by the table was knocked over and shattered, causing Dio to lean back and tilt his head to avoid the sudden spray of wood chips.

'He realizes that we'll have to replace that later, right?' With a tilt of the head the god looked to Jonathan who seemed completely enamored with Speedwagon's speech earning a roll of the eyes. 'Jonathan seems to draw the strangest people to him, doesn't he?'

“He is pure evil, right down to his very bones! Is he a victim of circumstance, you’re wondering? Not on your life! He’s been evil since he drew his first breath.” With a dramatic turn on his heel, Speedwagon reached behind the curtain and tossed a small oriental man down to the floor. “But don’t you fret, ‘cause I brought you a friend. Remember him?”

"Tch-" With a soft wince, Dio flinched finding M/n now directly behind him, leaning against the chair, a hand pressing along his sling till it landed on the shattered collarbone. M/n gave it one last squeeze, obviously trying to find the precise point where the bone was broken, or perhaps he was wondering what had caused such an intense break, but all he did was hum in response to the pained hiss that escaped Dio's lips.

“This man confessed to selling you the poison you used on father.” Jojo's voice made him want to snarl. Mostly he had seemed unwilling to meet his eyes, but now Jojo was looking at him straight on. Once again, looking down on him. The opening of a curtain caused him to look over and see his adopted 'father', along with a group of police officers. His teeth once again tore at his bottom lip.

“I’ve heard enough. You break my heart. Why, Dio? From the day you arrived, I have loved you as though you were my own son.”

"Sir, you're still recovering." The older man looked to M/n, noting how the other's hands shook, and frowned before shaking his head and looking away.

“M/n is right, father, you're way too weak to be down here.”

“You’re right. I’ll return to my chamber. I don’t want to see my boy in chains.” Watching the older male move to the stairs, M/n mentally flinched at any sign that the male was about to fall over. He hadn't been lying despite getting the antidote…Sir was still too weak. Getting too cold might cause those symptoms to manifest again as the flu or something far nastier that would lead to the same results as if the antidote was never administered. "Do what you must, Jojo."

“I will.”

“Is this how it all ends?” M/n twitched at the whisper that reached his ears and looked to the blond. Of course, Dio would ask that now that he was caught...because the idea of being defeated must seem impossible to him. He was Dio Brando, after all.

"You never learned when to give up the ghost, did you?" The look that Dio gave him in return was...tender. Almost amused. Why the fuck was he staring at him like that? Shaking his head, the god moved to stand by Jonathan, only pausing when the poison seller spoke to him for the first time that night.

“He won’t see the inside of a cell this night.” Tilting his head to the side, M/n didn't speak before the male continued talking. “I read his face and the trio of moles on his ear. The devil smiles on him and grants him luck.”

"The devil grants him luck…? Well, Judas received the same blessing, and he perished by his own hand." M/n heard a laugh from eons ago and bared his teeth in response. "Besides, I've beaten people with unholy luck before."

With a pained groan, Dio pulled himself back up, ignoring how painful it was before holding his arms out. “Jojo, I want you to be the one to put the cuffs on me. Please, brother. M/n can confirm to you I've hurt my collarbone and shoulder, so if I'm still allowed to ask anything of you, then please don't be needlessly rough with me.”

"M/n?" Jonathan asked when the male in question reached his side.

"His collarbone is completely shattered, and he has a bandaged wound on his shoulder. He isn't faking either wound. He shouldn't be able to provide much of a challenge if this should come to blows. I think he was thrown and mauled by something." M/n spoke softly, expression conflicted. Had the god not known better, he would've assumed that the blonde had been involved with a stand fight. What else could cause such wounds?

"All right."

“Be careful. He’s a crafty one.” M/n wanted to laugh at Speedwagon's remark. As if Jonathan hadn't spent seven long years learning all of Dio's many behaviors and verbal tics, but looking at Dio, who once again gave him that smile, he understood Speedwagon painfully well. Watching Jonathan take the handcuffs, a pained smile appeared on his face.

“Jojo, it was hubris that led me to this ignominious end. There’s always a limit to human schemes and ability, isn’t there? This fall from grace has taught me well. However, one may scheme and dissemble. My downfall tonight is part of the human condition.” M/n freezes at that, his blood chilling beneath his skin...what did Dio find that would make him talk like that? "If there's one thing that I've learned in my short life, it's that the harder you plan, the fewer things go in your favor. As long as one can't go past the limits of their own humanity...what a funny thing that is. Such a strange thing, the human condition…a condition I now forsake.”

“Wait…forsake? What do you mean?”

“You see, I’m about to become so much more! I REJECT MY HUMANITY JOJO!!!”

"...?!"

"Help me shed this mortal skin!"

"Mother's mask, but how?"

"Watch out!"

"Nar-" Everyone was yelling when M/n went to call his stand, the perfect moment for them not to hear his voice, but ‌the god staggered back hand over mouth at the sudden smell of blood filling his senses and the body hitting the floor.

Sometimes I think ‌I was drowning from the beginning. A faulty baptism. As if no one bothered to pull me from the water. I'll be stuck in a state of limbo. Not ready for heaven. But unable to go to hell. If you catch someone in a reflection and pull them down, do they become more or less holy? When does this baptism end?

“FIRE AT WILL, MEN!”

“Jojo, your blood is the key!”

Acting on nothing but instinct, M/n covered his ears at the barrage of gunfire and took a few steps back as the light of the mask died down and Dio's body was sent through the window in a hailstorm of shattered glass and blood.

“FATHER!”

"...sir?" The word escaped the god's lips before the scene was fully registered in his mind, a weak whisper that didn't seem to alert anyone else, as he stared at the body lying in Jonathan's arms as the spines of the stone mask that had broken into Dio's skull. The smell of blood was heavy on all his senses, making his stand let out a low growl. It was just mad that he hadn't summoned it. He...sir was...why? How had he allowed this to happen? If you had just summoned your stand faster or...or if you had gone to handcuff Dio instead of letting Jonathan...but then what? The gunshots still left a ringing sound in his ears, causing him to jump when Speedwagon put a steadying hand on his shoulder. The blond gave a look that was clearly asking if he was alright. All he did was nod before moving forward on shaking legs.

Jonathan didn't look at him, but drew him in closer, yet carefully enough to not disturb Sir's body and M/n swallowed down a mouthful of saliva, feeling a lot smaller than a god should. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so...weak, but he assumed ‌it had been when he was mortal. Either way, he felt completely overwhelmed.

"Father..." Jonathan's voice was weak as Sir reached out and cradled the side of his son's face. Always with kindness. If Jonathan wasn't asking him to stay, albeit silently, M/n would've never stepped forward to let them share this private conversation.

“Jojo,”

“...father…this is all my fault. I should have blocked his knife.” Shaking his head, Jonathan gave his father a weak smile despite the sorrow in his voice. “The mask…when I saw it, I froze up, and you paid the price.”

“Take this ring. It was your mother’s, Jojo. M/n...Spero che tu trovi la felicità…” With that, his hand fell and Jonathan's eyes went wide as he stared at the body, barely breathing, while M/n felt his hands twitch at the male's words. Did Sir Joestar know Italian this whole time? On one hand, it made sense for a man in trade, but he had never even tried to speak with him in the god's second language. It stung. Yet he didn't dare look away from the rise and fall of his chest, Sir's last attempt to regain what breath he had left.

"Father...?"

"He's not gone yet..."

Both of them registered people shouting the words 'Lord Joestar!' but neither was ready to look away from the older man just yet. M/n felt something hit him. He knew death and ghosts better than anyone, but this felt...deeper. As if someone had taken a rusted blade and re-striped the cross-shaped scar on his chest hoping they could make it deeper and that it would hurt him despite having ichor in his veins. He held back a laugh. God had never been good with grief and that hadn't changed in the eons of slumber.

What was it? You could always tell someone that you'd be a problem because you laugh at funerals, and then they say that they'll understand, yet they always ask what the fuck's wrong with you when it happens. People don't like that kind of thing and you know that best...but it hurts. Why does it hurt? You abandoned pain a long time ago, but hurt was a different beast. If you were made from pain and then lost it...well, where did that even leave you? Hm, no one likes to understand the problem of snakes. Never mind. You would never understand it, would you? Just as you wouldn't understand how the police officer was wailing about how this was his fault because clearly it wasn't. It was your fault. You were the god...you were the one who had a stand...you had everything, but no one seems willing to put the blame on you. This is all your fault.

“Father, please hang on. The doctor is on his way now. You’ll be fine.”

‘Jonathan, this isn’t…’

“Jojo, M/n, don’t hate Dio for what he’s done. I am to blame for this.” Once again, looking down, he felt Jonathan reach out and take it, yet it didn't register. The touch was little more than a pressure he registered, a natural conclusion in your mind since he had first lost the ability to feel pain. Why not lose all feeling in the process? “I was hard on you, because you were a Joestar. I went too easy on Dio, and he might have felt I didn’t care. Perhaps he did this for want of a father’s love. Please, see that he’s buried next to Dario.”

“Father…we will. I promise you.” Jonathan managed a smile, eye watering, as M/n nodded, ignoring the sick feeling rising in his chest.

“Don’t look so sad. Where better to die than in the arms of my son?”

"...no..." The urge to laugh only rose in God's mind. Of course, they'd all be blaming themselves for this, and of course he'd be helpless because he did nothing to help the people that fucking needed it till it was too late.

"SIR JOESTAR!"

“We have lost much this night.” The police officer whispered and M/n wanted to laugh even harder because of course Sir Joestar would do something like that, because ‌he had always chosen to look to the bright. He had even called M/n a good kid. To him, Dio was a good person, as if the entire thing was fact. Like a writer painting a tragedy of a man lost to power because that was easier than saying Dio was evil by any other means. “A nobleman’s soul has been taken from the world.”

"No, you’re wrong!" Jolting at the sound, M/n didn't have time to look at Speedwagon, or rather he couldn't bring himself to look away, but he imagined the male was glaring because of the heat of his voice. "All that was good in that man, he passed it along to Jonathan, every bit of it!”

M/n really wanted to laugh.

Eventually, you spend enough nights curled up with someone to forget the last time you were really lonely. It feels right. As if one man could fix everything that had ever been wrong with you and your life. Wait, were you lonely? What was loneliness? You never needed anyone before, but now you're curled around him, feeling the tender sting of his nails from when they were ripping into your back.

But if this is to be full and happy...then why oh why are you still hungry?

‘Rich folk are rubbish. Watching ‘em flounce around, I wanna throw the whole lot of them into the Thames, but not the Joestar’s. They’re heroic and merciful and just. The whole damn lot are giants among men.’ Speedwagon looked away from the tear-eyed Jonathan, an honest to god nobleman, and instead landed on the other, pressed to his side. M/n was his name. Unlike Jonathan or the copper, he wasn't sobbing, merely staring down at the corpse, no noticeable expression on his face, but his body language screamed out how the male wasn't processing the events that had just taken place. He was probably going to regret not crying here if he ever looked back on it. Speedwagon still wasn't sure what to think of the quieter male. He reminded him of a house that had just burned down.

Smoke, ash, ink, old books, leather, snakes, blood, and something sweet with floral attachments.

Now while Speedwagon didn't know the flowers or meanings behind them simply because he was never the guy who had time to learn that type of thing M/n did. If the god knew what the other was thinking, he'd be able to list them all and their meanings...or perhaps it would just be the meaning he had given a few of them.

How azaleas were pink and white flowers that had a meaning that was often turned into the phrase; take care of yourself for me. The smell of them made him think of old friends staring at you as you sat on the edge of a highway with a cigarette, telling them ‌you wouldn't fall with a small smile. The smell makes him laugh and gives a sad smile.

Sweet peas were smaller, more clustering, flowers with the pinkest shade of purple for the flowers and bright green stems with the meaning of them often translating to; goodbye, thank you for a lovely time. The smell of them makes him think of a dying sob on the edge of infinity yet not having any regrets because you made the best possible decision at the time and now you can't go back on it because you've so many even if you lost something vital along the way. The smell is something he hates and waits for in equal breath.

Orange lilies are a deep orange when fully grown, opened like a splayed star and it translates to; hatred, pride, and disdain. The smell was always too much for him, yet reminded him of someone who looked upon the world and laughed and laughed till he could no longer. He always looks away with a scoff at the smell.

Orange mock is a small white flower with an orangish yellow center and green leaves carefully cradling each blossom, M/n never learned why it gained the name orange mock when it was a mainly white flower but maybe it acts a mockery of the color orange, either way it translated to; deceit. The smell is sweet to him as if daring one to get closer and he thinks of a god showing a tongue that's uniquely silver laughing about how any god must have a tongue like this but you're the one that laughs because at the end your tongue is never anything more or less no matter how many lies you tell, human nature is not defined by a silver tongue neither is success. Orange mock makes him snicker and feel hopeful.

Monkshood is a series of deep purple flowers that all hang from one large stem with several runoffs that they each extend from and they fold over with a deep dark purple bulb hanging out of the flower or several; their meaning is beware, an enemy is near. He hates the smell of monkshood that reminds him of a single moment where you know your world is about to change drastically and hurt everyone around you, but it will never matter if it hurts you because that isn't important, and then the second where you finally see the tempest and he laughs. He tries to avoid the plant most days.

Foxgloves are like monkshood, are they the same, low purple flowers that hang towards the grow in large groups, despite their names the plant is deadly to foxes, and represents; insincerity. The smell reminds him of paint for a set and being fourteen, so you're unable to build what god asked and someone mentions your waist and pulls you back. Foxglove makes him sick to his stomach, and it kills foxes. A worthless plant in his eyes and another that his stand tries to rip out of the dirt should he spot it in the wild.

Yellow hyacinth are long green stems that grow what feel like hundreds of yellow flowers that cover most of the original stem. M/n never found them that pretty, which is fitting as they mean; jealousy. On good days the smell makes him think of tea and tear-stained pages because what could you do when someone you love leaves for a god and confirms that the night sky was right once again, but on bad days he shudders and his stand smashes the plant with an annoyed hiss. He never knows what to think about the smell.

White orchids were beautiful as all orchids are and, just like the other shades, they have so many meanings; innocence, elegance, beauty, reverence, humility, and friendship. The smell leaves M/n conflicted. His mind thinks of laughter before you learn what kind of man your father is. The dignity of someone laughing with no malice and showing you how to wear heels, proper heels, when you only wear boots because you're from farms and the south, but they still do it and hand you makeup and say it could frame your face. The sun rising through the torn up walls of a barn making the dewdrops look like you're surrounded by diamonds. The feeling of someone laying bare with no contempt and you pressing a kiss to their Adam's apple. The feeling of lowering your head and taking a step back, knowing that you and your stand can't handle the fight in front of you, but someone else can. Or laughing because you know things will go bad, but you're happy enough to be here in the moment. The smell of orchids makes him dizzier than his own ichor refilling, and he could get lost in it all. He wants to find a pen.

Marigolds are beautiful in their many petals and deep gold and orange coloration and they have nearly as many meanings as petals; passion, creative people or creativity, cruelty, grief, jealousy, and strong passion. But when he smells them, their meaning isn't what he thinks of. As a man who likes art, creativity is always appreciated. No, he thinks of it as a flower that is associated with death and cracking bones or perhaps the ripping of flesh from bone with hungry eyes. The smell used to make him hate the flower. Now he loves them because this reminds him of his stand and ‌that's more than enough.

Wolfsbane is just another purple hanging flower, another word for monkshood, but when specifying wolfsbane the symbolism is different instead of a warning, the meaning is; caution, misanthropy and death. It also hurts werewolves if you look at myths. M/n doesn't care about that kind of myth unless it could be made into a poem. The smell makes him think of how you shake when you stand up even though it hurts and approach the god you knocked back because maybe, just maybe, this time, you could do it. He likes wolfsbane, but only when he has exactly seven of the flowers present.

Now, despite being a god, M/n was no mind reader and didn't know what Speedwagon was thinking. Maybe his stand was observant enough to note it, but it wouldn't mention it to the god because such information wouldn't matter. Still, if Speedwagon ever told him, the god wouldn't be all that surprised by it despite himself. After all, what was a god if not an echo of humanity either as a whole or perhaps as the sole human who had ascended from the arrow and blood? What would a god even be without a single trace of humanity? Of course, the remains of what had been now clung to him like a second layer of skin because that was what mattered.

Then again, maybe neither would even care?

It wasn't as if snakes understood the workings of deer and vice versa.

Oh, so you don't know what the difference is between saying I love you and I don't want you to leave me? Then you don't deserve to be in a relationship. Clearly you're the fool. Eventually, you're stuck in a loop where you can't even remember if you just want the feeling of being loved by someone, or if you want him. This is the ‌thing you both hate and love. You don't miss the company of people. All you do is yearn for a good relationship because you hopefully want what you've seen on tv. The perfect moment. You desire so much from someone you might not even love. Not because you won't survive without it, but because you just want it.

A selfish, hungry creature.

It was a soft sound.

So soft that M/n barely recognized it over the sounds of the storm echoing into the room through the now shattered window or Jonathan's shaky heartbeat so close to his head only being drowned out by his sobs. It was the sound of the wall above the window breaking. Like something heavy was forcing itself to hang onto the walls. Despite how tired he felt, he pushed himself free, earning a confused jolt from Jonathan as he shot up and spun to face the broken window.

"What was that sound?" Everyone looked at the god as if he was mad, but he just stared past the police officers. His ichor felt like solid ice. "Where's Dio's body? Where did the body go?!"

"What?!" Jonathan whipped his head around the moment he heard mention of Dio's body being gone while M/n heard more of the wall crumble. Something large had to be moving down towards the open window.

“Oi, Copper! Away from the window!” Speedwagon yelled, but before the cop could take more than a step away from the window, a hand swung down from the top, splitting the man's skull perfectly in half. M/n went still at that, mouth filling with saliva as his stand snarled, blood splattering across the broken glass shards and carpet. What the fuck was happening? What could that mask have done to Dio for him to survive all those bullets?

"Wwwrrryyyy..."

“The inspector…”

“No, that’s impossible…how’s he alive?”

“He can’t be…we all filled him full of bullets…”

“Keep your distance, lads.”

"What is that guy...has he come back to life?"

"Dio…?" M/n backed up, bumping into Jonathan, who quickly steadied him with a shaking hand, nearly impaling his tongue on one of his fangs.

"Jonathan, we need to be prepared for an attack."

I have to wonder; am I your most beautiful regret? Because you may ask this question or that question about it, but I think this ended the way it should. Neither of us felt good. Did we ever want each other? Or were we simply hungry?

Fuck...I'm still hungry.

At the god's command Jonathan cleared off the table setting Sir's body down while M/n's mind raced as Dio flipped himself down, now standing in the window frame with a hand casually resting on a layer of glass that hadn't broken free of the window frame. The lightning flashed behind him as M/n realized three things; Dio now had fangs. He couldn't hear a heartbeat, and there seemed to be fog coming off his body in wisps, as if his body was ice cold even when compared to the storm outside.

'Did I really just jinx us all by quoting Dracula while thinking that Dio wouldn't have some crazy backup plan?!? Dannazione!!!"

Dio smirked, even daring to stick his tongue out at all of them, before he looked towards the god who swallowed down a mouthful of saliva when their eyes met. M/n felt a sickening feeling as he saw one of the bullet wounds in the male's neck ‌close back up.

“He’s armed with something!”

“Was it the mask…? M/n…do you think?” He felt Jonathan move closer to him, a small comfort, since the god was dealing with the sickening realization that vampires were real and that he now had to fight one. To kill Dio.

Fuck...FUCK!!! The mask that Dio had put on, this transformation had to be related back to the light the mask had produced. The mask that Dio had to have got from Jonathan. The mask that he...no, no, no. His gaze never left Dio, who confidently hopped down and stepped towards them.

“He’s coming right at us!”

“What are you waiting for?” Speedwagon yelled, taking a shaky step back as he glared at the panicking cops. “Hit ‘em with everything you’ve got left!”

Both him and Jonathan grabbed guns from the frozen police officers and M/n felt it shift in his hand awkwardly, this model of gun felt just slightly off than anything he had used as a mortal, but it was Jonathan who pointed his gun first.

“Come no closer!” Despite having the gun level with his head, Dio just continued forward with a raised eyebrow. The male's hands were shaking. Clearly Jonathan was unwilling to shoot Dio despite the current circumstances. “Not another step! I mean it!”

“Blow his brains out now! Do it before he kills us all!” Speedwagon yelled, only to jolt back when Dio staggered back, a single bullet going through his forehead. Looking over to Jonathan, he saw he was staring at M/n and Speedwagon followed his gaze to see the male pointing his gun with a trail of smoke emerging from it.

"M/n...?" Jonathan had never known that M/n knew how to fire a gun, yet the other didn't seem phased by what he had just done. Looking back to Dio, he watched him straighten out, brushing a hand gently over the bleeding head wound. Lowering his hand, the blond examined the blood absentmindedly, stretching and pulling it between two fingers. Licking away the blood that had reached his lips, the blond gave a low purr, flashing the god a smile.

"No way..." Speedwagon staggered back, looking towards the pair as if they would laugh and tell him ‌he was only seeing things. "Shot ‘em in the head, and it didn’t even slow him down. It doesn’t make any sense. With all the lead we put in ‘em, he should be worm food by now!”

“How can this be?”

"Jo...jo...M/n..." Dio sang, his voice having gained a low rasp to it that earned a set of gasps, and a single groan, from the people watching the blond.

'Fuck.'

With a laugh Dio easily launches himself into the air earning more gasps, minus the god who was now looking between the gun he held and the spears the knight statue has. His stand was now constantly shifting beneath his skin, only sending all his senses into overdrive. "I should thank you for the source of my newfound power, your father’s blood, and the ancient mask.”

'I can't help but feel so confused.' Jonathan took a step back, watching the floating figure snicker to himself as if untouchable. A few drops of blood from the now fully closed head wound hit the carpet, reminding him that this was all painfully real. 'What have you done...Dio?'

Get that feeling out of your heart. Pull it out. I have no need for want. No need for desire. I stopped caring about being with people and having someone in my daily life. I found love. I found friendship. None of it lasts forever. I can live forever without it.

In a single motion, Dio slammed his hand into one of the police officer's skull, earning a wet scream from the older male. M/n noted how he didn't properly break the skin, instead Dio's hand seemed to slide through it like a liquid. With a softer, almost whiny gasp, the male reached up to ‌pull Dio's hand free, only for his body to shrink and expand in a series of quick steady pulses, but each time it expanded less and less.

"Wwwrrryyy~!"

'Ah, so he can drain blood without biting someone, but is that only with his hands or any inch of bare skin? If so, I can't let him touch me...I may be able to use my stand to trick people's eyes but the taste and effect it would have on him would make it immediately obvious that I'm not human.' Shifting he felt his stand pull beneath his skin, waiting for him to allow it to tear free. 'Can I trust myself to use my stand properly? I haven't fought with it in so long and it changed to match my mindset. I'm not stable...and I haven't been stable in a while. It could kill everyone if I lose control...I've only let it out around people it was going to...or to scare people...I can't...I need to get all of them out of here, and then I can fight without worrying about Jonathan and the others.'

“He takes his very life, but how is that possible? Dio, you villain…” Jonathan looked back and forth, noting the way M/n grimaced, showing his sharpened fangs, how even Speedwagon seemed terrified, and the police officers who backed up were staring in complete horror. “What sort of monster have you become…?!”

After draining the body dry, Dio tossed it towards the police officers. The force of impact sent the body, and those it struck into bloody pieces, which all went flying. M/n shifted to the side to avoid half of a human skull that smashed into the floor with a sickening crack. Hearing a pained yowl, he noted that a human leg had smashed into Speedwagon's arm, ‌breaking it with a loud crack.

"Kkkkuuuaaa...."

‘How did this happen…? Think, Jojo, think. The knife, father, blood, Dio, the mask, my notes, the brain, unknown abilities, unknown strength. There is nothing human left of you, Dio!’ Jonathan moved without thinking, prying a spear free from one of the knight statues. Clutching it in his hand, he turned, catching sight of M/n who kept looking between Dio, the statues, him, and then at Speedwagon’s prone form. It was obvious that M/n was making a plan of his own, for once having no intention of standing on the sidelines and waiting it out. Yet, despite himself, Jonathan couldn’t help but wonder if this was for his and Speedwagon’s sake or merely to save his own skin. But…to think like that about his own friend…even in a situation like this…it was uncouth of him. ‘Father…this is my fault.’

“Please, don’t give me that look,” with a sigh, M/n took a few steps back, sliding the gun into his belt, feeling the metal press against a hint of skin as he moved his hand to feel where his old dagger stayed. Sparing the other spears a quick glance, he instead moved to settle by Jonathan's side. "As if I would ever allow you to do this without me."

'Of course he'd say that...but M/n I'd rather you race away from here and avoid Dio entirely. Still, with you I might have a better chance to find out the mask's weakness. Everything has one and this can't be any different. If the ancients had this, then there must be a reason why they died out, and this mask became little more than a relic.'

That human isn't a city. At least not a bustling one. That one. He's not a city. He's a town that lies next to that city that you pass through every time you enter the city. You never learn the name. There's never any neon signs or buildings that are reaching the clouds. But you may stop and see a storm and watch the summer sky split open with a dark crack of thunder. You'll taste the electricity in the air.

“Don’t do it! You two haven’t got a chance in hell! I never seen anything like this, lads. He broke those coppers to pieces like they was bleedin’ twigs!” From his place on the ground, Speedwagon stared at the duo, who were watching the vampire approach. Neither seemed that terrified, despite what Jonathan had said.

“I know. Honestly, I’m terrified. All the same, I can’t let Dio kill anyone else. This demon must be annihilated.”

“You’re not wrong,” his gaze darted to the god who was playing with the gun absentmindedly. “We don’t have a great chance, yet it's not like we can just let him play god. Who knows what he’ll do, so we just gotta take him out. Ain’t like we have a choice.”

‘Ain’t? Why’s a pretty rich boy talking like he’s a fellow street rat?”

"Kkkkuuuuaaaahhhh...."

“Please, Jojo, I beg of ya. He’ll tear the both of you apart.” He tried to pull himself up, only to collapse with a pained whimper. Meanwhile, Jonathan began changing his stance. He lowered the spear, watching how Dio flexed his fingers and licked more blood off of his lips.

‘I know. That’s it. According to my research on the mask, it was fabled to unlock the brain’s hidden potential. To vanquish Dio, all I have to do is-' Speedwagon opened his mouth, only to freeze at the sound of bones cracking and the low sound of a man groaning. Looking towards the back of the room, the injured male saw the corpse Dio had tossed, slowly pushing itself up.

“This one’s alive!”

“Your blood. It smells so delicious.” It lunged, practically dragging itself across the floor to get to him. Parts of its body were catching and ripping as its paper thin skin was pulled taut over bone and sinew. Dio laughed from above your heads, lips curling into a smirk.

“Now I’m going to turn you inside out!”

"How horrible..." Pushing himself back with a wince, the creature was already by his legs. "The monster has created another one."

The dead man reached a mangled arm forward, grabbing hold of Speedwagon's face. Using his good arm, he tried to pull the thing's hand from his face as he felt the creature's fingers ‌sink through his skin. Something was tossed, hitting the creature in the back of the head, earning a pained snarl. "Wha-? What is this...? Don't interrupt my meal!"

A sudden flash of steel cut through his vision and the creature was pulled free and knocked back, leading Speedwagon to raise a hand to his face, feeling the skin, half expecting to find it ripped and torn. It wasn't. In fact, the leftover sensations were almost pleasant. With a shudder he was pulled back by M/n, the male dragging him with a level of ease that was shocking given the differences in build. He looked at Jonathan, who balanced the bloodied spear with ease. The creature didn't get back up.

‘He was my brother…look at him now. Father, please lend me the strength to do what I must. Courage, Jojo. Dio is powerful, but you know how to end him. And end him, you must!’

“Jonathan, above you!”

“Watch out, Mister Joestar!” Jonathan immediately spun on his heels, pointing the end of the spear up towards the descending form, as Dio made an almost feral roar from the back of his throat.

“It’s over. I’m not going to let you kill anyone else, Dio!” There was a wet tearing sound as the spearhead went through the palm of Dio’s hand without so much as a grunt of pain. Instead, Dio tightened his fist on the metal spear, ignoring how the cold steel pushed deeper and deeper through his flesh, till it eventually stopped, leaving the vampire suspended in midair.

“He caught the soddin’ spear. Right through the hand, and he don’t even flinch! No way. The hole from where I shot him in the head. It’s healed up. That spear ain’t gonna hurt him! He’s immortal.” Speedwagon felt the male finally let go of him, and when he looked up, he noticed a rather dark grin had formed on the god's face.

“Immortal? That’s a flat out lie. Even gods can be killed with enough effort. If it can bleed, it can be slain. Nascentes morimur." With a scoff, the male looked down at him, face softening somewhat. “Listen, I can’t just carry you out of here without leaving Jonathan behind, so…try to recover, we’ll try to get Dio away from the exit, when you get the chance, run, run and don’t look back.”

“You’re such a weakling, Jojo.” Dio applied pressure, twisting the spear as Jonathan screamed in pain when the metal bent and crushed his shoulder. Bone cracking beneath the blow. With a metallic groan, the spearhead snapped, the broken piece embedding into Jonathan’s flesh, earning another pained cry from him. A twirl and the vampire was behind Jonathan, already rising to his feet. “Come on. ‌On your feet, insect. I’ve yet to gauge the full extent of my new powers, so let’s play a little longer, shall we? I trust you’ll be long since dead by the time I figure them out.”

There wasn't a reply.

"Hm?" Turning his head, Dio noted ‌the three had vanished. “Hiding, are we? How lucky you are to be blessed with that body, eh, Jojo? Even with those wounds, it must’ve been easy to drag that man away. I wonder, did M/n help?”

Breathing in, the blond's gaze moved around the room.

“Hm.” His gaze darted towards the back of the room as a puddle of blood slowly spilled forth, earning a chuckle and hiss as he spun on his heels to face the scarlet curtain. “You were a fool to attack me. I have disowned my weakness in favor of life everlasting, yet however hard you plan, you’ll still be limited by your humanity. You're behind the curtain, like Polonius, and, like Polonius, it is there that you shall meet your end.”

Ripping the curtain free, Dio was only met with a wall of flame, causing the vampire to scream in pain.

“Oh please, nothing is truly immortal, not even you.” M/n’s voice sounded like a low growl against the crackle of the flames. Dio struggled and ripped at the curtains covering him, revealing his skin had darkened and blackened from the sheer heat.

“M/n is right. Besides Dio, this isn’t some human scheme. This is courage!” Jonathan called, ‌the two, once again ready for the vampire's next move.

Is it love that makes danger look calm? Why do the waters go still only to fall into a riptide? Am I stuck falling in the depths of dark water forever? Yet I haven't drowned? What terrible curse is this? Am I the scorpion or the frog?

“He’s able to heal faster than the flames can hurt him. If that ain’t immortality, then I’m the bloody queen.” Speedwagon's voice was shaky, yet the relief died as soon as the curtain ripped apart, and Dio straightened out with a snarl.

“Fire hurts him, but not enough.”

“His regeneration is beating out the fire,” M/n remarked, using his stand to know the other two back. “Not only that, but he’s going to attack despite the heat…we need to get out of here.”

True to God's word, the vampire reached for a chair; the flames overtaking the wooden frame in mere seconds while M/n and Jonathan shared the look. M/n knew that look. It meant Jonathan was unsure of what they were supposed to do now. Honestly, he felt the same, but more in the sense that he would now have to somehow get two men out of the manor without seeming inhuman. Two men who were both bigger than he was. Maybe he should fake his death here so he wouldn’t have to run away later when his physical form stopped aging? Jonathan moved first, tossing Speedwagon towards the exit, earning a panicked yell from the blond. Or perhaps pained was a better word?

“Jojo! What are you doing?”

“Just get to safety, Speedwagon. If Dio wants a fight, I mean to give him one.” Jonathan looked at the god, who raised an eyebrow. "M/n...please..."

"I refuse." With a turn of the head, M/n looked at Jonathan and laughed. "I am sorry, though."

"Sorry? You’re sorry…? For what...?" Jonathan’s question was answered the moment M/n used his stand to toss the male towards Speedwagon. Using the momentum, he leapt over the flaming chair, even as part of him noted that the attack wasn’t meant for him. That was pushed to the depths of his mind, as he raced towards the second story, and if only by Dio’s shock, he could climb onto the upper railing. With an additional boost provided by his stand, the god pulled himself up and spun around. A sea of shocked faces stared up at him.

‘You know, I’m sorry for a lot of things…but, for now, I’m sorry that I always forced you to fight by yourself. I should’ve offered my aid, but I’m changing things. If I leave now to hide my immortality…then this will be the last memory you have of me. I hope you look upon me fondly.’ M/n changed his attention to the vampire, raising a hand to beckon for him. “Come on up, Dio.”

M/n saw the vampire look between him and Jonathan, but there was never any doubt that Dio would choose him.

And he did.

"M/N!" Jonathan screamed, though he knew deep down Jonathan would follow eventually, but as god M/n would be faster. So he’d have to move quickly...especially before the flames reach him.

“What are you doing? Are you mad? The flames are gonna box you in up there! M/n, you brave fool, I hope to hell you’ve got a plan.” Speedwagon howled like a wounded animal, but the god ignored it. He was done playing civilian. Finally doing something right, eh? Ajamu would laugh if he was still alive. Well, you could hear him laughing, anyway. ‘What is that bloke thinking?’

“I’m waiting for you, Dio.”

“Dio…I know you can’t be released into this world, but I can’t lose M/n!” Despite how much it hurt, Jonathan pushed himself off the ground. He still wasn’t sure how M/n threw him like that, but he wouldn’t allow the other to sacrifice himself. ‘Know this. It ends here. I will not allow you to leave this mansion behind.’

“No, that’s lunacy! Mister Joestar, what are you thinking? Don't follow him! The two of you told me to run yet are so eager to go upstairs where you can't escape! You mustn't!"

"Speedwagon…I have to...I can't let M/n do this on his own."

“Luring me away from Jojo and that gutter rat? How very noble of you. No matter.” Dio raised a leg and pushed into the wall, getting a foothold as he heard Jojo and Speedwagon bicker behind him. ‘Of course you’d do this, M/n. Leading me up here to save Jojo…despite everything you’ve done for me. Fine. As if I’d let you risk your life when I finally have you within my grasp.’

M/n seemed to smirk at him, causing the vampire to laugh.

“Hah! All right, once I have you, I’ll drain Jojo dry, and his blood will help me mend from this little adventure. You climb the wall in vain, M/n. Though getting rid of that bastard, Speedwagon should lighten my mood. In your haste to lead me away, all you’ve done is guarantee my victory.” Climbing up the wall, the vampire laughed as he noted M/n taking a few steps back. “M/n, everyone but you will be consumed tonight, by the inferno below or by me.”

"Well then, come and get me Dio. Don’t leave me alone up here." M/n called out, voice gaining a taunting edge to it, watching Dio flash him a smile the devil would find comfort in. Not long now. Still, Jonathan was trying to reach the top of the stairs. He had to move faster.

“Father, rest in peace. Let the rising smoke guide your soul to heaven. But first, please, lend me your aid one final time. ” With a pained hiss, Jonathan forced himself up to the midpoint of the stairs, watching M/n back up but never fully moving away from Dio's line of sight. Purposefully getting the vampire to chase after him...to save everyone but himself. Of course, M/n would push himself right in front of Dio's crosshairs. Looking towards his father's body being consumed by the flames, Jonathan shook his head. ‘Let the fire burn with your strength.’

“Hmph, when Jojo comes up it will all be for naught! Completely useless! Isn’t it obvious? Falling from this height won’t end me, and the two of you know it. M/n, you’re only trapping yourself up here, with me.”

“What do they mean to accomplish up there? No, that’s crazy! You’re throwin’ your life away! Don’t do it! Don’t do it, Jojo, M/n!”

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim...or wait, that's a snake. Anyway, it asked a frog to carry it across the river.

"Do I really look like a fool to you?" Said the frog. "You would bite me the moment I let you on my back!"

"Be logical," the snake snapped. "If I bit you, then we'd both sink and drown."

"That's true," said the frog. "Climb aboard."

No sooner were they halfway across the river that with a jingle of the snake's tail it struck the frog, causing both to sink. The frog thrashed as it cried in panic.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" The frog wailed. "Now we're both going to die."

"I can't help it." The snake said, almost sadly. "This is my nature."

And then they drowned.

‘Fuck…a dead end. How did I manage that?’ While it was true, he hadn’t been thinking of an exact location when he started leading Dio away from the other two. Hell, he hadn’t even thought about getting anything since his possessions were all stored in his stand. ‘Man, my luck’s completely shit. I just…I went as far away from the fire as I could…so I wasn’t even thinking about what hall I picked…I’m caught harder than a mouse in a trap! Am I still that afraid of fire?’

“So, you finally stopped running? I’ll admit, you lead me on a rather long chase, M/n.” Dio’s voice was soft, too soft, M/n would’ve imagined that statement to be mocking coming from him, but it sounded genuine. More like he was trying to talk down an ex-fighting dog he found. “Oh, don’t shake. I have no plan of killing you, M/n. We both know that.”

“As if you even could, and I’m not scared.” He spat, fangs bared, even if pride killed gods faster than their own minds. Yet, with a hand that didn’t shake, he went for the gun and dagger at his hip. ‘Both should be useless against Dio, since I don’t think either could destroy his brain in one hit. But if I even tried to stretch the fight out till sunrise, the fire would…I can’t…I don’t want to risk getting up in the inferno more than I have to. But…there’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

Why didn’t Dio seem bothered by his hostility?

“So, what is it? You always want something, and I doubt this is any different.”

“At the very least, I’ll admit to craving your blood, and part of me can’t help but wonder why you smell so much sweeter than the others. Yet this smoke is hiding it. Though at most, I want you by my side.” Dio moved slowly, purposefully telegraphing all of his steps as he came closer. On instinct, the god drew first position with the pistol. Just think of it as a duel. It earned a smile from the vampire. Almost amused. “M/n, please don’t make this difficult. Think of this as our first step towards eternity. I promise you I’ll use my fangs, far more pleasant than the alternative. I can tell you that one from experience. Life everlasting, my gift to you…just as we planned.”

“Planned…? We planned…what…where did you…?” Any words that came to mind felt unfamiliar and clunky in the god’s mouth, as if Dio was speaking in a long dead language that he was merely parroting back.

“You gave me the mask for a reason, didn’t you?”

“I…you’re saying I…? I…” God snarled, shock and something painful filling all his senses, leaving him drained as he nearly dropped the gun. His gaze turned blank. What was Dio suggesting about his character? His morals? His…his…personality? Was it even that inaccurate? Dio’s sins were a puddle compared to him, right? He was the ocean, and…no, no, no, just let him say whatever the hell he wanted. Who cared about past actions? What matters right now is your current actions. “Oh, I get it now. I’m just supposed to abandon Jonathan for you and the devil…is that how you really see-”

Before M/n could finish speaking, the fire entered the edges of the hallway, the sudden crackling causing him to jump and whimper.

“Oh, I see.” Dio’s voice caused you to jump and focus back on him despite how tightly you held the pistol. “Is that why you lead me all the way here? Not just to spare Jojo and that street rat, but because you’re terrified of fire.”

“...”

“I remember you avoiding the fire place no matter if we were in the deepest points of winter, but I never imagined that you did that because you were scared. To think you have such a common fear. This hallway is the furthest point from when Jojo started this blaze. That’s why you ended up here.” Dio’s face softened, causing M/n to frown. “There’s no need to worry. I won’t let you burn, M/n. Just come to me. I’ll carry you out of here, and then we can be together. Life everlasting. The two of us ruling everything for all eternity.”

“...” Trying to swallow down your panic, it wasn’t a surprise when his stand broke free from your skin. Bringing forth a rush of adrenaline, and if he was mortal, he’d be breathless. Sharp claws slammed into the carpet as it snarled. The vampire staggered back, looking shocked, while the serpentine beast bared its fangs. Reattaching his gun to his hip while his stand reached for a table and vase pressed against the wall, tossing it at the vampire, earning a surprised snarl. M/n was left staring at Dio, who had ducked and avoided the potential blow. He wasn’t looking at him, but ‌past him. To…his stand. He…Dio could see it? Had Dio somehow became a stand user on top of his vampiric transformation? He wanted his stand to deactivate, but all he did was snarl. Always ready to bear its fangs at those who may harm him.

“So, is that it? This is how you’ve been doing it all this time, isn’t it? All of those accidents. How strange, I can only see its outline, but that snake-like beast…was I right all those years ago? Have you been in contact with the devil, M/n?” Despite how hard his words hit, Dio’s voice remained light and musical, making his stand snarl while the god was left staring blankly. Words you no longer spoke, were left coursing through your mind. Ajamu was left laughing at you from oblivion. A reality you had never wanted to know. This whole thing was a cosmic joke on you and you alone. The floorboards groaned at the sheer weight of the beast, reminding you that a narrow hallway prevented your stand from being that useful.

“As if I would have ties with things so pathetic, Dio. You were more on base with the fire comments than dragging the devil into this.” Both the god and his stand looked up, causing the vampire to follow their gaze. Something was above them now. Something heavy. Which meant that Jonathan had somehow gotten up on the roof, all to get Dio away from him. What a risky plan. Foolish…but it would leave Jonathan as the only one still in danger. Typical of him. ‘Jonathan, you soft-hearted fool.’

“Sounds like someone wants me elsewhere.” Dio didn’t sound upset, his gaze already back on the stand, then the god. M/n watched how his brow furrowed, eyes narrowing, before he chuckled. A stab of fear cut through whatever composure M/n had left, not for his own sake, even if the fire was fraying his nerves. Dio seemed to consider him for a moment longer before looking down the hallway.

“No, no, no.” Both he and his stand lunge, hands reaching for the vampire’s frame, and M/n feels blood spill on his palm where his stand’s talons are interlocked over his own hand. Dio tensed, a snarl escaping his lips, and he looks as if he might lash out…but he doesn’t. His gaze lands on the god, and despite how painful his stand’s talons can be, he doesn’t even curse him out. “You don’t get to walk away. Your fight’s with me, Dio.”

“It never was. We both know that, M/n.” Dio scoffed, and he must be mocking him, because he smiled despite everything. “My fight has been with the Joestar family, with Jojo himself, but never you. If you move now, you can escape the manor through the back. You shouldn’t see more than a hint of flame if you move quickly enough. Just smoke. No matter what happens, I won’t let you die here, so leave the manor. I’ll find you once I’m done.”

The god stilled. An all-out attack may damage the foundation of the building, which may kill Jonathan or hinder far more than it would help. Besides, it wasn’t like there was any other reason. Nothing else that could change his mind…obviously not.

...so he let the vampire go.

But then no sooner had the pair made it halfway across the river, the frog felt a shift of the snake on his back, and in a feat of raw panic and fear, dived deep beneath the water. Leaving the snake to drown in a silent yowl.

"There was no point. It was going to bite me anyway," the frog muttered when he emerged on the other side of the river. "I can't be blamed. It was going to happen. I always knew it would the moment I agreed. Everyone knows what snakes are like. This was self defense."

And so the snake drowned, and the frog lived on.

The act of getting to the roof was difficult given Jonathan's condition, but not impossible, and with great difficulty the male had done it despite the pain in his body. No, because of the pain in his body. It was that and pure will that led to the male making it all the way up through the burning manor despite the smoke hurting his lungs and the flickering flames nipping at his clothes and flesh. Jonathan was a man who relied on these feelings and the care he felt for his dear friend, who had launched himself into the fray, if only to save his life. This act had moved him more than words could ever describe and should the other perish, Jonathan didn't think he would survive.

‘H-here he comes. Of course, surely you’d want to end me before you did anything to M/n.’ The thought, while bleak, rang true in his mind as Jonathan adjusted his position, a flash of small panic in mind as he balanced on the roof. A rumble below was enough of a warning, allowing him to turn and face the direction where the vampire would arrive.

"WWWRRRRYYYY!!!" The feral shriek filled Jonathan’s ears, followed by a wet rip as he pulled the spearhead out of his shoulder, barely having a second to block a kick aimed for his head. Teeth gritting as bits of the roof were launched at him, flames trying to pull the both of them back down into the inferno. Dio’s flesh was still darkened from the fire, and despite blocking the blow he was still left scrambling so he wouldn’t be knocked off the roof. An action that earned a smirk from the demon Dio had become. “Utterly pathetic!”

In an instance, Jojo’s life flashed before him. He knew what he had to do now, even as his body was sent falling down the side of the manor’s roof and the spearhead embedded into the shingles.

“My youth…my life with Dio…I’ll settle this once and for all!”

'He’s trying to make the fire burn as hot as possible! If the fire burns Dio faster than he can regenerate, he’ll die. So Jonathan used M/n’s distraction to make it to the roof while the flames spread. At the bottom of the steps by the fountain, Speedwagon was left staring at the blazing building in what one may describe as either awe or horror. Perhaps both. “Stop!"

From the blazing halls of the manor and the roof, both Dio and Jonathan heard someone scream for them to stop.

Neither listened.

…but no sooner had the pair cast off from the bank, the frog then felt the tips of the snake's fangs near his spine.

"What do you think you're doing?!" The frog gasped.

"Oh, just a precaution." Cooed the snake. "I can't bite you without knowing that I'll drown. And now, well, you can't drown me without being crushed in my fangs and filled with venom. Fair's fair. Isn't that how the saying goes?"

They swam in complete silence to the other end of the river, where the snake slithered off the frog, leaving the aforementioned frog fuming.

"After the kindness I showed you!" Snarled the frog. "And you threatened me in return?"

"Oh, kindness?" Asked the snake. "To only invite me on your back after you knew that I'd be defenseless, unable to use my fangs without death hanging over me? My dear sweet frog, I only choose to treat you as I was treated, and you claim it unfair. Your kindness was as poisoned as my fangs. Be lucky I didn't bite you."

And so the snake lived.

Jonathan made his move. Charging Dio, yet his shoulder nearly split in half at the impact. Still, his plan worked. The two of them went through the wall, bricks shattering and the flames roaring. The entire world is rendered to just noise and heat as Dio tries to break his hold. For only a second Jonathan thinks that this heat will never let go, even if he lives a hundred years.

And then they plummet.

“H-how dare you!” Dio hisses, all the venom of a snake without the bright color as warning, his body shaking and twitching as he bares fangs that seem sharper and sharper.

Jonathan simply closes his eyes.

‘The home of my ancestors is burning. Father is dead. I should have nothing left. Nothing left but my life. Yet that isn’t true…still, flames, take me!’

Meanwhile, in the lower levels of the manor, the god races through hall after hall, constantly backtracking and hitting dead ends to best avoid the flames. It wasn’t working. After Dio had left M/n had gone still, he had waited too long. The only good thing to come from this was the chance to steal a painting off the wall that hadn’t burned, but now he was trapped in the second story. He’s struggling to breathe despite not needing air. It feels weird. The hall to the main exit is blocked by flames, but he could get back to the stairs and grand hall if he just…moved. When he can’t even breathe, the god decides and charges through the flames that tug and rip at every part of him. There’s gasoline in the air. A match is struck.

‘Hey, shut the fuck up! Let me say my piece! Just, my life up until now, if I’m being honest with ya, my life hasn’t been easy. Though I’ve had my ups and downs, you know? I’ve taken some knocks, yeah, I know. Boo hoo. Poor me. I mean, the whole prison thing, solitary confinement, it really messed with me. But I thought I had something-’

His body gave a shudder at the heat. The surrounding walls were peeling and collapsing, floors falling through. A panicked snarl escaped the god when a broken board embedded itself into his chest. A swipe of the hand broke the burning end before the flame could fully encase him.

‘Did…did it go straight through bone…?’ He swayed, staggering back, as his stand ripped the wood out, claws slashing away any hanging boards to prevent the incident from repeating itself. A laugh escaped his lips as he pulled an ichor soaked hand away from his chest. ‘I don’t…I…I want things to go back to normal. This isn’t real. This isn’t right! Sir should be…he’ll wake me up…and tell me ‌I’m late…’

“Master, we need to get moving.”

The flames reached out for him, clawed, and a hiss escaped the immortal as his stand pushed him forward. This inferno was mocking him. Laughing. Like he was back in hell again. The skin of his arms and legs kept getting ripped away, burns dancing over his frame, heat clouding his vision. It gets to ‌where his vision is switching too fast, but it doesn’t help. In fact, he can’t see at all.

M/n knows this.

This is hell. This is just hell, but he’s no longer tied and tortured. Just a lost soul left racing through the mazes. He has to keep going. There’s an exit somewhere, but he doesn’t know where he is anymore.

He feels sick

There are heartbeats falling towards him.

The world ends and dies with dead saints and living snakes.

"You have a point." The frog acknowledged. "But once we get to land, you won't need me. Can't you just bite me then without worrying about death?"

"But all I want is to cross the river safely." Said the snake. "Once I'm on the other side, I have no desire to bite you. I would gladly let you be."

"But I would have to trust you on that." The frog murmured. "While you sit there with your fangs at my neck...by taking you to the land in these conditions, I'd be giving up the one thing I hold over your head."

"Yet by that logic, I can't move my fangs!" The snake cried.

The snake paused while the frog went still in the water. Merely floating. "Then we're at an impasse."

"So it seems." The snake said. The water rushed around them as the snake's fangs twitched ever so slightly.

So they both died.

The flames had reached the roof, holes being torn into the floor. It seems their fight had reached the first floor and would be settled in a matter of moments. Like always, the pair, born under blessed and cursed stars respectfully, are under the eyes of god which watches and waits for the end.

“I’ll end your evil ambition with my life!” And even before the declaration leaves his lips, Jonathan knows that this is a one-way trip. That he’s playing for keeps. Especially in the face of his adopted brother, who snarls and spits like a snared fox. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? My life will be burned to cinders, but in return I’ll seal you away, Dio…and that’s all I could ask for.’

‘This…this isn’t right!’ Dio thought with a snarl, panic overtaking him as he shifted in the other's grasp. His gaze going to the fast approaching ground. ‘The latest burns haven’t healed yet, and now the fire covers the entire first floor…if I fall now…even my immortality and regeneration won’t hold up to such fierce flames.’

“So what? You broke five, or maybe six of my ribs when we fell?” He keeps his voice light despite it all, because even if by some chance he, Dio, should burn, then he knows he won’t die alone. M/n would never see Jojo again, and to think the fool would never know of the betrayals of his would-be-lover. Never know what they planned with the mask…and didn’t that give him an idea? “Jojo, do you think M/n will shed a tear for you?”

"What...?" Jojo stares in shock and Dio laughs, knowing that he found a weak point and he presses.

“Isn’t it obvious? He was the one who did this. He gave me the mask. He was the one that checked me for injuries and weapons, allowing me to keep the knife I used to strike our father down. He was never a third party in our spats!” Jojo looks utterly heartbroken, and Dio pulls him in even closer, hoping to sink fang into flesh and finally end this fight with the blood he swore he’d drink at the beginning of the end. “He never loved you.”

In the moment of helplessness, all Jojo does is force his jaws away, denying him what he wanted, so Dio casts him aside like the coward he is. With a growl, Dio made his move, breaking Jojo’s hold on him by slamming his knee into the male’s side. He can feel the vibration, weak as it is. Jojo’s lungs were weakened from the smoke and crashing through brick and mortar, unable to give the vampire a proper scream. This was a far cry from the death he had planned for the Joestar heir, but one he found fitting, if only because of the fool’s idiotic desire to stop what he considered injustice.

He slammed his hand into a sturdy part of the wall and watched Jojo fall.

"Goodbye Jojo~! Die for nothing!"

Jonathan howls, finally gathering his strength, though the sound is still not grand enough.

“For a moment, I admired your courage. Still, all I lose by your sacrifice is the blood I would have taken. Cry tears of joy as you perish alongside Daddy, fool!” Dio grins as the one he once considered his greatest obstacle reached up towards him, a flicker of hope in his eyes, and mouth opening helplessly as no words came out. ‘I’m superhuman! Invincible! Immortal! I shall rule the world! M/n, Jojo, it was the two of you that gave me this power!

With that, Jonathan vanished into the smoke.

A snake, not knowing how to swim, asked a nearby frog to carry it across the river.

"Absolutely not!" Said the frog and dived beneath the waters.

And neither learned a fucking thing.

Jonathan fell, and he briefly wondered if this level of heartbreak was what Lucifer felt when falling from grace, and he wasn't sure if he was crying from smoke or the news that Dio had whispered in his ear. It couldn't be true, right? M/n would never betray him.

'Of course. I stand by you...my first friend.'

That was what he said all those years ago. M/n didn't lie...didn't hide his vicious nature like Dio did. He must be lying. It almost made Jonathan laugh as he remembered what Dio's name meant. God had lied to him. In between the brief moments of laughter and crying, he saw a gray chunk of deformed metal fall towards him. He reached out and grabbed it, slamming the metal into the wall and, with a twisting flip in midair, he landed on the spear. Despite having been bent and broken from the fight, it held his weight with ease. A small miracle, but one that added to his sense of purpose.

'M/n wouldn't do this to me.'

He jumped.

“I can’t reach!”

On his second jump, Jonathan grabbed his belt and unlatched it, lashing it upwards. And felt a sudden surge of satisfaction when it wrapped around something, or more appropriately someone, and held fast. "Dio, I’m back!"

"…?" Dio stared down in confusion, eyes narrowing as he stared at the belt. Then he was tugged down from heaven with the wall he held crumbling away and following him down. “What?! How?!”

Jonathan snarled, reaching out and grabbing hold of the male's shoulders, his hand going behind his back to the dagger.

"I won’t let you go! Your fate is sealed!” The vampire's eyes widened as he raised the dagger. “Here! Take the knife you used to murder my father!”

With that, he plunged the blade into Dio's side, right between the ribs.

"WWWWRRRYYYYY!" Dio howled, throwing his head back before swallowing down the pain and glaring at Jonathan holding him. Grabbing on, he listened to Jonathan’s pained hiss as the bones in his arms shattered.

‘I’ve crushed his arms to splinters, and he’s already ablaze, but his grip on me is still that of a vice.’ Yet the vampire threw his head back in a laugh. "So be it, Jojo, consign us both unto the flames! But perish, knowing I will survive this moment. For everything you have done, even this inferno cannot devour me!”

“Father! Lend me your strength!” His desperate cry echoed in the night, whether urged on by his departed father or heeding an instinct borne of a long familiarity with the home which burned around him, he kicked…

“What the-”

And that put them right in line with…

The statue of the Joestar family’s guardian angel.

"WRRRRY!" With a pained scream, Dio felt the twisted slab of metal break his spine and cleave upwards till it emerged from his bare chest, pointing up towards the sky. He felt his eyes water at the heat; the flame ripping and burning his flesh away as he thrashed, unable to free himself in his state. Panic flared in him like a caught rabbit. Had he obtained immortality for nothing? “How could a worm like you-”

The vampire howled in pain as he caught glimpses of his own skeleton appearing at the flame's flickering tongues. At some point, he realized in his panicked thrashing, he couldn't feel parts of his body. The flames were eating him away. He was going to be left as nothing more than scraps.

“I-I forgot who I was dealing with. Bloody his nose, and he comes back twice as fierce. Jojo! I had such plans for this world…such…?” The vampire faintly registered something slamming against what remained of the stair’s railing. They were shaking, and his enhanced vision allowed him to spot red staining their frame. A wave of horror overtook him. “M/n…did you not…? You need…to…get out…please…”

The figure vanished and Dio felt a sense of relief as the flames ripped him away.

A snake, being unable to swim and fearing the water, asked a turtle, as the original Persian version of the story used, to carry it across a river. The turtle agreed with ease, and the snake was allowed on its shell. Halfway across, the snake fell victim to its nature and struck, but was unable to do anything through the turtle's thick shell. The turtle, swimming lazily, failed to even notice.

They reached the other side. No one died, and they parted ways as friends.

"The fools…why…Mister Joestar…M/n…?" Speedwagon whispered, the words dying soon after they escaped his lips while staring at the crackling flames spiking and flaring around the edges of the room. Only for a window to shatter, a blur shooting out of the flames, landing on the ground with a thud. Despite the heat in the air, Speedwagon recognized the blur with ease.

It was Jonathan Joestar.

“Jojo…?”

“It’s over…”

Looking past him, Speedwagon glimpsed a figure shaking in the flames, pitch black, when amidst the smoke. It had to be M/n, Speedwagon doubted Dio would ever show a hint of mercy, but why had he vanished back into the flames? Despite everything, he trembles. That M/n fellow was too strange. No matter what, he couldn’t get a good read on him.

“You’re alive, you lucky bastard. He did it…Jojo bested him!” He screams, a thanks to any god listening in.

But is it any real surprise?

They say saints live through god’s blessings, and loving gods have so much more to give.

…halfway across, the snake fell victim to its nature and struck, but was unable to do anything through the turtle's thick shell.

The turtle, hearing the light tap of the snake's fangs, felt offended by the snake's ungrateful behavior. Thankfully, turtles were given the power to both defend themselves and punish those who commit evil, so with that in mind, the turtle sank beneath the waters and drowned the snake out of principal.

So the snake dies.

Jonathan's mind was in pieces when he first woke in the hospital, left shaky and weakened while the world blurred and mixed like paints being poured together. The room was filled with noise, birds cooing, and he’s left laying in bed watching dozens of birds land and preen around him. Hawks, pigeons, falcons, gulls. One lands close enough for him to see a glyph on its breast, one that it shares with every other bird in the room. Anytime a nurse or doctor enters the room, they fly up to the rafters, but they never leave. He was never alone. A window would open occasionally, bringing with it a gust of cold air that freed him from the fire’s aftermath.

The world was…safer.

Yet he falls asleep and is back into the flames.

He woke up to a pair of golden eyes watching him, a falcon coos, and a hand brushes against his arm.

"I hope...I hope...M/n..."

A sad sort of laugh sounds by his ears, and he forgets how to breathe. Something was placed at his bedside table.

“Is safe?”

“...please…”

“Don’t worry. All things are safe at the end of the world. Well, everything but the snakes.” They laugh, leaving him yearning for something that he can’t name. “Your friend…he’s safe. That’s good, isn’t it? Even if the two of you never meet or speak again…he still cares about you. He cares, and he’s safe. That’s what matters. You’ll be okay despite this.”

"...no..."

“...no? But…but he’s alive…? Isn’t that…? That’s what matters, right?”

Jonathan nearly sobs.

A snake, unable to swim, asked a nearby frog to carry it across the river.

"Do I look like a fool to you, beast?" Sneered the frog. "You'd sting me as soon as I let you on my back."

The snake begged earnestly to the frog. "Do you really think so little of me? Please, I must get across the river. What would I even gain from biting you? I would end up drowning myself in the river!"

"True." The frog agreed. "Even a snake like you would know to not bite. Fine, climb aboard."

But as they crossed the river, the snake felt fear.

'This thing thinks me a killer,' the snake thought. 'Would it not think it justifiable to toss me into the waters and watch me die? Why else would it even agree to this?'

Every time the frog had water run along the top of its back, the snake shook. Until a large wave went by. In raw panic, the snake struck.

"I knew it!" The frog snapped, as they both struggled and drowned. "A snake can't change no matter how many skins it sheds."

So they both died.

"You guys wait here." Speedwagon instructed, hopping off the wagon his mates had driven him on and flashing them a smile despite the pain in his body that the meds and sling hadn't killed off yet.

"Should you really be going out on your own while still recovering?"

"I'm only entering a hospital. Besides, his life hangs on a thread. There isn't even a comparison to be made with my flesh wounds." Then he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. "Fuck...get me the cane…please?"

"Told you."

A snake, unable to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. The frog agreed, yet no sooner had the pair made it halfway across the river when the snake struck the frog and they both drowned.

"I only have myself to blame," the frog sighed. "You are a snake. I knew this would happen, yet I expected better. I knew better, and yet I did this to us both!"

"You couldn't help it," cooed the snake. "It was your nature."

And they both died.

“Jojo won his battle against that demon. Poor sod. He lost everything in the process. That’s why I brought him here three days ago. And now, bereft of father and home alike, how’s he gonna muster up the will to live? Don’t give up on the world yet, Jojo!” Speedwagon stopped, hearing something echo above his head. Whispers, humming, and cooing. He recognized that voice amidst the noise. Stepping back, despite how much it pained him, he looked up and saw M/n sitting on the roof of the hospital. Talking. Too quiet for someone to understand or make out, yet it was loud enough that he knew the male was talking. But he was surrounded by birds of all shapes and sizes. “M/n…?”

Despite how quiet he was, the god still looked down at him, and Speedwagon flinched despite himself. His eyes were a solid gold now, pupils mere slits, like that of a snake waiting to strike. Slowly, he cocked his head, and with a nod, he looked back up at the sky.

Yet…when he looked closer…he was in a rather sad state.

Clothes left as burned rags, skin blackened, dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t realized how thin the other was, but he looked starved. As if he weighed less than a hundred pounds.

‘He must be shattered by what happened…yet why…why isn’t he with Jojo?’

Still, he entered the building as the whispers started again.

"Why on earth did you do that?" The frog gasped in pain. "Now we're both going to die."

"Sadly, I was a creature of two natures," the snake sighed with a sad smile. "One told me to gracefully ride upon your back across the river, and then the other said to strike you with my fangs as quickly as possible. And so both fought...and well...neither won. Ah, how nice it would be to simply have one nature. To just be one thing, wouldn't it be grand? A creature without the capacity for conflict or regret."

"I believe this is his room." When he went to open the door, Speedwagon jolted back as a female face fell into view and he nearly dropped his cane. "Huh...?"

"What is it? This room isn't allowing any visitors."

"What? No visitors? But that's why I came! I want, no need, to see him! He's my friend!" She doesn't react to his pleas and Speedwagon flinches at the realization she isn't listening to him. 'What's with her? And what cold eyes she has!'

"We're looking after him. Come back at a later date." With that, she slammed the door closed and he heard the lock click and the smug whispers of the nurses down the hall. Neither of them seemed willing to assist him.

"Hey, wait a minute!" He slammed a fist against the wooden door, ignoring the whispers and instead focusing on the woman who slammed the door. "Open up! Looking after him? I don't care about the treatment! It's heart! Heart is what he needs right now!"

The door didn't open.

'Damn it! That nurse may have been a beauty, but so cold. No wonder M/n resides on the roof rather than in the halls or at Mister Joestar's side. Still, she looked down on me as someone from the slums and no doubt wanted to throw me out when she saw the scars on my face. Normally I would just break in by force, but I'll come back later instead.'

And Speedwagon left the hospital, not even noticing that the figure on the roof was gone.

"By the way," asked the frog, as they swam. "I've been meaning to ask you; what's on the other side of the river, anyway?"

"It's the journey." the snake answered. "Not the destination."

‘Spirit…that’s what he needs, so I’m gonna give it to him. Huh…?’ Speedwagon had difficulty getting in through the underground and then getting back up to the levels he had been in during the daylight, but his injuries barely stung once he entered the hallway from the morning and made his way to the room. "It’s the dead of night, but there’s a lamp burning in his room. What do we have here?’

His whisper barely sounded like an actual word to his own ears, so Speedwagon doubted that the nurse heard him, especially as she tended to Jonathan's bandages and re-wet the cloth to set on his forehead.

‘How long’s she been at it? Don’t tell me she’s been watching over him all this time. Her fingers…cracked from the damp I’d wager? She must have been cooling his burns round the clock for them to get like that.’

A soft groan sounded, and the saint woke up.

"What's on the other side of anything?" Asked the snake. "A new beginning."

There was once a god who sat on top of a hospital for three days, silent, wrapped in the ashes of tragedy. While he entered the room, he was quick to leave the birds he created to watch Jonathan as he went back to the roof. A cat’s place was by the fireplace, a bird’s place was on the branches. So, where does the snake live? Does it even have a place?

It was funny, right?

To be god. Yet he wasn’t thinking of the world at large, his responsibilities, or even humanity…rather all his thoughts were on the man who sobbed for him.

The male he can't hope to face.

A fucking fool.

"Another snake to soothe my loneliness," answered the snake. "And more prey to kill, and more living creatures to squirm at my venom, and a forthcoming line of cruelties that you can't even imagine, and ones you will be culpable in."

The brief interaction with Jonathan should have been enough for him. He had laid flowers into the vase, separated an orange for him, and that should have been enough. He had already stopped aging. It should have been enough.

That was…

You had always been weak, right? Except for the moments when you nailed the coffin shut and accepted your fate, but you didn’t like to look back on those days or how they weighed on you.

But you were god now. Everywhere you looked, there was yet another cross hanging on the walls, necklaces, as graves, or nailed to a church’s wall. Every day as the backlight to the voices in your head was a mantra of people praying, begging, or worshiping a god.

About what sent men to heaven, what condemned them to hell.

In another life, people claimed you were only the devil, but now people saw the unmarred face of an angel, or the sinful fate of someone cast from grace. Too smart to be holy, too pretty to be damned, right?

A pretty face, an easy target…but you were only a serpent.

Not quite the devil in a mortal guise, but you certainly weren’t the holy man people wanted. They were still wrong. You were a pathetic human with all the flaws of one, just like every god before you. No one was born a god. They all became one. But you had never believed in god after you ran from home. Mom could have her faith. You weren’t suited for that lifestyle. You had gone into church and hoped that just maybe someone would hear your prayers and rid you of your claws and fangs, but that never happened.

You had never hoped to be more. You had always known what you had been back then. Nothing special. You ran from a ‌haven into alleyways and slums. The strong, or at least those with some power, took hold of everything, but their lives still sucked. They were still suffering, weren’t they? No one was happy in that world. No one won in that life. The weak simply suffered more.

You had never planned on living past twenty, hell, past sixteen in the gangs.

Certainly not to become god.

In that world, you had lived on the edge of the devil’s backbone. A game of survival. Blind in one eye and scarred by past reckoning.

Eat or be eaten.

A game of survival.

But then, you moved on from that, and by the will of prophecy, never fate, you moved in with Sir and Jonathan.

Your mother had been upper-crust, you knew that, had seen it while living with her and after, but you had never been in the limelight. Politics, the rich, all of that was just a mess you couldn’t fathom.

You drowned worse than any snake, but you could hide it.

With this new face of yours? You were a devil in an angel’s guise, right? This face that didn’t even look like you had ‌swallowed all your past problems. You played a liar, but everyone here was lying. You just mimicked the rest of them.

But then there was Jonathan, who you would have hated as a child, who you hated now. Because Jonathan embodied everything you had never been. That humans were good, that people could be good just by nature despite the world around them, that love and kindness were things people could crave and have for merely existing.

Jonathan preached goodness with a swing of his fists while you preached apathy with inaction.

You think that was why you hated him. Because he would’ve been better, he would’ve made you better, and Jonathan would’ve been a splendid god. You hated him for not being there in your past. You hated him for not being strong enough to change you now.

Shouldn’t god forbid change? God made the world, perfectly, but perfect didn’t exist. So what was god in the equation?

You suffer, so heaven will answer you.

But you had suffered, and hell met you at the crossroads.

Yet…when Jonathan had woken up…the first thing he asked…he wanted to know…

If you were alright.

Something feels wrong deep inside.

"Nothing we will live to see. I'm afraid." Murmured the snake. "Already the currents are growing stronger and stronger, and the river seems keen to swallow us both. We surge forward, and the shoreline stays away. But does that mean all our striving was in vain?"

When Speedwagon saw him, M/n felt relief that the other had survived and could recover from the injuries caused by Dio's crimes and his inaction. All he can hope is that somewhere along the line, Speedwagon didn't let hate grow towards Jonathan and was rewarded with the other's intent. He realized Jonathan had chosen friends with careful skill and the same with love if the noble dedication of Erina was anything to go by. He had worried and feared that Jonathan would be left alone once he took to the wind and flew far beyond his reach, but someone like Jonathan could find friends, even with those who appeared as enemies.

A noble soul lived in the strongest of saints.

"I love you," said the snake.

The frog looked up in surprise. "Do you?"

"Absolutely. Can you imagine the fear of drowning? Well, of course not. You're a frog. For you, it would be like me being afraid of breathing air, and yet here I am, sitting atop your back while the waters rage around us. Isn't this love? Isn't this trust? Isn't this necessity? I could not kill you without killing myself in the same breath. Are we not inseparable in this?"

The frog swam on in silence.

Easy enough to rent a room at some inn in the alleyways. Easier still to use his stand to convince the man that he certainly paid for it all, including the private bath. Because of the location and nature of the inn, the bath isn't perfect but feels far more comparable to what he did as a mortal than the delicate, ornate tub that had been his private bath in the manor. Shedding the burnt, tattered fabric to his feet, he sank into the water with a sigh, unsure of what he was or was supposed to be doing.

The birthmark was Jonathan's, or rather the Joestar's birthmark, and he knew it.

Had known about it for years now.

But was Jonathan really his killer? Jonathan wasn't blond, and he doubted the male would ever dye his hair. Dio, on the other hand...didn't have the birthmark, so why would the hint be about him? Unless it was just a sign that Dio was in contact with the Joestar family. He washes the ash out of his hair and ponders what exactly will happen to him now. He doesn't have anywhere...anyone...other than the Joestar family. If he turns his back on Jonathan, then he's lost everything again.

“Don’t hide your feelings. You need to see him again, Master.” The snake coos.

"Why?"

"You won't ever rest if you don't." The creature hangs over the tub. Rows of fang poking out of the scales, red cloth wrapped over the closed eyes of the beast, his stand is a beast over sixteen feet tall and uses that height to cover him and the tub from view. The god allows his stand to force him under the water. He doesn't need air, anyway. "You always push everything away from you and it hurts you master. I don't like it. I want you to be happy."

"..."

"You are happy here."

"..."

"You are happy about being around Jonathan, and to throw that away isn't what you want."

"..."

"This time it might actually break you Master." M/n feels a smile form on his face. Is his stand serious? After everything that had happened, would losing Jonathan finally ruin him?

"..."

"I don't care if you choose him or the blond. I just want you to be happy." A tail dipped into the water and it slowly coiled around his waist, the teeth scraping and tearing into his flesh. At least the water was warm. "You...you want to be happy, right Master?"

"I want to be human."

The stand sighed.

"I'm so tired," the frog whispered as they swam. "How much further till we reach the other side? I don't know how long we've been swimming. I've been treading water...and it's getting dark."

"Shh..." hissed the snake. "Don't be scared."

The frog kicked its legs weakly. "How long has it been? We're lost. We're lost. We have to be. We're doomed to swim forever and never reach the other side. There is no land. There’s no other side...don't you see it?"

"Shh, shh," the snake hissed again. "My venom acts as a hallucinogenic. Beneath the surface, the river seems endlessly deep and the current carries so much."

"You...you've killed us both!" The frog wailed, then laughed. "Is this...is this what drowning feels like?"

"We merely killed each other," said the snake. "My venom now running through your veins, the water of your birthing pool filling my lungs. We are engulfing each other, drowning in each other. It makes me breathless. Do you feel it? Did you feel when my fangs struck through your heart?"

"What a foolish thing to do," whispered the frog. "No logic...there's no logic in you."

"We couldn't help it." The snake replied. "It's our nature. Why does anything in this world happen? Because we were made for this from birth, darling, every little moment inexplicable and inevitable. What a crazy thing it is to fall in love, and yet...it's all our fault! We are both blameless. We're together now, darling. Couldn't have happened any other way."

The clothes stored in his stand were the clothes of a commoner, basic and worn, but they were accurate to the time and the god slipped them on without complaint. His stand wanted him happy. It felt like a joke knowing the hunger that cursed it and how every little thing in his mortal life had dragged back to that hunger that ‌ran through blood or ichor. His sins belonged to the stand and vice versa.

So why did it want happiness? Let alone his?

A shake of the head. He settled on the bed and immediately registered something in the room with him. Someone he really didn’t want to see.

"Hello Dio."

"You know it's funny," the frog spoke. "I can't say that I trust you, really. Or that I even think very much of you and those fangs to begin with, but I'm doing this, anyway. Strange, isn't it? So strange. Why would I do this? I want to help you. I want to go out of my way to help you. I let you climb right onto my back. Now why would I ever do something so foolish?"

"M/n," he doesn't look surprised to see him. Instead, just watching, and Dio ignores how it pains him to take a step forward with his body ravaged and still recovering because of the fire. At least the hole that had formed in his chest had healed because of the blood he drained from the poison merchant. Not as if he cared at the moment. He hadn't been searching for blood or he'd be more healed...rather he had come searching for M/n. "You're…you’re okay."

"And you survived." M/n doesn't let any of his emotions shine through and Dio smiles at it. He knows for a fact that this was a habit of survival and Dio had learned it himself years ago. Dio knew in his mind that M/n could strike him down should he make himself anything greater than an annoyance. The relaxed posture was so different from the horrified look he had seen in the blaze, or even the faint glimpse he remembered seeing before burning. "Then dragged yourself to my room."

"I told you ‌I would." He noted ‌the male seemed upset about something, but ultimately, it didn't seem to be directed at him. "Did you see her? How easily she inserts herself into Jonathan's life, taking you out of the picture?"

"I wouldn't get any closer. I could kill you in an instant." Dio goes still. He lowers his head, knowing that he crossed a line. Despite everything, it seemed there was always a part of M/n that cared about Jonathan. "Besides, I want them to get together..."

"You won't." At that, his legs finally gave out, collapsing at the male’s feet like someone sprawled out in front of their god. Maybe he’d even earn forgiveness along the way. A sigh escaped M/n’s lips as the feeling only grew, the pad of a thumb brushing the cut along his cheek. "I know you won't kill me, M/n. Not here...and not when I haven't done anything."

"Yet."

"Yet." He agrees, knowing that he still plans on fighting Jonathan should the male become an issue and the simple fact that all of his goals, minus acquiring M/n, would only be solved through bloodshed and gore.

"You look so pitiful like this, Dio."

The sense of amusement in his voice makes Dio want to laugh. But seeing M/n's face in the low candlelight, which makes it seem carved from marble, had him pulling the other into a kiss. He tenses before returning it. This was more awkward than what he had imagined their first kiss to be like, not that he'd admit to imagining it often, but he blamed that on being unused to having fangs. M/n didn't share the problem despite having both fangs and a bisected tongue, so he took the lead silently. Dio accepts it, letting himself drown in the sensations, the closest thing to peace he's felt in years. Pulling away, he opened his eyes and Dio knew ‌he had to be staring in open awe, yet he didn't dare look away.

"I love you," M/n drew back at that, eyes widening in a look of perfect confusion. Had it been at a different moment, he may have laughed. Instead, he paused, hands at the male's sides. When he didn't get a clear reaction, he drew back, no longer touching him in the slightest, and met his eyes. "Do you not want this? I may want you, but I have no intention of forcing you. I won't take any more than what you give me. If you tell me to leave, I'll go. I want you willingly. I won't take from you, M/n."

The look of shock on his face spoke volumes and Dio had to wonder if M/n knew how often he thought of that conversation on the bridge. Not for the death threat he received. Had M/n just thought that he had avoided harming him, and played nice with him, merely so he could gain an ally? If that was truly the case, then he would need to prove his intent.

"You're a fool, you know that, right?" There wasn't any venom in M/n's voice and Dio pressed a kiss to the male's neck, feeling the pulse, slow and steady, because of course M/n wouldn't be afraid of him. Even right now, the male was relaxed and watching him with a low hum escaping his lips. "Though I suppose I share that flaw."

Settling on the bed despite how much it pained him to move, M/n drew him into a kiss and Dio leaned into it happily. When they pull apart, he moves to press a kiss to his cheek, and once more to his lips. He tastes sweet, just like his scent, and it only seems to make him feel as if he's being pulled under the current. Is he still in pain? Still, all he can hope is that his devotion shows in his actions, or maybe each action would be a prayer if he was still going with the god analogy, and he finally presses his lips to the male's neck. Despite how tempting it seems, he doesn't dare break skin. Dio already knows that he's playing with more or less borrowed time, and he has no intention of getting himself thrown out if he can help it. A single motion, and he finds his own head tilted up and M/n sinking his own sharp fangs deep into the vampire's neck, earning a delighted hum and the world fades again.

"Hm, you look better like this." M/n hummed, and the vampire shifted so he was more or less leaning against the male. M/n appeared so fragile or delicate despite the sharp angle of his features when compared to him or Jonathan, yet without a doubt in his mind Dio knew that M/n could kill him. "Less smug and more content...peaceful even."

Dio nearly nodded as the other continued his task of ripping and sinking his fangs into the vampire's neck, each one making him shiver and twitch in response. He never realized how sensitive his neck could be. How ironic. There was a part of him that was sure this should hurt. That M/n was only adding to his growing wounds, yet it didn't. He moves his hands to rest below his ribs till they land at M/n's waist.

"I want to worship you as a god." It comes out as a mere whisper and he hears a slight intake of breath.

"Oh really? I assumed you'd want me to treat you like that given your name Dio." M/n chuckled in his ear. "I'm afraid there isn't much that's pure and holy in me."

"Pure? Maybe not." He did his best to move the male, so he was straddling the blond, watching his eyes widen ever so slightly, leaning down to brush his lips against Dio's. "But I'd be willing to argue when it comes down to you being holy."

"You always argue, Dio. I assumed it was why you wanted to be a lawyer." M/n retorts as Dio presses a kiss to his neck. Emboldened by his words, the vampire finally sinks his fangs in and drinks from him. The god, for who else could earn such devotion from Dio himself, gasped in delight, which broke into a low growl. So he bites again. Hands flex and fingernails dig into the vampire's side with an inhuman strength as Dio licks the sweet tasting blood away, watching the wounds close. Was his saliva doing that? Did it even matter as long as he wasn't scaring M/n?

"I love you."

He whispered, another kiss to his neck followed by his fangs plunging into M/n's skin, another prayer to the god beneath him, who grabs at his hair and pulls him in for a kiss and Dio pulls away to see the smear of blood across his bottom lip.

"I love you."

He gasps as the god tugs the burned rags away from his skin, moving to trace the scar in the center of his chest. Yet another reminder of his defeat at the manor. He watches the male ‌slide his shirt over and throw it aside. He laughed and barely avoided pulling M/n's clothes off him, only just.

"I used to think you hated me."

"Really?" M/n arches an eyebrow at the statement and Dio snickered, pressing his face to the male's bare chest. The cross-shaped brand was warmer than the rest of him and the skin was rough and uneven. Leaning up, he nipped at M/n’s Adam's apple. "I have never hated you. I have my disagreements with your behavior and methods, but I do care for you."

Dio's mind went blank, his teeth digging in deeper than he'd intended, something that the god beneath him didn't seem to mind if the upwards jolt of his hips were any sign. He ground back, earning a low hum. Some might claim that those words were too simple, too little even, but from M/n, it might as well have been a love confession. Clothes were tossed to the floor, a few items hanging half off the sides of the bed, as Dio settled so he was better resting without applying much weight to M/n's legs.

M/n was now completely bare. Most of his clothing was loosely worn from just getting out of the bath, while Dio now had the torn remains of his pants by his knees. He would have to steal clothes before he left, but right now Dio couldn’t even describe what he wanted in any sort of detail. His face settled again at the male's neck before the god could speak. On some level, he wanted little more than to taste more of his blood now that he had been given such a privilege.

He nearly whined when M/n pushed him slightly away, only for whatever protest he had to die on his tongue when M/n rolled his hips‌. On some level, he knew the other was speaking to him in a soft voice that left no room for complaint, but they had lost their meaning as Dio nearly collapsed into a boneless heap. The vampire didn't even notice the purr that escaped his lips or the faint ever present sound of snakes hissing and something other tracing over his skin. Hands tightened in his hair, pulling his head up so the god could press a series of kisses to his neck.

He didn't know how M/n flipped him, maybe he used that snake creature from before, but he ended up laying on the now messy blankets still making that purring sound as M/n pressed a kiss to the corners of his mouth. He didn't have time to think about the how for long because the male moved downwards before M/n swiped his tongue across the base of Dio's erection. Throwing his head back, the vampire hummed in delight as the strange sensation of the forks brushing against his skin made the fuzzy sensation in his head stronger. Long, broad swipes of the snake-like tongue ran from the base of his cock to the tip, then swirled around the head.

"M/n!" He gasped, hands going down to bury themselves into messy H/c hair. He wasn't able to tell when exactly M/n took him in entirely, other than it being more pleasurable, but soon he felt his face pressed into his abdomen. Gods, his throat was tight and warm. Dio threw his head back low, groans and purrs escaping his lips, unable to do anything other than shift his thighs to keep the other's head in place. Dio had never felt so helpless, yet so content. His legs shuddered with each ministration till M/n pulled back with a whine as Dio tried to clamp his legs around the male's head until he moved lower. With a swipe of his tongue, Dio gasped and shifted. Thighs clamped shut, earning an amused hum from the male who had to pull back.

"Dio?" M/n asked, voice having gained a husky edge to it. The question behind it was obvious. He lightly tapped the blond's legs with a finger and Dio closed his eyes. The image of M/n bare with swollen lips wouldn't leave his mind .

"Sorry," he murmured, pushing his heels up against the blanket and spreading his legs open, looking towards the ceiling to avoid whatever expression would be on the other's face. The other went back between his legs and Dio hummed in delight at the feeling of the male's tongue entering him. Unfamiliar as it is, the sensation feels good and the vampire shifts, forcing himself to stay still and not slam his thighs against the male's ears. It doesn't take much for him to beg for more. That snake bites him, embedding the fangs in deep and his back arches as he howls in pleasure. He feels M/n pull away and warn the creature to be gentle before he's back between his thighs.

He had never had this happen, and he tried to distract himself from the pleasure between his thighs to get the thing to bite him harder, which it does, and he gasped, eyes tearing up at the sensation. It was all so much for him. Maybe he shouldn't have come in such a wounded state? Yet he has no desire to leave, especially not now. His breath hitched, almost painfully, as the male found something inside him. The pleasure flaring a deep scarlet beneath his eyelids.

"Please," he hissed, feeling so close, yet so desperate for more. "Please..."

M/n gave a soft chuckle alongside a small nod, moving to adjust his hips and pull himself into the proper position. A roll of the hips and Dio howled like a man possessed as the god entered him. He started mumbling praise that fell apart when lips pressed to his throat and those fangs were followed by much longer ones as his shoulder was once again punctured. This was so real, so much, yet Dio wanted more. His world was on fire, every part of his body too hot yet not hot enough. He needs more. All that comes out is words ‌he doesn't even know. It all feels like mindless babble. M/n just hums and rolls, his hips steady and calm.

"Relax." Not quite a suggestion, but not an order either. Dio whines all the more. Too hot is what he wants to say, but the sound he makes is desperate. Instead he arches up, fingers digging and tearing into M/n's back as he pushes himself all the way onto the other's cock. Whatever pain would've been there is driven away by pleasure and the ever-growing ache that demands more. M/n moans quietly, the sound nearly dying on his lips as the god shifts to better hold on to Dio's sides.

"Fuck~!" Dio wantonly moans, shuddering uncontrollably, and his hips buck upwards once again. He tried to whine for more, but all of it was back to meaningless sounds that fell deaf on his own ears. A hand that wasn't tearing into the bedding tried to reach to the ache between his legs but was lightly swatted away by M/n, who simply batted his eyelashes when Dio hissed in frustration.

Though it didn't last long before M/n's hand, uncalloused, closed around his cock, M/n's hips moved at last, and that was what Dio needed. He gasped, trying to grab and pull the other as close as possible. Arms and legs awkwardly trying to hook around the other's form to the best of his abilities as tremors shook him. A second after it happened, Dio realized he had splattered their stomachs with his release and the vampire batted away the tears that were forming in his eyes. M/n snickered by his ear, the sound making him bat his eyes, trying to focus on M/n's face and not on how he was drowning in pleasure. Too much...but it all felt so good. A hand swiped over the male's cock and he watched the male lick away his cum with a single flick of his forked tongue.

"You're outrageous," he whined, only getting a raised eyebrow from the H/c haired male. It bordered on smug and amused, causing Dio to look away as Fangs made way to his other shoulder. He hissed at the sudden bite and tried to arch his back despite the other pushing him back down with one hand. With another hum, which was suddenly so loud and ringing in his ears. He needed M/n. He reached out awkwardly to kiss the other male, who complied as his thrusts grew faster and messier. He heard a low hiss by his ear and registered that the sound came from M/n himself and he shuddered again. The sense of ecstasy was unbearable.

It didn't take much for him to hit his limits a second time and hear M/n laugh at the sound he made in response. It wasn't fair! How was M/n not losing his mind over this pleasure? Was...he not doing good? He shifted his hips, trying to roll his hips to the male's thrusts.

"Won't be long now." M/n whispered in his ear and Dio did note that the thrusts were getting sloppier and losing all of that control that had been shown since the start of their encounter. He heard something laugh above his head. The male only lasted ‌a bit longer before he came inside Dio, who shuddered and wrapped his legs around the male's waist.

"More..."

"Really?" He looked pleadingly at the other, unable to explain what exactly he was feeling or why he felt like he was burning from the inside out. "Fine, but you have to leave by sunrise."

The sinner kissed God.

A snake, not knowing how to swim, asked a nearby frog to carry it across the river.

"Do I look like a fool to you?" The frog hissed. "You'd strike me the moment I let you on my back."

"Be rational." Said the snake. "If I were to strike you, I'd certainly drown myself."

"That's true." The frog acknowledged. "Come aboard then."

But no sooner had the snake settled on the frog's back that it struck repeatedly while still safely on the river bank. The frog groaned, thrashing weakly as its insides liquified.

"Ah," it whispered. "I never considered this possibility."

"Because you were never scared of me." The snake whispered into its ear. "You were never scared of dying. In a past life, you wore a shell and sat in judgment. And then you were reborn: soft skinned, swift, unburdened, as new and venerable as a mere child. Moving through a world of innocent children. How could anyone be cruel, was what you thought, seeing the expanse of it all? How could anyone kill you without killing themselves?"

Notes:

Dio willing to kill whoever but being soft for one person he loves is good and I will continue to promote and write about it till the day I die.
Here are translations;
I hope you find happiness = Spero che tu trovi la felicità
Dannazione = Goddammit
Nascentes morimur = From the moment we are born, we begin to die

Chapter 4: It's not anger, but I can't label it by any other name.

Summary:

On a quest to hunt down someone you love while arguing with the only person on your side is rough, but throwing a serial killer in the mix is just tacky.

Notes:

The image is a drawing made by me of the reader's stand.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Ah…how is it this late already?” A woman whimpered, pressing herself closer to her partner before raising her voice. “We should really hurry home.”

“What? But it’s so early. Let’s go somewhere and have fun!” He replied, all while adjusting his scarf and flashing a smile. One she found no comfort in.

“But…what about the man in the papers?”

"The man in the papers...who's that?"

"Jack the Ripper! Do you really not know? They say he only targets women with something like a surgical scalpel…I even heard he hangs their intestines up on a wall! It's terrifying." She gasped, trying to ignore how badly her hands were shaking.

"Terrifying? How so?" She looked over at her partner, who flashed her a warm grin and drew a knife. "Don't be silly! After all, you've been talking with him for hours now."

She gasped and staggered back, feeling her skin ‌get damp with sweat.

"What a depraved woman out so late at night."

So with a swing of the silver blade, the sinner ripped her throat open and heaven wept.

But no matter what, I must go on. For this is never finished. Even when I open my eyes to the world, I can't tell what is real. So can you come lay with me? I don't know why I carry such loneliness. I was never like this when I was young. What changed me? I feel like my heart was bent and broken. I don't know what happened. I just know I'm not the same.

A wet twisting sound echoed as the killer plunged his dagger along the line of her collarbone, only to jolt back at the sound of laughter. . Whipping his head around, the serial killer spotted a man being pushed forward in a chair of some sorts. The blond was lounging like a king dressed in fine cloth and jewelry, yet the smirk he sent his way made the killer tense. He knew that look.

“What a pathetic creature you make. Most men shackle themselves to petty morality.” Dio murmured, eyes narrowing as he regarded the bloodied killer. Distasteful. This was a man M/n would scoff at, or simply get rid of, if the male wanted to dirty his hands. Still, even the most worthless of men could be made into tools with the right push.

“Huh?” The male jolted, pointing the knife towards him and his servant. An action that made the vampire raise an eyebrow.

“They fear the consequences of their evil. But some are unfettered by man’s laws in all their tyranny. They are the vanguard. Become my servant, Jack the Ripper. What better than someone so weak? So pitiful? Easily controlled, yet extremely loyal all the same.”

“Me serve you? Don’t make me laugh!” The killer scoffed, not quite understanding what the rich man was even trying to do. As if he would work for anyone, let alone be a servant. No, this man needed to die.

With a hum, he pulled himself out of the chair, only touching his chest with the slightest of winces. An action that doesn’t go unnoticed, but all his composure shattered with a flicker of red from the blond’s eyes. He swayed.

“You’ve no further need for free will. Don’t you see?” Dio watched the man ‌break through his thrall with open interest. “How impressive. Maybe it was easier because of my condition? A few of my wounds still haven’t healed, though devouring a life or two would be too much. Don’t you agree with me? Now that I think about it…in that last moment, if that pillar hadn’t broken the statue, I was impaled on…what would have happened? I mean, I escaped those flames…but I’ll still need access to humans for blood. I’ll need a steady supply for when I convince M/n to finally accept life everlasting. So far, I've found the lifeblood of the young is far better. It would be easy for a man like you to collect young women for me each night."

"What the hell are you talking about? I don't care about you or your fucking boy toy!"

"Hm, I'll ignore that comment for now." The vampire met his eyes and the killer's eyes widened, pupils dilating and expanding once more till he looked dazed and staggered. "I will make you an instrument of death the likes of which you can’t imagine.”

“Do it.”

‘Of course, that’s what would get someone like you interested, thrall or not. Consider this only because of your usefulness. After all, most people carry some good in their hearts, even I have my own moments of weakness with the right person…therefore humans can’t go to an extreme. They all fear being truly evil. I want nothing more than someone of that persuasion, even if I find you to be pathetic in all your actions.'

“As for what I shall take in return…”

And so the sinner followed the lion, who tenderly held his face in one claw.

Jack the Ripper; one day this killer halted his spree on the streets of London, vanishing from the world. Only Dio Brando knows what turned this killer from his bloodied path.

Jonathan Joestar knew that after confessing to Erina when he first awoke that something had changed. He'd know it from the pain deep in his chest or how the air felt so stagnant in his hospital room even when he opened the window. Erina slowly had become a less constant presence as he tried to ignore the fact that he knew what was wrong.

M/n had survived, but hadn’t resurfaced.

He wanted to see his oldest friend and make sure that he hadn't been scarred by what happened in the manor. The last he saw of him...was when he was still inside the flaming hallways. Did he blame Jonathan for what happened? Or did he think ‌Jonathan would really blame him for all that?

…though he wanted nothing more than to ask him if Dio's words had any truth to them.

Then there was a knock at his door.

How strange. Neither Erina nor Speedwagon knocked these days, something that he had grown used to, but that just left him puzzling over who exactly was behind the door.

"Come in," he called, only to go silent when M/n, dressed in a plain commoner's outfit, comes in and settles at the seat beside his bed. He avoids eye contact and drums his fingers on the edge of the wooden desk the moment he settles. His eyes are E/c and beautiful. Jonathan goes silent. He can't think of what he should say or what will be good enough, and it seems like the other has the same problem. "You're okay...I...I was worried that you hadn't made it despite what Speedwagon said."

"Yeah...I got out on my own, but I needed some time to think." The other gave a bitter laugh. "Though I guess we all needed some time to think and recover after Dio transformed using the mask."

"I hoped it was all a dream..."

"Trust me, I wished the same, but I've never been that lucky in my life." The male looked at him, only to look away just as fast. "I don't want to lie about this...there was…well, I thought I wouldn't come back."

"Oh...?" Jonathan hopes M/n doesn't comment on his voice cracks or the way his hands tremble at his sides for a second. That M/n would be perfectly healthy yet...yet he wouldn't come back...it all felt wrong in his mind. If there had been one thing that remained solid and true throughout his youth, it was that M/n was his first friend, who stayed by his side through everything without a second thought or complaint on the matter.

"It was cowardly of me, but...I always want to run when things get difficult, you know? Or well...you probably don't know. I try to hide it, but there's always that faint thought at the back of my head telling me I could just drop everything and leave. Maybe to survive, or maybe because I don't know how to handle things, but I just look out a window and think...what job could I do? What name could I go by if need be? I don't even know when it started, but I really felt it every night after the fire..."

"And what changed?"

"When you woke up...I still thought it would be so easy to just leave and run. Packed my bags and everything." M/n frowned, looking ashamed at what he admitted, but still gave him a sad sort of smile. "But that'd be selfish on my end. I mean, I just assumed that you'd be fine without me...that Erina and Speedwagon would be all you needed, but you're my first friend."

"And you're mine." The smile only grew sadder, yet Jonathan wasn't sure why.

"So I came back." He awkwardly ran a hand through his hair, dark H/c curls shifting between his fingers as he nearly pulls it out of the ponytail he has it in. "Even if the entire world ends and the snakes die, I promised I'd stand by you, and I want to be a man of my word."

"You always have been."

"No, no, I haven't." Jonathan notes how M/n looks like he wants to curl into himself.

So the saint silences himself to better preserve God's dignity.

Don't be foolish. Stop speaking. Be silent for once in your life. They aren't like you. They don't think like you. It isn't right, but it's all we know. Not everyone is sharp and jagged.

You're a serrated knife.

You don't see who they are.

You don't know what you are.

So keep on running and running. There might be nothing left of you by the end of it, but at least you aren't hurting people.

"What a pathetic shell this left..." The god whispered, staring at the hollowed fragments of the Joestar manor. He had avoided going to it, besides he already knew what fate had befallen Dio. But...what would Jonathan say when he realized the other still drew breath? And what would he say when he realized M/n knew that from the start...and that he had willingly slept with him?

‘Only Speedwagon, M/n, and I know what truly took place here that night. Dio was consumed in the inferno. But what of the accursed mask? No sign of it in the rubble. Smashed by falling masonry? I hope so. I want to put this nightmare behind me.’ Following that train of thought, Jonathan looked to M/n, barely more than a figure in black by the remains of their childhood home. M/n was silent, face expressionless, and he wished ‌he could know what his friend was thinking at that moment. With a shake of the head, he looked away, towards the forest and river they used to play at. It didn't make things better.

“Jojo,”

“Erina?”

“You forgot your cane.” He jolted and flashed Erina a small smile. He hadn't even noticed her approaching him, and took the offered cane, carefully positioning it to better support his weight. He spared M/n a glance, only to see the other staring at them with wide eyes. Looking away just as fast, Jonathan watched the male turn and go to the other side of the manor.

"I need to stop feeling this." The god hisses, like the snake he is, and finds a hand clutching at his chest. It...it hurts. "Why am I even feeling this? I lost the ability to feel pain for a reason when I ascended, and yet I can feel this ache in my chest despite everything...how do I get rid of it?"

'Master, you and I both know what that feeling is.' He frowned at his stand's words. Yes, of course, he knows what this ache is, but that doesn't mean he wants to feel it. 'You should see where it goes.'

"I can't." Looking back, he noted Erina and Jonathan moving down the path, yet a new figure was sitting by the bridge. "Wait, who is that? Ugh...I don't want to deal with any more shit! Why can’t we-"

The god chased after the saint, ignoring his bleeding heart.

The stars weep; unable to see each other, unable to touch each other.

The stars must be lonely.

"M/n...?" Erina asked in confusion, watching the male practically fall down the hill in his haste to get to them, eyes focused on something up ahead, hands slipping into his pockets. "Are you okay?"

Looking over her shoulder, she noted that while Jonathan was coming towards them, he couldn't move fast because of his injuries and cane. So it was her job to help M/n for the moment. He didn't seem to suffer from heatstroke, so maybe he was hallucinating? Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he cocked his head to the side. "Do you or Jonathan know that man?"

"Huh?" Following his gaze Erina gasped, having been caught completely off guard by the sight of the man in a checkered top hat. "Who is that...?"

"No idea. But he was there for a while." As soon as the male said that, the figure stood up and seemed to just turn around the corner and vanish, earning a confused hum from the god. “Haunting our footsteps.”

"Is something wrong?" Both jolted slightly when Jonathan reached them, not quite realizing what had led the pair to be huddled by each other, quickly whispering back as forth. The gentleman tilted his head in confusion as the god practically leaped off the road in haste to avoid being seen that close to Erina, while the aforementioned lady took a small step back, both seeming unsure of how to respond.

"It's nothing." M/n finally said, taking a few steps forward, only to pause when he saw the same man sitting there. Both people behind him had also gone silent at the sight of the man now sitting on the stone railing of the bridge. A picnic basket was now half opened at his side and in his hand a triangular sandwich that earned a confused hum from the god. Just what was this guy playing at? Or was he just some weirdo? However, such trains of thought quickly derailed and killed all passengers when he grabbed an innocent-looking pepper shaker and then added some to his sandwich, took a bite, and then repeated it for the next. 'What the fuck?'

'Why is he doing that...?' His stand, a creature that was mostly blind, was also confused by what it was seeing through his eyes...that did not make the god feel any more confident about the situation at hand. Funnily enough M/n had always assumed that he'd be prepared for anybody's crazy behavior, having grown up with Dio whose dramatics could fill an entire play and Jonathan, who carried the noble spirit of a knight from myth. But this is not okay.

"What?" With a confused gasp, Jonathan took a step forward only for the man to lean back and tilt his hat towards them.

"Ah, Signore Joestar, and the lass at your side is Signorina Pendleton, along with the ever present shadow that is Signore M/n.” The god twitched at the male's words wondering how someone like him could just find them and start...identifying them as if he had known them previously? It wasn't right.

Then the male jumped from sitting with his legs crossed, earning a confused hiss from the snake-like stand and his user.

“Who are you?” The moment Jonathan gasps M/n shifts making sure Erina is behind the both of them and that he's pressed by Jonathan's side, yet for the first time he's fully in front of Jonathan his stand a mere hum in his veins. This is what he should do, right? Moving to help people that are injured...that's what a god should do.

‘What...even...how is he doing that? From a sitting position like that to a jump that high...what kind of strength must he have in his knees alone?’

"You survived against the mask. Few men can claim that."

'How on earth could he possibly know that?!?' The god shuddered at the idea that someone may know his relations with Dio, and worse, someone that would freely tell Jonathan about it. Then he's shoved out of the way with his stand, hissing and lashing at the sudden motion. Rolling mid-fall, he landed on his tailbone, watching as the male thrust his hand into Jonathan's chest, earning a pained gasp.

"Jojo!" Erina gasps, staggering back, looking as if she'll fall over as well. The god wants to snarl at the realization that he had been in front of the point in the male's flesh...Jonathan pushed him out of the way...why did he keep sacrificing himself for you? Why the fuck did he think you were worth it?

"That's right," the male drawled out almost fatherly though M/n catches a wince from him. Did...hm, not the time to ask. "Let the shock of that impact push all the air from your body."

"Jojo! Why? He was already hurt, you cad!" Erina hisses with the fury of a lioness in front of a hyena and the god watches in shock, remembering the shy maiden from years ago. It barely felt like the same person, yet he had to admit there was no one better suited for a man like Jonathan. The god ignored the pain in his chest that surged with a vengeance. He rises to his feet on unsteady legs, the scars around his ankles throb in a way that feels familiar. What name do you give to pain when you no longer feel it?

"It’s true I knocked the air out of him, but he’ll thank me for it-”

“Thank you for it?!” If Erina can be a lioness then the god is the snake, and like any good snake he knows how to bare his teeth properly, though it brings back memories of people laughing because while his fangs were sharp his words were far more damning to most. Personally, he never knew if they were right when it came to him. "You're the one that attacked him, and you expect us to let you prance around like some kind of saint?!?"

"Hm, I hadn't heard you had such a temper." The tone was once again fond, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Don't speak to me as if we're friends." He took a step closer, noting how the Italian male was still holding himself as if he hit something too solid. It must be his stand's work. "I know who my friends are, and you're not one of them."

The god whipped around at the sound of bones cracking and shifting beneath flesh, a sound he knew so well, and he looked to the hunched over form of Jonathan who was clutching at his arms with pained gasps because of the lack of oxygen in his lungs. He moves to his side, hand pressing against the male's arms, feeling the bones and muscles pulling and repairing themselves. What...? What was this? He didn't feel the familiar energy or presence of a stand, but he had seen nothing that would cause such a sensation.

“My arm! What is this…? My broken bones…feel like they’re mending…?” Jonathan's whimpers weren't something he enjoyed hearing, but if he was healing faster than the god could only hum. Let Jonathan hear he was there to support him, even if he couldn't do anything.

“Baron Zeppeli, at your service. Courage alone will not be enough to defeat the mask.”

“My arm was shattered, but now…the pain has subsided.”

Allies were so scarce, and even harder to trust once gained.

In high school, I had to read an article about a liquid that rats could breathe in. We'd have so much to talk about; me and the rats.

Some nights, I am still working at eleven pm.

Some nights, I have to go into the woods that surround the farm.

Some nights, I drown.

M/n watched him flex the arm experimentally to see if it still pained him, and when it didn't, Erina placed a hand on Jonathan, her expression shocked.

“Lifting this rock is nothing!” True to his word, Jonathan lifted the mentioned rock earning a confused tilt of the head from the god while Erina gasped in amazement. He really didn't understand people...even after all this time, did he? Oh well, it wasn't like he needed it with Jonathan. He was always quick to explain once prompted.

“That’s incredible!”

“Sir, why are you here? And what is happening to me?”

“Please, try to limit yourself to one question at a time.” Baron Zeppeli requested, eating another bite of his sandwich after peppering it again. The god shuddered at this act of...idiocy and forced his attention to more important matters.

The mask.

That was what this man kept bringing up. Not Dio, though he mentioned him being alive, but the stone mask that Sir had bought because of his late wife's request. She and Jonathan seemed to have shared the same interests, but that wasn't what mattered. The mask could spread vampirism across the planet like a cancerous growth and had to be stopped before it infected the rest of the world, even if that meant doing a painful amputation. Something his stand's jaws were rather adapted to do should the need arise.

“You healed yourself, Jojo. How you breathed after I poked you was the key.” Then, with a sudden sneeze, the god finally having ‌good luck it seemed. The man fell off the bridge and down to the water below, though he didn't hear a splash.

“But why did you go to the trouble in the first place?” Jonathan snapped, eyes widening when the male fell back, only to run towards the edge of the bridge to see nothing in the water below. “And how do you know who I-He’s gone!”

"With the way he jumped to attack you is it really that surprising?" M/n hissed, so far the other hadn't made a good impression on him and he doubted that would change soon, but he turned to face the Italian before he said anything. It gets him a look that screams of silent suspicion, but to keep Jonathan safe he'd allow himself to be seen and whispered about. It couldn't be much worse than college.

“What part of ‘one question at a time’ eluded you?” He asks while turning on his heel. “You’ll get the answers you desire, amigo. Follow me.”

All three of you shared a quick glance as he chuckled, sparing one look over his shoulder towards Jonathan.

“This day, I will show you things the likes of which will change your destiny forever.”

'He’s a complete unknown...and M/n doesn't seem to trust him, but maybe it's the fact that the pain in my arm is gone or perhaps something else I don't think he's a bad man.' Jonathan thought as the male sneezed again from over peppering his sandwich, this time breaking the lid of said shaker, earning a satisfied huff from M/n.

So they followed the scholar.

Every gesture, look, and I love you slipped back down my throat. Like heat. Do you remember how we shared a bed? Remember how you snuck your hands beneath the skin of my waist? You left bruises. And they burned through my stomach lining and skin. As if stars.

The god isn't surprised when they all get led to the river. He'd drowned too many times to think it strange, so he settled on the dry part of a rock and watched the currents babble and shift. A frog croaks, but the only snake is him, so there isn't much to worry about in nature and choice.

“It was with good reason that I struck you in the diaphragm. The shock of the impact altered your breathing.”

“But how did that heal my arm?”

“With the energy I am about to demonstrate for you.” Zeppeli states, the god doesn't believe the man actually is a baron, but believes he has some ability that needs observation. Because of that, he nods for Jonathan to get closer, but not too close, as the male crouches at the water's edge, watching the frog crawl onto a stone in the middle of the river. His nice shoes get wet. "Let me show you the energy that causes 'breath'. The unique way of controlling your flesh that I, Zeppeli, have been researching for years. Those in Asia would call this technique' Sendo."

“Wait, what mischief is he planning?”

'Sendo? Wouldn't that be something like 'Way of the hermit' or maybe wizard? Ugh…neither are languages I'm good at.' The god thought with a hiss. Italian was his second language, Spanish his third, and even learning that had been a pain, so as the man waded into the water he hoped that this would be a fluke. A stand he could handle, though if Jonathan gained the ability to see him, he'd have no choice but to run. Either way, he didn't like this.

"What is he doing?" Erina asked, watching the male lean back, his breath getting heavier and louder till the god shifted on his perch. The sound wasn't a comfort, yet it didn't grate on his ears either. Still, neither of them dared to answer Lady Pendleton just yet. Zeppeli's performance was keeping their attention. His arms slowly moved into a stance that M/n could relate to a fighting style, but which one?

“Look at him, Erina, M/n.” Jonathan whispered as the god pulled himself in to avoid touching the now fast flow of the water. “His legs. Those ripples. I’ve never seen water do that.”

“What you see is the force that eased your pain and healed your broken bones, Signore Joestar.” Zeppeli calls to them, eyes only on Jonathan, and the god notes the gold energy sparking and dancing off his frame like electricity. The hum in the air reminds him of the smell of ozone, so maybe it isn't electricity that isn't bothered by water, but from something like stars.

Then he strikes at the rock, the frog still sitting on top of it unaware of the danger, and the frog narrows his eyes. Vaguely, he was aware of the others gasping and yelling at him for striking an innocent animal, but he didn't take the other for someone who did cruel things for no reason. Either the frog would be fine or it was for education.

His hand lands, the frog swims away unbothered, and the rock below it shatters and breaks.

The ripple stops.

The feeling dulls to a hum that the god can ignore, ignore, but not forget.

The god shivers.

I never want to think about the love the cock has for the butcher. How it lies on the block for the butcher, willing and patient though it knows the end result, and watches his arm swings down without hesitation.

“The frog seems none the worse.”Jonathan asked, leaning towards the edge of the water to get a glimpse of the frog vanishing down the river.

“That was Sendo you saw.”

“Wait, Sendo?” Jonathan asked, watching a few of those golden sparks appear in the male's hand, only to fade away again.

“It’s ripple energy created by hamon. I sent my hamon coursing harmlessly through froggy to split my real target, the rock below.” He turned, arms slowly relaxing from his previous stance, with a fire blazing in his eyes. “Jojo, I know for a fact the stone mask was not destroyed. Dio Brando keeps it close to him even now.”

“No, it can’t be. Baron, is Dio still alive?” Jonathan started in a shout but ended in a whisper. Voice pained and shaky despite it all. Eyes tearing up and M/n looked down at his hands, remembering the weight of a vampire in his bed and the worship Dio believed he deserved.

“Indeed, and he holds the mask I have sought for decades now. That mask must be destroyed, and its master must be reduced to ash. It is your destiny to fight for this righteous cause. You will learn to wield Sendo, or you will die.” He turned to them, eyes narrowing, and the god recognized the madness of passion in that gaze. How could he not as a God of Insanity? ”The future of humanity is at stake!”

“My destiny?” Jonathan's gaze was foggy and M/n understood in an instant that this wasn't something he'd be able to let go. Jonathan would accept this fate to fight Dio and would do so if only to help others. This was the first nail in Jonathan's coffin.

“What is he talking about? None of it makes any sense.” Erina asked, looking between him and Jonathan, but M/n had no way of explaining it all. The words had lost their meaning once again, so he looked to Jonathan because surely he could tell someone what had happened that night...or rather, why hadn't he spoken to her about Dio's sins? Jonathan staggered, grabbing onto a tree branch and swaying as if about to fall into the river.

“Erina,” Jonathan looked to her and then to M/n with a trembling hand. 'She’s already suffered enough at Dio’s hands. I can’t drag her into this. M/n, I know you’ll follow me, despite any warnings I could give. In fact, that would only make him eager to join this crusade.’

Both M/n and Zeppeli were staring at the branch Jonathan was holding, or rather the growing flower buds, one with open awe and the other with something akin to a sense of dawning horror. On some level, the god knew from the very beginning that Jonathan had a noble spirit, but that didn't mean he wanted Jonathan to fight. He taught him some steps to avoid a knife and some basic strategies, but that wasn't for this. If Jonathan showed an inability for this hamon or sendo, then M/n could drag him away, but Zeppeli's reaction showed this was something rare and special...it meant Jonathan would want to do this and could.

'Dannazione…davvero?'

‘Incredible! It’s blossoming! He’s passing the spare hamon energy from his healed arm into the branch and sending it into bloom. And amazingly, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. This boy, he is a natural. Of what might he be capable, with the proper refinement of his abilities? Rejoice, mankind. This day, I may have found your champion.’

And so destiny was decided.

I worshiped him in church, and god loved it. He made light so that I could see his face.

"We'll end this here." With that M/n watched as Jonathan slumped to the ground panting and coated in sweat, nearly rolling his eyes at the behavior, but still landed on his heels and stalked past the man in a top hat and suit. He didn't speak to him at all. M/n doubted they'd reach any good conversational topics with the bitter resentment bubbling under his skin and the looks he received every moment the Italian man would go silent. He hated that kind of stare more than anything, always making him feel as if the other was aware of his stand or the immortality that ran as ichor through his veins.

"Ugh..." With a groan Jonathan lifted his head up and managed a shaky smile reaching a hand which the god accepted to pull him up, only to jolt back with a shriek. On pure instinct, he pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around the ‘pained’ limb with a startled cry. It didn't hurt, but it was the sudden wave of heat that had sent him back, followed by the knowledge that his flesh was melting and it should hurt, but it wasn't. Pain doesn't exist to a god on the physical level, but the sensation is there until it isn't. He breathes in the sweet smelling smoke his stand produces and knows that his ichor will remain hidden even as his stand uses his claws to sever the arm before the hamon could spread into the rest of his body. Still, he held it so no one could see what had happened to his arm while it regenerated. "M/n are you okay?!"

"O-of course I am. Just a few basic burns. I wasn't expecting hamon to be that hot..." With a shaky laugh, the god took another step back, ignoring the worried look Jonathan gave him. "I'm gonna head to my room at the inn for bandages."

The god left, ignoring the saint's pleading, as if he ever needed forgiveness.

There's a red chapel in the black woods. It drips and creates a red stain on everything it touches. The forest is so dark that it absorbs everything it has. If you go there, it will try to convince you that god is bad, and the devil is good. God cannot touch you here, is what it coos in the voice of saints lost to time and heaven. It is always the lost that drags others down first.

There's a white chapel over the red hills. The hills are so stained that the purity of the chapel is sickening in much the same way it is inspirational. The chapel glows in a way that may blind, so don't look at it. If you go there, it will make you do unspeakable things against your will. There is no hope in the white chapel. Stain the hills for a loving god to care, it promises in the voice of the most devout. The loyal will make you think the world needs you to stain your hands in a way that feels like embracing an old friend.

There's a black chapel on pure white snow. It knows...it knows...it knows. If you go there...well, you shouldn't speak about something that can hear you.

"Cosa stai?" The sudden question nearly caused him to trip over himself as he whipped his head around to stare at Jonathan's teacher, not his, as if he would ever follow someone like Zeppeli. The only reason he even spoke to the other was because of Jonathan's trust in the man who he happily called Baron Zeppeli much the same way other people may have referred to a mentor they lived with or a secondary father figure. Either option only made his skin feel itchy. He had never considered Sir Joestar a father figure, but this left him feeling angry and bitter at everything around him. The sensation of his severed arm breaking apart and dissolving in the makeshift wrap while a new arm had completely regrown. At least having his regeneration acting at its full potential rather than the limited use that was used during his youth felt nice, leaving him whole for the first time in what felt like years.

"Di cosa stai parlando di vecchio?" He hissed out, ignoring the look that showed how annoyed Zeppeli was at him for dodging the question, but all he could think about was how Jonathan was still so close to them. If he heard them talking and Zeppeli would give a translation, then M/n would be forced to abandon Jonathan on a suicide mission. That couldn't happen.

"So che non sei umano. Se lo fossi stato, non ti avrebbe fatto del male come ha fatto, ma ti sei comportato molto come fanno i non morti quando sei stato colpito, eppure stai al sole."

"Quindi pensi che io non sia morto? E dopo? Sono un vampiro o uno zombie che indossa una pelle umana come un cappotto per proteggere ciò che si trova sotto? O Jonathan mi ha appena bruciato per caso? Vai a guardare il tuo vecchio studente, non ho voglia di ascoltare la paranoia." The god took a step back and glared at the golden sparks forming at the male's fingertips, the gasps of dying stars filling his ears. A silent threat. How cliché. He rolled his eyes and simply shrugged his shoulder. "Quindi mi brucia? Che cosa significa? Non l'ho mai incontrato fino a quando non ti ho incontrato, se avessi saputo che non avrei toccato Jonathan finché non fossi stato sicuro che la hamon si fosse seduto."

"You didn't know?" The quickly suffocated shock was only second fiddle to the male's change in language, a sign that he was more used to English than his original one, must've had that change from speaking with those he learned hamon from if such things really took decades.

"How could I? Until that night, I didn't realize that the undead were any more than myth!" This time he made sure to fully bare his fangs, let him catch another glimpse of the cobra, while ignoring how shaky you feel at the reminder of Dio's body going through the window in a surge of gunfire. Turning on his heel, M/n adjusted the wrap, trying to ignore the constant sense of frustration, so different from the apathy he had felt upon entering the mortal plain, though it wasn't unwelcome in the face of such a stubborn man. "Besides, it isn't as if you were trying to make me a hamon user like Jonathan, so my reaction isn't important. I can avoid it easily enough."

"You didn't say you were human."

"Hm?"

"When I asked you what you were, you didn't answer the question or defend yourself by claiming that you were human. Instead, you just avoided what should've been a simple question." The god stilled again. Soon his foot was tapping at a pace that was too fast and unsteady, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Zeppeli was far smarter than he originally thought. Perhaps that behavior when they first met was merely a decoy. Either way, it only was infuriating.

"You'll find that I am a man who rarely lies, though I rarely tell the whole truth, either. Make your own decisions about me."

"So you won't claim to be human to avoid lying?"

"Or maybe I see it as something too obvious? That there's no point in me stating it because you already know the answer?"

"But if you were human, you wouldn't have healed already." The god tensed, his stand a low rumbling in the very core of his being, as he stopped tapping his foot.

"What are you talking about?"

"The wound on your arm has completely healed, not that it matters. You never felt it. Or am I wrong?" The god felt something cold creep into the very marrow of his bones despite the lingering warmth of dying stars that had been flooded into his ichor. "Hamon burns flesh when it strikes and slowly melts the area around the striking point. You wouldn't have stopped screaming in pain if you could feel the hamon burning through you, and you only have half your arm covered. It would have spread to your shoulder by now."

"Fair enough." Looking back over his shoulder, he watched the Italian male with a sigh and removed the wrap to show his newly regrown arm. Perfectly fine with all of his tattoos unmarred by the damage that had happened mere minutes ago. "Yes, I've healed already and I don't feel any pain, though I felt the sensation of my flesh melting. Not my favorite feeling in the world."

"Hm, what an interesting existence, and you didn't know about the mask?"

"No. I knew it had spines and reacted to blood, but that was because of Jonathan's research and a few fights between him and Dio as kids." The god tried to ignore how terrible it truly felt to speak so openly about this.

"Does Jojo know?" At that, he turned around to face Zeppeli, ignoring the dawning sense of panic.

"No, and don't tell him." It came out to a plea, and they both knew it.

"Do you really think someone like Jojo would reject you for that?"

"No, but if I told him that, I would end up telling him everything, and there would be no repairing our friendship if he heard that." Noting his confused look, he looked away and stiffened up. Erina and Jojo were whispering, and neither of them seemed to pay attention to his and Zeppeli's conversation. How easy it would be to just leave and have Zeppeli say that he would be fine. "I can't afford to lose that."

"I think you should tell him everything...including your feelings."

"My feelings?" With a scoff, the god waved a hand and finally turned. "There's nothing to be done about those other than cut them away and let them die. Jonathan loves Erina and who am I to be in the way of what obviously is his best option? Let their love flourish. I only hope the best for them."

'Silly me, always craving things I can't have and don't deserve.'

Icarus, and everything around the lost son, is light...light...light. We always speak of them as if little more than lovers, Icarus and his sun, the thing he died for. Isn't there nothing more beautiful than dying for love? But I would say there's nothing romantic about melting wax or fourth degree burns on young untouched skin. Must the virgin burn for the sins of the father? You know, the fastest a human body can fall is three hundred and twenty-five kilometers per hour. I wonder what exactly Icarus thought as he plummeted and reached terminal velocity. Maybe in that moment he thought 'I do not know how to be loved whole-heartedly so I throw myself into everything with reckless abandon.' or 'love must be in cataracts and the beginning stages of skin cancer.' or 'I'll not be eaten whole by love.' or maybe he just fell burning until the very ocean rose to catch him.

As time naturally passes, for what else can it do in this world, an entire week went by of Jonathan's training. The god, who was always akin to a shadow, only grew quieter than his conversations with Jonathan grew brief and always shaped themselves to end with pushing his old friend either into his training or towards Erina. M/n was silent otherwise as he watched the male train and ignored the knowing looks he received from Zeppeli. His stand was also being rather stubborn about the whole thing, but at least it had the sense to stay quiet. Not that he didn't listen to it even when the two of them were at odds. He owed it that much.

In the one week that had passed, Jonathan had learned not only how to channel hamon through his body while breathing, but to fight while keeping his breathing perfectly controlled. This training with someone who had been a stranger had turned into mock battles that were played perfectly in tune. They had reached, in timing at least, a perfect sync. Interestingly, M/n also noted the change in Jonathan's physicality, the keynote being his arm's reach having gained ten centimeters.

'He did it again...his arm suddenly extended. Despite all my training and speed making us equal, I can't keep up with him. Why or how?' With a pained hiss, Jonathan found himself back in the water, half submerged as Zeppeli watched him with narrowed eyes. M/n was a slim shape in his vision, with dark gold eyes that seemed to glow from his angle in the water.

"Jojo, a human can't defeat the stone mask with speed and power alone however hard you try, so you can't possibly defeat it unless you learn how to change and adapt." In a single motion, Zeppeli brought the end of his umbrella on the male's head, earning a pained hiss. "Don't stop using the breathing technique I've taught you! Look, the hamon energy that repaired your broken arm and flooded your veins is sensitive to your mental distress. Almost anyone can channel hamon by instinct, but continuing the rhythm is where the true power of hamon lies."

"Yes...I understand..."

Do you see that wooden stake half buried at the roots of an apple tree? That's a grave. Who lies there? Eve. Eve, herself is buried out back beneath the apple tree. She died as she lived. In the summer breeze during early morning July, you can sometimes hear her voice sing out with the swaying of the tree branches. A leaf falling like the mourning cry of a widow. As if I would ever regret it. No, I never regretted a single bite because that was what set me free.

'When did I decide to fight Dio and the mask with Zeppeli?' That was something that came to Jonathan's mind almost randomly, but if he had to choose one specific reason, it would be when Zeppeli explained his past. 'He has a rather frightful past...just like mine. I learned that soon after we met...the third day of training.'

It was the third day of training with the shadow of M/n further and further out of his reach when Zeppeli sat down, gesturing for the silent male to join them, which he did after a second. With a sigh, the male leaned back as if weighed down by the world and all of its sins. It was a strange look on his face.

'I swear if he eats another sandwich.' The god thought with a groan that his stand echoed, neither particularly thrilled at the idea of watching that disaster repeat itself.

"I think it's finally time I tell the both of you why I started my hunt for the mask." Jonathan gasped while M/n raised an eyebrow, expecting a tragedy. Giving everything away to dig two graves only happened when something bad happened to them. "I was a young William A. Zeppeli back then. Born to a scholar family, though of course I was too busy being a rascal youth to give much thought to researching the unknown, I ended up joining the archaeological group at my father's university and traveled to Egypt, India, and any other location that held ruins to be discovered. Then we went to Mexico to investigate an underground Aztec ruin and among those ruins we found a stone mask. Yes, it was there. I was the one who discovered it by complete accident."

The god, unlike Jonathan, didn't show his reaction to the beginning of the end of Zeppeli's normal life, only tapping the edges of his nails against a button on his shirt. He was certain at this point that he was right.

"And on the voyage home...it happened. As we sailed on the Atlantic Ocean, a friend of mine from the group had his neck cleanly severed. Another had his eyes ripped out and flung into the ceiling, where they exploded into a pulp. Someone from our group had discovered how to activate and use the mask." Zeppeli's hands trembled as he sighed and collected himself before continuing the tale. "There were fifty-eight of us on that ship and they were all killed that night. Blood soaked through everything and I was certain that if the ship was ever reused, no one would be able to fully remove the stains...it dimmed even the fires of the lamps held in each cabin. At such frightening speed and power, it roared and the entire ship shook as if an earthquake was happening below us. He continued the slaughter even as his arms broke from the force behind his blows, a husk without even a scrap of the human heart or spirit. He thirsted and drank from whoever he could hunt down during the massacre, turning his fresh victims into zombies. I tried to pull a fellow man along, only to turn and see I had only been dragging his arm and the rest was being consumed."

The god tilted his head easily, being able to imagine the flesh ripping away with a wet tearing sound. Had he and his stand done the same as this vampire? Had people wanted to hunt him down when he was mortal? Did he ever apologize?

"I alone remained and all I could do was jump into the ocean, but he followed me into the icy water. The dawn broke and in the first flicker of morning light I saw his face for the first time..."

"Zeppeli," looking at the other, the god reached out and took Jonathan's hand and listened to the male tell his story.

"It was the leader of the group, my father, though I hardly recognized him at first. My father, when I saw him, had become around my age, a man in his mere twenties, but just as fast, he melted away in the morning light. It was how I learned the mask held a weakness to sunlight. I drifted for four or five days until I was rescued by a fishing boat left nearly mad from hunger, thirst, and heat stroke. The ship that still held the mask must have drifted somewhere else. I feared that if that ship was ever found by man, well, someone would‌ discover the mask and what it could do. Eventually searching for the mask, I discovered it had been purchased and was living in the Joestar manor. Still, that leaves my method. I couldn't just approach the mask, hoping a monster wouldn't form. The answer was hamon, but why? My father was vaporized by the light of the sun. I considered it and wondered what led to sunlight being the key factor in defeating these monsters. I searched for years. The spines of the stone mask bring out an unknown power in the brain and take away the humanity of those who are impaled. In return, the newly formed monster must drain blood from others, and hamon runs through the bloodstream of its user. They're two sides of the same coin." Grabbing a stone, he tossed into the water, pointing towards the quickly forming ripples. "Jojo, how would you remove those ripples?"

"I see." Letting go of the god's hand, Jonathan jumped up to stand by the water, looking towards the ripples with narrowed eyes. "I would get rid of them with another ripple."

"That's right! The hamon energy, much like the ripples in the water, comes and goes through the bloodstream in waves. Similar to the sun's rays."

And so a promise was made, and the saint sided with the scholar.

What a neat trick to escape all the horrors of the past you left behind. What a shame that only the dead ever manage to pull it off.

The force needed to break an adult human's femur is four thousand newtons of force. Applying that with a human hand or even foot is difficult, but stands weren't known to back down at difficulty. Gods weren't known for that either. He had spent hours perched above the night and clouds watching and waiting for what was needed to soothe his stand, and he had finally found it as a man that stalked a woman like a hungry dog. The blood of sinners was an easy source of meat and one that he had no qualm in getting. Eons ago that change in mindset would've brought a smile to Ajamu's face, but he now lay dead. The bones crack and he shudders at the curse he receives in response.

Time ever passing had made the god reconnect with his stand. After all, it only ever wanted to help him even with the darker traits it held, and who was the god to deny his own soul? So as Jonathan and Zeppeli's training grew more intense, he traveled into the city and leaned into the predator side of himself. The gap between him and Jonathan was only growing deeper and deeper, and the instincts he started repressing so long ago had become vibrant and pulsing through his body.

It was these instincts that had the god go for a pinning move rather than leaping backwards and letting his stand kill the man before he could properly fight back. It ended with the god on his back and hands at his throat as he pressed his own to the town fabric of his shirt. With a grin as sharp as a razor's blade a dark blue glow coated his limbs and before the male could even notice the difference the transparent claws dug in and he pulled both hands away, each one in an opposite direction, sending a spray of blood upon his face. Rolling the still warm corpse over to lie at his side, the male lifted his bloodied hands up and stared at the dark spray trickling down his fingers.

As his stand manifested for the feast, the god licked the blood and gore off his fingers to the snapping of bones and tearing of flesh. His stand was so hungry, and the hunger transferred to his own actions, despite how demeaning it may seem to an outsider. Once his hands were finally clean, the god laughed, feeling more wild and human than he had in eons.

"Jonathan doesn't love me." He said it with a laugh. Not a question. Just a statement. It hurt like a bitch to even think about it, but ‌coated in blood and viscera, it was easy to accept. This was not the world of a gentleman, and he could never have passed as one for long. In the dark of night, his worries of being seen as human and fair were far away and he knew down to his very core that this was a primal part of humanity, but humanity ‌and so it felt right.

"Does that mean we're going to join the blond?" His stand asked halfheartedly as it swallowed an entire arm in a single click of its jaws.

"No. I'm going to stay with Jonathan, even if he doesn't love me. That's the right thing to do."

"His right thing to do, but is it yours?" The snake cooed, licking the blood off his cheek in a quick swipe of the tongue before going back to its meal. "Just because he's a moral compass doesn't mean you have to follow him into the noose. You may love him, but is that worth suffering?"

"You told me you didn't care who I joined."

"Truthfully I don't." It spoke plainly between each bite of human flesh. "One human I can't eat versus a vampire I wouldn't be able to eat. My preference for human company would leave us both alone till the very stars collapsed. Humans ‌don't favor me. Though I could only assume that the vampires would be in line with my hunger and therefore be slightly less annoying. Either way, it matters more to me what you can get out of such a deal. Either way, a mortal is a mortal. So..."

"So?"

"So if you choose to go with the gentleman, I won't stand in your way. I'll protect him to the best of my abilities and any allies you care for, but it isn't as if they would ever speak to me like a friend."

"I don't want you to just be forgotten about. I really want to get better...what was it you said when you first manifested?"

"You really want me to repeat it?"

"Please," he whispered, laying atop the cobblestone ground staring at the dim night sky. Had he not been a god, he would've claimed that he felt close to one, but sadly, that had been taken from him a long time ago.

"My name is Narcissistic Cannibal, little Master, and I am your soul personified. I am thou and thou are I."

"And should anyone go against me…?"

"I'll rip the world apart to protect you." It answered, swallowing what was left of its prey and coiled around him, ignoring the blood dripping from its muzzle. "Why are you bringing this back up?"

"Because I haven't been a very good user, have I?" He reached for one of the stand's hands, so much larger than his own, and ran a hand over the scaly fingers and claws of his stand. He had been wrong about his stand's size when he had guessed sixteen feet. It had to be twenty feet, not counting the tail that swayed back and forth, making the tied bells jingle.

"I don't think that."

"But you should," he responded, thinking back to the days where his stand was smaller and easier to hold. "I need to be better for you. I need to accept what I have. That's what you meant...that I haven't lost my humanity if I accept that I still have it?"

"It was one meaning in my statements. There were others, but I would hate to spoil their meaning for you, my Master."

"How kind of you."

The snake licked the blood away from his master's cheek with a low purr.

So what is an eclipse? Was it the moment when the light left you forsaken, my love? Oh, was that our relationship? Or were we perhaps two celestial bodies on our orbital path that met in a kiss and covered the light from everyone around us? It was in those moments that we were at the best moments of our life and love was beautiful. My skin was burning at our meeting and this was beautiful. Third-degree burns aren't signs of romance, and I was a fool. We both simply moved into different phases of our life even if we didn't have the best intersection looking back.

Leaning against a tree, several yards away from the hamon users, the god flipped a page, mindlessly reading page after page about how the court system had developed over the last hundred years. It was boring, so when he looked up and saw a vampire staring at him in the dim twilight, he considered it an improvement. Though he knew this vampire, it was the poison seller that had vanished that night. Now hunched over, wearing bladed gloves with steel claws that must be a foot or more in length.

"You know Lord Dio told me where to find you all..." The male hissed, eyes already wide in feral glee with his body swaying back and forth and the pointed claws clicked together in a strange sort of tune.

"Oh, he did?" The god asked, ‌finding the whole thing particular, and somewhat out of line with Dio's character. Surely someone as prideful as Dio would choose to get rid of his enemies in person, the god couldn't count himself after his and Dio's last encounter, unless...Dio had something that he considered far more important than getting rid of his competition. It wasn't something that brought confidence, yet it was strangely reassuring all the same. "So, are you going to attack me?"

"While I was sent to vanquish everyone who knew the secrets of the mask, I was given very specific instructions on what to do with you." He bares fangs in what might be a grin, so the god flashes his in the same way a snarling beast does. His stand purrs beneath his skin. The god stops...would the flesh of the undead sustain his stand, or would it just be something that it would consume for no reward? "My Lord only invites you once the castle is secure, but he demands you come under no harm."

"Hm, how kind of him, but when it comes down to it, I'm not exactly willing to let you go." The god closes the book and tosses it into the air, where it disappears into a nebula colored cross as his stand forms behind him with a snap of the jaws. The vampire jolted back like a startled cat as the snake-like beast formed above him, a large arm hooking around him protectively, while smiling a fanged grin. "I know, for being such a loyal servant to my dear friend, I'll tell you something that not even Dio knows. The form you see is my stand, and it bears the name; Narcissistic Cannibal. I plan on using you to test my hypothesis that the flesh of vampires and zombies will sate its hunger."

"A stand...?"

"Ha, look at that Master! How his confidence fades so quickly~! What's wrong? Don't you want to see what a real monster is?" His stand lashed out with his claws, striking the earth and leaving a dent where the vampire had been standing. "Oh, he's quick on his feet~?"

"I didn't come here to fight you!" The vampire wailed as the god and stand moved. People always liked to assume that because of his stand's size, it was slow, if only to hope to outrun the beast, but in reality, his stand simply remained near him by desire. "Lord Dio would never accept me laying a hand on you! I'm only here for the others!"

"Perhaps, but I never promised mercy to anyone." His stand's tail lashed, making the bells jingle as it moved to coil around him. "And neither did my stand."

Narcissistic Cannibal lunged, a feral laugh sounding like a crack of thunder, as its jaws slammed into the smaller man's shoulder, sinking in as quickly as possible, earning a scream that turned into a gasp as the entire arm was snapped off and swallowed whole. The vampire fell free of his stand's jaws and was knocked back with a swing of the beast's tail, making the light jingle sound again. He watched the body stagger and try to rise, gasping and panting.

"You really shouldn't let yourself be bitten by a venomous snake." The god hissed, watching the male lift himself up and look down at what remained of his shoulder with an expression that would've been horrified if he had the mental capacity after that injection. "The venom used seems to work faster on vampires who don't have blood flowing through their veins than humans, though it seems like the less injured they are, the more they can resist the mental effects of the venom or gas. Does their flesh work, NC?"

"Nicely," the stand purred, flashing the sharp fangs that were licked clean. "Feels like eating a corpse from the morgue in all honesty."

"Good. If Dio is out there making an army, it just means we get a bigger meal, I suppose. Now, any last words before you die?"

"Lord Dio needs to know about this." The creature finally said with shaking hands, spinning around and running for his life with a low snarl. His stand struck but missed yowling all the while.

"Running away won't save-" The god stopped with a huff and his stand quickly retreated when Jonathan and Zeppeli appeared over the hill towards him. Before he could open his mouth, the male was pulled into a hug by Jonathan earning an instant hiss from the god who braced himself for the same burning sensation as before, but saw the male had stopped channeling it the moment they interacted. "So, is everything okay?"

"Is...is everything okay?!?" Jonathan asked, staring at him in shock then gesturing to the damage and blood stains his stand had left behind. "Me and Zeppeli heard what sounded like something exploding and came running, and who does this blood belong to?"

"It's not mine." Waving away Jonathan, he noted Zeppeli kneeling at the stained dirt before standing up and clapping his hands.

"It seems our friend, despite not having hamon, could chase a vampire away." Jonathan gave him a look of open shock while he merely nodded in response.

"That's amazing M/n!"

"I just did what I had to. It wasn't as if I could just let a vampire attack you guys." With a shrug, he looks between the two. "Now that Speedwagon's figured out where Dio is, are we going or will you be training for another week?"

Jonathan can't help but flinch at how quiet and cold M/n sounds. Just what had happened between them? Was this because he accidentally hurt him with hamon? While M/n had told him it was merely an accident and he didn't hold it against him, the change between them both was so open and raw that he doubted it would ever repair itself cleanly. But where did it start if not at that incident...? Wait, Dio. It was so clear to him suddenly that M/n had changed after the fire. How would he fix that?

"We'll be heading out soon, but first we'll take a single day of rest. You and Jojo should say goodbye to anyone that isn't coming with us."

"I'll go to the inn and sleep. I don't have anyone to say goodbye to." At that somber statement, he watches M/n turn and go to leave.

"Wait, M/n!" The male turns at his call with a single tilt of the head. "Have you changed inns? If not, would I be allowed to visit you tomorrow?"

"I haven't and you may." And with that, the god left.

Do I dare to touch you so lovingly? When I have this fear that I might end up hurting you instead? That's a risk I don't want to take. Because by hurting you my love I only hurt myself. And don't we all hate the bloodstains on the floor?

When Jonathan enters his room at the inn, M/n feels trapped despite that part of him that feels so happy to see him again. Unrequited love hurts in a way he doesn't like to think about. He's felt it before, and each time it drains and takes in little ways, being a god without physical pain makes mental pain, or heart pain in this case, even more harsh and annoying. Jonathan didn't seem to notice as he smiled, pulling him into a hug all the while M/n could only think that he still smelled like Erina's perfume. Floral and pleasant and far from blood and ozone.

'Do you think about her when you're with me?'

And did it even matter?

He gave a weak smile back and gestured for Jonathan to sit with him on the bed, the only chair in the room was on well-worn legs and wouldn't support either of them for long, so he settled and shifted himself into a sitting position.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

Jonathan looked away, a hint of flush on his cheeks, as he scratched the back of his head.

"I really don't know how to start this. I'm sorry." The god, despite himself, patted the male on the back. "I want to fix...whatever this is."

"You need to be more specific, Jonathan. Though you always had trouble with that, didn't you?" He could remember night after night of trying to make Jonathan write better essays and thesis papers until midnight, where he'd leave so Jonathan could rewrite it. "But I'm not sure what you want to fix. I mean, other than the obvious Dio problem, I just assumed we were all...moving on. You and Erina were starting your relationship and I'm hunting...for a new career, that is. Business just isn't something I plan on pursuing for any longer."

"I understand that despite all of this, we're still trying to progress, but I don't want to lose what we have. You're my first friend, and to this day you're my closest, and yet I feel as if you're drifting away from me. I'm worried that one day I'll look up and you won't even be there, and that almost came true after the fire. I don't want to force you to stay if you don't want to be here, but I can't tell...and I don't want to force you to admit it."

"I...I value our friendship more than words Jonathan, and it isn't often that I'm left speechless as we both know, but this is a complicated matter. We've been together for so long that I...that I worry that we're getting too close. I mean, has Erina ever asked about how often we talk? I can't imagine it's easy to feel second fiddle when dealing with your romantic partner." Of course he couldn't imagine it because the god could easily remember the feeling himself. Despite what he wanted from Jonathan, leaving him cursing these unwanted feelings, he wouldn't wish that feeling of being unwanted and unloved while in a relationship with someone he hated, let alone Erina. "Plus, there was the common knowledge that you and Erina were courting and at some point the two of you would be wed. From there I just figured you'd be busy with work and the family you'd start, and well, that I wouldn't be needed for much."

"You think if I started a family I'd just...throw you away?" The god flinched and shrugged his shoulders, causing Jonathan to press on. "If I start a family, I would want you to be there...as a godparent...or an uncle...whatever capacity you would want, I'd allow. I know you don't see me as family, but that doesn't mean this friendship we have is meaningless."

"Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking." The god paused and reached into the pocket of his coat. Pulling out a small package, he quickly handed it over to Jonathan. "That reminds me I brought you something."

"A pipe?" The male questioned him after opening it and picking up the detailed pipe that must have cost M/n a decent amount of money.

"Yours was lost in the fire."

"I don't think I should use it, not that I dislike the gift, but what if it affects my hamon breathing?"

"I mean, if that was the case, then Zeppeli wouldn't be peppering his food constantly! Have you seen how often it makes him sneeze?" Jonathan laughed at that while the god leaned back with a huff. "Just don't use it when you're fighting or training. It's that simple."

"I guess you have a point." He watched Jonathan fill the pipe and then look at him. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all." Watching Jonathan light it and take a slow breath of it, the god closed his eyes and could easily imagine being perched on a tree like when they were kids. If he wasn't so long lived, he'd have compared that to a lifetime ago, but even with all that Dio had done, the god couldn't bring himself to compare those days to the burden of centuries he had felt. "If you could go back in time, what would you change?"

"Hm?"

"Surely there's something." He kept his eyes closed to avoid whatever look Jonathan might give him. "I've never met or even heard of a person who doesn't have something they'd want to change. Don't worry, I have no intention of judging you for it."

"I mean the obvious things to list would be anything that Dio did..." The god nodded his head, his mind going to what he considered Dio's greatest sin to be. Of course, that would be something to change. "How many things would I be allowed to change? And do I even count everything Dio did? I mean, it would have to be the first thing I'd go back and change."

'No, it really wouldn't,' the god thought, but flashed a smile and fell back onto the mattress. "Of course we aren't counting the Dio or mask related problems, and I'm curious to see what you'll say...you only get one thing to change."

"Then...then I think I'd change...I think I'd be a better student...?"

"You don't sound that confident, Jonathan." The god watched him shrug and look back with a lax smile.

"It's a lot harder to pick when you get rid of the obvious moments. Now, what about you?"

"I'd go back and get rid of those pesky thoughts that keep trying to tell me I'm a lover or fighter when I'm clearly not, or to tell myself not to be such a coward."

"Coward? You're far from a coward M/n."

"If I was far from a coward, I wouldn't feel scared more times than not."

"Yet you still go through with everything you set out to do. You led Dio away to save me, you came back to visit me in the hospital, and then you chased away a vampire without hamon. That's far from being a coward who runs constantly, even if you have to agree on that."

"Maybe, but I think the things I fear aren't the things I'm supposed to fear. Does that make sense?"

"I think so." With a nudge Jonathan passed him the pipe, which the god accepted and took a low breath of it. Holding a pipe in his mouth was strange. He wasn't used to smoking one, and a forked tongue only added to the strangeness of it. "Though I don't understand the first thing you'd want to change."

"Just the random musings of a coward." He handed the pipe back, frowning a bit at how smoking made him salivate more than usual. He paused as he watched Jonathan put the pipe in his mouth with no hesitation.

No, surely that level of contact wouldn't affect him.

And listening to the whirl of wires, I wonder about machines.

And what exactly is a machine if not a human using his god given hands to make something that's too sharp and too rigid to be created by something as endlessly fluid as god? And what is god if not a justification for all of this? I can cut myself on the sharp edges of metal and internet and beg for the green of nature just outside my reach.

I imagine building a machine and sobbing while telling it I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you will enter this world and it will not be pleasant or safe. The same way I imagine God creating me and then telling me I'm sorry, I'm sorry, for creating you and setting you free into a world of endless tragedies and hardships. But God will never say that to me. And I would never say that to a machine because I do not know how to build one.

There's someone out there that understands the way computers work, but for me all I understand is the smile that forms on my face when I get a message from you. And honestly, what is anything if not a desperate act of reaching for something else?

He was wrong, but by the time he actually notices it M/n can't quite bring himself to say anything because he wouldn't be able to explain it to Jonathan...and seeing it take effect is something he wasn't prepared for. Jonathan's skin had gained a dark hue and his words were stammering and cluttered like he was drunk. He didn't expect Jonathan to collapse back onto the bed, dropping the pipe which his stand caught, and rolling so he was on his side staring at the god.

"Are you okay?" M/n tried his best to play it off as if the male had a fever, making sure to not let his hand tremble when he pressed it to the male's forehead. 'I shouldn't have ever gotten him a pipe or something that could transfer my saliva so easily!'

"I feel fine, M/n." Jonathan murmured, grabbing his hand before he could pull away and pressed his cheek into the palm of his hand.

"Then let me take you to Erina, or wherever you've been staying." Trying to pull himself back, he only got Jonathan to pull him into his arms as if he were little more than a teddy bear. While it would be easy to break his hold, the god instead settled into the male's chest. He was so warm...so different from the god and everything he was. It was terrible of him to be taking advantage of the male in this state, but he was so warm and his chest...damn this pain to hell.

"No! I wanna stay with you." Jonathan huffed, face burying into his hair and hooking one of his legs around the god's waist. "You're so warm."

"Jonathan!" With a hiss, the god shifted in his grasp so he could speak without being muffled. "You need to let me go. Head back to whatever bed belongs to you at the moment. If you don't have one, I'm sure Speedwagon or Erina have a place for you."

"You wouldn't let me stay with you?"

"That would be improper."

"Why?" The god twitched at the question. His face was hot, and he didn't know how to phrase what should be obvious, so he just shrugged his shoulders to the best of his abilities. "That's not an answer."

"It just is...I mean...you shouldn't be sharing a bed with anyone, especially when you're courting another. Think about what Erina would say." He finally settled against the male once he was sure he could speak without fail. "I don't want to cause any problems."

"You aren't."

But that was a lie, wasn't it?

One day I climbed a mountain and sat upon an old rock and talked to it. I told it about how last year it felt as if I was growing every day. Now I'm stuck in a stagnate state, sometimes even shrinking. I told it I can trace the line with my finger all the way back to when things changed. To the moment, the breath. It said to me. "So? I am always shrinking. Yet I am a beautiful part of the earth and so are you."

I said. "All I feel is silence. All I see is bone."

The rock looked at me and frowned.

I said. "I want to be senile, or forgotten."

We hunched our backs and breathed in the gentle morning air. The rock said. "Can I tell you a story?

It's about a black bird with a freeway crash tied to their feet. They carried the broken jaw of an elk and strung the hooves together with sage and yarn before hooking the charm around their neck. The remains of the beast would whisper to the bird as it flew over the world. Speaking of warm asphalt and the gold-skinned car, it left a scar across. It spoke of its spine that was scattered in a field under the warmth of the sun. And of the dogs that ate its skin. There was a big hole in the blackbird's life. With the changing seasons, cold brought forth the calmness and movement they thrived on, but pushed them further into their loneliness. Their only companion was the forest.

They left behind the elk bones and abandoned them under the watching eyes of the aspen trees.

No matter what, the grief kept coming back.

They picked up a stone from the forest floor and pressed it between their claws to replace the weight of the bones."

So, I am shrinking.

The earth is shaping me the way it shapes the rock under me, and keeps changing it forevermore. I thought of shrinking as growth, something that words can't make sense of, but the rock and I can. I tilted my head to look up at the thick clouds, and the clouds learned all my secrets. The sun now looked me in the eye.

The rock under me told stories as old as its body.

Which I listened to until I had to walk home relying on my fingers rather than my eyes.

What could've been a peaceful moment became something different when Jonathan rolled his hips against the god's, an action he ignored hoping it was merely the other trying to get comfortable, instead Jonathan repeating the action intentionally dragging it out with a groan echoing near his ear. The god blinked, trying and failing to convince himself to finally push the other away and leave, but he exhaled slowly and noted that the breath that escaped his lips was a pink fog. 'Dannazione!'

"M/n, I feel really hot."

"Really?" The god asked, though he knew the side effects of his stand's smog painfully well. "Then why don't you use the private bath and I'll wait for you here?"

"That..."

"Jonathan, it wouldn't do anyone any good for you to get sick." Finally freeing himself from Jonathan's grasp, he rolled off the bed and pulled him towards the edge of the bed. "Dio won't wait for you to feel better, and without you, we lose one of the two people that can properly get rid of a vampire."

"You hate hamon." Jonathan retorted, and the god snorted in response.

"I have a bad reaction to it. That doesn't equal hate, though it doesn't equal love either. Consider my opinions on hamon to be stuck perfectly in the middle rather than any leaning. Now get up." All he got was whining, making the god have to drag him off and force the male to lean on him. 'I'm sure enough time away from me and cold water will help him clear his mind. If not, I'll tell him I'm getting food and lock the door, so he's trapped for a bit.'

"Can you stay with me? I don't feel like I want to be alone right now." The god opened his mouth to argue but froze, seeing the pleading look he received from Jonathan and merely nodded his head. "Thank you."

Everyone needs a baptism at some point.

When I wish I wasn't born, I decide to look back and think about the parts of me that were lost when I was given shape. When I fit into this body. I think about who I am in my dreams. I think about the selfish desire of wanting a sick body instead of a sick mind. And what it would be like to not have a head filled with grief.

Learn from your mother, and every other woman hunted by grief and the shadow of a man.

Learn about the night.

And learn about wanting daylight.

So that was how the god ended up in a circular tub alongside Jonathan trying, and ultimately failing, to ignore the fact that Jonathan half submerged was clearly being affected by your stand. To think M/n had finally accepted that Jonathan didn't love him back, only for him to end up in this situation. He should've never taken a hit from that pipe, but he wasn't fighting the heat in his own skin or Jonathan Moving Till the god had to open his legs to accommodate him. Raising an eyebrow, he put a hand under Jonathan's chin, noting how wide-eyed and blushing he was. It seemed like his stand always affected Jonathan harsher than most people, and this time didn't seem to be any different.

'If I was a good man, I'd have left by now since he's taken, but I guess I decided what I am a long time ago.'

So as he froze in the god's grasp, the male looked to the side with a sigh before rolling his eyes and pulling Jonathan into a kiss. He could feel the way Jonathan tried to kiss back, awkward and inexperienced, and he couldn't help but wonder what Jonathan and Erina did on all their dates if Jonathan hadn't figured out how to respond to someone's lips. The phantom sensation of Narcissistic Cannibal dancing across his flesh and moving to coil around Jonathan. Pulling away, you noted that despite the height difference, Jonathan was doing his best to get into his lap or grind against his erection.

"M/n..." A shiver ran down his spine hearing that. How many nights had you imagined something like this with no consequences or restrictions? That you could have something without getting in trouble? What a childish and naïve idea, but it had been there for a while now. Would Jonathan even remember tonight? Would he want to?

Drawing Jonathan in, the god took a deep breath, pressing his forehead to Jonathan's shoulder while moving his hands further down the male's body. Jonathan was broad. Muscles rippled beneath the skin, all the while avoiding being too sinewy or too firm. It made his mouth water. The god pulled back as his fingertips ran over the area right above his dick and slammed his jaws into his free arm, ignoring the sensation of bone cracking beneath his teeth. There...that should keep him calm. Ignoring the ichor trailing down his skin in thin gold stems, he moved his legs between Jonathan's before using them as a wedge.

"Keep them like that for me, okay?" A soft whine was the only answer he got as he trailed his fingers over the male's inner thigh, noting how they shifted ever so slightly at the lightest touch. He was so sensitive. It was cute. "Stay. I don't want to keep holding you in place."

Kissing him again, the god didn't even notice how his fangs tore Jonathan's bottom lip till he tasted blood. Or how his nails dug down the male's shoulder, leaving thin red lines in their wake. His other hand slowly ran over Jonathan's cock till the male jerked him off at a steadier pace. Running his thumb over the head and pushing the foreskin back, earning a small whine. Jonathan was drooling once M/n pulled away, and the god smirked before biting his neck, hearing a lower groan of delight. He didn't want to spend too much time on his neck, especially given how he was venomous, so he went to the male's chest. Swiping a tongue over the male's nipple, he used his other hand to work the other one over, listening to the huffs and gasps intertwined with his name in a pattern that he didn't quite parse.

"There you go. Just relax for me." Jonathan rutted his hips up into the male's hand, earning another low hum. "Just focus on my voice."

"M/n...please..."

"Shh, none of that. I'll take care of you." Swiping his tongue across ‌Jonathan's chest, he bit his neck, being careful not to plunge his fangs in till he reached the male's sweet spot. After leaving a sizable bite, he went back down to the male's chest. "You look so good like this. Begging and pleading for me. Just keep sitting there looking pretty for me, alright?"

Jonathan awkwardly swiped at his arm, grabbing it after a few tries, and tried to look him in his eyes.

"Please fuck me."

"Fine." The god drew the word out as if he was annoyed flipping them so Jonathan was against the side of the tub and M/n moved his hand between his legs and plunged two fingers inside of him, earning a surprised gasp. Working the male open, he added a third finger, listening to the whines above his ear. "Relax, I'll enter you in a moment. I need to prepare you, otherwise it'll hurt and utterly ruin this."

"M/n...M/n..."

Pulling his hand free, the god pushed his body out of the tub to sit so he could align his cock with Jonathan's hole. Pressing his face to the side of Jonathan's neck, he slowly sank his fangs into the male's skin while slamming himself into the other, earning a panicked gasp and muffled whispers in his ear. Jonathan slumped against him, boneless and completely limp, and the sound of his panting filled the god's ears. Slowly Jonathan pushed the god back and with a slight hum escaping his lips, M/n complied, watching Jonathan slowly adjust his weight and bounce up and down his cock.

"So gorgeous." He drawled out, trailing a hand down the side of the male's torso. "You look amazing like this. All pretty and desperate. I could imagine what the others might say if they knew what a pretty little slut you are."

For a moment, the god thought he might've gone too far till he noticed how Jonathan reacted.

"Do you like that?" He teased, watching the male's cheeks get even darker. "Do you like being a pretty little slut, Jonathan? Just wanting to ride my cock?"

Adjusting his hands, the god helped Jonathan, making each thrust deeper while his hand went back to jerking Jonathan off. He was so sensitive, his cock leaking, and he could tell that Jonathan was unsure of how to roll his hips to get the best of both sensations.

"Such a good boy, taking me like this. Come on and scream for me."

"M/n...this feels really good..." The god nipped the male's earlobe, earning a soft whine as Jonathan rolled his hips rutting against M/n's palm. When he pulled back, he saw how glossy Jonathan's eyes had become, clouded with lust, and trails of drool at the corners of his mouth. Leaning in, he bit Jonathan's bottom lip, earning a gasp that began and died at the god's lips. Shifting him down, M/n had Jonathan pinned next to the tub, ignoring the puddles forming beneath them and moving faster, listening to how his breathing got faster and in shorter huffs. Soon Jonathan threw his head back in a moan.

"There it is." The god purred as he forced the male's legs open to get a better angle, earning low whines.

"M/n...M/n...M/n..."

With a desperate groan Jonathan came and M/n licked the cum of his fingers till he rolled his hips and felt his own release happen. With a satisfied sigh, he pulled out, watching the trails of cum drip out of Jonathan, who had a dazed grin on his face.

"Good boy." The god whispered to the saint.

Beauty, the sculpture and form of the human body, and how we see it. A man grew around his bones. Set alight with sunlight. Smoke. Scatter across the sky, coiling between his legs and getting hooked between his fangs.

I'd like to think that there's a universe where no one is alone.

"Fix that before it becomes an annoyance." Dio snapped at a zombie, gesturing to the hole in the side of the castle wall, earning a panicked squeak from the thing as it ran away in search of someone to patch the wall and the materials needed. With a roll of the eyes the vampire stalked down the loft halls of the castle, his hair looking more like a mane that combined with the growl made him look more akin to a beast rather than a man, but his gaze went back to the man slumped against the ground lapping up the blood on the floor like a pitiful dog.

Wang Chung, now missing an arm, was the pathetic sight in front of him.

The vampire looked up at him, eyes widening at the realization that Dio was standing in front of him, and the blond watched the smaller male look as if he was trying to decide on groveling or running away.

"Lord Dio…I-I-"

"You failed me, Wang Chung." He interrupts the cowering vampire, earning a low whimper from the shaking creature. "I ordered you to kill Jonathan and any allies he has and to tell M/n I'd be coming for him at a later date. Did you do any of that?"

"I...I spoke with M/n, Lord Dio." He croaked out.

"And you come here bloody, missing an arm, and hoping for forgiveness? Was it Jonathan? Or did M/n find you to be too much of an eyesore?"

"It was his stand." That caused the vampire to tilt his head to the side, eyes narrowing.

"Stand?"

"That's what he called the snake monster you described to me. He said it was a stand and then said that its name was Narcissistic Cannibal, he told me that not even you knew that, and L-lord Dio he said that he wanted to see if the beast could feed off of the flesh of vampires and it could! It was that monster's jaws that ripped off my arm and injected me with its venom! He then said that the venom used spread faster through vampires, but the less injured one is, the more they can fight the mental effects of the venom. I ran before he could finish me as the beast revealed that the flesh of vampires could sustain it. I'm sorry I couldn't bring you more information on him, Lord Dio!" The vampire collapsed at his feet, shaking and whimpering while Dio mentally went over what he had just learned.

"You can live for now. Find some blood to heal yourself and be ready for when I send you out again. If you fail me a second time, I won't be as forgiving. Now clean up after yourself. This castle needs to be in perfect order, and I refuse to have you ruin that." He snarled, turning on his heel as the zombie from before entered the room with a box of supplies, ignoring the injured vampire hunched over frantically, wiping away the bloodstains he had left on the floor. Another vampire entered, earning his attention. "Do you have what I asked for?"

"We weren't able to get any live snakes, Lord Dio, but we found the second best thing." The zombie quickly answered by opening the box to reveal ornate carvings and statues. Dio traced over one with a finger, humming in thought before picking one of the smaller ones up. "If given enough time, we could travel and gain live snakes, but it would take far longer."

"These will do for now. I'll figure out a solution to the issue behind getting live snakes soon enough. Start using these and the gargoyles to make this place look presentable." Noting the look of confusion on the zombie's face, Dio groaned and ran a hand down his face. "I want you all to make this place look nice. Decorate it, understand?"

The vampire watched the zombies run off with a series of nods and cheers, earning a groan. He truly was surrounded by idiots.

"So you're just mad that your boy toy isn't here to fuck you?" With an almost feral snarl, Dio whipped his head around to glare at the form of Jack the Ripper, who was lounging across the floor watching him with complete boredom. Flicking his hands, he watched the newly turned zombie's eyes flash, showing that he was still completely subservient to him.

'While you may provide me with more manpower, I don't enjoy how mouthy you get, Jack.' However, he didn't have time to vocalize his opinions before he heard a crash behind him. Turning to look at the zombies, Dio watched them stagger and quickly tried to repair the wall under his gaze.

With a growl, he left all of them to head towards the basement. He needed more blood. Waving a hand, he forced the killer to follow him.

So, their destination was a day's ride south of London to a small town by the name of Wind-Knights Lot, but the path was far more treacherous than most. At the midpoint of the single wagon road was a tunnel evacuated over five hundred years ago. The tunnel is approximately three hundred meters long. At one point, a single rusty sword has been stuck in the inner walls. Nobody knows its origin. Beyond the tunnel, it's surrounded on three sides by inaccessible mountains. In the last direction, south, is a sheer cliff that drops right into the sea.

The town, as one could tell by its name, was built in the middle ages as a practice ground for the royal knights. Now in 1888, because of its naturally fortified position, a prison has been built, and under the town, coal is mined via an extensive railroad system dug by those prisoners. The population of this town is mostly normal people that survive off of fishing and agriculture. Including the prisoners, there are five hundred and seventeen people who live in Wind-Knights Lot.

But this town will soon cease to exist.

"We're heading to the Wind-Knights Lot?" Jonathan asked as Speedwagon entered the carriage sitting next to M/n, who was leaning against the window, eyes closed and purposefully ignoring the series of glances Jonathan gave him.

"Aye Mister Joestar, I've been checking through the underground. I confirmed that the poison seller was seen heading towards this town minus an arm." At Speedwagon's answer, the three each glanced towards the silent god who didn't even open his eyes despite knowing that they were all staring at him. An arm hadn't been found, only blood, and while Zeppeli had some idea of what the other was capable of, it didn't account for that. "Anyway, if he's heading there, it will probably be to report back to Dio."

"Then we'll have to be ready to fight."

"Only fools rush in without a plan." Jonathan flinched at the emotionless tone of the male's voice, watching as he opened an eye to glance at them. "We need to know where he's staying and act once we're ready. Even with hamon, we can't take unnecessary risks."

"Of course!" Speedwagon replied, looking at the now silent god. "When the time comes, I'll be helping the both of you. Now that I'm involved in this fight, it wouldn't be right for me to just back out and leave!"

"Despite you only letting him escape as an accident, M/n being able to track him back to his lair has provided us a perfect opportunity to catch Dio and with him the mask." Zeppeli lifted an unopened bottle of wine and examined his pockets before frowning. "Do any of you have a corkscrew? Or M/n can you spare me one of your fangs?"

"No." M/n said without hesitation, earning a small chuckle from Jonathan, who then looked out the small window, eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh, it's the entrance to Wind-Knights! What a large tunnel."

"Yes, we've arrived as planned. Now we just need to get there before the sun goes down." After that Jonathan settled against his own window, watching the bricks of the tunnel pass by, and his mind wandered further and further from the cart.

'Erina, I left without giving you a proper farewell. But of course I wouldn't be able to explain this to her...though I will be back no matter what it takes. Hopefully, I can repair my relationship with M/n along the way...I don't understand why he's ignoring me after the night...it must be because he's worried that he ruined my relationship with Erina.'

The surrounding company started manifesting towards tolerance. For a single second, I believed I had written the entire ocean.

A tepid boulevard drank me and invited me for supper afterward. A coward in some ways, a lonely and unspeakable living soul that I had helped to kill, my hands far bloodier than my eyes.

"Do you know someone finally moved into the castle connected to the graveyard on the hill?"

"Oh, yeah...I've heard it's a sick person who came here to recover."

"That's nice, I hope they get better soon. Oh, did you hear? It seems as if Mr. Henry's daughter ran away."

"Oh, I heard. Sheesh, youngsters these days...and she always seemed so responsible."

The girl's body fell to the ground as Dio licked the blood off his lips with a low hiss, followed by him carefully running a hand over his lips, stopping at the edge of his fangs with a delighted sigh. “Mmm, with every meal, I feel my strength returning. To think, I had been so weak after that fire, all it takes is some blood, and I'm back to perfect health. What a simple thing, the food chain. As pigs feed on grass, as does man feed upon them, and I, at the top of it all, feed upon the humans. They exist to serve me and quell my thirst. Therefore, we may as well be gods to them…but there’s only one who deserves that title.”

As Jack the Ripper pulled the girl up and held a dagger under her chin while Dio's gaze went to one of the snake statues that had been placed in the lower corners of the chamber. He ran a hand over the cobra's open hoods, his mind going back to the outline he had seen during the manor's destruction. A monster protecting the holy.

"Hm, what do you think Jack?" Looking back he used his control over the killer's mind, this thrall...his thrall, and kept his mouth closed so the only sound was the whimpering of the girl as a thin trail of blood dripped down her neck from where his fangs had punctured flesh. “Of course, no matter the rank I place myself, or the ones I save for others, it does not change my failure at the Joestar manor. We need to be prepared for anything. Now to swell the ranks of my diabolical army and send it hence. I will stride astride this world. Humanity will kneel at Dio Brando’s feet. A person in that position only remains under God, correct?”

The girl quietly sobbed as Dio trailed over the pointed fangs of the cobra.

"Blood is our eternity, and eternity is one thing I desire most. You can have her, Jack." The blade cut through her throat and the zombie pounced on the corpse. "Even after death, I can make people my servants by using the mask. I want you to go, Jack, and find Jonathan. Kill him and anyone at his side that isn't M/n. All you have to do is tell M/n where I am and survive. He'll do the rest, I'm certain."

"Understood."

Once the killer was gone, he looked away from the statue and walked over the remains of the girl to move aside a part of the chamber wall.

"I wonder...could even Jonathan stand against the knights and heroes of old?"

You cling to your anger like a drowning man clings to a life raft. The death grip of a soul that's already long gone. You are back for revenge. Revenge. What is the point of that, nevertheless? You set your home alight hoping you will miss it when it's ash. You don't. Of course you don't. Realizing that you never had a home doesn't hurt when you've already lost yourself.

"We're stopping. Why are we stopping?" M/n asked, suddenly shifting and looking around wide eyed before swallowing. Jonathan swore. His eyes flashed gold as the smaller male looked around, as if hearing something they couldn't. He also noted how Zeppeli was closely watching M/n, as if his actions were the most important ones to think about. "I don't hear another carriage coming...so why are we stopping?"

“Oi, mate! Hurry it up!” Speedwagon called, opening the door hanging out of the carriage as M/n quickly stood up to follow, pushing past Speedwagon and exiting the carriage while the male stared at a few droplets that were staining his hand.

“Keep an eye out. Sunlight can’t protect us in here.”

“Well? What’s wrong?”

“...what? Rain? It's raining? How could it be raining in a tunnel?”

"That's not rain. Looking at the coloration, it's dark red." Zeppeli shifted, adjusting the still unopened bottle of wine in his grasp before standing up and looking out the open door. "So, we have company already."

The god ignored them all as he walked across the cobblestone floor of the tunnel, ignoring the blood raining down on him as he walked around the side, ignoring how he mentally shuddered at the idea of getting near the horses; he was still unsettled at the idea of getting ran over again, but that didn't matter because it didn't hurt him...ugh, why was he even thinking about that right now? Stopping, he examined the corpse of the coachman's head and shoulders inside the severed horse's head.

"Hm...?" As the others exited the carriage and Speedwagon screamed, the rest of the horses' heads were severed and the corpse fell to the ground in a single motion.

“Is it Dio? It has to be him,” he heard Jonathan whisper out before shifting into an alert position.

"Wait, look...the horse," At that M/n followed Speedwagon's gaze and walked to the only headless horse that had yet to fall over. The neck was twitching beneath his gaze. "Wait, M/n! Don't approach it! Can't you see something moving in what remains of its neck?!?"

"M/n, I would advise you to get away from the horses." Looking back over he simply tilted his head earning an inaudible sigh from the Italian male as the god looked back to the horse in time to see a man's blood-stained face soon followed by an arm with a knife clasped in the man's hand. The god simply tilted his head to the side to dodge the strike and took half a step back to have the blood stained male tower over him.

"What in the blue hell? That crazy blighter was inside our horse?! Good god, this one’s mad as a hatter! Dio’s evil, yeah, but I ain’t seen him jump out of any animals so far.”

“He must be gathering minions, and who knows how many he might have? How did Dio find people like this when he should still be badly injured?” The god flinched at Jonathan's questions, knowing the exact reason that Dio would've healed so fast. Even if he was gathering blood constantly, it wouldn't be able to act faster than ichor.

The sound of glass breaking filled his senses and when the god looked back, Zeppeli had broken a hole in the wine's bottle, tilting it so it would pour into his wine class. “Stand aside, my young friends. I will do the fighting.”

Holy water never made a sound. It was dark like tar. Dead and disgusting. All day I laid thinking of the dead. I ripped the crucifix off the wall and spat on it in my hate before throwing it to the floor. We had to bury it the next day. God has always punished sins and by his holy son, I will surely die.

Salt was in my mouth.

The room seemed to rock as it had the first time I arrived so many lifetimes ago.

Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me. My heart is cold.

So perfectly still and far away.

Can you lie so much that you eventually believe in love?

“I know this rotting smell…” He heard Jonathan whisper as the zombie glared down at him. How frustrating. It would be easy to finish him in one hit. Beautiful to watch, even. They’d all gasp in shock and it would be done. However, knives slid out of the male's flesh with no reaction, earning a scoff from the god, and he knew there would be no chance to finish this cleanly.

“He is a zombie. They must feed on living flesh to survive. However, they are in constant thrall to their master, not unlike marionettes.”

"His eyes are rather blank." He took a step closer to the zombie, noting how the creature didn't even follow him with his eyes or body while listening to the others go silent as he paced around the undead. "And he doesn't even twitch at all these knives sliding out of him. He isn't even saying anything. I guess we were lucky that Dio didn't figure out mind control in the manor, right?"

"Mister Joestar...is the behavior normal?"

"M/n has always been pretty fearless.” Jonathan sheepishly admits to it, as if something like that's shameful, but the god merely flashes them a smile before going back to examining the zombie. Wrong. He was scared and ran all the time. He just didn't fear things that most people did, especially because of his immortality. Hadn't been brave since the gangs. The zombie lifted a curved knife he held in one hand. "Seriously, what is that? Look at the air around the blade...is it an illusion of some sort?"

“Oh, you lads is both as white as a sheet. All the blood is drained from your faces. Maybe I should cut off those useless heads of yours and watch it spray outta your necks?” The zombie laughed, causing all three to look at him in different stages of surprise while the god merely raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, so you do speak? Not well, but at least you can." The man's eyes locked onto the god as he stepped in front of him, purposefully playing the role of the third party that doesn't know or care about the danger in front of him. "You were being rather rude mere moments ago, so I wonder what exactly changed your mind, but you seem the type to keep it all close to the chest if Dio's not just looking through your eyes. So, Jack the Ripper? Best he could come up with on such short notice?"

He only laughed, causing M/n to cross his arms and tilt his head to the side. "You must be his boy toy, M/n, huh? Dancing around with any guy that throws you attention."

"Is that how Dio refers to me?" He calmly asked, noting the change in the air but only responding to it in kind.

"Doesn't have to." With a shake of the head, the zombie's eyes turned red and his body slumped somewhat, and then he looked blankly past the god to the three behind him. M/n blinked at the change. Did Dio take control? “Now, you mewling corpses-to-be, prepare for the carnage!”

In one clean motion, he cut off a finger from his free hand before grabbing the blade in the wounded hand and thrusting it into his face, earning mixed reception.

"...well, that's...something I suppose."

Zeppeli walked over standing at M/n's side and all it took was a glance before the god lightly rolled his eyes before backing off. "Slashing things with that knife is all he lives for. He definitely was the evil sort even before this, especially if M/n's moniker for him has any truth."

"Please, I know what a sinner looks like. He reeks of innocent blood."

"I don't doubt you." Zeppeli gave a wry smile at that. "The poison seller must have told him about whatever tactic you used to defeat him, M/n, and if he watched us for long enough, he'd even have a rough idea of what the ripple can do. Tell me, what’s his next move? You must think as he does. Jojo, this strategy will serve you in good stead. Ask yourself; what would be the most advantageous thing for my foe to do next? Him, for example. If he blocks off that tunnel entrance, we can’t retreat to the sunlight."

Right as he finished the sentence, the carriage was tossed over their heads, slamming into the roof of the tunnel and causing a cave to earn panicked gasps from the people around M/n.

“Just as I predicted, he’s blocked our retreat!”

"Speedwagon, jump!"

“Gotta hate being right.” Right after saying that he was grabbed by Jonathan and found all of them racing away from the collapsing tunnel, and the god tries to ignore how it feels when he's being taken care of. Never liked that. Pushed himself away the moment his feet could touch solid ground, and he ignored the hurt look he got in return. Zeppeli took a slow sip of his wine glass, and Speedwagon was left gasping.

“Try harder this time.” Was Zeppeli’s only taunt to the undead as he growled and snarled. While Jack’s body shuddered as blades pushed in and out of his skin. The god wondered if that was an effective battle strategy or just something for intimidation.

"Be prepared. He's coming for the attack."

“Knives are coming out of him!”

“Baron Zeppeli, you didn’t say nothing about fighting a pincushion.”

“That pincushion is the reason we're all going to walk to Wind-Knights Lot." M/n retorted, trying and failing to hide the growing irritation boiling under his skin. He didn't want to be buried underground like a fucking corpse. He hated the idea of being buried away. With a shake of the head, he watched Jack the Ripper suddenly pose and...flex out the blades.

The god ducked to avoid the blades, not that many were even headed his way, hearing a yelp as Speedwagon was clipped by one followed by Jonathan moving to help his friend. The blades that went towards Zeppeli, however, were cut down from...spinning orbs of wine shot from his mouth.

What had become of his life?

“Eh?”

“I’m afraid your blades are rather dull compared to my hamon cutter. Jojo, this creature illustrates a principle. Imagine a miniscule flea, so small that it’s barely visible. Why is it they bite humans who tower over them without a single thought to their own safety? Would you call their behavior courageous? Of course not. It’s hunger controlling them! I will tell you what courage is, Jojo.” The zombie tried to stab Zeppeli, yet all the scholar did was block with his wine bottle. Watching the glass shatter beneath the attack causing Speedwagon to take a half step back. “Courage is to look your fear in the eye and know that it has no dominion over you! Fear scatters your breathing. When you toss your fear into the dust, breathing is the sword ever at your hip. Breathe with courage, and you will never want for hamon.”

“Bravery is our birthright, lads!” Zeppeli lunged, a sharp kick at his bottom jaw lit the tunnel up like a solar explosion, earning a hiss from the god. “And for all the abilities they may bring into a battle. Courage is something a zombie relinquished when he took this form! They’re no better than fleas!”

‘I imagine that can’t feel too good. Undead or not.’ Looking away as Zeppeli’s knee slammed into his bottom jaw, sending the undead flying backwards with half his face melted, Jack whimpered, earning a low shudder from the god. That was prey. Cannibal purred in the depths of his mind. Hungry for the gore.

“A knee full of the hamon to the head seems to have cured this one’s braggadocio.”

“I don’t believe it. He didn’t even spill any wine.” Speedwagon looked between the three of them noting how M/n while quiet carried himself confidently with little to no hesitation. He didn't have hamon yet he still acted with no fear. ‘What drives a man like that? Is he merely fearless or is he looking for the reaper?’

“Jojo, you finish the creature off. Destroy the brain. It’s the only way. Anything else, and you risk it coming back.”

A roar from the beast allerted them to Jack hanging from the ceiling. Hand on a blade embedded in the stones forming the tunnel.

“T-time for the slaughter. Naughty little pigs.” There was a click sound as the blade moved, rather than be pulled free, acting as a lever for a hidden door in the wall. “I’ll cut you to shreds one by one.”

“...you know, when he just runs off it makes the death threats a lot less terrifying. Anyone else feel that, or am I just imagining things?”

“That’s because you don’t fear anything, M/n.”

“Don’t tell me we’re following him into that passageway.”

“It has to be destroyed. But we will be doing no such thing.” Pouring a fresh glass of wine, M/n watched him pass it to Jonathan who caught it before the liquid could spill. “Jojo, I expect you to finish off this abomination without spilling a single drop. M/n will go with him. All right, one last bit of advice before you go. There were no vikings in the land of Norway until the north wind blew in and created them. If even one drop of that Vino goes to waste, I don’t care how utterly you defeat that zombie, I will abandon you here and now.”

“...”

“Oi! Listen to yourself. Have you gone insane?”

“I know what I’m doing!”

“I will do my best.” Jonathan looked up with a shaky smile. “Like the vikings, I will be strengthened by hardship. Please accompany me, M/n.”

With a silent nod the god followed after the saint.

I wish this face was anything else.

I wish this body was clearly masculine.

I wish people could see me the same way I see myself.

Or even as something to avoid.

Or maybe I just wish that no one was looking at me.

‘It’s a labyrinth. Even with this torch. All it’s doing is casting shadows to bedevil me.’

“This place is gorgeous. Everywhere I look,” looking towards M/n who was openly trailing his hand over the pillars with a look of delighted awe made something in his chest throb despite how he smiled. He didn't know what to think of his best friend despite it all, he knew that he wouldn't hesitate to protect M/n even at the cost of his life, but this pain in his chest followed by all the current events and things he had learned about the other made him conflicted. Did he even know M/n anymore? Even something as simple as how he navigated in the dark was alien to him. "Fascinating."

“Is now really the time, M/n?” Yet he only laughed at that, walking ahead without a care in the world. To think M/n considered himself cowardly, saying that he wanted little more than to run away when things got tough, yet he was the person that didn't fear vampires or zombies, the first to sacrifice himself.

"Of course they are. These tunnels aren't meant for the public, but could you imagine the drop you could get on someone? This place serves as the last result. I can only imagine how many battles ended here.” M/n paused, his eyes shooting open as they heard something heavy moving towards them. Both leapt to the side to avoid a ribcage iron maiden that was flung at them, snapping like the jaws of a beast.

“This torch…we’re bright as day to him!” Ripping a part of his sleeve off to bandage his new wounds, he stared at where the zombie had vanished back into the darkness. “All this does is illuminate our position, but without it, I haven’t a clue where he’s lurking. Or from where he’ll strike.”

With that they were plunged into darkness.

I want to travel. If just for the illusion that I in turn am always changing.

I don't know if I am growing or rotting, not that I would know the difference, all I do know is that I'm changing in some way.

I know that. In the morning when I wake up something wakes up with me.

"Good morning lover," it coos. "Did you dream? Are you still dreaming?"

I panic. Reaching for the meds I keep buying even if they don't work anymore. One gets rid of the voice. One makes it less painful. Another makes my hands stop shaking. Or they should. The voice never leaves. Not since I turned fourteen. It doesn't matter. A snake that doesn't hiss or rattle its tail can still bite. A numb person can still bleed.

"You aren't the first person to suffer. Just the weakest."

"Why are you just staring at the wall?"

"Oh, you know me." Silence is my favorite thing.

I can feel myself deteriorating and leaving you all behind.

I walk slowly into the garden of Eden and perish.

I got mixed up inside my own body.

I constantly put myself back together.

None of these pieces fit back together again.

The pair both dived into a divot, avoiding the worst of Jack's attack, though M/n could hear Jonathan wince and smell the blood leaking from the cuts. When he opened his eyes, he noted his godly features were even more prominent. His night vision was stronger and he could see the heat signatures as a second, more faded layer to his vision. Closing his eyes to take a quick breath, he could even taste the presence of those around him. Of course, he would get this power up right now. Why the hell had he weakened himself alongside hiding his true appearance?

‘Because you’re a fool who craves normality.’

‘Shut up, Ajamu.’ But when did he ever listen?

"Well, now we don't have a way to see him." Jonathan was frowning, though the god didn't need to see him to know that, and he nudged the male with his shoulder. "How are we supposed to defeat him without light?"

"Our best option would be to get past his guard, but that will be difficult. He can probably see with far less difficulty than us though I don't think that he has perfect night vision." The god adjusted his position carefully, swallowing down his reaction to the smell of blood. "But given that we are dealing with a serial killer who did nothing but cut up innocent women, I doubt he'll want to do anything but hunt us down. Honestly, I think he got that weapon by altering a medieval torture device...though I'm more in favor of the breaking wheel myself."

"He should still be weakened by Zeppeli's attack, right?"

"He would need human flesh and blood to regenerate. At least, I think that’s how zombies work. Don’t quote me on this."

"Then we should attack as soon as possible, but I can't see anything."

"I can see well enough to spot him." M/n admitted, feeling Jonathan shift ever so slightly. "But our best option might be to wait for him to cross this path again and knock him off guard while in motion. I don't think that weapon will be able to turn fast enough if you land a hit on him with your hamon."

A figure down the hall shifted back and forth adjusting the heavy metal frame of its weapon. 'I don't need the flames to track them down. I just need them to come closer. I can smell the blood and sweetness. I can figure out the distance by that and that alone."

"Then we have time to talk...right?"

It's still hard, you know? To hear your voice. Even after all this time. The love didn't leave even when your body left. You left nothing but my corpse behind. So I captured the breath of ghosts, praises of abstinence. Do you know that my life is built on teeth and consequences? Do you know empty space?

There are miles and miles of stained glass. An organ fresh from my body that crawls up the walls and drips blood from the ceiling. It was the first and last time I touched holy water.

But I'm getting emptier. My mind drifts as my body rots in the field. I want to disappear into the mountains but I'm dying in the fields instead.

I'm still sick with love.

I'm just not sure how to die alone.

"Talk? About what Jonathan?" M/n asked, ignoring the growing chill now creeping up his spine at the sudden change of topic. Whatever Jonathan wanted to talk about, alongside it being something too important to wait for...well, it didn't bode well for him. "And are you sure this is really the right time for this? I mean, I'm fine with speaking to you, but we're not exactly in the best situation for this."

"I understand that M/n, but it isn't as if we can do anything but wait." Jonathan sighed and M/n leaned back against the stone wall, closing his eyes. He knew without looking that Jonathan was clenching a fist, only one because of the wineglass, and was likely biting his lip. He always did that when he wasn't sure what to say. Jonathan was predictable and lovely all the same, though thinking about that brought forth the pain in his chest. "And besides, I don't think that you'd talk to me otherwise."

"...fine. What do you want to talk about?"

"That night...when Dio transformed, and we fought him...Dio spoke with me as we were falling. Most of it was loud threats, but there was a point where he accused you of giving him the mask and that you had seen and ignored the knife he used to kill father."

“Oh, he implied the same thing when I encountered him in the manor. Though I guess that isn't that surprising since Dio loves to mention me in any conversation. I told him he was delusional, but he just took that as me being coy or shy. As if. I don't lie and I hate half truths. Besides, Dio's a snake, always has been." The god sighed as his hand fiddled with the makeshift choker he had taken to wearing. "I stand on my own. If that’s what you wanted to hear. You know I hate picking sides and fighting…just Jonathan…I’m tired. I hate fighting. This is the life I've chosen, and it's the only one I know. You're my first friend and I don't want to do anything to ruin that. Now, is that all?"

"No! I...you...you don't want to speak with me anymore, and I don't know why, so then I went to the inn to speak with you...and then...that night happened-"

"Nothing happened!" He regretted snapping when Jonathan jolted as if struck, so with a sigh M/n's voice went to a low growl. "That night didn't happen, and we will not be talking about it. Understood? You and Erina are together and you spent a night with an old friend. At most, we shared a bed together, but that was all. I don't even know why you would want to bring that kind of thing up."

"But that isn't true! We both know something happened and acting as if didn't won’t do us any good." Jonathan sounds sad and desperate and the god shifts ever so slightly away from him clicking his heel against the stone.

"Don't."

"M/n please-"

"Don't. This would ruin everything." M/n's tone turned pleading. "Don't you see how bad it will be if this gets out?"

"I know that having...relations...with another man would ruin my reputation and I'm not saying I want to shout it from the rooftops, but I want to tell you how I feel. I know I'm with Erina, but to say she lives in my heart alone would be a lie, and you know that I-"

"Jonathan, I don't want to hear it."

"But I love-"

"No!" Ignoring the potential danger, M/n stepped out into the open, hoping his fangs would somehow be visible as a silent reminder that he could be dangerous, but Jonathan didn't react. "You don't get to do this to me! You don't get to just ignore what I ask! Please...just stop."

"Stop? How can I stop when you haven't even let me state my feelings on the matter?"

"And I know what you want to say," he wheezed out, any true insult dying on his tongue in an instant. "I know it. You can't possibly imagine how much I want you to say it Jonathan, but that doesn't change reality. It doesn't change the fact that this is too late! You will be married and engaged once this is all over, and I will not be your dirty little secret! I...I was just accepting that my desires were...were nothing! Yet you keep dragging it back and making me feel hopeful. I hate it. Do you know how I felt over the years, knowing that love and happiness through a relationship were things I couldn't chase after without being shunned and humiliated? You can’t do this to me! Never mention this again!"

I remember the night I asked you if you had ever loved anyone more than me. When we ran out of bottles, we drank out of our fingertips. Things stand still so often. When your legs, sacred and holy, collapsed, you said that there are no children of faith, only an infant will to flood the sprawling corridors of the church with more than silence and wine.

With a sigh, Jonathan swallowed down his thoughts on the matter and followed M/n, who said nothing to him, only snarling and muttering in Italian. Looking down at the wineglass, he found himself unable to see the liquid, though he heard it swirling around the glass.

‘Even in the dark, I can smell the blood from his arm. Yet that other one…he smells so sweet. Is that why Lord Dio wants him? An elixir disguised as a man?’ The zombie shuddered, drool running down his damaged jaw, and whatever was left of the serial killer's mind had finally been scrambled by Dio's thrall and Zeppeli's hamon strike. All that was left was the feral desire for more blood and flesh similar to a starved beast, if the god could hear his thoughts he'd probably relate to that desire, but he couldn't.

‘I must think like my foe, just as the Baron commanded. I’m sure he’s close. Next, I must master my fear, lest it sap my hamon. Breathing is the sword at my hip.’

‘That’s it. A little closer, and I’ll be picking my teeth with your bones, boy.’

‘The harsh wind blowing down off of the Arctic ocean birthed the fearsome vikings. Only when we are tossed headlong into the crucible of adversity, do we rise to the challenge.’

'Zeppeli's first tactical thought was to put himself in the enemy's position. So, our enemy must be close. The second was to make fear yours, and then you won't lose your breath. This is what I have to do.'

M/n paused for him to catch up, but was now completely silent.

"He's nearby."

"Really?" Jonathan paused, looking down at the glass, sensing a change. ‘What? The wine is rippling. Of course. Just like when we were training in the stream. It’s conducting the hamon. It passes through the glass, my arm, my body, the ground itself! I can feel his vibrations in the wine.'

"The wine’s moving?"

“With hamon, all is made clear to me now.” The god darted away from Jonathan once the golden sparks of hamon emerged from the male's frame. “My spirit trembles! My heart is ablaze! I’ve found you, zombie! These stones offer no protection!”

‘To think of an energy like that…how it can travel so all-encompassing. A wildfire. It’ll burn everything it considers dangerous.’ The god shifted when he remembered he was unnatural and needed to be burned. It doesn't care. Hamon is the blinding light of the sun and no matter how pure the soul is, those wax wings will burn up, eventually.

I hate you because you hurt me, yet I hate you even more because I still love you even after all that. And other excerpts from love letters I'll never send. And he smells like clasped hands and July heat. Small, sweet crumbling words are drifting from his lips. He's leaving. We stare at each other but plants sprout outwards and cover my face. I weep.

A fool who forgets that he's a poet at heart soon comes to realize he's drowning because he needs words to breath.

(Translations;

Dannazione = Goddammit

Davvero = Really

Cosa stai = What are you

Di cosa stai parlando di vecchio = What are you talking about old man

So che non sei umano. Se lo fossi stato, non ti avrebbe fatto del male come ha fatto, ma ti sei comportato molto come fanno i non morti quando sei stato colpito, eppure stai al sole. = I know you aren't human. If you were that wouldn't have hurt you the way it did, but you acted much like the undead do when struck down, yet you stand in the sun.

Quindi pensi che io non sia morto? E dopo? Sono un vampiro o uno zombie che indossa una pelle umana come un cappotto per proteggere ciò che si trova sotto? O Jonathan mi ha appena bruciato per caso? Vai a guardare il tuo vecchio studente, non ho voglia di ascoltare la paranoia. = So you think I'm undead? What next? Am I vampire or zombie that wears a human skin like a coat to protect what lies underneath? Or did Jonathan just burn me by accident? Go watch your student old man, I have no desire to listen to paranoia.

Quindi mi brucia? Che cosa significa? Non l'ho mai incontrato fino a quando non ti ho incontrato, se avessi saputo che non avrei toccato Jonathan finché non fossi stato sicuro che la hamon si fosse seduto. = So it burns me? What does that even mean? I've never encountered this until meeting you, if I had known I wouldn't have touched Jonathan till I was certain the hamon had died out.)

Notes:

Holy shit I managed to get this done before finals week! Translations;
Dannazione=Goddammit
Davvero=Really
Cosa stai=What are you
Di cosa stai parlando di vecchio=What are you talking about old man
So che non sei umano. Se lo fossi stato, non ti avrebbe fatto del male come ha fatto, ma ti sei comportato molto come fanno i non morti quando sei stato colpito, eppure stai al sole.=I know you aren't human. If you were that wouldn't have hurt you the way it did, but you acted much like the undead do when struck down, yet you stand in the sun.
Quindi pensi che io non sia morto? E dopo? Sono un vampiro o uno zombie che indossa una pelle umana come un cappotto per proteggere ciò che si trova sotto? O Jonathan mi ha appena bruciato per caso? Vai a guardare il tuo vecchio studente, non ho voglia di ascoltare la paranoia.=So you think I'm undead? What next? Am I vampire or zombie that wears a human skin like a coat to protect what lies underneath? Or did Jonathan just burn me by accident? Go watch your student old man, I have no desire to listen to paranoia.
Quindi mi brucia? Che cosa significa? Non l'ho mai incontrato fino a quando non ti ho incontrato, se avessi saputo che non avrei toccato Jonathan finché non fossi stato sicuro che la hamon si fosse seduto.=So it burns me? What does that even mean? I've never encountered this until meeting you, if I had known I wouldn't have touched Jonathan till I was certain the hamon had died out.

Chapter 5: I know you're tired, so why don't you rest for now?

Summary:

If you can stand the test of time and never gain rust or shame then maybe you weren't meant to live as anything more than myth.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Forgive me.

I pulled my tooth out and kissed it into your eyes.

Forgive me.

I said I couldn't see you when really I went to your house and walked for three hours to get back home all so I didn't have to see you, forgive me.

I thought if I shattered you'd be willing to pick up my pieces, and I was right, but when you tried to cut my edges, cut your hands, forgive me. I still haven't put all my pieces back together, forgive me.

Forgive me.

...I will never forgive myself.

"Are you okay?" M/n looked at Speedwagon, taking a second to actually accept the fact that the blond was speaking to him. Honestly, he seemed far more likely to ignore him in favor of speaking with Jonathan, not that he could really blame him for that. It wasn't as if M/n had made a good first impression.

"Yeah, I'm ‌frustrated with this entire trip." Looking over Speedwagon's shoulder, he saw Zeppeli was speaking to Jonathan. Makes sense. If they weren't talking, he imagined this conversation wouldn't even be taking place. "Is there something you need?"

"Um...no. I just wanted to see if you were okay."

"You don't have to pretend to like me, you know that, right?" Noting the sudden look of shock on the blond's face, he gave Speedwagon a smile. "Hey, it's okay. I know I'm not exactly an amiable person to get along with, and I don't hold it against you. If you only want to speak to Jonathan or Zeppeli, then go for it."

"I just assumed that you wouldn't want to speak with someone from the slums."

"I'm from the slums, even if I was raised with Jonathan."

"And Dio." There was a question there, and the god looked over at him with a raised eyebrow. That seemed to be enough for Speedwagon to clear his throat and look towards him. "What was he like...?"

"When we were growing up?" Speedwagon nodded, earning a sigh from M/n, who looked back at the ruined carriage. "Dio hasn't changed, if you ask me. I mean, clearly he's gotten more extreme, but he's still the same snake, no matter how many skins he's shed. Then again, no snake ever changes. Not that there's no good in Dio, any traits of a person can be used for good or bad, given the circumstance. He was charismatic, intelligent, driven, and never slowed or stopped for anyone. Dio was like a growing tar pit, but with the added benefit of being so clever that you wouldn't be able to notice your own lungs filling up...and then you drowned in his venom. He hated Jonathan the moment he arrived, and I never could tell if he cared about me or hated me. I would look around occasionally and almost pick up a scheme of his and never note the thousands of others tangled to the one I held. In the end, I loved and hated him in the same breath. I think Jonathan did the same."

"Do you think we can beat a man like that?" The god snickered at the horror in Speedwagon's voice and nudged him with his shoulder. Saying that made his last conversation feel less heavy, almost like a confessional booth.

"Do you not remember what I said in the manor? Even gods can be killed. Dio bleeds, even if he can regenerate, and that ‌means he can be killed. It may be difficult, but it can be done. Might just leave us with more scars than we started with." He tugged the makeshift choker down so Speedwagon could see the scar that ran along his throat.

"What gave you such a scar? No offense, but that isn't the scar expected of someone who grew in luxury."

"This isn't even my worst one. I got them before I was taken into House Joestar, and really they resulted from me being a coward. I imagine the one across your face is a different matter." The male's face gained a hint of red at that, and M/n watched Speedwagon wave his hands, apologizing. "Hey, hey, there's no need for that! I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong? Seriously Speedwagon I didn't-"

"Robert." Noting the way M/n looked at him, the blond gave a more confident smile. "That's my first name. Robert. Robert E. O. Speedwagon. I wasn't sure if I had properly introduced myself to you, or if you had even heard my first name."

"Understood." Covering his throat again, he reached out, more on instinct than anything else, and grabbed Speedwagon's shirt to pull his face closer. He didn't pay attention to how the other froze or flushed as he ran a thumb over the scar. "I don't like the idea of you suffering to gain this scar, but it fits your face. Facial scars belong to those that protect others. It speaks of a noble soul, Robert."

Speedwagon's mouth opens, but no sound comes out as M/n lets go of him. And passes the blond.

"You're a good man."

The ex-thug follows the god with his eyes and lets out a shaky laugh.

I pledge allegiance to those soft and sweet places between your legs. And to the gentle touches for which it stands; two bodies, under god.

The sunlight is warm on the god's skin when they escape the tunnel. His stand, ever the snake, hums happily through their connection, pleased to bask in the warmth while he moves to linger at the side of their group. If he remained in the back, Jonathan would be quick to worry, and if he wasn't on edge from their last conversation, he'd make sure M/n would be at the front with him. So, the side was the safest option.

“The townspeople are hard at work. Everything appears calm. But I know Dio is lurking somewhere.” Jonathan sounded so relieved that the town was safe. It made M/n feel guilty about telling him the truth, but he was trying not to lie...so there was only one thing for him to do.

"If Dio's still in recovery, then he wouldn't want to risk an entire town knowing about him." He swallowed down a mouthful of saliva and ignored the old memories. It was all too close to home. "The easiest way would be to start with those society won't miss, addicts or people who would likely go missing even without Dio being here, and then you get rid of the people that would put up the most fight."

"Mr. Zeppeli," his ear twitched at the sound of Speedwagon's voice, and he wonders why he's trying to get the Italian's attention. M/n had little time to ponder. A nudge to the shoulder caused him to look back towards Jonathan, whose gaze was on the fields of farmland. Following his eyes, the god glared at the farmers. He felt the green-eyed monster bubble to the surface, but it wasn't as if gods should wish to be farmers.

"Hm?"

"Could I learn to use hamon?" M/n twitched. He knew he wasn't supposed to listen to this conversation, but that didn't change how advanced his senses were, or how uneasy Speedwagon's question made him. Despite how useful it would be, the god would rather not have any more hamon users, and from everything he knew about Speedwagon…well, didn’t want any more reasons to be looking over his shoulder. Even with his nature, the god found it easy to admit that he hated what hamon was, alongside what it brought into his life. The god never wanted to see Jonathan as a threat. "I'd like to try."

"Impossible."

"What? Why?" Looking over his shoulder, M/n watched Speedwagon try to get in front of Zeppeli who seemed uninterested. "Hey, look at me damnit, why not!?! Why can't I? Just tell me!"

"Even now, Jojo keeps up the breathing method I taught him. The few times he relaxes it is when M/n interacts with him because of his reaction with hamon, but even then he doesn't stop. Not completely. It's difficult keeping up that breathing technique, yet he does it subconsciously at all times, night or day, awake or asleep. Only one in thousands of people has that level of aptitude. Jojo only has that incredible willpower from the past alongside the heavy future he carries on his back." Zeppeli snapped, before sighing and rolling his eyes at Speedwagon. "I finally learned it after studying for decades under a master in Tibet with five thousand years of history. Speedwagon, I'm sure that if you think about it, we both know you aren't capable of such things."

"Well, that may be true...but I still want to help! And here you are telling me to just watch and wait?!?" Speedwagon grabbed onto the collar of Zeppeli's shirt, barely earning a hum or hint of frustration from the Italian. "We all know that Dio is somewhere in this town! I hate that bastard! I may be a former thief, but Dio's a parasite!"

"Hm, well, for now at least, if I stimulate the muscles of your diaphragms that move your lungs, you should be able to conduct a light current of hamon."

"Really? Then try it!" The god shuddered. He really didn't want to be surrounded by hamon users.

"Huh? It may be painful at first, all right?"

"All right! Go ahead, I don't care!" So, with a punch to the gut, Speedwagon fell down to the ground gasping and clutching at his middle. M/n swallowed down a laugh. At least he wouldn't have to deal with three people that held the warmth of dying stars, he may suffocate if that happened.

“What happened?” Jonathan asked, whipping his head around to stare at the scene in confusion. The older man simply smiled and shook his head.

“Well, Speedwagon implored me so earnestly…so I thought a small I’d help him create a small amount of hamon. But my finger must have slipped. I’m terribly sorry, Speedwagon.”

“W-why…you…”

This time, the god couldn't contain his snicker, yet continued on the path alongside the saint.

Deep down he knew this brief journey wouldn't be easy, knew it before they encountered Jack the Ripper, because Wind-Knights Lot was designed for warriors. Or ‌to not be claimed or taken over in a war. So when they reach a river they have to cross, he's the only one that isn't surprised. He, maybe more than any of them, knows that nature claims lives faster than anything else. Mother nature holds the title of most prolific killer, and she laughs with each new body added to her collection. Of course, the warriors of old would rely on her. Had they been coming here to stop Dio's plan, M/n would've loved to fulfill his childhood dreams of living in a castle that was surrounded by nature, and unreachable.

Drunk fathers killed on sight while mothers were treated as queens…yet that never happened.

Still, it was nice to think about.

So, while Speedwagon asked about a bridge or boat they'd be able to use, the god directed his attention to the water. Water, no matter where it came from, and the god had a funny relationship, and one he hated. Baptisms never worked, and he always drowned. But his thoughts were cut short when he heard what sounded like rope being strained till it snapped, followed by the distinct sound of something being launched towards them. With a yawn, more so because he can, rather than because he feels tired, nudged Jonathan's shoulder to get his attention.

"I think we're under attack." All of them looked at him shocked, but had little time before a blur of motion grabbed their suitcase and was launched over the water. The voice made him pause. It was a kid. A kid who was cheering. Annoying...even if the con itself was rather impressive. "Oh, well, that sure was...something."

“Baron Zeppeli, he’s just a lad.”

“Rather spry for a young bag snatcher, eh?”

“Don’t just stand there ogling!” The god shifted at the sudden scream in his ear. Looking at Speedwagon, he noted he was shaking in rage while waving a hand in the child's direction. “All of our money is in that bag!”

"All of your money." M/n points out, he doesn't hide the slight smirk at the glare Speedwagon gives him. As if M/n would be caught dead storing any of his important items anywhere outside of his stand. Narcissistic Cannibal would hold that over his head for an eternity. "I don't carry mine in easy to steal suitcases, Robert."

“That little devil!”

“A grab and dash in a single move.” Despite Jonathan’s remark, the god kept his head up towards the sky. Due to how chaotic their travels had been so far, it was hard to establish an exact amount of time spent on the road. Actually, being able to see the sun's position helped. They would need to be careful. If they wasted too much time and the sunset while Dio waited to attack them, then he'd have full control of the situation. Knowing their luck, an encounter would show more people Dio had found to fight them.

“Let’s see,” Zeppeli passed them to kneel at the side of the water, slowly lifting one hand up, and they all watched as gold sparks formed. “I think he can serve us as a guide.”

Even the kid stopped climbing to watch the ripple form and intersect itself on the river's surface. Then he stood back up and began to...prance across the water? Both M/n and his stand groaned at the sight.

"So that's one ability hamon provides?" M/n whispered, given how hamon worked with liquids he had considered it to be a possibility, but given how often Zeppeli trudged through water, he believed it to be more myth than reality. "How...interesting."

“H-he’s not sinking?!”

Jonathan was quick to follow suit while Speedwagon sank down to his chin the moment he stepped into the river. M/n sighed in annoyance, but rolled up his pants, ignoring the fact that it revealed the tattoos on his calf, and waded through the water. Using his stand, he didn't fully sink, but at least he wasn't walking on water, or sinking beneath the surface like Jonathan.

“Jojo, the water’s up to your knees! Even M/n is doing better than you! Your hamon energy isn’t quite there!”

"Then what about M/n?" Speedwagon hissed, pulling a hand out of the water to point towards the god.

"We all know I'm no hamon user. I just know how to cross a river." He flashed Speedwagon a fanged grin, earning a series of complaints as he continued to cross the river. When they reached the other side, M/n ignored whatever their current goal was in favor of drying his boots. Not that he was at risk of losing any money. Even with his stand, he wasn't able to completely avoid getting his shoes wet.

As soon as they were on the other side, M/n settled on a rock to continue draining water and roll down his pants. As he did that, Jonathan struck the cliff with hamon, sending the kid falling towards them. His stand shifting under his skin reminded him he should stay back. Best not to let a stand that called children bite-sized have any...chances to cause a problem. Even if Cannibal would never do that. Still a risk. Yeah, he'll keep his distance.

“What a fine reverberation, Jojo. You transmitted your overdrive perfectly.”

“Do you think this is the spot?”

“No, a couple of steps to the left. I’ll bet two quid on it.”

“No one wants to gamble, old man.” He merely rolled his eyes at the god who hissed at him. “Besides, you don’t have any money for us to bet on.”

The burst of hamon finally reached the target, sending the child plummeting down towards them where he landed in Jonathan’s arms, causing the god to raise an eyebrow.

“Nice catch!”

“H-huh? What’s going on? Who are you?” They all looked at the child in surprise as he looked at each of them in complete confusion. M/n tapped a button with one of his nails. It was soon followed by the toe of his boot against a stone. He felt as if he was suddenly drowning in nervous energy. It felt wrong. This whole thing was weird. Looking to the left, he noted why this area was so bare. They were next to the town's graveyard. How had they not noticed this before? Breathing in, M/n could taste the decay of the area.

“Something’s odd about the boy. Perhaps too much hamon?”

“He’s not the only thing peculiar here. Look around. This is…a graveyard!” Jonathan looked at the major segment of the graveyard as hands broke out of the soil. All in different stages of decay, one wrapping around his ankle. M/n raised an eyebrow. These bodies seemed in armor...had Dio really found the bodies of old warriors for this? “It seems we’re the ones who’ve fallen right into the catcher’s mitt! The boy was under some sort of hypnosis.”

"His eyes were glazed." M/n remarked, standing back up and breaking the zombie's hand with a quick kick, causing it to dive back beneath the soil. There was going to be more. He could hear them shifting under the dirt, and he adjusted his weight, trying to find a point where he was certain no zombies were under him.

"You could really see that?"

"You can't?" He retorted, looking away from Speedwagon to stare at the figure perched above them, with the moon highlighting his silhouette. The blond gasped and took a step back at the sight.

“Mr. Joestar, above you!”

This was real, and now the sun had set below the earth.

Some words are just like that, you know? With whole lives attached to them. Conveying so much more than what we originally planned with them. Ghosts. Ecstasy. Pain. Hatred. Sorrow. Suffering. God. They are heavy. A little too human in their details and meaning. They seem to have a few too many memories. I'm still learning how to let myself be pulled freely onto the page. Learning how not to let the words stay trapped behind my teeth and in my brain forever.

'I can't believe I'm even thinking about this...but where did he get that outfit? Did he get a tailor?' While it was rather silly to think about, especially as his first thought of seeing Dio again, it was the only thing that really formed in the god's head when looking at the blond. Last he had seen him had been in the burnt rags that clung to his skin from the manor fire, but the complicated costume he wore now made the god's skin feel hot. 'I loved and hated him in the same breath...'

That was what he had told Speedwagon, but had those feelings never changed or died despite the ever-growing list of sins?

“The sun has set.” Dio's voice was softer than he expected, more like a whispered lullaby than the snarl or angry yell he had expected, and with the way his eyes glowed in the dark, M/n barely resisted the urge to scoff at the irony. How like Dio to choose a place like this to fight Jonathan, who he knew would respond with righteous anger, and how like him to watch silently. “Time for your lives to disappear with it!”

"Dio!" Jonathan snarled, causing the vampire to open his eyes and look down at them, lips slowly curving into a smile. Or rather he smiled when his gaze landed on the god, and M/n almost smiled in turn, but managed to catch himself at the last second.

At those words, the ground bursts open and hundreds, if not thousands, of zombies start to crawl out from the soil.

How like fate, ever cruel and fickle, to set the stage so beautifully.

“T-they’re crawling out!”

“I-I’ve been preparing myself for this moment. But this feeling of dread…I’m pouring sweat. And that arrogant monster is standing there in the flesh!” Speedwagon was so loud, his voice rang in M/n's ears earning a wince, but Dio didn't even look towards him. ‘He repaid Lord Joestar’s fatherly love with bloodstained betrayal! His deeds will not go unpunished!’

“So that is Dio. I see. He and his zombies can’t function during daylight. So he hypnotized the boy and lured us to a location where he has the advantage. A man of such guile must never be in possession of the mask. We must destroy him!”

The surge of undead didn't wait a second to be free from the soil before they were lunging at them, earning panicked cries from both Speedwagon and the child in Jonathan's arms, while the god merely hissed. The ones nearest to him were sent back with a swipe of Narcissistic Cannibal's tail as it formed behind him in an instant. Jaws snapping and shifting aimlessly, mostly because he hadn't given it permission to lunge at anyone, yet being the key word. Though honestly he could sense its anger at being unable to fully cover his body without causing Jonathan or the others to notice, he had already risked a lot with that tail swipe. M/n noted how Dio looked towards him, perking up even, eyes locked on his stand. To see someone show such open interest in his stand reminded him of his time as a mortal...facing Ajamu, and that didn't make him feel any better.

“Tell me your name.” He hears Jonathan's request of the child, and how amazing it is to hear him be so warm despite the situation at hand.

“P-Poco!”

“All right, Poco. Hang on tight!” The kid follows the instructions, though he gasps and shakes. All the while, the zombies zero in on Zeppeli and Jonathan. Maybe they think those are the easier prey, or that the two were the men Dio specifically ordered for them to kill? He's more worried about the child that's been dragged into their fight. Did Dio have to hypnotize a literal child for this?

“Let’s move, Jojo!”

“Yes, Sir!” With a nod in response, they both gain the distinct crackle of dying stars. The god shivers as the golden glow creeps into view. He would rather fight as a mortal with no stand than use hamon for himself. The very nature of it burned at his senses. Speedwagon draws his hammer, and to prevent anyone from noting his difference, he draws a dagger. He would rather fight with his stand, and the few times he couldn't summon it fully, he'd coat it over his limbs to fight with blows, but daggers and pistols were something he could always rely on in a pinch.

Zeppeli is a blur, smashing the side of his hand into a zombie's face, sending the thing backwards into a row of shambling corpses. The god snorts when they melt together, muffled curses coming out as rasps and dying breaths, though the smell of burning flesh makes his stand hum in hunger. Zombies were both easy to mock and pity in the same breath, but there wasn't much time to stand or scoff. M/n sliced a zombie's head in two, crushed another beneath his boot, and allowed Narcissistic Cannibal to smash a few of them with a swing of its hand before swallowing another. Jonathan, from what he could see, used that technique that stretched his arms to strike any undead that drew too close, alongside the thud of Speedwagon's hammer striking true.

Still, if Dio had the time to revive an entire army, then it would take too long for them to kill every zombie, so the god takes his aim to the heavens.

A forest fire happens.

The forest does not mourn when it is eaten away by fire. It instead regrows stronger than before. I'm thinking I should be more like that. Lately, my life has been in flames; I can feel my body being burned away every day. Soon there won't be anything left but the char. I know so very well how easily I'd turn to ash if I ever stopped and stood still.

Parts of me have already been lost to the fire. I won't ever be able to retrieve them. I could try to reach back into the inferno and cling to those ruined pieces of myself. Instead, I learned to step back, to dance into the flames until I am only bone and spite.

From here, it is up to me and me alone to create myself.

From here I will grow beautiful and untamed.

From here, the fire will die, as all things do, and I will tenderly kiss it goodbye.

Goodbye until the next time I am eaten alive by light and change.

The forest needs the fire to survive, to destroy the overgrowth and, in turn, make way for new life and transform in a way that wouldn't be allowed by the suffocating clutter of past life. I am the same way. So I will never mourn when I lose some of myself. There's so many more parts of myself to regrow and come forth.

"Dio Brando," the vampire's gaze strays from the god, even if such an action annoyed him, and instead goes to the male in a checkered top hat. Nothing but an ant. From his perch, he'd have been little more than a spec if his vision hadn't been enhanced by the mask. The wind blew and tugged at his hair as the Italian pointed up at him. "We’ve never met. But I say this to the mask that has awakened you. We meet at last!”

"Tch, unholy? I'm closer to heaven and god than a mortal like you will ever be!" He spat, baring his fangs at the man who dared to mock him. Unholy? As if he could ever be anything of the sort when he had been blessed by God himself.

"Hey baby~!" Zeppeli coos, snapping his fingers at the sneering vampire. "Plan on fighting from that precarious perch? Come down to meet me!”

"Zeppeli, is seduction really your best strategy for this?!" Dio's gaze darted towards M/n who went from staring at the older man in something akin to shock to gaining a flirty grin. His pointed fangs flashed in the moonlight as M/n's expression settled into a far...more playful smirk. Dio went still while feeling a strange shudder go down his spine, even when he showed up at the inn that night M/n hadn't been so open with his emotions, yet he didn't dare look away when the god turned towards him. "I'm sure everyone would agree that tasks like that are better suited for people like me. I mean, you're a bit too...old for that behavior. Farai pensare a tutti che sei poco più di un vecchio perverso!"

'I swear if this doesn't distract Dio I'm going to throw myself into the sea.' Was the only thing the god could think as he held back the urge to groan.

"Giuro che voi ragazzi prendete solo ruder e ruder." Zeppeli sighed, shaking his head in disappointment, causing M/n to twitch and whip his head around to openly glare at the Italian man.

"Giovane? Se continui a comportarti come se fossi poco più di un bambino, sarò sicuro di mostrarti come il mio morso è molto peggio del mio vecchio corteccia!" M/n stopped complaining the moment he heard Dio laugh. Had this been during their childhood he'd have considered that impressive, and when the god looked up he saw the male was looking towards their scholar.

“Don’t push your luck, insect.” Dio purred, once he had collected himself, though his voice held less anger than what M/n had expected. The vampire just sounded amused by the whole thing. “I stand, at the summit of the living world, a new organism born for a new future! I've taken the crown of creation as my own, second only to God himself. As if I could lower myself to the level of some pathetic human!”

‘He’s overwhelmingly evil! A pure tyrant!’ Zeppeli shudders, only vaguely noting how M/n was continuing to move closer and closer towards Dio, though he seemed to do it without the vampire noticing him. Was he really planning on attacking while Dio's guard was done? However, they all stopped when Dio pulled his shirt up, showing skin that didn't have a single scar or burn on it. Jonathan gasped while Zeppeli himself swallowed down a wave of disgust.

"As you can see, my wounds have already healed. Not a single trace of scar tissue remains, so it seems I’m free from all remnants of that battle with Jojo. So tell me, Jojo, do your arms still hurt from when I shattered them? Is it difficult to breathe even after your ribs healed? One can only imagine how long you stayed in the hospital, whimpering and weak. Did that country girl take care of you the entire time?" Dio scoffed when Jonathan flinched, rolling his eyes and looking back at Zeppeli. "Well, it seems like he's lost his bark. Come, conjurer! Let your blood spill as a sign of my devotion!"

“Bastard! How many lives have you ended to mend those scars?”

“How many slices of bread have you eaten in your lifetime?” Dio retorted, earning a raised eyebrow from the god. If Dio had healed after their last encounter and had so much freedom while Jonathan trained, then how had he killed such a small number of people? Yet that amount seemed to be enough to push Zeppeli over the edge, given the snarl that escaped his lips.

"Zeppeli-"

“Dio!” Jonathan was stopped by a wave of the scholar’s hand. “Baron Zeppeli-”

"I will handle this."

"Are we all sure that's a good idea?" Neither of them listened to M/n, who was already halfway to Dio. Instead, Zeppeli leaped upwards swiftly, making his way to the vampire. "Do we have an actual plan? Anybody?!?"

“You will suffer!”

"Oh?" All Dio did was tilt his head to the side to avoid the strike Zeppeli had aimed at his head, hamon dancing across his frame, barely avoiding Dio's skin, and for a second they looked like a strike of lightning.

Yet when the scholar moved to strike again, the sinner merely caught it with an open palm.

Metamorphosis is walking through a pitch-black tunnel and when you reach the end, you're no different from who you were one step ago, but you are on the other side of the tunnel.

And you can see the light.

"Solar hamon, shine on me! Sunlight Yellow Overdrive!" Zeppeli did sound confident, maybe if his voice didn't shake, M/n would believe in him, but the god could also see how Dio's lip curled into a smirk. That either meant that the blond was overconfident to a fault, or he had actually had something up his sleeves that would make hamon useless. Now if that was the case...then Zeppeli would be killed.

"He did it! The hamon is rippling through Dio’s arm!”

"Oh, so this is the energy you used to kill Jack the Ripper?" Dio asked, but Zeppeli didn't recoil at the nonchalant nature of the question, only for Dio to clench the male's hand in his fist. "You know, I could almost thank you for that. He never learned when to be quiet, I had to keep him under constant mind control just to get anything done, and even then he wasn't able to complete one simple task. A weakling to the bitter end."

Zeppeli gave a pained gasp suddenly trying to pull his arm free, earning a confused cry of his name from Jonathan, and a pondering hum from M/n. There was a distinct sound to whatever Dio was doing. In a way it reminded the god of something, but the exact nature was avoiding his grasp for some reason. Winter...it reminded him of winter, but why? Oh, like frost shattering off the side of a car. Ice...could it really be...?

“Weakling! Weakling!”

“I-it’s freezing!” Is the only thing that Zeppeli manages to say at first, raw panic starting to smother his usual bravado, as he starts to pull and shift. The attempts to break Dio's hold aren't working. “No!”

The god watched, in a mixture of hunger and horror, as the flesh started to pull and rupture almost as if trying to rip itself away from the bone, and if it wasn't for the sinew holding it in place M/n was sure that it would peel like a banana. That...where the hell did he even come up with that comparison? Yet Zeppeli’s sudden scream drew his focus back to the fight.

'No...no...I can't panic. I can't lose control of my breathing!' And with that thought in mind he forced himself to steady his breathing. Ignoring the chuckle from the vampire he tried to warm his arm with hamon only for it to be a useless endeavor.

"...?" Jonathan froze, but other than a glance from M/n and Dio throwing his head back to openly laugh, no one gave him an answer.

“Zeppeli, was it? I see your energy depends on the flow of your blood. If I freeze your blood, you will be powerless. A regular human. Nothing more, nothing less. Prey. Unable to produce even a spark of that energy you seem to love so much. Know this; I have complete control over my body. I vaporized the moisture in my arm after you touched it. When the water vaporized, it absorbed heat, instantly freezing your arm. It feels terrible, doesn't it? Or maybe the worst part is how slowly it turns numb? And now!” Dio noted how wide the male's eyes were, blown up like a lamb for slaughter, as he lifted his other arm in a futile attempt to defend himself. “Fool! I’ll crush your skull like a vase!”

Both were blocked by Jonathan's palm, M/n leaps up to a second perch only slightly beneath Dio and the others, his position is pushed away from them. He knows his position, or rather what it's based off of, a snake ready to strike. It was second nature for him at this point. He had started moving the instant he registered the panting that escaped Jonathan's lips when he landed, a sign that he had been truly desperate to get up there and protect Zeppeli. It had to be the right thing to do, or rather the one thing that would save Zeppeli's life. Still, M/n could only groan at the fact that Jonathan hadn't put the child down.

“Dio, I’m cutting short your vile ambition!” Jonathan shouts that with such certainty, or conviction, that M/n believes it. He had always envied that about Jonathan, he never goes through with anything due to his own inhabitations, so it was yet another trait of Jonathan's M/n would compliment. In a way this drive Jonathan had could be compared to stories in the bible of saints who advocate for what's holy with everything impure or unholy burned away to better the world. The idea makes the god feel sick. Between the three of them growing up M/n knew that Jonathan was the best of them, more so morally than anything else, but he hadn't liked to think about it. Now though Jonathan had the ability to burn things away that strayed from purity...so, where does M/n land on that scale?

There it was. On either side of the slippery slope, of course the ice would freeze the path to redemption, to the church I saw deep pits of snow that lay untouched. The stepping stones in the garden held a small layer of sleet so the withered path was barely visible to an untrained eye. There were no footsteps leading to or from the church. Until mine. As I walked, my fingers danced and traced the impressions of snow and holy prestige. Maybe he thought I looked beautiful and that when I flicked snow to his face it wasn't from nerves but playfulness? I laughed, always hiding my thoughts, and turned to the doors. He stayed close enough that the fog of my breath would flutter back and dance against his skin. Looking back, I wonder what kind of invisible thing might feel our breath. The church is a holder of a thousand spirits.

Well, I did know one, but most would claim snakes and churches to be enemies.

As we walked through the church it pulled me apart. Fragments of me drifted into the stones, tight-knit against the wall and through the floorboards which ached as we moved between the halls. When I noticed how hollow I became I could see the lingering skeletons of people who were already long gone. I looked at him and he was glowing. Around him the air was heavy, alive with the abiding spirits seeping from the stained glass windows. The portraits wept sunlight. It seemed to lean against him, ebbing against his skin. He was holy. Perpetually divine existence. I kissed him and was scorched by the radiance of his breath. He tore through me like my flesh was woven from pages of a worn-out bible. I turned into a beam of light, and became a part of everything.

He was all the grace I ever needed.

“Dio I feel your wicked blood coursing through your veins.” Jonathan snarled, trying to send hamon into Dio, only for it to not work. Following his adopted brother's gaze Jonathan noted that Dio wasn't looking at him or Zeppeli but past them, at M/n, before his gaze finally landed on Jonathan with a dismissive scoff.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He purred, slowly adjusting his position to make sure Jonathan couldn't overpower him. “You’ve done well to stop my fist. You’ve certainly grown stronger.”

"Jojo!"

A nod was Jonathan’s only open acknowledgement of their ‘plan’. In truth the idea was half-formed, more from raw panic than a true steady mindset, but as long as this plan worked Jonathan was more than willing to try anything. So he began to copy Zeppeli's breathing, it felt as if their hearts would start beating in sync, as he felt his body warm with the influx of hamon. The change to his normal style makes the entire process feel awkward as if his body was in danger of burning away. Zeppeli's pace was so much more...advanced than his own.

“Jojo, if I were you, I’d keep my hands to myself.”

“Take this, Dio!” Dio drew out a hiss as both of their arms lit up with a golden glow. Really? This was their masterplan? Fine, he'd be sure to give both of these fools a swift end. He had known that they would be dead by the end of this, no matter what this would always end with him and M/n, so if they really went out of their way to make it easier he'd be quick to oblige them. He'd be able to have M/n sooner rather than later.

"Wwwwrrrryyyy!" Once again the hamon never entered his flesh, and the sound of crackling ice filled the air. "The evaporation has frozen your veins. Blood is cut off to your arm! Your hamon energy is worthless!”

‘H-he’s too strong! He’s five times as strong as both of us together! No! He’ll freeze Jojo’s arm just like mine! I can’t let him hurt Jojo!’ Zeppeli shifted, failing to ignore the growing numbness in both of his arms, watching how the vampire kept glancing past them. It was clear that he didn't care about either of them. No, his focus was on M/n. 'If I could just signal him without this vampire knowing then we may be able to escape his grasp!'

The god shuddered as the sounds of flesh freezing and being ripped apart filled his senses till the sound of the zombies below them were nothing but static. Drawing in air, still an unneeded process, he realized his body was having yet another panic attack. The last one had been before he entered the mortal realm...why was this happening again? Sure, he had never liked getting involved in conflict, he was always a last minute fighter, but he had to do something.

'You gave me the mask for a reason.'

Why...why the fuck was he thinking about that right now? He senses his stand, down below taking care of any zombies that wouldn't be noticed or grew too close to Speedwagon, shift and snarl at the sense of raw panic flashing through their connection. This wasn't normal. He had to do something about this.

"Right now we can't win..." Zeppeli pulled his hand free, listening to the pained gasp Jonathan gave as the flesh of his palm was torn, and prepared for another strike. 'He might be able to overcome this obstacle if given room to improve.'

Dio blocked the blow with the same level of ease as the ones from earlier, and when Zeppeli moved to kick him the god jolted at the sickening sound of a bone being broken. How much applied force? Oh wait...why was he even asking? He knew that.

No one knew the answer better than you, right M/n?

"Baron Zeppeli!"

"Finally, I can get rid of you both-" A blur of motion cut Dio off, and instead of moving to kill either of them he flicked his wrists to send the pair falling back towards the earth, and found one of M/n's hands resting at his throat while the other pressed on one of his wrists.

"Hey baby~!" The god purred out, earning a confused hiss from the flustered sinner. 'Told you it works better when I say it, Zeppeli.'

I speak to love, and I say...

"I have spent eons twisting myself hollow for you. Why did you lead me to this boy with several galaxies inside him when all I hope to offer him is empty space?"

"M/n, oh how I've missed you." Dio purred, the god sliding a hand from the vampire's neck and down to his shoulder to support himself as the vampire pushed him into a dip, with a slight hiss at the hand on his lower back the male let go of Dio's free hand to rest at his hip. This position...were they supposed to be doing a dip like in tango? M/n hummed as Dio tucked his face into the male's neck, followed by a soft snicker, though he'd never admit to jolting at the nip to his earlobe. "Did you learn that pathetic skill as well?"

"If I say yes, will you try to freeze me?"

"Never." Dio promised, pulling away to watch the male's face change into a sad sort of smile. "I've told you I would never hurt you. I have no intention of changing that."

"How sweet of you." He replies, tilting his head to the side and ignoring how this smile doesn't reach his eyes. He can't change it. Though that isn't anyone's fault, and everyone knows it, but that doesn't change the result. "How have you been since I last saw you? Things have been rather cumbersome. I can only imagine how busy you've been since our last encounter."

"Just preparing." Dio hums by his ear. His voice is softer and more genuine. "None of my servants gave you any trouble, right?"

"No. I mean, that poison seller was annoying and way too loud, but ultimately not a problem. Jack the Ripper‌ was an all around nuisance, not that he even attempted to land a hit on me. Did you know he called me your boy toy?" The look he received from the vampire was one of panic, and he simply shrugged his shoulders with a snicker. "To be fair, I knew that wasn't your own view of our interactions. You've made it perfectly clear to me, but I can't say I didn't find it funny."

"Really?"

"Well, I think my choice of company is apparent, so I hope you'll take my word for it when I say that there are far worse things to hear regarding my sexual preference." Noting the way Dio's eyes nearly strayed past him, the god let go of the vampire's shoulder to cup his face, carefully running a thumb over the male's cheek, and mentally relaxing when the vampire went back to focusing on his face. His other hand moved to rest on Dio's chest, an obvious suggestion for more, and the god felt his stand draw closer. It wouldn't take that long. "But...honestly, I wouldn't mind being your boy toy Dio~! A vampire could definitely keep me satisfied, more so than any mortal man, and it gets rather lonely. You wouldn't want me to get lonely, right Dio?"

"I-I..."

"Dio," looking at the heat coating his cheeks, the god smiled. It was easy to slip into this shed skin. His stand was a blue blur that climbed up the rocks and moved directly behind the vampire. "For a manipulator, you fall into verbal traps easily."

With that he pulled back, falling towards the ground as his stand struck the sinner, and he wouldn't let anyone know the guilt he felt when he heard Dio yowl in pain.

The sun is a saint's nature. He united the storms with silence and a lax hand.

So watch a mere firefly create the weather, and use laughter to grow an entire forest.

“T-this can’t be!” Speedwagon staggered back as the bodies of Jonathan and Zeppeli plummeted down towards the earth. "What is this...? All he did was twist their arms!"

Out of the two of them Jonathan was the one who landed on his feet, though with the child on his back he had more than enough reason to, while Zeppeli landed on top of Speedwagon, knocking them both down into a messy heap.

“S-so cold!” The sound that escaped Jonathan's lips was nearly a whimper when he examined the state of his hand. Slowly, he tried to flex each finger till the numbness vanished. After he gained a sense of feeling, he started to slowly flood the limb with hamon. “It’s so cold it burns! My skin is peeling…it’s as if I touched freezing metal!”

“Baron Zeppeli’s arm! Without circulation, it will rot!” Speedwagon hissed out, angling the male's body into a less awkward position to examine his broken leg.

“He’s invincible! We can’t use the hamon of the sun to defeat him!” Jonathan sent more hamon through his arm, watching thin wisps of steam trail from his limb. Looking up, Jonathan frowned at the sight of M/n being held by Dio. “Is there another way?”

'But what is M/n planning?' Following them with his eyes, Jonathan watched as M/n ran a hand over Dio's face, then pushed himself out of the vampire's arms and towards the ground below. Then by some invisible force, Dio's left shoulder down to his hip was ripped open in a single slash. "M/n!"

"I'm fine." Were the first words that escaped the H/c haired male's lips when he landed on his heels, rolling his ankles, before looking back up towards Dio. Of course, he couldn’t see Narcissistic Cannibal move to coil around its user with an annoyed hiss, but only the god needed to know how stressed the snake-like creature felt. Overeating always made it twitchy. "Do you think if you send hamon into an open wound, it could bypass that freezing ability he's been using?"

"Maybe. I've been steadying my breathing, so as long as I can reach him again, we can test that theory." He answered, though it took him a second to realize that the slash was related to M/n‌. The god looked back as Jonathan stepped in front of him, his gaze going to Zeppeli. At least he was still breathing.

"Wwwrrrryyyy?" At that, they all looked up to Dio in a panic. The vampire wasn't even holding his injured shoulder, though M/n supposed that was because of how fast the large jagged cuts were healing. He should've instructed his stand to fully sever the limb like that poison seller, but at the time he had been hoping to make gashes that fully spanned the length of Dio's body. His regeneration must be related to how much blood he's consumed. If you could rip him open from throat to stomach...that might work. Not that he'd let you do that move a second time, especially not given the look he gave you. “Hamon? Breathing techniques? If you want to huff and puff…”

"T-the ground is shaking!"

At that, the ground shook, causing the god to look down towards the shifting earth beneath him. What devils were about to break out and attack them?

Comparing me to flowers doesn't make up for this ache in my heart. You were speaking nonsense to me. How many times can a love interest be compared to flowers? Flowers are easy. Like depictions of angels as children with rosy skin and tiny wings.

So, tell me what I am stripped bare: a gaunt figure left haunting the suburbs I grew up in. Skin that no god wishes to see. And you, boy, are filled with smog. Walk before me and eat your heart. Just to show me the wound. In that moment, you took my pinky finger in promise to learn to be wounded the way I am wounded.

“A much more suitable tribute would be fanfare! Tarkus! Dark Knight Bluford! This fight is beneath me. Arise!” M/n, a snake driven more by instinct, was the first to shoot past Jonathan and scramble for a higher perch where his stand circled around his form with a low hum. Jonathan‌ had known M/n long enough to follow suit to avoid the threat approaching them, while Zeppeli and Speedwagon hadn't been close enough to need a change in location. The two figures that emerged were decorated in ornate armor that suggested a proud history as a servant to royalty and their country. Their fangs and ghastly skin suggested they had escaped heaven, and the god hissed as he looked towards Dio. By the time they got rid of these two, it would be as if nothing had happened. “May their screams be my fanfare!”

"Who are they? These demons!" Speedwagon asked, jolting when M/n whipped his head around to stare at him.

"He just said their names!"

“Poco, hide!”

"These two?" Dio interrupted them both. A chuckle escaped his lips, but he collected himself and gestured to the knights below him. "In the sixteenth century, an ill-fated queen was slain by Elizabeth the First. You, fierce knights who served Queen Mary Stuart! Settle this! Exterminate these pests! Do with them as you wish, but remember to leave M/n unharmed!"

Tarkus, or at least the god assumed that the larger one was Tarkus, gave a full-bodied snarl that reminded him of his stand before its last growth spurt. Bluford‌ was faster, like a wild cat, and in an instant the god saw several potential paths he could take. But which one was best? The god didn't know...but he didn't want to freeze up again, so he looked between the three main ones he had seen.

And so the god leapt past the knights and aimed for Dio.

I was torn apart by the man I was supposed to be. The son who made his mother happy, but in reality, was a failure. The alienation started young, when I realized I would grow to be something no one wanted. It was removed from my chest at birth that prevented the rest from starting.

I closed my eyes one night, and I swore I could feel the gears trying to click together.

I was always a lonely child.

I wanted to be liked, but then I realized it didn't matter.

They looked at me and saw that I didn't function the same way. I refuse to be bent or broken by the hands of those who think I can be remade. I may as well not be a person. At least I'm free.

“He lifted and crushed that boulder with one finger!”

“Those two zombies are heading for Jojo, while M/n is charging for…Dio! T-there’s no way he can fight them both, and M/n is far from the mental state to kill Dio. They should fight together, not allowing a two against one battle with those knights. If only blood was flowing through my arm…” Zeppeli hissed, adjusting his body to straighten out his broken leg. However, the task wasn't made easy by the state of his aforementioned arms.

“And if it was?” Speedwagon asked, earning a look from Zeppeli who was clearly hoping to push himself up into a standing position. A faint, flickering, golden glow dances along his broken leg, a clear sign he was trying to repair the broken bones, but the sound of bone fragments repairing themselves was slow enough for even Speedwagon to hear the wrongness of it.

“I could use my breathing technique to heal my arm. I must thaw…” If they weren't frozen solid, the blond was certain Zeppeli would've slammed his arms against the stones in frustration.

“Baron Zeppeli, all you need is heat, right?” The Italian male looked up at him in complete shock.

“Y-you have a plan?” The blond merely gave him a panicked grin in response.

I think I need to trust my gut more. I've strayed too far from instinct.

Or maybe humans traded instinct for intellect?

M/n knew his stand well.

He wouldn't have been able to defeat Ajamu if he didn't know how to exploit every feature and ability Narcissistic Cannibal offered. So he knows his stand hits harder when it’s fed. In fact, its stats grew in proportion to the amount of human flesh consumed, but it comes at the cost of being harder to control. Power, but no responsibility behind it. With Ajamu, well, no holds barred in an empty void, with one opponent was fine, but surrounded by allies...meant trouble.

That becomes obvious when Dio dodges a strike meant to crush him beneath his stand's hand, looking at the deep gorge left behind from his stand's talons and force, he makes it vanish. He had allowed it to eat whatever zombies it caught, and clearly it had been feasting, so his stand would be a last resort. For now. Even channeling his stand over his body could be risky, especially since it had a strong desire to take control when he was threatened, but a god's increased strength should be greater than an undead vampire. Stepping on the perch Dio had taken, the god watched how Dio gave him a smile.

…did he really not feel scared?

No, he must be faking it. There wasn't a person out there that had seen his stand and treated him the same. They knew to fear an apex predator, and Dio had to be the same as the rest of them.

"Look at that," Dio purred, eyes narrowing as his expression changed to something warm and soft. "You look ready to burn this world down. I never took you for an angry god, but I can't deny the way it makes me feel."

"Do you think I'm playing around? Because it seems like I keep drawing first blood while you refuse to acknowledge that we're fighting!"

"Oh, you won’t kill me, M/n." His voice isn't angry, not even disappointed, as his fingertips brush over the now faint scars running down his shoulder. To think all that work had gone down the drain. Well, if he could actually bring himself to be disappointed, then that would be great. "You may attack me, but you'd never move for the finishing blow. We both know that."

"Do we really?" The god stiffened up as Dio suddenly moved, and the god found a hand wrapped around his throat. Whatever warmth his choker had kept from his skin was quickly snapped away by the vampire's cold skin. On instinct, he wrapped his own hand around the male's wrist, letting out a sharp hiss as Dio pulled him in closer. The bones in the vampire's arm snapped right as he realized Dio wasn't hurting him. Even if he was mortal, he'd be able to breathe perfectly. His grip loosens and the sound of bones repairing themselves filled his ears. A sigh from Dio caused him to stare at the blond in surprise.

"See?" Dio murmurs, voice sounding far too calm despite how panicked he should be. No one should be this calm when they know about his stand. "You can't bring yourself to kill me, or rather, you won't."

"This doesn't prove anything."

"Then why don't you do it?" M/n twitched at that, going completely still in the vampire's grasp, earning a smile from him. "How many ways could you kill me right now? That stand of yours could devour me, or perhaps destroy my brain so I can't regenerate."

In one swift movement, Dio moved M/n's other hand to his chest, and the god knew in a second that his hand was right above Dio's heart. All it would take was one quick motion to kill him.

"Go ahead M/n. Rip out my heart. We both know I'm more than willing to give it to you, and carry on from there. Such an action won't kill me, but crushing my heart would certainly get your message across."

"...I..."

"I'm right. You can't bring yourself to do it." M/n shivered, and it wasn't even related to the hand holding his throat. Actually, he assumed that if he wasn't being held in place, he might've fallen backwards. There was a dull throb in the brand on his chest, and in an instance all he sees in front of him is the smiling visage of Ajamu. The pungent smell of spice and tar fills his senses, and the world turns to loud, panicked static. He nearly snarled in panic when Dio pulled him in and rested his head in the crook of the god's neck. "Just like you to suffer in silence. You'd rather bear the burden of everything."

'There's always hesitation when you need your stand to fight, and you never put your own needs first. That's who you are. And you'll always be that no matter how you sit in a seat that never belonged to you in the first place. I mean...it's ironic, you know that, right N/n?'

"N-no..."

"No...?" The god went still at that. The sound of Dio and Ajamu were running parallel in his brain, turning everything to mush. He was panicking. When he breathed in he wasn't sure if he tasted the cool night air, or the sterile atmosphere of the void. This wasn't what he expected. He wasn't sure if he was listening to Ajamu or Dio speak. The words were so similar, if only Dio's tone wasn't so loving. "But you can't bring yourself to kill me. You don't even want to fight, do you? Violence isn't your end goal, and it was never something you derived pleasure from, or at least not with those you care about, so it's all because of Jojo, right?"

'Oh, are you actually going to fight me instead of running away, N/n? It's a bit late for that, isn't it? I already killed everyone else, so maybe this is just your attempt to join them, but I always assumed that you were the kind of person to bite off your own limbs before willingly walking into the jaws of death. Hm, is your stand larger? Come on then, best to keep me entertained!'

"..."

"Of course, that's what this is about. It’s true, you’ve been in love with him for so long...so it really wasn't a surprise that you would come with him despite hating every second you were forced to defend yourself. You seemed fine attacking mindless zombies, but I'm not that easy to get rid of. You go with whatever others tell you to do; first it was taking business, then it was you seeming to consider courting a woman just to please Jojo, and now you're being dragged into this senseless crusade." A hand ran over the side of his cheek, and the god silently cursed any deity he could think of when he realized he was crying. When...when had he last openly sobbed in front of someone? Why now? "Oh, don't cry. I don't want to hurt you, but tearing yourself apart for someone who doesn't love you...well, it isn't healthy."

M/n flinched at the mention of Jonathan not loving him, something that earned a raised eyebrow from Dio before his eyes narrowed in anger.

"So, he finally realized his feelings?" The venom in Dio's voice was a far cry from the tone he had used during the rest of the conversation, and it was enough for M/n to focus his hand back to applying pressure on Dio's wrist. "But you don't seem pleased. It didn't go well, did it? No, no, it couldn't have. What was it? Did he see liking another man as something disgusting and shameful? Or did he deny your feelings because of that country girl?"

"..."

"You rejected him?" Dio laughed, leaning in so they were nearly kissing all while the god swallowed down his sense of panic. He shouldn't be crying here. "Now, why would you do that? As much as I wish it were true it couldn't be because of me, or at least it wouldn't be solely on my shoulders, I mean we sadly aren't in a relationship...but you've been pushing him to that country girl, or rather you've been doing that since we were kids. How kind of you to make her happy...but there's one other detail I think you're trying to hide. Would you be willing to tell me?"

"I don't know what I'm apparently hiding from you."

"You don't?" Dio mused, running a hand through the male's hair, stopping at the faint trace of ribbon that held his ponytail in place. The male's eyes weren't focused, and he could see the god twitching with pent up, nervous energy, and he wasn't surprised to hear him tap his foot in hurried succession. "That hamon they have is useful for healing wounds, or I'd assume that Jojo would still be in the hospital or bandaged up, but I swore I saw some puncture marks on his neck."

"Really?"

"Oh, I was surprised about it as well, but those marks are rather unique. Bite marks rarely make such distinct wounds unless the canines are especially sharp. Clearly he hasn't been bitten by a vampire, so that leaves either an animal, or you. I mean, those fangs of yours are certainly sharp enough to make those marks, right?"

"Well, you'd certainly know better than most."

"Yes, I would." Dio brushed their lips together in a fluid motion before pulling away with a low growl. "Of course I can't blame you for pursuing someone when we aren't even courting, even if I would prefer you to chase anyone but Jojo, and it's clear that it didn't work out. Was that why you rejected him?"

"I...I would've done it even if that night hadn't happened."

"Really?"

"Of course," M/n hissed, trying to regain an ounce of control over the situation. Forcing Dio to let go of his throat, the god allowed his fingertips to brush over his choker, mentally cursing himself for allowing yet another enemy to get so close to his neck. Hadn't he learned anything from fighting Ajamu? "I'm here because this is the right thing to do, so-"

"For who?!?" The god jolted back when the vampire flashed his fangs, this was the first time where it truly seemed like Dio may go after him specifically, though it also had the curse of sounding so similar to what his stand had asked him before this journey. What was the right thing for him when compared to Jonathan's black and white morality? Why...why had he fought Dio? He should've gone with Jonathan! Why were his hands shaking? "Because you seem minutes away from passing out or being sick...I've never seen you so frightened."

'Look at you N/n! Does it hurt? Are you having trouble breathing? Conscious Party must've gone a bit overboard with that last attack. Are you struggling to stay awake? Are there spots in your vision? That cut spans most of your throat, but at least the blade wasn't heated like the one we used for your tongue. Oh, getting back up? Are you running again? Fine, come back whenever you're ready. I'll be waiting!'

"As if I'd ever fear fighting. You've seen enough of my stand to know that I'm not easy to beat."

'Swallowing down your panic with confidence is cute, but it doesn't fool me.'

"Did that magician speak to you about courage?" Noting his reaction, Dio pressed onwards. "M/n, we all know that I don't care what those insects say about this, or their pathetic concept of morality! I care about you, M/n. Do you think I'm going to let you be stolen away by people that can't even see how badly you're affected by such things? Surely one of them would've noticed and told you not to attack me because of your feelings on the matter, yet none of them spoke up."

Before the god could give a response, he heard Jonathan scream, causing him to whip his head around to see Jonathan fighting the knights, however a hand grabbed his arm, pulling him into a kiss. When Dio pulled away, the god found himself frozen as the vampire moved towards the battle. Was he going to join in?

…why was Ajamu always right about him?

Isn't that right?

You think of yourself as a monster. They told you; you have teeth to sever limbs and inflict a killing bite.

But you are no beast.

You are strong to keep yourself safe. You can be light. A warming sun even. You are a soft place to rest in the shade.

Jonathan realized he had been separated from the others rather quickly, but forced himself to adopt a fighting stance as the two moved in on him. Tarkus was a mountain of a man and used his sheer size to prevent Jonathan from catching even a glimpse of them. Bluford was a different sort of threat. Each movement of his was quick yet precise. Not a step was out of place. Like a hunter stalking after weakened prey. It was something that reminded him of M/n despite it all. Though Bluford held a similar look in his eye to the glint M/n would get when faced with an interesting enough puzzle, it was the muscle difference that caught his attention. Bluford was more of a cougar while he associated M/n with a snake, due to how often the male brought the reptile up.

"Come closer, knave. I'll be the one to deal with you!" Bluford called, beckoning with one hand as he approached him. Jonathan noted how Tarkus, true to the other's words, was hanging back. With a slow intake, he lashed out with a punch aimed at the male's face, feeling his arm extend past the normal limit of his joints into a zoom punch. All the knight did was move his head to the side, long, black hair coiling around him like twisting snakes, and Jonathan's hand was trapped. “Your blood is mine!”

"H-he’s draining my blood?”

Jonathan looked at his arm, watching in dawning horror as the hair sank into his skin, and he felt his blood being drained. He wished he could call the experience painful, but the sensation bordered on pleasant.

How was he going to get out of this situation?

My hand can't make sense of the controls. So, I'm trying to make the best of the pavement.

"I saw some beautiful sights along the way."

Yes, it's a spiral. But at least I'm moving. I'm sorry for being so negative, I am not always this negative. The entire dandelion is edible.

…the entire dandelion is edible.

Speedwagon had pulled his shirt up, ripping away strips of fabric, and laying them on the stones while trying, and failing, to steady his breathing. A blade is drawn, and there's a single cut made, then Zeppeli's arms are grabbed by Speedwagon.

"How about this?!" The flesh starts to sizzle and hiss, yet he watches as Speedwagon doesn't cry out in pain, instead merely bites his lip. The hamon user watches the thin red trail trickle down his chin, all the while he can finally feel his hamon entering his arms again.

“Speedwagon!”

“In the Arctic, people treat frostbite by warming the affected areas inside the body of a seal!”

“Speedwagon, I…”

“I didn’t come here to slow you and Mr. Joestar down!”

“I was wrong about you. I thought you’d turn tail and run at the first sign of danger. I apologize.”

“Thank me when this fighting’s over and we’re still alive!” Zeppeli gave a laugh at that before his expression changed to something like pure hatred. Flexing his fingers, Zeppeli watched his apprentice be caught in a trap...one that he wasn't sure the other could break.

Meanwhile Jonathan staggered back at the sudden pull...from inside of his arm, and then tried to swallow down the bile. He had never imagined an undead creature using their hair to attack him, but at least this power seemed to be something off limits to Dio.

“If you want to drink my blood, then you’ll have to lap up some hamon, too!” With a frustrated hiss Jonathan found that his sunlight yellow overdrive wouldn't transfer, for a single second his breath hitched, before he tried a second time. Same result. ‘It’s not working. Is this bloodsucker weakening my hamon?’

Tarkus drew his sword, a blade longer than Jonathan was tall, and prepared to swing it down.

“Quickly! I-I must heal these wounds and return to fighting form!”

“This knight’s more chilling than that bloody, frozen arm of yours! That blade dwarfs Jonathan’s one hundred and ninety-five centimeter frame! And that strange hair! Those faces! They’re hiding something! I’ve known many a fellow in my day, and there’s something overwhelmingly sinister about those two!”

"Ha, of course you feel that when facing them!" Dio had perched on yet another jagged peak, body relaxed, and flashed them a fanged grin that showed he knew something they didn't. Though his interruption allowed them to spot M/n lingering back, Zeppeli winced when he saw how pale and shaken the male looked, but he was alive and physically unharmed. “Every Englishman knows the legendary knights Tarkus and Bluford. Even history bows to my will!”

Long ago, in around 1565, two monarchs were contesting the throne. Queen Elizabeth the First, and the beautiful, twenty-three-year-old Mary Stuart.

The great knights Tarkus and Bluford were her loyal vassals. After losing their families in the war, the knights found refuge in Mary. Regardless of strength, a man seeks respite. Not in romance, but in something greater. Mary gave them hope. To her, they swore their loyalty and their lives. But tragedy struck when Mary lost her husband, Lord Darnley, unexpectedly. For Elizabeth, luck had struck. Elizabeth accused Mary of matricide. The country turned against her, and Mary was finally imprisoned. Tarkus and Bluford fought to free her. So Elizabeth bargained with the two thorns in her side.

“Turn yourselves in. Then, and only then, I shall spare Mary’s life.”

“We cannot refuse.”

"Then so be it. I have no regrets."

The two were arrested…and executed.

“Allow me to send you blokes to hell with a few last words: Mary’s already dead! You’s were tricked. See that lying over there like a pile of rubbish? That’s your Mary.”

“Damn you to hell, Elizabeth! You betrayed us!”

“With my final breath, I curse you and all of your descendants!”

“I lay my curse upon you!” Were their final shared words.

The knights were beheaded.

It’s said Tarkus’s neck was so stiff with fury that the executioner broke several axes. As for Bluford, his hair supposedly coiled around his executioner’s leg, digging into his killer’s flesh.

“Their betrayal gave me goosebumps as I fell for their wonderful delusions! These legendary heroes cursed the world.” With a dark laugh, Dio beckoned down to the two undead, each in unison lifted their heads, allowing them to watch their pupils flash scarlet, they were completely under his control. "Well, the fact that their graves were stored in the castle grounds I took residence in didn't hurt matters either. I dug them up and gave them life! Life as revenants the devil himself would fear!”

“We swear loyalty to Lord Dio! We’ve come to end the world! Death to everyone under the dark side of the sun!” Their voices were both low snarls as they flashed their fangs at the group. Zeppeli and Speedwagon jolted when they realized that M/n had joined them. The god was still silent, hands clearly shaking, and didn't meet any of their eyes. Whatever Dio had done to him had clearly rattled M/n, leaving him silent and morose.

“S-such hatred! Their scorn is growing! Dio’s made heroes into monsters! Can we overcome their betrayal?” Speedwagon yowled, and Zeppeli flinched at the volume of his sudden shout, yet he also noted that M/n, despite clearly having rather sensitive hearing, remained still and didn't even try to cover his ears. It didn't bode well.

"No."

"What?"

"They can be beaten." M/n spoke a bit louder this time, though he still avoided their gaze, and his hands were trembling. "Jonathan can beat them. They're just undead. He’s worth far more than mere dead men."

Speedwagon didn't get a chance to reply before they watched Jonathan strike his own arm with a hamon infused punch and a battlecry, though M/n winced when he heard the hair inside Jonathan's skin burn away. They all watched as the male leapt back using this moment of surprise to create some distance between him and his opponents.

‘S-scarlet overdrive? Did Zeppeli teach him that?’

"Hm?" Bluford tilted his head to the side, an almost pleased smile starting to form on his face, and even the monstrous Tarkus laxed his blade.

“A-astounding! He burned the hair off?!”

"Not just off. The hair that had entered the inside of his arm was burned away too. Then again, Jonathan never was the type to accept defeat. Te ne sei reso conto ormai vecchio?" Despite how weak his voice was, M/n still managed to feel some form of satisfaction when he earned a quick glare from the Italian man. While that conversation had left him feeling emotionally exhausted the god was still somewhat glad he could earn such a response. At least he still had the ability to be a nuisance.

‘I-I had forgotten about Mr. Joestar’s burden! His father’s death and his hope for the future! Our hope!’

“The hooligan has skill. He’ll be the perfect warm up after our three hundred year nap.” Bluford purred as Tarkus once again raised the massive sword above his head, while Bluford adjusted his position. Taking a half-step back, Jonathan closed his eyes to brace himself.

A roar startled him from his moment of meditation. With a jolt, Jonathan spun around to face the zombie charging towards him, though the armor it wore seemed to slow it down‌. “This one’s flesh belongs to me! I love the way cartilage bursts beneath my teeth!”

“Another zombie?!”

"Huh?" Both Jonathan and the zombie jolted when Bluford appeared behind the smaller undead. A hand lashed out and grabbed the thing's arm, earning a panicked hiss from the weaker creature.

“This is no place for pawns.” With a snarl, the knight ripped the smaller zombie's face in half, earning a shocked yowl from the creature. It sank to the ground and scrambled away as Bluford turned to look up towards the vampire.

‘W-what speed! Where did he come from? He was behind me before I turned! Surely I would've heard his footsteps!’

“Lord Dio, the spirit of this young man is admirable! I ask for the privilege of putting an end to his life!”

'Hmph, even after dying the way they did, he still carries that code of honor from his time as a mortal. What prideful creatures. They should just submit to my thrall and swear their fealty to me, Dio! But this could work. If they get rid of Jojo and that magician, then M/n wouldn't even dare to raise a hand. Not that he's in the mental state to even think about fighting a field mouse.' His eyes narrowed as he observed M/n try to watch the fight while hiding his shaking. His poor sweet M/n. Well, it wouldn't be long till he could bring him home and let him rest. He looked so tired. "As you will. Just remember, the man with H/c hair and E/c eyes is off limits."

“Tarkus, stand aside.” His blade plunged into the stone as Bluford stepped towards Jonathan’s tensed form.

“The dark knight Bluford! What ferociousness! What savagery! He radiates skill and pride!” M/n twitched, glancing at Zeppeli as he pointed towards the warrior. Or how Speedwagon shuddered, watching the knight give a low bow as Jonathan raised his arms up.

‘This is uncanny. I learned about him in school, and now he’s coming to kill me. I must steady my breathing and relax my muscles!’ Jonathan watched as the knight rose, arms crossed behind his back, as he shot towards the hamon user.

“The bastard! He’s hiding his arms behind his back! Which will he attack with? Or will he kick?” Speedwagon howled, earning a glare from the god who was regaining ‌his old bravado.

“Why not attack with his hair? You know, the strange way he first attacked Jonathan before he asked if he could fight him alone?” Almost as if to prove his point, Bluford drew his sword using his inky locks.

'Did he really...?' M/n wanted to snicker at his stand's blatant shock, even if he was also starring in complete horror, because the idea of this...bullshit becoming part of his normal life was appalling. Never mind how he predicted it. He had imagined that he had a higher tolerance for strange things happening due to possessing a stand, and having frequent encounters with other stand users, but this was all becoming too constant for his tastes.

“Incredible! He wields the sword with his hair!”

“N-no!” Barely throwing himself back fast enough to avoid the blade’s edge, Jonathan was sent back down the cliff-side, the rocky formation next to them sliced clean in half during the aftermath. A pained yell filled the air as he was assaulted in a cascade of stone. Despite his feelings on the matter, M/n forced himself to give chase. Sure, he felt sick, but it was easier to swallow down when going after Jonathan. Better this than to wallow in it. He was always a razor's edge away from disaster, but if put in crisis with a logical goal, he shined.

"Jonathan!" Moving past the zombie knights, not even batting a glance at either, he leapt down the cliff-side to follow his first friend. No matter how strained their relationship was, no matter how much he fucked it up, he wouldn’t forsake the title he’d been blessed to receive. No room for second thoughts now.

“Perceptive fellow. He was able to dodge my Danse Macabre hair. How intriguing! His friend isn’t bad either. That unbreakable loyalty…it almost reminds me of myself back before my death. Perhaps that’s why Master Dio favors him? An impressive spirit, if nothing else.”

While it has been explained before that Wind-Knights Lot was a place of training for knights in the middle ages, it was a specific training method called 'The Seventy-Seven Rings' that would freeze the blood of any man. This trial was to climb the mountains that surrounded the proper town of Wind-Knights Lot, ten kilometers at its shortest, while wearing their heaviest armor, and surpass the cliffs and rivers. But the most terrifying component of this training was the seventy-seven foes you'd have to defeat along the way. Not only were these fights often life or death, but you needed to get bracelets on their arms and legs as proof of your victory. Individually, these rings weigh little, but by the last opponent, each person attempting the trial will wear an additional hundred kilograms of weight. Most who tried ended up being killed.

Only five men in history have ever completed this challenge. In 1372 Winsloe the Lion King, in 1389 Ikeman the Lightning Knight, in 1408 Kaynegis the One-Eyed Knight, and in 1563 Bluford and Tarkus the dark knights. Comparing these five, all but Bluford shared a similar build and body type to Tarkus. According to legend, his technique, Danse Macabre, was used to outwit his opponents. When that attack wouldn't work, he'd strike with a sudden thrust or kick.

Other than an indistinct sound from the back of his throat, akin to hounds chasing a buck, Bluford gave chase. Now all three of them were plummeting down towards the water below, with Jonathan’s a straight line as he vanished beneath the blue. M/n focused on a messier, if cleaner, path by using any perch available and making ones when needed till he reaches the water. Only taking a second to ignore the potential threat behind him to toss his jacket and shoes in a messy heap on the riverbank before diving in as the knight hits the water with a hard splash.

M/n hates the feeling of water enveloping him, but he accepts the baptism with no complaint.

“Mr. Joestar!”

“This is bad! He can’t breathe down there! He can’t use hamon! We have to do something!” Zeppeli stammers over his words, looking back towards the looming frame of Tarkus, and then sharing a panicked look with Speedwagon. If merely taking a step forward had made him ready to attack, then what would them trying to assist lead to?

“Blast it! We can’t help Mr. Joestar.”

‘Of course we can’t. The only reason M/n can join the fight is because of Dio’s fondness for him. If he hadn’t stated M/n wasn’t to be harmed, he’d be cleaved in two. I can only pray he’ll keep Jojo safe despite his mental state.’

‘This fight is over. Bluford is unstoppable underwater. Jonathan was dead the moment he entered the depths.’ With a scoff, Dio turned on his heel and crossed the rocky perch till he stood at the edge. Sparing a glance towards where M/n's form had vanished under the water, he swallowed down his anger and looked towards Tarkus. “My supervision is no longer needed here. I’ll turn Wind-Knight’s Lot into a town of zombies! In just one day and one night, they will spread to the whole of England. Au revoir~!"

The murky water wasn't as bad as M/n originally thought, even if the river was deeper than what he expected, and it was all too easy to spot the struggling pair. Night vision was one thing, but his heat vision made Jonathan a beacon. Bluford wasn't even a proper blip on his radar, which could prove to be troublesome if he had to track any undead down at some point. But then again, he was sure that while Dio may not provide a proper heat source, he could track the vampire through scent alone.

Bluford sheaths his sword, not a single bubble escaping his open mouth, and prepares for an attack. Jonathan's hand was at his throat, eyes wide with pupils mere pinpricks, the god felt something akin to worry bubble up in his own chest. His stand was never bad at being underwater, more so M/n himself hated going into the colder dark depths of a body of water, but Jonathan was so close. He couldn't remember how long a human could hold their breath. The days of two kids at a river splashing each other were long gone, replaced by dying stars and cannibalism.

He couldn't say he didn't miss it, but those days were tinted by something deep inside his own being.

So, I looked over to my mother and told her I loved her. Something else whispered into my ears.

'You could kill her.'

What the fuck?

Why would I ever do that?

You won't. But you could. She wouldn't even see it coming.

Shut up.

You know I'm right. Well, not just her. Your whole family. So easy. People have done it before. But how would you hide? Run?

Go away.

…I really wish it didn't sound like me.

‘I-I need to breathe to create hamon! Just one breath!’ Jonathan's body ran on autopilot while his mind was sent into a panicked spiral. Black spots threatened to take over his vision.

"Go ahead, knave. Go! Swim to the surface! We are equally matched. You can’t breathe, and my armor weighs me down. I won’t use my sword. We shall duel as heroes!” There was something strange about Bluford’s words. As if he was fighting between a feral aggression and the regal persona of a knight. “Make your move before you drown!”

‘Can I make it to the surface before he does? What are my odds?’

M/n knew the look on Jonathan's face. The moments before death, or even potential death, can set loose an explosive sense of agony and give birth to an incredible venture. It was rare. M/n had only felt such things in his ultimate moments, but Jonathan was a different man. A better man. While a normal person would freeze in crisis or fight without thinking, ‌Jonathan was creating a plan. His expression changed, and in his own confusion, the god breathed in the water. Had he been closer to the surface, he would have tried to spit the water out...as if that kind of thing even matters.

Because what would people think if a god couldn't even handle holy water?

“W-what is he thinking?” Bluford hissed out while the god mentally measured the distance, making a quick decision about how humans worked and swam to the surface. He allowed his lungs to empty the water out and spared only a single glance towards the figures above him. At least they weren't stuck fighting Tarkus. He dived back under, allowing his stand to help guide him towards the bottom of the riverbed.

It, at least, enjoyed the idea of swimming.

"What...what are you doing?" The boy jolted at the question, messy blue hair looking even more ruffled in the evening sun, as the other entered his view of vision. M/n, for better or for worse, was a shadow more days than not. Merely a month after what happened to Jonathan at the river and the poor boy was constantly scared of doing the wrong thing. It was clear their friendship was at a point where if M/n believed he did Jonathan more harm than good, he'd leave, but how could Jonathan convince him he wasn't some dark omen on the horizon?

...it would be like arguing with the night sky, right N/n?

"Did you really give the dog a...gun?" Jonathan paused, not even noticing how M/n suddenly flinched back as if hearing something, at the awkward question that escaped the male's lips. He sounded so puzzled and unsure ( almost as if he had been away from people for eons ), and Jonathan took a moment to evaluate the question before laughing softly.

He's not laughing with you. You won't be able to change anything. Can you smell the smoke in the air?

"It's just a toy."

I'm keeping you alive to entertain me. You never tried to seriously fight me, I can't figure out why when you have such a powerful stand, but I suppose I need a new toy.

"...oh."

The way the shadows fall on the mortal's neck reminds you of a blade about to fall. Wouldn't a beheading be fun to watch? You could even keep the skull on a pedestal so you wouldn't get lonely.

"I just can't get it back."

…can't get it back? What exactly? Them? They're dead. You can't save them even if you tried, which you won't, and everyone knows it. You don't have what it takes to change anything. All you ever do is throw water out of the titanic, but who really gives a fuck when the ship refills, anyway? You're a person who denies change. You won't ever help anyone but yourself. That's how you've always been.

"Well, I think you're fighting him too much."

It's a lot easier when you stop struggling, N/n.

"Really?"

Does he not believe you? It makes sense. You shouldn't be allowed to help anyone because of how often you fuck it up.

"Well...yeah. I mean, he’ll think you're playing tug of war and apply more force. You can't win against those jaws. But I think if you grabbed it and instead of applying constant force...maybe going slack would be the right option. He'll let it go more out of shock than anything else. If that doesn't work, then we can go over some other options. But if something doesn't work, you need to change your strategy, otherwise you'll merely go insane."

Change? You suggest something that you never did yourself. Oh...is that it? Do you think you're going to change for one mortal? Hell will freeze over, not that you would see it, before you change for someone. Your feelings about him won't change what you are. Yet I guess you haven't even realized those...probably for the best. Mortals may not live long, but it would be too much to announce our feelings when they haven't even imagined romance. I would keep them as disciples or insert myself as their guardian until they could realize how lucky they were. Still, you're going to ruin him. He'll hate you for it, and then you won't have anyone to blame but yourself. Then again, everyone hates you. They have no choice. You take, take, take, and take. No one has anything left to give by the end. Do you think he'll survive knowing you?

"Hey, it worked! Thanks M/n, you're the best!"

…you keep thinking of fire and ships exploding in the ocean, right?

"You're far too kind to me."

No one ever outlives you.

Will this mortal prove true to the rule?

Swallowing down any panic he might have, Jonathan began his plunge into hell, though he felt a small flicker of hope at the sight of bubbles forming at the bottom of the riverbed. That was his chance to turn this fight around.

‘Wind-Knight’s Lot is a coal town. That means the ground settled long ago. There! There must be a rock with air trapped beneath it from when it was above water!’ He reached the bottom of the river and grabbed one of the loose stones, vaguely aware of the feral snarl above his head alongside something that sounded like a snake hissing. ‘I found it! With this one breath…cut finely, beat of my blood!’

“I-impossible!’ Bluford snarled, the strange beast’s claws digging deep in between the gaps of his armor, aiming for his back. Hoping to stall his movement? An annoyed hiss echoed from Master Dio’s chosen as his attention went back to the warrior below.

‘The tables have turned on you! Hamon travels easily through water!’

'Oh! Now Bluford's the one at a disadvantage, by making the battlefield a body of water he's chosen an environment that hamon excels in, a single strike will encompass the entire river...which means I need to reach the surface or my injuries will show Jonathan exactly what I am!' The god swam upwards, and when he reached the bank, he scrambled up the damp stones like a man possessed, or one chased by the hounds of hell till he was on a grassy field shaking the water out of his hair. Hopefully, the wound he had left on the knight would be deep enough to allow Jonathan to get a few extra hits in. He flexed his fingers. The moment before he got out of the water, he had felt the impending surge, and wondered if Ajamu was still right.

...it wasn't as if snakes changed anything but their skins.

Yet ‌the knight’s arrival took him away from his questions.

I'm not a woman. But I'm not sure I fit the ideals of a man. But I know I define myself in those simplified terms.

I'm gay.

I know that much, at least.

I would describe being masculine as something akin to the sun. It lights my world, and ‌it warms my blood, but I certainly can't hold it without burning my hands. If I try to look straight at it, not that I look straight at anything, I'll go blind. That's a girl. That's a boy. Then where am I? In that space? Or this one?

How do I even hope to define myself?

I'm a gay man, but am I masculine? or am I something in between?

There are always opposites for this kind of thing, right?

I'm not tall or short, so I'm of average height.

I'm not dumb, so I must be smart.

I am this because I'm not that? But that's also relative.

So I'm not Adam or Eve. They were merely made from clay and blood and slipped into a box we made.

I don't think anyone fits in the box.

Bluford hissed like a cat that had been knocked from its perch, pressing a hand to a tree's trunk to steady himself, and the god couldn't tell if he was shivering from his injuries or because he had escaped the jaws of death a second time. On that level, he supposed he and Bluford were alike, two souls that had died only to come back for a purpose beyond them, but if that were truly their link, he'd have to add Dio to the mentalist he had made. He had heard the blond's heart stop as he bled out on the cobblestone path leading out of the manor, and had tasted the subtle changes of the body as it died, only to grow shocked at the sudden revival. Then again, Dio always liked to say that they were cut from the same cloth, so their paths being linked seemed almost second nature.

There was a moment of silence as the two locked eyes.

"Was the mask used on you?" The god tilted his head at Bluford's question, a new distraction from the matter at hand, yet one that he was unfamiliar with.

"The mask...? No. I stand in the sun just fine. My body merely has an adverse reaction to hamon, but I assume that's connected to a very different condition of mine. Given that you're a zombie, I'm surprised that you even know of the mask." He tilted his head to stare at the thick trails of dark brown blood trying to escape the wound on the zombie's forehead. It looked as if Bluford had devoured no one recently, and whatever blood he had taken from Jonathan had been burned away to increase regeneration, so he couldn't quite bring himself to be on guard. While not pathetic looking, he certainly was a far cry from the threat he had been at first sight. "I always assumed that Dio was the type to keep his servants in the dark, so where did you hear that? Did you see the mask?"

"That doesn't matter." Bluford's eyes were constantly moving, scanning him, as if trying to peel back the flesh and discover the immortality that lies beneath. It was unsettling, but it wasn't as if either needed to blink. After a moment, he tilted his head to the side. "You aren't human. Your blood smells too sweet...and you carry yourself differently, like a lord of old claiming divinity."

It was disarming, yet sparked a flash of red fiery anger in the god.

"And what does a zombie know of humanity, anyway?" Bluford looked surprised at the accusation, or maybe the sudden change in topic, but not hurt or angered beyond belief. So the god did what he had a knack for and pushed to get a response that would ‌satisfy the heat of his own emotions. Maybe it was his stand's continued efforts on his personality...or perhaps he always had this streak, but just like in the tunnels with Jonathan, or a thousand other conversations before, he had to hurt Bluford. Maybe it was due to how much of himself he was seeing in the long-haired knight? "Or...maybe I should just ask what you know of humanity, Bluford? In the legends, they say you died for love, yet you mock everything Mary stood for...and ‌everything you and your fellow man, Tarkus, stood for! Do you think she's proud when she looks down at you? That she'll take you back into heaven when you've proven that you're nothing but a snake in the grass! I had assumed after reading your story that you were some pinnacle of humanity because of your loyalty and love...but that isn't true. You just wanted an excuse to kill. Mary wasn't special. She only served as a figurehead, and you could kill and butcher anyone that opposed her without being seen as a monster."

"You...you speak of things you can't possibly understand, churl!"

There it was.

The god pulled his lips back into a feral grin as a sick sense of satisfaction bubbled up in his chest once the zombie's hair lashed back and forth. His mind went back to Ajamu, though the former god was becoming more and more present these days, and how easily he could get under anyone's skin in a fight. His silver tongue could always leave the harshest of wounds behind. Or maybe in a way Ajamu had just been good at getting under M/n's own skin? Either way, the issues Ajamu brought up seemed to be easy to reframe for the black knight.

"Oh, now I'm little more than a churl? It's a good thing Dio isn't here to hear you say that...he's rather possessive of me. But, really? There wasn't a single part of you that enjoyed those days? A part of you that came back when Dio revived you? There's a reason you never stopped fighting, and it isn't because of some code of honor...you want the gore staining your hands and face, to see the light fade from someone's eyes, to deny them their last pleas for mercy. Mary gave you a constant excuse for violence, but if Elizabeth had promised you all that and more, you'd have changed sides in a heartbeat!" A low snarl echoed before the god was knocked onto his back, pointed stones lightly digging into his skin, and the weight of a holy warrior pressing on his mortal soul. Or rather, immortal. His train of thought was suddenly cut off as his head was slammed against the rocks, and a feral snarl pushed his conscious thought deep into the water.

'Fuck!'

Christianity likes to say that the purest form of loving god is by eating him, so when you peel me, rip me apart, and then lick away the crimson staining your lips, I think I finally understand religion. Your love is attention. The love you show me is through consumption. I feel holy when you sink your teeth in and then swallow what you tore free. I can't help but feel worthy knowing that you will let a piece of me be inside you.

Forever.

"Oh...?"

The change in vision, while familiar, still proved to be an annoyance. His usual method of being removed left him completely blind. The body was so different from his (Yes, those pronouns worked better than the usual ones used.) own that the stand wanted little more than to just form above his master's body to protect him with no risks or complications. But that option wasn't available because of his master's evident desire for him to not form while still dangerously overfed, and it wouldn't be long till that human emerged from the river. On some level he could register his master's conscience, completely still below the surface, it was a testament to their connection that he could take control since their confrontation with the former god. Now, he just needed to handle this.

Bluford relaxed his grip on the male's throat when he realized he had drawn blood, even if the scent of it nearly drove him past reason, and there was an almost instinctive layer of fear at the realization of his actions. Master Dio had been clear in his intentions with this man, and he wouldn't blame his Master for saying such an offense would be punishable by death given his...conversation with them at the castle when it came to his goals. Lord Dio was passionate, to say the least. It was only his anger at the male's words from earlier that prevented him from fully releasing the male and giving him a chance to properly recover.

'Do you think she's proud when she looks down at you?'

How could he forgive such a slight?

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the male awkwardly grabbing one of his arms, and when he opened his eyes, Bluford almost assumed he had gone blind. Their coloration had changed. He remembered Dio mentioning such a thing often happened...but to see E/c change into a deep molten gold was enough to give him pause, and with how his gaze remained fixed away from his face...well, it left him at a loss. A cold shudder ran down the knight's spine with all the certainty of Lucifer laughing as the hounds of hell plunged their fangs into his mortal soul. With a soft sigh, a feat that should've been impossible as he had reapplied pressure to his throat, the male tilted his head to blow a cloud of pink smoke in the knight's face. Despite being undead, Bluford coughed on instinct, stopping as he realized the male was crushing the armor, with his other hand.

Narcissistic Cannibal threw his master's head back and howled with laughter.

"All of those people who speak of your demise as some sort of sacrifice are fucking idiots. As if a human like you ever had any honor. Or that you ever cared for that bitch. You died because you realized there wasn't an escape route that didn't connect itself to the branch of a tree. There was no way Elizabeth would keep a rabid dog around, but if she had, you would've sworn loyalty to her in a mere heartbeat. Or you and Tarkus would've escaped and killed till you were finished like the dogs you were...by being put in a furnace with your muzzle tied." Laughing was difficult. No matter how hard he tried, emotions were things the stand could only mimic more days than naught, but the anger lingering just below the surface was a gift that helped him push forward. The voices were enraged at the knight, some at him, and a few at his master, but in the end they called for the blood of the warrior to be spilled in service to the god rather than against.

He would be more than happy to oblige them.

"What-" Bluford was cut short by a soft snicker, followed by the creeping horror of hearing more people laugh with this thing. There must be hundreds, if not thousands, of people he just couldn't see. "I would have only slain Elizabeth...and the one who killed Mary...merely as vengeance for the wrongs they both committed, but no more!"

"You think we don't know you're a liar?" He purred, all the voices singing with him, and he grinned as he kicked the male off of his master's body. From the sounds of it, the blow had broken armor and ribs. Good. He didn't want to stretch this fight out. He pushed himself up. This body was so different compared to his own and stalked towards his prey. "You speak of things beyond mortal comprehension. There are few people alive that could even hope to know vengeance better than us, and there are none that know hunger and senseless carnage better. The look in your eyes suggests how hypocritical you are, but you're too short sighted to even realize it. So, let me explain this to you; even if you won and lived for thousands of years unabated, you wouldn't have learned a damn thing."

With a panicked hiss, Bluford shot up to his feet, forcing himself to focus on the figure across from him rather than the constant stream of voices serving as the backdrop to their fight. Even the rocky terrain seemed to shift and morph. Was he standing by the river leading to Wind-Knights Lot or the field where he and Tarkus surrendered? It was unclear. Nothing stayed coherent, and he couldn't hear the same voice twice, but they slowed when the thing reached his side.

"So you know the pain of death, but could you fathom the erasure of everything?" The blow he threw was blocked. Those voices howled in joy, and all it took was the thing applying pressure to shatter the bones in his arm. "The sight of everything that could ever hold value to you being crushed and laying scattered in broken heaps around you? The emotional pain of being turned into little more than prey? Of being mutilated? Of killing god?"

Narcissistic Cannibal laughs, bitter and sharp, because he was nothing if not for the existence of his master, and to think of what he had gone through makes him sick.

"You may know tragedy, but I could tell you a story that would make the entire genre weep!" Or rather, his master could, but Bluford doesn't need to know that they aren't the same. Still, he could easily smell panic and fear from the knight, and it only made his mouth water. Even the undead could feel fear despite what that funny little scholar liked to say, and if a holy warrior should fear anything, it would be him. So when he gets slammed down to the ground with a sword embedded next to his master's head, and a hand's pressure making cracks form on his skull, it isn't a surprising turn of events. Though what strength to crush a human skull with nothing but your bare hands. But it wasn't as if he was going to break from something this simple.

He was made from spilled tears and dead virgins, after all.

Why were you born with a bleeding heart?

Why is it when you look at something for too long, it disappears? But you can still see what's left behind. The ghost. The echo. You can always see the ghosts.

You can still see how guilt clings to things and rots them from the inside out. You see all the blood stains we can't get out of our clothes.

You see all the little things but they get garbled and jumbled till they tie themselves together in your mouth so you don't always say them. And now your friends are bleeding you dry. Again.

And he's asking you to stay.

But he knows you'll never leave. Still, he checks. You know this is a test.

You passed.

Are you sure you'd even know how to leave anymore?

Your love for others sticks in you like knives in your back that you just can't remove, and you keep building houses everywhere. Because you want to be safe.

You will never be safe with people who saw someone crying at the train tracks and decided that pushing them in front of the train was the right option.

You know this, of course. But sometimes he laughs, and he still sounds like someone you could be in love with.

So you let him into the house. And look the other way when he lights the match. You can always build another one. Until your hands are burned, your lungs charred, and you no longer bleed red. You'll try again.

"We're back where we started. Listening to snakes in the rain."

‘It's not over yet! I can't believe that Bluford was able to dodge that blast of hamon. He moves so fast underwater. He was all a blur. My overdrive barely glanced off his forehead. Now I know anything less than a solid punch won't be enough to seed the hamon into him.' Jonathan pulled himself up, letting out a shaky gasp as he struggled for air, only to freeze at the sight of M/n pinned with one of Bluford's hands completely engulfing the male's face. He doesn't seem to fight back, and for a second his face shifts and he swears there's a smile on M/n's face. "M/n!"

The snake adjusted himself to perhaps glimpse the saint, despite currently having complete control he could feel his master's strange happiness at seeing him bubble up, yet the eyes he had didn't allow him sight...so it was more for drama than to genuinely help him.

"Jojo, did you-" Zeppeli's question was cut short once he reached the edge of the cliff and saw the situation at hand. It was only the looming form of Tarkus that prevented him from abandoning Speedwagon and leaping down to help the pair. Bluford let out a low snarl as his gaze darted between the different players before going back towards the male he had pinned. He was far too relaxed about the situation. He could hear the male's skull breaking beneath his hand, yet he wasn't showing any signs of pain or even trying to free himself.

"Bluford, it seems as if you're forgetting about Master Dio's warning," Tarkus's voice was a low rumble, despite being low in tone the god could feel the vibrations from his position, and he wanted to laugh at how the other sounded. Condescending. As if he's supposed to be the rational one. Still, the snake remains pinned. "Surely you don't want to break the one rule he gave us."

“...”

"Bluford, am I going to interrupt the fight you begged for?" That seems to shake the zombie out of his daze, and when he lets go of M/n's face, it only takes a second before he leaps off him. Jonathan jolts at seeing him suddenly vanish, only to reappear a few feet in front of him, and he catches sight of M/n slowly pushing himself up. He seems unharmed, or at least not visibly bleeding.

“My good Lord Dio, I thank thee for this life anew, that I may duel with this stouthearted lad. My heart would swell to bursting if it still beat. In blood and deed, he is the stuff of heroes. Now we will fight in our native element. It is by the mastery of our arts and strengths of our spirits that we wage this duel. Bare your soul. Hold nothing back, lest you not survive beyond this moment!”

‘Even as Dio’s puppet, his pride is a force to be reckoned with, but his knightly valor has been twisted into a wanton love of violence.’

“When I best you, I’ll take your head as my trophy!” Bluford promises, his hair lashing around his form like darkened whips, and Jonathan's frame glows with golden sparks that make the serpent shift. His master hated the energy, and he couldn't deny how it made his own form shiver and shake in discomfort, but it meant his master could rest.

“It’s easy to let your hair do the work. Come. Withstand my hamon face to face like a man!” Bluford howled at the challenge, hair seeming to grow, earning several panicked yells. Regaining some control of his body, M/n stared wide eyed at the scene in front of him. That overdrive barrage did nothing to him.

‘What the hell kind of attack is that?’

Jonathan was snared, worse than a dying rabbit, with inky locks coiling around him like ivy. Cocooning him. A single whip of his head lifted Jonathan off the ground before he could utter a single complaint.

"Jojo!"

Bluford's hair gained the ability to move after he was revived as a zombie. The Turgor movement allows him to drink the blood of his prey. By definition, his hair lacks muscles. Instead this mimics the fast growth of grass, which is also an effect of the movement caused by the water between cells, called Turgor. Using that, Bluford can easily crush Jonathan without lifting a finger.

There was a sickening crack when Jonathan was thrown against the tree, only to be slammed into it a second time. M/n pushed himself up. While it wasn't pain, his face was buzzing from the regeneration working just under the surface, and then there was the part of his brain that screamed for him to strike the zombie's neck with his fangs. He blamed it on his stand, permanently affixing him with snake-like traits, but he filed it all away in case of an emergency. Though he supposed the mental image of him biting someone's throat was both intimidating and ridiculous in equal breath.

“This is terrible. Hamon can only be projected through the arms and legs. With his arms bound in front of him like that, he has no way of blasting through that infernal hair of Bluford’s.” Zeppeli's face was one of raw panic. M/n looked at the large zombie, who had turned away from the fight to watch them. If either tried to get involved in this, Tarkus would be sure to stop them, and while Zeppeli may stand a chance, Speedwagon would be killed rather quickly.

“I-I wanna help him out, but you and me have got things even worse.” The sound of movement caused Speedwagon to whip his head around to stare at the other knight. “I think ‘ol Tarkus fancies a dust-up.”

Jonathan hissed as the hair spread, wrapping around him and the tree's trunk, and he could only think of snakes crushing their prey. His mind went back to M/n, if only due to him always having a fascination with the reptiles, and then it went to the burning sensation that came from lack of oxygen. The dead branches of the tree started to snap and break cleanly from the pressure, causing him to swallow awkwardly, nearly choking on his spit. ‘His hair, it’s tearing through my clothes. Through my skin. The more I struggle, the tighter it winds, and it’s sucking my blood away. It really is like a snake eating its prey. Every bone in a rat's body is broken while the snake swallows it, yet it's often left alive as it gets devoured.’

M/n swallowed, pupils dilated and eyes a sickening shade of molten gold at the black line of hair that ran perfectly across the span of Jonathan's throat. A beheading. A mortal that wouldn't outlive their patron god. Blood drained and poured into a wine glass. His body shuddered, not quite from him or his standalone, but from a feral combination of both. Bluford drew his sword. Thousands of voices begged for him to move, and a snake sounded as if it was ultimately apathetic. It wasn't a new mindset, even if the voices had been louder today than they had in eons, but...

“Bid your petty life adieu. Behold, the coup de grâce! I’ll take your head and bathe in a fountain of life-giving blood!”

“Take this!”

Jonathan slammed his boot against the side of Bluford's sword, M/n's dagger having cleanly sliced a large clump of black hair, breaking the thick circle that had held him in place. A low purr by the god's ear told him that his greatest enemy was pleased, but he didn't feel excited at the prospect of Ajamu agreeing with his behavior. Yet he relaxes at the sight of hamon dancing through Bluford's blade and melting his right arm. With his arms free, he easily landed a hamon infused blow on the knight.

“Water’s not all that conducts hamon! Metal Silver Overdrive!”

“What a brain! Using the sword to hoist Bluford by his own bleeding petard. Who thinks of that?”

So the holy warrior was sent flying back.

If you still hate me, and you still can't forgive me...then kill me violently.

Make sure it hurts.

'He wasn't like the other zombies we've fought...though M/n may just think I'm being too soft, but Bluford had such a history. If that doesn't count for something, then maybe how his mind still clearly kept his personality despite being undead. Either way, he would still kill more people if I didn't kill him. I have to defeat him.' Jonathan lunged, the injured form of Bluford moved for his blade, and the god drew his pistol. He rose on shaky legs, his sword being more akin to a cane than an actual weapon, and he bared his fangs at them both. M/n stared at the male's gaze...had he made a similar face when bleeding out in front of Ajamu? ‘How my heart resonates. I’m pulsing with heat and life. My very blood is a symphony within me!’

With a snarl, he charged towards Jonathan.

“Sunlight Yellow Overdrive!”

“There we go! That’s it. About time we heard the welcome crackle of hamon.”

‘When I pummeled Bluford a moment ago, something felt different. Knowing his past makes his present corruption all the worse. Take heart, Jojo. He is that man no longer. He’s nothing but a zombie eager to spread his evil. You must be the one to end him.’

“I am the black knight Bluford. Strike me as thou will. This pain is nothing!”

"Pathetic," M/n's voice wasn't his own, rather his stand wanting the final say, but he was bitter enough to fully lean back and let whatever happened reach its inevitable conclusion. "Can't you just give up the ghost already? The only reason you're still fighting is because of the thrall Dio has over you, or because I was right, but either option leads to the same conclusion. Right?"

“He’s still dangerous, mate! Look out!” At Speedwagon’s cry, the knight went back on the offensive, earning a snarl from the god. “Even missing an arm and scorched to all hell, he’s laying into Jojo every bit as ferociously. What the?! Don’t just stand there! Do something! If you don’t get outta there now, it’s curtains for you!”

"Why aren't you moving?" His voice didn't carry any emotion, something he regretted, but he saw his friend's eyes dart towards him. The blade left a thin cut across Jonathan's cheek, and then they both were standing in complete silence, faintly, he registered the other's shock from their spots on the cliff, yet all the god did was store his pistol with a ‌warm laugh. "Soft-hearted fool."

"Have they both gone mad? What are they doin', eh?"

“A moment ago, you said, this pain is nothing. That means pain is something you can feel again.” The ground below them was slowly shifting, and had he not wasted his tears in front of Dio the god was certain he'd be crying at the white lilies that rose around the pair.

“The flowers, they’re blooming all around him. Even now, hamon ravages the evil that animates Bluford’s long-dead corpse. You see? The long-forgotten pain came back. Only humans know that sort of ache. Observe, my dear Speedwagon. His zombie body succumbs to the hamon, but his noble soul is redeemed in the process.”

"That's why you didn't block that strike." M/n rose to his feet as he spoke, the voices softer and whispering amongst themselves, and his rage now nothing more than a snuffed candle in the face of current events. There was a soft chuckle causing them both to look at the dying knight in something between confusion, horror, and awe. "You really believed he'd stop for you."

“You stood there like a statue, ready to take a fatal blow. Oblivion beckoned, but you put your trust in me. Your faith in human goodness is rare.”

“I could sense the good in you. That’s why I didn’t try to dodge. You could have killed me just now, but you stayed your hand…and M/n has always been the more cautious between us.”

"Someone has to be." The god's voice now faint, a ghost, because what he had just heard now danced through his mind, and he had no idea what that meant for his own existence.

“Look at his face. It’s like all the rage and hatred he had when Dio brought him back are gone. His features are so calm. He could be a bloke catching up with his oldest mate.”

“Once I’d have railed against the pain I feel…yet now, going to my rightful end, I cherish all that proves me human. It gives me joy. The embers dull within me, but I am tranquil.” Bluford murmured, gaze unfocused, even as his lips shifted in a soft, almost fragile, grin. “There is no bitterness left. Is this what dying feels like? What irony to live yet again, dying with thanks on my lips for the very man who slaughters me anew. It doesn't feel familiar. Maybe you were correct about me in the past, but…I shall return to my one true master. I would know the name of the warriors who bested me, would you kindly do me that honor?”

"It’s Jonathan Joestar."

"M/n."

“Sir Jonathan, I leave you, and you alone, this sword, given to me by my precious queen, and the word engraved on it. If only due to Sir M/n having no need for what this knight could offer. Luck,” and a thin line of his own blood he changed the foundation of the blade's meaning. “But first, let me affix my own benediction. Pluck.”

“Sir Bluford!”

“Heh, how could I bless you with anything else, Sir Jonathan?”

Bluford crumbled to dust in front of them...and the most beautiful lilies grew for his grave.

“Go you to your rest, let no one doubt you have earned it, Bluford. Why? Why did I have to strike him down to redeem his soul?”

"Not even Shakespeare himself could write such a tragedy." M/n agreed, though he felt sick at the thought.

“He died once before with hate in his heart, but his spirit was still pure. He returned not out of choice, but dragged above by Dio’s evil, his evil and the mask’s power. I will send them both to hell before the dawn!”

"To avoid blaming a victim is mature of you. Still, I wonder if his fate was due to his title as a hero."

"...?" Jonathan looked to M/n, kneeling next to the armor set left behind, a light shift of his hand allowed for Jonathan to note that the other was holding a broken piece of Bluford's armor. The segment was from the chest plate, dented and clawed, and he couldn't help but wonder what exactly M/n had done to damage such sturdy metal. "What do you mean by that?"

"In Greek tragedies a rule to follow was that the character had to start from a position of prosperity so they have everything to lose when they fall. Bluford at the height of his life couldn't get any higher...so was he destined to fall? When Theseus entered the depths of the labyrinth and slayed the minotaur to save his people he didn't get a reward, they exiled him, and because of that he was cursed to die alone. Unloved and unmourned. One could have argued that there wasn't a single person that cared for him at the bitter end, they probably didn't even know his name, yet no version of the tale has him dying while cursing the world. Instead he'd have done it a thousand times over to save his people...knowing the ending wouldn't change his plan. Yet now we've all heard of those myths. Coiner gloria sera venit. That kind of thing only happens to heroes. Heroes die and become myth, they never come back after their purpose is over, and that's it. The Greeks knew that better than anyone else. Heroes don't get happy endings...people lie about it, or maybe they live in a delusion, but sacrifices are...they form the ending that needs to happen. Only heroes die and get happily remembered...while no one remembers the monster's name."

"M/n...?"

"At least people will speak of him with some sort of happiness, that's more than most, and strangely...I respect him. But he was clearly worth ten of me from the very beginning." The god swayed on his feet, yet he didn't flinch at Jonathan's hand when it came to rest on his shoulder, instead he swallowed down the bile. "I'm sorry...I don't say it enough for you, but I really am sorry about everything. I...I wish I could just fix everything, but I'm a coward."

"M/n, I don't need you to apologize-"

They don't have time to keep talking. His instincts scream to move, and Tarkus is upon them in an instant.

…if he felt pain, would he fit Jonathan's definition of humanity?

A cobra in a hayloft, coiling, hissing,

Two people, drowsy, pillowed together in a one person bed;

While in the east, across the darkness,

Flame starts to form.

“Jojo, M/n, he’s right behind you!”

“Tarkus!”

M/n wants to laugh the moment he lands on his feet and realizes how wrong this all is. How he pushed a narrative on a man who was the furthest thing from a sinner, and how Tarkus ‌saw that death as one of a coward when it took more bravery to die at peace than it would ever in combat. Fools, the both of them, but it opened his eyes to the true text on the page.

It didn't stop the armor from being crushed, even if the lilies were far more resistant than expected.

“You villain! That was the armor of a steadfast friend and comrade. He died with honor and dignity.”

“He died like a spineless dog!”

The strike of his sword moved the earth, earning a flinch from Jonathan. His panic changed to a new direction as the debris was tossed towards their allies. "Watch out!"

"Oh, these pieces are spraying wide and fast like shrapnel from an explosion! Should we duck to the ground? Or jump above it? No, either way these fragments are going to hit me!" Zeppeli jumped, his frame entering the center of the radius, yet glowing a brilliant gold. "This is the only way; a hamon shield that minimizes the area struck."

"Mister Zeppeli?!?" Both Jonathan and Speedwagon called in panic when his body hit the ground, the amount of blood dripping from his new wounds had certainly made the god watch him more closely, but he pushed himself up with a pained hiss.

"Urk, I'm all right. Sheesh...it seems as if releasing this man's soul from Dio's thrall will earn us some broken bones."

"Some broken bones?" Tarkus shook his head, the grin he wore, one of a beast as he adjusted his stance. "Don't make me laugh! I'll leave you all in bloody shreds."

There is honestly nothing righteous about what you're doing. This is akin to an art project about your self loathing, and now you've made it everyone's problem. I'm sorry about what happened. I really am. But you're not the only person in the world with a dead dog.

He does need water, but not as much as he thinks.

Somewhere along the way that child comes back, the god can't fathom it, but he comes with two others who throw him to the wolves the moment they get the chance. Jonathan grabs him before anything bad can happen, and the world spins. The god shifts to the front of their group. While he knew Jonathan's good nature, he had accidentally dragged the boy into his battle with Dio…and he doubted that history wouldn't somehow repeat itself. Fate was a funny thing.

“Jojo, nice catch!”

"Oh, it's that brat from before! I wondered what happened to him."

"Are you telling me, Robert, that you somehow lost track of a child on the battlefield?" The blond flinched at the god's question, earning an inaudible sigh from him. "Never mind. We have bigger problems to deal with right now."

"Let loose a cry of despair!" Tarkus's voice boomed as he leveled his sword at them. “He was too clever by half, liked winning his fights with thinking. I just hit ‘em until they fall to pieces! What use have I got for clever? I carry a sword as tall as a man. None on you will get an easy death.”

"You'd even kill a child?"

"Of course," with that, the zombie struck the earth with his blade, and the ground beneath them ruptured. The god flinched when Jonathan reached out, seemingly by instinct, and casually lifted him off the ground while still holding that child. On some level he was aware of his body's weight and Jonathan's strength...but this was a bit too much for him.

"The...the cliff is-"

"I swear to...Robert, if you point out the obvious one more time I'll save Tarkus the work and strangle you myself!" M/n hissed out, even if his current position made him look more like a puffed up cat than a general threat, and Jonathan sighed, somehow fondly, by the god's ear.

"M/n, please behave."

"No." His venom died the moment they could see what Tarkus had unveiled...buildings embedded in the cliffside. The artistic side of the god wanted to write about these buildings, to describe each line of detail, and the rest wanted nothing more than to live here. He...he almost felt safe. "Is that...?"

"The old knight's training grounds. Still, to think they cover so much space."

"Those ruins?" The child flinches, the smell of fear nearly drowning out everything, yet manages to finish his train of thought. "Nobody goes there anymore because it's supposed to be haunted."

"Hm, that was close. If we had been any closer we'd have fallen to our deaths. But where is Tarkus?" Zeppeli's question was answered with the sounds of screams, and they looked up to see those other children had been caught. They barely had a chance to call for help before they were crushed together like two ripened fruit, and the giant proceeded to open his mouth...to catch that blood that emerged. It almost resembled a burst pipe. He shuddered, yet hadn't his stand done the same in the past? Was it because they were children? Or was it connected to Bluford's death?

"Don't look, Poco!"

"What a bastard." M/n twitched at Zeppeli's words. While accurate, it was a bit...strange to say in such a casual manner.

"Merely sacks of fresh blood. I'll do the same to you." Tarkus charged towards them, M/n was reminded of a bull, and was then promptly tossed over Jonathan's shoulder.

“Hmm, these dead leaves. Jojo!”

“Yes, sir!”

"What...what is even happening today?" He managed to get out as both Jonathan and Zeppeli looked towards the piles of leaves surrounding them, sharing a quick nod, earning a frantic hiss from M/n. This behavior meant hamon was going to be involved. "Wait...wait...this is going to involve hamon isn't it? Put me down! You know how my body reacts!"

"And leave you with Tarkus?!?"

"Yes! At least I can outrun him. With hamon I'll burn from the inside out!"

"We're not going to be using it on you. Do you trust me, M/n?"

"...always." Because how could he not?

And so they plummeted while Tarkus laughed.

Do you think you could ever leave this place behind? You were born in the dirt and you'll die in it. Your memories hang around your neck like a noose. It's best not to dwell on it.

“We’re flying? I can’t believe it! How on earth are you doing this? Are you even human or servants of god?” No one understood why M/n lost it when Poco asked them that, but Jonathan managed a slightly strained smile while Speedwagon perked up. The blond looked happy while M/n was certain he'd be wheezing if he actually needed air from how hard he was laughing. His shoulders were shaking. The voices howled in glee, a few whispered to tell the truth, but the rest merely appreciated the irony.

"That's what I've been saying! Since Dio put on that mask unbelievable things have been happening constantly. Human rationality's been thrown out the window, but I suppose the greatest mystery remains you, Mister Zeppeli, or perhaps you, M/n."

"Me?" M/n speaks before Zeppeli, he has to, if only for himself. He can't let people know about his secrets...but the feeling of joy lingers when he turns his head to stare at Speedwagon. "How am I mysterious? Jonathan's known me since he was twelve!"

"You're a complicated case," Speedwagon responded, but his gaze quickly went to Zeppeli. "But where did you learn these techniques?"

"Why are we doing this now?" Slumping against Jonathan's form as they continued to glide towards a perch the god was really starting to feel annoyed. "There were a thousand better moments for you to ask these questions."

"M/n..."

"Fine...fine."

"Mister Speedwagon, do you know what our most important goal is on this quest?"

"Yeah, I know it all too well. We need to destroy Dio and the mask that created him." Speedwagon retorted, not even noticing how M/n's face fell slightly at the mention of Dio. You could say that you will kill whoever threatened humanity...but it didn't change your feelings on the matter.

"Correct. Since you're already involved with the mask, I'll tell you more about my past...or ‌my past involving the ripple. I was young...it was only two years after my encounter with the mask that destroyed the ship and turned my father into a demon. I was traveling the world in search of any information relating to the mask, but no matter how far I traveled, I came up empty. Where had it gone? The mask wasn't destroyed after the accident, so it had to be in someone's possession. Then in a small Indian town, I met a strange man. He looked younger than me but called himself a doctor...I was shocked. Watching his method of healing was...unbelievable! He worked on an old man whose leg was so badly infected, most would've gone for amputation to save his life, instead with a single touch the area where maggots were festering reverted to a healthy shade of pink...I could only think about how his hands glowed like the sun. I realized it was the opposite of the stone mask. When my father wore the stone mask, he became a parasite that drained the life out of everyone around it, but this man bestowed life on everyone he touched. I needed to learn that power to stand against the mask." Zeppeli trailed off, though he seemed to have satisfied Speedwagon's curiosity, and that was more than enough for now. 'I...I can't bring myself to tell any of them about my master's prophecy.'

Two souls in the group bound by prophecy, ironic, isn't it?

A dynamic self portrait you've outgrown several times.

You fear the painful parts of your history permanently attached to your name.

Vulnerabilities.

Distilled.

Into.

Endless.

Palatable.

Fractions.

“So that sound, that’s part of hamon doing its thing, yeah?” Speedwagon's question seemed rather funny since hamon made noises similar to electricity sparking or crackling flames, while the sound above their heads was crumbling rocks and the snarls of a beast. No one seemed pleased at the sound. A shadow forms over them and the weight of the situation is even more obvious.

“Hardly.” Jonathan's voice was panicked, and far too loud, making the god wince out of habit as he was forced to push himself down when Tarkus destroyed a segment of the leaf glider in a single swipe. He hears something else crack, pink haze drowns them all, his stand lashes out in retaliation while Jonathan makes a sound that resembles a whine. "M/n...your...your shoulder!"

"Just a flesh wound. I'll be fine by the time we reach our destination." He hisses, trying to mimic the expression someone would give if their shoulder had been ripped open, and hopefully his bones reforming would be a quiet affair. His regeneration was at its fastest since entering the mortal plane...so this should be fine. "Just stings. If we have the chance, Zeppeli can look at it."

“Of course I will. Still, he's insane, leaping from that height just to give chase to his foes. There’s a goodly amount of hamon holding those leaves together, you brute, painful to the touch for the undead.” At Zeppeli's instructions they made the leap...and M/n realized that he really wished he had remained on top of the cliff to find his own way down since his position made movement difficult. While everyone would see his blood as scarlet, if only for a bit, it would still be complicated if they saw how quickly it healed, if not for Zeppeli being able to wave it away.

He ended up flat on his stomach, his legs completely folded over with the heels of his boot lightly tapping his earlobes, and god, he missed wearing earrings, but it wasn't hard for him to uncoil and spring back to his feet. With a groan, the god quickly ripped part of his left sleeve off, even if it revealed his armband and the start of Diavolo, and wrapped the area where he had been wounded. It was already healed, but for now, playing the role of a mortal was all that mattered. Looking up, he noted all of them awkwardly adjusting to their sudden landing as a low crashing sound echoed below them.

"So, Tarkus hit that stone wall?" M/n nodded, approaching the Italian male so he could quickly spare a glance at his work before giving it a nod of approval. Or whatever would keep Jonathan and Speedwagon from pressing the issue. "He may be a zombie, but his body must have been ripped apart. Unlike Dio, who wore the mask, Tarkus shouldn't have a strong enough regeneration to reform from the impact, so he'll be immobile and die when the sun hits his remains."

"We can only hope."

"He's moving." All of them looked at Jonathan leaning over the stone wall. The god twitched at the sound of stone breaking beneath someone's hands and weight, and he saw exactly what he expected to see. Tarkus climbing up the wall.

"What an interesting man. It's as if he lives to only fight...I mean, his bones should have shattered from the impact alone! Our goal may be to defeat Dio, but if he keeps chasing us, then we have no choice. We'll have to get rid of Tarkus here and now." M/n turns as Zeppeli speaks. From what he can see, there's no other way to leave that doesn't involve the doorway in front of them, so he ignores them discussing the child they acquired and grips the handle.

"M/n, get out of the way!" His stand forms at Jonathan's scream. The door opens as a steel collar snaps around his neck, and his stand tries to force him to stay grounded...but he gets shot into the room.

The crack of his neck fills the air.

Walking home, I found a dead body. Jammed between the brickwork of a retaining wall. The head and limbs stuck out like overgrown grass. I had called the cops, but...they never removed the body.

In fact, now there are more. All with faces of people I once knew.

…I started taking the bus home.

The god's body is swung upward, the bones in his neck forcing themselves back into place despite still being tossed around, as he hears Tarkus enter the room followed by a collar snapping around the zombie's neck. Awkward landing to be sure. He's sure the scars on his ankles are throbbing and watches as the massive zombie adjusts the collar. He already hates the weight on his neck, how it holds him down, and what exactly it means for a creature of his nature...and the door's closed...trapping them in this room.

“The hell…? Tarkus, guess I should’ve expected that.”

“Yes. Caught you good. You’re fleet of foot, little man, but now you and me are chained to each other. You got nowhere to run. A chained death match in the lair of the two-headed dragon.” Tarkus purred, sounding as if he had come home after a long journey, and M/n raised an eyebrow at him. "An ancient sparring ground and home of the chain death-match."

"...two-headed dragon...? Really? That's the name you all decided to go with? Like, I'm sure there has to be a better option that doesn't sound...quite that pointed...you know what I mean?" Noting the amused look he was receiving M/n quickly changed directions. "Then again, I guess we're stuck here since Dio ordered you not to kill me, if you didn't care about that you wouldn't have tried to stop Bluford when he had me pinned, so we're at a standstill. No one would want to deal with Dio's raw anger...trust me on that one."

"Oh no, there would be nothing more rewarding than to slay someone as important as you. This also serves as my first proper match in three hundred years, so I wouldn't want anyone else to carry such an honor. As for Lord Dio...do you think he'll cry for you?"

"Maybe." M/n shrugged his shoulders with a lazy grin, someone cooing in his ear about death matches and what they meant. "He is rather attached to me, but he's also rather good at bottling up anything he'd consider to be a weakness. Though if you really want to fight me I'll give it everything I've got. Two-headed dragon, dragon decapitation...that kind of name really makes me eager, even if I like snakes more, and I've never had a fight that didn't end with me winning. So, is that name symbolic or do I have to actually decapitate you to win?"

“I killed forty-eight men here.Taking a life’s an art form, and I’m a master.” M/n registered Jonathan and Zeppeli attacking the door, trying and failing to break it down, and how everyone...wanted to help him. It was...it was...something that he didn't know how to handle, so he bares his fangs and makes his nature clear with a laugh.

"Forty-eight? We had a conversation with Dio where he mentioned killing far more to heal his wounds, and you want me to cower at people? Or that silly artist comment? I'm not that kind of man. Now, are there any rules to this cage match, and how do I know if there's even a key for this collar?"

"The key to unlocking that collar is right here." Raising a hand, Tarkus touched the center of his own collar, earning a confused hum. "That door's designed to remain closed from when the fight starts, and in the center of our own collar is the key to the other. The only rule that exists is that one must destroy the other's head to win. Do that and you'll be free."

"Destroy their head? Sounds simple enough." Tarkus laughs at that, but he summons his stand, and the zombie doesn't even seem to care...but then again he isn't certain that regular zombies could even see the outline of Narcissistic Cannibal behind him. If he wasn't being watched, he'd have attempted asking the other. Then he jumps up, gripping his chain, and M/n is mostly saved by his stand, grabbing their end to brace him.

"Ckh-" Whatever he was about to say was still cut off. He doesn't really note how raspy and harsh it sounds given that his voice always sounds like that, but his mind is stuck on the pressure. There's a mass of scar tissue that messes with the vocal folds in his throat, pressing and shifting against it, and he can only think about how Ajamu slit his throat the way he did. Raspy and always sounding breathy, some liked to claim that he purposefully sounded dramatic or on the verge of a panic attack at all times, but he's more bothered by how it works with the state of his tongue than anything else. Hissing and breathy, which made him just sound like an ass. "Son of a..."

He slams a fist against the chain, awkwardly hooking his fingers through one of the large loops of the chain, yet it doesn't stop him from being slammed in the ceiling hard enough for his spine and teeth to audibly click. Ichor drips from his lips, molten gold and warm, and he wants to laugh because this isn't new. His fingers are broken...his hand should hurt...and his throat is pushing against steel. This is strange, but he doesn't really care anymore.

'It's...I'm glad I was the one to get caught...if I remember correctly then hamon wouldn't be able to travel through this chain, not that he'd be able to breathe in this situation.' Tarkus charges at him, the chain sways at the pull on the other end, and M/n feels his stand block the kick only to lash out with his tail and claws. The zombie hisses, but the god accepts the air that he doesn't even need, and with a solid swing of motion, his feet are down on the ground. Voices howled loudly in his ears to the strange beat of his heart. 'If I hadn't used Narcissistic Cannibal, that would've broken my arm and ribs...if he didn't try to fully sever my lower half from the rest of me. Though this collar is more annoying than I expected. I can't breathe...and eventually they'll realize I'm not suffocating.'

…Ajamu, do you have any ideas?

"I've finally found happiness." A virgin once chirped while laying in a sea of rose petals. Blood dripping down his left leg. He won't be able to tell you where it comes from. He's a fading reality of you. You bit the apple at thirteen...but the image dies at fourteen. Irony. A snake is there. Slowly encroaching on the virgin's shadow. It lunges and swallows the image whole.

It doesn't change what happened.

It doesn't make you holy.

It just makes you tired...heavy...and you drown in the apathy.

Nobody finds any trace of the virgin.

"Baron Zeppeli, do you see that lever inside the room? It looks like it could open that door!" Speedwagon sticks his arm through the gap to gesture towards the aforementioned lever, and Zeppeli tilts his head to better examine it. The placement seems to suggest that it would hopefully open the door, but his gaze goes to M/n, who holds the chain with a laugh. He may pant, but he still seems confident.

Though he's learned that M/n can be a talented actor when he wants to be.

"M/n has already made his first move against Tarkus, so despite being alone he's clearly going to fight. But he must have lost a lot of stamina from dealing with Bluford and Dio." Truthfully he doesn't know how M/n's body works or what could bring the male to his knees, but he sees how his hands twitch and clench into fists as Tarkus laughs at the gashes he inflicted on the zombie. "No matter what it takes, we have to get in there and help him."

"The path that Tarkus took..." Jonathan's eyes light up, and he looks ever so desperate when his gaze goes to the railing, and Zeppeli knows that he'll do anything to help save the other. They were clearly bound by some chain of fate.

"We don't have time to go through that path, and those holes in the wall could only fit an animal or child...wait, a child!" Speedwagon went silent when Zeppeli quickly put a hand on his shoulder and moved to whisper in his ears.

"If a normal human enters that room they'll be killed almost instantly by Tarkus...Mister Speedwagon, can we really ask a mere child to enter that hole and risk his life for people he doesn't know?"

"Damn it!" Speedwagon slams his hands against the door, watching the form of M/n shift to avoid being choked. Jonathan was already looking as if he was about to jump down to enter the hole Tarkus had made, and Zeppeli looked between the pair while the god continued his struggle. "I'm always little more than a bystander...I can’t do anything!"

"Jojo, that door won't open, so we have no choice but to use the path that Tarkus created."

"Right!"

"But that will take too long!"

"So? It's our best option at the moment."

They say children are inherently selfish...but you can safely say that most don't know a damn thing.

Sometimes I long to return to a life that was simpler. Smaller. Painful in a comprehensible way.

...yet I'm still healing from the damage of those 'comforting' times.

"What the...get out of here kid!" M/n bares his fangs at the child, mentally wincing when he sees the pure fear on his face, and he jerks the chain to glare at Tarkus who's looking towards the child as if he's nothing more than a piece of meat. "I know you're worried...or whatever...but I'm handling this just fine on my own. So get out and tell the others I'll be done in a bit."

"I won't allow any interference with this fight!" Tarkus charges like a wild bull, there's no opportunity for the boy to dodge, and he gets kicked as if he's little more than litter on the side of the road. There's a crack when his body slams into the wall...and he moves, but even then M/n is filled with anger. A snarl escapes his lips, sounding more like a wild animal than human in the moment, and there's a wet tearing sound when he lunges to jerk the male back, snarling all the while. His stand is a snake that doesn't let go of his prey, and he snaps his jaws at the growl he receives. Dio's right...he hates fighting, but he's also designed for it. "Oh, do you have a problem with this?"

"This fight is between you and me! No one else!" He growls out, and he knows his eyes are gold, but he has to keep this kid safe. The voices are howling loudly for him to protect this kid, and he listens to them completely.

He hears the creak of a lever, gets crushed under the boot of Tarkus, and his vision blurs while a saint screams his name.

"Oh, wake up darling, it's time for you to wake up."

Someone's trailing fingers over his jaw before settling into his hair slowly, forcing him to wake up. It isn't fun, but he opens his eyes and squints awkwardly at the amount of sunlight on his face. There's a river in front of him, a clearing surrounding him, and then his senses come back to him. His head is in somebody's lap and he's halfway in the water, yet he doesn't fear the baptism, even as the river ripples and dances against his skin. His fingers twitch, nails scraping at the damp mud, and he can hear birds singing in the distance.

Along with the jasmine that's coming from the person holding him.

He manages a strangled laugh. He can only hope it will hide the shake in his voice, and looks up. The back of his head is pushed back down into the lap and the fingers slowly pause in their carding before slowly continuing their soothing pace.

"Hello miracle."

…and...and it's her .

There's a swirling storm of mixed emotions that sends his heart into a frenzy against his ribcage. Each frantic ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, pumping him with so much relief, panic, sorrow, pain, anger, confusion...and joy.

Joy .

Every atom in the god's frame shakes, his very existence trembles, and a small whimper leaves him with the next unsteady breath that he allows himself to take. A hand cradles the side of his face and he lifts his own to hold it. He's terrified of hurting her. Her skin is so soft, so much softer than his own from when he was mortal.

She's... she's so frail .

He feels the tears run down his face. For once he's glad that he doesn't have any makeup on, as they land in her palm. Her gaze softens, if that was possible, and she runs her thumb along his face...where...where his old scar used to be, as if thanking any gods who cared that he wasn't scarred anymore.

"Hey...mom," M/n's voice was barely there, a dying whisper, and he can't help but wonder if she even hears him, but then she smiles and it's fucking dazzling. Everything about her is glowing; her hair falls around her shoulders like an inky black halo and her laugh lines stretch beautifully around her lips.

And her eyes...fuck...her eyes...they've never been greener or filled with more life.

M/n can't breathe.

And this time, it's okay.

She only cups the other side of his jaw with her free hand and takes a deep breath, she looks away for a moment before blinking hurriedly and swallowing loudly. He mimics her unintentionally. Then she chuckles to herself quietly, a sound he had forgotten, and looks down at him, revealing her own tears.

"You know, I really thought I'd be able to make it through without crying...but...you're my baby, and you're in, and you've been through so much pain."

M/n shakes his head, and despite how he fears hurting her, he folds his fingers around his mother's hand.

"No, no, Mom, I'm fine. I'm okay-"

She shakes her head then and silences him with a finger to his lips, only pulling away to go back to running her fingers through his hair when he goes silent. She closes her eyes and takes another deep, steadying breath before opening her eyes again and looking at the water.

"Back when you were little, maybe three or four, I took you to a river by our house and it was just like this one. Your...your father wasn't living with us and I had a day off from work...and we went here as a family," she smiles at the memory, "I tried to teach you how to swim, but I don't think it worked out in the end."

"I know how to swim."

She pauses and bites her lip at that, looking down at her son with more tears rushing from her eyes. "You were so happy."

She was clearly pushing for something...she was trying to tell him something important, but all he wanted was to stop her tears. It's all he's ever wanted.

"I'm happy, mom."

The lie sounds even worse when he says it out loud, and M/n winces at the sound of his own voice, and he knows his mother will know.

She just smiles through her tears and cradles his face gently, her fingertips grazing the scar under his throat.

"Oh baby, no, no, you're not. So much has happened to you, and so much has yet to happen. But I want you to try, okay? Please tell me you'll try to be happy?"

"Mom, I don't understand."

"You could start a farm, maybe? You always loved animals, loved the work it took to make it blossom. Or you could write? M/n-" She stops and M/n meets her eyes. There's an intensity there, a push for him to understand.

"This...this isn't even real. I...you aren't in my stand...you're just something I made up."

She cups each side of his face with her hands again, holding him with a careful urgency, her fingers splaying across his cheeks and her thumbs tracing his hairline. Automatically his own hands grip her slim wrists and his, no longer calloused, fingertips press against her pulse point and her heartbeat thrums. Warm and alive .

"You're allowed to be happy." She bends down so she can look perfectly into his eyes. He doesn't know their color, yet her voice is solid despite the tears falling from her face and baptizing his own. "You're allowed to say 'no more' to pain, M/n. You have so, so many people waiting for you. They want you to be happy. Some would do whatever you need them to. Baby, I-I...find your place. Rest by the water again. Write your own narrative and raise animals...grow the loveliest plants and just be happy. I know you have things to do, you have so many great things to accomplish, you have so many responsibilities and I'm so proud of you, of the man you've become...no matter what you've done...or maybe because of what you've done-just, promise me you'll try to be happy. When the decision comes that you'll choose your happiness?"

Her voice is edging on desperate by the time she stops talking, M/n's own voice spectacularly seems to have lodged itself in his throat. He nods his head anyway, barely breaking the eye contact they have.

She sighs out of relief, her breath ghosting across his forehead carrying the scent of jasmine, and she bends down to kiss the skin there, her lips soft and feather light. Her fingers relax from their grip and brush through his hair once more. M/n's own hands falling, one clinging to the fabric of her dress and the other gliding down to clench the grains of sand between his palms and fingers.

"I, mom, can I-" M/n starts, finally finding his voice. It sounds wrecked and absolutely horrible, but his mother only smiles gently in response and wipes her tears away with one hand and looks to the river, the sunlight framing her face and the breeze catching her hair.

"No, no, darling, this isn't-This is," she pauses and looks down again, the smile still playing on her lips. "This is just a small pit stop before you wake up."

M/n feels a moment of panic shoot through him, and he jolts before she rests a hand against his chest, pressing him back into her lap.

"Mom...I want to stay with you."

She shakes her head and pats the side of his face again.

"M/n, you're not leaving this very second. We still have time."

"So...we can just sit here, right? For a little longer? You're not gonna..." M/n swallows. Awkwardly raising his arms and making a pop noise, followed by his fingers dancing through the air mimicking smoke.

She laughs.

She laughs and M/n feels like flying.

"No, no, there's no disappearing act right now. We can sit here for as long as you like." A calm passes over M/n and he falls even deeper into her lap with the river lapping at his sides.

He closes his eyes, and his mother hums.

The god is reborn to a saint's screams.

There was a part of him that didn't want to wake up, but he had spent so long dreaming that he'd already forgotten the sun, so he did what he must. His mother's voice drowns to the rest of the crowd that howls for his awakening...and he can't smell even a hint of jasmine. Instead, his body is once again tossed towards the heavens, and he chokes on blood when his neck breaks, but he's awake. He spots Jonathan running in the room, followed by Zeppeli and Speedwagon, and all he can do is laugh through his own blood and haze.

'Soft hearted fool.' Yet the venom in his tone isn't real or long lasting. 'While it's nice, they actually got in here to help me...I don't know how they plan on saving me. This collar only opens when he dies...or when my head is destroyed. Besides, Tarkus is only playing around right now, tugging the chain around and throwing simple kicks. He's been in here too many times not to have a better strategy. This part's going to be difficult.'

"M/n, are you okay?"

"The cracking isn't as bad as it sounds." He gets out when Jonathan reaches his side. The blood is pretty easy to swallow down, and his throat doesn't even burn. Then Tarkus does a single motion with the chain. M/n doesn't have time to blink because he's in the coil of steel with Jonathan. He snaps his jaws awkwardly when he feels the heat of hamon lying under Jonathan's skin, almost as if waiting to burn him to ash, and they both get tossed up again with a feral snarl. He can hear Jonathan panic and fail to draw breath. "Tch-!"

“Infinite. Is tonight the night that I go to my grave?

"...?"

“Fate is a fickle mistress, but I cannot deny her.”

“Zeppeli…why do you sound so dire?”

All the scholar does is take another step forward.

In a secret chamber, filled with the scent of decay and death, yet baptized in the ichor of a god. When a new generation opens the gate to the chamber you'll enter to save a young lion who attempted to free divinity as a snake...you will be the flame that closes his wounds, yet in the end it will bring you to a painful death.

I suppose that leads to a simple question; are you a man who will die for the future?

'I think I finally understand what you meant by that.'

“Baron Zeppeli, be careful, my friend.”

“...here I come, Jojo!”

The moment he steps in, the scent of mold and blood fills his senses, threatening to drown everything else out, yet he doesn't pause and his gaze doesn't stray. He can't let it stray. Yet he doesn't stagnate. Just like the hamon that dances through his bloodstream, he continues ever flowing and ever present. The words of his master dancing through his head as his gaze lands on the snake and lion, part of himself can't help but wonder how he didn't realize their nature till this very moment, but then it's swallowed by his own desire to save them both. An almost fake, or forced apathy in M/n's expressions and behavior that hides something of divinity, and the love that motivates all his actions even when fear attempts to steer him away from protecting those he cares for. The panic in Jonathan's gaze that only exists because others are being threatened and he isn't sure if he can help them in his current state. He wants nothing more than to let those expressions live and grow...and what is worth more than the future?

“Come to me, fools. You think your hamon will do any good? You little bugs can’t lay a finger on me, no matter how hard you may try!” Tarkus snarls, the chain only grows tighter, and it paints the problem at hand rather clearly. He lunged at Tarkus, hamon burning brighter than it ever had before, and he heard a snake hiss and a lion gasp for breath. His hamon coils around him like a tornado. "Huh? You afraid?”

"Sei un vecchio cieco? La catena è sotto di te, e questo significa che ti intrappola con esso!"

"...!"

“What do you know? Your friend’s right! I call it ‘Hell Heaven Snake Kill’!”

Can anyone really outrun prophecy?

In fear and panic, I escaped the oppressive night that attempted to cover me. My world had been blacker than the pits of hell. An abyss that no mortal dare enter. So I cursed the gods for making me so stubborn. My soul's tired, broken, and conquered. Despite the circumstance, or thought I curse the name fate, of my existence, I've not shed a tear in years. Yet I'm bent and broken. Is apathy worth a damn in this life or the next?

So I look past my current state of anger and apathy, dancing together. Above me looms divinity. and yet the venom and hatred of my early years has left me unafraid of the world at large.

I'm not the master of my fate.

I've never been the captain of my soul.

-A bitter retort at Invictus from someone who tried his fucking best.

There's a moment of silence...then the bodies fell to the floor.

"Jona…Jonathan...? Zep-William? Ehi, vecchio, smettila di giocare e alzati! anziano? Non puoi essere davvero? Io...dai... questo... questo non è... Stai bene?" The god forced himself up into a sitting position, his eyes darting between the other two still forms on the floor, one ripped in half while the other was painfully still, with his neck tilted at an unnatural angle. Jonathan was...no, no, no, why the fuck were his eyes so glazed? M/n leaned forward, brushing his fingers over the male's throat...feeling the wrongness, the lack of breath...of pulse.

"Jojo…?" He twitched at Zeppeli's voice, the fact he was still alive somehow, but it wasn't strong enough to break him out of his daze.

'Ajamu was right...I should've...I spent this entire trip trying to keep you safe...I kept holding back for that one reason...I told myself I wouldn't...what the fuck was this all for?' M/n's finger brushed against his shirt, and he could see the start of the male's birthmark, and he swallowed down bile because ‌he felt relieved. 'No...that can't be true. I can't be...is this how I break the prophecy? I...I would have...I'd have died before I wished this upon you...'

“Lord Dio, as you ordered, they’re dead. Both of them. Yet…somehow you survived. I suppose I'll never know if he'll cry for you, but I'm sure he'll reward me handsomely for this.” Tarkus chuckled softly when M/n looked towards him in surprise. "You won’t shed a tear for either of them?"

"I...I don't think I have any left." A puff of air, flickers of life coming back to the saint, and that's what makes the god's eyes water...but he doesn't. Though he knows in a second that Tarkus has realized that Jonathan's still alive. He shifts to cover the male's form. His stand...his stand wasn't forming...why wasn't it forming? Looking down, he noted his shirt had been torn...the scar on his chest was humming almost...was his stand somehow being blocked? Or was it trying to take over his body again? He wasn't sure.

Purple and green eyes, what must be hundreds, stared up at him from the ceiling.

…Conscious Party?

'There's nothing left in this world for you if he dies, right?'

"Non puoi farmi questo...non di nuovo...Sono stato io ad ucciderti non il contrario. Sono stufo che tu giochi a fare Dio!"

'Oh, N/n, I'm not playing god, you made sure of that. I'm merely playing the role of devil.'

"..."

'I'm only letting things play out. If he lives...well then, you get to keep him. Besides, you still have your physical strength. I'm only stopping your stand, so just fight back. it's not like you can heal him with your blood. The moment it touches hamon, it will be like gas on flames, so make your decision.'

The remains of former gods are hard to simply suffocate, aren't they N/n?

I know what I look like doesn't matter. Especially not in this line of work. It doesn't matter. It doesn't. But I think I'm close to something. There's a shift. It's in my hands. The hairs on the back of my neck. A pulse in my eye. I think maybe if I do this (and nothing but this) I might make something so extraordinary, that I, my body, my face...

…will be blasted off the surface of the earth.

No one will ever see me again, but not because I'm not there.

Their eyes will simply glance off,

Blinded completely

By what I've made

-The dream of someone who creates for others

"Jonathan!"

"So the other draws breathe as well?" M/n's eyes darted between the major players of this match. Tarkus clearly had the advantage. Speedwagon would be dead on the spot, Poco wouldn't last either, and Zeppeli and Jonathan both hung in the gallows...even if they hadn't completely suffocated yet. What would cut his losses? What would be the right thing to do? Save the two that couldn't fight back and run like a coward...or protect the two injured but reveal himself as something other than human? “Even with a broken neck, you have the poor taste to still be alive? Allow me to finish you off.”

“Jo-Jojo,” you freeze when Zeppeli drags himself forward to take his hand, and quickly recoiled at the pressure forming in the air.

“Lively for only half a man.”

“Freely I give this…freely I give this to you! My ultimate technique! Jojo, take it! Make it yours!” He takes his hand, and M/n jolts back with a hiss at the pressure forming in the air. Jonathan screams, fabric ripping and tearing...no, burning away, all from the intense heat of the hamon sparking through his body. “Done. Jojo, I have passed on to you all the hamon which was mine to control in this life."

'Oh, could you imagine how different things would be if they had been willing to do that for you? Or if they even could?'

It turned out he still had tears to shed after all.

So by the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all of his work.

Immersion baptism.

(Also known as baptism by immersion or baptism by submersion)

And God said, "let there be light," and there was light.

The lord God said, "it's not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him."

But for Adam no suitable helper was found.

The first man was from the earth; a man of dust.

The second man is from heaven.

So, flesh and bone remains by the telephones. All he needs to do is lift up the receiver and God's words will make him a believer. Do you not believe me? Then put me to the test. There are things on your chest that you need to confess, right?

“Go, dear friend. Go…Baron Zeppeli!” Speedwagon wailed. At least M/n wasn't the only one crying, but he stared at the older version of Zeppeli. The man now looked as if he was well past his sixties or seventies, fully gray and withered, but it was confusing enough for him to look at the dying male in open shock. M/n looked at Jonathan. His neck was repairing itself, but he hadn't even opened his eyes yet.

“A touching display, but I’m still going to grind you into red pas-”

And then there was Tarkus, once again trying to kill them, and the god ignores how hamon burns him and uses his stand to move Zeppeli while he gets Jonathan out of the way...but then he's stopped. A hand grips the chain that connects him to Tarkus and in an instant Tarkus is slammed to the ceiling while Jonathan slowly comes to stand on his own. The other hand rested at the god's throat, fingers curling around the steel collar, and he didn't wince at the pull.

“You can’t do this.”

“What? He hauled Tarkus off the ground like a sack of turnips. It’s as if the hamon healed his broken neck.”

"M/n...I need you to stay still for me." Jonathan let go of the chain, moving both hands to work at prying the collar apart, and for the life of him M/n couldn't bring himself to do anything else but follow Jonathan's command. Why...? He knew that if he attempted it the collar would be shattered in several pieces, and if he really wished it he'd be able to turn it to powder, but all he did was remain still as the male pried it apart.

“Numskull. You actually think you can yank that collar open? You pathetic waste of flesh. I couldn’t pull apart those steel bands, even with all the power given to me by Lord Dio.”

'But what could a god do?'

Yet despite his outrage, the noose around the god's neck was broken, M/n could finally take a deep breath, and Jonathan turned away from him without a word. The god flinched, hand touched the space of his neck that was scarred, and for once he wished he could feel the pain coming from it rather than just pressure and scar tissue. He wanted the old outlet...something that could drown his emotions away. Why...he had wanted this, hadn't he? Didn't that mean that Jonathan only looked to him as a friend or ally rather than a lover? Didn't that mean he was happy that the other and Erina would be ready to build a life once this all ended? He barely registered Speedwagon pulling him away from the fight, or how shaky he had become, but he slumped against a wall till he sat down, taking slow, yet messy breaths. Panic attack after panic attack...why wasn't he better than this?

“Twisted by madness. No human feeling.” Jonathan stalked towards the looming figure while M/n tried to straighten out to watch the fight between his raw panic. “You gave up your redemption when you chose to follow Dio, Tarkus.”

The fight is bloody, one that ends all too quickly, and M/n can't help but wonder how he missed this change in Jonathan.

…did Dio even stand a chance against Jonathan?

There was a point in my past where I thought I may be a dragon in the fairy tale. I guess I can finally tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I could've been some sort of royalty. That would never be true, but that's fine. There's a pink haze drowning me out. I can't even think straight anymore. I can't sit around waiting for you. Or anyone. No one wants to search for someone they don't know. Let alone someone who doesn't attempt to be known.

But a fairy-tale prince would look in the mirror and only see a prince, right?

Yet here I am...coated in blood, having scales...

…and getting stabbed to death.

"Baron Zeppeli! Speak to me!" Jonathan moved the moment the fight was over, not fully registering the blur of motion that was M/n escaping the chamber, and cradled his mentor, who let out a pained wheeze. “This is all so terribly wrong…without you beside me. Without your wisdom and your guidance. How will I make my way through this world?”

“Jojo, you simply must pull yourself together. You’ve no time to waste now. You know what lies ahead. Now go, leave me. Settle accounts with Dio. But first of all, you must destroy the mask. Please don’t cry. No tears. I am satisfied. I have lived my destiny. When I was young, I was very happily married, but to pursue the mask. I left my family behind. However, I’ve never regretted the choice I’ve made. I accept it completely, and in the end it’s good. In the end, I can see that my choice was the right one. Jojo, you are my deliverance, you and M/n both, it seems to me that in you I have found both a best friend and a new family. Though M/n would never agree on that. Be careful with that one. He's far more fragile than he lets on. Jojo, through you, I will live on forever.”

And then…he died.

So, Jojo once again inherits a father figure's lifestyle and spirit.

'To love and win is the best thing. To love and lose the next best.'

-William M. Thackery, 19th Century English Writer

M/n knew he wouldn't be able to sit with Zeppeli as he died...he couldn't...and it had taken all of his strength to escape that chamber and throw up over the railing that prevented him from merely flinging himself off the cliff, yet he still clings to it like a lifeline. It doesn't matter. His hearing is sharp enough for him to hear every word...and he can't bring himself to ignore a single syllable. He...he didn't know how to handle death, or rather he had never known how to handle death. With Sir Joestar's death he had been silent, then Dio being revived had sent him into action, but now it weighed heavily on his chest.

He should've expected this.

Ajamu had never shied away from discussing what exactly immortality meant when interacting with mortals. In fact, he had taken great pleasure in highlighting how many generations had passed him by, but M/n had purposefully ignored humans till now. The nine years with the Joestar family hadn't given him many opportunities to watch those he cared for die. Danny was expected, even if Dio hadn't interfered, but...he had never planned on staying this long.

'If Jonathan will be my killer-'

"M/n...?" He jolted, a hand grabbing the back of his shirt to prevent him from falling, and he glanced back to stare at Jonathan in surprise. Though the other seemed to be just as surprised as him. Had...had Jonathan really seen him cry before? He was pulled into a hug before he could say anything and despite himself, he threw his arms around the other with a wet sob. "I'm...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry."

"You shouldn't be saying that...I should be apologizing. I was the one that got trapped. If I had just finished Tarkus before that kid got inside, it would all be fine. I should've taken it more seriously...I should've..."

"This isn't your fault!"

"Then...then it isn't yours." He pulled away, already missing the warmth, and taking a shaky step back. "The fault lies with Tarkus...or Dio himself...and the mask, I suppose. But did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"Not even a single one of your bones will remain in this world. I'm going to erase your evil spirit. You'll sink into the darkness of history forever." While Jonathan had shouted each line at Tarkus full of righteous anger and passion, M/n spoke with no emotion, only pausing once to wipe away the remaining tears staining his face. "Do you think that's what happened to Tarkus?"

"Yes, I do."

“Because he was a monster...he wouldn't have been able to change his nature, right? He'd massacre entire towns if able? Someone who’d fallen into madness? Insanity?”

"Yes...?"

"Understood." M/n's face was purposefully blank, though he heard how his voice wavered, and he was left silently watching the male take a slow breath, trying to stabilize before turning and giving him a weak smile. "Let's get going. We should hit the town soon enough."

Why did he feel as if he had just made a terrible mistake?

Snakes and ladders.

In the entirety of space, time, matter, energy, information, physical laws, and constants held within our own universe, there are points of deviation that bleed into a tree of realities, both within and beyond one's wildest fantasies. Across countless years of research, failure, success, we are blessed with an accumulative knowledge of our own universe from generations past that we can use to build our future. I was raised to feel selfish to see one's own thoughts and problems as cataclysmic, so I must see reason in all things that exist laid bare before me, the good and the bad.

What I fail to incorporate in my understanding is the feeling. You say it's so easy for me, so easy to fall out of feeling.

To think of tragedy beyond my control as naked fact.

How can I fight this? How can any universe go on after this?

Learned experience, cured disease, primary resources, wars, famine of ancient times, can lead and lead and lead and lead-but even now we will never be ready. Even wielding a mighty weapon made with all the combined knowledge of those before us, we will never be ready.

What keeps us going in the face of this uncertainty?

(Inside, beyond reason or doubt, at my fingertips there is nothing I would not give.)

And as my hands itch to map the creases, lines, and textures of your face, to touch, to feel, to be close, I am led to a devastating conclusion.

Even with the entirety of space, time, matter, energy, information, physical laws, and constants conceivable, both inside and beyond a reasonable doubt burning at my fingertips-

There is nothing I would not give to see you simply be okay.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this extra long chapter because I managed to get both Bluford and Tarkus out of the picture in one quick chapter.
Translations:
Farai pensare a tutti che sei poco più di un vecchio perverso!=You're going to make everyone think you're little more than a perverted old man!
Giuro che voi ragazzi prendete solo ruder e ruder.=I swear you youngsters only get ruder and ruder.
Giovane? Se continui a comportarti come se fossi poco più di un bambino, sarò sicuro di mostrarti come il mio morso è molto peggio del mio vecchio corteccia!=Youngster? If you keep acting like I'm little more than a child I'll be sure to show you how my bite is far worse than my bark old man!
Te ne sei reso conto ormai vecchio?=Surely you realized that by now old man?
Coiner Gloria Sera Venit=Fame Comes Too Late To The Dead
Sei un vecchio cieco? La catena è sotto di te, e questo significa che ti intrappola con esso!=Are you blind old man? The chain is below you, and that means he's going to entrap you with it!
Ehi, vecchio, smettila di giocare e alzati! anziano? Non puoi essere davvero?Io...dai... questo... questo non è... Stai bene?=Hey, old man, stop playing around and get up! Old man? You can't really be? I...come on...this...this isn't...are you okay?
Non puoi farmi questo... non di nuovo...Sono stato io ad ucciderti non il contrario. Sono stufo che tu giochi a fare Dio!=You don't get to do this to me...not again...I was the one that killed you not the other way around. I'm tired of you playing god!

Chapter 6: I hate to see you leaving. (A fate worse the dying.)

Summary:

The world's ended and you don't have anything left, but the fields need to be plowed. So get up and get moving.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

‘Strewth, Jonathan and M/n’s demeanor is different, as if the shutters were drawn on their souls. And the same for me. Got no time for tears, only anger. There’ll be plenty of time to cry once we’ve dealt with Dio.’ Speedwagon looked back towards the pair, notably M/n was still ignoring Jonathan, his gaze was on something far away, while the other had a frown on his face as he stayed at the male's side. Not being able to stand the silence, he moved closer to them, clearing his throat to gain their attention. “Oi, Jonathan, Dio was swanning about, saying he’d wipe out the town by tomorrow night. Zombies will multiply, like rats breeding in a refuse heap. No telling what’s been going on down there. Is Wind-Knights Lot alive or undead?”

“My sister, is she alright?”

“Let’s see.” With a nod at the boy, Jonathan moved faster, but he paused when M/n suddenly came to a stop. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side.

"There are still people there. Dio hasn't taken the whole town over yet." Noting their confused looks, he explained. "After a massacre, the air goes still, completely stagnates, and the scent of blood fills the air. The air's not stagnate. Nothing's settled. Not even to foreshadow a massacre."

"You can tell all that from the air?"

"Yes, Robert, I can. Though I can also make an assumption because of the man walking towards us, since he seems completely unharmed." The other three jolted before following his gaze to stare at the figure. "Did...did none of you see him?"

"Oh, that's Adams!" The child, Poco, cried out, causing M/n to look between them.

"Is he...related to...?"

"Poco!" He called, quickly racing towards them earning a confused hum from the god. "A kid like you shouldn't be walking around so late at night."

"Um, Adams, how's my-" In a single motion, the male was knocked to the ground by an invisible force and M/n had moved in front of them.

"M/n?!?"

"What...what just happened?!?"

"Get back! This one's a zombie." There was a blur of motion, one that M/n caught, which was revealed to be the zombie's tongue. He could sense the others tense up behind him, and maybe Jonathan was getting ready to lunge forward, but all he did was crush the thing's head under his boot. The sound of bones breaking and flesh squishing filled the air before he took a step back from the dead thing, awkwardly shaking his shoe to get the blood off, only looking up at their shocked expressions. "What? The air was off! Not to mention he smelled like a rotten corpse. But the town still seems fine, I mean...it may or may not be surrounded by zombies...ghouls...and at least one vampire, but the people are alive in it proper."

“This is no good. We’re too late again.” The god frowned at Jonathan’s words, sparing a look back towards the town, or what was left of it.

“That is correct.” M/n jolted, spinning around to stare at a built man with white hair in a flattop slowly approaching them. Who the fuck was he? “The village is lost. The zombies are everywhere.”

“Oh, no…”

“Not another one. This new enemy actually seems clever, unlike the zombie!” Speedwagon groaned, flinching back when M/n flicked some of the zombie's spit at him with an annoyed glare.

"That was clever? He ran up smelling of rot! Are all of you sick or merely unable to smell?!" Looking back at the stranger, who was setting his senses off, he took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "Besides...this is a regular human, not undead in the slightest, so I'm sure we can handle him."

"What sharp senses you have. I could almost mistake you for something...inhuman." M/n raised an eyebrow at the stranger, vaguely aware of Jonathan pausing and looking towards him in confusion, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. This man's vibe was...off. Couldn't place him. He smelled of more exotic spices that hailed from India...or perhaps further into Asia as a whole, yet his skin tone and accent suggested nothing outside of Europe. He carried himself casually, yet clearly had fighting experience. His current remark also showed a grave amount of awareness...something that could be worrisome for his true nature.

"Really? How so?"

"Your appearance, behavior, stance, and aforementioned senses mark you as ‘other’." The stranger cocked his head to the side, then gestured to the others. “What do you think? I'm sure you've all known this man far longer than I! Would you truly link him to a regular human?”

"Don't I get a say in this?!?" M/n snapped, only looking panicked when he noted how Speedwagon paused and looked at him more closely. "...what?"

"You are rather-"

"You finish that sentence and I let the next zombie get you."

"M/n isn't undead or a vampire." Mentally, the god thanked Jonathan when he pushed himself forward to defend him, even if such an action still stirred up something in his chest, and he took a step back. "I would appreciate it if you introduced yourself and stopped trying to turn us against each other."

“I’m known as Dire.” The stranger, Dire, took a step forward, causing Jonathan to shift into a fighting stance, and with a scoff, the male moved into an attack.

“A kick, but why is he so slow?” On instinct, he moved forward, slamming his hands against the male's calves and forcing his legs open, earning a surprised hiss from the male in question.

"Try this! Thunder Cross Split Attack!" He struck down with his hands only for Jonathan to smash his head against the male's own. Dire hissed out in pain and landed on his carefully brushing his fingers against his forehead. “Are you mad, man? A normal man would pull back, but instead you went on the offensive and attacked me with a headbutt.”

“...” Jonathan merely adjusted his stance, no longer willing to talk, and M/n noted how Speedwagon kept a hand by his waist.

“Wait, please, Jonathan Joestar! As your comrade said, I'm your fellow man. I apologize. You must forgive him. I just wanted to see how well Zeppeli had trained you.”

“What? Did you say, ‘Zeppeli’?”

"You use hamon?" M/n hissed out, eyes wide and pupils blown at the scent of stars now clinging to his skin.

“You heard correctly. Zeppeli is a dear old friend of mine. We have been through many trials together over the past twenty years.”

“That is true.” M/n snarled at the long-haired newcomer. “Hello. My name is Straights. Please read this for your questions.”

“It’s a letter?” Jonathan looked at the item caught underneath his pack’s strap.

"Not only that," M/n murmured, plucking it from the underside of Jonathan's backpack strap and carefully examining the outside. "It seems as if Zeppeli sent out a letter to this man and his allies. That...that explains the hamon. Which one of you is his teacher?"

"It seems as if he was right about how perceptive you are. M/n, right?" He gained a single nod from the male in question. "We’ve only just arrived, but he sent that some time ago requesting our aid. He wrote about the stone mask, where it could be found, and especially about the man who wears it.”

Another figure joined the group and M/n felt a shudder race down his spine.

“Hm?”

“Our training master, Tonpeti.”

“Greetings to you all. But where is Zeppeli?” The elder asked, causing M/n's eyes to widen and then narrow at the implications. He finally understood the events leading up to Zeppeli's death, and he didn't like the picture it painted.

"Isn't it obvious?" He cut in, causing the elder to look towards him. "I assume you've gained some sense of reading about future events...so that makes you the one that predicted everything."

His face shifted into an expression of dawning horror. "Then..."

"Your prediction was correct. Or should I say prophecy?"

I looked around. It seemed like everyone I knew was dying. I stopped. Looking into the mirror...and then I was on fire.

Someone I loved yelled out, "hey, stop, drop, and roll!"

I replied, "that might save my flesh, but it won't ever save my soul."

Yeah...it will save the flesh...but it couldn't save my soul.

“Oh, please, sir. I beg you, please don’t bring no harm to my child. Let him be.” The woman who laid out on the floor was sobbing, her entire frame shaking as she pressed the child closer to her chest, yet her eyes never left the figure sprawled across the velvet fainting couch. He slowly cocked his head to the side as she whimpered. Her torn dress, bloodied hands, and tear-streaked face painted a clear picture when compared to the figure who didn't have a single hair out of place. A hiss sounded from the zombies clinging to the ceiling, earning another sob as the blond examined a crucifix.

“Hm, do I comprehend you? Let us clarify what you desire. Voluntary, you will give yourself to us on the condition we not touch your child,” he purred, crushing the crucifix before tossing it to the ground, then slowly plucking a red rose from the vase next to his seat. “Is that accurate?”

“Yes. Only don’t hurt my boy.” The vampire stopped his eyes from rolling, but his attention was caught by a sudden flash of movement, and he followed it out of the corner of his eye to see an altered form of M/n come to rest by the corner of the room. The only true detail he could pick up was the massive snake skull stained with blood that covered his face, but he kept his attention on the woman and child.

“You move me to tears. Agreed. You shall have your wish. I hereby swear that neither I nor any of my servants will bring harm to your child. That said,” He raised a hand, carefully gesturing to the zombies on the roof. “You need to be aware of one thing. All my minions, without exception, willingly gave up their souls for me. I truly think it would work out far better if both of you were to join me. There would be no more worries. You would both be part of a new and greater family. It would leave you in a state of bliss. Pain, suffering, and hatred...all that fades away.”

“Remember, you promised not to hurt my child. Me for him.”

"Ok, ok. So be it then." He rose to his feet, setting the rose down, and moving towards her and the child. Lifting a single hand, he rested it at the woman's forehead, a smile forming on his face, though the figure in the background shifted, allowing Dio to see a flash of gold in one of the eye sockets.

The transformation was quickly done...and a snarl filled Dio's ears.

One that didn't belong to the newly made zombie.

Yet he didn't react, instead he watched the woman slam her fangs into the child's skull. The sound of bones breaking and flesh ripping filled the air, earning low purrs from the other zombies as Dio turned, grabbing a fresh rose.

“As promised, we’ve not harmed the child. That’s something you’ve taken care of on your own. A tragedy of your own making, though the irony is lost on you. A pity. Still, there’s no doubt about it. This city will be mine by the time the sun rises over the horizon.”

He exited the room with the figure following close behind.

Of course, to take the body of another into oneself in the act of cannibalism still serves as the deepest form of human intimacy. In this way, ritual cannibalism, even when the victim is your most hated enemy, becomes a sweet act on par with making love.

“I see. Zeppeli has passed beyond the veil. Even if we had arrived earlier, his fate would still have been the same.” Tonpeti murmured, his facial expression not giving anything away. It made the god's ichor boil to not see him shed even a single tear for the dead scholar. Or rather, any of them. How could they not...but how could he have not shed even a single tear for Sir Joestar? The thought cut him quickly, and he moved to stop Jonathan from trying to shake the male's hand. Instead, he dipped himself into a bow with palms pressed together.

It wasn't much, but it wasn't as if he was in better shape.

There were bigger things to worry about anyway, and they needed to get in that town.

So, now I'm the bitch.

(In any situation, there's always a bitch. I'm just not used to being it.)

"Self defense." That's what they say. They laugh and tell me it will be fine. That I can move on from it.

Lucky me.

But the press, or rather minions of god, are bloodthirsty. Nowhere near as stupid as my comrades. The judges.

So, here is a list of questions the lawyers didn't ask. And the press won't either.

1. Who was ______? The series of bodies that piled up in front of me? Did they deserve it?

2. What is the price of their lives? (Is it months on the lay washing the blood off your hands?)

3. What is the price of washing the blood off your hands? Will you go back to the hospital? (Is it Ophelia's life?)

Dio entered his private chambers, only slamming the door shut after the ghostly figure followed him in, and grabbed a wine glass. The mix was one of aged red wine and freshly spilled blood, yet it did nothing to calm him. Finally, he looked over to the figure, M/n, and took the chance to properly examine how different he looked.

"Should I have let her escape the castle?" The skull moved slightly, a single tilt of the head, and how Dio wished he could see this illusion's face. In terms of emotion, M/n was an open book, but only in his eyes and actions. He so often couldn’t express himself fully, another reason he couldn't be trusted with someone like Jonathan, it was obvious that he couldn't read M/n even if he told the other his exact feelings on the matter. A blind idiot till the bitter end. "I doubt she would have gotten far without having to abandon her child if it didn't die during the journey, but I wouldn't have been able to tell my servants to leave her alone forever. It's not like she would ever remember that she cared for that child, or regret eating it, but...she was surprisingly willful."

"..." He sensed what seemed to be on the illusion's mind.

"My mother would've done the same to save me." He looked to the figure who had gone completely still at the sudden change of direction. M/n had always been surprised whenever he actually mentioned his life from before the Joestar estate. "She never would've even thought of saving herself. That was what killed her. I still don't know where her grave is. He wouldn't pay for an actual grave, so she ended up in an unmarked plot of land before I could even register that she had died. So many people died in the slums every day that they didn't keep records...even if I got enough money to buy her a proper grave stone or move her to a better graveyard...I wouldn't be able to find her. Of course, when I explained my father had died, and I needed a place to live, George Joestar was ever so happy to purchase him a named grave in a...higher class graveyard. As if he deserved that."

A soft hum echoed from the room. It carried with it a familiar rasp, and he refilled the glass.

"You asked me once if I wanted to lay flowers on her grave. I think it was...two years after I arrived? Maybe less. I was...calmer by then, and I had done nothing too nefarious. Jojo went every month to his mother's grave...and you offered to buy me some flowers. I wasn't certain about my feelings at that point in time, but I couldn't be mad since it wasn't as if you asked about my father...and then I learned you had no marked graves to visit either. We were always alike in that matter." Dio couldn't remember how the encounter had ended, though he was certain he had snapped at M/n, only for a bouquet to be sitting in his room a day later. For as withdrawn as he could be during their youth, M/n had always liked to play the mediator. "Was that true?"

"...?" Another head tilt.

"Do you really not remember your parents?" The figure tensed up, fists clenching, and Dio had the answer he was looking for. "So, you lied. I lied about far worse, if that's what you were worried about. No wonder you handled me talking about my parents the way you did...or the way you brought up my mother when Jojo tried to use my father's name against me. You had the same upbringing as me."

There was no answer.

"Do you miss her?" A single nod. "I miss my mother as well."

The figure moved across the room, humming to a tune Dio didn't know, but the slow beat suggested a waltz. Carefully he grabbed a glass of wine and Dio watched him fill it, not shying away from the fact it was mixed with blood, and he swallowed subconsciously. The mouth of the skull opened, yet he couldn't see his face.

"When I last saw you, I had been suffering from a major head wound, but that should be impossible in my current condition. So, are you real?" He paused, slowly tapping a finger to the bottom of the skull's jaws in thought before setting the glass down. The vampire watched as he beckoned for him to come closer. After a moment he approached, and the male reached out, taking his hand, allowing Dio to feel the unique texture of the discolored skin. Scales. They were textured like snake scales.

"..."

"I've always known that M/n wouldn't leave Jojo's side for mine...and while I find his loyalty to someone who doesn't even know him frustrating...I know that I just have to kill Jojo for that to change. So, where does that leave you? You're solid, but...I know that you're not him." His claws traced over Dio's knuckles carefully, flipping his hand over, and then ghosting over the veins on his wrist. "Are you...truly him?"

M/n nods, but it ends in a shrug.

Dio doesn't mind.

He'll have the real thing soon enough.

You discover pretty quickly that you can take away the threat of strange men. It's not even hard. All you have to do is destroy everything about yourself. Which was already your hobby, anyway. Every bastard you meet thinks you'll cook him dinner someday. They're roleplaying the scene in their heads when you set the coffee down. You go home to an abandoned farm with one working fridge that just has vials of poison in it.

So, do you like your job? Are you happy at work?

…you're a normal worker. You hate your boss. At the end of the day, your feet hurt.

"Are you okay?" M/n jolted, though he felt rather embarrassed when he realized that the person speaking to him wasn't a hamon user or undead, rather it was just an older woman that was unlucky enough to live in Wind-Knights Lot.

"Um...yes, I-I'm fine. Sorry for worrying you." Sparing a glance towards the group, M/n noted no one had noticed what was happening at his perch, instead they all seemed to listen to the...argument happening between Poco and his father. He was staying far away from it. M/n had seen enough of fathers who choose to hit their children. "The journey here was rougher than expected. That's all. I just need a moment to catch my breath."

"There's been a decline in the population here. Do you see that house over there?" Following her gaze, M/n managed a weak nod, though he couldn't help but flinch at the reminder of his failing. If he could just bring himself to slay Dio…well, this wouldn't be happening. "Currently it's unowned, and with the way things have been going, no one wants to come here and purchase a new home. I doubt anyone would even notice or care if you went in there and cleaned yourself up. Then you and your friends can continue your trip."

"...I-uh...thank you." All she did was laugh, already heading back to her house, and so he stood up and moved towards the aforementioned house. Vaguely aware of the whispers by your ear and the familiar snake hiss. He was shaking again.

…but what did this sensation mean?

Maybe you would have done it, anyway. You've been thinking about it since that fucking wedding.

And for what?

Jealousy?

Resentment?

No.

You could've had everything he had in a single heartbeat.

Impressing a boy?

That's schoolyard shit.

The unfathomable contest of eternal forces is not the only reason I would want someone dead.

You end up in front of the bathroom mirror.

You somehow look better than what you expected, though the person you see in the mirror looks far from godly, but you can't blame it fully on the dirt or bloodstains...rather something deeper. In the set of your body...there's just exhaustion. You're exhausted. Well, it isn't a surprise, but it makes you feel rather frustrated. You look fucking haunted. Eyes stuck in that gold haze, shaking and whimpering like a child, and stuck craving the scent of Jasmine.

…why couldn't he just be better?

He almost broke the sink in half by unintentionally pushing down against the white bowl, and he jolted back to avoid actually doing any lasting damage to this house. He didn't own it...he shouldn't even be here. With a low snarl he traced the dark circles that had been deepening since Jonathan learned hamon…at least being a god made sure that his eyes didn't become red and puffy from crying. Yet his biggest problem is with his hair. With nine years of growing it out his hair almost matched the length it was from before entering the mortal realm, though it still didn't match up with his true form, but because of the messy journey and no pauses it was left tangled and dirty. He was surprised that it had remained in the ponytail he kept it in. Pulling the long black ribbon free, an old gift from Sir Joestar, he ran his fingers through the messy curtain that framed his body. Hissing when he hit a particularly firm clump of dried blood, but the god's anger died when he looked back at his reflection...instead he saw someone standing behind him, felt the familiar weight of a hand on his hip, and someone running their fingers through his hair. His eyes widened, pupils mere slits, and in a single motion, he drew his dagger.

For a second, there was nothing but silence.

"See? That's better." He spat out, though his hands were shaking, and he looked at his reflection as if it was a completely different person. His hair hadn't been shorter than his shoulders since he was mortal, fourteen to be exact, but now it was choppy and uneven, ending at his earlobes. It would have to be evened out, but it wasn't easy to grab anymore. Even Dio had grabbed it when speaking to him on those rocks...just another person who had used it against him. Even...even if Dio cared...and actually bothered to get his verbal permission more than not. He lifted the dagger to fix what remained of his hair. His chest heaved as the sound of his own panting filled the room. "I...I can always grow it back out once this is all over."

'You always had such beautiful hair.' M/n flinched. There, in the reflection, standing just a few feet behind him, was his mother. The scent of Jasmine filled the air as his shoulders trembled. 'You always let me style it for you...even when your father and the school demanded that I have you cut it. I should've known something was wrong when you randomly cut it...but I didn't want to imagine that I missed something so terrible. I should've done better.'

"W-what are you doing here? I...I thought I just imagined our conversation...because you can't be real. You can't be!" He let loose a low dragged out snarl, feeling more beast than man, and met her worried gaze in the stained glass of the mirror. "So, what are you...no, why are you here? Is it really for me, of all things?"

'Miracle, I would speak with you every chance I could, difficult times or not. Like I said last time we spoke; you're my baby. I'm never going to just abandon you. Besides, you know what comes next is big. You have to make a decision that doesn't have an obvious answer, or at least a straightforward answer that won't hurt you...and you...you keep getting pulled down this path, and I just wish I could help.'

"I know I promised you...my happiness...but I can't keep it." He could sense her gaze as he looked down at his hands and the hair scattered across the bathroom floor. "I...I just can't..."

'Because of...?'

"It's funny, when you mentioned people that would do anything to keep me safe...that wanted me to be happy...well, I thought of Dio first. It's stupid, right? Jonathan cares about me, but he's not an option. I shot myself in the foot even if he still had feelings for me, so instead I look towards the vampire that wants everyone dead and world domination. Always had great taste in men. But I have to get rid of him. If he stays alive, he'll keep killing people till he wins or gets killed by someone else. There's no winning in this race."

'I loved your father, but I knew I couldn't keep him.' The mention of his dead father made the god bare his fangs, how he wanted little more than to tell his mother that she had deserved so much better, but the words died when she continued. 'He wasn't the man with a charming smile and joke after you were born, every time I tried to bring him back he proved that, yet I never hated him. I couldn't. It isn't a weakness that you love this man despite him being a bad person, as long as you don't let it override your sense of right and wrong. Don't make the one you love something strong enough to eclipse you.'

"But I'm not...I have to be above-"

'No, you don't.' He could feel someone rest their hand on his shoulder. This time, he actually found the contact comforting. 'I was your mother, yet there was a part of me that couldn't be above...well, being in love. When I saw what he had done to you, right after you turned seven, I remember telling myself that if he ever came back, I'd have to kill him...yet I still loved him, and I never could bring myself to do anything but kick him out...or call the police. Just because you have a position doesn't change the fact that you feel emotions.'

"..."

'Whatever choice you make, I'll support you.'

"Stop." He hissed out, trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking. "Just...stop. Don't pretend to act proud of me. I hate people lying to me."

'How am I lying to you?'

"I know what you really think of me; you think I'm a monster." Just saying it leaves such a sour taste in his mouth, but he presses on. "You have to."

'I think you were confused,' she said it so easily, as if there was no doubt in her mind. 'Everyone...all your life you had to do everything by yourself to survive, and the few people that stayed...they didn't care about you. So, you were forced to fight, to make people afraid of you so no one could hurt you, to not trust people. You did the same thing when your friend tried to tell you his feelings towards you in those tunnels.'

"But...what choice did I have?!? Trust...trust gets you...every time Jonathan asks if I trust him...I know the answer is yes, but I'm terrified of it. At least when people feared me...it made sense. Fear was the only option. But...but they...they cared about me. They had to. He...he loved me...right?"

'...'

"No, no, no...NO! That doesn't change anything. It won't! That life is dead and gone...even you fear me now. There's no way you...you could still look at me as anything but a monster. I should've known that the moment I saw you." The next part was harder to say, for he had tried to ignore it in the face of Jonathan's spirit and Dio's fire, but he didn't want to lie to himself anymore. "No one who knows everything about me could ever think I was anything else. They all fear me. They...they all hate me. I'm...I'm a monster."

'I love you, M/n.' He flinches. 'I do.'

"You can't. I...I was the one who killed you, remember?"

'M/n, there is nothing you can or will do that will make me stop loving you.' He feels the heat rising. He wants to snap. 'I'm your mother. Nothing will ever change that.'

"Then how did it feel to drown in your own blood?" The venom isn't potent enough. It can't be since he started tearing up before he even spoke, but all he wants is for her to understand that she can't...that he stopped being worth it a long time ago. If...if she finally hates him, then...it would be better for both of them. She's not even real. His mom died alone in a riverbed. "Or was it the water that did you in?"

'A mix of both. But it wasn't your fault. We both know that.'

"I didn't even go to your funeral."

'Because you were in a hospital, and my...family wouldn't invite my only child to my funeral.'

"Stop trying to defend me!"

'I love you, M/n.' The sound that escaped his throat was too raw to be a snarl, but he wasn't sure what else to call it. Without even thinking, he raised his arms and smashed the mirror. The smell of Jasmine vanished. The hand on his shoulder was gone, and he shivered at the realization of what he had just done. Gold ichor and glass shards joined the clumps of H/c hair covering the floor.

"...….." The sound of his shaky breath filled the room as ichor continued to drip down his arms. If he wanted it to stop, he'd have to pull the glass out, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

'How interesting.' The room faded away. In an instant, he was back in the void, feeling the familiar energy hum and brush against his presence. He took a shaky step back. There wasn't even glass in his arms anymore, and he found his gaze on the figure in front of him. Ajamu was the same, Grenadian and built at six foot nine, he still carried himself like the god he had been before his death. His dreads were still decorated with jewels alongside the royal robes he wore, and M/n was terrified. A voice was one thing, a presence was still easy enough, but the actual form of Ajamu was something else. M/n shook as the former god got off the sacrificial altar. 'Hm, you don't seem happy to see me.'

"I...I don't want to talk about it." He really wishes he hadn't said that. Ajamu loved weakness, to press down and make you overthink everything till you were so confused that you'd drown yourself. It was his favorite thing in the world. "You already heard it, anyway."

'Of course I did. I see no reason to mention yet another self-destructive spiral of yours, instead I want to talk about your own idiocy.'

"My favorite topic."

'It must be given how often you need a reminder.' He grinned, showcasing pearly white fangs that were thicker and blunter than his own. More like a panther than a snake. 'Are you going to kill that vampire? Or are you going to let someone else handle your mistake?'

"I...I don't know..."

'Let me rephrase this; can you kill him?'

"..."

'Understood.' Ajamu was next to him, hand pressing down on his shoulder, and he couldn't do anything about it. The air smells of spice and tar. He can taste oblivion. 'This is why I told you that you couldn't be a proper god. You fall victim to your emotions. There's no place for weakness in this state, yet you keep making these mistakes.'

"You never had this problem before?"

'No. Why would I weep for a mortal when I could get a new one for every day of the century?' M/n shivered as Ajamu's lips brushed over his neck. 'You will see your precious mortals marry, raise offspring, and then die. You will watch his offspring do the same till they don't even resemble the mortal you once loved. They won't know you. Maybe you leave because you don't want to see the change, but in reality; you lose interest. There are better things to meddle with. So you leave. And you don't look back.'

Ajamu rips him open.

The god opened his eyes. When had he even closed them? Only to be back in the bathroom.

He was still watching ichor drip on the floor, his guts crawling back into his frame.

Staggering back, he examined the jagged shards still stuck in his arms. The sensation was something he couldn't quite describe, if only because of the unending flow of ichor, and he knew if he didn't stop the bleeding, his mental state would be affected by the high left behind. Yet, in a quick motion, he pulled the shards to leave deeper gashes that quickly closed up. Tossing them on the floor so he couldn't make any more gashes, he watched them all heal. Bad habits still existed, but they all went away when the sensation no longer existed. It was hard to enjoy pain when you possessed ichor. The ichor he had lost from his previous fights wasn't helping him stabilize at all.

There was ichor everywhere.

"...fuck."

"Master," his stand brushed against his side, worry seeping through their connection, and he leaned against the comforting form. "Are you okay?"

"I...I don't think so." He knew he was losing some of his rationality because of the high, but he realized he was smiling. "I don't think I've been okay since we started this journey...why...so, why don't we just leave?"

"Leave? Where would we even go?" His stand carefully wraps its tail around his waist. Why? Was he swaying? Did he need to be steadied? Was that one of the side effects of losing so much ichor? He was having trouble remembering the entire list. "What would we do?"

"I want to get a farm. I missed farming so much, and I could write in my downtime. That would be nice, right? I mean, we could get chickens, ducks, peacocks...the whole nine yards!"

"That...you know, that would be nice, Master, but I don't think we can do that just yet."

"Why not?" For some reason, he's sitting on his knees, even though he swore he was standing a few seconds ago, and his stand is coiling around him. Purring. The image is only getting clearer the more he thinks about it. He could already hear the soft, familiar clucking. It would be nice to just fall back into the steady rhythm. Despite his stand's hunger, it always had a fondness for small animals and the peace of farm life. "There's bound to be so much land we could purchase."

"We have a current goal."

"...?" A flash of gold. A blood-red star. "I..I don't want to fight."

"I know."

"I don't think I can fight Dio."

"I know." There are claws pressing against his wrists. His mind is drifting. He can hear a baby scream as it gets ripped apart by pearly white fangs. He can taste the gore in the air. A snarl escapes his lips.

…the tea is drugged. The cup is fine china, you nearly spill it, and your hands shake. A glass worth more than the clothes on your back. Something smooth passes by, brushing cool scales against your spine, as if the thing feared touching you. Of hurting you. Light brushes against your eyelids. You feel grass and dirt moving beneath you. It might try to grow from you.

You come face to face with a snake.

Scales glow in the sunlight, it remains unmoving, and you stare in silence.

You extend a hand towards it.

It swallows you whole.

Strangely enough, you aren't scared.

"I...I understand." The memory you saw was too fuzzy, but you remembered the smell of spice intermingling with tea. Of course, you ended up drowning in tar. That was enough. You could already tell how that memory would end, even if your recollection was blurred. "Can...can you help me fix my hair?"

"You don't even have to ask."

"Thank you."

He doesn’t know how to handle this high, but at least he wasn't alone for this.

Snakes hissed by his ear as the world spun.

One more thing-no...

One last thing...

Because I really don't say it enough

Love

You

Dio relaxes against his new perch. Statues of snakes coil around the fine couch, his new pets resting on him. The figure stands behind him, just out of reach, yet he can still catch glimpses of the skull when he leans back. For now, his gaze remains on the girl sitting beneath the window. She's shaking. He plucks a rose from the vase next to his seat. Twirling the flower between his fingers, Dio ignores how the thorns catch and rip at his skin. Instead he hums ever so softly. The creatures, crude things he made more for the practice than desire to keep, shift and paw at each other with barely concealed glee.

“How amusing. I’ve put this town in my thrall in but a single night. Still, consider this, dear.” He lifts the rose to his lips. The petals still folded and closed. “Examine this rose in bloom for but a moment, vibrant, fresh, and young. What you see is a mirror of your youth. Consider this fact carefully, Mademoiselle. From the first moment this flower fully blooms, it begins to wither. A shame, don’t you think? Or perhaps tragic? Beauty should be preserved.”

"..."

A soft hum fills the room. A tune for a slow dance.

“Only sixteen, so sweet~! So innocent and pure now, so full of delicious life energy.” One of the pets whipped his head around to look him in the eyes. “Wonderful, Lord Dio. Doesn’t she look tasty?”

The humming stops. Instead a snarl that borders on feral echoes throughout the room, and Dio silenced the thing's laughter with a single kick. The girl flinches as the growl is replaced by a low hiss. The humming starts back up.

“What scum. Those lacking in manners are not fit to exist. One could even call that worm's existence a slight against my god. I had thought that taking the most worthless of men and combining them with dogs could be beautiful, but I should've known that such...perverts would never change. At least one of my experiments worked out." Gently he stroked the cat-owl's ears, earning a strange mix between a purr and hoot. The girl seemed to be avoiding his gaze. A snake lingering just at the corner of his vision, though M/n seemed focused on his pet instead. “Now, Mademoiselle, I offer unto you a choice. Would you not care to enjoy your youth and beauty for all eternity? Fret not, my dear. I shall not force my friendship upon you, like others might do. You control your life. You hold your destiny in your own hands.”

"...….." The vampire stood from his seat, moving in sync to the tune M/n hummed, and leaned towards her.

"Eh? How’s that again? I can't hear you." She slapped him across the face. A snicker filled the room. He awkwardly spat out some blood from where his fangs had ripped the inside of his mouth. A hiss escaped his lips as she glared at him.

“No. You wear the flesh, but you’re not a man.” Her eyes narrowed. "All you are is a cursed monster! Immortality doesn't get the poison out of you, and it never will. Devil, go away!"

M/n hummed with agreement.

With a low purr, if only to hide his real anger, he allowed the rose to fall to the floor. Ice forming over it, leaving nothing but the wilted remains behind.

A snarl sounded above her head.

“Alas, although your acquaintance will be brief, let me introduce my companion. I present onto you, Dubee. A ridiculous name if you ask me, but one that strangely fits him. Wouldn't you agree?" She doesn't respond. A strange hiss sounds from the figure in the corner. “As regrettably I am not to your taste, enjoy your time with him. Au revoir Mademoiselle~!"

He waits only a second before the door slams shut. He doesn't comment on how tears drip out of the skull's eye sockets. He can't bring himself to think about the implication.

You woke up at five AM. To get ready for school. You spend twenty minutes staring up at the ceiling. You drank half a bottle of nyquil merely two hours ago. You still feel it. At least you got two hours of sleep.

(You don't feel that.)

The fog is thicker than usual. You can only see a foot into it. Careful for the crumbling roads. You drive slowly. You almost break when you see her. Standing on the side of the road. Mouth open.

(Is she real? Are you real?)

You can't hear her through your window. Maybe that's a good thing. She's gone when you blink. your vision spins. You should not have taken that much nyquil.

School drags.

You drive home. She's not there. Your mind drifts as you do homework. It drags and drifts until two AM.

(This is the cycle you're stuck in.)

There's a secret at the window.

(Do you hear her?)

A wailing

(The woman is)

Cry

(At you window)

Echoes

(You can't sleep.)

It is now five AM.

(There's no winning this game.)

You get into your car.

(You don't get out.)

The monster lunged at her, sharp talons leaving light furrows on her shoulders, but before she could even scream an anvil landed on the monster's head. She staggered back, collapsing to the floor, while a blur of motion landed next to her. A single kick from the newcomer sent the monster staggering back. She met a set of molten gold eyes, and the male carefully held out a hand.

She accepts it without hesitation.

"She's okay." He calls up to the rest of the group, but his eyes are still on the monster. The look in his eyes is something she can't read, but he gently motions her to back up as he approaches the figure. "Hm? Ah, I was right! I do hear something coming from that bag of yours. Something that I've been looking for. Or rather something I want. So, would you be so kind as to give them up?"

"Sister!"

"Poco?!? What are you doing here?"

"Under...my bag?" The thing groans, slow and unresponsive mostly, but M/n isn't coming out of this encounter without getting exactly what he desired. Besides, that bag hadn't stopped trembling since he entered the room. Vaguely, he could hear the others saying something just above his head, and felt the impact of Jonathan landing behind him. The god twitched at that, feeling how the movement inside the bag became more worried and panicked. He moved before Jonathan could even ask him a question or try to stop him from approaching the zombie.

"Yes, yes, I want what's under your bag." He drew closer to the sound of hissing. His stand was shuddering in glee at the realization of what Dio had brought to him. It was so small, so simple that he might've ignored it had he not lost so much ichor, but now his mind was set. He had spent the entirety of his mortal 'life' missing such a simple element, and he would not let anyone ruin it. "Besides, they all seem so eager to come with me, don't they?"

"...?" The hissing comes out so desperately that his heart aches.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll take good care of you all." He was happy to let that familiar hiss alter his speech even more than usual. This was selfish of him, but he was more than happy to push that feeling. The voices whispered in confusion. The bag explodes. He registers people calling his name in panic, but he can only coo at the sheer amount of snakes now using him as a perch. "Oh yes! Look at all of you beautiful, beautiful creatures!"

"Are those...?"

"That zombie had poisonous snakes inside him! Those are cobras and other snakes that hunt large prey throughout Africa and Asia." Speedwagon was staring at M/n in a mix of shock and awe. "Yet look at all of them! Even snake charmers don't have such luck with those reptiles! But they're nuzzling M/n like newborn kittens!"

'That's what he wanted?' Jonathan couldn't help but stare in shock as M/n cooed at each reptile with such care and devotion. The moment he had left that house with his hair cut short and a foggy look in his eyes, Jonathan knew that something important had changed, but all the other did was give him a weak smile and ignore the panicked questions they asked. 'I knew he liked snakes, but-"

"Jonathan," M/n watches the male focus back on him, though he keeps giving the snakes uneasy glances, but all the god does is allow them to slowly find spots to settle. "I've taken everything I want from that zombie. Would you be kind enough to finish it for me? My hands are full."

He does it in a single strike, and swallows down any comment relating to the male's sudden change.

I live alone in a tiny place. Very peaceful and quiet. But I like it quiet. I'd rather text people. Even my family. Sometimes my voice feels...strange. Wrong even. It's been difficult lately. I cry more than I used to.

I...suddenly start crying, hear myself weeping, and then immediately stop.

For some reason, the act of hearing myself cry makes it even more heartbreaking.

It makes my pain visible.

It makes it

Real.

"Are you going to keep those?" Speedwagon weakly asked, yelping when a large black mamba whipped its head around to stare at him blankly, only stalling when a king cobra slid over the other snake earning a low hiss. M/n just looked at him in confusion. "Please tell me you aren't thinking about-"

"Of course I am! What else would I do with them?" The snakes hiss happily at his words, though Speedwagon is still shocked that such vicious animals seem so eager to simply exist with the grinning male, and M/n casually pets one as he waits for a response that doesn't happen. "They don't live here and would cause untold havoc on the ecosystem. Also, they just like being around me. How could I just tell them no?"

"..." Gold eyes sparkled in barely repressed glee. The male's smile revealed pointed fangs that matched with the creatures wrapped around him, and he lightly tapped the other's nose with a pointed nail.

"Don't worry! I'll make sure they won't bite anyone, plus I won't be going too far away after this is all said and done."

"What does that mean?"

"Look at this place! Gothic architecture, snake statues, actual snakes, stained glass. I could go on, but I don't want us to waste our time here. Point is; I want to live here."

"...?"

"Robert, I want nothing more than to settle down once we're not stuck fighting vampires and ghouls." The gleam stopped being so bright, and his expression changed to a much warmer grin. "Honestly? I'm tired. I want to take a long break after this. Wind-Knight's Lot is a place I think I could settle in."

"I...I understand."

"Good, good, I would hate to deal with an argument right now!"

"M/n!" With a single wave of the hand, M/n left Speedwagon's side and approached Jonathan. At least he seemed to have accepted the snakes coiling on him with...far less difficulty than the others. Well, that would be unfair to the hamon users who had at most raised an eyebrow but accepted his choice of pets with a fair amount of nonchalance. "Will you need to put those down if it comes to blows?"

"No. I'll be fine." He placed a hand on the male's arm, feeling Jonathan pause ever so slightly at the physical contact, and he flashed the male a grin. "Don't worry, we can handle this. For Zeppeli!"

"Yes, for Zeppeli…and all those who lost their lives due to Dio's blind ambition, but I have a request for you."

"Hm?"

"Don't interfere with my fight with Dio…I have to be the one to finish him."

"...only with Dio?" Jonathan looked at him in open confusion. "Do I get to fight the undead? He'll likely summon some or have them present...I'm not some damsel you can keep in the corner till the monster is slain. You know I can fight just as well as any hamon user...at least with Dio, I understand that I have a bias that makes me hesitate, but can you really say you don't feel the same...at least on some level?"

"M/n...?"

"I won't interfere with your fight." His eyes flashed a cloudy gold. Jonathan stiffened up at the sharp hiss in his next words, and he saw the snakes go still. "But I will not sit on the sidelines when I'm more than capable of ending this quest! I will not be treated as a burden when you were the one that stood in my way."

"What do you mean by that?"

"...nothing. Nothing at all." Jonathan can't help but actually shudder. While M/n's eyes changed often, his voice remained the same softer hissing that it had always been, but now it carried a bravado to it. And his eyes were now a toxic shade of green. "You shouldn't have to worry. I'm more than capable of standing at the sidelines while others fight. I even have experience with it, so I'll behave. You trust me, right?"

The nod he gets is weak, but still there, and that's enough.

They didn't have a 'normal' relationship

They teased each other

They play fought and clawed at each other

They called each other names

But underneath all of that, anyone could see how much they cared for each other, because every time I listened closely to every joking 'shut up' I could hear the unspoken 'I love you'.

And there was nothing there for me.

Jonathan slams the door open, earning a hum from the vampire as M/n follows close behind, the snakes hidden under his clothes, and the presence of divinity behind him. "Guess who survived his time in hell, Dio?"

"Ah...so you still draw breath, Jojo. Curious." His gaze moves past Jonathan easily enough, settling on the god who tilts his head in response, and the figure that lurked in the corner is gone. Or rather vanished the moment they entered the castle. "M/n, how good to see you! Have you enjoyed what you've seen of the castle so far?"

"I'm about five minutes away from fighting you for the deeds to this place, but seeing as there are more snake statues here, I might cut it down to two minutes." The vampire smiled, even as Jonathan looked ready to step in front of M/n's form. "The roses are also a rather pleasant touch, and I definitely like this open balcony. Yes, I'm definitely taking this place once we're done here."

"Oh, M/n, you act as if I hadn't already prepared a room for you, and I love what you've done with your hair. What inspired such a change?"

"How sweet of you. I might even-" M/n jolted when Jonathan gave him a look that clearly stated this was too serious of a time for him to be joking around. Because of his current state, he felt a surge of anger at being silenced, but he swallowed it all done with a single huff. "Fine, fine, you talk with him."

"Oh yes, let's hear what Jojo has to say about these important matters." Dio purred out each word with a level of venom that made even the voices go silent. A perfect mix of polite mocking and a hidden fuck you that caused Jonathan to clench his fists in anger. “I suppose logically that would then indicate you have killed my two knights. Or outran them. How impressive. M/n, did you help him out?”

"...perhaps...maybe...somewhat...?" The god waved a hand dismissively at the blond, only moving closer to one of the many rose-filled vases when the rest of the group entered the room, though he looked towards the crouched zombies with a bit of apprehension. "It really depends on what you consider helping...and how much that rate decreases with sustained injuries, but I definitely attempted to help."

"Hm, will you help him now?"

"Not likely."

"M/n!"

"According to you, this is your battle." He gestured towards the zombies, who hissed at him. "I'm more than willing to deal with them, on the other hand."

“Lord Dio, we await your order to reduce him to a pile of bloody flesh. Let my fangs make an impression on him.”

“Dio!”

"No," despite his words there was a blur of motion from above them, but in a single strike it was knocked down to the ground. M/n couldn't help but blink in surprise...he hadn't even thought about summoning his stand, yet in a single blow Narcissistic Cannibal had crushed the zombie's head. He heard a low hum of...adoration from Dio at the sight, but it quickly ended when he was forced to raise a hand stopping the other zombies from lunging forward. “This one is for me. He falls by my hand alone. As for M/n let no one lay a hand upon him.”

They protested, but his gaze landed on Jonathan.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Jojo. Honestly, this is something in which I will take no pleasure. We were raised in the same house, and the prospect of turning you into an undead thing is not a happy one for me. That’s why I wanted you to be quickly dispatched by my knights. But it would seem, in the end, I underestimated you. Seeing you here alive brings me to the realization that, as an emperor, I was being far too soft. But now, I’ll put you to death without a moment’s thought or compunction.”

“I could say the same, Dio.” Jonathan hissed out, though M/n could see how the words pained him. “I will feel no hint of guilt for your death.”

"Oh? Don't make promises you can't keep. But first, I have a question, Jojo. Whatever happened to that mustachioed charlatan of yours? You seem to have lost him.” Dio only stopped when he noticed the brief expression of pain across M/n's face, but he could use this to his advantage...as long as he pushed it in the right direction. "Let me guess; he died because you forced him into a situation when he had to save you, eh Jojo? Did you try to protect M/n? Don't you know he can handle himself? Probably better than anyone else in this little crusade of yours. You haven't been treating him as some sort of damsel, have you?"

"...!" M/n's hands shake. He had nothing to say to that...because...was Dio actually right? He had been handling Tarkus...and Zeppeli had known that he wasn't human...that he could fight...but they still sent a literal child to free him. But...but they did that because they cared about him...about if he survived a fight...but that didn't change the fact that he could've killed Tarkus with no one dying. Had Jonathan been treating him like some dame?

“Hear me, Dio. It shames me as a gentleman to say this, but I can no longer hold back the truth. I, Jonathan Joestar, have such hatred for you, vengeance consumes me. I swear I will kill you!”

"Hm, you're breaking my heart." Dio replied, voice completely monotone, before he raised a hand and beckoned at Jonathan. “Come, Jojo!”

He was cut off by Dire suddenly stepping in front of the male, earning a confused hum from both Jonathan and M/n. Though the expression on the god's face leaned more towards, if almost annoyed.

“What are you doing?”

“Jojo, please step aside. I have a prior claim. It is my right to avenge my friend’s killing. Zeppeli was a brave man and boon companion through two decades of harsh training.” With a snarl, he approached the vampire. “Dio, for his life, I will now send you to the bowels of hell itself.”

“No. Wait, Dire! Listen to me. Dio has hidden abilities for which you are not prepared.”

"Wait!" M/n whipped his head around, eyes flashing dangerously, as he glared at Jonathan and Speedwagon. "You were talking with them constantly...and...and none of you even thought to mention what abilities our greatest threat possesses! Who made that key decision? Robert, you constantly prattle about what's happening around you and you didn't mention that?!"

It was still too late. Dire was already moving towards the vampire, his form seeming to blur and shift with each step.

“Hm? Ah! There’s an interesting walk.Apparently, with decades of the proper training, mere humans can enable themselves to float through the air. But in only a single night, I attained power far surpassing that of any human guru.” Despite how pathetic the move was, Dire seemed rather keen on that slow kick. Clearly Dio thought the same, given that he burst into laughter and caught the male's legs with ease, prying them apart and baring his fangs. “Wwwwrrrryyyy! You truly think you can defeat me in this manner, like you were sleepwalking?”

“Fell for it, didn’t you, fool?”

"...we're fucked." M/n could sense them staring in shock, both at the fight and his cursing, but all he could think about was the way he heard ice forming. "We're so fucked."

"Huh?" Speedwagon looked towards him, but all M/n could think about was the probability of death. Even the snakes under his clothes had gone still at the way his muscles tensed.

"Didn't you hear me? We're about to lose people...starting with Dire...all because you people didn't list basic information!" He hissed, feeling a familiar urge to run manifest.

"M/n, was it? You shouldn't discount Dire and his abilities." The god raised an eyebrow at Straights, in reality he still wasn't sure what to make of the quieter hamon user, but...he wouldn't lie and say that his more serious nature wasn't refreshing when compared to the rest of the group.

"Thunder Cross Split Attack!"

“Uncanny! In crossing his arms, he can mount an attack while still keeping his guard up for protection, an incredible strategy.”

“No fighter has ever been able to escape this move.” Straights went silent when Dire flinched in pain, his attack not connecting, and the change in air pressure suggesting his hamon wasn't able to form.

'I changed my mind...we're all past being fucked.' The god shuddered, a weak laugh escaping his lips, as he took a step away from the vase of roses. "What they forgot to tell you is that Dio gained the ability to vaporize the water in a person's body. By stealing heat after the water's vaporized, it causes flash freezing. People who are frozen can't send hamon through the flesh he's touched, and if he gets the chance, he'd be able to spread it through the entire body in minutes."

“H-he…!”

"I c-can’t...I can’t move…" Dire's entire body was frozen in the blink of an eye.

“He froze Dire!”

“Oh! We are feeble, aren’t we? You imbecile, you dare think you could lay a finger on me?! You’re the one who’s going to give up your life like some mongrel! Let’s endeavor to give them a good show, shall we? In fact, consider your death an act of worship to my god. First of many, I give in his name.”

So Dire shattered as a sign of devotion.

There's a new kid in town

(He always wears a mask wherever he goes.)

He approached me while wearing one. It felt pretty odd. Seeing him carry so many identities with him, I thought he must really enjoy playing with them so much. The next day, I saw him play with the other teens, run some errands, and dance with the locals. The third day I saw him looking up towards the sky.

(He was crying. Wearing a snake mask.)

A few more minutes.

(I'll hear screams echo. Because of a starved snake.)

There's nothing left of us.

(And yet...)

I couldn't bring myself to hate him.

(He's still crying.)

Has he seen this sight before?

(There's a new kid in town.)

He's crying.

A severed head landed on the bed of roses.

"Well...what an underwhelming performance." Dio moved towards Jonathan with a casual sway in each step. “It’s time, Jojo. You’re the next I shall dispatch to oblivion.”

A blur of motion went flying past the god's head, clipping his wrist when he instinctively raised a hand to block it, but M/n watched it, now identified as a rose, embed itself into Dio's right eye socket. The vampire snarled in pain while the god quickly covered his wrist with an annoyed hiss. No one looked away from Dio, however, so he assumed he was safe.

"Oh!"

"Dire!" Straights called out. M/n couldn't help but wonder what the extent of their relationship really was, but he also couldn't keep his gaze away from the thin red lines dripping down Dio's face. He...he had never seen Dio's face injured from a fight. Even during the manor fight, he had avoided major damage to his face, but now...without blood and regeneration, he'd be blind in one eye and disfigured. But even with regeneration, it still happened...it still meant they saw him in such a state. It meant Dio had been shamed.

“Heh…those hamon-filled rose’s thorns do sting a bit, don’t they?”

His head froze and shattered like the rest of him, but Dire's dying words left the room in complete silence.

I'm left stuck in the darkest room of my life.

(People asked what happened? How did it happen? Maybe I left the womb with it?)

Is it even possible to be born with such a broken spirit?

(Maybe it met me at some forgone conclusion? An airport where it slid into my passport and became part of me?)

Whatever it was...it remained, no matter how far I went.

(Maybe it was something I picked up from my father?)

Though I had no idea where it could even start.

(Did my rapist leave it in the bite marks on my skin?)

Does it even relate to love or lust?

(Maybe I already lost the one person who could make me better?)

Or maybe...

(Maybe I just was...rather than being changed by someone else?)

-A history of depression with no known cause.

“Insect. How dare…how dare you wound me…wound my face?! You dare…strike me in front of my god? Discredit me in front of him…?” Dio's voice may have been a feral whisper, but with the silence present, it was easy for them to pick up each word. M/n shuddered. Dio was shaking, clawed nails ripping the rose out while freezing it to shards, and for a moment the only sound was the vampire's growl.

"Speedwagon, my sword!" Jonathan called, earning a return call from the other who tossed him the sword Bluford had gifted them with, and M/n listened to it being pulled free in shock. “Dio, I know exactly how to deal with you. Dire gave up his life, which showed me just how vulnerable you are. It will be very easy for me now. You won’t be able to stop it. All I need to do is fill Bluford’s sword of luck and pluck with hamon and slice you with it.”

Dio leapt back onto the balcony with a hiss.

“You dare to touch me, filthy human? You dare to touch me with your hamon?!” Dio snarled out, his head whipping up to glare at all of them. “Your string of luck’s run out. Now shall you be fodder for my zombies. More sacrifices for divinity! If need be, I'll rip your heads off and feed you to them myself!”

“Now we see. He shows his true colors as someone fit only to rule over a dung heap. His cool toff’s sophistication, nothing but a cheap mask. Now that he’s had himself a nice humiliating taste of hamon, he reveals his true filthy self.”

"..." No...no, it isn't. Well, that's what he wanted to say, but M/n wanted to say a lot, though he rarely got to speak his mind on these things. Because Dio had a lot more than just feral anger and snarls...but it seemed like he was the only one who cared about that. Those four zombies lunged past him...towards Straights, who simply adjusted his weight.

"Hm? Don't worry, I'll handle them."

'Paige...Jones...Plant...Bonam....? Why did those names sound familiar? Were those band members or something?' M/n supposed it didn't matter since they died rather quickly. Instead, he moved past them. They seemed like they could handle the zombies mostly, and he wanted to watch Jonathan and Dio fight...even if he wasn't supposed to join in.

"Do you think he can win, M/n?"

"..." M/n shrugged. Speedwagon looked at him before his gaze went back to the pair.

“From all the indications I’ve seen, that bloke Dio’s more swift than any leopard. But with Zeppeli’s hamon, Jonathan just might keep up. Though Dio is strong enough to pulverize flesh and bone with a flick of his wrist.” He swallowed nervously. “For the both of them, it could be up to what happens in the very moment.”

"Wry..." Dio lunged at Jonathan, claws flexing, as the saint pointed his blade at the vampire. “I will squeeze the life out of you with my own hands!”

“I will cleanse the world of your evil influence!” With that, Jonathan threw a handful of roses at Dio. The god could see how his eye widened at the sight before freezing them all in a series of desperate strikes.

“What? He snatched up some roses when I wasn’t looking?!”

“Come now!” Dio bared his fangs, only pausing when Jonathan moved out of his field of vision. M/n shifted, understanding the feeling. But how long had it been since he only had one working eye?

“Wait, that’s good!”

‘Robert’s right…how clever. With his right eye, still regenerating, that provides Jonathan a weak point. If he can stay on that side of Dio, he can get out of this fight unscathed.’

“Take this, Dio!” Came Jonathan’s call as he charged and M/n took a step back.

“No! Damn it all! He knows exactly what he’s doing!”

A feral hiss sounded and M/n watched in horror as Dio's right arm was cut off...followed by the blade slamming into his skull. He wouldn’t be able to forget that sound even if he lived for another eternity.

…would he?

Why? Why? Why?

Why do I keep letting my mind, such a fragile thing, get under my skin?

I can't afford to be sensitive.

Even as my mind keeps running into dark corners...even as it comes back with more reasons to explain why I'm not enough.

…but I knew that already.

“Yes! Kill him!” M/n didn't respond to Speedwagon, merely staring in open shock as Dio was cut from head to hips. When he had chased Dio down at the cliffs he had hoped to get a similar blow on him, but seeing it now only made the god feel sick. He didn't want the vampire to die. But what other options were there? Dio's mouth opened, each severed side moving in sync, yet all that escaped his lips was a wet gagging sound. "He finally defeated Dio!"

But Jonathan had gone still.

"...no...no, he didn't defeat Dio." M/n finally spoke, his voice soft, as he listened to the crackle of winter.

"Defeated...? You fools!"

“Oh no!”

“I-I can’t move…I’m frozen…” Jonathan's expression became one of pure horror.

“You’re so feeble, Jojo.” Dio said through his own coughing, as he plunged his fingers into Jonathan's throat. "Wwwrryyy! Now, weakling, you shall join my other children of the night."

'È una brutta cosa...è così fottutamente brutto! Come fa a vincere quando il vampiro ha una presa sulla gola? Voglio...devo essere coinvolto?'

Sex is simple. Beautiful even. An act of expression with someone else.

(Yet...)

You're fourteen, and a hand's on your hip.

You're fourteen, and you can't scream.

You're fourteen, and you're in pain.

(No one hears you.)

So, I'll stop hissing when you hear me speak about it and don't say 'liar!' in response.

"Oh, does that hurt?" Dio's voice was a rather relaxed taunt despite being cut in half. “I’ve got your rubbery little carotid between my fingers. So warm and springy. A strangely pleasant feeling.”

“A…k-kick…” In a move similar to that of a dance, Dio did a single kick, slamming Jonathan's leg aside, and it soon became encased in ice. A moment later he had slammed his boot on Jonathan’s left leg to freeze him in place completely. “My legs have been frozen, too…?

"...!"

"What did I tell you? Useless! This whole quest was merely you walking into the gallows!" Jonathan flinched only for the vampire to tsk in response. “Enjoying this anguish, Jojo? One tiny little move, and this delicate blood vessel snaps in two like a wet ribbon! With your carotid open, all your blood will be mine. Then I shall fill the vacancy with my own vampiric essence. And you will be my thrall. Though, if it helps you lax, think of this as your only way to stay with our dear, M/n. Perhaps in my eternal kindness I’ll allow you to be his personal servant?”

“We have to help him…” Speedwagon only took a step before the sudden movement of Dio's severed hand caused him to still once more. M/n, while not bothered by such things, as his own severed limbs would likely do the same if needed, remained still and silent. There was a hissing in the air...one that didn't come from him, his stand, or the snakes he now held. It was of something melting.

“Zombies, to me! Keep those peasants back! I’m rather busy.” With everyone but M/n forced to fight the waves of undead, it left the god alone to observe the fight. The god moved away from the others, getting closer to the pair without being close enough to be considered an additional threat by either of them, and his eyes followed the blade of the sword. “Now, Jojo, in your last moments of free will, realize that the victory was mine.”

“No, Dio, you’ve not won yet. You’ve made a fatal mistake!”

“How so?”

“You see, Dio, if you freeze me completely, you’ll not be able to continue feeding on my life energy. This means, however, that my hamon is unaffected. You can’t block it as long as I remain partially unfrozen. Your tactics, to say the least, are somewhat flawed.” The sound of sizzling metal filled the air, and Dio hissed loudly at the realization.

“How long has the sword been in those flames? The metal blade is conducting heat from the fire faster than I can freeze it. Hamon is flowing up the blade…” Dio looked over his shoulder to better examine the blade. Eyes widening in panic, he shoved Jonathan back with a growl. Shattering part of the blade with a wave of the hand, he jolted at Jonathan lunging forward.

“Sunlight Yellow Overdrive!” A strike to the face sent Dio staggering back.

“Now! He’s done it!”

"No, no, he didn't." They looked to M/n, who had gone deathly pale.

"Our friend is right. Look closely, it seems as if the ripple has failed." Tonpeti murmured. The god wondered if the male even bothered to show emotion, or if he had somehow gotten rid of them through harsh training. He wished he knew how to replicate that method.

"My arm! He...he actually froze it from a single touch? Again, no less? No wonder he isn't showing any sign of hamon damage."

“This isn’t over, Jojo!” Veins shot out of the stump where his right arm had been, and in a second, reconnected it. M/n swallowed, mouth filling with saliva, as Dio began realigning his severed halves. “I have to admit that I admire your tenaciousness. Really, I do. And your ingenious use of the flame, a truly marvelous example of quick thinking. Hm. But really, Jojo, an emperor’s reach, should exceed his grasp. Just a touch on the arm is all it takes. I can turn your whole body to ice in two seconds.”

'The amount of Dio's blood that dripped into his wound was small enough to be burned away by hamon…good, good, but that also means if he gets injured, my blood won't do shit.' He watched Jonathan shift his weight, and heard Dio scoff at the sight.

“The vampire essence…he’s squeezed it out!”

“Really? The ‘Let’s do battle!’ stance? You’re not serious. No matter how you prepare, human ability is extremely limited and finite. Your hamon training avails you nothing. It’s useless, useless, useless, useless, useless!” Dio looked away from Jonathan with a laugh. “A mere monkey can never defeat a lion. In comparison to my power, you are but a mere monkey, Jojo!”

“You’re wrong! With true conviction and faith, the human race can overcome anything!”

"If that was the case, then churches wouldn't collapse with people inside." M/n deadpans as Jonathan hides his hands behind his back. All he gets is a laugh from Dio and a look from Jonathan. He isn't sure what either means, but he rolls his eyes, anyway. Gold. That's all they can be still.

"Good example!" Dio crows, a smile showcasing his fangs, and he lunges yet again. “But don’t waste your time! A zombie is all you’ll ever be!

Jonathan...sets his own hand on fucking fire. Or he had, but all you can do is watch how he spins, the smell of burning flesh filling your senses and making you feel all the sicker. The sickening crackle of hamon filling your ears. Dio snarls and rages at the realization.

“When this business is done, which one of us will have fallen?! We’ll find out, Dio!” He raises his hands to block, but everyone knows how it will end when Jonathan slams his fist into Dio’s palms.

M/n laughs as everyone gasps over it because only Jonathan would do something so silly.

Then Dio falls over the railing, and the joke stops being funny.

I think you'll learn that depression is silent. You never hear it stalking after you like a predator in the forest.

(Then it's the loudest voice in your head.)

So, while everyone I knew moved on, grew, and blossomed...I remained cold and stagnate.

(My mind, my body, my soul...they may live in one place, but they don't reach each other.)

Disconnected.

"Geh-" For a split second, he registers nothing but the initial force of the blow, then all he can feel is heat and pain interlocked as he plummets down to the earth below. He's choking on the blood filling his throat, his vision blurs, and his hearing is fading in and out. “I’m disintegrating! It can’t be! The pain…the burning…he may as well have set me on fire again! I-I can’t…My reign was to have lasted forever, for centuries uncounted by man…I...death wasn't supposed to be a threat anymore. I was supposed to reign over all with M/n at my side! What becomes of our dynasty? This...this…No! I will not die!”

The vampire forced his eyes open, pupils and irises being ripped open, and it all went black.

But the cry of pain, or shock, that fills the air isn't Jojo's.

It belongs to M/n.

Little snake, don't play too rough with your new toy

If you touch him, well, we all know that it'll end with him breaking

Oh?

It's not my place to interfere, my dear N/n

Wipe them all out like a stain, with a grin they hang from your string

Who can blame the loyal from hanging in a noose?

And by your judgment...well,

Nothing is what...

(You deserved? Have earned?)

And since you believe it, you won't ask for anything else.

-A poem written in someone else's handwriting

M/n acted without thinking, a problem of his, and regrets it when two lasers of all things shoot through both his shoulders. The cry he gives is more out of surprise. He had registered the motion shooting towards Jonathan, but had expected nothing close to what actually happened. Smoke makes his blood a dull scarlet, not gold, and he only relaxes when he registers that not a single snake is injured, even as Jonathan grabs him in panic. He hears someone gasp and scream about a first aid kit, but he just listens to the sound of Jonathan panting by his ear.

The world is quiet.

“How did…? He shot energy from out of his eye. He came to within only mere inches of incinerating my brain. If you hadn't moved me...then…” Jonathan is so quiet. M/n listens to his weak words and his breathing skips at the knowledge that Jonathan could've died as well. He...he was already losing Dio, but he could've lost them both in a single movement.

The weight of Jonathan isn't too great of a burden, even as they both fall into tears.

Jonathan may pass out, but neither can hear the outside world through their sorrow.

Nothing lasts forever.

Nothing really matters.

So, even this sickening sense of misery won't last forever.

"The hamon has almost reached my head and brain...must do something...move, arm move...but..."

But what was the point?

If he had aimed that attack correctly, and he knew he had, then M/n shoving Jonathan out of the way would've meant a blow to his neck or head. Even the difference in height meant that the least grievous blow would've been to both of his shoulders...or maybe he had somehow dodged both? That possibility, even as small as it was, ended up being enough for him to raise an arm and sever his head from his shoulders in one quick blow.

Even as his servant catches what remains of him, all Dio can think about is how there's no figure in the corner of his gaze.

He can only curse Jojo's name for so long.

1888, 12/4

-Excerpt from a small article in the London Press

"Wind-Knights Lot 12/1, overnight ninety percent of the town's population have gone missing. Police are investigating, but none of the remaining townsfolk have any idea what happened."

1888, 12/15

-Excerpt from a small article in the London Press

"Two weeks since hundreds of people vanished in Wind-Knight's Lot. Police are left with no answers or trace of those who went missing. A farmer mentioned he spotted four outsiders gathering a man's clothes and burning them under the cliffs of an empty castle. Along with one smashing a mask with a hammer. On unrelated notes, the entire town of Wind-Knights Lot, and several acres of land beyond the town's harsh borders, were recently purchased by a former ward of the House Joestar."

1889, 2/2

-London Press

"Heir of the Joestar Family, Mr. Jonathan Joestar, and the only daughter of the Pendleton family, Ms. Erina Pendleton, marry. They plan to leave for their honeymoon to America the following day."

The god takes a slow sip of coffee, even if most pub coffee tasted so underwhelming, while crossing his legs to better adjust himself. His companion is nose deep in the morning newspaper, but instead of being uncomfortable, the silence between the two of them is warm and relaxing. He's far more willing to linger in it than with most. If he hadn't been willing, he wouldn't have left Wind-Knight's Lot and continued his eternal quest of creating a thriving snake population and bustling farm land. Though he nearly drops the cup when Speedwagon jolts with a yelp.

"Blazes!"

"What? What's happening?" In an instant, the male shot to his feet and took off running with the god following close behind after tossing a few bills on the table. "Robert! You're not answering my questions!"

“Look what time it is! Their ship’s about to leave!” M/n twitched at that, the realization of the date making him change pace to match the other's frantic sprint.

"Why didn't you just say so?!?"

There is nothing more quiet, yet impossibly loud, as anxiety.

It doesn't change a fucking thing.

I mean, if you could accept that perfection was impossible, then what would you obsess over?

M/n had never been to a wedding.

No one had ever wanted to invite him, and he had never been in a relationship that would've survived such a ceremony, so when Jonathan had announced that he not only wanted him to be at his wedding, but be his best man...well, the god was speechless. He had tried to refuse based on buying Wind-Knight's Lot and having too many new tasks to do, but the look he had received had been enough for him to quickly change his tune.

He had regretted it when he realized his position meant he sat with Jonathan until it started.

Seeing Jonathan in the suit was something that left his mouth dry and skin hot, even if the blush he had was for someone else, and M/n hated he thought of missed opportunities. There was no place for him at Jonathan's side. He knew that. But there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to pull him down and kiss the other...to tear and mess up that fancy suit...maybe to press Jonathan up to that desk so he was pressed against the mirror to watch himself be fucked...in the end it didn't matter.

Jonathan wasn't his.

Weddings were enjoyable on some level. Too many people that talked all at once, leaving him a bit dazed and annoyed, but the flowers and décor were pleasant to look at. Though the matching soft smiles on both the bride and groom left him with a gaping hole in his chest. It was clear he wasn't needed, and he understood that more than anyone else.

His speech was something that brought tears to Speedwagon and Jonathan's eyes, though he couldn't quite read the look Erina gave him. Either way, the night ends with him drinking bottle after bottle alone. He didn't give Jonathan a chance to speak with him; it wasn't as if he could agree to going on the male's honeymoon, or risk falling into temptation.

"Cheers, Dio, it must be nice in heaven."

Why?

I'm not alone, but I'm lonely.

Is there a key difference?

M/n skidded to a stop as Speedwagon ran into a coffin, being moved with a pained yelp. Despite the strangeness of it being put on a cruise, since he hadn't imagined it needing any nonessential cargo, he assumed it was going off to some museum in America. Though the style of it didn't suggest being so old that it would be needed for an attraction. Maybe it was just something someone wanted as decoration? Or perhaps there was some master coffin maker who had been requested to make such a piece? It certainly had an expensive flair to it. The gold and black matched perfectly. The scent, though, was potent. More akin to a shop that sold nothing but herbs and poisons rather than embalming fluid and wooden caskets.

...it felt familiar for some reason.

"Watch where you're going!" Speedwagon hissed, looking like a puffed up cat, only to gasp in surprise when M/n pulled him up by the back of his coat.

"Sorry, sorry, the ship is about to leave and we don't get paid if this doesn't get in the bottom levels." One got out despite the weight pressing down on his shoulders. M/n feels a flash of sympathy spark in his chest. He blames it on the constant flush of emotion these recent months had brought him, and manages a smile.

"Oh no, don't worry about it. My friend's not hurt, besides for a bit of bruised pride, so it's all good." M/n swears he hears a male gasp at the sound of his voice, but ignores it. Either he was picking up someone else's conversation or one of the many voices had become slightly louder than usual. Neither was worth the trouble of looking into. "But if you need help to carry that into the hull of the ship, I'd be willing to help."

"No, no, but thank you for the offer." He smiles and nods. Making sure Speedwagon can't make an angry retort, he links arms with him, and pulls the blond towards the bigger crowd of people. He swears he hears a familiar hiss, but grief has been making him hear things for months now...so what's yet another instance of it?

"M/n, they were-"

"Just calm down Robert. The ship hasn't left yet. We shouldn't be having arguments with random workers today." That gets him to calm somewhat, and a call from further down the docks causes him to look over and stare at the strange group.

"Speedwagon, M/n, what took the two of you so long? You both almost missed it!" Straights is smiling, an expression that suits his face rather nicely, and the god feels a wave of shock when Poco tackles him in a hug. He couldn't imagine the quest had allowed for the other to grow fond of him, but he had never been a perfect judge of things. Either way, he ruffles the boy's hair and manages a smile.

The world is a blur, but the snake keeps moving, even as he waves the saint away to a new life.

Ever since I learned that earthworms have taste buds all along their bodies...

I pause, dropping apple peels into the compost bin. The sweetness of apples permeates all of their pores. Imagine the dark, writhing ecstasy.

I offer beets

And parsley

Avocado

And melon

Alongside the feathery tops of carrots.

Though now, it seems they bear a pleasure, so sublime, so decadent.

I always thought of them as a mental illness, or a menial life, eyeless and hidden away from the sun. almost vulgar.

I want to contribute however I can.

Forgetting for a moment that my place is on the menu.

Jonathan nearly chokes on the wine. His throat burns at the sensation, but his eyes stay on the figure moving back down the hall. He knew that man. That was the poison seller that had worked for Dio. He...he was undead. But...why...why was he here? With only a second of eye contact, he turned his head and vanished. He could tell that Erina was staring at him, but all he could do was slowly stand up.

"Wait...you're...No, no, that can't be. Impossible! Dio's…Dio's dead. Unless...he's ali-"

"Jonathan?"

"Erina, return to our room. Don't forget to lock the door behind you!"

"...?"

He sprinted out of the dining room as if the hounds of hell were chasing after him.

I don't remember when it started.

It feels as if I'm sitting on someone's beat up loveseat watching my life play out through a half dead tv. Static makes the images and impact fuzzy. I'm so far away from the world at large. A foreign intruder in my mind and body. As if every favorable moment had been taken from me and washed away. I close my eyes and I can't remember what being happy feels like. My heart starts to sink and wither at the knowledge that I'm not okay. I'm not okay, but I have to wake up again and do all this over and over. To pretend that I don't exist in this faded reality.

I want to reach out and touch things.

I want to feel them touch me back.

I want to live.

I want to be real.

The god twitched, nothing more than a dark shape crouched in the woods that lingered at the edge of the basin known as Wind-Knight's Lot, an area that edged rather close to the sudden drops of the cliffs. A small puff of air, a faint pink, escaped his lips as he shifted ever so slightly. It was only to better serve his goal. Pushing his legs into a better stance to pounce. The voices were a constant, whispering back and forth to each other, all wondering why he had hidden himself and dropped into a hunting crouch, one that was more suited for an animal, but he didn't bother answering any of them. His claws scrape at the bark of the tree. His fangs are sharp, about to cut into his bottom lip or the inside of his mouth at any second, but he stays perfectly still.

There was a complete silence before he saw a single shift of motion in the woods. His mouth watered. But he stayed still.

He didn't have to wait for long.

The figure was approaching him. Bumping into trees with pained hisses. It was too loud. Breaking branches with each step it took.

There was a single pause.

The god lunged with the speed of a whip cracking.

With a crash, the zombie and god went rolling down the hill, branches and rocks cutting at any glimpse of flesh, but snakes didn't let go of their prey. Smashing his head against the zombie's hard enough to hear the crack of bone, the god laughs. He laughs loudly. His claws rip and leave furrows in the zombie's flesh. There's a snarl building in his throat, but he feels better.

Alive!

He can sense Narcissistic Cannibal on the other side of town, the sudden spark of awareness in their shared connection, and the knowledge that his stand was approaching. Of course he was. His stand was loyal beyond belief, beyond reason, and it was something he could trust no matter what. His fangs flashed as he snarled at the zombie, happy to be a bloodthirsty cannibal rather than a god with responsibilities or a person with feelings.

Instinct tells him to embed his sharp fangs into the thing's throat, but he's the one who does it when he lands back first in a ditch. His choice is to pull back, teeth still firmly in place, and take out the zombie's entire windpipe in one rough motion. A kick knocks it off of the god. Lifting his head, the massive chunk of flesh was still in his mouth, and for a second the zombie has long blond hair and red eyes, for a second he sees-

The rock he grabs makes a fine sound when crushing the zombie's head in...when making it unrecognizable from what it used to be. He swallows down flesh without thinking and the sigh that escapes his lips is steady and collected despite it all. This is what he is. There's no point in denying it, is there? He drops the rock, leans back, and extends his legs. His hands are stained with blood. He licks it off.

This place, now his home, provided for him and his stand easily.

It was easy to be something else when he was alone.

Opening the bag that hung at his side, sturdy to survive everything he put it through, he pulled out a bound notebook and completed the rough map he had started. The rest were notes. Mainly on how he wanted to change the land. Honestly, he hadn’t done much yet. Most of his time had been spent cleaning out the castle, but that was fine. Planning was important.

He knew that.

That was the only reason he had won against Ajamu…and it was why he outlasted everyone else.

…but this was so much better, right?

A dry, crumbling leaf

Burning easily in the fire pile

The purgatory flames

Start to hungrily consume me.

"Lord Dio, I had him follow me here as you ordered." Jonathan watched the poison seller lift a single gilded case up onto his arm, almost resembling a falconer holding their prized bird, but the contents had his blood turning to ice. Dio's severed head rested in the aforementioned case and the blond was regarding him with cold eyes.

“Where is…my body?”

"D-Dio!"

“Jojo, do you see the condition in which I find myself? Your work. But there is a reason I display myself to you like this.” Despite being a severed head, his voice still sounded the same, and Jonathan swallowed down the urge to back up or ask if this was real. Dio simply looked at him with a smirk. “Why would I show my weakness to my deadliest foe? That's what you're asking yourself right now, am I correct? Hm, well, I would've thought the reason was obvious, but M/n was always the smarter between you two. Because though I once despised you, now I have only the greatest respect for your spirit. Your valor in battle, your power. I see it now how incredible you are, and it certainly stands out when I consider M/n in relation to you.”

"M/n...?"

"I had always wondered what exactly drew his gaze, but I think I finally understood." Dio laughed, lips quirked up into a rather violent grin. “Jojo, if not for you, I would never have obtained the power of the stone mask. However, your damnable meddling cost me world domination. If there really is a god, or perhaps a god outside of mine who plucks the strings of our fate, I am certain that our fates were bound together for a reason. Our three existences were only ever intended to be but one, and so I will take the body of the only mortal on earth I respect. Then I will live in eternal glory, in service to my god, for that is the destiny which is waiting for me. There will be no pain. That is the final gift I bequeath to you, a memento of our upbringing.”

“N-no! No, those eyes, I can’t…”

"Live on as my body Jojo!" Once again Dio's pupils ripped open and two lasers shot towards Jonathan, and this time M/n wasn't here to push him out of the way, so he raised his arms to cover his vitals. As the lasers cut through his palms and neck, Jonathan felt a wave of fear when he heard footsteps descending into the hull of the ship.

"Jonathan?"

"E...erina...?"

The saint would drown in his own blood before nightfall.

In the ruins of churches, in the disembowelled bodies of animals, in wind turbines in fields, in moths fluttering towards candles, in an illuminated fossil specimen of amber, in an apple cut open, in a prosthetics factory at a great and somber dusk.

I won't make the same mistake as my mother.

Yesterday, I stood in front of the tombstone saying goodbye to ancestors whose names I don't know. There will be no place for me to rest. No more division of reproductive cells. No more volcanoes. Bushes. No more flying birds. A bleeding stone will no longer exist. Nor does the dream of a young fetus.

We have given the wild birds that flocked just once across the sky, the most popular names for the newborns from the year of 1985. At that time, the garden in my body had not yet decayed. This secret would soon be revealed. In a staid and vapid anatomy class.

"We could make that a large grave, or commission someone to put a statue there. Either way, I think it would be nice." M/n followed the point of his stand's tail and swallowed at the sight. It was the direction of Bluford's battleground, though now it was a beautiful field of flowers. Despite the bittersweet nature of the area, he couldn't deny that his stand had a point. Besides, there had to be plenty of statue makers that would depict a legend like Bluford even if they wouldn't understand the placement of it. It would be nice...but should he even bother with a Tarkus statue? No, no, not yet at least. That wound was still too raw for him. There was a flicker of motion from the corner of his eye, and he watched his stand nose at the ground before making a surprised hum, noticing the way it lifted a hand, he intervened.

"What did you find?" His stand doesn't get the chance to tell him.

Monkshood wrapped around Sweet Pea.

A warning and a farewell all in one.

He didn't even realize he was running till he heard his stand call out for him.

Summer night

So when the summer sun finally sets, I can leave the cage they trapped me in without fearing the sun. I hate everything. I've learned to fear; men, the possibility of cancer, and my own morality. One day, when I'm beautiful and people actually love me, I hope I can come down from the mountains.

I hope I never go to a beach again.

I hope the trees at my childhood home remember me as more than a simple mistake.

I used to eat ice cream in the park.

I used to fail at riding a bike.

I used to fall to my knees and cry as if I invented the art.

I wish I had invented something.

Is it too late for me?

I waited for my life and the bus drove on.

The entire sky changed by the end of it.

Dio sighed in disappointment when Jonathan's body came crashing to the floor, a wet choking sound joining the shifting of mechanics, and he ignored how the male looked up to the bride on the staircase. “Oh, a pity you wouldn’t hear me. If only you had remained still as I told you, your death, in fact, would have been quite painless.”

"...!" Erina flinched under the vampire's inspection.

“Torn from your little fairy tale into hell, thrust into a reality you didn’t know existed. What will you do now? Did Jojo never tell you of me, the evil that dwells there in the darkness? Did Jojo never tell you? The stories of how I burned down the manor and killed my adopted father? Of what he did to stop me? I may not look like much right now, but surely you must remember me, right, Erina Pendleton? No, wait, it’s Erina Joestar now, isn’t it?”

"Dio…?"

The walls behind her broke as zombies reached for her, and the cry of a baby filled the air.

Comfort me, oh comfort me,

I need little more than to grasp your hand,

I need a warm embrace,

...?

That's not an embrace

...oh, I see.

You were waiting there, holding a knife for me

“As you ordered, Lord, I drained the life of only one passenger, and now most of the ship has joined our little family. And now we will proceed to America. Isn’t that right, Lord Dio?”

"For fuel." The vampire responded, his gaze now entirely on the saint's trembling form, watching each shaky rise and fall of the male's chest. "We'll be heading back to Wind-Knight's Lot soon enough. Though I've heard it's been purchased as of late."

"...…." Jonathan swallowed, trying and failing to draw breath and channel hamon, but his mind kept going to Erina's form at the stairs. 'I can't speak...I can't...speak? I can't even draw breath...Erina…not you...Erina…I can't even use my hamon…I have to move…'

“Well, how the mighty have fallen. This sniveling whelp can’t even draw a proper breath now. He’ll be causing no more mischief with his hamon. This is what he gets for crossing you, Lord Dio. Should I torture him for you, or should we merely watch as he drowns in his own blood?”

“Silence. There shall be no insult to Jojo.”

“Huh?”

“He is the one man capable of bringing me to the apex of my fate. You will show him all the respect which is due to him by severing his head in a painless manner.” The other vampire flinched under his glare with a whimper.

“Of course, Lord Dio.”

“To think, the body of my dearest foe has become my future!”

Yet one last spark of hamon filled the air.

You wanna play brag?

No.

You sure?

Fuck off.

Oh come on, I'll teach you. First, we gotta remove the jokers from the deck. Nothing but trouble, honestly. I get three cards, you get three cards, and we put three in the middle. So, the rules-

I don't give a shit.

Stop being insufferable, I'm not letting you cheat.

How would I even do that?

Some people have more cards up their sleeves than they let on. The game asks you to swap out one card for the best combination, so you can imagine how that fucks it up. Don't cheat, I'll be pissed.

Fine, I won't...just...just tell me the rules.

Rule 1;

Get the highest combination!

Rule...uh, that's basically it.

The fuck? Why bother telling me these stupid rules then?

Because then I can tell you the combos. Let's start with the lowest; high, ironic, I know, anyway, it's shit. You do it when you have no good options, but if you have a table of only highs and you have an ace you can still win.

Why an ace?

It's the highest card.

Huh?

I know, you'd expect the king, wouldn't you? In chase the ace is the lowest, but in this it's the highest. Neat, huh?

Yeah...sure.

Now, the next combo is: a pair. It's pretty self-explanatory, two of the same number, it's okay, but sometimes the third card can make or break it.

That's stupid.

You're one to talk. If you were smart you wouldn't be here right now.

…

Anyway, stop interrupting me and start listening. Now; a flush, they all have the same suit; a common goal, but still kinda flimsy. Above that is a run: three cards that go in an order you can go pretty far with an ace, king, and queen. But a better combo is a bounce. It's a flush and run combined. And finally, the highest combination: a prial, three of the same number.

Then I have to get three aces every time and I'll win without fail?

You can try. Maybe you will. Maybe you'll get three kings, but the best prial is a prial of three.

Since fucking when?

Don't act so surprised. I mean, we play with three cards, so it makes sense. So; what do you think?

Sounds like shit. I'm not playing with you, Ajamu.

Well, tough N/n.

You don't have a fucking choice.

'That...that's it...right? That's...that was my final ripple...I'm too weak to even destroy that zombie completely...but...but that should be good enough…should be enough...something broke inside my body…something important…'

"This is bad…what have you done?" Dio muttered, his gaze going to the vampire's broken form, only freezing when he saw the corpse's position. “What…what is he playing at? Jojo has interfered with his body, disrupting its functions without bringing it to complete destruction. He’s made it seize tightly onto a piece of machinery, and the device it clings to so immovably…is the paddle’s screw shaft. The strength of a zombie is sufficient to arrest the paddle. If the shaft is stopped, steam pressure in the piston will bring up inexorably. Under such conditions, there is but one end. The ship will explode!”

"Oh Jonathan...how could this...why...why is this happening?" Erina flinched when Jonathan reached out, weakly taking her hand in his own, and she couldn't help but swallow a sob down when she felt the hole in his palm.

"Run...run away...Erina…the ship's going to explode...so...please leave..."

"I...I may not understand what's happening, but if you think I'm unwilling to die with you-"

She's interrupted by him pressing his lips to her own.

As the chicken furiously flapped its wings trying to escape, something deep inside, a primal canine desire, took hold of the beast. After dinner, when the farmer gave the dogs leftover soup as a treat, a chicken watched, motionless, as the dogs ate their portions. Exhausted from their search, the hunters began to suspect the villagers, which in turn made the villagers turn against them. I watched the lives of those chickens, sometimes with amusement, other times with disgust. She reached the spot where she could look inside and froze, she watched the entire process without a blink. I knew which beast was the perpetrator from the moment the hunters set foot in town.

And the earth was saved from the sixth mass extinction.

“So your plan is to destroy this vessel, is it? Jojo, you never give up or give in, no matter the odds, but know this…determination is not just in you. I will live. There is no one who can defy me! I will take your body as my own! Zombies, hither!” Dio felt a small pang of relief when they immediately leapt into action and the sound of flesh ripping began to fill the air. Only to snarl when the sound of metal breaking filled the air in turn. “Devour Wang Chen’s body, and restart the piston once you have.”

‘The end has begun.’

Jonathan moved, despite how badly it pained him, and hissed in pain when chunks of shrapnel embedded into his back. He registered Dio snarling somewhere above his head alongside Erina's sobbing, but all he could do was watch her grab the baby.

“It’s already blowing apart, but there’s still a way out.” Dio's gaze darted back towards the undamaged coffin in the corner of the room. “I was protecting myself from the sun’s rays well before this. Let it explode. I already have everything I need to survive.”

Jonathan gasped in shock as crimson veins wrapped around his throat, forcing his head to look up towards what remained of Dio.

“Erina, take a good look! Hah! Since Jojo can no longer use his hamon, I’ll remove his head and take his body as my own. Then I shall walk over and lie down in my velvet boudoir. That humble shelter is marvelously constructed, it could withstand a ton of dynamite. Goodbye, Jojo, and welcome to you, my new eternal body!” With that Dio dived towards Jonathan, and for a single second there was complete silence.

Yet there was a flash of steel and a splash of blood, and with a sense of finality the saint embraced the sinner.

Compasses can't point you to people. I had to learn that the hard way. There is no point here that can pick up your magnetic field. All there is...is all the earth you showed me.

I am a needle, suspended.

(And so, I point to you.)

I must follow it north.

“Dio, as you observed, it may be true that our fate is to be together.” Jonathan felt a weak smile start to form on his face, but all he could do was tighten his grasp. ‘I feel an odd warmth for you, for now our lives are interwoven completely and will end along with this ship. M/n must've felt the same even during all of our battles. In a way our destinies have become one...at least M/n wasn't here. There's no way he would've left our side at this moment.’

A soft sob, shaky since she was obviously trying to hide it, caused his gaze to go to Erina.

“Farewell to you, my beloved.”

“Jojo, let me go! Release me! Think of what we two can achieve. You’d like a taste of eternity, would you not? I can heal your wounds. You and Erina can live together forever! And what about M/n? Did you even think about how your death would affect him? It would destroy him! Especially after hearing that I was killed as well...he still hasn't gotten over my faked death, has he? You know this will destroy him...you're going to be the thing that kills him! Jojo…jojo?” Dio went silent, gaze frantically going up towards Jonathan's face, only to go deathly still. Jonathan's face was set into a single smile, two trails of tears going down his cheeks, and his frame almost seemed frozen. “Jojo…? No, it’s too late…he’s dead…”

1889, 2/7,

Jonathan Joestar has passed away.

Jonathan Joestar's life vanished into oblivion. His history was lost in the shadows, known to no one, and so the public would never hear the story of the proud life he lived. Yet to his descendants and allies, this legend will live on.

For even at this moment, new life begins.

Two days later, Erina Joestar was found and rescued in the Canary Islands.

"M/n? How did you...I hadn't even sent you a letter?" M/n twitched at the sound of Speedwagon's voice. The moment he had seen that prophecy he had left Wind-Knight's Lot in blind panic, but now seeing how broken the other looked, he knew what had happened. The warning and farewell mingling together in his mind. He should've gone with Jonathan.

"I...I had a bad feeling...what happened?"

The answer he gets is what breaks everything.

It's funny how things used to be, and how things change,

Was it because of us?

Or because of what's around us?

Where did we go

Very

Wrong?

"He didn't have to die." M/n flinched at Speedwagon's words, they rang true, yet the realization that Dio and Jonathan had died together with him unable to do a fucking thing...Still, he managed a nod swallowing down whatever hellish drink combination the bartender had given him, all while watching Speedwagon empty yet another bottle of his own. There was a part of him that wanted to point out how unhealthy this was, how the alcohol burned his throat in a way that reminded him of his father, or how Speedwagon's liver could actually suffer while he'd be fine.

"The good always die young, only reason I'm still around, but...you're right." Waving a hand, the god grabbed the fresh bottle passed towards him, swallowing down half of it with ease and gesturing towards his throat absentmindedly. "Knew it from the moment I got this scar. No one keeps around cowards...well, unless they want cannon fodder. Jonathan kept me around...I never understood what he saw in me. There was never any doubt in his mind that I was worth something, that I had value, and I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop on me. I didn't think I would outlive him...or rather, I knew I'd outlive him...and it terrified me."

"When we first met, I tried to rob and kill him with my mates." M/n tilted his head to the side, having yet to hear this story. "He almost lost all the fingers on one hand because he decided catching a knife was fine as long as he could help his family."

"I'm not surprised. How did he win?"

"He easily beat all of us, but I realized after he kicked me in the face, he was holding back. When I asked him why, he told me he knew I had a family and didn't want to bring them grief."

"He always had a big heart." Speedwagon laughed at that, the bottle nearly being knocked off the bar, and the god watched him try to catch it. It was a close one. But all he could think about was the word 'had' when talking about Jonathan. That wasn't supposed to happen. But he couldn't say Jonathan has a big heart...you knew his body was destroyed or being turned into fish food...and he hated thinking about that. "I never understood people like he did. He at least trusted people, even though he often ended up trusting the wrong kind. I'm not like that. We may have never been friends if I had been the one searching for the poison seller."

"I wouldn't have liked that reality."

"Me neither." For once, he wasn't lying.

So they drank their sorrows away.

"He was nothing." Says the god, voice trembling.

A lie, he thinks.

He was the beginning.

He had freedom.

He was the end.

He was everything.

They stumble down the halls of the inn, crashing into each other like waves on the coast, and he vaguely notes that Speedwagon is murmuring words he isn't registering. Grief is pressing down on him, making it impossible to think. He's lost four he cared for in only a few months of each other, and each one pulls at something. He wishes he could've been there. That there was some way to change things, but he knows...wait. Would that work? He pauses at that, nearly causing Speedwagon to fall over. He tilts his head to apologize, only to be pulled into a sudden kiss.

"Hm?" He blinks in confusion, swallowing down a question that wouldn't even matter, and goes for a second kiss. His lips taste like cheap beer and ale. He's sure he tastes the same. His back presses against a door, luckily the one to Speedwagon's room, and he opens the door with a strange desperation. His blood hums, the alcohol mixes with his ichor in strange ways, and all he knows is that he wants a distraction. Something that will make him forget what a shitty day it is, that he's going to self-destruct the moment he can think clearly, and that he won't be able to look the other in the eyes afterwards.

But it'll be worth it.

They fall to the bed, a door locked behind them, and his nails are catching on fabric and tugging. Blond hair fell over the male's shoulder and M/n swallowed. For a second, he saw scarlet instead of hazel eyes looking back, could taste blood on the other's lip, and felt the coldness of his skin...then it was back to normal.

He presses his fangs into the male's neck, bites, and tastes blood. Feels dying pleas brushing against his ear as he rips the fabric away. He pulls back, eyes tracing the hundreds of thin white lines on his skin, and before Speedwagon can apologize for it, he kisses him. Unlike Dio and Jonathan, who both were virgins, awkward and clumsy in most of their motions even if passion overruled it, Speedwagon clearly had some experience to fall back on. His responses were well-timed, moving in a natural sync, and if they weren't drunk, he was certain they'd be perfectly in time with the other. The voices howl as he leaves a trail of bite marks down the other's neck, blood dripping in thin lines of scarlet, and some weird instinct makes him smile at each gasp and moan Robert gives him.

A tongue swipe here, a hum of appreciation, him pressing his fangs into flesh, a loud gasp and curse followed by pleading.

He moved down to the male's chest, spotting a scar that ran straight down the center of his chest, thinner than his own and barely there white, and without even thinking, he pressed his lips to it. He didn't linger long on that before going to remove the other's pants somewhere along the way, tossing off his own with a soft hum. Not quite a purr. He wasn't even sure he could properly make that sound most days.

Speedwagon mumbled something about not wanting prep, a shame since M/n always liked to drag out foreplay, but he tossed his clothes to the floor and smashed his lips against the other's.

"..."

What could he say? They were both drunk as fuck and mourning. This wasn't supposed to be happening, but they were both...no, no, it didn't matter. He lined himself up and entered the other, earning a desperate cry from Speedwagon.

He wanted to drown in this feeling.

" So, everything came to an end, after all. " The god jolted, nearly falling off the sacrificial altar, the void howling at his appearance. Looking across the hazy purple void, he watched the former god approach him. Ajamu carried himself as if the world bowed before him. He had nothing to say to the other, so he dipped his head with a frown. " I told you he'd end up dead. You'd been dreaming of ships exploding out at sea since you entered the mortal realm. Did you expect nothing to come of it? "

"A single line of red across his throat."

" Hm, so you remembered it all and chose to not help? How cruel of you N/n. There might be potential in you yet. " M/n frowned at that, adjusting his weight, only to stop when he noticed the state of his hands. His fingertips were starting to gain an ashy black texture to them. He pressed a hand to his face, half expecting to be wearing the skull of his god form, but there was no other sign of him transforming. A hand hooked under his chin and forced him to make eye contact with the dead god. " But what are you going to do now? "

"..."

" Leave again? It makes sense. You have a place to live. You could spend decades making a farm all while ignoring the outside world. Pretending it all doesn't exist. I guess a better question would be if you plan on abandoning the man in your bed, so what decision have you come to? "

"I'll leave after the funeral."

" A coward's decision. " He flinched at that, watching Ajamu let go of his chin and wave a hand, the void morphing to a bedroom. One he could easily remember from living in the Joestar manor. A soft sound of breath filled the room, and when he looked at the bed, he saw a small outline. The hint of blond hair told him who it was. The presence of his past self at the door only added to it. " I told you what would happen if you let someone like him live. Every night I brought you here because of how easy it would've been to- "

"I wasn't killing a fucking child!"

" What about when he grew up? You clearly couldn't kill him then either! You know if Dio had been in your shoes, he would've killed me in the first battle or at least die trying while putting on a show. He had ambition and drive. He was worth ten of you. " Ajamu's expression changed into something mocking. " Besides, I never said it had to be painful. Suffocation with a pillow isn't a terrible way to die, is it? "

"Shut the fuck up." Ajamu tilted his head to the side, only to be knocked back by a single kick from the god, and he watched the male press a hand towards the small trail of black tar in shock. "You never shut the fuck up! Every day you're in my head, making everything worse. I killed you and that's it...you're..."

" I'm what? " He could see it in Ajamu's face, that this should all blow over and he should apologize, but he's so fucking tired.

"You're pathetic." The look he received made him want to laugh, but instead, he pressed on. "You spent all this time talking about how pathetic I am. How weak I am. How unfitting I am as a god...but what about you? You kept me trapped for what must've been years!"

A lash of his stand's clawed hand sent Ajamu's head back at an awkward angle, but all he could think about was the black lines running down his skin, and how he was shaking.

"You tortured me!"

A strike to the chest sends Ajamu down with the cracking of ribs filling the air.

"You...you ruined me...all because you seemed to think being a god made you perfect." He flashed his fangs, the room changing to the field where Bluford had died, but he ignored that. "Newsflash asshole, you ain't worth jack shit to me!"

" You couldn't do anything without me! You're nothing but a- "

"Who the fuck even cares?"

" ...? "

"I mean...how pathetic are you to have lost to me when I was at my fucking worst?!?"

A moment of silence echoes.

"I know Dio was worth ten of me from the very beginning. He and Jonathan were always better than me. I knew that, but do you know where you stand in those rankings?" The glare Ajamu gives him is deadly, but he's died before, hasn't he? "You lost to me. You died at my hands. They may have done it faster, but you still couldn't defeat a half-dead twenty-two-year-old."

"..."

"Leave me the fuck alone." Grabbing the male by one of his dreads, he pulled his head at an angle, making sure the other had to actually look up at him for once, and grinned. "I don't know if I could actually kill you or any of the souls trapped in my stand, but you've always been able to feel pain. Don't make me reenact all our old spats."

Ajamu opens his mouth, but goes silent. Looking behind himself, he can see an unfamiliar figure in the woods...but they both are gone in a blink of an eye.

…who was that?

It wasn't a man he knew, but that meant little, given that he was in the void. Unless...maybe it was the void? It was a stand...a stand that could shapeshift and change to whatever the person wanted it to be. Could it make people that didn't exist? Or...maybe it was the expression of a stand that had lost its user? Was that the ghost of the user? Someone Ajamu had to have killed eons ago?

…for some reason, the man looked familiar.

He stands alone on the day of the official funeral.

A mere ghost on the outskirts, making it seem to most that he isn't even part of the group that came here to mourn, but he catches a person here or there looking towards where he remains. It isn't nice...but nothing about a fucking funeral was pleasant. His hands shook. Speedwagon had only spared him a sad look that he couldn't fully decipher. He couldn't blame the other for hating him...he had left after their night together before the blond had woken up...not that he could've stayed, the blond hair and figure with a clear line of separation between the two had reminded him of things he'd rather forget, so he ran.

That was all he ever did.

At least Jonathan had been someone who knew that from the beginning. Who tried to change him even if he was desperate to stay the same and fall back on bad habits? Now there's no one. He knows that while Speedwagon seems happy to be in his presence, till he threw it all away, such behavior couldn't remain. Jonathan was, in a way, peerless. That had been his downfall. M/n wasn't like that. He had been accurate in that bar.

The good died first, and that was why he remained past everyone else.

If Jonathan had known everything about him, in the one reality where he could hear all of that and not hate him, he'd have hoped that Jonathan would be proud of him for facing off against Ajamu.

Dio would've been proud of him.

He should get a funeral as well. Not today. He wouldn't force anyone to do that, but he wished Dio would get something. He wasn't a good person, but the both of them made a constant stream of shit decisions. Maybe he could commission a grave on his own property?

He looked at the swarm of flowers, a messy bouquet, but one that he hoped could convey what Jonathan had been to him in both life and death. He'd make one for Dio when he found him a grave.

Daffodil, freesia, aloe, arborvitae, basil, Black-Eyed Susan, pink camellia, red and pink carnation, and daisy. Of course he included the sweet pea and monkshood as an ill-fated omen that had ended up true, but in a way they somehow added a spark of something to the bundle. He only knew flowers for poems, not how to make a bundle look gorgeous, but he hoped the meaning would bring someone happiness. If Jonathan even bothered to look down from heaven.

He tosses the flowers on the grave when everyone else is long gone.

They don't hear the snarl that escapes his lips, how it turns into a dying sob, or how the god flees the moment after.

All alone.

Little boy, brave snake, no one can reach you in that body of yours. Placate loneliness with the voices of your friends. Or have you forgotten them already? Pacify the suffocating fear that you're alone with the idea you're loved.

But remember, all you have is within your skin, vile and sickly.

And do not question the love given to you.

"So, you're not coming back?" There's a part of her that regrets starting this conversation like that. Especially with how M/n jolts, slamming the suitcase shut, and pressing himself back against the wall as if he's expecting a physical fight. She wonders if she looks that scary, or perhaps it's something deeper...a sense of exhaustion. He blinks, eyes darting towards her stomach, and he looks away before she can make a remark on it. Instead, she notes how he trembles. "I'm...people will miss you here."

"I...Erina, I can't stay here. Even before all of this...I bought Wind-Knight's Lot for a reason...even if I didn't expect...I can't stay..." His words are rushed and she nods in response. "Jonathan would've hated seeing us all like this."

'He would've wanted you to stay.' She doesn't say it out loud. It would be too cruel. Instead, she silently watched how his face shifted through a sudden set of expressions before settling on something painfully blank. It's the same reason she doesn't mention how Robert will feel when he hears the news.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His shoulders shake and his hands clench at his side. "I know I messed things up. I could've done more if I had just been there to help...or if I had handled it all differently. Believe me...if I could trade his life for mine...I wouldn't even hesitate."

She listens to his rambling with a frown forming on her lips. M/n had always been a presence in her interactions with Jonathan, in much the same way as Dio, but she had never been certain about where those lines were placed. He had never talked to her in their youth, a quiet shadow that followed Jonathan more days than naught, and she wondered why she never spoke to him till they were older.

Maybe on some level she had believed in the more naïve whispers of the maids she had since childhood. Whispers of a strange love triangle between her and the men that inhabited the Joestar manor, one that would be more entertaining than any romance novel they could buy. When she had been younger, before Dio stole her first kiss, she had imagined it. M/n certainly had the quiet nature that actually hid passion like the men in those stories, so for a brief span of time she had harbored a crush on him, wondering if the reason he let her and Jonathan go off alone was to hide his own feelings. A feeling that had died but then sparked exactly once more when the boys that usually sided with Dio came running to her with desperate apologies, leaving their lips. She had seen the claw marks and knew Jonathan would never have done something like that, even with her honor on the line, so she looked towards the more sinister of the two. M/n had the reputation and a protective streak that seemed to beat oceans in width.

It ended fully when she saw where, or who, his feelings actually were towards.

M/n did his best to hide it, but she noted how his feelings ran towards both Jonathan and Dio. It was in the subtle motions of his behavior, the ease of tension and slight smile that would form, and it was all too easy for her to observe. Her father had taught her that being a doctor or nurse meant being able to pick up on the smaller changes in a patient's mood, to note how a wound or illness changed their mental state, and to respond accordingly. She just wished it hadn't been so obvious to her. It made all his decisions all the more clear, that maybe M/n had considered her a friend or ally, but at the end of the day he was doing it for Jonathan.

For years, she had hated him for it.

It had been easy because she had loved Jonathan, still loved him even after placing an empty coffin in the earth, and on some level she had known that Jonathan had loved him back. He was far easier to read than M/n, who only let his guard down in quick, more often random, moments before going back to quick spans of silence. On some level, she knew that M/n was clearly pushing Jonathan to her, yet Jonathan wasn't aware or unwilling to let go of him.

Did he still think she hated him?

Honestly, she had moved past that, even if she struggled with it, because in a way M/n hadn't had any choice in the matter. How could she blame him? She fell in love with Jonathan, likely for the same reasons as M/n, and could easily name every detail about her now deceased husband and why someone would fall in love with him. As for Jonathan's feelings towards M/n...well, she had a crush on him once. While it ended up going nowhere, she knew that M/n was certainly loyal and had dozens of traits that would've made him a wonderful lover if circumstances had been different.

So, she swallowed any bitterness down.

"Can we start over?" M/n goes silent, he looks as if he was about to sob, but she presses on. "I...I don't want us to be enemies or...whatever you think we are. I just...want to know who you are without any of that."

"...that would be nice." He finally murmured a moment later, and she smiled.

"Well then, I'm Erina Pendleton Joestar. I recently became a widow and am pregnant trying to get my life back in order. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure...I'm M/n, I don't have a family name, but I was primarily raised as a ward of the Joestar family, and recently I lost two people that meant the world to me. I recently purchased land and plan on spending my time changing it to something that will make me happy. It's difficult, but I want to choose my happiness more."

"Do you have a specific plan for it?"

"I want to start a farm." He gave her a soft smile, though he almost seemed to look past her, as if he was already back at Wind-Knight's Lot. "I know how...even if all that was several lifetimes ago, but I missed it. I want chickens."

"I'm glad you've found something that will make you happy." She never imagined M/n taking a job so...physical. Jonathan had always described him as a writer and poet. She could remember girls in the college mentioning how difficult it was to find him anywhere else, but she could clearly hear how passionate he was. "Please remember to write."

"I...I will." With that, she pulled him into an embrace, the tears finally falling, and she felt him hesitate before putting his arms around him.

She swore she could see a familiar figure standing at the docks. Blood dripping down his throat, but he wears a rather sad smile on his face. She hears M/n cry as well, and she can only hope they'll all get better with time.

At least they have time.

If both your hands weren't already stained with your own blood, would you be able to see that they're stained, colored red nonetheless?

Is it enough to be a victim of circumstance, of cruelty, unknown? If you'll say sorry, and sorry, and sorry again, and never know what you're apologizing for? When will it come to the forefront that another man perceives willful ignorance? Is another man simply not knowing?

A figure is stalking through the land that once held the Joestar manor in the center. There's no other or a carriage waiting on him, and he leaves the remains without so much as a glance. He goes to the family graveyard. A letter from Erina told him she couldn't bear to own this land, a reminder of bad things, yet she couldn't throw it away either. He agreed to take it and monitor it. He still won't meet anyone he knows in person, but she doesn't argue. Robert says he misses him, and he says he does as well, but the pain of the past is still hot and burning under his skin. Robert is kind enough to understand, even if he grieves. He tells the other to choose happiness and not be afraid of what it may mean to everyone around him.

Erina also mentioned something new, that she placed it in the back because of her own past pain, but it was what Jonathan would've wanted.

The key is a heavy weight in his back pocket, but he climbs the wall rather than opens the gate. He lands on the ground without a sound, his heel already tapping rather frantically, and he glances at Jonathan's grave. Right now, he can't handle that. He needs to look at what Erina has changed before he fully breaks down. He leaves aloe and basil on Sir Joestar's grave before he goes to the other end, a bit overgrown and shaded by massive trees, and he tries to guess what could be there.

Nothing prepares him for the truth.

'Dio Brando'

The grave was more than what he imagined anyone but him to give Dio. He wouldn't have even expected a wooden cross, but he stares at the detailed, polished black grave, not white like Jonathan's, and he shakes. She was right. Jonathan would've wanted this. This was what he wanted. Hadn't planned for this. He doesn't know what he wants to say to Dio's grave, so all he does is leave him flowers. He can come back later. This land is owned by him now. Freesia, aloe, basil, pink camellia, red and pink carnations, and finally gardenia.

He hopes Dio's happy in heaven.

He goes back to Jonathan's grave, pure white with piles of flowers in different stages of wilting, and stares. He planned this out, or at least had some idea of what he wanted to say, but now he doesn't know. The words catch...and he claimed to be a poet.

"I miss you." That's a good enough starting point, right? Honest, at least. He sways slightly. "That...that never seems to get easier, you know? Or the few days I lean back and get things done without thinking about you...I get hit with this...feeling...that I'm forgetting you. I don't like it. Some days I have trouble remembering what exactly your voice sounded like...or how your face looked...but I was always terrible with faces, anyway. Why I'm not an artist that draws people. Your first friend...already forgetting you no matter what flowers I place at your wake. What a fucking joke I turned out to be. But...sometimes I look back and wonder..."

No, he had to say this.

"Were we friends? I know that you always said we were, but I don't think we were. No. We're not friends. Or weren't. Friends don't do the things we did. Have the arguments we had...or...well, we weren't friends. That's it. Maybe there was a point where we could've been something else, but I think we were just lying to ourselves about being anything else."

That part was done, but the next was harder.

"That was my fault. I wanted things from you that just weren't possible given...everything. That moment in the tunnels...I was terrified of you admitting that you...that you loved me. I'm not good. Never have been, and you were the best person I'd ever met. The first guy I wanted to bring home to my mom, you know? I fell for an image of you. I wanted a moral compass, not a person, not you. Realized that when you learned hamon…when the choices became harder to make, yet no matter how hard I tried to pull myself free, you wouldn't let me. I was trying and failing to get over you constantly. Yet you made choices that pushed us back together. You came to my hotel room, even if I wasn't thinking when I shared your pipe, and you were the one to confess in the tunnels. I'm sorry about that, though. I was so scared. Without thinking, I snapped. I wanted the conversation to end, and I didn't even consider how badly you must've felt at that moment. But...I fucking hated you at that moment! I wanted you to shut up so I could actually think, so I could ignore the fact that I had fallen in love with someone that I could never have, and you always came back and dragged me in. I was your best man! You knew how I felt about the matter! You knew! Did I mean a fucking thing when you dragged me in a room to listen to you say how happy you were to get married?!? Do you think I wanted to be your child's fucking godparent?!? Erina declined, thank fucking god, but you would've had me as some part of your life when I wanted an out. It didn't matter. You wanted me to stay, and I would've stayed, all because you asked. You could've told me to do anything and I would've done it. I hated that. I hated feeling like I had to be something. Had to prove something."

He swallowed.

"I want to move on. I wanted you to move on."

He paused.

"I don't like you anymore."

He wanted to cry.

"...though I don't think I'll ever be able to stop caring about you."

A handful of butterfly weeds joined the pile of flowers on his grave.

He runs, wishing he could actually tell anyone that he loved them, but the words weren't ones he knew anymore. For now, he'd dream of being trapped under the ocean again, and hope that the few zombies that escaped Wind-Knight's Lot would die in the sun and not cause any problems.

It's your last day alive, and you know three things:

1. You are currently holding Chekhov's gun.

2. Payback's a bitch.

3. God's on your shitlist.

Notes:

New Year's Eve by Mal Blum is a great song to listen to when reading M/n talking to Jonathan's grave. Anyway, stan Erina and Ophelia (M/n's mother) for clean skin. Also look, we finally finished Phantom Blood...I was worried this would take at least nine chapters, but here we are.
Flower meanings:
Monkshood- Beware an enemy in near
Sweet Pea- Goodbye, thank you for a lovely time
Daffodil- Regard, Chivalry, Unrequited love
Freesia- Unconditional love, Honor
Aloe- Affection, Grief
Arborvitae- Unchanging friendship
Basil- Good wishes
Black-Eyed Susan- Truth
Camellia (Pink)- Longing for you
Red Carnation- Alas for my poor heart, My heart aches
Pink Carnation- I'll never forget you
Daisy- Innocence, Loyal Love, I'll never tell
Gardenia- You're lovely, Secret love
Butterfly Weeds- Let me go
Translations:
È una brutta cosa...è così fottutamente brutto! Come fa a vincere quando il vampiro ha una presa sulla gola? Voglio...devo essere coinvolto?=This is bad...this is so fucking bad! How is he supposed to win when the vampire has a grip on his throat? Will I...will I have to get involved?

Chapter 7: Interval 1: The lullaby of a child will become a sad and somber song in adulthood.

Summary:

And so the world keeps moving. As it must.

Notes:

(Okay, just to let everyone know an interval chapter will happen between the end of each story arc, or part, and acts to segment the parts of Jojo's while giving everyone more context on the reader's backstory. Sadly, there's no poetry, but that will be back for Chapter 7, so don't get too upset about it. Next chapter will be the start of Battle Tendency...and I can't wait for it! None of these moments are in a proper order. That should be obvious, but these moments will never be in perfect order and you can't make me stop. Here's a drawing of young Caesar that I drew like last year or so, couldn't fit it in the chapter where he fought Wamuu, so I'm putting it here.
WARNING: Warnings that have appeared in Chapter 1/or the story's tags will be stated in far more excessive detail than any of the previous chapters, especially since most of them have only appeared in poems, so please reread the warnings and proceed with caution.)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"I can't believe you named our first chicken...that!" M/n hissed out, watching him stand carefully lift the proud-looking hen in one hand. The bird didn't seem at all bothered by such behavior. In fact, she seemed to pose, so M/n didn't get up from the ground. Currently he was content just letting his stand have its fun.

"Cluck Norris is a good name!"

"In what world?" His stand hissed at that, going back to cooing over the chicken mere moments later. The voices weren't helpful either. Most of them loved the pun of the name or were simply too apathetic to care about such trivial nonsense. Either way, the god found a lazy smile forming on his face as his stand trails the edge of a claw down the bird's back. It preens happily at the attention. "You also found the most prideful hen I've ever seen. Didn't I tell you to get a more...mild one?"

"Personality is a good thing."

"Till she gets broody." His stand wisely doesn't make a remark about the genuine threat of broody hens, so the god stands and carefully runs his fingers down the hen's neck. Her eyes narrow in bliss. "Though maybe some personality won't be too bad."

He gets pecked right after and ichor stains Cluck Norris's beak in some weird sort of christening.

His stand laughs at him as he jolts back in shock.

"I changed my mind."

"Too late!" His stand howls in glee.

The chickens always die.

There are too many foxes, weasels, voles, hawks in the woods for a single sloppy made chicken coop to keep them safe. You used to get teary-eyed each time despite being a rather emotionless child, but nowadays you just clean up the gore and bury them appropriately. Your father had been the one who broke that habit of yours. He hated you for being so quiet and withdrawn, so the few times you showed a potent emotion he lashed out, the scar that ran diagonally across your face told the entire story.

He'd been kicked out after that. You had been seven. You could still remember hearing him smashing the bottle on the table before the red hot slash of one of the broken edges going across your face. It hurt so badly. You had swallowed it down. He had told you he wanted you to stay completely still and quiet. Completing that goal hadn't made things better, but it proved that you had a strong pain tolerance.

You were born broken.

That was what he said to you. All his actions were because of your own inherent fault. If you were a regular child that properly showed your emotion, he wouldn't have this problem. If he hadn't had to deal with a child, things would've been better.

Your mother kicked him out the moment she saw the wound across your face.

Anyway, chickens die quickly around here.

You still feel sad each time one dies.

"I finally went into the room you left me." He leans against the grave, a new pile of flowers filling the air with a strange mixed floral scent he can't quite describe as anything more than a lot, but he doesn't focus on that. Instead, he tries to imagine exactly how the ghost's face would change and react to his statement. Pressing against the grave harder, the black stone absorbs more heat than the white. He drums his nails against it to hear a satisfying series of clicks. A point to steady himself. It isn't perfect, but it works. "For a while, the idea of entering that room felt...well, it felt like admitting that everything happened and that you were really gone. Silly, right? I bring flowers every couple of weeks."

He could imagine a warm smile. Dio wouldn't have rushed him, just been happy that he entered it at all.

"Then I realized you gave me two connecting rooms instead of just one. Real shocking to discover. But...they're magnificent rooms. You somehow got all the details correct, even though I always considered myself hard to read. But...I ended up moving one bed since I didn't need two. I put it in a nearby guest room, but I don't really enjoy sleeping in a bed most of the time. Might be snake instincts from my stand, but I usually just take blankets and pillows and make a nest, or...well, it could also be from how often I was homeless. I didn't use beds that much."

A look that bordered on concern.

"The other room still has a bed. I use it now and then, but I like just laying in a pile of blankets. Easier. When I didn't want to see the room, you left me. I actually avoided the entire castle, and either slept outside or stole one of those houses for a night. Didn't like them that much. Most of them were eaten by zombies so the whole thing smells like decay, but outside's nice when the stars are out. The one time it rained was pretty bad, made clearing farm land a bitch since it rained the rest of the day, and it really upset Cluck Norris. That's the first chicken I bought, not sure I mentioned her to you yet, but that's her name. I wasn't the one who chose it, okay? That was all my stand. Always been terrible at naming things, not sure where he gets it from, but she seems to respond to it. Most prideful fucking bird I've ever had. Gets broody and tries to steal the snake's eggs to hatch them herself, once got broody and sat in my hair for five hours till she saw an egg-shaped rock, but she does lay."

He wondered if Dio liked chickens or even cared at all. He might've.

"The cat-owls...I actually don't know if you gave them a proper name, but they started breeding. I'm not sure what to do about that, but the chicks...kittens...babies...still have cat heads, so there's that. They're cute. Cuddly. Demand treats as much as any cat, so I guess they're alright, but I'm still waiting to see if they die out or have some critical health condition that would make killing them the kinder option. They don't get broody like a bird either, which would be bad if we didn't have an angry hen. Gonna buy more hens soon. See about some peacocks and ducks next. The snakes are well behaved. They like guarding the coop for any weasels they find. Or I think those are weasels."

The stone of his grave feels warmer than the bed you slept in two nights ago.

"I think I got all the zombies that lingered in Wind-Knight's Lot, but I know a few escaped. I hope..."

They don't hurt anyone and put even more blood on your hands.

"And I keep having this dream...I'm trapped in something under water, like a fucking box, and I can't get out. The details are fuzzy, but I know I'm stuck."

No reply...as usual.

"Yeah, might just be my brain freaking about the life change. Probably just paranoia. I get that a lot when things seem to go well."

He swallows.

"I have to...get going."

No reply.

"I'll be back in a week or two. I'll tell you if I keep having those dreams, and I'll bring more flowers."

You pull away from the gravestone.

"See you later."

Dio doesn't reply.

You met no one on your father's side of the family, but your mother came from a big family. Ophelia Mary Black. She always wrote her name in swirly cursive that you traced over with wonder, but when asked about her last name, your mother got quiet. You learned later that the Black family was old money and by running off with your father, some guy she met in a bar, and having a child without getting married, she was breaking every unspoken law they had ever given her. She left some guy that she was supposed to marry at an altar that never got set up.

Her side of the family never wanted to meet you.

But that didn't mean she didn't take you to a graveyard twice a year to lay flowers and gifts on the graves of her extended family. She didn't tell you who they were if you didn't ask, mom never tried to blame you for not being sad over some great-great-great aunt being dead and gone fifty years before you were born, but you could still picture her kneeling at one and whispering to it. You never asked what she talked about.

"Don't even know why I do it. Aunt Bella probably went to hell given all she did in life." She'd laugh it off, not a hint of the previous sadness in her eyes, and brush the dirt off her jeans. With her dark black hair, pale skin, and green eyes, she looked a bit like a ghostly figure when you went on foggy days. You wondered if you had that same haunted look in your eyes. Maybe not. "Come on, let's go get some food!"

At least it taught you the meaning of flowers.

"Who does that bitch think she is?!?" M/n howled, nearly breaking the long table in the castle's main dining room, earning a feral snicker from the stand resting across the room. A swing of his stand's tail had him moved away from the table before he could slam his hands on the wooden surface again, and he twitched at the realization he was now wrapped up. "I hate her."

"If we weren't gay, I'd almost assume there was sexual tension between you and Susan." The stand snickered at the feral hiss his master gave. "Why do you even care? She's some mortal woman that we see every month when we go to the neighboring town for festivals or to buy shit. She'll be dead in like twenty years."

"That doesn't make her less of a bitch."

"She doesn't like your cooking."

"No one hates my cooking!" He could feel his master shaking with rage and feral snarls, but all he did was stretch out.

"Maybe you're just out of practice?" That actually gave the god pause as Narcissistic Cannibal allowed one of the stray snakes to coil up his leg. "We could start practicing with desserts and meals till we feel good enough to bring them to a festival."

"...everyone else liked my cooking."

"Then ignore that woman."

A huff told the stand that his master wasn't feeling all that forgiving on the matter.

Your chest hurts.

The world was quiet. For a moment, you could believe that you weren't trapped in a void being consistently stalked and hurt by an insane god, but it was only for a moment. You can hear his steps approaching, smell spice and tar, and feel your stand shudder beneath your skin. You're too weak to do anything. Even if he allowed you to summon your stand, given the form of his stand in the sky, you doubted it. You weren't strong enough to land a blow. To commit to a blow. Your legs are broken, left wrist fractured, a break in his right shoulder, and finally a set of cracked ribs.

You've lost.

( GETUP!GETUP!GETUP! )

The voices are howling. A mix of everyone your stand has ever eaten. A reminder of all those you hurt. The moment Narcissistic Cannibal eats someone, their soul joins what it likes to call the masquerade.

( DON'TSTOPFIGHTING!YOUKILLEDALLOFUS!GETBACKUPIFYOUWANTTODIELIKEACOWARDTHENDOIT!KILLHIM!FIGHT!FIGHT!FIGHT! )

"There you are," Ajamu's voice was a low rumble that filled your ears. If you could move, you'd have tried to run or at least flinched away from him, but all you registered was a wave of pain. "I wondered how far you'd get on those broken legs."

"..."

"I told you that this would happen if you didn't face reality." He was circling you like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse. "It wouldn't be bad playing the role of my pet. A stand like yours is perfect for being a gladiator, a fighter. If you can't accept that, then we just have to work on it."

"...I'm not some-"

"You killed twenty-five thousand in a spree." His voice became almost gentle as he stopped moving. "I don't care if they were my servants. You still killed an entire town of people, and you claim that you're not designed to kill? Your stand lives off human flesh. From the moment it formed, you became something that lived off suffering."

( YOURFAULT!YOURFAULT!NOITISN'T!DON'TLISTENTOHIM!KILLHIM!KILLHIM!KILLHIM! )

"..."

( HEDOESN'TKNOWYOU!HE'SMAKINGCLAIMSABOUTYOURNATURE!YOU'REAGOODPERSON! )

"If you behave, I'll heal you."

"...?"

"How about one night of you behaving and I'll heal all your wounds? Twelve hours and you can go back to your senseless crusade. Think you could do that?" He kneels, a hand brushing over your cheek in a motion that's far too tender. "We're friends, right? A night with a friend and then you can go back to being an insufferable idiot. I'm doing this because I care about you."

You pushed yourself up by your elbows. Your broken shoulder and fractured wrist burned but you met his gaze, how he seemed eager, and spat a mouthful of blood onto his golden shoes.

"Go fuck yourself."

He stood, slowly walking around you, and right when your arms gave out, you felt his heel press against the back of your left knee. He applied pressure slowly, so you swallow down a cry, because the snap hit you before the red hot pain.

"Nothing?" A smile in his words. You don't need to see his face to know that. T50 eyes. Means the colors are too dark to reliably perceive pupil dilation. Even when lying, you couldn't see his pupils react properly. "Let's try something else, then."

A sickening crack.

Then a second one.

You can feel your bones sticking out of the flesh of his ankles. Knows it'll scar if you ever walk again. You imagine jagged scars wrapping around both of your ankles and the image makes you sick.

( STOP!STOP!STOP!STOP!STOP! )

You're crying, but your lip is bleeding, and you're silent. Your father taught you well.

"Hm, how disappointing, but given how you act, that isn't too surprising."

"I...won't break."

"Everyone can be broken, N/n. You just have to find their limits."

He leaves you there.

"You want me to drag a three ton rock you carved...to make you a sun perch?" His stand, currently lounging on said massive rock, managed to both look regal and resemble a pet gecko. It was impressive, but not very persuasive. "A three ton rock down a massive cliff and then to a river's edge? In the middle of the fucking day?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you do it?" Despite it being a perfectly reasonable question, his stand huffs loudly.

"I'm blind, remember? Completely blind. While opening the frill allows the souls inside me to look out, I can't see through their eyes. It would be a poor game of red light green light. Do you really want me dragging something like that around? Even if I lifted it over my head, I could still end up crushing something."

"Then do you really need a perch?"

"It wouldn't just be a perch, though I plan on using it as one. We could also use it as a fishing spot and diving point." Tilting his head to look down at his master, M/n watched his stand, trying to mimic what he guessed was a kicked puppy's expression. "Cluck Norris would like it. Would you really hate to make our only chicken sad?"

"She won't know the difference if we never give her the option."

"She'll feel the loss in her soul."

"I fucking hate everything you just said." Standing up, because that broody asshole had wormed its way into his heart, the god looked around for an easy grip point and found one. "You won’t get off, will you?"

"Nope!" The bells jingled as his tail wagged.

"Fine, you lazy bitch." He hissed with no real venom in his voice, and his stand laughed loudly.

You sit in your bathroom digging around for the bandages and cotton balls. Your hands are trembling, you can't think clearly, and you thank every nonexistent god out there that your mother isn't home. You said you didn't need to be picked up because you had to stay after school to build a set. It would be fine, you said. You enjoyed working on the sets. You enjoyed being alone.

There's a bite mark on your left inner thigh that's still bleeding.

Your shirt and shorts are torn and bloody.

This shouldn't be this bad. You weren't a virgin. You lost that card last year...so why the fuck were you still shaking? Well, you find the cotton balls. Not the bandages. It hurts to sit down. You're terrified. There are hand shaped bruises on your waist. It hurts. You're hurting. You don't know where to start. It hurts to take off your clothes, less than when you had to put them back on, but you stare at the bite marks in disgust. You look smaller than usual. Paler. Weak.

' Do you know how small your waist is? '

You swallowed down the bile. Your waist looks small, feminine, and the bruises looked like a mark of ownership. You wanted to claw them off your skin. Trails of blood had long since dried on your skin, turning a darkish brown color. You soak a washcloth in the sink and wipe each line off. Somewhere along the way, you find the bandages. The bite wound needs three, since you only have the small ones.

It takes a while, the scratches on your stomach sting, but you managed.

You never saw his face.

His voice lingers in your ears.

…he had grabbed you by your hair. While there had been bullies who had pulled your hair, there had never been a genuine threat to your safety. Your mother loved how long your hair was. She liked to style it. You liked to wear your hair long, but...he had grabbed you by the hair and pulled you back.

You grab the scissors.

You hope your mother doesn't hate you for this.

A soft, or soft compared to the rest of them, peck hit the top of his earlobe. M/n stopped dragging the plow, using his shirt to wipe the sweat that had formed on his brow, and ran his fingers over the chicken's head. On the most strenuous day of plowing a field, the hen had decided the god's hair was her current nest. He wasn't sure what to make of the behavior, especially since she kept using it as an excuse to peck him, but he really didn't want to lock her in the coop for the day.

Maybe he should build a fence next?

"What do you want?" Another peck, followed by angry clucking, earned a groan. He had told his stand that too much personality was a problem, but his stand had always loved the most prickly of animals. Feral stray cats to raccoons made his stand chirp and purr as if he had been given some sort of perfect treasure. He liked animals, but a bird he wanted eggs from didn't need to be so violent. Maybe some more hens and a rooster or two would fix that? "Yeah, yeah, I know. I have to work on this or else it'll never get done."

More clucking filled the air.

"I can't believe he found a bird that makes me take scheduled breaks."

You weren't religious by any means of the word, but being homeless had made you desperate for a job.

Cleaning and working for a church was...strange. Annoying wasn't right, but you didn't understand the idea of praying to a higher power. Your claws and fangs didn't vanish when you asked god for help, but whatever worked, right? Father Agnello was far too nice to you. He seemed to think you were some sort of a lost soul that needed help. It was weird. None of your teachers ever gave a damn about you since you were quiet and got good grades, though every year a new teacher would flinch at the scar on your face.

Maybe it was all your scars?

"Do you know Italian?"

"No, Father."

"Would you like to learn?" It was a simple method of keeping you around, you knew that, but learning another language seemed like an excellent skill to have, so you agreed. He liked patience. Forcing you to linger. He kept giving you small tiles that would break if you fully closed your hands because it was apparently too much force. As if you needed to learn control.

Either way, it wouldn't change that a snake monster who claimed to be your soul was a cannibalistic creature that followed you, eating whatever human it could find.

There wasn't any fixing that.

( MONSTER!YOURFAULT!YOURFAULT!YOURFAULT! )

You knew that the moment you started hearing voices.

M/n howled in pleasure, his stand's head between his legs, and all he could think about was each quick swipe of the snake's long tongue. His hands tearing the blanket he had laid over the grass in the forest clearing. His vision swam. Pink coiling and dancing around his body. Each puff of breath escaping from his lips was pink. His eyes closed, and a hand moved between his legs to run his fingers over his stand's muzzle. A low purr escaping Narcissistic Cannibal before it wrapped its entire tongue over his shaft, earning another loud cry from the god. Vaguely he could see the clouds shifting above his head, revealing the moon which made his stand's scales, and the paleness of his skin, stand out all the more.

It wasn't the first time they had done this.

Honestly, he hadn't known of anyone that had a humanoid stand, and a sex drive, that didn't at least attempt something with their stand before deciding if it was something worth continuing. M/n having got his stand during his teens had a high enough sex drive to consider it, despite his initial fear and anger at what led to his stand forming, and then found that such a thing was more than pleasurable enough for him. His stand seemed to like it as well...then again, his stand's ability certainly affected their semi-shared sex drive. Either way, he had missed this sensation more than he had expected. There was something nice about being with his stand, something that knew all his habits and traits inside and out, when compared to some random partner that barely knew him. There were no expectations with this encounter, no act needed, and it was so easy to lean back.

His eyes opened with a gasp of delight as he came.

He only took a second to take a shaky breath before pulling his stand's head away to press his lips to the beast's muzzle. The kiss, if one could call it that, was simple.

"Lean back. I want to take care of you now." The purr filled his ears as his stand complied.

There's always a sense of trust in each action they take.

"You're so tired. So injured. It must hurt to even take a single breath, right N/n?" Ajamu actually sounded concerned, because he was your friend, but all you could think about was how he was the one that kept beating you half to death before leaving you behind till he came back. It was a constant cycle. How long has it been? He had broken your ankles...days ago? Weeks? Months? Years? Decades? Would you even age in this place? You had no fucking idea anymore. You were in pain yet again. At least that was something you could track without a proper day and night cycle. A hand runs over your side. He remembers to add just enough pressure to be threatening you, and you shiver. "That attitude of yours never changes, does it? It would be so much easier if you just learned how to behave. I wouldn't have to do this."

"I...I don't deserve this."

"Of course you do. I'm your friend, the only person you have left, and the idea of hurting you pains me. This is for your own sake. Discipline." Ajamu wiped away a tear that trailed down your cheek, all the while a hand pressed on the worst of your wounds, an act of kindness and cruelty in the same breath. "You don't think I would ever wish you harm, do you?"

You twitched.

"I could go away. Is that what you want?" You froze up at that. While he stopped pressing against your side he also stopped cradling your face, you shuddered at the lack of contact, Ajamu for all his viciousness was warm...you were so fucking cold. "Let you heal on your own. Till you go trying to kill me again. I mean, if you hate me so much it would be an act of kindness, right? All by yourself with Narcissistic Cannibal. I bet you have so much to talk about. How long would it take for you to heal? Months? Maybe longer?"

"Please...don't..."

"Don't? But we aren't friends according to you, I'm the monster that hurts you, are you trying to say you're wrong? Or have you been lying to me?" How could his voice stay so warm? But...what did he mean...? You two were friends, right? Until you defeated him at least. He said you were friends, he healed you, he talked to you. "Why would you want a monster at your side?"

( STOPLISTENINGTOHIM!TELLHIMTOFUCKOFF!GETAWAY!GETAWAY!RUN!HEDOESN'TCAREABOUTYOU!LIES! )

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." You were crying, tears falling far too fast, and each sniffle sent sparks of pain through your body. You wrapped your hand around part of the silk of his shirt, which scraped at your dry skin painfully, but all you could think was that he'd leave you alone. His stand would still prevent yours from being summoned...what if he lied? What if he didn't allow you to summon Narcissistic Cannibal? You couldn't even feel the creature through your shared connection...almost as if you didn't have a stand. No, no, he had to stay. "Please...I'm so fucking sorry. I won't-"

"Oh N/n, when was the last time you slept?" You went still at that. The sudden change in topic caused you to stiffen, unsure of what to say, unsure of what angle he was even playing at, but then he pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. You leaned into his touch without hesitation. Feeling him flip his hand, gently running his fingers over the dark circles that had become a constant fixture of your appearance, and his lips curled into a frown. "You look like you're already ten steps in the grave. What a sad sight. Not fitting at all for a god's pet...a friend, wouldn't you agree with me?"

All you did was whisper out more apologies.

"You can tell me if you're having trouble sleeping. I won't judge you for it."

"I have...insomnia, paranoia, and these...nightmares..."

( DON'TSHOWWEAKNESS!HE'SGOINGTOHURTYOU!NONONONONONONONONONONO!TELLHIMTOLEAVE! )

"You're scared to be alone." That earns a flinch. "You fear being hurt. Of being abandoned. Of people not caring. You don't desire people, but the ones that stay matter so much to you."

You couldn't speak.

"They never cared about you. I do. That's the key difference between me and your previous 'friends'. They pretended to like you, he pretended to love you, all because they could use your stand as a weapon. You were a tool." A hand carding through his hair. You wish you could pretend it was her, but Ajamu was an overwhelming presence. "Think about it; every time he was kind to you, showed you affection, praised you...well, when was it? When you doubted him, when he needed something, when you did what he wanted. You were being manipulated. They did the same with their friendship. I care. Think about it...what could I want from you other than your friendship? I'm a god."

"They had to..."

"I did you a favor by killing them."

There was a stretch of silence.

"Why don't I make you a deal?" You closed your eyes as he pulled you onto his lap. "I'll heal all those wounds of yours if you let me stay the night with you. I'll make sure you sleep soundly. Conscious Party can be your personal dreamcatcher tonight."

"I..."

"No, no, I can't let you refuse this." A hand covered your mouth. "I can't bear to imagine you here in pain. Your choice doesn't matter, and knowing you N/n, well, you never make the right decision, anyway."

' Be quiet. We don't want anyone hearing us, right? '

You thrashed.

"No, no, no. Calm down N/n." The hand loosened. You could breathe again, a puff of air against your earlobe. "I'm not that pathetic man. I have no desire to have sex with you. We both know that, so there's no need to panic. All you have to do is lay in my arms for the night. I'm keeping you safe. Just close your eyes and relax. Your wounds will hurt a bit more for just a few seconds. Let me take care of everything."

"I...I don't...want to be alone anymore..." You can still hear his voice cooing at you.

"I know, I know, that's why I'm here N/n." You whimpered as your bones snapped back into place. "Relax. I'm here for you. Nothing would dare harm you when I'm here. Go to sleep."

What else could you do?

Your vision faded as Ajamu sang a song you had never heard before.

You felt warm.

"I'm still not sure what to say to you." Jonathan's grave is always colder than Dio's, but he doesn't want the other to feel left out. It would be...well, he didn't want to imagine a world where he simply left Jonathan's grave to be eroded in the rain. "I'm still mad. I still don't...just because I care doesn't mean that I know what to say to you anymore. When I first visited you, I said what I thought. We weren't friends, but we were something, and I liked that something...most of the time anyway. I wished you understood what I was feeling. What being treated like that made me feel...the person I was when I followed all of your requests. I don't get that. I hate being like this."

He couldn't imagine Jonathan's face as easily as he could with Dio's.

"I'm doing mostly. Erina seems to be alright too, but I haven't seen her or Robert since the day of the funeral. Your...son seems fine as well. She named him after Sir. From the sounds of it, he's a good kid, which is funny since we were hellions when we were kids. You shouldn't deny that if you're listening, I mean we drove the servants insane most of the time with all our bullshit. But we were happy."

Silence.

"I miss that."

He wonders if Jonathan misses it, too. No, no, no...he shouldn't have to say he's friends with anyone!

He leaves before he can cry.

"Am I bad?" You flinched at the question, but you're glad Ajamu isn't here, and you look towards Narcissistic Cannibal in shock. Had the god somehow waited till you were asleep to speak to your stand? Who else could've planted that idea in his head? Who the fuck made your stand think he was bad? No...it couldn't be Ajamu…he was your friend. Friends wouldn't do that. Besides, he was so nice to Conscious Party...you couldn't imagine him ever treating a stand terribly. No, if he had a problem, he'd talk to you directly and discipline you. That was how it always worked.

"No! You aren't bad. Unless you mean bad at like something specific...cause, I don't expect a snake-shaped stand that's blind to be good at cooking, but that's just a given, though I'm sure you know that since-"

"I was made when you were...attacked." You flinched at the reminder. Last you had talked to Ajamu…he had placed his hands on your waist as a reminder...and then you'd been back in that place with him whispering in your ears. He had been upset that you had tried to attack him in blind panic, but he was nice enough to accept your apology. Still, why couldn't you learn to relax at his touch? He was your friend. You had been fine with exes even when you weren't having sex...so why was Ajamu difficult? He was your friend. You...you enjoyed having him around. But now you have to help your stand.

"Well...yeah, but that wasn't your decision. That was just fate being a bitch."

"But nothing good can come out of a bad thing...right?"

"That's not true."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Fate is a bitch, like I said. That doesn't mean that nothing good can happen, even if bad things are happening around you. I don't know what led to you thinking that, and I won't press it if you don't want to talk, but you are not a bad thing. You've never been a bad thing." Your stand frowned.

"But the first few years-"

"I was stressed, sad, and lashing out." You swallowed down the memories. "I wasn't prepared for you...what you needed to survive, but I would die before I let someone take you from me. You mean the world to me."

"Would...would you do it all again even if that meant…?"

"Get over here." Your stand did just that. He wasn't small anymore, but you still hugged him to the best of your abilities. "I...I don't have a perfect answer for that...I wish I could give you a yes with no hesitation, but...that isn't how that works. I love you, though. Would never hesitate to say that, but even if getting...raped would bring mom back to life...I don't think I could just say yes. But what's happening now is what matters and I fucking love you. NC, you’re good. You're amazing...you're amazing and I love you so fucking much. You're the best thing in my life, and I would do anything to protect you."

"I would do the same."

"Because we love each other." He purred in happiness at that.

For a moment, things were okay.

"Okay, I get to name these ladies, right?" His stand nodded, Cluck Norris remained silent on top of his head glaring down at the new hens, but M/n remained optimistic that this would make her relax. "Hell yeah! Let's see here...Onyx, Umbra, Patches, Bertha, and finally...Hm, Zelda! That makes five named hens!"

"Boring names." His stand’s tongue flicked out, long enough to clearly be a taunt rather than tasting the air, and he rolled his eyes in response.

"You named a chicken Cluck Norris. You don't get an opinion."

"At least that name sounds fun."

"Shut up." Releasing the more mild-mannered hens into the fenced in area surrounding the coop, he watched the aforementioned beast jump down. "Less than five minutes of knowing them and she's already establishing herself as the alpha bitch...impressive."

"I'm so proud!" His stand leapt down from his current perch, at the top of an abandoned house, and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "She gets it from you."

"How? She interacts with you most of the time, plus you're the most haughty bitch here."

"Whose soul do I represent?"

"...fuck off."

He doesn't, but M/n would never want him to, anyway.

We need you.

Did they ever know how much you loved and hated those words? How desperate you were for them? You weren't used to people who wanted you, even weirder when they knew what your stand did, but they had gone out of their way for you. You hoped it meant something. That people could look past the venom of your stand, the quiet anger in yourself, and maybe, just maybe, find someone worth keeping around. You had just left the hospital, an entire year and a half of that, and the therapy had helped.

Then they showed up.

Bernie, Timothy, Glenn, Randy, and Vince.

Dumb names, but they had wanted you.

That meant something, right?

M/n jumped off the cliff, swallowed one breath before gravity reached out for him, and plummeted down till he landed in the river. The impact felt harsh, he bet it would've hurt, but he laughed. Water entered his lungs, a new baptism, and he spat it out when his head breached the water. This was fun. He hadn't liked water or diving as a mortal...Then Ajamu happened and he hated water all the more, but then he had lived in the Joestar family. Jonathan had loved going to the river, loved being with him while swimming, and M/n had regained some of his love for the water during that time period. Dio had never done more than lounged by him, never actually going with him but ending up at the same spot as him, so M/n would sit by him and listen to the river flow.

Now he moved, so he was floating on his back, watching the stars.

The world was perfect for a moment.

He smiled. For a moment he could see a figure sitting on the riverbank, and he allowed himself to believe the lie.

"I used to get virgin sacrifices, did I ever tell you that N/n?" You're pressed in Ajamu's arms, his fingers running through your hair and down your spine almost as if you were little more than a pet cat, but you purred so it made sense. Opening an eye, your other was messed up from your last attempt at killing Ajamu, and blind all the same. You met his gaze. T50 eyes staring back down at you.

"Really?"

"Of course. I would never lie to you N/n." He traced a thumb over the bruised part of your face, carefully, and you eased into the additional touch. "It was seven eternities ago. I used to request both men and women because of my boredom, and...well, I don't know if I could say the other."

"Lust?"

"It starts with an L, but not lust. Loneliness. I wanted nothing more than to have something that was...human. I'm sure you can understand, right N/n?" You nodded, watching how his expression softened, because he was your friend no matter what the voices told you.

"Why did you stop?"

"Stop?"

"Getting sacrifices? Why'd you ever stop getting them?" Ajamu tilted his head to the side. Vaguely you registered he had healed your face, but you were too focused on his face.

"I didn't need that anymore. One can gain worshippers whenever they need them, same with sexual partners, and why would I need anyone to speak with, anyway? I have you. We are friends."

"Of course, of course, sorry I was just curious."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not upset. Maybe I should start taking them again at some point? I could get you and your stand the finest virgins around to serve as your meals. Wine laced with their blood." Ajamu sounds pleased with his vision, but the idea makes you feel sick to your stomach. "The world will be perfect by then. I'm sure you'll want to go back to the real world."

"..."

"You love me, right N/n?"

"...I do."

The voices in your head had to be lying.

"What a pretty thing you are." Honestly, M/n isn't sure how he got something as rare as an albino peacock, one that throws his tail open every time the god so much as enters his field of vision, but he won’t complain about such a thing. The bird nuzzles him with an affectionate attitude. Strange, since it attacked everything else on the farm, but he couldn't help but smile at the strange bird. "You need a name, don't you agree, sir? What a handsome man you are. Yes, yes, such a protective man you are. I like that. Maybe Narcissistic Cannibal was right about personality being a good thing?"

The bird once again fans his tail.

"Yes, yes, I know. You think I'm attractive. Don't know why since I'm some scarred up bitch, but I understand that you have a strange taste. We'll get you some peahens and maybe a few other men soon enough." Red eyes narrow at him. They look familiar, and when the realization happens, he can't help but laugh. "Oh, now I know who I should name you after! Dio!"

A loud coo filled his ears.

"You like that? Of course you would, eh, sir? Might as well be him reincarnated as a bird, or that's what I would say if I believed that kind of shit, but that's fine. I'm sure he'd be flattered." Dio pecks at his fingers, there isn't any genuine force in the pecks, and the god smiles at the lazy affection the bird gives him. "Yeah, yeah, what a charmer. Gonna make a whole harem for you. Might even make you the sole bird in my will, but don't tell Cluck Norris she's mean."

The bird looks pleased.

Notes:

None of these intervals will ever be this short again, but I needed to use this one to set some foundations since we can't talk about most of the reader's past until after Battle Tendency...because of reasons, but yeah...hoped you enjoyed some trauma dumping and birb content. Not sure if questions will always be a part of these, but if you leave enough in future chapters, I'll answer them in the intervals.
Oh, I want to know what you people think of Ajamu, so please tell me in the comments.
Translations;
Agnello-Lamb

Chapter 8: The chaos of warm things.

Summary:

And you see that despite how things change so many things remain the same.

Notes:

Big note for all of Battle Tendency; I don't write the Pillar Men as having any sort of familiar connection. Kars and Esidisi didn't raise Wamuu and Santana in this story and they'll be given different backstories simply because I don't like that connection and it doesn't really make sense for their characters. The pic is a drawing I made of my personal design of the reader experiencing some emotion, probably when snarling at Jonathan for confessing...or when he snapped at his grave. Also, since I didn't mention it in the interval, Narcissistic Cannibal uses it/its, he/him, and them/they pronouns which shift constantly.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

There are things we should learn from the stars above:

1. You will end up burning. But this pyre, formed of you and your soul, will end up lighting an entire galaxy. Is it destruction if it's creation as well?

2. Collapse unto yourself. It doesn't matter. Yesterday is already light years away. It's cold can't touch you now. Tomorrow is when you shine.

3. The explosion will shatter all of your bones. No one will hear a sound. It's alright, stars die quietly, but they get up every single time.

4. Like stars, remember to burn brighter after you rise.

5. Always rise.

6. The universe is both a dark and vast place, but there's always light. Find it. If you can't find it, then be that light.

7. Make sure that the entire universe knows just how beautiful you are when you decide to survive.

"Master, Master, Master, we got some letters!" The stand entered the bedroom through the open balcony, a single flick of the tongue telling him that his master was in his nest, pressed against the corner of the room. Laying on the floor next to him, Narcissistic Cannibal poked the god with the end of his tail. A hiss was the only reply he received. "Come on! Get up! I want to know what the letters say! None of these are brail...you know I'm blind."

"We can do that later..."

"The mailman said it was from that blond guy. Come on, I bet you want to hear something about how he's doing. Don't you want to know what he sent you?" Leaning down, it swiped its tongue over the male's cheek, earning a half asleep groan from the god. A hand awkwardly reached out, weakly attempting to push his muzzle away, which only earned a laugh from the stand.

(Let me read it. IF NO ONE'S READING IT THEN BURN IT! ARSON! ARSON! FIRE! DEATH! DESTRUCTION! NO! CALM DOWN! Narcissistic Cannibal, would you be a dear and please open both the letter and your frill? Yeah, let someone read it while he gets some rest!)

The stand did just that. The moment his frill opened, the voices went from something that only he and his master could hear to echoing throughout the room, though that only earned yet another series of complaints from the god. Tearing the envelope with a claw, it used to be far easier when he was only a few feet larger than his master. The stand carefully lifted the letter to face the frill. He knew, despite being blind, that black humanoid shadows would start appearing on the red nebula underside as the souls inside moved to get a proper glimpse of the world.

"It says;

'Dear M/n,

I'm sorry to inform you I won't be able to continue sending my monthly letters at this rate. Don't worry, both myself and Erina are still in perfect health, the same goes for Joseph. This incident actually revolves around my work instead of a personal matter. Oh, I can imagine your expression right now. The company isn't going under or anything of the sort. I just got a lead on something I've been looking into for a while now. Well, something that we've all been looking into. Thank you for the lovely words in your last letter. You really should think about publishing a book of your poems at some point. You have a way with words. I wish you, and the many animals you own, all the best. I'll send you a letter explaining what I found the moment I have confirmation on the subject.

Until then,

Robert E. O. Speedwagon.'

Well now, dear, he certainly seems to be getting on with life." The voice speaking was an older woman, her voice soft and caring, M/n noted who it was immediately. “What do you want to tell him?”

"I don't need to be analyzed." M/n mumbled. He had learned a long time ago that she had been a therapist caught in his stand's rampage, but more annoyingly, she had decided that he needed therapy more than air. He...he didn't want to talk about it. How hard was that to get? He had talked enough about his mindset as a mortal, both with actual doctors and Ajamu, and he was doing better. He had a life, a farm, animals, people he spoke to, the whole fucking thing. "I'll write to him later and send the letter out in a week."

So...why the fuck did he still feel upset?

A whisper of a story lingers in your ears.

You remember the start.

You remember the end.

But what was the middle?

You open your eyes to complete darkness.

You know on some level that it's a dream. You've been having this dream since Jonathan and Dio died in the boat, but that doesn't change how real it all feels. It is easy to feel the suffocation. The lack of air. You don't need it. Even in this dream you don't need air, but your chest keeps rising and falling despite nothing entering your lungs. You're so tired. You can feel exhaustion seeping into your bones, the kind that somehow differs from the one godhood had left, more of a differing resignation than anything else. Had spent your immortality in the void sleeping till the prophecy, but the exile was self imposed. There was always a way to leave. One wave of the hand and you'd have been in the mortal world once again. It was a choice.

This wasn't one.

There was no way out. You were trapped in some kind of metal box. You kept attempting to draw breath despite the lack of air, and you're holding something in the palms of your hand. A human skull. Completely bleached white with no trace of blood or flesh left behind. From how long you've been here, the clothes you wear are breaking. The clothes are familiar, but you don’t know why you remember the outfit. The colors don't properly match up to what you usually wore. You don't remember it at all. But you know it. A paradox.

Had you eaten the flesh and blood from the human skull?

You didn't know.

There's something that has dried from the midpoint of your throat down past your Adam's apple. You couldn't be bothered to move a hand, or maybe you couldn't because of exhaustion, honestly you weren't sure anymore.

There was an ever present pressure on the box you were trapped in.

The shadow of the executioner's blade hanging over your neck at all times.

A voice whispering your name, soft and warm, promising you he'll come back and that he misses you.

You wake up with tears forming in your eyes and the whisper of Dio's name on your lips.

You also wake up in the river at the bottom of Wind-Knights Lot and have to swim up to the surface.

A pattern that's been repeating for months now.

In a moment, there was fire. There was a storm crashing against the walls. Hell and heaven were waging war on earth during the birth of the antichrist. While angels sobbed and demons roared, the beast's mother could only laugh and press a kiss to the monster's head. Even with perfect hindsight, she'd do it all again if asked. There was never a mortal sin so perfect to commit. No matter how sharp his claws and fangs were, was this not her son? Was he not the son of the devil, not a figure cast from heaven? But the new devil coated in her own blood in a bedroom with an ambulance nurse checking her son?

Who would dare call her a pure maiden?

Absolution is the last state of being.

"I swear you haven't aged since I got this job!" With an amused hum the god shifted through his pile of mail, the man speaking only pointing more intently at his nonexistent reaction. "Not even a gray hair! You worked an entire town into your personal farm and you look younger than me! Your hands aren't even calloused!"

(Pretty boy! Maybe you could take him home one of these days? NO! Don't ruin one of his few platonic relationships! DEATH! KILL! KILL! KILL! EAT HIM! FOOD FOR THE CANNIBALISTIC GOD! I swear they only get more unhinged the longer we stay here. At least that dead god’s tried nothing since he got put in his place. Agreed.)

"Sam, we've had this talk before, though I'm sure we'll end up having it again...but I just take good care of myself. My mother also passed on good genetics." He nudged the other with his shoulder, careful to never apply that much strength into the action, and flashed him a playful smirk. "Sadly, you seemed to have missed out."

"Oh, screw you." There's no heat to it. Sam had been his mailman for about...hm, was it going on six years now? Either way, he certainly had a talent for it, or maybe just liked the banter, since he hadn't suddenly been replaced or left. Wind-Knight's Lot was a ghost story now, leaving most unwilling to bring you anything. Even the mail was a once every two weeks styled pick up at the tunnel where he had once fought that rude zombie Dio kept. Most of the encounters before, Sam had been lonely and cold. He liked to talk, so M/n in turn had talked back. It was a wonderful friendship with no actual pressure to do anything other than speak. They never even saw each other outside of these meetings. "Did anyone interesting send you anything?"

"No."

"You're lying." He pokes at one letter. "You have the head of the Speedwagon foundation sending you letter after letter constantly!"

"He's an old friend. I don't talk with him about any work-related issues." Not a full truth, but one that felt right. Speedwagon may complain about something going wrong, but it wasn't as if he was talking with you about anything relating back to important company decisions. You weren't that kind of respondent. "Honestly, we gossip about his nephew and our other friend Erina more than we talk about either of our jobs."

He rolls his eyes as the god tears the envelope open. There's something about this letter that makes him concerned for unknown reasons, and his eyes scan the words as the dread builds. He wants to either laugh or sob, but he's not alone right now. Tucking it inside one of his pockets, he groans, playing the reaction up for Sam, and giving him an apologetic smile.

"Well, it seems like he wants me in New York for a bit. Vacation and all of that. Seems I need to get someone to watch the farm for me...wish he gave me a time I'd be able to return."

(MORE MASKS? DOESTHATMEANTHEREAREMOREVAMPIRESTOFIGHT? Please talk slower, all of you, you know that screaming like that is distracting. I can't believe we're going to see him again. How are we going to explain the lack of aging? We should've sent him a picture, so he'd at least expect it. Like that would be any better. I'm more worried about the vampire. Think he'll fuck Speedwagon again? No. Yes. Yes. Maybe. How old is he again? No idea. Lost count. Can we just kill them all? NO! Shut up, all of you!)

He leaves, wishing you the best, and you feel as if the letter in your pocket is nothing less than a death sentence to the life you have.

This situation, happening before us both, would you call it love?

Clinging tight, struggling on,

Towards yet another unknown goal,

Isn't it fine to kill something for good?

If it's me, you hate with all of your soul and being...

There is nothing.

In these moments, you can't open your eyes to see. It's not possible to feel the pressure on the box you're trapped in. You can't feel a thing. You're certain that you can't hear anything either. Your body, your strength, your will have all been rendered useless. You still can't compare this sensation to sleeping for eons in the void. This hell is on earth. Eventually the universe dies, the big bang happens again, and a reset occurs where a new earth is formed. An eternity is the stretch from the end of everything to the beginning and vice versa. You had lived through three as a god. Ajamu had at least lived through seven or eight. Likely more. There had been dozens of gods before him, only for them all to be killed so he could be the only one. Like you, he'd become holy through the sacrifice of a deity. It was upsetting when you had learned that everything would end and begin in an explosion. That you'd never see the people you once knew because of your version of things being long gone, but this new world wasn't that bad.

Still, this was like being trapped inside a shell, a wall too sturdy to be broken by your inhuman strength. Your stand cannot even send you a single thought or emotion. There has to be a way to freedom. You can't be completely shut off from the outside. Tonight the dream is worse. You feel as if your mind has been pulled from you. Severed and left in an abyss. You can't feel anything. Your body is just gone.

You don't scream.

You can't scream.

Even if you could...who would you scream for? You're a god. No one could help you if you couldn't help yourself. You're stuck just thinking.

So you do.

You think of how cold the heavens are, the void's low hum as frost forms, how you never really got that cold till you were dying.

What is being cold? Maybe you list the parts of it in your head?

Wait...head? Do you even have one anymore?

The trembling of the body, shivering, that's one.

You can't move like this.

The smoke that leaves your lips when you breathe.

You don't have any air.

Hair rising on skin.

What even is flesh? You can't recall.

You want to see the sun.

You want to feel warm.

You wanted to feel even a hint of the energy that had sparked through you when you'd appeared in your god form. That feeling that you had conquered something. It belonged to you. Everything belonged to you. All of nature was sprawled out, the universe in the palm of your hands, within and with no other in that moment you had been god. It was the only time you had enjoyed such a feeling. Or...well, had you enjoyed being a god in other ways? Did it matter? You were caught spinning helplessly in a void where you didn't even have a body. Is there a sun somewhere? Are you facing it? Maybe this box is in the void of space? Maybe you'll be caught in the sun's orbit and burn up? Or drifting in parallel? Or perhaps you were moving further away from it? If you could just feel some warmth from it...or even the chill of the arctic...you'd take whatever you could get at this point.

Or maybe such a feeling would only be even more heartbreaking? To know that there was a sun, but you still couldn't see or move towards it? You'd still be trapped in this box with no sensation. Does knowledge really make anything better? You’ve seen it. The moment of rebirth. You had seen it all. For the span of a single breath, a mere heartbeat, you had seen everything there ever was. So many stars, more suns and planets than you'd ever be able to count out in a hundred years, all with no pattern or meaning you could devise. Chaos, unending blackness, no escape, no matter how hard you search, and no reason for any of it. You had been the only person since Ajamu who had laid your eyes upon it, but now you couldn't remember most of it. Only for a fleeting second.

What are you now?

In the void, you had been something. A god. Fearsome. Powerful. Even if all you had ever done was rest for eons. You can't feel...only comprehend. Only continue to exist...with a knowledge of your own insignificance.

You want to sleep...but this is a dream.

You wish you could die...but what is death for someone like you? Are you already dead?

To stop thinking...would that be death for a god? For you?

You might be dead like this, or maybe something more than simply alive, and you can't tell the difference.

You were terrified.

Fear, and there's no way to escape it. Fear that keeps your mind in shuddering apprehension, preventing you from dying, preventing the fear from ending. This is a never-ending spiral for you. An ouroboros. The only thing you can be stuck with, a serpent biting its own tail.

Something has to give. You will reach an end. Slowly, the fear ebbs.

What is time? What has time ever been for you? Two thousand years is a nap. A hundred years will lose everyone you've ever loved. It may have only been an hour for you. It would feel the same. The universe could end while you were sleeping. Time has no meaning. Why can't you wake up?

What if nothing changes?

You get bored with fear.

You look through all your knowledge. Map out the anatomy of every creature you know, pick them down to pieces, and then list the venom a snake has. Bone, blood, flesh, viscera, scales, hair...all just details you know. You do the same with everything you've ever eaten, the water you drink, the ocean, the soil in the ground, the mountains, the volcanos.

There's a flash of heat in the box.

All of it is remembered, pondered, unmade. You say every word you know in none of the languages you speak, then the ones you do, ramble the letters of alphabets over and over. You count every number you can think of, then count down from that number back to one, then you go into the negatives. Do it again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Until everything sounds muddy and confusing. You can't think. Words don't have meaning for you.

Break the entire world down, disassemble, reassemble, tinker with it. All by you. Just in your head.

Is this what being a god is supposed to be like? Nothing more than a thought? The mere idea of one? Floating in an endless void, yet being trapped either way. Stuck, creating and destroying a universe of your own design.

In that regard, everyone's a god.

But you're bored. Unmaking and remaking is tedious. Where boredom rips open something different, cracks that fear made, and like a protagonist of a Lovecraftian work, madness seeps in. You imagine things that have never existed. Patterns of life that aren't named. Darkness deeper than the color black, darkness that shifts and moves, that coils and shudders around you. Are there creatures around you? Are you out of the box? Can you see? No, that can't be possible. You're just hallucinating. Your mind is imagining things. So you peer into angles that fall into one another, like a maw...is the void a monster? You see, the darkness inside it. See how it taints everything?

Are you...no. That's not possible.

Where is the sun? If you could only-

You wouldn't feel it as you don't have skin or sensation.

There is no Icarus at this moment.

You don't need the sun. Did you ever need it? You could create a sun, right? You can create millions of them while being trapped. Don't know the difference. Not sure of the warmth. Won't share them with anyone. You're blind, mad, and god all at the same time.

Everything belongs to you.

The universe hums for you. Your gown is the stardust. The nebula is the pattern that ever flows through your stand. Planets are merely jewels in your palm. From everything...you've become less than nothing, and yet everything.

What are you?

…tired. Even a god may desire sleep, but this is a dream. Your mind lulls.

What will happen if you sleep? Will the universe unravel? Does it end?

Your mind ceases.

You wake up drowning in the river.

You fall to the bank in tears.

Honey changes flavor and color

Based on the type of plant

It's close to when being made.

“It’s good to see you again, Speedwagon.” A clasp of his hands and dip of the head was the greeting Straights gave him, seeming rather relaxed despite how long it had been since they had last seen each other, but Speedwagon returned it with a smile of his own. “I understand you’re an American oil tycoon now. You certainly wear it well.”

“That’s a bit exaggerated. You look as young as ever, Straights. Hard to believe we’re the same age. Hamon energy is life energy, right? I envy you.” The laugh Straights gave in response had a bitter note to it, but he ignored that in favor of extending an arm towards the entrance of the tunnel. "Shall we be off then...?"

"Let us."

You would've fought the world for me, I know that now,

But I think it's best for the both of us if we don't heal our pains in the pain of others;

So farewell Lycomedes, I'm leaving home.

"Six bottles please." Joseph paused, eyes going to the newcomer purchasing a drink, yet there was a part of him that seemed to scream that this meeting was important. He couldn't immediately tell why.

The male in question was shorter than him, long H/c hair that went slightly past his waist, E/c eyes with a gold tint. The accent he had implied that he was from one of the southern states, yet he seemed like he had arrived by boat if the smell of salt meant anything, and his tone also seemed as if he was subconsciously mimicking some of the more common parts of a British accent. Yet sharp fangs poked out of his mouth whenever he opened it, a slight hiss suggested that something was wrong with his tongue, and his hands from fingertip to the blue tattoo wrapped around his wrist was an ashy black with enough small detailing to mimic scales. So, he seemed to like snakes, if not reptiles, in general. But there was something about him, the tattoos and snake-like features, that felt familiar. He hadn't met the man before, but perhaps he had been described at some point?

"For just you?"

"Does it look like I'm with other people?" The other replied, slightly annoyed, making the hiss in each word even more apparent. The guy selling drinks flinched as the male reached into his pocket. As he pulled out a black letter wallet, Joseph caught sight of a letter, one whose writing he immediately recognized, and a switch in his head was flipped. Someone that his self-appointed uncle knew...one that had sharp fangs and a forked tongue? M/n, right? But that man was supposed to be the same age as his uncle and grandmother. The man next to him appeared to be only a few years older than him, at most, and he couldn't remember anyone mentioning him as someone who had any hamon.

"Ah, sorry." With a sheepish smile, the male perked up when Joseph also pulled out his wallet.

Only for both wallets to be stolen in a single swipe.

"Oh...?" A single tilt of the head was the only reaction from the H/c haired male. Joseph only followed the thief with his eyes.

"Hey, he stole both of your wallets. If either of you wants them back, you'll have to chase him down." Despite the almost frantic nature of his voice, the snake-like male turned to the man and tapped a nail on the counter.

"I want my drinks first since I already paid for them." Surprisingly, the man complied, and with that he turned and followed the thief, only sparing Joseph a single glance. "You coming?"

He grabbed his own and followed.

What makes an Icarus?

What formula best mimics this tragedy? Melted wax wings? The fall from grace? Someone who warns you of the danger? Or maybe all tragedy is universal?

Whatever it is; it's clear that one of us has to become the Icarus of the story.

I hope it's me.

"Hey, you two are those idiots that got your wallets stolen! Get lost! We'll have to keep these as evidence." M/n's eyes narrowed, he wasn't sure if the other had heard the cops talking before they rounded the corner, but the fact they were five minutes away from saying a future slur and committing a hate crime...well, it had left him tense. "Especially you there with the tattoos!"

(Who's that? Looks like Jonathan. Must be Joseph, right? Speedwagon said that he had grown to be six foot five, like Jonathan. He looks so much like him. Can we focus on our wallet being stolen? We need that to buy trinkets! I want snow globes! Can we kill the racists? RIP THEIR THROATS OUT!!! MAKE THEM LEARN THEIR PLACE! Wait, don't eat them. Agreed, I don't want to have them join us. I like that kid. He seems like he has a good heart. Let's keep him. Sounds like a plan.)

"Um, how do I say this...That wallet...I actually gave it to him, Mr. Policeman." Everyone stared at him in shocked silence. The god swallowed down a laugh. He was already growing fond of the male's traits, but the situation at hand was a bit too troublesome to act gleefully.

"The same goes for me. Now, since there wasn't an actual crime, can we all just be on our way?" The two laughed at him.

"The two of you don't get it, do you? Are you really looking for trouble?"

"No, we gave our wallets to him because he's our friend. So please let him go." Joseph's voice is calm, working hard to prevent a fight from starting between the cops and them. Too bad M/n is looking for a fight. Before the cop can open his mouth, the god is stalking past the both of them to the kid on the ground.

"Hey, what are you doing fa-" You grab the officer's hand before he can finish insulting you. A thousand voices, if not more, howl in anger at the idea of them mocking him for his sexuality. He blames it on the cult that had formed inside his stand. "Hey!"

"Listen, I will break both your arms and throw you into the nearest river if you don't get the fuck out of my way." His eyes flashed gold, a sign that he was getting annoyed, and the sound of bones cracking filled the air. A scream followed as he dropped the cop, glaring at the other, who took a step back in fear. "Now then, are you okay? They didn't hurt you too badly, did they?"

"...no, no, I'm fine...thank you...?" A click of the gun filled the air, the other had drawn his pistol, and the god wanted to laugh.

"Ha, go ahead and shoot him! But you better prepare for the consequences. The moment you try to pull that trigger, I'll break your finger like a matchstick!" He was defending you...? You couldn't say you had expected that turn of events, but it wasn't a bad thing at all.

"From that distance? I'll blow his brains out!"

"Go ahead and try. I don't fear something as simple as a gunshot." Wiping away the blood smeared on the boy's brow, the god hummed absentmindedly. How would he get the first aid kit stored in his stand with no one seeing him pull it from thin air? His clawed nails twitched ever so slightly at the idea of summoning his stand and killing the both of them. Would anyone actually miss these two cops? Still, he wondered what exactly Joseph's plan was? The hum of hamon in his veins was something familiar. Had he really missed something that burned him? Maybe he was becoming a masochist in his old age?

A pop filled the air, followed by the cracking of bones.

(Oh, I like this one. You think Jonathan would've done something like that? No. Too honorable. He was crafty when fighting Dio, so maybe. True. Dio would've killed him in an instant for that. Would've popped his other eye. Can we keep this one as well? Do you want to fight Erina for him? Hm, fair. In her old age, she seems feisty. She'd definitely kill us for stealing her grandson. She'd kill our god? She can try!)

"What?!?"

"An interesting plan." He flashed the boy a fanged grin. "Looks like neither of us are getting shot today."

'That all happened on a fall day in 1938. I don't know what kind of magic this six foot five British guy standing before me used, but...he blasted off that coke cap without even touching it. Was it just me? I thought I saw light coming off of his body. That other guy...he just broke that cop's arm with his bare hands, and he crushed his finger with the cap. What are these two?'

Both of them, completely unbothered by Smokey's panic, chugged their respective bottles of coke. M/n paused, noting his reaction, and gave a weak smile.

"Sorry. Do you want one? I bought six." At the shake of his head, the god shrugged his shoulders and went back to finishing the bottle before Joseph yelped. "Hm?"

"Damn it! I lost my temper again! Granny Erina is going to yell at me!" M/n burst into laughter while Smokey seemed to gasp for air.

'What kind of guy is this? He does that to the cops, and yet he's scared of his grandma yelling at him?'

"Hey, pick pocket, let's get out of here." His eyes darted towards the god. "Are you coming as well?"

"It couldn't hurt."

'So, I ended up running with these men.'

Can you still hold on to your shadow when the morning sun rises?

Can you catch a snake by the tail and not expect a strike in return?

Can you remember all of your dreams?

You had a daughter. She was a fox from the woods that had lost its skin. She knew every terrible thing about mankind, and you never let her out of the house.

Suddenly, Joseph's head whipped around to a pair of girls talking. Both Smokey and M/n watched his reaction in confusion, but all he did was gasp in delight.

"Woah, American girls are hot! I want to flip up those dresses!" M/n burst into laughter while Smokey gasped in shock.

'What's with this guy? Is he really British?'

No one believed I was mentally ill until I lost twenty pounds in under two months. The man in the mirror wasn't recognizable to me. I'm on four medications and they make me tired and sick each morning when I wake up. I met people I never imagined. Dark natures ran in the family.

I'm moving.

Everything happens so fast.

"And Straights...what you're about to see in the depths of these ruins-"

"You mean there's something else back here?" Straights's eyes had been glancing from each carving and preserved corpse with barely disguised interest, but now he was fully focused on Speedwagon.

"Yes. The only ones that know about it are us and those with us. Those two were the ones that discovered these ruins. It isn't something that we can reveal to the public." Speedwagon adjusted his cane, as if that would be enough to get the weight off of his shoulders. "When you see it you should probably...no, you'll definitely feel a shiver go down your spine, even worse than what we felt in the battle with Dio fifty years ago."

"This isn't like you, Speedwagon. Please, just show me what's troubling you."

"Sorry, that was so you could prepare your mind. We weren't able to do anything, which is why we called you in to join us. We're hoping that your hamon might change something." He sighed, gesturing to the darkest part of the tunnel. "Let's go."

The trip was silent until they arrived.

"What is that in the pillar? There are so many stone masks...and who is that?"

"Those things growing out of his forehead appear to be horns, but we're speculating that they act as sensors, and he's part of that stone pillar not carved into it." Speedwagon shook his head, trying to hide the fear he felt at the sight. "We've been examining this pillar...there are amino acids, cells, body heat, a pulse. He's alive in that pillar. Straights, what kind of life form is this? How long has he been here? Thousands of years? Millions? How old is he? Did he create these stone masks? And should we even care about those mysteries? No matter how much he could give us...we have to destroy him. I need you to use your hamon to destroy him before he breaks out of the stone."

"Speedwagon, I know this is sudden, but is Joseph Joestar doing well? I heard he once saved your life with hamon despite not being trained? It seems as if the talents of his grandfather were passed down. I also remember you mentioning in your letter that you were asking M/n to arrive in New York, correct?"

"What...why are you asking me this now?"

Straights struck him down in an instant.

"You know I'm only getting older. Not even the strongest of hamon can stop that. You know, in that battle all those years ago, there was a part of me that admired Dio as easily as I hated him. That strength, the beauty, the immortality...I desire the power of the stone mask. Now that I've aged, I wish to become a life form that surpasses human mortality."

It's an extraordinary feeling,

When parts of your body are touched for the first time,

I'm thinking of the sensations,

From sex and surgery.

"So you know my Uncle Speedwagon?"

"We're close friends. I also know your grandmother, though we only talk through letters. It'll be nice to see both of them again. I can only hope they haven't forgotten my face. I never did like sending pictures." Despite casually talking about it, there was a tenseness to his shoulders. He wasn't eager to meet up with his uncle or granny. If he was supposed to be the same age as them, then it would make sense. It would also explain why he refused to have any pictures of himself sent to them when he clearly remembered both sending M/n entire albums of pictures fairly frequently. Instead, the pictures he remembered were of farm animals and snakes, never another person...because it would show his youthful appearance. "Of course, I want to head back home to my farm soon, so I'm likely to only stay a month at most."

"Really? That won't even give me the time to show you around."

"Didn't you just move here recently?" Joseph paused, listening to Smokey snicker, before waving a hand.

"Then you won't get to have Smokey show us the best places in the city."

"Sounds more accurate." M/n retorted, only being stopped by a cab coming to a halt in front of them.

"Where the hell are you all walking?!? Get off the road! Hey! Do you hear me?!? Get out of the fucking road you morons!!!" Joseph walked around to the driver's seat, opening the door and pulling the man out without hesitation. M/n laughed at the sight. How a loud dog forgot their courage when actually challenged.

"HELLO?" Joseph yelled, earning a slight flinch from the god because of his hearing, while Smokey seemed to have a raw panic attack. "Huh? Say it again. Slower this time, say it in a language I actually understand, and depending on what you say, I might kick your ass."

"Jojo, what are you doing?"

"Granny Erina!" Joseph looked terrified, M/n couldn't blame him since he was shaking like a leaf, but he swallowed it down only to squawk in fear when he was shoved to the front of the group. "Huh...? Well...I...Look who I found while I was walking through the city!"

"That's..."

"Hello, Erina," he gave her a warm smile, stepping forward despite the fear welling up in his chest, and awkwardly took her hand. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I'm sorry that I haven't visited you at all over the years, but Robert sent me a letter begging for my presence because of something he discovered at work."

"Then it's good to see you again." She looked back to her grandson, who quickly opened the back door of the cab and waved his hand. "May I ask what you're doing?"

"Our taxi is here! He says he's willing to give us a ride." He paused and quickly put a hand on Smokey's shoulder. "And this is a friend of ours. He's named Smokey."

"Oh Jojo, how kind of you." Gently, he helped his grandmother in the car, where she only looked at both of them. "M/n, I want nothing more than to catch up with you, and Smokey, you're welcome to come with us."

You catch more flies with honey than vinegar and, of course, unsuspecting; you crush them with the swatter, but in protecting yourself from the latter you've forgotten that the farmer will drown you nonetheless.

'A family of just a grandmother and grandson. This is House Joestar?' Smokey watched how M/n and Erina continued to whisper to each other, voices soft, hands resting on top of each other, and a sort of sad comfort towards the other. It wasn't romantic, just sad, yet there was a smile on both as they whispered. Both paused when Joseph, on the woman's other side, shifted to rest against her shoulder. His expression mimicked the cat that had swallowed the canary.

"Hey Granny, Speedwagon tells us to pack up and move to New York, but where is that geezer? I mean, what an airhead!"

"He's likely busy with his oil business."

"He told me he'd speak with me the moment he got back." M/n leaned back, Joseph wasn't ashamed to admit that his gaze went to the dip in his tank top to trail up the line of his Adam's Apple and throat, though he couldn't help but wonder about the hints of scar tissue that emerged from underneath his tank, as the other flashed them both a lazy smile. "He'll be back in at least a day and start tripping over himself to show you all around."

"M/n!"

"Am I wrong?" His granny shook her head, but a fond smile remained on her face.

"Hm, hey Granny, was Speedwagon really my grandfather's best friend? That's all? For real?"

"What do you mean by is that all?"

"Well, he's single, isn't he? And you're a widow of how many years now? Are you sure your relationship isn't...deeper than mere friends?" There was only a second of silence before her cane came down on his head and the sound of laughter filled the cab.

"You're asking if they...! Ha! I mean, Speedwagon is a permanent bachelor, and he loved to wear green in the days of our youth! Maybe there was something there, I mean-"

He yelped as he was hit by the cane, though his expression didn't change to reflect the pain, and he waved at her with a set of clawed nails.

"You know I'm joking! Ack-I'm joking Erina! Please...mercy!" She then turned back to Joseph, earning more laughter from M/n as he screamed for forgiveness.

'And the three of them all have a connection to the oil tycoon Speedwagon. A man who struck it rich in the Texas oil fields and is now one of the most influential men in the country. I even learned about their past. The Joestar house seems to have a history of brief lives. Miss Erina's husband was lost in a boat accident when he was young. She then lived the rest of her life without remarrying. The baby she saved on that boat and her son grew up and married in the future, but they soon died from war and disease. Still, Miss Erina is kind beyond measure...even to a punk like me. I wonder if the hardships in her life led to such kindness?'

Do you think they make the lambs count to ten as they lead them to the slaughter?

"Hey waiter! Is this restaurant seriously allowing animals in it? His smell is ruining the food! Get him out of here!"

"Sir...this store's owner operates under the policy that anyone is welcome here as long as they pay. Please understand that."

"What? Pig can eat pig in this place?!?"

"I'll leave..." A hand pulled the male down by the back of his shirt, earning a gasp from Smokey. Looking over, he watched M/n let go and then pass him a breadstick, flashing his fangs at the male earning a snarl from him.

"Oh, and you bring gangsters here as well? Look at him! He must be some kind of-" The man jolted back as a steak knife ended up embedded a few inches from his index finger, Smokey watched M/n look down at the table with narrowed eyes before sighing.

"Waiter, it seems I need a new steak knife."

"How dare you?!?" M/n looked towards Smokey's steak knife with open longing. He didn't have time to actually grab it since Joseph rose to his feet, shaking with open rage, as Erina sighed and shook her head.

"Jojo…!"

"Granny, you're not going to stop me, are you?"

"No, while I value manners, I won't allow these insults to go unpunished. Besides, if I stopped you, I'm certain that M/n would just get up and take your place." The god nods without hesitation. He isn't ashamed to admit that he wants little more than to launch himself over the table and to bare his fangs. "Though take care of him without causing trouble for the other customers."

"Understood." Joseph chirped, a flash of glee that smothered his apparent anger, and stalked towards the male like an animal on the prowl. M/n watched the motion with no hesitation. He acted differently from Jonathan, more playful and bold, lacking the proper nature that Jonathan had grown up on in the Joestar manor, but still having the same good nature. The same hardened core. It was something deeper than learned behavior or nurture. Though both mattered, it was just nature. Joseph, like Jonathan, had clearly been born good. It was clear in his actions, his facial expressions, his energy that sparked through every drop of his blood. Jonathan's hamon had felt bright, a star right as it exploded, but Joseph's...the pure life in it was overwhelming. Jonathan's had grown flowers, yes, but Joseph's was a constant flow that rivaled anything he had felt in the mortal realm. It reminded him of Ajamu strangely...it must be the healing aspect of hamon, or perhaps it was in the confidence?

"You want to fight me, kid?"

"Hey mister, if you're looking for your brass knuckles, they aren't in your jacket pocket. They're in the back pocket of your pants." Joseph pointed out, earning a stretch of silence from the restaurant, and a spark of murmur from the voices.

"Wha-?"

"Oh, it really was in his back pocket."

"Hm, your next line is how'd you know about my brass knuckles, you bastard?!?'"

"How'd you know about my brass knuckles, you bastard?!? Huh-?"

"Well, looking at the marks on your fist, I could tell that you had recently used your brass knuckles in a fight, and the stain on your shirt is blood. That's someone else's blood. You attacked them earlier, given how it's dried since then. Reason your jacket's clean is because you took it off when you got into a fight. So basically, after the fight, you'd take off your brass knuckles, and put them in your back pocket, since you weren't wearing your jacket at the time." Joseph talked a mile a minute, yet it never was too difficult to follow or track, something that M/n had to respect given his lack of communication skills. He could write, but he couldn't vocalize things nearly as well as other people. "Your next line is...so what's your point, you piece of shit?"

"So what's your point, you piece of shit?" The male lunged forward, seeming to strike Joseph down in a series of messy blows. "Ha, I got you!"

"Wrong! Where the hell are you aiming, anyway? Don't you get it? I know everything that you can come up with before you even think about it. What you were having fun punching wasn't me." The sound of wood splintering and blood dripping down onto the floor filled the room. M/n hummed at the sight of wood impaling through flesh. Smokey hissed in shock, openly flinching back and looking away from the fight, causing the god to shift ever so slightly. Resting a hand on his shoulder, he went back to watching Joseph fight. "It was the hat rack behind me."

The room filled with applause.

So, in a veil of horrid fakes,

How do I live with your ghost?

A man approached their table as M/n tossed Joseph a napkin to wipe the blood off his hands, earning a low snarl from the god at yet another person interfering with their reactions. Judging by his clothes, the man seemed to either be a businessman or a mafia boss. Both were annoying for different reasons.

"Forgive the rudeness of my men," he lowered his head respectfully at Erina. "Madam, are you Erina Joestar?"

A single nod was her response.

"I work for Mr. Speedwagon, and heard about you once before. It's nice to meet you, though I wish our meeting could've been on a better note. I heard some underground information that hasn't yet reached the press...Mr. Speedwagon has been murdered. According to the rumors, the one who killed him was a man from Tibet."

The sound of wood breaking and glass shattering filled the room. Joseph whipped his head around to see M/n's hands shaking, still frozen right where he had been pressing down on the table, the white tablecloth still clasped in his hands. Tearing because of the sharp nature of his nails. Eyes solid gold and unfocused. Pupils mere pinpricks. His shoulders were shaking as well. It was only the hand of Erina gently taking his wrist that caused him to snap out of it. He twitched, eyes landing on his old friend, and with a sigh he dropped the cloth, and a series of apologies escaped his lips.

"Wha...what did you say? Depending on your answer, I may have to kick your ass! You're saying that Uncle Speedwagon is dead? And the man that did it is a monk from Tibet? You mean Straights, right? Why would he...?"

"That's what was heard from someone who discovered the bodies of what appeared to be Mr. Speedwagon and his two workers in a Mexican river bed. Nobody currently knows how or why they were killed...or where the monk disappeared to..."

"I think I understand," Erina whispered, watching how M/n looked to her in sudden confusion. She gave his wrist a light squeeze. "I feel like it has something to do with what Robert once told me...about the stone masks and Dio."

"Dio…?" M/n swallowed and glanced away.

"Jojo, it...it really scares me to say this...but that guy's clearly in the mafia. You can't trust a guy like that. He's probably lying to you."

"Believe me or not, I merely believed that I needed to tell you this information."

"Mister, if you want your lighter, you'll find it in your back pocket." Before the mafia member could actually draw his lighter, Joseph had grabbed him by the shirt collar. "And thanks for the advice Smokey, but I believe this guy...or rather all guys in his position only care about money. Especially since you could call us all Speedwagon's family. I can trust mafia information that would try to take advantage of that."

"I..."

"But," a punch to the gut earned a pained gasp from the male's lips as he crumbled in the Joestar's arms. "Even if that is true, to just suddenly say that in front of Granny Erina…I can't forgive that! You purposefully upset her, you piece of shit!"

"Erina…?"

"M/n, to think...for what happened all those years ago...for this to still be continuing..."

"I know, I...I know." M/n's voice was quiet and just as brokenhearted as her own.

'Stone masks...Dio…I'm not sure what shared past they have, but it's obvious they share the same pain.'

Deep in Mexico, one day earlier...

"'The ultimate life form is...' What?" Straights was flipping through the notebook he had found in Speedwagon's coat pocket, eyes narrowing at the bloodstains that made the words hard to decipher, but he examined the detailed carvings on the wall compared to the frantic notes. "The ultimate life form...? What abilities lie in the next step of evolution? What kind of being is it? Humans clearly aren't at the top of the food pyramid...these carvings clearly show that."

'Long ago, long before our elders were born, the elders say this man has been sleeping in this pillar for over two thousand years. He hasn't aged at all. To think...a creature that can fly in the sky like a bird, can survive underwater like fish, breathe like the trees, and move as freely as water. The man in the pillar is only stopped by his inability to go under the sun. That's why the stone masks were created. Once he's able to stand in the sunlight, the world will be his.'

"Have...have you gone crazy?" Oh? He was still alive? Turning his head, Straights looked down at Speedwagon. The pool of blood was still growing. He wouldn't last long.

"Crazy? No, no, I'm calm and collected Speedwagon. I made this decision while of sound mind, but I might as well explain my reasoning to you. It isn't as if you'll be able to tell anyone. I...I took the path of hamon to train my body, but it's strange...the more you train, the better you understand yourself, the more obvious the effect of aging becomes. Hamon only put me slightly above the average human. I didn't notice that in my twenties, but as the years grew, it became apparent. I couldn't help but admire that dominant power of Dio, or the wild viciousness of M/n, that I experienced fifty years ago."

"...M/n?"

"Did you never notice?" He raised an eyebrow at the injured male. "The very first thing Dire mentioned about him was how inhuman his abilities were. I'm sure if you were to see him again it would be obvious, but he's something far from Dio and the man in the pillar. Tonpeti had seen people with similar abilities, but there are too many additional factors to call him an enhanced person."

"...?"

"Anyway, I thought that if I wanted to regain my youth and keep it...I'd have to make sacrifices." Pulling one mask free, he trailed a thumb over the fanged lips with a hum.

"You've become twisted, Straights!"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it. That it hasn’t tempted you!" He placed the mask on his face. "Gaining immortality through blood is the best option available to me. The only ones in this world that know about the stone masks are Erina Joestar, M/n, and Joseph Joestar. With my mastery of hamon, I'll be able to kill the Joestar's with ease, and then discover what secrets the mask has beyond the limited ideals Dio had when using it."

The spines impaled his brain the moment blood landed on the surface of the mask.

I'm nothing but a horrible dancer. I ain't gonna lie, but I'll be damned if that stops me from trying. So grab my hands and pull me in.

Yeah, I'm a shitty romantic, but I'll be damned if that means that I won't stop trying. So let me do the same.

"M/n, you won’t keep talking with Erina?"

"No, Smokey, she needs time to think about what happened tonight." M/n sank down into the café seat, lazily twirling the straw through the iced coffee, and giving both a weak smile. Absentmindedly, he noted Joseph was looking through a random woman's magazine, but he was more concerned about having caffeine in his system.

"Why are you even drinking ice coffee? It's going to be cold."

"I hate hot drinks." He explained, earning a weak nod from Smokey.

"Hey, Smokey, M/n, check out this magazine."

"What?"

"Just look." M/n leaned over alongside Smokey and stared at the image of the padded bras with an annoyed expression on his face.

"Really?" M/n asked, trying to ignore how boring the topic was to him.

"Turn an AA cup into a C cup? Only a dollar twenty-five for one?"

"Yeah! Do you actually think that it makes them bigger?" M/n's attention went to how Joseph's hand was gliding over his own chest almost absentmindedly. As if he was thinking of his own bust rather than a woman's. It was almost laughable, but the god felt the tip of his ears get hot because of the mental image left by such behavior. He stood up, noting how both looked to them, but casually tapped his pocket.

"I'm going for a smoke. Be back in a minute."

He shouldn't feel that way about Jonathan's grandson.

There's something tragic about your beauty, darling.

The smoke that extended from both his lips and the cigarette in his mouth was a deep pink. After becoming a god, it never remained the traditional black or gray, but he didn't care if anyone saw the smoke. All he wanted was a moment to clear his head. This was why he hadn't wanted to come to New York in the first place. He did better alone, surrounded by his stand and the farm animals he kept.

'And I should just head home if Robert's dead...I mean, if I end up staying here, I'll just fuck things up.'

"So, it seems I was right." M/n stilled, opening an eye to examine the form of Straights. His skin had paled, he hadn't aged, and he couldn't pick up a heartbeat from the male. So he had become a vampire. It was something shameful to see, but the god simply raised an eyebrow at the male. "You're inhuman."

"So are you, Straights."

"Yes, but I think there's a difference between the two of us." He approached slowly, as if expecting him to strike at any moment. Fair. A good snake remained ready to move at any moment in case prey passed by it. "I also think you're a stand user."

"You know of stands?"

"Tonpeti was long lived and traveled the world. Do you think he hadn't seen powers beyond hamon? He knew from the way you moved, the way you fought, the way you reacted to events. You were easy to read. I'm more concerned about what gives you eternal life."

"Trust me, you should be far more concerned about my stand than my inability to age. Only one will make it far easier to kill you." Blowing the smoke away from them both, he met Straights eyes once again. "Now, pick your next words carefully. I know you killed Robert. You should know that I'm prepared to dissect you, nail down what remains, and let the birds have you till the sun rises."

"You still cared for him."

"I stayed away for his own safety. That doesn't mean that I didn't care for him." A flash of blue was forming behind him, and his eyes had turned a solid gold in response, but he still pointed the end of his cigarette at the male's face. "If I had known that some rat was waiting for a chance to bite his throat, I wouldn't have left, but I made the mistake of thinking of you as a friend and someone with honor!"

"You nearly sided with Dio and you'd speak to me of-"

"I have the feeling that I've seen you before. Don't you agree, M/n?" Both jolted and looked at Joseph, exiting the café and approaching them without a care in the world. Flicking the ash away, M/n shrugged his shoulders with a snarl. "No, seriously, have we met before? Or better yet, how come your breath isn't appearing in this cold weather? And I could've sworn that I caught sight of a fang in your mouth earlier."

Straights smiled at that, proudly showcasing the sharp fangs in his mouth, earning an annoyed glare from Joseph.

"Don't play dumb, bastard!"

"I don't care if we're in the city Jojo, I plan on taking your life before you awaken any of your abilities."

"Oh, is that so?" There was a moment of eye contact between the god and Joestar before M/n grabbed Straights and tossed him at the window. Covering his ears, M/n watched the vampire be sent through the window in a hail of bullets, earning a feral snicker from his stand. One that he mimicked unintentionally. "Straights, I expected you to come after me. Don't think for a moment that I won't avenge Uncle Speedwagon!"

A man who breaks every vow you make,

What an awful fake.

"Blast the head off, the light of the sun, or flood you with the ripple...those are the three ways to defeat him, right?"

"I mean, we could set him on fire and turn him to ash if we get the temperature right." M/n's voice was surprisingly gleeful, but Joseph noted how his eyes were narrowed and he kept baring his fangs at the slumped over form of Straights. He wasn't apathetic or gleeful, just trying to hide his true feelings on the matter. He didn't know that M/n was trying to hold back a panic attack, that the body sent through the glass in a hail of bullets had sent him back to a night over fifty years ago with a blond crashing through a manor window, but he still stepped in front of the god. Allowing M/n to collect his breath despite everything happening around them.

Then they both entered through the broken window, earning panicked cries from people that thought of them as little more than killers.

For him, it was accurate.

"Jojo, M/n, this is really bad!"

"Yeah, the repair costs are gonna be high." Joseph tried to drink from a coffee cup only for it to fall apart the moment he lifted it up.

"No! You shot a person!"

"What...a person? Do you mean Straights? Bah, he's hardly a person anymore." Picking up one of the bullets, he tilted his head. "What's going on? All the bullets I fired are oddly shaped...Smokey, take cover outside. Hopefully, I was wrong, and he's just a human. Then the only problem would be me ending up in prison."

"What are you talking about?!? Have you lost it?!?"

"He hasn't." M/n replied, ignoring the loud screams of a table of women who seemed too scared to run.

"Stop screaming so loudly! Don't make me shove my tongue down your throat to shut you up!"

"We may be charged with murder. Can we avoid sexual harassment?" M/n huffed, pulling the larger male back with an annoyed hiss. At least there were some obvious differences between him and Jonathan. "We sure did a number on this place."

Slowly, the bloody form on the floor rose back up to his feet.

"It's a lovely town. It's going to be nice living here. But you have something more important to do. Someone is waiting for you. You should do what you must."

So you leave.

"What if..." the person pauses, looking at you as if you weren't a thing designed purely for bloodshed, and then keeps talking. "One day, you realized you weren't meant to be a fighter, yet the only thing people ever tell you is that you were born into battle and you'll die in battle. So no matter what you want, you end up being a weapon. If that was the only thing you were ever told...I wonder, then...would you have chosen a different path?"

What do you say in response?

A single motion, a mere stretch, sent the bullets falling out of Straights body.

"Wha..?"

"Oh!" Joseph looked towards M/n in confusion, watching how the male regarded Straights like an interesting specimen. "His regeneration is slightly slower than Dio's. It should be easy enough to handle him."

"So this is a vampire...but I got so many shots off into him...how did I miss his head?"

"M/n, I'm sure you agree with me. Dio's ultimate failure was his desire to play around and enjoy his abilities and his feelings towards you. He was constantly trying to test the limits to his abilities or gain your favor. That was what gave Jonathan the opening to defeat him, but I'm not the same. I don't care about my limits. Once I've killed you, I can always test them. I don't plan on showing you any mercy."

"You're half the man Dio ever was."

There was a click of the trigger, but no bullets came out of the gun.

"Out of ammo, eh? Then let me use this attack; space ripper stingy eyes."

"What the fuck does that even mean?!?" M/n hissed out, only moving out of the way to dodge a potential strike. "Those are lasers. Just refer to them as that instead of making up a dumbass name for it!"

He froze when he spotted Joseph with a hole in his head.

Because there's always time for second guesses. I don't want to know.

If you're gonna be the death of me,

Then that's how I wanna go.

"Too easy. Now only you and Erina remain, but killing that old woman will be easier than-"

"Your next line will be. Killing that old woman will be easier than drowning an infant."

"drowning an infant...huh?" Straights whipped his head around to stare at the smug form of Joseph, M/n breathed in slowly, realizing that he couldn't smell any of the other's blood, as Joseph grinned happily at the pair.

"I bet your next line will be. Why is this guy still alive with a hole in his head?"

"W-why is this guy still alive with a hole in his head?" Straights tensed, obviously unsettled at being predicted once again by the Joestar, while M/n found his gaze darting around the café. Joseph's voice was being thrown, but from where? A flash of red gave him the answer. God, heat vision was more useful than he remembered.

"Straights, you shouldn't have spent so long in Tibet, instead you should've spent more time in the city! If you just knew a little more, you'd have won the game. So, why don't you inspect the numbers on the clock?" Joseph pointed a single hand up towards the aforementioned clock, or rather the reflection of one, and M/n swallowed down a series of snickers. "After that, think about the direction of my voice, Straights! I even switched the hand that was holding the gun! I already heard about how my grandfather died from that laser attack."

"A...a mirror?"

"You realized it too late, Straights!" There was a sickening crack when the butt of the tommy gun smashed into the vampire's skull, soon followed by the sparking of hamon. "And you're weak to hamon just like sunlight, right?"

We all know the saying of how a tree falls in the forest with no one to hear it. Well, the universe is our forest. There is so much out there...existing. With no one to observe it. Sometimes I look up and think, that's it?

That's...everything?

If there is no one to watch the dawn on the barren planets.

No one to feel the smooth shapes in the rock. No one to perceive this endless existence.

Does it even exist at all?

"Hm, hamon is supposed to melt a zombie's flesh. Let's see if that's true." Joseph leaned down, grabbing the edge of Straights's scarf, only for the vampire to shoot back up to his feet. His eyes ripping themselves apart only for Narcissistic Cannibal to knock Joseph out of the way, a hiss escaping its lips at the lasers chipping one of his scales, and M/n swallowed down a snarl at the slight. "He's not melted! And what sent me over here?!?"

"So that's your stand?" Straights's expression was something akin to raw interest. The mere sight of it sent a shiver down the line of your spine, but the look Joseph gave him made M/n stand up straight. Confident and untouchable. Like the god he was. "I always wondered what allowed you to fight so...impressively all those years ago."

"Of course. Would you expect anything less of my soul?" It was a taunt. One made even more obvious by the fanged grin he gave. 'Come on Straights, fall for it and attack me. Get close enough so I can crush your skull in a single blow.'

"For it to be a snake? Not at all. You were someone who played both sides when it suited you." Straights tilted his head, eyes narrowing in disgust, and the god snarled. "Face it, you would've joined Dio in a heartbeat had he slain Jonathan!"

"At least I didn't send my best friend off to the slaughter!" M/n laughed, shaking his head as he took a step forward, happily watching the pure hatred form on Straights's face. "You told us that Dire would be fine fighting Dio without knowing all of his abilities and look what happened! His death is on your hands more than mine! I may have hesitated in attacking a former friend, but I didn't let one be murdered in front of me. How did it feel to watch him shatter?"

"Um...should I leave you two alone?" Both glared at Joseph, who raised his hands up and shook his head. "Fine, fine, you two keep having your spat and I'll sit here not knowing what a stand is!"

"I'll explain later." The god replied, looking back towards the vampire.

"Oh? Finally helping the people you care about, M/n?"

"Silence yourself before I rip out your tongue!"

"Okay, then can you explain why my hamon didn't work before we go back to fighting? It looks like nothing happened to him! I heard bones crack, and I know I transferred hamon through the gun, so why is he not injured?!? Was Granny's info wrong? He's clearly not affected."

“No, it's exactly like I expected. With your talents, you'd become a dangerous enemy to me in the future. Allow me to tell you this before you die; this scarf of mine is made of the wings of over three thousand satiporoja beetles found in southeast Asia. This material is far more conductive than human flesh and acts as a lightning rod when it comes in contact with hamon” Straights shook his head, a snarl escaping his lips, as he watched how the snake-like creature moved closer to the Joestar. "Did you forget who you're fighting? I am the successor to three thousand years of hamon! I fight knowing all its strengths and weaknesses. I'm different from Dio!"

"Of course you are! Dio was ten times the man you are!"

"Hm...?"

"Ah, I think I get what's happening," Joseph held up a thin silver string with a shit-eating grin on his face. "You're pretty good for planning all this beforehand, but did you really think I'd only rely on a gimmick like hamon or whatever a stand is, hm? I'm also fast!"

"Huh...how did you get a grenade on my scarf!?!" He knocked it away with a snarl. "Child's play!"

"Sure, but I could still pull one over you, wasn't I? And you should look at the grenade you just knocked away!" What felt like a thousand pins were pulled free, earning a panicked hiss from both the vampire and the god.

"Son of a-"

Straights howled in pain as M/n used his stand to grab Joseph and leap out the window.

"...huh." Looking back at the remains of the building, the god tilted his head. "That's pretty effective."

And they tell me good things die all the time.

The rich get richer,

And I'm caught in a lie,

So all the times god told you were wrong,

You were right.

"We did it! Wait...what the hell...what the hell is he?"

"A vampire." M/n rose to his feet, covering Smokey's eyes before he could look into the shop's ruins and see the regenerating vampire. "His regeneration makes him tough to defeat, but you destroyed that pesky scarf. Though I have to ask...where did you get that gun...and those grenades?"

"A good magician never reveals his secrets~!"

"M/n...you can uncover my eyes. I've already seen it."

"Oh, okay then." The male still winced when he saw Straights regenerating, but at least he didn't throw up.

"God, I'll never steal again."

"Oh...cool?" M/n couldn't help but stare at him in confusion. Had he noted something, or was this just irony?

"Is there a way to defeat that monster? I mean...he was blasted by grenades...do...do you have another plan to defeat him, Jojo?"

"Yeah, I do."

"You do?"

"Yeah...there's only one left."

"Just one?" M/n tilted his head to the side. "Here I was thinking you were the game master. Gonna disappoint me now? Or is this last ditch plan of yours going to be the most impressive thing I've ever seen?"

"Well, I do aim to please."

"Good, I hate leaving unsatisfied." Joseph felt a flash of heat cross his face at how M/n purred out each word, his accent getting stronger, and he had to shake his head to focus on the problem at hand.

"Look at his legs. They were destroyed from that blast, and it looks like he still needs time to recover."

"So the only way is?"

"Isn't it obvious, Smokey? We're going to use our legs."

"Our legs...? M/n, what does he mean?"

"I think he means we're going to-"

"Run away!"

"Huh? What's with this guy?!?" Smokey didn't have time to ask anymore questions as M/n took off after him. Despite the difference in height, it seemed easy for him to keep up with Joseph, almost overtaking him at points, which earned a shaky laugh from the Joestar.

"Didn't expect this, did you?"

"Can't say I did." M/n responded, voice light yet teasing, a spark of something making the god's skin hum.

"And your next line's gonna be; but you sure know how to show a guy a fun time, don't you?" Joseph watched the male open his mouth, only to pause at what he said next.

"Hm? Why would I need to repeat it to you?" M/n flashed him a smile. "You already said it. I don't enjoy repeating myself or other people if I can avoid it."

"You...you didn't..."

"Your next line will be. How did you not fall for that?"

"How did you not fall for that?!? Eh-!?" Joseph watched the male laugh, eyes closing in pure glee, before the god nudged him with a shoulder.

"You still have a lot to learn before you can outsmart me. So, where are we going?"

Joseph can only grin and point to the bridge.

No one in the world ever gets what they want,

And that is beautiful,

Everybody dies, frustrated and sad,

And that is beautiful.

Straights shuddered, his bare form clinging to the side of the building, barely able to maintain his position as his flesh regenerated. The scent of blood engulfed him as he swallowed down another snarl. The conversation below him was both too loud and too quiet for him to register what exactly they were saying.

'This isn't what you want to do, old friend. Clear your head.'

"Sh-shut up, Dire..." His voice was shaky. Weak. He knew that, but all he could focus on was how his vision blurred before slowly steading itself.

'You don't have to go down this path. There’s always time.'

"Now you, William?" With an annoyed hiss, the vampire spat out a mouthful of blood, ignoring the voices implying that he still held his humanity. He followed the street that Joseph and M/n had taken with his eyes. Mentally calculating how fast they were traveling, the monk got into a crouched position. "Even though...even though I'm immortal...repairing my body takes up...far more energy than I was expecting...he left me pretty weak...I don't know if I could survive M/n's stand right now..."

With a growl, he pushed himself off the building and leapt towards his prey.

There is a head in the water with a giant stuck inside.

So the people think, 'he's in there and we're out here.'

But there are tiny versions of all of us, trapped inside our minds.

I've seen the stars. Pinpricks of dust. I think the prophet lied.

We live in the giant's head. The stars are painted on his skull.

So when they say; "halcyon days will never end."

Just know he's not the only one in hell.

"I'm not even involved with what the two of you did, yet I ran from the scene of the crime!"

"Means you're a criminal like us now." M/n jokingly said, rolling his ankles absentmindedly, chased by the steady tapping of his left heel. A pointed nail soon tapped against one button on his jeans, while Joseph paced back and forth. For a moment, that tapping and the sound of breathing were the only thing that filled the air.

"So you think we're safe?" Joseph tensed at that, ignoring Smokey and looking up towards the bridge.

"No, listen to that sound...that isn't the river. It's above us!"

They looked up to see Straights holding a woman flush to his body. Perhaps if he wasn't an enemy, M/n would've admired his form, but all the god could think about was the poor girl's racing heartbeat.

"Wait...what's with that woman? What does that bastard intend to do?"

"Isn't it obvious, Jojo? This girl is my hostage. If you attempt to run away I'll kill her, but should you climb up here, I'll let her go."

"What the hell are you thinking?" Joseph snapped, angrily gesturing towards the woman in his arms. "I don't even know that girl! What kind of idiot takes a stranger as a hostage?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm testing you to see what kind of person you are. If you forsake this unknown woman and run, I'll know what kind of man you are. I need time to heal from your last attack, so I won't bother chasing you, and you'll have proven yourself unwilling to come back and avenge Speedwagon. But if you climb up here to save this girl, that will reveal your true nature. Your future growth will be a great danger to me. I may be weakened, but I'm more than willing to use all my strength to kill you now. I'll kill this girl in five seconds, so decide if you'll run or stop me."

"Man, if it was a girl I was in love with I could understand, but why do I have to fight for an ugly bitch like that?"

"What?" M/n looked at Joseph in shock, trying to find even a hint of anger in the male's eyes, but he was drawn back to the vampire the moment Straights laughed.

"I'll kill her by ripping her jaw off and slicing right through her throat and chest."

"Like a monk dedicated to hamon would do such-"

There was a scream as Straights was knocked off his perch, having to cling to one of the support beams, as M/n caught the girl. On instinct he switched his hold, so she was held bridal style, feeling one large hand of his stand wrap around his waist to steady himself, with Narcissistic Cannibal baring his fangs.

"M/n?!?" Vaguely, he registered Joseph was yelling at him, but all the god could think about was the woman whimpering in his arms. If he hadn't moved, would she be dead? He had seen his hand move. Knew that Straights was violent enough to kill her without batting an eye. Could taste the blood before it even hit the water.

"Hm, I never would've expected you to move M/n." His voice was surprisingly calm. It made M/n feel uneasy, but he took a step back.

One...

"Maybe you've changed more than I thought?"

Two...

"Or maybe you don't want to be seen as a monster?"

Three...

He lets the woman go.

There's no reception in this shitty backwater town. No reception here. I wave my phone up in the air, sitting on top of my farm's broken roof, like a prayer to a god. Like a flare to a passing plane.

But still no reception.

I read on the internet that some rich kid made more money than I ever would. Even if you gave me a hundred generations.

More than the world around me could ever hope to gain.

A world where jobs that let you buy a house now mean you have to live with friends.

Money is access. Access to people waiting for me to die from the poison in the water. People drowning in alcohol and painkillers. Replace my existence with a statistic.

I just want a paycheck and my own life.

I just want to burn their world to the ground.

His stand dived, catching her as she screamed, and placing her on the ground as he adjusted his position. Fangs bared, head held high, expressing something fierce like Ajamu would've done when facing a foe.

"You've left yourself defenseless."

"I'm never defenseless Straights." His lips curled into a grin. "Even without my stand, I think you'll find that I'm more than capable of defeating one vampire. Especially one in such a weakened state. Dire and Zeppeli would've been disgusted at the man you've become."

As expected, he lunged.

He caught the male, their fingers interlocked, and teeth bared as if they were little more than feral hounds. But he could push him further. Could get the response he wanted. But why...why the fuck was he still like this? He was supposed to be better! No! He couldn't think like that. Not right now.

"You keep saying you're different from Dio. Better somehow, but that's a fucking lie, isn't it?" His grip tightened, the crack of bones filling the air, because it was so easy to use his actual strength on something for once. "If you had actually learned anything of value from Dio, you'd have learned how to flash freeze your prey. You would've had a natural counter to hamon, a way to disable me, yet you aren't using it. You can't use it! Isn't that fucking hilarious?!?"

"I don't need his tricks to defeat you!"

"You're right...you don't need tricks," tossing the vampire across the bridge. He gave a warm grin. "You need a god to defeat me, and sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not listening."

There was fear in his eyes now.

This place acts as a message, and a part of a larger series of messages, so pay attention to it. Sending this message was important to us. We consider ourselves to be a powerful culture. This is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here.

Nothing valued is here.

What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us all.

This message is a warning.

About danger.

"Claiming to be god now?" Straights was shaken, but seemed to swallow it down, like a man that expected his death to arrive at any moment. It was acceptance. M/n didn't want that. He wanted Straights to be scared, to be upset, to beg for forgiveness for daring to lay a hand on Speedwagon.

"Claiming to be god?" He stepped forward, eyes locked on the target, claws twitching at each movement. "I don't make claims I can't back up. There was a reason Dio considered me holy, and it is the same reason I don't age. I'm not a vampire, I'm not undead, yet I exist. What else would you call this existence of mine?"

"..."

"I'm god." M/n grinned, happy to admit it for once, and happy to see the fear on his face. "And you're fucked."

A trickster arrived on the beam before he could attack.

He tells you; "they never mattered."

And it feels like a blade through the stomach, an arrow to the head.

If those people were never cared for, people you died for, then what is the value of your own life?

"Let me handle this, M/n!" He blinks, eyes dancing over Joseph's fame, and he nods before taking a step back. There's something in his posture that's so familiar, making him weaker than he'd been in years.

"Do...do what you must."

"How foolish, to step into a fight that doesn't require you, but you're a passionate man."

"I'm going to rip you apart!" Joseph's hamon was a live wire, dancing over his skin and through his veins, making him shine in the dim light of the city. A star burning bright.

Straights's attack, which he referred to by that stupid name again, was bright enough to momentarily outshine his hamon. M/n tensed, watching Joseph merely laugh and raise a hand up as if to block the attack.

"You're a fool for using the same move twice! I thought of a way to stop that attack earlier."

"What?!?" M/n watched how the laser curled and rebounded towards Straights. All that from a mere shot glass. M/n laughed, his current anger dying at the trick, and the voices howled in glee. He had never expected that from Joseph, would've never seen Jonathan do something like that, but it was still something that didn't fully burn the anger away.

One laser through Joseph's shoulder and another through Straights' forehead.

"Im....im..."

"Your next line will be. Impossible!"

"Impossible!"

"I caught that attack of yours with one glass channeling hamon. Pretty easy since I knew you'd aim for my forehead." A pained snarl was his only reply. Straights slowly pushed himself back up to his feet with a drawn out growl. M/n wondered if his brain had been damaged, leaving him unable to properly speak, or if his anger had consumed him. He lunged yet again, and Joseph moved in response. "Make it up to Speedwagon in hell!"

Straights didn't scream when the hamon flooded his veins.

"You'll be able to sleep safely tonight, Granny."

You used to act so high and mighty, Ajamu, playing god, but look at you now; there's nothing like an ax to drag someone back to mortality.

Straights gasped as he fell, hand trying and failing to find purchase in the steel beam of the bridge, his current state leaving him too weak to do anything. All he could do was fall towards the water. Was this what Dio felt after being knocked off his castle's balcony? Before he could even think of screaming, a hand grabbed his arm, followed by another to his left, and he saw Joseph and M/n staring down at him.

"Why...why are the two of you helping me? For all you know, I still have enough power to blow a hole through your skull."

"If that's true, then just do it. I'm already prepared to flood you with hamon if I see you try to attack me." Joseph pulled the vampire closer, easily adjusting himself to meet Straights' gaze. "There's just one thing I want to ask you; why did you throw Speedwagon's body in the river? I'd like to give him a proper burial...and I just don't get it! If you didn't throw his body into that river, no one would've known that you killed him or the others."

"...? Joseph, you truly are a man who carries on Jonathan's blood. Your attitude may differ, but you have the personality that drew him into conflict all those years ago. That was what led to Jonathan dealing with Dio and the stone masks." His lips curled into a grin at the memories, even when noting that M/n was shaking at the mention of Jonathan and Dio. "And because of that personality, I'll tell you that you've now stepped into a destiny you can't escape."

"...!"

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to meet the man in the pillar."

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm asking you about Speedwagon, not some guy in a pillar!" M/n twitched, barely able to focus on Joseph's anger, and instead his mind struggled to understand what exactly a man in the pillar even meant in the first place. He kept mentioning the stone masks, all of which should've been broken after the fight in Wind-Knight's Lot. Unless...unless more had been discovered. Or if another vampire was still alive and could make more undead? Neither option was good.

"You might not understand me yet, but the reason I threw their bodies in the river was because of the man in the pillar. The pillar had absorbed their blood like a plant's roots absorb water. It felt as if he was about to awaken. That's why I took them outside and tossed them into the river. But he'll likely awaken soon, since he's absorbed human blood...I can only imagine how he'll awaken from his slumber." Straights laughed, expression settling into something more wild...almost feral. "What abilities does he possess? What kind of life form is he? I wish I could see it. Joseph, M/n, you'll be seeing him soon enough. You'll understand his identity and evolution soon enough. Like destiny being passed to you by a god."

"You...Straights...you're...?" Joseph watched in shock as bright golden cracks formed along the male's body.

"I have no regrets. Rather than aging pathetically, I'd rather go to hell with the excitement of getting my youth back."

"He's...he's breathing to channel hamon…?" M/n whispered, quickly releasing the male's arm before his skin can get burned, and he hisses in raw panic at the sight of the male's suicide.

"Wait, Straights, I'm not done talking with you!"

"Farewell Jojo!"

And he shattered.

1937, Europe.

Nazi Germany under Hitler's will conquered Czechoslovakia, the second world war continues to escalate. This group believed that they, the white Germans, were the most evolved among their fellow man and used this as a reason for war. They tried to use astrology, magic, alchemy, esp, the occult, as weapons of war. Despite everything, they already knew of Straights' actions.

A man lays back in his seat as a razor passes over his cheek, blond hair shifting with each motion he does, till a thin line of blood forms across his cheek. The woman shaving him stepped back in horror, hands going to cover her mouth, and she nearly dropped the razor.

"I'm so sorry, Major Stroheim. My hand slipped!" Grabbing a piece of meat off the table, he tossed it to the Doberman, sitting at attention. Then he beckoned for her to approach him.

"Here, you cut it, so lick the blood away with your tongue and ease my wound."

"...Un-understood."

The blade of the razor stopped a hair's length away from her tongue. For a second there was nothing but silence, and then he drew the razor away, allowing the girl to fall to her feet.

"Major Stroheim, the old man, has awakened. We can learn the whereabouts of the ruins now!"

Time waits for no man.

"I'm a good person. I try to be a good person."

But, what use is a moral compass if north changes with the wind? The rules of a prison are as immovable as its many walls. North is always north. Evil is always evil.

Following the rules hurts sometimes.

But I am the warden. I can do nothing else. If I do this alone, then no one else has to hurt like I do. Unless they deserve it.

After all,

The prison is a prison for a reason.

"We're going to Mexico, or rather Joseph is, and I plan on either going with him or finding my own way there." M/n swallows, watching as Erina observes him, and not for the first time he wishes that she'd be angry and lash out. "If there's a possibility that more of those masks exist, I can't sit on the sidelines...and maybe I could bring Robert's body back for burial."

"..."

"Are you mad at me?" He asked, watching how she looked up at him in what appeared to be surprise, causing him to go back to messing with the keys he carried in his pocket. The soft clicking of steel filled the air till Erina spoke.

"No. I'm not mad at you." He flinched at that. "But are you doing okay? I understand Joseph can be a lot."

"Joseph is...fine."

"You're mad at him?"

"He made a choice when fighting Straights I couldn't agree with."

"He isn't an exact copy of Jonathan, but they do share traits."

"They do." M/n swallowed down a thousand things he could add to the statement. Gently grabbing her hand, he pressed a kiss to the back of it. "I'll get us closure."

And then he leaves.

It's like...every time I fall, I just freeze up. Some small part of my mind is sure that I'm back in hell. Falling forever. No one here to hear me scream.

And then I hit the ground.

What's funny is that I'm half right.

Look at me talking to myself like some loser.

Nobody's listening.

Why would they?

"So, why are you mad at me?" M/n twitched at the question, nearly flinching at the earnest look in the other's eyes, but he swallowed it all down as an arm was thrown over his shoulders. The action was warm, and he was terrified. Still, he ignored his sensations and glared at the male.

"Because you didn't move to save that poor girl. He would've killed her if I didn't step in!"

"I already explained that! Why would I help some bitch I don't even know?"

"Because that's what a gentleman would do!"

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not a gentleman, isn't it?" At that moment, he wasn't looking at Joseph, but Jonathan, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the sight.

"You're right." His stand smashed to the ground next to them as he bared his fangs. "I should rephrase that; that's what a decent fucking person would do!"

He didn't respond, causing M/n to toss his arm off and walk away.

"Hey, M/n, catch!" The god did so, looking down to see that he had caught a grenade with the pin still in place.

"What...?"

"I had a plan in case things went bad. I wasn't about to let someone innocent die."

Joseph was the one who left the room first, but he still gave you a smile, and all you could see as he left was the red star on his shoulder.

Look at you!

Even your own body is at odds with itself. Half and half and the pieces don't quite fit. I know about your back pain from the wounds on your ankles. The way your throat burns. The limp.

How when someone meets your eyes and you scream?

Your cheeks rip themselves apart in the process.

Even those tears of yours make it worse!

You're broken.

Hopeless.

Notes:

A friend asked me if Narcissistic Cannibal is bipedal or quadrupedal, and the simple answer is he switches between both styles of movement, but remains crouched on all fours because of his size and also to protect his stand user. The best example of his movements would be the Khanivore from Love Death & Robots, so find an AMV on YouTube and observe.

Chapter 9: I no longer know what I say, or what I do! And yet it's necessary. Force yourself!

Summary:

History is a vicious streak, but sometimes the one who's coated in blood is the one you need to keep.

Notes:

You get one old Joseph drawing for this chapter.

Chapter Text

"Robert, get up. I need to get you back up." He...he knew that voice. Forcing his eyes open, he pushed himself into a sitting position, barely aware that his hair was falling past his shoulders, or how his body didn't carry the same soreness age had brought with it. "There you go. Take it slow."

"M/n...?" He's the same age as when they had last seen each other, but M/n doesn't seem bothered, instead he's lax, willingly offering the other a smile. "Is...is that you?"

"Yes...I mean, perhaps. I might be a figment of your imagination, or just someone appearing in your dreams to bring you solace," he snickered, reaching out and taking one of Speedwagon's hands, his skin warm. It feels solid. Real. He relaxes ever so slightly. "Or maybe I'm real? We don't know."

"...if you're real, then Straights was right...you haven't aged."

"Oh Robert, you haven't aged as well in this dream." Leaning back, M/n held up a small circular mirror, and the reflection showed him...looking as if he was twenty-five. "Though...that's not good."

"What...what do you mean by that?"

"My mother once told me that people who died would appear in the afterlife as the age they were happiest, and here you are in your twenties despite living to seventy-five. That's...upsetting, to say the least."

"But then why are you...? No! Am I dead or...or dying?"

"Touch your throat." He did, feeling an open gash that wasn't bleeding, and with a gasp he watched M/n look away as if the sight pained him.

"...?"

"To answer your question...not yet. Or at least not completely." M/n sighed. "That's actually why I'm here, Robert. I don't want this to be your end. Especially not at your own hand."

"My hand, but Straights..."

"He's been handled." The reply was quick, the wound still raw, and Speedwagon swallowed down a thousand questions. "I can't imagine what you're going through right now, but I'm coming to help you. Please don't do anything till I get there. I can help you...and I know I haven't been a good friend to you...especially after leaving you that night...but I'm coming to save you. Just hold out till I get there."

"I...I will."

"Thank you."

You've always loved working with textiles. Taking the rough scraps, then making something beautiful, with your hands, and your hands alone.

Your favorite technique is batik. Using a tool called a canting to pour wax on the fabric. Submerging it in dye. And pulling away to see the white space, loving the things that slipped through the gaps.

Making martyrs of mistakes.

But lately; you grip the canting, and where once you embraced the pitfalls of your craft, your hands now shake. Too much to be callous kindly. And Icarus's wings are melting, then drying again. And so wax floats on water.

The story is out of your control now.

Perhaps there is still space for creation in these hands. Though now the problem lies in your canvas where you've drawn over it with wax. Again and again and again...until there's nowhere left to go. And once comforting designs are drowning. The wax can't keep Icarus up any longer. And yet, you preserve in your craft. Until it crumbles in your grip. Torn and tattered by the world. Then put together with rough hands. And even rougher methods.

Now you are standing in front of the mirror.

Staring at the batik of your body. Dyed in colors that were once your favorite that presently make you sick to your stomach; a canting is no longer a comfort sharper in another's hand. And when drawn on skin wax burns. Daedalus weeps. You wonder if, even with permanent wax, this batik can be sublime once more. If it ever was.

No matter the outcome, you decide to attempt this arduous task, anyway; you're choosing the dyes once more and controlling the canting. You busy your hands, praying that maybe this time they'll become kind in their creation and stay that way.

"...?" The first thing Speedwagon saw when he awoke was the German soldiers once again. A single motion told him he had been restrained in a white straightjacket, and for a second he couldn't remember how he got there.

"You restrained him?"

"Yes, Major Stroheim. He tried to slit his throat with the end of a broken bottle, so we had no choice but to restrain him."

"You know, Speedwagon, there's an old saying; 'If the elderly kill themselves, the town they live in is doomed to ruin.' So, you must know a very important secret about that man." With a wave of the hand, the metal wall behind Stroheim moved away, revealing the carved out pillar with the man inside. UV lights shined down on it before dulling to regular, harmless light bulbs. He could easily see the male's face and those horns emerging from his forehead.

"...!"

"You wanted to see this, right? The information we obtained from you allowed us to carve the pillar out and safely move it here."

"Why...? God...why did you keep me alive? Why did you let me live?" He swore, only going silent when he remembered his dream and M/n's promise to him. Taking a shaky breath, he met the Major's gaze.

"You're wrong Speedwagon, I was the one who let you live, not god." A table was wheeled towards them both with a single syringe resting on it. "You may be older, but we know you'd never talk under torture. You're a man who started with nothing and crossed the Texas deserts. Almost dying before finding oil and becoming one of the most influential men in the world...those achievements take guts. But our German science is the best in the world! There's nothing we can't do...including making a prisoner talk."

"Truth serum...what more do you plan on asking me?"

"Isn't it obvious? I want to know everything that happened in your past! Straights, the Joestar family, M/n, all of it!" Stroheim flashed the male a grin, one that freely admitted this was a man who'd do anything for his country, even shake the devil's hand. "So we can awaken the man in the pillar."

"Wha...You can't! You don't understand what that man is! This has nothing to do with the war. If you release him, he'll kill us all!"

"Men, start the experiment. It's an immediate order of Fuhrer Hitler."

With that, everything was set in motion.

He was just a child. They mourned, building a grave too big and a statue too grand.

"So was I." You think. "And they never built me any grave."

You buried the child you used to be alone, your naivety and hope, though you're sure they're the same, left behind at the bottom of forever. It doesn't matter in the end. Neither of you could have been kids, not really, and you're too far gone to do anything but think that's a good thing.

The motorcycle left a trail of dust behind it, the engine a loud and ever present roar, and the god couldn't be happier about this turn of events. He had never 'owned' a motorcycle as a mortal. He had been homeless and broke more often than not, but he had stolen one during his time hunting down Ajamu with the others and loved the feeling of riding one. Of course, he wasn't driving this one. That honor went to Joseph, or more like he had whined despite M/n having experience with these vehicles, but the god had accepted it. Now he sat behind him, despite the safety hazard he had sat with his back to Joseph to watch the dust fly off, casually kicking his legs back and forth. Narcissistic Cannibal was leaping across the dunes, on all fours and easily keeping pace with them, though M/n knew Joseph could see the marks he left. He'd ask about it, eventually.

…he had promised to tell him.

"I see a town." The god hummed at Joseph, glancing over his shoulder to note that a town was in front of them, before his gaze went back to his stand.

"We're stopping?"

"To get some supplies." He heard chickens clucking, could smell barn animals, and relaxed at the familiar scenery. Even the spices and food he could taste in the air reminded him of being in Texas with his mother. Parking the motorcycle, the god hopped off before the Joestar could even get both feet on the ground. Tapping his pockets to make sure he had his wallet there, he waved a hand at the other.

"I'll buy supplies. Don't get in trouble."

"I'm not that bad."

Lately, it seems, your suffering has become a private affair.

"Not that bad! Not that bad!" M/n howled, watching as another bullet barely missed the back tire of their vehicle, while Joseph mumbled a series of curses under his breath. He was surprised that someone raised by Erina knew that many, but he would've been cursing more if he wasn't mad at the other. "How dare you trick me into thinking you'd behave yourself for five fucking minutes?!?"

"They insulted me!"

"You attacked them with hamon!"

"They insulted me!"

"You drank out of a horse's water...why the fuck wouldn't they insult you?!?"

"I didn't know!"

"How could you not know?!?" He was going to kill Joseph at this rate.

They were both created intending to protect, but where he is kind, the other is cruel; his heart beats, uncaring. While the others' cold skin betrays the warmth inside. One you love, one you hate. Their creator, however? You aren't sure.

"Lieutenant Stroheim, there's a crack forming in the pillar! The blood being absorbed by the pillar is that of five people...we don't know the power of the man, so we figured giving him too much at once would be too risky."

"Hm, how did you get the blood from them? No, no, I don't need to hear it." Walking around the wheelchair bound Speedwagon, he rested a hand on the male's shoulder. "Come on, Speedwagon, what are you so afraid of? Why are you shaking?"

"Don't underestimate him!"

"Oh, don't be that way, Speedwagon. The shelter he's in is unbreakable. A hundred undead from the stone mask wouldn't be able to break it. The steel walls are fifty centimeters thick. It has an internal flame thrower, machine guns, and even a self destruct option. Is there even a child that would fear a bear in the zoo? Of course not! That's just a primitive lifeform that's stayed alive."

The pillar suddenly seemed to shudder, cracks forming and spewing out blood, causing the room to go silent.

"That's...blood? He's spewing out the blood we sent into the column! Major, we can't see what's happening!"

"Then turn on the shower to wash the blood away!"

The man leapt out of the pillar, landing on the ground like a crouched over animal, earning gasps from the many scientists.

"How did he...?"

"His muscles should have atrophied from lack of movement."

"Ha, a name would be good for him, eh, Speedwagon? Calling him; 'The man in a pillar' would be too much of a mouthful. Look at him! His skin has gained color. He's alive. I, Stroheim, will be his godfather. Let's see, how about Santviento, for the warm winds that race over Mexico?" Stroheim's face was set in an eager grin as he observed the thing's form. 'Now, Santviento, show us what abilities you possess.'

"Look, Major, he's getting up." In an instant, he rose, only to fall back to his feet, before slowly getting back up and stretching his limbs. While the Germans above him howled in laughter.

"Oh my, this Santviento is a rather funny guy! Look at him, Speedwagon! The ultimate life form? Look at him, smelling around like a wild animal, he's barely sentient if that! At least he makes us laugh. But fine, we'll assume he made the stone mask. Start the experiment!"

A vampire was released into the chamber.

You're not quite ready to burn all your bridges, but you will make it smaller and much more flammable.

They were once again stopping, a sensation that left M/n mildly concerned given their last stop, but he adjusted himself and watched Narcissistic Cannibal skid to a stop, sending a massive wave of dust up into the air.

"You know, I was going to say something strange is happening, but that's really weird on its own. What did you say that was again?"

"A stand. Psychic manifestation of my soul or fighting spirit, depending on who you ask. Looks like a giant snake monster, and it can attack and fight for me. It also has a clear personality."

"And it was named...egotistical man-eater?"

"Narcissistic Cannibal, but you were close."

"When can I get one?"

"I...I don't know." On one hand, he still held a stand arrow in the pocket dimension of Narcissistic Cannibal.

There was a change in the air, a flash of red in his secondary vision, and he nodded his head. "You're right. There's something wrong. I can sense someone approaching."

"I knew I wasn't imagining things!" Standing up Joseph approached the coat laying across the sand and tossed it up into the air. "But in a desert this big, who could follow us without a vehicle...? No one's there."

"Impossible! I have heat vision. I saw someone under that piece of clothing. Wait...he's above you!" Joseph rolled out of the way, a gash on his shoulder from the male's blade, while M/n and his stand snarled at the stranger. His form was smaller than Joseph's, built more for agility than raw strength, and the dagger he held was sharp.

"You two have good intuition. I can even sneak up on bats, and yet the two of you sensed me approaching." He was knocked across the sand by a single swipe of your stand's claws.

"You should've learned how to sneak up on snakes instead of bats. Now begone! We don't have time for your bullshit!" M/n hoped that his eyes flashing gold alongside the snarl in his throat would be more than enough to scare off the other, but all he did was laugh and shakily stand up.

"Sorry for my friend, he's a bit...trigger happy." Joseph rested a hand on your shoulder, the action causing you to untense, as he glared at the stranger. "Now, who the hell are you?"

All he did was land on a cactus, earning a hum from the pair.

"Wow M/n, he's rather light on his feet. He walked on the sand without leaving a single footprint, an impressive skill to have for someone following a group, but why is he tailing us?"

"I'm not just following you. To learn information about Straights, I've been assigned to capture the both of you."

'Straights? His uniform means military, but why would they know about Straights in the first place?'

"Your accent is German." M/n spoke up, eyes trailing over the features of his uniform. "Your uniform suggests a member of the German army, and they do have a base up ahead, alongside a passion for the occult. Do they want to know the secrets of the stone mask that badly?"

"Clever."

"Huh? What would the Nazis want with Speedwagon? No matter, I'll make you talk after I kick your ass!" He barely spared you a glance. "Make sure he doesn't damage the bike."

"Understood." The god sat down, crossing his legs and calling his stand back. If their conversation in New York had shown him anything, it was that he could trust the other.

"Now, come at me, you Nazi bastard!"

"You plan to fight against a special forces member with nothing but your hands? I can't help but feel insulted...but oh well, that must be the mistake of a foolish youth. I don't intend to kill you, just drain enough blood to make you complacent." The Nazi lunged, knife flashing when it caught in the sunlight, and the god wished he could finish him. He was annoying.

Then Joseph won...with a hamon cactus...okay then, at least they wouldn't be here for much longer.

Everything should be just as you left it, but you can't help but think that something important changed.

"He...he ate him...he ate the vampire!" The lead scientist staggered back, watching what remained of the vampire get slowly absorbed into Santviento's body. A hand on his shoulder caused him to flinch. "He...he even grew in size."

"Calm down, all of you! Did you forget how fortified that room is? All he did was eat and gain weight!'

"What about intelligence?" Stroheim looked over to Speedwagon in shock, almost as if he didn't understand the question. "Does he have a human level intellect?"

"Str....stroheim..."

"What? He said my name! He shouldn't be able to hear us in there!"

You've attempted to speak in ways that don't revolve around violence, but you haven't gotten that far with the language of flowers yet.

The only meaning you can think of is 'I care.'

"So, according to our cactus buddy, twenty meters under this mansion is a laboratory. They're currently experimenting on something to do with Straights, and while I'm pretty sure both of us don't give a damn about Nazi experiments, we need to save Speedwagon."

"Six million people, at least."

"What?" Joseph quickly looked to the other, his gaze unfocused but towards the earth beneath the mansion they were watching, and he noted his hands were shaking as if he was terrified. "Are you okay?"

"...I'm fine. Not a fan of Nazis." Shaking his head, M/n met his gaze. " I can see on one level, I think, the third one, nearly a hundred different heat signatures. As well as...something else."

"Something else?"

"Vampires and zombies don't have a heat signature, but this thing does. Yet he's warmer than a human, more wild in the temperature range. It's messing with my heat vision layer."

"How many of those do you even have?"

"Seven."

"How do you process anything visually with seven different layers to your vision?" Joseph exclaimed, watching the male pause and look at him as if he was an idiot, which he thought was excessive.

"Practice. Also, my body wouldn't have developed these features if I couldn't use them."

"Yeah, yeah, your god, I believe you. No need to rub it in." The god sighed at that, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"The fact you believe me, yet still choose to talk like that, only makes you seem more idiotic."

"You don't need to talk like a Shakespeare character with that raspy voice."

"My mother's name was Ophelia, so you could say it runs in the family, and the rasp is because of past wounds. Besides, do you have any room to talk to when you only read comic books?" He huffed, looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one was watching them, or had even wondered if two people may hide in the brush.

"Comic books are brilliant! Didn't you mention reading them yourself?"

"Occasionally, but I would never forget the classics." M/n retorted, pausing at the sight of two girls approaching the gate. "Have you figured out how we'll get in the base? Brute force might not be the best idea, given how many military weapons are likely available."

"Yeah, I think those girls gave me an idea." Joseph flashed the male a rather mischievous grin and gestured back to the town behind them. "We gotta buy some things first."

"Weapons?"

"You'll see!"

I promised you I'd fight with my words.

I'm sorry.

...it wasn't enough.

"Are you serious with this?" M/n looked around the woman's clothing store, watching how Joseph held an extra-large dress to his frame, and slowly coming to terms with his new fate. "Like, can't we just pay a woman to get searched while we sneak in?"

"No, no, this will work." Joseph grabbed a dark blue one for comparison, though his eyes kept straying to a light pink one hanging in the back, while M/n looked at each item with mild distaste. He knew he was feminine, but he had worn nothing akin to a dress in eons. "Besides, I think you'll look great in a dress...and the whole nine yards."

"The whole nine yards?"

"Well, of course, the ruse wouldn't be complete if we just wore dresses! We'll have to wear bras, underwear, stockings, heels, the whole nine yards!"

"Panties?"

"Or a thong." M/n shuddered, earning a laugh from Joseph, as well as watching his stand form in the shop to grin at him. He wanted to curse them both out at that moment, but swallowed it down, glancing away from both of them. "It won't be that bad. We can just steal some uniforms after we get in. Just choose something you like."

"Fine." With a groan, he leaves to the section of the store that matches his clothing size, his stand snickering and carefully following behind him. "Can't believe this was the amazing plan he came up with."

'Aw, don't be so bitter, Master. You'll look great, I know it. Besides, you used to wear women's clothing rather frequently when we were mortal.'

"That was by choice. Not to sneak into a Nazi base. I...how am I supposed to avoid killing every German soldier I see when I get in there?"

'Not all of them are evil, most likely they don't know what will happen in the fatherland before this war ends, but your anger is justified. Their sins are monstrous, but-'

"Changing something as big as a world war without careful planning is a bad idea."

'Exactly.' His stand suddenly kneeled down, poking at a pile of carefully folded dresses with a growing grin. 'Let's stop talking about bad things. This dress smells nice. What color is it?’

"Green."

'No way then. We need blue or black. It highlights your frame.'

"You don't even know what I look like unless I describe it to you." M/n replied, though he immediately moved to the blue and black dresses to appease his stand, yet he couldn't deny those colors didn't look good on him. "Remember, you're blind?"

'Oh please Master, I'm your soul, will, and fighting spirit. There's nothing out there, not even blindness, that wouldn't allow me to know exactly what you look like. I see your face in all of my dreams, hear your voice in all my moments of silence, and channel your will in all my actions.' Narcissistic Cannibal leaned over, tongue brushing against the side of M/n's neck, earning a soft hiss. 'And after so many nights, I will never forget your frame.'

"Sinful beast."

'You wouldn't have me any other way!' He hummed in response. Holding something that will cover enough of his flesh to hide the scars and tattoos down his legs, but his arms are a different beast. Most of these dresses aren't long sleeved. It makes sense because of the heat waves in the area, but it won't be good for the tattoos that cover his shoulder and inner arms. The bands themselves might be fine, but the words and x's may carry a strange meaning if he wants to play the maiden. 'You should get long sleeved gloves, like what you'd wear in a ballroom. I bet that would look nice. Black gloves, blue dress, black stockings. Sounds nice, right?'

"Yeah...but that still leaves-"

'Get ‘em both black and lacy.'

"I hate you." His stand howled with laughter as he adjusted himself, swallowed down whatever filled his mouth, and went to get the items he needed.

Your leg is too far gone. You know you should cut off the rot. Cut your losses. But there was a flower there. Once upon a time. And that flower was beautiful, and that flower was life. So you're stuck digging through all the corruption; unwilling to let it go and you've nearly got it...but, it's just, as you push forward, so does all the rot. You don't do it. Not till it chokes you. You can't move your arm. Your leg. Your body. But then...you touch a petal. Grab the flower.

Live again.

"I was right, you look great!" M/n flushed, hands messing with the deep blue dress that ended at the middle of his thighs, and even if the dark black stockings prevented any skin from being shown he couldn't help but feel embarrassed. The outfit looked great, fit like a glove, but the god felt...exposed. It felt too thin, too easy to tear and rip, and far too easy for someone to grab. Yet Joseph looked at him as if he was something to be worshiped, like he was god, and that was more than enough to make him shudder. The dress Joseph wore looked...nice, but it wasn't designed for a man of his build. M/n's height of five foot seven had made it easy to find clothes his size.

"You don't look too bad either." Joseph grinned at his response, proudly posing to better show how the fabric ran over his muscles, and M/n swallowed down saliva. His ichor left him constantly in arousal, hard to smother, and a god's stamina made it impossible for him to simply tire out...which made Joseph's actions even more troublesome. "Don't get too ahead of yourself. We still have to get past them and into that building."

"We can take a few seconds, right?"

"Huh...?"

The god was pulled into a dressing room with a delighted gasp from the Joestar.

You wake up drowning.

There's probably some symbolism there, but if you're being honest. You're tired of your suffering being made into metaphors.

It isn't poetry, it's painful.

"Your next line will be. Joseph, this isn't really the time."

"Joseph, this isn't really the time, I mean-eh?!?" M/n made a rather undignified noise when Joseph pressed his lips to the male's neck, moving the detailed collar of the dress down, and his hand lazily came to rest on Joseph's shoulder. "Behave."

"Make me." M/n raised an eyebrow at the challenge. Finally, after a moment, he smashed his lips into the other's, earning a moan as he easily worked his tongue into Joseph's mouth. He was inexperienced. Not anything new or unexpected, especially given the other's vulgar behavior towards those he had clear attraction towards, but it meant he was too sloppy. Too much tongue, and a bit too eager. Easy enough to handle.

Pulling away when he was desperate and gasping, M/n moved to the door of the dressing room, ignoring how hot his skin was.

"We can continue this once we've saved Robert."

Joseph snapped, saying something in frustration, but he was already heading to the store that sold makeup. This act needed to be perfect.

It only took a second to adjust his dress.

People, by their nature, always try to find the silver lining.

It was a wake-up call, a reunion, a reprieve, a loss, but there is no justification to be found in death.

Only a corpse.

"Alright, you can pass." The men allowed the shaking women to leave inside the manor's large gate. With a barely repressed snicker, they turned towards the path again. "Next!"

'I fucking hate everything in my life right now.' M/n stepped forward, having told Joseph that it would be less suspicious if they didn't go together, but now he felt worried. He was some scarred up god that wasn't...wasn't anything worth looking at. Even if those scars weren't visible, he still knew he was too cold, too sharp, too much to be worth anything in terms of visuals. Ugly and made into something too monstrous for anybody. His personality pushed people away just as quickly.

'Oh N/n, I'm right here. All you have to do is ask for me.'

M/n nearly whimpered at the first sign of Ajamu since their last argument. He had...no, he should've known better. He wanted to reply, tell him to fuck off, demand Ajamu learn to fear him, only for the choir of voices to roar till he couldn't feel the god.

"Hello there. I brought some fruits, liquor, and some medicine." He kept his voice light. The softness and rasp were no longer present as he forced each word to be the delicate quality of a lady's voice. It wasn't perfect, but he hoped his stand could fill in the blanks. "Is that alright?"

"Oh my, come closer." He did so, a shiver racing down his spine, and he was terrified.

'This is for Robert. Whatever happens to me is fine as long as I save Robert.'

A hand on his hip, words he didn't register, a sneering face, and he was terrified. It was about to happen again, but he had to do this for Robert. Had to. It was the right thing to do. A hand gripped his shoulder. Another moved to the small of his back.

'Do you know how small your waist is?'

"Hey boys, I brought tequila! Can I pass?" He jolted, looking over to see Joseph in his ridiculous outfit, causing the men to freeze up. They had let go. He was safe. His stand hummed under his skin. He was safe. Joseph helped him. Despite this likely ruining his plan, he had moved to help you. You were safe...because of Joseph. All because of Joseph.

"Hands up!"

"Huh...? W-why? What's all this about? And...what about my search? I'm just here delivering tequila!"

You were having another panic attack.

Fun.

'...but I'm supposed to be doing better.'

Maybe one day you'll look in the mirror without dismissal, disdain, or disgust.

"M/n...M/n! Are you alright!?!? Can you hear me?" A hand touches your side, you flinch, and everything is too much. No layer of vision you focus on is dull enough for you to just breathe. Scar tissue rubs against your vocal cords. Reduced lung capacity laughs at you. The world is vanishing. You can't breathe. You don't need air. A rasp escapes your lips. An arm pulls you in. You're in the void. Being held by Ajamu. Warm. He was warm. You breathed in. Perfume. Makeup. Fabric of a dress. The world comes back in an instant. Your fingertips are stained a dark red. What happened? "It's okay. You're fine. Take a deep breath. They're knocked out. We got them."

What did he mean by that?

Staring at their forms, you could see head injuries that had knocked them out, but now you saw bloody claw marks running down their body. Too small for your stand. Oh...that's what happened. You shudder. A hiss escaping your lips.

"Are you okay?"

"I...I am." A lie, but he doesn't need to know that. You swallow. He's still holding you close. Hugging you. You mauled two people, and he pulled you in a hug, to make sure you were okay, and you couldn't fathom it. You had proven yourself to be wild, attacking people like an animal, tearing those stupid ballroom gloves to rip into people with sharp claws and black stained fingers, and he had comforted you.

It didn't make any fucking sense.

"You know, there was a part of me that wanted to break in while wearing this dress, but now I lost my confidence. I'll alter their uniforms to get one that fits me and we can get in, okay?" His voice is so kind. Why is he treating you like this?

"Yeah, that works." You don't want to risk changing your outfit.

Your entire world starts and ends with what he gives you. Because he needs it to be so. As long as you are preoccupied with surviving, you'll never find the strength to kill him. Every moment you spend in this place trying, and failing, to claw your way up from this dark pit you fell in, one where you ignore the fact that you're drowning in tar. Another moment you don't spend dragging your abuser down to your level, to use him as a stepping stool to get up and take a breath.

You are dying between the pages of your poem book. Like pressed flowers, the image is preserved, but your soul is pulled open. Your sharp claws shake against the glass ceiling and you know you'll shatter it soon.

What is the cure for this life? Does it live in the lives and hearts of the brokenhearted in the slums? Some person who has to justify their right to exist? The empties draining whatever they can to survive?

Who would you have been if you could choose who you could've been?

You hate this man with every atom of your being. Every molecule, atom, is united in raw anger. He is the enemy, the enemy you've been pointed towards, and you are merely a gun or blade in the hands of no one, pointed and ready to be used. You are a trigger and bullet, but not the hand. You hate him.

You hate him.

The void is soaked in your blood. You step through the dried expanses, the damp parts cling to your legs, and you know you won't leave this place. Not alive. A system that will kill you. Is it not ‌with violence to respond to that same violence? This is nature. He'll never give you what you want through peace. You must take what is yours, what will save people, by force. You must bear your fangs to live, to work, to be loved, to have a name, and you can't be silenced. All you have is violence.

There's a spot in your chest that burns, a place where you would've held a heart, but now you have nothing. You dream of it sometimes. A future you could be happy, a world you'd want to live in. You are covered in scars, but not the ones you want.

I tried to be peaceful. To be gentle. I have followed the rules set before me, no matter how unfair. I was dragged into darkness. Beaten until my vision vanished. Nameless and no one. Forgotten by history.

On my knees, wrists bound and tongue ripped in half, and the world changes to match this new plan. The man who wants me dead is smiling. My world changed the moment he struck me down.

I will not be silenced.

I won't ask for your permission.

I have no plans of going gentle into that good night, a memory of a thought smothered by an oppressive force.

I can fight for myself, and if I'm given claws and fangs, why not use them?

If I'm meant to burn, then let him burn with me. I'll be the fire that burns this world to ash and then grows new life from the aftermath.

I refuse to be snuffed out.

If I'm meant to burn, then let me burn all of these bridges, and they'll light my way.

"Major Stroheim, I only took my eyes off of him for a second! Nobody saw how he escaped! How could he...?"

"This is no time for drinking!" Stroheim slapped the coffee cup out of his hands, looking back down at the empty cell. "Where is he? There's no sign of him in that room."

"He just vanished!"

"Calm down, all of you, and think clearly. He must be hiding somewhere to avoid our gaze. Stop the flow of oxygen. Once he suffocates, he'll show himself." Turning around, he gestured to the team by the film reel. "Hey, do you have the film ready yet? Rewind the film and find out where he hid!"

"We just finished setting it up!"

"Good, play it!"

All of them watched as the thing stretched out, then took a full speed charge at one wall before folding himself up to squeeze into one of the connecting vents. The entire room went silent, other than a few who gagged at the sound of bones breaking, before a series of panicked whispers filled the room.

"Into the air vent...he entered a four by two centimeter opening by crushing his body...? He just folded himself up and entered the vent?"

'Unbelievable. He didn't just pop or disconnect his joints, instead he crushed his bones and changed the entire shape of his body.' Speedwagon swallowed, once again dealing with the terrifying realization that he had no way to defend himself because of the straightjacket holding him in place. 'But this means...he's hiding somewhere in the building's vents.'

"Major Stroheim, the man in the column, Santviento, he called you by your name...could he have heard that through the air vents?"

"Are the vents in the chamber connected to this room?" Stroheim's gaze went to the series of events in the back of the room, his eyes darting to the soldier that was examining one before he raised a hand. "You there! Get away from the vents!"

Yet his body was invaded all the same.

And even a worm will turn.

"Did...did something happen Major...? I...I can't see...it's...it's dark. I can't see anything...why did you all turn off the lights?" The area where his eyes had once been was now a deep indent from where Santana's body had forcibly entered him, revealing large chunks of muscles, bone, and brain matter, as the soldier slowly swayed back and forth on his feet.

"He dove into a soldier's body...?" Speedwagon tried his hardest to ignore the screaming, yet if it hadn't been for his experience with the mask, he'd be joining them.

"Where is everyone...? Don't leave me her-" The body shook, loud cracking filled the air as his bones shattered, and the flesh expanded till he hardly looked human anymore. "I don't understand...but I haven't felt this good in a long time."

'Unbelievable...if he gets out of this facility, he'll be a threat to the fatherland. He has to be destroyed here.' In a single motion, Stroheim raised a hand. "Kill him! Shoot to kill! Don't hesitate!"

The thing, for it no longer seemed human, was sent back in the hail of bullets, yet they were all forced to watch the body stand up again.

"He's still alive?!?" Speedwagon whispered. While he knew bullets hadn't worked on Dio, he'd hoped that perhaps it would be enough to keep the pillar man off his feet for ‌longer.

"As I thought, machine guns can't kill him." Stroheim watched the thing raise a hand, pointed to look like a gun, and scoffed. "What's with that finger position? What does this mean? Wait, is that supposed to be a gun? That finger pose resembles a gun. Is he copying us? He only said my name earlier. That's it! He's just mindlessly parroting back to us! He's just copying us. There's no meaning behind any of his actions. Just imitating us like a monkey...could he be...? If his intelligence is low, we can still find a use for him!"

"..." The bottom jaw of the soldier had been held on with little more than shreds of flesh, and a single tilt caused it to sever and fall to the floor. "Was it...you who disturbed my slumber?"

"He talked!"

"You were wrong...his intelligence isn't low at all. He's already learned our language in such a short amount of time." Speedwagon glared at the stunned Major. "He calculated his mistake from the moment you woke him up!"

A sweep of the hand sent a hailstorm of bullets from the corpse's fingertips, and screams of pain quickly filled the air.

"Hey Robert," the restrained man jolted to the best of his abilities, eyes darting to the figure now resting against the side of his wheelchair, only for him to freeze at the male's current state. "Thanks for waiting for me."

"M/n...is this real? Why...why are you in drag?"

"Of course I'm real. As for this outfit...my plan on entering the base didn't go as planned, and then I couldn't find a uniform that fit me in the shoulders, but I couldn't just wear something loose if I was about to get into a fight, so I just came as I was. My only other option would be to take the time and alter a uniform, but I didn't have the time to do that." A hand rested on his shoulder, clawed nails pressing against him just hard enough for him to know it was real, and he nearly sobbed at the proof that he was real. "Though I see things haven't been easy for you in my absence."

He opened his mouth to ask M/n a question, only for another set of hands to grab the handles of his wheelchair. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the form of a German shoulder. "Old man, watch out. Hide over here, so you don't get hit by a stray bullet."

"Get lost, I don't need or want help from a Nazi!" If it hadn't been for M/n snickering, he would've snapped at the other again, but he met the god's E/c eyes. "Do you know something I don't?"

"Given everything you've seen in your life, is that any surprise, Robert?" He grinned, revealing sharp fangs, though his eyes quickly landed on the corpse still standing there, almost as if frozen in time. "But you didn't tell me we'd be dealing with whatever...that is."

"Geez, just like always, he's still a stubborn old man. Was he like this in your time, M/n?"

"Yeah, pretty much." M/n responded, tapping his nail on the arm of Speedwagon's wheelchair, earning a series of pointed clicks.

"...?" Before he could ask M/n another question, there was a sickening sound of the corpse being torn open, revealing the newest threat. While Joseph formulated a plan, the god used the moment of peace, however brief it would be, to better examine the creature. While he clearly wasn't a vampire, he was still nowhere near human. Long red hair, black horns, alongside an age and skin tone that suggested either the Aztec or Maya empire.

"There's...nothing we can do." Was the hopeless whisper that came from the German soldier earning a scoff as Joseph approached him.

"Hey, I'm going to need some of your hair! Well, more than some. It'll only hurt for a second."

"What are you doing? Don't you realize that I'm your superior officer?"

"Wait, who is that? I only know one person who’s that brash...could it be?" M/n couldn't help but laugh at that, eyes sparkling, as the only thing that distracted him from the humor was the strange look the creature gave him. Almost as if he was trying to figure the god out.

"Did it really take you that long to figure it out, old friend?"

"I call this my hamon hair attack!"

"It's...Joseph Joestar!" Speedwagon called out, right as the bullets slammed into the barrier, sending the god into a new fit of laughter.

What an interesting situation they had fallen into.

The letters came so late, they almost felt like funeral invites.

"You're...I...how...?"

How are you here?

What?

"Did you really expect me to miss the big day?"

"Your hair's rather dry. You need to take better care of it or you'll go bald, Nazi guy!" Joseph teases, his voice light as if the room wasn't thick with blood and gore, yet the god only moved Speedwagon's chair back. The faint noise of the wheels on tile acting as a slight comfort to him.

"When did you get here?"

"Eh, that's kind of my fault, Robert. We came together." M/n lightly shrugged his shoulders, messing with the torn fabric of his ballroom gloves and ignoring the look he received from the last soldier alive. He had no reason to care about a Nazi's opinion. "Figured having a hamon user would be useful."

"...ha...ir...?"

"Oh please, I invited you, not the other way around." Taking the jacket of the uniform off M/n's gaze landed on the red star, his stand's death marker, before he followed Joseph's gaze to the pillar man amidst all the bloodshed. "But you know...it looks as if we've stumbled onto a killing field."

"If I had known you needed me, I would have come."

Do people only love you because they're contractually obligated to do so? Maybe if he signs, he'll stay.

Are promises meant to be broken?

Your promises ring hollow.

"We can't let him escape this place! He was likely the one that created the stone masks...were they merely a tool to increase food supply, or designed for something more sinister? According to the carvings on the wall, he's weak to both the sun and hamon, not to mention he's still not fully awake from his slumber...Jojo, you must kill him!"

"So, M/n, do you know anything about this guy?"

"Nope." In a slow stride, he walked the perimeter of the room to be on the opposite side of the threat, openly examining all of his features as he did so. "He's a completely different beast when compared to a vampire or zombie. This is a splendid opportunity to learn. Fas est et ab hoste doceri."

At that, Joseph approached the male without hesitation, whilst the god stopped when his heel bumped into a gun of some sort, a smile forming on his face. He was confident that his stand could be summoned and strike this...vampire-like man down, should anything happen. His stand's speed wasn't something to laugh at, especially after eating soldiers and corpses along the way, so this would be a good chance to see how the man fought.

There was a second of silence.

"You're it!" With a single tap to the nose, Joseph jolted back, a grin present on his face. "Hm...? Oh, I get it. You're one of those strong silent types, right? Ever thought about modeling? You've got a nice look there. Come on, let's see what you've got. Give me a smile. I know you can do it. Show me some vulnerability. Work with me here. Make some love to the camera. Give me happy. Give me silly. Show us those pearly whites!"

"Jojo, what the hell are you doing?!? Don't provoke him!"

"Well, I was thinking he might not be that bad of a guy. So, I'm just checking. I think it's a bad idea to just assume someone's bad with no proof."

"Don't be foolish! Look at how many of my men he's slaughtered!"

"Shut up! You were the one that started it! Experimenting on him, threatening him with machine guns, and expecting nothing bad to happen to you! I only came here to get Speedwagon, so there's no reason for any of us to fight this guy." Joseph looked over to M/n. "Hey M/n, as someone else who isn't human what would you have done if you woke up to this? I mean, didn't you say you've hibernated in the past?"

"...kill them. Obviously." M/n answered, feeling a bit unsettled at the looks he received from Speedwagon and that Major. Was it that surprising to hear him say that? Or was it the reminder of his status as immortal? "If I woke up from an eon of slumber to a scalpel in me, I would never show them mercy."

"See? M/n understands! Now, come on and show us a smile!" At that all the taller man did was move past Joseph, not even sparing him a glance, earning an annoyed huff from the Joestar. 'What...? He's totally ignoring me? All right, I'll get a reaction out of him. I'll trip him with my leg!'

M/n felt a strange hum in his own scarred ankles when he saw how the pillar man merely rotated his ankle over Joseph's leg. The action was both fascinating and revolting. While M/n had gained an inhuman level of flexibility because of the snake attributes both his stand and godhood had given him...well, those were both based on how a snake moved. His flexibility was only because of altered bones, muscle, and joints, nothing that involved crushing and regenerating the bones like what this man did. It was unnatural.

"What just happened? What was that feeling?"

M/n took a step back, silently watching the male's eyes, a shade of scarlet, dance between him and the gun on the floor. Finally he kneeled, lifting the gun up to better examine it.

"Hm...? This is my first time seeing anything like this. What is this tool?" His voice was a low rumble, M/n had to admit it sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, but his gaze darted towards the other before he decided.

"He understands us...somehow he's completely mastered our language!"

"It's a type of gun, but I wouldn't be able to give you the exact make or model." His head snapped up, earning a raised eyebrow from the god, before he pointed to the scattered and bent bullets littering the floor. "They're designed to fire bullets as a long-range weapon. Basically, the modern equivalent of a bow and arrow or crossbow."

"Hm," M/n watched him take the gun apart, examining each piece with raw interest, and then put the gun back together. He did it perfectly.

'A quick learner. That could become a problem in the future.'

"Wow, he took that gun apart like an expert clockmaker!"

"It takes hours for our soldiers to learn that!"

"Think of what that implies with his intellect."

"Robert, I had hoped in fifty years you'd have stopped pointing out the obvious during fights." M/n didn't have time to say anything more on the subject before the pillar man's gaze was on the lights.

"So bright. What is this light?"

"Way to allow humans to see in spaces where natural light isn't available using electricity. Modern equivalent to torches and lanterns."

"And what are you?" M/n snarled, sharp fangs flashing as he watched the male's gaze go to his eyes, and he knew they were gold. It would be easy enough to kill this man if the sun still burned him.

"...I'm afraid that's none of your business. I mean, I don't even know your name."

"Santana." The newly named Santana took a step towards him. M/n could hear bones shaking and cracking inside his body, causing the god to take a step back. If this species was anything like the vampires they created, then absorption was an obvious ability, and if he could do it from skin contact, then his lack of outfit was a benefit rather than a curse.

"Not a bad name."

"Now, tell me what-"

"Hey you, if you understand the language then you respond." Joseph brought a helmet down on the back of Santana's skull, earning a low feral snarl from the pillar men. "Knock, knock~!"

"Watch out Jojo!"

"Never change Joseph, never change." M/n drawled out. Hearing bones cracking and noting how the skin around his ribs began to twitch and ripple as if changing consistency, he gestured for the other to brace himself.

He couldn't bring himself to be shocked when Santana attacked.

And in the end, you do not die like a hero. Your death is not poetic and you are not surrounded by your loved ones. Instead, the only witnesses to such an unjust act are the one who took everything from you and the snake that screams out for mercy as you bleed out.

"Annoying primitive." Santana snarled, his rib cage opening like a hair clip before turning around to wrap around Joseph like a hoard of snakes. It made M/n homesick. He watched Joseph raise his arms up as a defense, hamon coiling and sparking almost subconsciously, it reminded him of a stand activating purely because of their user's feelings.

"What the-"

'Hm, that attack looks powerful. Yet it looks as if they can only extend a set amount. About four feet and three inches, but measuring that to his physical strength, he could crush up to eighteen hundred pounds per inch. I hate doing math...but that strength shouldn't outmatch the fraction of my own I'm currently using. If things go that badly...I could always transform...let's hope that doesn't become the only way to handle this. I don't think his existence is a crime that's punishable by death.' The god frowned at his trail of thoughts, this was a creature that killed several humans, even if those deaths were justified, and ‌he intended to get rid of Joseph and Speedwagon. Yet there was something that made him hesitate. 'Is this just curiosity towards a new lifeform? Or am I growing soft for strays with that much personality?'

(We can keep him? It would be interesting to have another living thing on the farm. What would you call our chickens?!? They mean another person, fucking jackass. He's immortal, right? I think so. I mean, he can't die from old age. Sun and hamon kill. Starvation? Perhaps. It at least allows regeneration. So age is the only thing that doesn't kill him? Seems like it. It would be nice to have someone that can't die. THINK OF THE CARNAGE THE TWO OF YOU CAN CAUSE! It may be good for you to have a companion, dearie. Besides, he killed Nazis. Are we really supposed to be that mad at him? Let's see how this goes before we take Santana with us. Agreed.)

Joseph was sent up into the air, crashing into the ceiling before landing on the ground with a pained wheeze, earning a confused hum from Santana. M/n twitched, his hand opening as if he was expecting to hold his...why was he thinking about that? He hadn't held a physical weapon larger than a dagger in eons! Though his old trident was likely still inside Narcissistic Cannibal if he ever decided that he could finally stand that weapon and the memories it brought up.

"Was that fire? Yet it felt alive...what is this human?" He rested his chin against the palm of a hand. M/n looked between the pillar man and Joseph, listening to each shaky breath and spark of hamon crackle. "He was knocked back instead of being absorbed into me. The leg that touched me seems fine as well. I've never met a human like this. Is this man...special? Or have all humans adapted to this era?"

His eyes briefly landed on your form, but in an instant he approached the bound form of Speedwagon, earning a series of feral snarls from the voices in the god's head. While many preferred days of senseless violence, a large portion of them had grown attached to Speedwagon and Erina both through their letters and continued friendship. The moment his fingers entered Speedwagon's skull, they howled with the fury of every fallen angel in hell.

"Hm, just as I thought. Only that man has this talent. Have only certain humans evolved?"

"Jojo…M/n...this is unbearable!"

His snarl outmatched all of theirs.

How to be a god;

1. Speak with a hint of a smirk on your lips. Let it show your fangs. A reminder of who they meet. Your smile can be a magnet to all those around you. Speak with a scowl that mimics the beast that destroys heaven. Your eyes as cold as the steel of your dagger. They should always know that your word is law. That you are the danger and their salvation.

2. Walk with your head held high. Let your wings or cloak stretch as wide as possible. Never look down on the mortals. They don't matter. They will die and you will never bat an eye. You're meant for the heavens above.

3. Dress to the nines no matter the occasion. Let it be long ball gowns, a suit, or the armor of the men you've slain. The bloodstains are simply proof of your power. Of how hard you worked to be here.

4. Stain your lips with the light crimson of your favorite food. Cherries, pomegranates, or even blood fresh from the flesh of those who wronged you. Slip a dagger beneath your clothes. Tie your hair back with gold chains. Never forget to hold the crown you earned.

5. Always touch. Never be touched by those who haven't earned your trust. Let your hands roam their body freely. Take all the time in the universe when sizing up your prey. When you draw them into a kiss, don't forget to bite.

6. Carry around books from every age you can. From the crusades, from witches, from devil worshippers, from heathens, from the holy, from the righteous, from the romans, from the Greeks, from everyone. Read to remember the stories you were part of, the ones you stayed away from, the ones you ignored, the ones written of you.

7. Speak in the languages you love. The ones that hold close to where a heart would lie in a mortal. Let them know no matter what language you speak, the words that leave your lips have power. Leave your words stained in their walls. In blood or wine.

8. Every day feast as if there's no tomorrow on the horizon. Accept only the finest of offerings. Ambrosia, wine, and ichor. Sit at the head of the table and grin with your fangs on full display. The world is at your fingertips.

9. Let the men circle around you. Shouting your name in a way that most would call crazed. Let them dedicate their entire lives to you and you alone. Let them kill to be near you. To hear your voice. To see your eyes. You are above all.

10. Take your time. Time is something that runs past you. It won't ever become an annoyance. Drink from your glass slowly. Scrawl your wisdom down for generations that you won't see for half an eon. Slide your claws through the flesh slowly. Tenderly. You own the world.

There was a sickening crack, Santana's form smashing through metal pipes and glass casings, a whimper from Speedwagon filling the air and a cry of shock from the German. Only Joseph, tense with rage, looked towards the god, who stalked forward with a snarl. The voices howling for blood, craving the crack of bones, craving the gore, craving justice for the slight to one that he had laid claim to. Claws twitching. He can think back to this moment and pinpoint it as a shift‌, but he mainly knows how sharp his nails are. How the black stain, meant to be a mimic of Ajamu's tar-like blood going up his arms from their last battle, is further than it was. Now half way to his elbows. He is god in this one moment. Something he'll hate himself for later, but Speedwagon's alive and unharmed, and nothing matters anymore.

"Don't you dare touch what's mine." His words a snarl, venom dripping from his lips like the puffs of dark pink smoke that escape, and he knows his eyes must be glowing a bright gold. Narcissistic Cannibal is behind him, one hand at his hip, the snarl that escapes his stand echoes and rumbles like a crack of thunder through the night sky. Santana rose, eyes closed, perhaps at the impact of the attack, but the god can't bring himself to care. It was as Ajamu had pointed out to him once; the traits of a god and their animal became stronger and harder to fight the longer they spent in the mortal realm. It didn't matter if he used his god form or not.

"You side with humans?"

"The ones I like." He responds. Santana opens his eyes at that, scarlet meeting gold, before he watches fear and awe dance there. It was covered quickly, but he understood in an instant that Santana saw his stand. Dio and the vampires he made could only see an outline, the framework, but the actual colors and details were lost to them. Hamon users couldn't see anything as they were little more than humans with benefits, not stand users, but whatever Santana was, could clearly see everything. The details of his stand hadn't been exposed since he fought Ajamu. To know an enemy could see each detail made him shudder, but he had to stay focused. "I haven't killed you because of an understanding of waking up in these circumstances. It would be wise for you to not push me any further."

"What is that?"

"M/n, are you taking over this fight?" He looked towards Joseph, a spark of something feral racing down his spine leaving him hollow, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to strike Joseph for daring to encroach on his territory, something from the snake aspects of his brain ‌or perhaps he wanted to take the offer to back down. Was it from revealing so much of your nature? "I want to fight him now, and take what remains to the nearest museum."

"I certainly can't blame you, but he may be more useful alive." A slight tilt of the shoulder was enough for Joseph to smile. He was smiling as well, but it seemed only the Joestar could draw comfort from it, and Joseph lunged at the pillar man with no hesitation.

"I'll try to save you a piece." Joseph's fist struck the male's torso. It seemed weird to aim for the ribs given his past attacks, but the god watched the way his hand up to the wrist seemed to vanish. Worry was something ice cold, if only because of the cold, making him exhausted and heavy despite needing no amount of sleep, yet it wasn't enough to make him or his stand move yet. "Wha...? Does hamon not work on him?"

"This isn't about war anymore..." Stroheim whispered, voice horrified and lacking the proud nature that had been there since the beginning, as if this wasn't his fault. "Th...this world is finished if he survives."

"Don't you ever shut up Nazi?" M/n wasn't a fan of German soldiers from the War World 2 era, the results of having a primarily Jewish family and being a young gay youth with a record of mental illness, and even if he didn't have knowledge of wars and the consequences they left behind he figured he'd still hate this man. He was the one who took Speedwagon, if that hadn't saved his life he'd have killed him the moment he spotted the blond, obviously tortured him and put him in a state where he had been ready to commit suicide before forcing him back into the hells that had been left behind fifty years ago. No, this Major Von Stroheim was merely a pest. "You haven't done a damn thing to help with this other than to tell your men to fire at him. Stop wailing like a dying rat and either shut up or do something useful! Now, Joseph, what exactly do you mean by that?"

"The ripple is...moving off of him and onto the blood on the floor. His skin is like Straights's scarf, or water rolling off a raincoat."

"A raincoat?"

"As I thought, our bodies repel each other." Joseph moved back. The hand that had been pressed firmly against his torso seemed to be missing, yet M/n couldn't smell any blood from where a wound would be. Slowly, Joseph revealed his entire hand with a snicker at the other's sighs of relief.

"Ha, just kidding! I moved my hand to save it! Even so, if hamon doesn't work on him...?"

"No, Jojo, you're wrong! It's not that your ripple isn't working against him, but that's what prevents you from being absorbed into his body. The ripple is protecting you from being eaten. As long as you keep channeling it, you don't have to worry about being consumed!"

"Robert, remember our conversation about saying the fucking obvious!"

"Don't be foolish! Their abilities may seem equal, but-"

"Shut up!" Stroheim flinched at the god's shout, watching how the male bared his fangs. "Don't go listing plans when the enemy can hear us! Me and Joseph will handle this. That's all you need to know."

"M/n is right...damn, this sucks. I better think of something...at least a way for us all to escape to safety."

"Don't plan on running away! We can't let him! He's a danger to humanity!"

"Shut up Nazi! Have you forgotten what your part in all of this is? Stop mouthing off constantly, you're just pushing more pressure on me!"

"Joseph's right. If Santana turns out to be a threat to humanity, then I'll take care of him." A blur of motion shot towards Joseph. Santana, who aimed a single finger at his forehead, which sent the male flying backwards. Narcissistic Cannibal moved at his silent command, catching the male and setting him back down on the ground with a low hum, causing the pillar man to look at him in open shock. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Toss me at him!" M/n did so without hesitation watching the male lash out, kicking a knife into Santana's torso earning a low snarl, only for him to gasp. "Uh, this is...? I tried to stab him to send hamon into him, but his skin's texture is changing like rubber. Fine, but how will you dodge this kick?"

As it turned out a creature that could morph his body could simply melt his face away to avoid a kick aimed at his face.

Go figure.

You're bleeding out in a field on a hot summer day.

You lose consciousness as the sun sets.

Joseph was kicked up into the ceiling with a panicked gasp, earning many feral snarls from the voices in his head. Cracking of bones, tearing of muscles, and the sickening senses of things being wrong filled his head. How he wanted little more than to transform into his god form and show them...No, no, he couldn't do that. There was a reason Ajamu avoided using his own god form no matter the situation.

"He won’t be able to breathe after an attack like that."

"Hm, what is it? A breathing technique...an energy that flows through the blood? But when he loses his consciousness, he'll be a regular human." Hands came down and fingers slowly entered Joseph's temple, earning a feral snarl from the god. Till he noticed the male's smirk.

"Jojo, breathe with the ripple!"

His body was dragged halfway into Santana's form before golden sparks appeared, yet M/n noted how Stroheim raced towards a dark red button. His stand knocked the male over earning a panicked gasp.

"Don't do that!" Joseph called, his one visible eye opened up to stare at all of them. "I risked everything on this plan. If attacking him from the outside doesn't work, then I'll have to attack him from the inside out!"

A sudden motion of bright gold hamon ripped Santana in half, leaving Joseph unharmed.

They've always said that when you feel a random shiver down your spine, that a rabbit has run across your future grave.

'Well, at least entering Santana's body helped me figure out he uses that absorption trick. He targets each individual cell in a person's body by having each of his own consuming them. That's why it looks like you're merging with him when he pulls you into his body. I was only saved because I used hamon right before he could start consuming me.' Joseph swallowed, struggling to draw more breath after that last blow, but he immediately moved for his knife and a set of chains on a plain table that had been rolled into the room earlier.

"Jojo's ripple is too weak to end him on its own!" As Speedwagon screamed, Joseph attached the knife to the end of the chain, impaling the blade through Santana's palm when he tried to reach out and grab him, a swift pull caused his other hand to be clasped together held in place with the knife. Wrapping the chain around his body, he tried to take a step, only to hiss at how heavy the pillar man was.

"Hey, your body parts are trying to piece you back together, right?" A single glare was his only answer. "I learned about that trick when I fought Straights, so I know what you're trying to do."

'How heavy is he if someone of Joseph's build can't drag him more than a foot without struggling?'

"Hey Nazi!" Kicking a helmet into the Major's head earned a pained yelp from him. "Are you listening? Is this guy weak to the sun like Straights? Hurry and answer! His body is trying to reassemble itself as we speak. I need to know if he can walk in the sunlight!"

"Yes, according to the cave writings, his kind has the same weakness as the vampires that are created by the stone mask!" The sound of a door being opened caused them all to watch as M/n opened it, revealing the dimly lit staircase, and gestured for Joseph to toss him a segment of the chain. Which he did. Hooking the steel around his wrist, the god pulled him forward with ease. There was a yelp when Joseph ended up being dragged forward as well, although he was clearly trying to assist in their combined efforts. "Huh? What are you doing? What's the point of opening the gate?!?"

"Isn't it obvious?!?" M/n snarled at them both, getting onto the first part of the staircase as he pulled more and more, forcing the chain to wind further up his arms as his nails left furrows in the metal.

"M/n is right. It should be obvious. We're going to drag him into the light of the sun."

"That heavy breathing...his hamon breathing is off. Zeppeli once said that he could run ten kilometers without having to take a breath, but Jojo's never had any training."

"Give it up, you primitive." An attack was aimed at the both of them, sending Joseph crashing into M/n with a yelp and squawk as they fell in a pile of limbs. The god found an elbow in the center point of his cross shaped brand which earned a huff when it made his wound press on his lungs. The chain was looped over both his arms, binding them in much the same way as Santana's, and he rolled his body to kick the male off him and up a few steps, breaking both wrists.

"Jojo, use your hamon breathing!"

"I'm trying, but I'm tired, damn it! It also doesn't help that you threw me, M/n!"

"I'm not apologizing for that."

"Fuck you!" Joseph tugged the chains, earning a hiss from both Santana and M/n as they were tugged up a step. Had his hands been free, M/n would've flipped him off in response. "I'm totally pissed off! No matter what, I'm getting you up these stairs and into the light of the sun, you hear me?"

Around three quarters of the way, M/n watched Joseph collapse, panting.

The agony of an angel has no audience.

So the suffering can be saved. It hides the sacrifice behind its salvation.

Such is the burden of a savior.

They mustn't know the price it paid.

Or the guilt would surely damn them.

"Are these leeches?" M/n hissed out, watching the slimy...things latch onto their skin and start to dig and burrow. M/n barely has time to pull one out of his leg, the fabric of the dress getting in the way, before at least ten more are fully under his skin. A hiss escapes his lips at the lumps running under his skin without an issue, and he can feel his blood and flesh being eaten as fast as it regrows. "The fuck?!?"

"It's Santana. He's dragging us back down!"

"I slept for two thousand years, but for a human like this to be born while I was asleep...well, I guess humans can evolve."

A figure leapt past them.

"I'll take it from here. All I need to do is open the door, right? The sunlight will easily reach the three of you from there, so even a regular human can complete this task."

"Stroheim...you..."

"Hm, not bad for a Nazi."

"..." A low snarl escaped the pillar man's lips and chunks of his flesh wrapped around one of the male's legs, earning a pained scream. Sharp claws twitched against the steps, gold eyes watching as blood was being drained, and M/n realized in an instant that they were caught like flies in a spider's web. "Struggling is useless. I'll absorb both of you into my body."

"Both? Have you forgotten there are three of us here?"

"You're different."

"I'm flattered, really I am, but that will be the death of you if you aren't careful."

"Joestar, let me ask you for a favor."

"What, dammit?!? I'm trying to figure out a plan!"

"Use the ax on the wall to cut off my leg."

"...?"

"Does it have to be with the ax?" Meeting Stroheim's gaze, he watched the male look back at him in a mixture of shock and confusion before shaking his head. "Oh, then consider it taken care of."

In a snap of his stand's jaws, the male's leg was gone.

The mother of the monster claims her son is beautiful. Too beautiful for words. Too beautiful for the world to behold. She says to be looked upon would only invite jealousies untold. And so they keep their son tucked away, far from prying eyes. Up in a golden tower above the clouds and skies.

A veil of silk.

A veil of lace.

A shield for a face too beautiful.

He is dressed in finery. In jewels, gems, and the like. They say he is royal, but he doesn't believe it. The servants visit rarely, and when they do they weep. Some promise to visit more, but they never keep their promises. When his mother visits, she averts her gaze. She can't bear to look upon his face.

Maybe he thinks his parents and servants are, in truth, ugly things. For if he's as beautiful as they say...well, they never look like him.

They don't have a forked tongue or dark scales. No pointed fang to catch the light when they smile.

A voice inside of him screams that they only keep him out of fear.

"How do you like that? The door's open and the sun's shining in!" Stone seemed to replace Santana's skin, earning a confused hiss from the god. "Did we do it?"

"I mean...vampires dissolve into dust, same with zombies, not...whatever's currently happening, so I don’t know." M/n admitted, not liking how inexperienced he was in dealing with such a creature. Santana differed from anything he had ever encountered before. Hard to read and harder to understand.

It would, of course, be obvious that a cornered animal will bite to get itself free, and Santana entered the stump of Stroheim's severed leg.

And God stared in shock.

Sweet Helen is not of Troy, or of Sparta. She does not live in the towers of burning Iuvm, or the ruined palaces of once great Greece.

No, she is found between the pages of history.

Over, and over, and over again.

Blamed, and defamed, and cruelly scorned. She is every woman who bears the burden of the faults of men and gods.

She is all of us, history repeating itself, maybe to punish, maybe to teach, maybe to remind.

Whatever might be the ill taught lesson, the shouts of the imprisoned and deprived,

Are forever lost.

In the clanging of weapons, false pride, and forgotten women.

Sing, O' goddess, the rage of Helen. Which launched not a thousand ships, but was stifled and silenced by a war fought wrongly in her honor.

Snapping the chains off of him and Joseph, the pair raced after Stroheim into the sunlight, watching him stumble around with only one leg to support himself. On some level M/n noted the wound wasn't bleeding, yet he wasn't certain if that was because Santana was primarily inside of the male's leg or perhaps a way to keep the host alive till nightfall. Either way, it proved troublesome.

"Well, it certainly seems as if he'll do anything to survive." M/n whispered, mind going to a fight in the void which ended with his entire arms stained in black tar. People like him were always the hardest to fight because there was rarely a point where morals got in the way. Someone who bites their hand off to get out of a chain, tying them to the ground. If Santana was like him in that aspect...it meant this fight would be messy, or he simply offered something better. What did God offer?

What appealed that he held?

Now there was a part of that sentence that made the whole thing laughable, because Ajamu had never asked himself what he could offer someone since the answer was always obvious in praise or threat. You were a different beast. You were hardly a god in anything outside of biology or title. The job you held was a farmer and the idea of world conquest was sickening to your very core. No, you weren't a god that could offer a golden city or worshippers to someone, but Ajamu had used fear as easily as kindness. Yet...he'd rather be struck down by prophecy than become the monster that haunted his dreams.

…but if Santana was to live, he couldn't be a threat to humanity.

All he had to do was point out the obvious, not in a manipulation sense, but by stating the obvious. If he told Santana his true nature and explained that there was no way for the pillar man to win in a fight, then surely he'd back down.

He just had to get the pillar man into a one-on-one conversation.

Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long. Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up in the kind of world where we belong? You know it's gonna be all the better when we can say 'good night' together.

Oh, wouldn't it be nice?

"This...this is terrifying! You want to know what the worst part of this is? It...it actually feels great...my leg doesn't even hurt..." A shaky laugh escaped his lips, the male's expression darting between several layers of panic and fear. Then it settled. His expression becomes that of the soldier rather than the man. Another reason M/n found those in the army unsettling...all he can see when he watches that shift is the people that Ajamu would possess with Conscious Party. He drew a grenade from his uniform.

Destiny became clear.

When I was a child, I asked someone if Judas had been in love with Jesus. They didn't give me an answer, instead telling my mother to 'explain' things to me. But no matter what anyone said, I couldn't think of their story as anything else. It had to be a love story.

'I kissed your cheek in front of them all, and in doing so, I damned both of us. You, left bleeding and crucified, all to pay for my sins. While I, left wondering and wanting, yet never allowed to see your face again.'

Is that not a form of love?

"Stroheim, you aren't going-"

"Look at what he's capable of, Joestar! There's a reason he was known as the ultimate lifeform. I won’t survive this anyway...so I'm prepared to blow both of us up, but before I do this, there's something I need to tell the both of you. The German army didn't just awaken Santana as a military weapon."

"Why are you telling me this right now?"

"Because he won't be alive to tell us later, Joseph."

"It's your destiny to hear this!" And like that Stroheim had truly lost M/n, since the god had a natural distaste for all signs of destiny and prophecy, but the only reason he entered the mortal realm was to save his stand. The one good thing he had ever had a part in. "Currently, the German army has located in Europe three who are the same species as Santana."

"What did you just say, Stroheim?"

"Santana isn't alone or the last of his kind! Our army has been chasing down the abilities of these creatures trapped in stone. Life forms that have been asleep for two thousand years. The others will soon awaken, and unless we discover some way to defeat them that doesn't rely on the light of the sun...then humanity will be wiped out. That's why our army needed to experiment on him. Because of what happened fifty years ago, it's your destiny to fight this threat. But currently you're too weak to defeat the three still in stone, so you must go to Rome and meet an ally of Speedwagon's!"

'An ally of Robert's...? Could he be talking about...I haven't heard either of them discuss her in years...but I guess that makes sense.' M/n had little time to think before he was racing across the stone grounds, skidding to a stop in front of a well, and watching how Stroheim's body went still. Santana, now realizing the god had him trapped, forced the body to stagger back, nearly falling over as the pin was pulled out, and he could only focus on how Stroheim smiled at his actions.

"Stroheim...you..."

"The greatest of humans are the ones who face both fear and death with their pride intact, wouldn't you agree? Ha, goodbye, you irritating bastards!"

"Don't! We're not done talking!"

With that, Stroheim was gone in a massive wave of fire.

You know who I am. I'm you.

You're the worst of me.

Not all of it. Plenty is still on you. I'm anger, hatred, and spite, but you? You're the one that runs away. When are you going to take responsibility? Too late for that now, of course.

Right. There's not much left for me to go back to...thanks to you.

Thanks to you.

That's what I said.

You just couldn't help yourself. Once again, the facade's been lifted, and this is what's left. This is you. What you do to people. Who merely made the mistake of caring about you.

What façade? There was no façade this time. That was still me, and I-I was...happy with them.

With those rats? With people that only loved you when a stand reversed their feelings towards you?

Yes! I wasn't pretending to be someone else. I...I wasn't...

Hm, have you realized that you've given up already?

Santana's form was unharmed, other than the slow petrification due to the sun's light, and while Joseph held back tears at the German's sacrifice M/n found himself trying to adjust his position to get a clear charge on Santana.

"Damn it! Stupid soldier...showing off like that..."

"Joseph, I'll take care of him from here." M/n calls, already noting how the male was planning on charging towards Joseph instead of the well he was now protecting, and he watched how Joseph looked like he might argue before meeting his eyes. The god was stubborn, more stubborn than anyone else in this mortal realm, so he couldn't blame the other for letting him make this decision. The moment Santana took a step the god and his stand slammed into his back, a faint pulse at the pillar man's cells trying to absorb him, and then they crashed through a wall. The room wasn't the same one they had been in, but devoid of life and painfully silent. His skin hummed when he leapt away from Santana, heels clicking against tile and starting to tap at that familiar beat, and he met the other's gaze with a grin that held a thousand unsaid promises.

"Let's talk."

It's past midnight and I'm so tired.

I know you have a lot to say, but I've heard it all before. Now it's past one. I usually go to bed at ten. So I mean this with all my disrespect. Fuck off and let me get some sleep, bastard.

"Why did you take me out of the sun?" His voice was a low growl as he straightened out, any wounds the god had left behind were already regenerating, and he was just pleased that his dress hadn't been torn in the process. He sways, worry nearly suffocating his throat and preventing his tongue from moving, but he instead smiled. "Why did you save me?"

"Because you're of more use to me alive than dead. Or because I don't like senseless killing? Or because I'm selfish and you haven't killed any of the humans I actually liked...even if I'll admit that soldier had honor in the very end." He tapped his chin for a second, then looked back up at the pillar man with a raised eyebrow. "Or...maybe it’s the fact that there are three others of your kind? We can't know for certain, can we?"

"All I'm trying to do is return to my slumber till my masters awaken. What do you want from me?"

"Knowledge. Well, you could also say that as an immortal I have a strong weakness for stories." The god shrugged his shoulders, the motion causing the jeweled earrings to bounce and chime against each other. "Besides, if what Stroheim told us is true, then it won't be that long till your comrades are up."

"You're immortal as well? Hm, it seems you have more in common with our kind than humans."

"Oh, sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but comparing our immortality simply isn't plausible. With your build, language, and slumber patterns, you're likely what? A hundred and twelve thousand years old...at most a hundred and fifteen thousand, while I've passed three whole eternities and eons of time without batting an eye. Comparing our current lifespans would be the equivalent of comparing a puddle to the ocean." M/n held his head up, try to keep that perfect nature of persuasiveness that made Ajamu so dangerous, but at most he knew he was little more than a pale imitation.

"..." Santana tilted his head in thought, obviously watching each of his movements. His actions were slow and methodical, almost like an owl watching from a tree for mice. "I was to remain here to guard the secrets of the mask and watch over the Mayan empire. Immortality or not, it would be easy for me to either enter you or absorb your body so I could wait until nightfall."

Narcissistic Cannibal formed behind him with a snarl, and the god bared his fangs in a grin that only the devil could find comforting. "I think you'll find I'm not an easy target."

"Is that...a demon?"

"A better term would be familiar, but even that isn't completely accurate, though you have the right idea. Yet I have to wonder; what will you do even if you incapacitated me? You can't kill me in any way that matters, or anyway that's permanent, so at most I'd be weakened till nightfall so you could escape me...and that's ignoring the possibility that I don't track you down and kill you then. So, you'll encounter Joseph, who will do everything in his power to either kill you himself or get you in the sun's light. Say you get past him. Humanity's way of fighting has advanced, and while bullets may not be enough, certain bombs will probably get rid of you no matter how good you are at fighting, so there's that. But if all of those things happened, and you escaped...well, what comes next?" M/n waved a hand at the surrounding area, the hum of machinery and the sterile nature of the air, despite the hole they had created, and met Santana's gaze with no fear. "The world, as you know it, is gone. The Mayan empire isn't here for you to watch over, same with the Aztecs. Your stone masks are known and considered a threat to humanity, so you can't guard their secrets anymore, and the others will wake soon. Will you try to make your way to Italy?"

"Ita...ly...?"

"That's the name of the country they're in. Point is; you don't have any good options here if you don't adapt to the situation. Your best option is to join me." If Santana's shocked at the offer, he can't tell. "I can give you whatever you desire. Offer you anything you could ever want."

"How do I know you won't kill me?"

"...well, I guess I could give you my heart. It would take me a second to cut it out since I don't want to get ichor everywhere."

"I saw you possess the ability to regenerate. What would be the point of offering it to me?"

"Oh, I'll regrow a new one for sure, but the one I removed will crystalize. You could keep it as a physical reminder of our deal." M/n touched his chest, feeling the organ slowly beat to a tune that he didn't know anymore, while he pointed at the male with his other hand. "It would be a nice present for a new ally."

"I have no use for crystals."

"I guess that's true." Turning, he plunged his arm into his stand's storage space, for a second feeling around the inside before grabbing something at random, when his arm emerged he was carrying an extensive set of pure white chains studded with beautiful gems of all shapes and sizes. He paused, examining it, and trying to remember where he even got this. "Would something like this work? It definitely has value."

"You haven't proven to me I wouldn't be killed the moment I agreed to join you."

"If I wanted you dead, then you'd already be dead. There's no reason for me to get you to join my side and then strike you down. I'd just kill you right now and be done with it." His stand hisses quietly, baring his sharp fangs, as a silent warning that the god had the advantage in this situation.

"You talk similar to Lord Kars."

"Lord...? Oh, I see. So, if one of those is a lord to you, then I'm guessing that at least one is another lord or something similar to a viscount, and the third would likely be another servant. Am I wrong?"

"No."

"So that's the collar you wear. Wouldn't you like to have a better one around your neck when compared to the one you have now?"

"I'm not wearing a collar."

"It's a metaphor. Language has changed over the years, or at least English has." M/n adjusted the chain he held, listening to the gems and segments lightly tap against each other. "Point is; you have a pretty tight noose around your throat, and I doubt those three will care if you end up dead. I can promise you anything. Get you anything. You won't survive this encounter unless you side with me."

"...why would I follow you?"

"Why wouldn't you follow me?" M/n grinned, lifting the chain up, so the gems shined in the light. "I mean, don't I meet all your standards?"

"I would only follow someone that has strength, will, and the skills of a leader." In an instant the god threw the chain, with a bit of his stand's help it latched around the male's throat, and in a single motion he pulled the male a step or two closer to him.

"That's all?"

"...?" This time he pulled the male, so he went flying towards him, and Santana landed on the floor at his feet with a gasp at the pressure on his throat. He felt a pang of sympathy when he swallowed and the mass of scar tissue pressed against his windpipe. A silent reminder of sacrifice. Yet he didn't let the chain unravel from Santana's neck, instead he pressed a finger under his chin and lifted his head up, meeting his gaze as strands of dark red hair cradled the sides of his face.

"I have the strength to defeat anyone in physical combat. If I wanted, I could destroy this base in a few well-placed hits and kill everyone in the area, so that's one check mark for me. I had the will to beat the one before me for this seat even if it took years and nearly killed me a thousand different times, so I'd argue I have the will to achieve any goal I set out for. As for the qualities of being a good leader...I'm not vain enough to make that statement on my own, so you can decide that on your own." Pulling a new object from his stand, the small mirror that he had held in the dream with Speedwagon, he carefully spun it with his fingertips so the glass was now pointed towards Santana, only it didn't reflect his face. Instead, Santana stared at the Red Stone of Aja. His hands twitched at his side. The god hummed at the reaction. "I have more than enough time to bring you what you want. All I need is your allegiance, and if you really want to go to blows so I can prove my worth, I'm more than willing to go a few rounds. But I really don't want to tear this dress."

"How interesting. You're as ambitious as Lord Kars, as honorable as Wamuu, and as unpredictable as Lord Esidisi."

"Kars...Wamuu…Esidisi…?" The names felt strange on his tongue, foreign, like an animal trying to speak a human tongue. "Well, there's all three names. Keep talking like that and you'll be giving me all the battle advice I need for the future. I always treat what's mine carefully. You'll be taken care of. Won't be too bad, will it?"

"..."

"So, what do you want? Because my offer isn't gone yet." He holds out a hand, claws held in a relaxed position with a smile that doesn't highlight his fangs the way his grins tend to, and lets Santana make his own decision. He could offer and bargain, but he wouldn't try to manipulate him like Ajamu had all those years ago. Haggling was the closest he'd get. "This all depends on you."

"Very well." Santana takes his hand. The simple motion of pulling him causes the chain around his throat to loosen and move down to the width of his shoulders, less like a noose and more like a collar. He isn't sure what to think of it. "If I'm to be your servant, then I must know your name...No, I remember your name from the battle I was in. Your name is Lord M/n."

"Lord...M/n? While I don't exactly hate that, I've never been referred to as a lord before."

"You're worthy of the title, nonetheless." His face felt hot at that, but the god swallowed it down. This was important, just because some random person he had just met, one that he had just made his literal servant apparently, decided he was worthy of something like lordship was...strange. Not in a bad way. Just strange. He wasn't sure what he would feel about it come tomorrow, but for now he accepted it.

"Then it works. Honestly, you can call me whatever you think fits." He removes the chain from Santana's shoulders, his eyes tracing every movement the god makes, and both it and the mirror go back inside his stand. Reaching in deeper, he grasps for something, fingertips gliding over what feels like flowers till he finds the object he wants, and he withdraws a choker. Sleek black, sturdy enough to avoid breaking but not rough on the skin, with thin red lines of forged ruby trailing through the deep black like the lines on a heart monitor. Santana doesn't move to take it, so he clasps it on the male's neck without hesitation. Pulling down the fabric of the dress, he reveals his own choker with a grin. "And now we match."

"It looks tacky on you."

"Because it doesn't match the dress, right?" The slight nod he gets earned a low huff. "Yes, I know it doesn't, but I needed something to cover the scar tissue on my throat. It'll look more fitting later, and if it doesn't...oh well. I don't care about fashion that much. Now, let me tell Joseph you're on our side now, and then we find something to protect you from the sun."

"Yes, Lord M/n."

M/n can only hope he made the right choice.

No man knows why this twisted thing continues to live. It should be dead. Look at it. Lifeless. Twitching. Somehow still moving. Now, it's a walking corpse. Does he kill for the glory of some far off homeland? For his amusement? Unquenchable bloodlust? Family?

No one knows.

But he continues to stare at death with glass eyes. Lifeless, yet they demonstrate his intent to kill. An intent for something.

...to go back home.

"I'm sorry that all this happened and I couldn't be there for you." M/n leans back, having changed to a pair of jeans and tank top once again, yet despite his posture, the words and expressions he carries are serious and miserable. Speedwagon feels a pang of guilt, nearly drowning out everything he feels about the male's youth, his abilities, or the pillar man he had led around by a collar. He had never understood M/n. A part of him wanted nothing more than to glimpse the male's reality, but now he saw that there was an ocean between them. He had looked at M/n in the past and saw someone or something that had been too far away, too off to be a human, but now there was the realization that M/n had likely never been human as long as he and Jonathan had known him, yet he couldn't doubt the male's humanity. M/n's eyes, a deep stormy E/c with no gold, meets his gaze and he watches how his eyes dart to his covered throat. "I'm...sorry. I hope you know how sorry I am, Robert. Know that no matter what I've hidden from you...that I do care for you...that I..."

"I know." He responds, remembering a conversation that felt as if it had happened a thousand years ago when Jonathan had murmured that M/n never said he loved people, that the very word love was a taboo to him, and he knows that M/n is trying to break something even if it isn't working. Even if he can't bring himself to say the words. "I never doubted you."

"...? You should've. I've been a shitty friend."

"Well, it's a good thing that's not your choice to make, then."

"...can't argue with you there." He whispers, soft and hazy like the smoke that coils from the cigarette he had grabbed the moment they left the base, and he watches thin pink strands dance around him. No, he doesn't understand M/n, but he doesn't have to. He knows that M/n, no matter what exactly he is, is a spark that threatens to burn things down, yet is both human and good in the same breath. He doesn't quite miss the lack of knowledge towards M/n, even if they were closer back then, but he wishes he could take some of the weight off of his shoulders, even if his own feel like buckling under the strain he's currently holding. "Can I see?"

"..." He unwraps the bandages from his neck, revealing the messy wound. M/n tilts his head, eyes tracing over the jagged line, and his free hand twitches as he blows more smoke out. It takes the form of a skull opening its jaws, but he doesn't ask the other about it. In much the same way, he ignored asking about the pink coloration of the smoke. He moves a bit, a clear sign of permission, and M/n leans forward with clawed fingertips brushing against the still raw and healing mess of scabbing. He should be terrified given what he knows of M/n and his abilities, but this is the same man that sent him photos of farm animals and poetry when he thought the weight of the world was bearing down on him. The same man who howled at the stars when Zeppeli died, who openly sobbed when Dio died despite his sins, and who drank with him when Jonathan was revealed to be dead. The person who fought Tarkus and Bluford with such wild hostility is the same that holds his heart in an outstretched palm, and he wouldn't have it any other way. "It looks a lot worse than it actually is."

"I think you're lying to me."

"I...I might be."

"Figured." M/n replied, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he touched the widest span of the wound, and he swallowed at the slight pressure he applied. He moved his hand, pulling down the choker he wore, and then went back to tracing the wound on his neck. "I never thought we'd match like this, Robert. Wouldn't it have been easier to start by mimicking my outfit choices?"

He laughed, earning a hum from M/n, who pulled him in the exact moment that his laughter started to break and turn to sobs. He thinks that M/n must've had practice with this kind of thing, though he knows that M/n likely didn't comfort anyone before meeting Jonathan and Dio, but he doesn't want to ask about the other's scars. So he sobs into the male's chest, feeling how M/n is both bony and muscular, and knowing that the other will let him have this. That it won't be something shameful...that he can loosen the weight on his shoulders for just a second, and no one will know the difference.

"You know, there was once a time where a mortal held a pocket knife to his throat," he swallows, and M/n pauses just long enough for him to know that this is important, so he goes silent already knowing who the mortal in this story is. "In a single motion he slashed a thin line from end to end and fell down a cliff...suffocating in his own blood and with two broken legs...well, normally the story would end with his body rotting in that ravine, but there was a snake that had been at his beck and call for years who couldn't handle the news of his passing. He wrapped himself around the male's neck to stop the bleeding and howled in grief. It was only because of that...well, it saved his life again. But in the end...things are complicated. You want to take back what you did, to draw breath without your blood filling your throat and lungs, or maybe you think that this isn't as quick and painless as you wanted...that death was supposed to be something better. Something that takes the weight away...that you can finally catch your breath in the terms of absolute, but that isn't what you feel. You regret it, you hate yourself, yet a part of you knows this is what you wanted in the first place. Death....death is something that no one can run from, but going to greet it is haunting and painful."

"...why did the mortal choose to-"

"Because he killed his mother." M/n answered, his voice soft and brokenhearted as his hand trailed circles over the male's back. "He didn't mean to...but that doesn't change the result."

"..." Speedwagon swallowed, feeling a tear land above his eyebrow and crept down his cheek, and he listened to the male's unsteady heartbeat dance. M/n sighed, sounding far older than he would ever appear, and M/n shivered when he wrapped his arms tighter around the male. "What happened after his life was saved?"

"Immediately? He was found and taken to a mental hospital where he was bound in a straightjacket and given therapy. Later on, however, he would be sent on a dangerous quest where he hoped his death would do some good...and in a way, it did. He saved a ton of people, but in doing so, he lost so much."

"Does he regret it?"

"...no, he never does."

Silence fell over them, similar to how the party would go silent when the coffin was lowered in the grave, but was it as an act of respect or something akin to deep fear?

Neither would have an answer.

Go ahead, kiss me, and maybe then you'll see how important I am.

Because I'm sitting here, awaiting a lover. Yet I have to be ripped and pulled apart to even fathom the things lingering between the lines of all my poems. Things are calling me away. My hair is coiling through the stars.

I was supposed to be untouchable. Yet there's a part of me that longs for the unique sensation of working on a project I've long held dear as someone brushes by me with a kiss on my cheek. I don't consider myself lovely. would there really be a person who entered the kitchen and only hungered for me?

I'm not used to being loved in a romantic sense of the word. Some days I barely feel as if I've loved in the romantic sense of the word. I wouldn't know what to do if someone decided I was worth the effort.

There was a moment when I knew him. I decided I wanted to be wanted. He was handsome in a way that felt fitting for some backwoods novel about two people finding something new in each other. The kind of man who would close his eyes to kiss me. The kind who moved through the world as if he trusted those around him. "You could drown in those eyes. So it would be summer, suicide, and a baptism all in one. Helpless in our sleep and drowning in a pool."

Like anything that is clearly unloved by the world, I have no idea of my realness or worth when I'm not being touched. Am I merely something to be held? Am I content with that world? That ideal? Who am I when people don't care about me?

I wanted to be loved so desperately. My entire frame shook at the mere mention of someone deciding that I was worth keeping. I'm not beautiful, but I could be is someone would just stay.

"So, you guys finished talking?" With the way Joseph says it, his eyebrows wiggling and a playful grin, helped make it seem as if they had been two long-lost lovers having met for the first time in years, but that wasn't close to the truth. Now he knew Speedwagon loved him. It would be difficult to ignore that factor, and while he cared for him more than words, they couldn't be lovers. There was simply too much between them for it to be something that simple. Most were negative and the two of you knew that, so it was easier to keep the lovers' label far away from the both of you.

"For now." He settled down on the room's couch, extending his legs with a light groan. He felt stiff and tired, but at least he couldn't be sore anymore, and tried to ignore the soft gasp Joseph gave at that. As if the two of them could only have thought of sex and would be eagerly returning to it any moment now. It didn't make sense to him.

"You know, I'm offended. I offered myself to you on a silver platter in, dare I say, my best outfit yet, and you reject me. Then you run off with Speedwagon of all people!" He leaned in, expression now curious, and M/n blinked at the sudden change. "Have you been fucking him?"

"Not recently."

"So, am I not good enough?"

"No. I said I wasn't willing to have sex with you because we had something important to do. Why did you assume I wouldn't want to have sex with you?" M/n was struggling to see how he came to that conclusion, or how Joseph was now resting on top of his legs and lap, but he rested a hand on the male's hip at the touch. "Seriously, did I not seem consenting?"

"I wasn't sure how comfortable you were given what happened when we tried to get into the base." He flinched at the reminder, swallowing down an annoyed hiss before he sighed and adjusted his position, hand settling at Joseph's thigh now.

"I remembered something upsetting, partly because of being grabbed, but that doesn't mean I'd reject your advances. I'd just want you to respect my limits in the same way I would respect yours." M/n watched how Joseph blinked a bit, almost as if surprised by what he said, before his gaze flickered to the male's lips. "If you want to have sex, that's fine. I give you blanket consent on all of that, and I would just tell you if you overstepped."

That was enough for Joseph to kiss him, less wild and desperate than last time, but still inexperienced. Now that they weren't on a rigid time limit, M/n allowed himself to gently adjust Joseph so he could slide his tongue into the male's mouth. Joseph had a constant sweet taste...or something more akin to caffeine than candy, but his heightened senses made it feel as if he had been chugging nothing but soda. Jonathan had tasted sweet as well, though that actually was chocolate. Dio had tasted like blood and wine, while Speedwagon had tasted like ale the one time they had been together. None of them tasted bad. It was just unique. His hands trailed over the male's hips, feeling the perfect combination of muscles and fat making him softer than Jonathan had been in the waist and hips. Joseph pulled away with a gasp, panting with his eyes half-lidded and expression warm, earning something that hadn't happened once since he became a god.

…what?

"Are you...are you purring?" Joseph's expression changed to raw glee when M/n opened his mouth and made a strangled hiss that didn't even break the raspy purr that continued to escape his lips.

"I'm not!" M/n hissed, yet he continued to purr, so it had all the intimidation factor of a puffed up kitten. "Didn't even know I could just...make that sound while talking..."

He knew his stand could purr, and while he had occasionally hummed to mimic that sound when content, this was an actual constant purr that came from a different part of him. But...why? He had never purred like this before, so why did his body make this sound now?

"You are! You're purring! Like a cat! To think you come off as this hissing snake when you're a cat in disguise!" Joseph cooed, while the god loudly purred despite himself, face hot, and the only relief to his current shame was that he had done this with Joseph rather than Dio. He could imagine the reaction he'd have received from the blond. "You're adorable."

"You watched me have a panic attack and maul a man."

"And now you're purring."

"I regret agreeing to this."

"No, you don't." Joseph leaned in again, lips inches from your ears, and snickered. "Besides, I know something that will make you love this!"

"And what is that?"

"I'm still wearing the under layers from my dress." The god stiffened at that, yet his purring only got louder in response. "I didn't have time to change, and I wouldn’t steal someone's underwear...so I kept everything."

"You didn't even take the bra off?"

"Nope!"

"You've had hours since our death match with Santana!" M/n grumbled, pushing the male's tank top up and over his shoulders to examine the lacy bra he wore, unlike the pink of the dress he had been wearing this was a deep dark blue that almost bordered on black, and had he been wearing his outfit from earlier they'd be matching. It was a comforting thought despite everything, so he allowed himself to purr and work on getting the male's pants off as well. His claws trailing over Joseph's skin felt familiar, yet new, and he wasn't sure how that made him feel. He had never purred before, yet here he was.

Joseph was ruining him.

Joseph almost as if he knew the male's thoughts, snickered and kissed him again. M/n didn't have to work his mouth open this time, he was eager to kiss the god back and if M/n needed air he may have choked on the other's tongue, but all he did was adjust the male's head so they could move in sync. Joseph rolled his hips, over eager and gasping at the pleasure, causing M/n to pull away and nip at his earlobe. Noting how the male shuddered when he used his fangs, he sank his teeth into the male's shoulder, feeling how Joseph went and pushed his head down, so they sank in deeper. He only reached up to catch Joseph's wrist when he imagined his fangs going deeper would damage Joseph's health. His fangs were simply too long to ignore such a possibility, so he pulled back, ignoring the whine that escaped Joseph's lips. Kissing him, sweet mixing with the iron of blood staining his lips, yet it didn't make him hungry or wild. Rather, it soothed him.

"I'll bite you again. Don't worry, I just can't sink my fangs in fully in case I catch on to something important. I'm not dragging you to a hospital because you were too horny to think clearly."

"Aw, you keep pretending you don't care about me, but it's hard to believe that when you're purring nearly drowns everything else out." M/n wants to laugh at that. If Joseph thought his purring was suffocating, then it was a good thing he couldn't see or hear Narcissistic Cannibal's purr. His stand, for better or worse, though it was always for better, could rival a thunderstorm when he was truly pleased about something.

"Shut up."

"Or what?"

"I'll find a way to shut you up." His growl mixes with his purr in a way that feels almost organic, as if that was supposed to happen. Joseph snickers, eyebrows wiggling again, and M/n isn't sure if he finds that charming or annoying. Perhaps both?

"Is that a promise?" His voice is gleeful, borderline insane in how easily he asks that of you, but when you don't answer right away, he only gets more brazen. "How will you shut me up, huh? With your mouth? A gag‌? Or perhaps you'll use your co-"

"Shut up!" He hissed out, eyes narrowing even as his face turned a dark red at the implications of what Joseph was saying. He hadn't been with anyone so brazen, other than his stand, since becoming a god. Let alone someone he knew was a virgin from scent alone. His hands twitched. He almost felt like a virgin himself, before he pulled Joseph into another kiss while his hand ran over the bulge in the male's panties. Pulling away, he gave the male a sheepish grin. "Just...there's no need for you to think about pleasuring me, Joseph. I enjoy taking care of my partners, not the other way around."

"Wait, has no one been helping you get off?" Joseph looked offended on his behalf, for a reason that the god couldn't understand, since it was always his choice. It was easy for him to make that decision. Every sexual encounter, minus the incident when he was fourteen, had placed him in control, always following his partner's limits and keeping complete control firmly in his hands. It was so easy, so much better to be like that, and he loved it. Besides, leaning back and letting someone take control was too risky, there was always the chance that the hands clinging to his back would instead wrap around his throat and try to finish...or that someone would watch his gaze lax and choose that moment to take advantage of him by-NO! He was not thinking about that right now. He wasn't ruining this moment because of that.

"You say that, like my partners were bad in bed rather than a preference of mine."

"Well, I could understand you saying something about not liking some kink, but no one even gave you a blowjob?"

"I didn't ask them to."

"Did they ask if they could?"

"...no. Why would they?" M/n tried to follow Joseph's train of thought, only to come up blank. Why would that kind of thing even matter? He didn't want them to, so asking would've just ended the same way. That's it.

"Because it's the nice thing to do since you're pleasuring them."

"..." M/n froze up, claws lightly pressing back against Joseph's thighs, and for a second his purring died before fading to a much weaker hum. Joseph looked at his expression and his face softened.

"If I asked to give you a blowjob, would you be alright with that?"

"I...I don't need you to-"

"I want to."

"...fine. Give me a second to get out of these clothes." Joseph moved back with a grin, M/n swallowed down a groan as he tossed his clothing into a pile mentally waiting for the moment Joseph recoiled at the scars covering his body, yet all the male did was gasp when he finally got his boxers off. "What...?"

"You're way bigger than I expected! Is that a god thing or were you always so well endowed?"

"...?"

"Seriously, I may dislocate my jaw trying to-"

"I told you that there's no need for you to even think about that! If it'll hurt you, then don't even bother."

"Oh please, I don't back down from a challenge. Besides, have you never risked dislocating your jaw in a bedroom scenario before?"

"No. My stand, even before becoming a god, gave me several snake attributes. I've never had a gag reflex or the risk of dislocating my jaw for any reason since it first formed." It was true, all of his bones and muscles had shifted and altered when his stand first formed, and he had been using the heightened flexibility since he had learned to accept his stand and grew to love it in the same breath. The idea of gagging on something seemed far away and impossible. Even before immortality had taken away his need for air. Drowning and suffocating was the closest he ever got, but those sensations differed completely from what people had described the few times he had wondered about something as insignificant as a gag reflex.

"Lucky! I could think of so many uses for that." Joseph ended that with a purr that told him exactly where those uses would be most applicable, yet M/n was more concerned with how Joseph pulled back, moving so he was on his knees in front of the male's seat. He shivered, hair swaying and bristling. "Well, I'll just have to avoid dislocating my jaw without some weird snake power, then."

"Just be glad I'm not in my god form."

"Hm?"

"In that form, I gain even more visible snake-like attributes. One of them is gaining a set of sexual organs that mimics a snake...so, I gain a second-"

"You have two dicks in that form?" Joseph shot up, nearly causing the god to jolt, as hands gripped the arms of his seat. Usually such a motion would make the god panic, a silent reminder that someone was trying to trap him in place, but with Joseph it felt less like a trap and more just a burst of random energy as he ping-ponged from each idea that came to him. It was refreshing, like diving from the cliffs into the cool river below, and he craved it even as it startled him. "Can I see it?"

"You're already worried about dislocating your jaw. I shouldn't risk it." His usual fears about his god form weren't as loud as before. The voices cooed at him to go for it, but the last time he had used it had been when he turned immortal for the first time. Every time he had considered that form, it had been for either combat or the ability to morph and change reality, and that terrified him even before he remembered all the things Ajamu had told him about his own true form...but Ajamu always lied. That was the most apparent part of their 'relationship', wasn't it? But if all Joseph wanted that form for...was sex...well, wasn't that easy enough for him to do?

"But..."

"I could," noting how the male almost glowed at that the god held a hand up. "But if it gets too much for either of us, I change back, alright? I'm not risking anything for something as meaningless as sexual pleasure...especially since I've only used that form once. Okay?"

"That sounds fair."

So, the god changed forms for the first time in eons.

He says, "I'm sorry."

And, perhaps, if you were...

Younger,

More naïve,

And less hurt,

You might have believed him.

But you are stronger now, you have allies; you have friends, you've known love even if you would never admit it to anyone, and you're far older than when the two of you first met.

So, you tell him, "you should have stayed dead."

Because you are done gorging yourself on the lies and empty promises from an empty god.

Joseph nearly hit his forehead against the skull, now understanding why M/n had moved him out of the way as his form shifted, though he still felt a bit...almost underwhelmed at the transformation. It wasn't loud or flashy, like he had expected from a change to a god's true form. Instead, the male had simply rippled as if a reflection on a mirror that was fogging up, yet he couldn't deny that this change certainly made M/n look far more unique. The massive skull aside, though he wanted to question the male for the messy blood stain, his form had gained more muscle definition even while looking skinnier than ever and his hair was more wild and wavy. The braids made of spine clicked and chimed with each slow draw of breath the god took. If he stood, he'd likely be only an inch or two shorter than Joseph. His skin seemed ashy...no, scaled like a snake with each scar and tattoo seeming to glow in the dim lighting of the room. Slowly, his hand was shaking. M/n reached up and removed the massive skull. His face hadn't changed drastically, though now those blood red markings coiled around his eyes and down his cheeks in twisted patterns. The dark circles seemed deeper, more solid, and his eyes were at their brightest shade of gold. In fact, they actually seemed to produce light. He blinked once as he sat the skull on the table, looking at Joseph, whose eyes had gone to between his legs with a delighted gasp.

"Not only do you get two dicks, but they even get bigger, you know I'm getting jealous!" M/n blinked, his emotions felt pressed like when he had first entered the mortal realm, but a quick breath had him back at his usual state. "You okay?"

"...yeah, it's just been a while since I've used this form. It feels...weird to just switch into it."

"Good, weird? Or bad, weird?"

"Just weird...I mean, I have to turn down my strength so I don't break anything, but it feels...nice to be in this form. Still, you don't have to do anything and I can just take care of you. I'm not bothered by that." Joseph rolled his eyes, as if he was being silly, but M/n couldn't help but worry that he was actually going to break or dislocate his jaw. "Just...please tell me if it gets too much."

"I will, I will, stop worrying."

Spoiler alert; he didn't stop worrying.

What are the characteristics of a Shakespearean tragic hero?

He must be a person of some status or high position, such as a king, general, or nobleman. (Though this trait can be broken, everyone can suffer, but the higher the throne, the bigger and messier the fall.)

He must be a good person, or at least someone who tries to be good. He must matter to us. And we must grow to see him as a worthwhile person.

Because of his position, his actions have far-reaching effects.

He must possess a character trait or quality that mostly acts as a virtue, but in the events of the story, prove to be his fatal flaw. (Harmartia- the tragic flaw, or sin, that leads to the fall from grace.)

He usually makes further errors in his judgment following his first misdeed.

Often blind to reality.

He must suffer both outwardly and inwardly.

He must get both pity and fear from the audience.

He must see his mistakes in the end.

And...

He must die.

M/n shifted, eyes landing on a random part of the ceiling as Joseph sat back on the floor, a tongue running over the scales covering the space around his cocks. He had assumed they'd be a part of him that couldn't properly pick up sensations, or at least on a different level than his actual skin, but like the scales on his arm he could still feel everything there, earning a slight hiss from the god. He heard Joseph huff in amusement, and part of him wanted to admit that he just wasn't used to a human doing this, but he didn't know how to explain that without then mentioning how often he and his stand had sex. However, the idea of complaining sounded far less appealing when Joseph's tongue actually ran the underside of one of his cocks, and he allowed a hand to card through the male's brown hair as he purred, because this form was so sensitive, so new, that all he could think about was the idea of pinning Joseph down after this and making him scream. His claws twitch, trying to extend, as Joseph coats every part of him in saliva.

"...that feels nice...keep doing that..." His voice is softer than usual, impressive, given the pressure and how raspy it always was, but despite the pleasure, he never moved his hand away from the male's hair. It was difficult, but he wasn't going to lax his guard and risk something bad happening because he lost himself for even a second. "...è così bello...continuare così per favore...che si sente così bene...dovrebbe usare questo modulo più spesso...Dio, ti senti così bene! Devo ricompensarti per questo più tardi, bel ragazzo, è quello che vuoi giusto? Dio, se questo si sente così bene come ci si sente?"

"Oh wow, that sounds promising!" Joseph grinned up at him, eyes alight and lips swollen, and the god couldn't help but mumble "bella" under his breath at the sight. "You think you'll keep talking like that if I actually start sucking you off?"

"Per favore...I mean, please." On some level, he felt ashamed that he was already so desperate, begging in Italian as if he had forgotten English in the transition to his god form, but all he could think about was how nice this felt. He wasn't usually this sensitive to touch, though once again his lack of human experience could be to blame, but it still felt too humiliating. He was too open like this. Too weak. If Joseph were a different type of man, he'd easily be able to...he didn't like that idea. "Or we could just skip to the main event?"

"Nope. Just don't thrust yet."

"Wasn't planning on it." M/n forced his gaze to go back to the ceiling, feeling Joseph hold both of his shafts together, and he only had the time to mentally question if he was actually going to attempt taking both at once before Joseph did just that. He didn't move his hips, forcing them to stay completely still as Joseph attempted to take them both all the way, and he spat out a series of Italian curses with a grin slowly forming on his lips. "Remember, if it gets too much, you can just back off."

"...!" A hand held his hips, and he mentally calculated Joseph was about halfway. He could still feel the male breathing through his nose...so this should be fine...right? Joseph hummed around his cocks. He knew what that felt like and had done it plenty of times, but he found his fangs sinking into his own wrist to stop the feral gasp that threatened to escape his mouth. His other hand is in Joseph's hair, nails lightly tracing his scalp, and a thousand thoughts race through his skull. Air is difficult to give, pressure bears down on his windpipe, yet his purring is louder than ever.

"Sapevo che era una cattiva idea...questo è troppo, non riesco a pensare così. È troppo. Dovremmo fermarci e tu puoi appoggiarti e lasciarmi prendere cura di te.Sarebbe bello, vero? Sono bravo a piacere alla gente, quindi non saresti insoddisfatto di me. Oh...Joseph, fallo di nuovo! È bello...puoi davvero prendermi tutti? Ah, puoi. Mi farai perdere il controllo comportandomi così." He's rambling now. Senseless words that would be embarrassing if Joseph happened to know any Italian, but he's spared that shame for now. But who could really blame him? The fact that Joseph managed to take both down to the base is impressive. He would've thought it impossible for anyone other than his stand, yet he catches Joseph's eyes and watches the male wiggle his eyebrows again as he hums around your cocks. The sound you make is something between a feral hiss and whine. There's a part of you that wants to tighten your grip, hold him in place and use him till you reach a sense of satisfaction, but the rest wants this to be returned. You know how to please him, so when will you get the chance?

You feel useless like this.

So, you feel relieved when you actually reach an orgasm, your nails nearly breaking skin as you tilt your head back to moan, and for a second you close your eyes to savor the realization that you can make yourself of use. When you open your eyes, Joseph pulls away, trails of saliva connecting him to your shafts and a wet pop fills your ears, and god shivers.

"You taste sweet." Joseph rasps, having to clear his throat, and the god watches a trail of semen drip from the corner of his lip. An intimate display if he had ever seen one, something that none of his past human partners had done, and he felt choked up. "Like really sweet. Also like...something really intense."

"Aphrodisiacs and hallucinogens."

"Sounds about right." Coming from anyone else, M/n might've been offended, but Joseph made it feel more like a compliment than anything else. "So, anything else I could do to get you off again?"

"...?"

"What? Was I really that bad at giving you a blowjob? Cause I'm blaming that on it being my first time and you having two dicks, not me being unnaturally terrible at something so simple, because honestly-"

"You did great for your first time." Joseph perked up at the god's words. "Honestly, I wasn't certain if you'd be able to fully swallow me when I was in my regular form...the fact that you managed that long enough to get me off...I'm impressed. If it wasn't for your scent, I would have assumed that you had experience with this kind of thing. That...that felt nice, but I'd prefer to take care of you for the rest of this encounter."

"How so?" Joseph sounds eager at the idea of getting off, for a second M/n wonders if he had expected the god to not do this, but that thought makes him shudder. He ignores that, gently pulling Joseph up to kiss him, and he tastes himself. Sweeter than Joseph. Sweeter than most things in this world.

"Get on the couch and lay down." He does so happily. M/n purrs even louder, actually hard enough that his entire body shivers in time with the raspy sound that escapes him, and he settles between Joseph's legs. Hooking him by the hips, you lift him, earning a sudden gasp, and worked on getting both the male's legs over his shoulders. He swiped his tongue over the male's shaft, earning a delighted gasp from Joseph as his thighs tightened around the male's neck. He swiped his tongue a second time before meeting Joseph's gaze and swallowed him whole in one quick motion. That earned him a scream as the male trembled, gasping and laughing in a mix of pleasure and glee, his purring only getting louder and louder as he worked. He wondered if Joseph would last long. Had he done anything with himself? Had he only used his hand or a toy? His scent could only tell him things like past partners or people someone had killed, things like masturbation were harder to figure out, so he decided to just focus on each reaction he got from Joseph. How his head and a vein near the base of his cock were the spots that earned the best reactions from the Joestar.

"Oh, you weren't lying about lacking a gag reflex!" A hand pressed his face down till his nose brushed the male's skin again, and he hummed around Joseph's cock, earning a desperate whine, which only made the god snicker around his shaft. "We need to do this more often."

"..." M/n caught his gaze, raising an eyebrow, and he could only imagine the image such behavior painted.

"You wouldn't want to?" Joseph challenged him, so in retaliation M/n changed his internal body heat, earning a surprised yelp when his tongue, now far warmer, ran along those sensitive points he had discovered earlier. Humming again, this time altering the heat to the tune he settled on, he allowed Joseph to buck his hips into his mouth. It wouldn't be long now. He could feel how the other's control was slipping. "Fuck...!"

There it was.

Pulling away after swallowing, he moved the male's hips further up and swiped a tongue over Joseph's hole, earning a more needy whine. Was it a bit cruel to keep going so soon after the male's first orgasm? Perhaps. Yet he couldn't bring himself to feel that bad, given how amazing Joseph's reactions were when he actually entered him with his tongue. Joseph completely threw his head back, body spasming in pleasure, and the male's thighs had become tighter than a stockade around his neck. He hadn't seen something so beautiful in years, or at least something this reactive other than his stand, but who was counting anyway?

"Hit that spot again!" Heating his tongue again, feeling his shoulders nearly crack at how tightly his neck was being held, and he adjusted his free hand to jerk the male off in time with his tongue. He couldn't help but enjoy himself. Joseph was so reactive. So loud. A series of curses and pleas escaping his lips at every second M/n pleasured him. It was delicious. "Fuck...fuck...FUCK!"

There was his second orgasm.

Setting Joseph's legs down, he didn't even adjust himself before the male was trying to climb into his lap. Moving his own legs out to make it easier for Joseph to settle down. Despite panting, still worn out from his past two orgasms, no doubt, he shifted till the male's cocks were aligned with his hole.

"I could prepare you-"

"Nah, I can handle it." He says with a breathy laugh, sinking down, gasping loudly in pleasure and trembling. His legs gave out, and he fell down, taking both all the way to the base. The two of you moan, for a second, savoring the connection, and both slightly unwilling to make the first move. Besides, you can't blame Joseph for catching his breath. His chest heaves, and a single hand rests on the brand that covers your chest. You think for a second that this is what peace feels like. You then blame it on being someone who lives and dies for his prose and metaphors. "Wow...you are a lot bigger than I imagined..."

"I could pull out."

"No, no, just give me a second."

"If you can't walk tomorrow I'm not taking the blame." He just laughs at that. Slowly he rolls his hips, tightening around you, before relaxing and pushing himself up. Not by a lot. Over three quarters of both shafts are still inside him, but he drops again, this time on purpose if the breathy moans are to be taken seriously. There's a part of you that wonders how difficult this is for him, you don't like being penetrated after you turned fourteen and never even attempted to get comfortable with it, so you don't have a proper measure. With most, you spend longer working them open, you know that you could hurt them if you aren't careful, but you hadn't done that despite being far more than most well trained sex workers could handle...let alone a virgin. He looked to the male's stomach seeing a rather distinct outline. Swallowing, his gaze went to the male's eyes. "Just...go slow. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. At least not on purpose." He sounds confident, grabbing your hands and placing them on his hips, your claws lightly tapped against his skin as he bounced again. "See? Not hurt at all?"

"Your stomach is bulging every time you sink down. I swear...if you can't walk...I'll have to carry you...which will surely intimidate our enemies." He hissed out, a few loose gasps escaping his lips, as Joseph threw his head back and moaned. Seriously, for someone who was a virgin, he did act rather slutty. "Mi stai facendo impazzire! Non vedi quanto è difficile controllarmi quando ti comporti in questo modo?"

"Aw, love you too." Joseph coos, and the god freezes, hardly even registering that Joseph is bouncing faster. Clearly chasing another orgasm. His face was caught in an expression of open shock, and by the time he mentally steadied himself, it was mainly because of his own moan of pleasure at reaching an orgasm. Pulling Joseph into a messy kiss, he swallowed down whatever words had been on the tips of his tongue.

At least this ended well.

Over and in, there's one last call for sin.

While everyone's still lost, the battle is won.

So I sit here, hand over fist, with all the things that I've done.

"So, you and that human are mates, Lord M/n?" M/n jolted at Santana's question, for a second as he had closed the door he had forgotten that Santana was in his room, whipping his head around to stare at the pillar man on his bed. It seemed like he'd been busying himself by reading any book the room offered. There were a few books about wildlife, a bible, and a history book. A strange collection, but he hoped the male had been entertained.

"Mates?"

"You just had sex with him." He said it simply. Like that wasn't a strange thing, or that it wasn't a surprise for him to have ended up in Joseph's arms for a brief amount of time, or as if that was the only aspect of it. "Or are you mates with the old man?"

"Neither." He crossed the room, watching how Santana followed all his movements, and settled on the bed next to him. He produced a large amount of warmth, something that pleased the snake-like part of your brain given that the cold had only gotten more...annoying in the past few years, so you felt a wave of relief when he didn't seem to mind the closeness. "Just because I choose to have sex with someone, or openly care for them, doesn't mean I'm pursuing a relationship with them."

"You want to." Santana was too direct. He didn't even phrase that like a question. His voice was flat and apathetic. M/n was left both shell-shocked and insanely jealous of how easily he pulled that off.

"Perhaps. I don't know Joseph well enough yet to completely desire a romantic relationship, and as for Robert, well, I ruined my chances at that a long time ago." He stretches out, feeling the strangeness of having changed out of his god form soon after his encounter with Joseph, before meeting Santana's gaze, watching how the scarlet glowed in the dim lighting of his room. The motel was quiet as he finally buried his face into the pillow with a huff, nosing into the plush pillow, and breathing in the scent of it. Something floral to clean it, a thousand past people who had stayed the night, and a few regrets he couldn't quite name. "I don't do well with relationships."

"You're lying."

"Probably." He forced himself to ignore the feeling in his chest that told him that he was ignoring something important. The voices that whispered in his head were quick to point out that he needed to address it, mainly those who had a background in mental health, but he was doing better. He swallowed it down. "But I would say that I'm not good with relationships. They always end on some bad term or another. Why I don't have graves of past lovers on my property."

A single hum was the response he was given.

"Besides, there are too many things in life I value in place of romance to be completely wrecked over the lack of romantic partners I have."

"We'll be leaving soon."

"Tomorrow."

"To Italy." Santana's voice was a low hum, almost like the buzzing of machinery in a factory, and in that regard it was soothing and steadying. There was a flicker of silence after he hummed to let the pillar man know he was correct. "Do you want me to wait outside?"

"Outside?" That was enough for him to look towards Santana in open confusion. "Like...outside the motel?"

"Is that where you want me, Lord M/n?"

"No. Is that where you want to be?" Santana stared blankly back at him. The god adjusted himself and waved a hand around the room. "I got this room for the both of us, mainly cause Joseph and Robert are concerned about you being on your own, but if it makes you that uncomfortable then I'll get you a separate room and it'll be our little secret. Or is it sharing the bed? You can sleep on the couch. Hell, I'll sleep on the couch if you want. Not a problem."

He looks almost unsettled by that statement.

"Look, Santana, I don't know the exact details of your relationship with those other pillar men, but I don't do this whole lordship thing the way they did it. I care more about what you want than whatever the definition of proper is. If something about this situation is bothering you, then just tell me. I can fix whatever it is when you give me a problem, but I need to know what the problem is." He watched the male examine him. "What about this is bothering you?"

"When traveling with Lord Kars and Lord Esidisi…Wamuu and I would rest outside of their chambers if we weren't awake and guarding them, yet you want to share a bed with me?"

"Even if someone broke in here and attacked me, they couldn't kill me in a way that matters. I'm not worried about threats to my safety. I want you to be comfortable in my care. Won’t force you to do anything you don't want to. If sitting outside the door or by my bed will make you happy, then go ahead."

"And what do you want?"

"For you to be happy with this arrangement." The look he received made him roll his eyes. "That's mainly what I want. But I wouldn't be opposed to sharing the bed with you. I...I don't enjoy being alone, even with my familiar, so to have someone here would be nice. Though I get affectionate in my sleep."

"...I'll stay here with you then, Lord M/n." He blinked at that, feeling a wave of relief fill him at that, even if part of him felt sick for even mentioning his strange fear. A stupid one at that, though not as irrational as his distaste of horses, and one that should've been erased by your stand's existence. Because you're never alone due to it and the voices, but there's a part of you that's just tired of being lonely in a crowded room.

"And you won't mind me being affectionate?"

"I'll grow used to it."

"You better not absorb me." A hum fills his ears.

So when he turns off the already dim lighting he finds himself pressed against Santana's side, the warmth of the day having faded making his form shiver, and he only relaxes when an arm hooks over his shoulder. He's just glad there isn't any risk of him entering a hibernation-like state. That winter in Wind-Knight's Lot had been a shock for both him and his stand. So, he blames the purring on the warmth rather than anything else and closes his eyes.

…this may just become one of his better ideas.

Don't corner me. I'm not a wild animal till I need to be proven wrong. So prove me wrong. I'm a wild animal. I'm ready to bite. Ready to open throats.

"Seriously, what's with this spaghetti? It's black!!!" Joseph glared down at the plate of food almost as if it had insulted him, the god ignored that in favor of enjoying his own plate of flatbread, yet there was a part of him that wondered why he had even ordered that if he was just going to whine. "You expect me to eat spaghetti with ink in it?!?"

"Well signore-" The male was clearly struggling to stay calm as Joseph now held him up by the collar. The god sighed at that, adjusting his position to cross his legs, and wishing that he had stayed in the hotel with Santana.

"Joseph, you got what you ordered. Stop complaining before you've even taken a bite. Besides, that meal tastes amazing when prepared correctly." That seemed to satisfy him enough to drop the waiter and take a bite. Ignoring the delighted sounds that escaped the Joestar's mouth, he nodded at the waiter. "Mi dispiace per il mio amico. Tende a non pensare prima di agisce."

"Va bene signore, ma la prego di impedirgli di causare danni alle proprietà mentre si trova in questo stabilimento." With a nod of agreement, he watched the waiter disappear. Seriously...had Speedwagon left them alone in the hopes that he could use M/n as a free babysitter? Every other time Joseph had argued with someone had in turn made since, yelling at people that yelled first, but now he was just acting like a spoiled toddler.

"This hotel had fallen into such hard times as of late...so many country folk..." M/n twitches at that remark, eyes darting to a blond man with purple markings on his face, and his expression changes to a grimace. Something about that man's scent is familiar, yet he doesn't want to interrogate some random guy out on a date. Joseph also pauses, though he looks around as if confused, an expression so similar to Jonathan's that something deep in his chest hurts.

"Huh? Country folk...where?" His gaze then lands on you. "Is he talking about you, M/n?"

"I'm from Texas and own a farm. There isn't much you can do to be more country than that, besides anyone with eyes can tell you're a city kid that grew up rich." There isn't any venom in his tone. The god didn't consider any of those aspects a bad thing, and his mind was more preoccupied with what books he should buy Santana after this was all said and done. The pillar man took to knowledge like a sponge absorbs water. M/n could only hope that by staying with him...well, maybe he could push the other to find things that brought him joy. "Sides, I don't care what some blond Casanova thinks about me."

"Still, what's with that guy, anyway? Getting all cuddly in a hotel restaurant in the middle of the day?"

"Just leave him to his date."

"Mia cara, questo è un regalo per te. So che non tiene una candela per la tua bellezza, ma spero che tu la trovi accettabile." You heard the male coo, holding the chain of the necklace between his fingertips, and M/n sees how the gems catch the light. In a moment, all you want to do is a leap over the table and swipe the necklace to add to his nest. "Hai detto che un rubino era la tua pietra natale, e potevo solo pensare di aver ne ottenere uno che mostrasse il fuoco e la passione in ogni tuo movimento, amore mio."

"Huh...? What's he saying M/n? You speak Italian, right?"

"I do."

"Then tell me what he's saying."

"Ogni volta che questa collana prende la luce, ogni volta che le tue mani vanno a toglierla prima di andare a letto, spero che pensi a me e al mio amore per te."

"He said; My dear, this is a gift for you. I know it doesn't hold a candle to your beauty, but I hope you find it acceptable. You said that a ruby was your birthstone, and I could only think of getting one that showed the fire and passion in your every movement, my love. Every time this necklace catches the light, every time your hands go to take it off before bed, I hope you think of me and my love for you. Now, is there anything else you want to know?"

"Ugh...just hearing that is making me sick to my stomach! Damn it! I hate guys like this!"

"You're the type of guy that threatens to make out with girls if they aren't quiet." M/n reminds him, sipping at some fruity Italian soda he had ordered because it looked nice, all the while trying to hold back the urge to steal that necklace. His fingertips drum over the tablecloth, and he listens to the voices snicker and whisper.

"Geez, that bastard, he's just acting like that to get some action!" M/n raised an eyebrow at Joseph. "All right, I'll mess with him!"

"Please don't."

"I'll throw some pasta on his face and laugh when it ruins that pretty boy look he's going for." Joseph coiled some noodles around his fork as the god watched golden sparks form. 'An evil use for hamon, but all it'll do is wrap around his face for a little while.'

Of course, because of the cosmic rule of nothing going to plan, all the blond did was catch the noodles with his own fork before simply flinging them back where they impaled Joseph's wine glass.

"Uh...this is...no way..." Joseph leaned down and slurped the noodles up, earning a snicker from M/n. "I was right! It's the ripple! This Italian bastard can use hamon!"

"Hm, his scent was familiar. Maybe he trained under a master that knew Straights or Tonpeti? Or maybe..."

"Mr. Caesar Zeppeli, you have an incoming phone call from Mr. Speedwagon." M/n stiffened up at that, his eyes trailing over the structure of the other's jaw and face, mentally screaming at himself for not noticing that earlier. His features were so similar to William's...not that you actually took the time to look...it was almost like staring in a warped reflection of the long dead scholar.

"Speedwagon…mama mia, I'll be right there."

"What? That womanizing Italian bastard is the Zeppeli we came here to meet?"

I descended upon him once, as the vulture does to carrion. Skewed as his views once were, by the stone knife of the cruel panther. I had come to devour him. But it seemed he had his own plans. The lion and I aren't friends. We haven't even met, to my knowledge, yet I don't think we are enemies. He will have his kingdom, and I have no desire for one. Though neither of us will ever be bound to the north or south, nor the east or west. The lion will frolic with dead saints and wine, merriment and laughing rivers. He'll overcome the cruelty and sin of mankind.

As for myself...

Some call me a demon, a drinker of blood and an eater of flesh, come to lay waste on their precious lives. Others know me only as a god. From where kings and nobles trace their kin back to. But then there are those who boast in my name. As if I am simply a shadow. A toy to frighten the weak-willed into submission.

Fools.

"When you called upon me, did you think I wouldn't hear you? Did you think I wouldn't answer? I am not the lion, but I do not bring comfort. It is a noble gift, but not mine to give."

The scent of blood and decay follows me. And many are repulsed and fearful cause of it. But at least decay is something assured, something inexorable. And that is what I absorb into myself. As the world is bled and stripped down to its bones.

The lion may bring the world into creation through a song. But all songs need a proper ending.

I hope he sings one for me.

Whatever new thing he decides to compose, I do not know, or rather I will not know, as he will be my murderer. It is not my concern. But as i take pride in my own work, I will assume the same goes for him.

"Mia cara, da dove sei? Vuoi che ti foto vicino alla fontana? La tua bellezza supera una struttura così semplice, ma mi piacerebbe vedere l'immagine immortalata." Once again, Caesar was flirting with some random girl that caught his eyes. M/n couldn't help but wonder if William had been like that back in the day, as Joseph and him focused on the plump pigeons pecking the ground around them. While Joseph had some using him as a perch, the god was crouched, a single bird perched in his hair, while he was lightly messing with a few by his hands.

"The birds in this country sure are friendly. Not too fond of the men though!" He whipped his head around to glare at Caesar, who only tensed instead of reacting. "You know what I mean, right M/n?"

"Don't drag me into this." M/n hissed out, slowly raising a hand only to drop it on a pigeon before repeating the process, listening to each time the animal cooed when he dropped his hand again. Honestly, he was trying to figure out how he'd be able to keep a few for his farm, but they seemed pretty comfortable here.

"Hm." Caesar openly turned his head away from all three of them with a roll of the eyes.

"Tch…"

"Come on, the two of you have been introduced, so how about the two of you say something to each other?" Speedwagon looked back to M/n, who seemed content to just mess around with the local birds. Then again, he had chosen a life of quiet and farming, so he realized he couldn't be that surprised. "M/n, why don't you say something?"

"Robert, you know that out of the four of us, I'm the worst at social interactions. Don't push this onto me, or one of us will get upset."

"Mr. Speedwagon, I'll take this opportunity to speak my mind; the tragedy that occurred fifty years ago with the death of my grandfather was only carried on by my father, who spent his entire life chasing the secrets of the stone mask. Us Italian families have stronger bonds than any other people, because we have that pride. We carry on no matter what...and I'm the same." Caesar paused, turning his head to examine Joseph with narrowed eyes, before scoffing and looking away. "But what of this man? Only a few months ago, he knew nothing about his legacy! I have no patience for morons."

"What did you just say!?!" Joseph lunged towards the blond with an angered snarl. "Say that again!"

"Caesar, hold on. That was my fault...I was the one alongside Erina who kept things a secret from him." Speedwagon stepped between them, and the god noted how the older male glanced at him as if wanting him to step in, but the god went back to playing with the chunky pigeon. He didn't want to get involved in some hamon spat.

"Alright, fine, I'll take back my statement on that. But then I heard that he had fought Straights after he turned himself into a vampire, alongside the first discovered pillar men, and I, in turn, thought that he must've been an incredible fighter...so I waited at this hotel. Yet when I tested his hamon, I was utterly disappointed!" All three of them paused and looked towards Caesar in surprise. "His hamon is weak, barely even a proper flow, let alone a proper spark! It's useless! He didn't even defeat the pillar man! That man there convinced him to join your side, had it come down to a straight up fight I'm certain you would've been slain! I have no desire to work with a man like that...I'll help you, Mr. Speedwagon, and I'll join the man that convinced something so inhuman to serve him, but not this idiot!"

"Caesar, that's only because Joseph is untrained in the art of hamon!"

"Uncle, it doesn't matter what you're about to say! I'm gonna kick his ass!" All Caesar did was smirk, gently pulling the lady into his arms, that cunning look never leaving his eyes.

"That's an impossible dream. With your current abilities, you couldn't even beat this girl."

"Then you...couldn't even beat one of these pigeons!"

"Don't drag them into this, Joseph!" Both were interrupted by Caesar laughing and pulling the girl into a passionate kiss. "Ok, come cazzo?"

"Bastard, are you messing with me?" Joseph shoved past Speedwagon with a glare, his eyes narrowing as he pointed at Caesar. "You know, I like making fun of people, but I hate being made fun of!"

For a second, the male seemed to glance at Speedwagon before spotting the god. M/n let out a shocked hiss when he was grabbed and pulled into a kiss, his arms quickly moving to Joseph's shoulders to steady himself. The kiss ended. He noted that Speedwagon's expression was one of pure shock, before Joseph immediately moved to charge Caesar. Just...what was that kiss supposed to prove? However, his thoughts were cut off by the woman spinning around, hands latched around Joseph's throat like a vise, earning a panicked gasp. M/n snapped to attention, eyes going wide at the blank look on her face, watching as Caesar smirked.

"This girl...you gave her a hamon kiss?" Joseph wheezed out, hands grasping at her wrists.

"I'll say it again; you can't even beat this girl."

'I should stop them. No, I'll let them fight for a bit...it may seem rough, but if Jojo loses...' Speedwagon frowned, hand tightening around the handle of his cane. Only a small nudge to his shoulder caused him to relax.

"Hmph, see?" Caesar took a seat with a roll of the eyes. "You're the same as your grandfather before you. Because of his own weakness when fighting that vampire all those years ago my grandfather died..."

"Caesar..." Speedwagon's hands were shaking, his mouth opening, yet no words escaped his lips. A snarl was instead what filled the air. Both Caesar and Speedwagon looked to the god, eyes a burning shade of gold, and in an instant the elder was reminded of M/n's inhumanity as well as how protective he could be. Besides...he was likely remembering exactly why Jonathan and William had entered that chamber.

"Like I could ever work with someone from that bloodline!"

"You've gone too far!" M/n spat out, fangs flashing as he adjusted his stance, clawed fingers twitching. "You're speaking about things you can't possibly understand!"

"And what do you know about it? You can't be any older than me!" The god snarled at that.

"Caesar, don't say that. Those memories are painful for me and M/n to remember..."

"Robert, don't defend his actions!"

"You're a real bastard, you know that, I mean...first you insult me then you go after my dead grandfather?" Joseph glared at the blond who only watched him. This wasn't going to end well. Hopefully Santana was having fun in the hotel room. Then, Caesar was suddenly in the air.

"Wha...? He jumped from a sitting position...?"

"That almost seems to be a family trait..." M/n grumbled out, for once, not pointing out how Speedwagon was once again saying the obvious, as he adjusted his stance. It was subtle. A slow sway, the tap of his heel, the narrowing of his eyes.

"I have a technique to defeat the three pillar men, a special technique, my special attack; hamon bubble launcher!"

"Great. Our best fighter, besides myself, uses soap bubbles. I knew he smelled like soap, but I didn't think it was because of something...silly. I'm sure that we're going to strike fear in the hearts of all our enemies. We'll defeat them in a few minutes and be home for supper!"

"In my gloves and outfit, I have several specially designed pouches that store soapy water, so take this and go crawling back to the countryside!" Joseph was trapped in a...giant bubble...? This was stupid. M/n could've tracked the pillar men down by now without someone's help. Watching Caesar pull the woman back into his arms, M/n mentally wondered if he needed to break that bubble for him. He really didn't want to touch something that still sparked with hamon. "Heh, I'll compliment you on not being knocked out by my attack, but with your hamon being so weak, you can't free yourself. It looks like you're already struggling to breathe. You're going to suffocate soon."

"Your next line will be. Senorita, I'll break my hamon kiss."

"Now senorita, I'll break my hamon kiss." And then, as he jolted in surprise at being predicted, a pigeon escaped the girl's mouth and tried to fly down Caesar's throat. The bubble popped, causing Joseph to land on his feet with a snicker. Why was his life like this? M/n swallowed down an annoyed sigh and tried to ignore the both of them. He was too old for all this shit. "...what...?"

"Hah...hah...earlier when she was choking me, I put a small hamon infused pigeon in her mouth, since I knew you'd kiss her again, you playboy!" Caesar rubbed his throat, coughing up a few feathers with a pained hiss, before they were back to glaring at each other. "I'll say it again; you couldn't even beat a pigeon!"

"Geez...what a day."

"Don't look at me like that, Robert. I'm not getting in the way of their pissing contest."

Though there are people that may call the two of you brothers, there is no bloodline connection. No heart line. No claim made between the two of you. The first, and only, hand-me-downs you get are all ruins of what he was.

His old suit.

His corpse.

His hopes.

His country.

And the shoes he wore.

No matter what you do...these things won't be filled.

You don't know how to fill them.

You gave everything to fill them. To be something people could've been proud of. So you keep giving empty space everything you can offer.

It wants more.

You give it more and more.

You break and carve yourself until you match the role.

It rejects you.

Years later, you sing a song someone taught you. It sounds like an apology. For never being enough.

When he asks for acceptance and apology,

All you hear,

Is a request for more.

"We met the man we were looking for." Is what M/n says in lieu of a greeting, since he doubts Santana cares if he follows some sort of social norm, and looks to the showerhead being dissected by nimble fingers. Santana regards him for a mere second before going back to his task. His posture looks tenser than when the god entered the room. M/n sets the bags of books down against the side of the bed, watching how Santana examines each part before he puts the showerhead back together. "You know, people might get mad at us if you don't put that back where you found it."

"Then let them." M/n snorts at that. "What is this object's purpose, Lord M/n?"

"It basically funnels water through pipes so people can clean themselves." He examines Santana for a second before waving his hand. "Come on, we can get that reattached and then I'll be able to just show you what it does. Besides, we both need a bath."

"A bath...?" With a nod, though he wasn't sure what to feel, M/n heard Santana follow him.

So, let's go set fire to all of their homes. The smoke will billow up in sync with all our laughter, and then I'll finally fall in love with you.

I wouldn't dare forget you, my love.

Eyes half closed.

No.

I'm the one you're searching for, but I'm not all you wanted. I'm not all you needed.

No.

The water is hot enough to make all the mirrors and windows fog up by the time you take off your clothes and get Santana in the bath. You weren't cheap, so the tub is large and circular, and you settled into the water. Pulling the ribbon out, he let his hair fall, swallowing back a content hum. He waved a hand at the tub and shower head.

"See? Pretty nice when the whole thing's set up like this." M/n purred as he sank deeper into the hot water. It felt nice to just relax for once. Looking over at Santana, he noticed how the male's eyes were tracing each of his scars and tattoos. He couldn't quite tell what the look Santana was giving him meant, but he gave him a warm grin. He nudged him with a shoulder. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"I can leave you if you want."

"Stay."

"Okay, sounds good to me." He tilted his head back, closing his eyes, and accepting the silence. He knew no one expected him to be something so peaceful, something that desired peace, so maybe that was what made you enjoy it all so much. It was something not suited for you. You were suited for death and destruction. A cannibalistic god. Something that had been meant for war and bloodshed that craved nothing but peace. Ironic. He always craved dramatic irony. "You know, I'm really enjoying this...just interacting with you is nice. I'm glad you agreed to join my side."

"..."

A gentle weight on one of his thighs alerted him to Santana moving. He contemplated opening his eyes, but he took a slow breath. Santana rests a single hand on your shoulder. You open your eyes, and he adjusts himself. The action isn't quite sexual, not yet. There's a moment of just silence. A moment where you wonder what he's doing, if you're going to allow this to happen, and a moment where you realize that there's no part of you that would want this to stop. But, still...you have to make sure.

"Santana, is this what you want? I don't want you having sex with me if you think you have to."

"And if I want to, Lord M/n?"

"Then...go ahead." He smiles at that, warmer than most of his expressions, and as you watch him align himself, there's a part of you that wants to stop so you can prepare him. Despite all the ways you know he can bend and morph his body, there's a part of you that fears he may hurt himself. Again, like usual, you're proven wrong when he easily sinks down. Not quite to the base, but a little over halfway with a sigh. He sank his fangs into his bottom lip, as if trying to muffle himself, which simply wouldn't do. Besides, you wanted nothing more than to explore his body. "You don't have to keep quiet. I'd love to hear you. Can...can I touch you? I'll stop if you don't want me to."

"...go ahead." He purrs happily at that, running his hands over Santana's sides before pulling the red-haired male into a kiss. Santana's reactions were stiff and almost confused. Did he really know the basics of sex, with another man no less, but remain confused and almost innocent in kissing another? Pulling away, he pressed a trail of kisses from the corner of the male's lip down to his Adam's apple, sinking his fangs in deep till the skin was pressed against his gums. Santana moaned at that, though his voice was still quiet, and M/n pulled away to lap at the blood that dripped from the wound. His blood tasted different from a human's. More wild, earthy, and enough to make him growl.

"...Hai un buon sapore, Santana, potrei iniziare a morderti di più. Ehm, forse dovrei iniettarti il mio veleno per renderti un po' più forte? Sarebbe un po' di rumore divertente, giusto?"

"...?" He bit the male again. This time he used his venom with a loud purr, his entire frame shaking from how hard he was purring, and he watched how Santana shivered in pleasure. A wordless moan escaping his lips as he bounced up and down, Santana using enough raw strength that M/n was certain he'd be bruised or walking away with broken bones had he been human, yet all he did was keep running his hands over the male's frame as he bit and licked around his neck and shoulders. There was something simple about this encounter. Santana didn't seem to crave some deep, emotional connection. Rather, this was just a moment of lust between the pair. "Harder."

"Of course," he doesn't hesitate to bite again. Santana wasn't like Joseph, in the same way M/n wasn't like Joseph. Their shared lack of humanity made risks nonexistent, but the rewards were still just as appealing, so they didn't have to show nearly as must restraint during sex. "Continuo a morderti quanto vuoi. Continua a fare quei bei rumori per me, proprio così, continua a rimbalzare e a fare quei rumori. Adoro ogni suono che posso ottenere da te. Santana, dopo questo voglio inchiodare e usare la mia bocca. Va bene?"

"Do whatever you want to me, Lord M/n."

"Qualsiasi cosa? Sarò sicuro di prendermi cura di te, grazie per avermi permesso questo, Santana." M/n gripped the male's hips, easily increasing the speed as Narcissistic Cannibal formed behind the pillar man, noting his shock M/n kissed him again. His stand slammed his own jaws into Santana's shoulder, earning a strange moan that he quickly swallowed. It was so nice to see the stoic male get wrecked from this encounter. His stand was quick to grip Santana's hips, claws easily tearing into flesh, and Santana was shaking. "Take slow breaths. Is that too much? I can unsummon Narcissistic Cannibal if he's being too much."

"N-no...keep doing that..."

"That I can do." M/n promised, eyes flashing gold as he went back to biting the male. That was it. Santana seemed to enjoy the pain that came from this kind of sex, so he just had to allow his nature a chance to surface. "Want me to use my true form?"

"...?" The look of slight surprise only gets better when his stand fully sank his fangs into one of Santana's thighs, and you watch how he rolls his hips, finally reaching his first orgasm.

"I think you'll find that form stimulating, if nothing else. Just say stop if it gets to be too much, and I'll change back." The nod he gets is shaky, trails of drool running from the corners of his mouth, and M/n wants nothing more than to see how desperate he could make Santana. There was a part of him that wondered if changing forms while inside someone, even a pillar man, was the best idea...but it shouldn't do anything more than stretch him out. So, he changed forms. Quickly tossing off the skull, he rolled his hips, nearly losing his sanity as Santana instinctively tightened around him. His stand snickered as Santana took a shaky breath, eyes wide and mouth open with no sounds escaping his lips, and M/n could only describe the sight as delightful. "So, is this form to your liking?"

"...please...please..."

"Master, it seems like he wants more." His stand's voice held a more playful tune than his own. "It would be so cruel of us not to reward such a faithful servant, especially in such a short period of servitude, right?"

"It would only be proper." He replied, adjusting himself to bobble his hips again, moaning in delight at how tight Santana was. He was still tight and prevented the god from fully moving, yet he couldn't describe this feeling as anything but bliss. "Relax for me, Santana, just take a breath and let me take care of you. Tutto quello che devi fare è lasciarti piacere."

"..." With a shaky breath, the pillar man relaxed, once again slowly pushing himself up before sinking back down. The god rolled his hips at him, lowering himself. The friction was perfect. Santana was shaking...perhaps even a pillar man had limits akin to a mortal? You watched the red-haired male press his hands on your shoulders, in response, your hands trail over his face, nails then running against the devil-like horns. Now, that earns you a pleasing sound. Something caught between whine, growl, and purr. His fingers immediately close around them, not hard enough to break them, and he rolls his hips to hear Santana give a breathy moan. It was with a start that you realized he had hit another orgasm.

"So these are sensitive...I hadn't imagined them being such a weak point when I first saw them..."

"..." You flipped your positions, now letting Santana slump against the rim of the tub, as you worked his legs to be wrapped around your hips. "H...harder."

"As if I'd go easy on you right now." You purred in response, already picking up a pace that you knew would be far too rough for a human without long hours of prep, but Santana only tried to throw his head back. Grabbing him by one of his horns, you kept his face by your own to kiss him. Claws dug into your own side, ripping and threatening to break your ribs, and you could feel the ichor starting to freely run down your skin. The god shuddered at the sensation. Losing and recovering ichor was pleasurable when you were in your regular form, but in this form, it threatened your already fragile sense of control. Shifting your position to run your nails over his horns again, you continue your efforts to fucking Santana senseless, or as close as you could get, it wasn't as if you had an eternity to work uninterrupted. Though it would be nice. "Focus on the sensations and relax. Though I certainly wouldn't mind you digging those claws in deeper."

Santana digs in hard enough for your ribs to break, you throw your head back to howl in pleasure, pink smoke escaping your lips with each pant and hum that escapes. On some level you note your claws have left scars in the wood and porcelain of the tub and floor, or that the water has left messy puddles, but then all you can think about is how Santana tightens as he gets closer to his third orgasm. You try to pinpoint when you found his prostate. Unlike Joseph, he doesn't demand for you to keep hitting a particular spot, but his reaction certainly suggests you've been hitting it. Does he even have a prostate? You don't know.

It doesn't stop the two of you from hitting an orgasm in almost perfect sync.

You don't care about chasing your second orgasm; you care about enacting your promise, so you gently pull him off you. Ignoring how he hisses, clearly worried the encounter will end, you adjust him so his hips are level with your face. You don't give him time to collect himself before you engulf him. The lack of gag reflex, a familiar blessing as you feel the head of his cock rest at the back of your throat. You start to loudly purr, feeling him shift at the sudden, yet constant vibrations such a thing creates, but you're just happy to force him into a sudden orgasm, his hips twitching, and a hand pulls you away. You swallow, licking your lips, and note that the pillar man is panting. He still tastes different from a human, but you do nothing other than savor the taste. He looks worn out, so you wonder once again what experience he had before this, yet you take the hand that holds you carefully. You wouldn't dare overstep his boundaries.

"So, do you think I was right?" The look Santana gives you is one of complete confusion, it seems sex makes him more expressive, and you absentmindedly flip his hand to press a kiss to the major artery that runs at his wrist.

"...right about what, Lord M/n?"

"That I take care of what's mine. You feel taken care of, right?"

"...I do."

"Then I'm more than satisfied." He shifted into a sitting position, shaking out his H/c hair, and relaxing. "Not bad for some hotel bathroom. I still prefer the ones at Wind-Knights Lot, and I'm sure you'll love the castle when we get there. But first...well, we have to handle the other three...or I will."

"What about-"

"You'll be staying here."

"You don't trust me?"

"No. I trust you. I don't want to risk you dying because they discovered your shift in allegiance." He met the pillar man's gaze, knowing that he's being truthful at this moment. "I take care of what's mine. In fact, because of my 'familiar' I get over protective of what I've claimed. I couldn't risk that happening. Besides, you get to relax and read books while I have to deal with Joseph and Caesar arguing all the time, a far better time than what I'm going to be doing."

"Will you kill them, Lord M/n?"

"I'll try not to. I dislike senseless slaughter." He looked at Santana with a head tilt. "Do you want me to kill them?"

"All they want is the same end goal as my own; to ascend."

"Then I promise you I'll try to save them, and I'll only strike to kill if there is no other option." Santana nods his head at that, whilst the god mentally rethinks all of his plans.

How would he explain this to the others...or will he explain this to the others?

At this point in time the city of Rome houses roughly four million people, yet there are only two subway lines. Why is that? Simply put, if one were to dig out subway tunnels beneath this city they'd quickly encounter more ruins than empty space. Construction was stopped due to it being too expensive for such small amounts of progress. So, in the depths of this romanticized city lie treasures from two thousand years ago just waiting to be discovered.

Both M/n and Joseph starred in a mix between annoyance and exhaustion, though mainly annoyance, as Caesar did that stupid leap to land into his chair with his legs perfectly crossed. Both twitched, looking between each other in complete confusion while he drank, before both took their own seats.

'Honestly, just who does this jerk think he is? Grandstanding like that just to sit down in a chair, I really can't stand people like him. If only I had a technique like his bubble launcher, I'd be able to teach him some humility then. I just have to get stronger with my hamon…but training is such a hassle. Hm, let's see how our little friend handles a game of chance.' With a smirk Joseph dealt the cards, though he noted how M/n looked at the deck with apprehension, and he couldn't help but wonder why he looked so bothered. Did he not like poker?

'Seriously, I can't believe Caesar just acts like this...I swear, by the end of this, I'll have drowned both of them. I mean, seriously, I could've already started searching the tunnels below Italy to find where the other pillar men are. I doubt whoever Caesar wants us to wait for is really that important.'

'I can't believe he just...acts like this. I'm gonna drown both of them if it keeps up like this. At this rate, I could just hit the underground paths and track them down. Whoever Caesar wants to wait for is just more time spent waiting.' M/n adjusted his position carefully, already missing Santana's blunt nature. "So, what game are we playing?"

"Poker."

"What are the rules?" Joseph looked at the god in shock. He noted both Speedwagon and Caesar seemed to have the same expression on their faces, as M/n stacked the cards he was dealt in a neat pile.

"You don't know how to play poker?!?"

"Don't say it like that, and no, I don't. I can play Texas hold-em, blackjack, brag, war, and solitaire, but I never was taught poker. Am I allowed to look at my hand in this game?"

"Wait, if you don't know how to play, then I-" The look on Joseph's face was one that told you poker would either be terrible or something memorable. Maybe both?

"Jojo, I saw that." Both looked to Caesar, one in confusion, while the one was panicked. "Deal the cards right. Only cowards cheat."

"Huh? Whatever do you-" Caesar lashed out and grabbed his wrist, causing the male to freeze up.

"Deal the cards properly, Joestar, or play elsewhere." Tilting the male's sleeve down, he shook it, causing a series of cards to fall and land in a messy pile on the table.

"F-fancy that." Joseph chuckled, sticking out his tongue. He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that didn't work."

"Can someone please just tell me the rules of this game?"

"Pathetic." Caesar scoffed, shaking his head at the male. "You should be ashamed that you have to resort to cheating and gimmicks to beat me."

"You really are serious about cleanliness. This mirror on your shoe is spotless." Grabbing one of Caesar's legs, he lifted it above the table, adjusting the male's shoe to cause the mirror to flash.

"Can we please just play poker?"

"Stop provoking me, Joestar!"

"If you don't wanna play poker, then we can play something else."

"Oh, I haven't even started!"

"Can we please play something?!?"

"Calm down!" Speedwagon rested his chin on his interlocked hands, causing the god to adjust himself to look at the older man, or at least older in appearance. "It's been eight hours, Caesar. Do you mind telling us what we're waiting for?"

Caesar sighed, right as the clock chimed, earning an annoyed huff from the god.

"Yeah, what are we waiting for?"

"Here's your answer."

A car skidded to a stop in front of the hotel, and Joseph leaned out the window with an offended gasp.

"What the hell? What is a German soldier doing here?"

"It looks like we're clear." The three looked to Caesar, who flashed them a grin. "Just who do you think guards the pillar men? He'll get us in there. Behave yourself."

"Again with the Germans?!?"

"I'm not a fan of them either, Joseph."

I had a long dream.

A dream about you.

We ate a forbidden fruit together and wandered around paradise.

Don't let me wake up.

I want to stay

Within

This

Beautiful

Dream.

The sound of stone breaking and shifting filled the air. All the German soldiers looked up in a panic, each watching a segment of the center pillar man's head dress slowly open. A small gust of air caused the ones closest to the statues to flinch and jolt up.

"Sir, something's happening!"

"Calm down, we have ultra violet lights shining on them at all hours of the day. They can't move." The lead soldier tilted his head to the side, watching the stone statues remain motionless. Had that merely been a fluke? 'These 'pillar men' in Rome were actually discovered before we encountered Speedwagon or learned the location of Santana. We only awoke Santana because we believed it would be easier to handle a single threat than three at the same time. What a shit show that proved to be, though the destruction of the team in Mexico proved to be great training for us. Ultraviolet light keeps them in stone...all I have to do is get them separated from each other to be sent to different bases back in Germany.'

Before he could order them to cut the stone between each pillar man, a scream filled the air. His head whipped up. One of his men was now impaled on a horn that extended from the head of the center statue.

"What...? It can't be! He's awake! Maybe the light isn't strong enough...increase the power of the lights now!"

In a mere second, the lights were completely smothered with blood and viscera. The soldier staggered back, and the others were quick to follow. The center statue cracked before the pillar man leapt out, only uncrossing his arms when he had landed on his feet. He adjusted himself, cracking his joints, before opening his eyes and examining the environment.

"Hm, I see the world has undergone some significant changes since my slumber. These insignificant inventions must be quite popular here." The pillar man's voice was a low raspy growl, likely from lack of use, as he tilted his head to better examine the UV lamps surrounding the statues.

"What'd he say? That language...he's speaking Latin...?!?"

"I said; your pitiful illuminations are no match against my power." In an instant screams filled the air as he intertwined their hands, fuzing flesh and muscle together, both in shock at the horrors and how quickly he adapted to English. Nothing else was said as they were reduced to nothing but skin in a matter of moments, and with that, Wamuu approached the wall.

"Awaken, my masters."

Thus started what would become the next mass extinction.

Curse this pathetic flesh. This human weakness.

"I must cut it all away...all of it. Only then can I help the people I care for. Only then can I survive the world I've been placed in."

Oh...it seems I've forgotten,

The only thing that connected this mess together was my humanity.

"Germany and Italy have an alliance, and the Germans are interested in researching my hamon, see? You English men are lucky that you're being granted access to view the pillar men. Though there's no need to thank me." M/n shifted, the small nature of the car leading to him being pressed rather closely to Joseph, and Caesar riling him up certainly wasn't helping. "Your appreciation's written on your face, Jojo."

"Can we not fight for five fucking minutes? Voglio dire, davvero, come Caesar sicuramente sai che questo non è il momento o il posto giusto per questo genere di cose."

"M/n, I swear you've only gotten more vulgar in your old age."

"I merely changed with the times, Robert."

"Old age...? Cosa significa esattamente il signor Speedwagon con questo? Al massimo sembri avere vent'anni." Caesar was now staring at the god, clearly trying to figure out what made him old, despite all his plans of secrecy the god gave in.

"Sono immortale. Ho smesso di invecchiare molto tempo fa, quando ha fatto riferimento a ricordi dolorosi, lo intendeva perché ero nello stesso viaggio tutti quegli anni fa. Non sono un vampiro o imparentato con un uomo pilastro, ma solo qualcosa di molto più vecchio. Il termine più vicino che gli umani avrebbero per la mia esistenza sarebbe Dio, anche se odio quel titolo... ma non posso negare che si adatti."

"Immortal...?"

"Oh, are you just now finding out that M/n is some kind of god?" Joseph doesn't even seem to care about the bombshell he just dropped inside the car, merely throwing an arm over M/n, who had gone stark white in his embrace.

"Um...Mr. Speedwagon,"

"Hm...?"

"We at base actually have several questions for you." The soldier driving suddenly spoke up. M/n felt a flash of irritation at yet another Nazi, but went still when he glimpsed the male's face. There was something in his face that reminded the god of Sam. Not quite a family resemblance, but they both held kind features. With a shudder, he looked away. He knew that not every soldier was bad, but his memories were so tainted with the Germans in this era. "I hope we call work together to stop the pillar men before they awaken."

"Hmph…" M/n nudged Joseph in the ribs at his scoff, earning an annoyed look. At least the Joestar seemed more concerned with fixing his hair, that Caesar had ruffled in the first place, than starting another spat.

"So, how is your, dolce bellezza?" Caesar cooed, nudging the male so he could open a locket hanging from Mark's neck, allowing M/n to catch sight of a woman's face.

"Huh?"

"Oh, come now, don't be embarrassed. We all know that you have a girlfriend back home."

"Well, she's-" The male ran a hand over his hat nervously. "Uh, actually, the truth is I'll be going home next week so we can finally get married."

"Really?!? Mamma mia! Congratulations, Mark!" The car steered off course and began to crash into things, earning a low hiss from the god. "I was his wingman when he picked her up, you know? He was so nervous."

"Heartwarming. Please don't get us all killed here."

"Oh please, Joseph, I wouldn't die even if the car crashed and exploded."

"That doesn't matter! I would die! And please stop cuddling with the wheel, if you don't mind!" Joseph yelped, nearly crushing you when the car suddenly swerved, earning a far more feral hiss from the male.

"I wanted to ask you, Jojo, do you have a girlfriend back home?" Joseph opened his mouth to interrupt him, but Caesar simply waved a hand. "I'll take that as a no. But you're such a great catch. Why doesn't anyone want to date you? Perhaps they're all too busy washing their hair, eh?"

"I may not have a girlfriend, but I have something far better! I have; M/n!"

"What...?" M/n found himself pulled into another kiss, this time with far more tongue, and when he pulled away a thin trail of saliva connected them for a single second.

"M/n?"

"Well yeah, not quite a girlfriend, but dating a literal god isn't that bad."

"...?" M/n twitched, eyes widening at the mention of some sort of relationship with Joseph, yet he didn't speak up as everyone stared at the pair. Joseph just laughed at all of their reactions, nuzzling his face into the god's hair, earning a huff as M/n relaxed into his hold. At least he hadn't started purring...yet.

"Is he being serious right now?"

"I believe the two of us have met all the requirements for a relationship." M/n responded, not even bothered by Joseph gasping in delight at that response. "Why? Do you think he could do better?"

"..." The god merely raised an eyebrow at the look Caesar gave him.

How...?

How am I supposed to rate my pain?

Like, on some level, I know other people would be crying or rendered immobile at this sensation.

But, I just....keep going. That's the only option. Until I'm physically unable to, because, even though it hurts and drags me down, I'm able to continue. I can if I want to. Why should I even attempt to complain if I can still function normally?

Then I see in some hospitals that pain that's distracting is rated a six.

…what?

The five of you stop at a unique carving, a man's face engraved in a large circular tile, and the god raises an eyebrow at the feature. He's never been the most up to date with monuments, landmarks, and murals...but he's sure that he would've heard about something like this at some point or another. The god twitched when Joseph gasped by his ear as Mark casually revealed a secret passage by moving the tile away. Was that not obvious? He knew that most humans wouldn't be able to hear, smell, or taste the slight breeze that escaped from the thin gaps between tile and passage, but did they really assume that Mark was only bringing them here to sightsee?

"Somehow, it doesn't surprise me that the Mouth of Truth was actually a secret passage."

So you all plunged into the pits of hell.

The people have weighed in.

So, I'll tell my mother that if my behavior were known I could've won a Nobel prize.

"Again?" She'd laugh. "As if I ever had any doubt."

This is just another little game that we play.

Pretend.

Pretend that I'm somebody of value while she pretends she isn't dead.

"You can really feel the chill of the dead here." Speedwagon shifted, eyes darting towards the blond as the god matched him step for step. At his age, a single fall could be more than fetal. "Caesar, what effect has your hamon had on the sleeping pillar men?"

"Hamon is only useful to the living or undead. No reason to waste my energy on stone. We can't learn anything if they aren't alive, though I suppose with M/n having tamed Santana, we'll be able to learn their limits without these three."

"Should any of you want to research Santana, you'd have to get his consent, or I'd kill you for trying." M/n replied bluntly, earning a slight flinch from Mark and a look from Caesar. "That's his choice to make."

"You know, I'm surprised that you Germans don't have more than, uh, zero guards leading to such an important site."

"Strange," they all looked to the god, who had his head tilted as he breathed in. "I can smell humans, but I'm not picking up any heat signatures or heartbeats."

"Maybe they went home for the day?" Joseph questioned, leaning over M/n's shoulder, earning a shake of the head from the god.

"No, the scent wouldn't be as strong."

"Hm, well, it is a little quiet. Hello?" M/n twitched at the sudden noise by his ear, pausing when his senses picked up on three new signatures, one that ran far hotter than the other two...but...that meant they were all awake. "M/n, is anyone there?"

"I'm only picking up three signatures. They remind me more of Santana's than any human."

"The two of you need to stop-"

"No, Caesar, they're right. Something's wrong." He moved the flashlight back and forth, a frown slowly growing on his face, as the god moved to the front of the group. "There should be guards posted throughout this entire tunnel system."

M/n took a step forward, nearly slipping with a confused hiss, before freezing as he looked down to what he had just stepped into.

"Well, I figured out where the others went."

"Wha-" Mark went silent when he saw what remained of the soldiers. Just skin and clothes. Like some fucked up rapture...it made the god shiver at the metaphor.

"Those are the husks of the soldiers!"

"This differs from what Santana did...are their absorption powers different from his?"

"What...what the hell happened to them? They....they're all...dead..."

With a scream, Mark raced towards the jaws of the reaper. All the god could see was Sam, so as the others simply yelled, the god gave chase.

Some wounds never vanish.

The scars remain. If you could feel pain, it would hurt every day, with every breath of air. Little by little I forgot till I tried to breathe in. Over time, I looked around and tried to learn. Learn to love the life I live.

Though sometimes the old urge grows, and I need to run away. Far from the nonexistent pain. far from the wounds. From melancholy.

I don't want to be held back anymore.

Over the years, or eons, there have been hundreds if not millions of concepts that humanity has invented. Karma is one of those concepts. One that exists in this world if only for something beyond gods themselves to openly laugh at you. What goes around comes around. Do unto others in the same way you wish to be treated. You had grown to know karma well, both as a mortal and immortal. More akin to a great enemy that never fought you in person, lacking honor and everything akin to it, and while it had never shown you any favor, it became apparent that it was always looming over you. A noose that tethered you to the gallows. You had stopped feeling anything akin to disappointment or shame towards it. Learned what it meant. You understood it. It only made sense that Karma wasn't fond of you. As a mortal, you were a monster. One that had killed and butchered thousands of people in a rather short lifespan, your greatest massacre being twenty-five thousand in one fell swoop, so the fact you were cursed to suffer with bad luck only felt fitting. It was fair. This had simply been the hand you had won. You had gone chasing Ajamu with the idea in mind that it was a one-way trip to hell, a good death for the thousands of sins you committed, because you were nothing if not a realist. This was the best ending available for you. Perhaps, all those years ago, it had become obvious that the cards were stacked against you. A weighted deck. Yet still better than any game of brag you had played with Ajamu.

You had hoped for death, and in that regard, you had been correct. Death had not been a glorious affair, dying after killing Ajamu from injuries sustained in a long and honorable fight, but slow and painful with the simple reminder of lessons learned long ago. Not a fitting end for a hero, for a good person, but just as fitting for a monster. Would you leave the universe? You had been unremembered and unmourned, by choice. A wave of the hand and those you loved would come back, and you weren't in anyone's memories. You had become a ghost. It was fate you could accept, both now and back then, because it was a better fate than being remembered. Easier. There was no chance of being misunderstood, of being lost in translation, no one to write you softer than expected or use you as a warning. You weren't anything of value. No one remembered from the original myth that the minotaur had been named Asterion, that perhaps someone had loved him enough to give him a name in the first place, instead it was just how he had been trapped in a maze forced to kill those around him. Had he even needed to eat human flesh? Could he have been better in a better, kinder world? No one had asked you those questions. No one wanted to know the answer.

Yet you had done good in your brief life…right?

When given the chance, you had done everything in your power to help the majority, to help people, and in doing so, you had lost everything that you had ever valued. But it meant you were doing something right at the very least. You wanted a world where people could live even as one alone was destined, or perhaps forced, to suffer as none were any wiser. Looking back, you knew with clarity that you'd never regret these choices. You may have died with a frown on your face and apologies spilling from your lips, but that had never been for the act of dying, only for the knowledge that by dying slowly you were forcing your stand to watch you suffer. It would never strike you down even as you withered, not that you could fault it for that. Still, septic wounds and infections were such slow, hellish ways for someone to go. Even with your feelings towards Ajamu, you weren't certain you’d wish such a fate on him, but it had been a fitting end for a venomous monster, right? There was a reason the trident you used was a dark crimson in coloration. It was the ending that made you out to be the monster in some mother's cautionary tale rather than a person. Then again, that was all you had needed to be. All you could be. You were, in your last moments at least, reduced to a story, to poetry, and that was something you knew with a perfect sense of clarity. How many times had you taken an aspect of yourself and reduced it to lines of ink or paper? It was merely your chosen act.

Yet you had died for humanity.

People could claim that you attacking Ajamu was for petty reasons. A past lover had chosen him over you, and while there had been a part of you that had wanted to see who this other man was, the rest had only listened to people explain to you that there was something worse out there. They had been right. Ajamu was a monster like no other. He was someone who had needed to be stopped, so you had gone after him. With him dead, a balance would be restored, or at least that had been your hope, and in a way, it had. You had gotten what you wanted. You had wanted little more than a chance to provide people with the opportunity for happiness. There was no world, there would never be a world, where there was no suffering or trauma, or rather the existence of such a world would ‌deprive people of free will and choice, so no matter what this would still be a world that had crime, war, famine, and hate.

There was no world where no suffering could be had, or rather that world would deprive people of free will and choice, so there would still be crime, war, famine, and hate...yet it was their choice to make. For every act of violence and hate, there was another of love and joy. This was the world you hoped to see grow even as you slumbered. It was that ideal you had seen reflected in Jonathan's gaze, in Speedwagon's words as he described his advancements in medicine, and in every breath of those you grew to care for.

Humanity was flawed yet good.

So, in a blink of the untrained eye, you had moved.

There wasn't any thought about it. The sound of flesh tearing, alongside the sweet smell of your own ichor, filled the air. Mark whimpered as you kept him pinned beneath your frame. There was a part of you that wanted to curse yourself. Saving a Nazi felt as if you were spitting on your mother's grave, yet the rest were happy. You had saved a life. A man whose biggest crime was willingness to serve his country, a man who had a loving connection to another, and a person who had been nothing but kind since the two of you met. For every part of you that raged, there was the part that decided this was what you had died for. To save people. To bring happiness.

If you could save billions of people you had never met, and would never meet, would you?

It had never been a question of would you?

You had been happy to do it. Who the fuck cared if this revealed your immortality to three threats? Mark was alive. He was alive to help people, to love, or even commit atrocities in the name of his fatherland. He was alive to have free will and choice. His descendants would carry on that will if he was lucky. But in a few generations of Mark's life, this moment would be rendered nothing but a memory. People wouldn't believe it. They wouldn't think to follow the lesson that started here...and wasn't that beautiful? To know that the world was always changing, that no two humans were perfect in symmetry? It was a forever expanding poem that never stopped, never carried a theme, and as a god, you could preserve it and hope it would never end.

You had never thought about anything else. There hadn't been a moment of hesitation because the world, life, karma, and nature itself had created a monster that held power beyond measure for this one goal. You weren't the martyr that rose and died for people's sins to motivate them; you were the beast in the woods that stalked travelers that entered your land to make sure they lived another day. No one ever found comfort in the actions of a beast, but the beast still helped. As long as you saved one person, allowed someone joy before they died, then death and wounds were meaningless. You didn't care if you could've felt pain; you didn't care that one of these pillar men had absorbed your left arm to the shoulder. No, all you cared about was Mark's breathing.

He would live another day.

There was no better reward for a monster like you.

Tough yet giving. It imparts so much, yet gives up parts of itself in doing so.

I could be prone to that occasionally.

And self destruction...?

…!

(Translations:

Fas Est Et Ab Hoste Doceri = It’s proper to learn even from an enemy

...è così bello...continuare così per favore...che si sente così bene...dovrebbe usare questo modulo più spesso...Dio, ti senti così bene! Devo ricompensarti per questo più tardi, bel ragazzo, è quello che vuoi giusto? Dio, se questo si sente così bene come ci si sente?=…that's so nice...keep that up please...that feels so good...should use this form more often...god, you feel so good! I'll have to reward you for this later, pretty boy. That's what you want, right? God, if this feels this good, what will that feel like?

bella=beautiful

Per favore=please

Sapevo che era una cattiva idea...questo è troppo, non riesco a pensare così. È troppo. Dovremmo fermarci e tu puoi appoggiarti e lasciarmi prendere cura di te. Sarebbe bello, vero? Sono bravo a piacere alla gente, quindi non saresti insoddisfatto di me. Oh...Joseph, fallo di nuovo! È bello...puoi davvero prendermi tutti? Ah, puoi. Mi farai perdere il controllo comportandomi così.=Knew this was a bad idea...this is too much, I can't think like this. This is way too much. We should just stop and you can lean back and let me take care of you. That would be nice, right? I'm good at pleasing people, so you wouldn't be dissatisfied with me. Oh...Joseph, do that again! That feels nice...can you actually take all of me? Ah, you can. You're gonna make me lose my control by acting like that.

Mi stai facendo impazzire! Non vedi quanto è difficile controllarmi quando ti comporti in questo modo?=You're driving me insane! Do you not see how difficult is it to control myself when you act like this?

signore=sir

Mi dispiace per il mio amico. Tende a non pensare prima di agisce.=Sorry for my friend. He tends to not think before he acts.

Va bene signore, ma la prego di impedirgli di causare danni alle proprietà mentre si trova in questo stabilimento.=It's fine sir, but please keep him from causing any property damage while in this establishment.

Mia cara, questo è un regalo per te. So che non tiene una candela per la tua bellezza, ma spero che tu la trovi accettabile.=My dear, this is a gift for you. I know that it doesn't hold a candle to your beauty, but I hope you find it acceptable.

Hai detto che un rubino era la tua pietra natale, e potevo solo pensare di aver ne ottenere uno che mostrasse il fuoco e la passione in ogni tuo movimento, amore mio.=You said that a ruby was your birth stone, and I could only think of getting one that showed the fire and passion in your every movement, my love.

Ogni volta che questa collana prende la luce, ogni volta che le tue mani vanno a toglierla prima di andare a letto, spero che pensi a me e al mio amore per te.=Every time this necklace catches the light, every time your hands go to take it off before bed, I hope you think of me and my love for you.

Mia cara, da dove sei? Vuoi che ti foto vicino alla fontana? La tua bellezza supera una struttura così semplice, ma mi piacerebbe vedere l'immagine immortalata.=My dear, where are you from? Would you like me to take your picture by the fountain? Your beauty outshines such a simple structure, but I'd love to see the image immortalized.

Ok, come cazzo?= Ok, like what the fuck?

Hai un buon sapore, Santana, potrei iniziare a morderti di più. Hm, forse dovrei iniettarti il mio veleno per renderti un po' più forte? Sarebbe un po' di rumore divertente, giusto?=You taste good, Santana, I might start biting you more. Hm, maybe I should inject you with my venom to make you a bit louder? That would make some fun noises, right?

Continuo a morderti quanto vuoi. Continua a fare quei bei rumori per me, proprio così, continua a rimbalzare e a fare quei rumori.Adoro ogni suono che posso ottenere da te. Santana, dopo questo voglio inchiodare e usare la mia bocca. Va bene?=I'll keep biting you as much as you want. Just keep making those beautiful noises for me, just like that, keep bouncing and making those noises. I adore each sound I can get from you. Santana, after this I want to pin you down and use my mouth. Is that okay?

Qualsiasi cosa? Sarò sicuro di prendermi cura di te, grazie per avermi permesso questo, Santana.=Anything? I'll be sure to take good care of you, thank you for allowing me this, Santana.

Tutto quello che devi fare è lasciarti piacere.=All you need to do is let yourself be pleasured.

Voglio dire, davvero, come Caesar sicuramente sai che questo non è il momento o il posto giusto per questo genere di cose.=I mean, really, like Caesar surely you know this isn't the right time or place for this sort of thing.

Cosa significa esattamente il signor Speedwagon con questo? Al massimo sembri avere vent'anni.=What exactly does Mr. Speedwagon mean by that? At most you look to be in your early twenties.

Sono immortale. Ho smesso di invecchiare molto tempo fa, quando ha fatto riferimento a ricordi dolorosi, lo intendeva perché ero nello stesso viaggio tutti quegli anni fa.Non sono un vampiro o imparentato con un uomo pilastro, ma solo qualcosa di molto più vecchio.Il termine più vicino che gli umani avrebbero per la mia esistenza sarebbe Dio, anche se odio quel titolo... ma non posso negare che si adatti.=I'm immortal. I stopped aging a long time ago, when he referred to memories being painful he meant it because I was on that same journey all those years ago. I'm not a vampire or related to a pillar man, merely something far older. The closest term humans would have for my existence would be god, though I do hate that title....but I can't deny it fits.)

Chapter 10: You know I'm not a saint, but I can make you pray.

Summary:

And you can't stop laughing.

Notes:

Here's a full body drawing of M/n's true form because I need to highlight how spooky it is or I will die unfulfilled. Does it match your imagination or not? What would you change? Do you like it or not? I'd love to hear your thoughts, also those spinal braids change length but typically end at M/n's elbows. This picture is an outlier, not the rule of thumb.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The martyr meandered around the area with many weeping wounds. He went from house to house, begging for alms and coating the ground with his blood.

"I'm suffering for god." The servant said.

"You're leaving a stain," they replied.

There was a single moment of peace as you collected yourself.

A moment where everything in the world seemed to hold its collective breath. Even your allies didn't seem willing to leave their place at the stairs. You shivered at the silence, hair almost bristling as your mind ran on autopilot, thinking of a thousand different ways to attack your new opponents...yet almost all of them hinged on the fact you wouldn't be protecting anyone. But you would have to. That, in turn, changed everything...like it or not. You were fucking terrified of losing this fight. No, you were terrified of being stolen from. You were terrified of failing humanity. The pillar man that would've killed Mark stops walking. You stop drawing breath. You were well aware of how Mark whimpered beneath you like a rabbit about to be mauled by a pack of wolves. Half of your arm had regrown, so just a few more seconds. That was all you needed. A few more seconds. Just let him give you that. Because of this, the other two draw to a stop, both taking the moment to look over their shoulders in an almost perfect sync, expressions ranging from boredom to slight confusion.

"Wamuu, why are you stopping?" The one in the head wrap speaks up, a low voice reminding you of thunder rolling in, and in turn, this tells you that this man was the Lord Kars that Santana had spoken of. Slowly, the one you now knew was named Wamuu, raised a single hand up. He was...he was making sure that his two lords were keeping their distance from you. Yet his eyes didn't stray from the thin trails of ichor staining the ground.

"That creature...it's not human, nor is it a member of the hamon tribe." At the mention of your inhumanity, Kars tilted his head to the side. For a moment, you felt pinned beneath that stare, but then you adjusted your position. You needed to better cover Mark. If there was anything to fall back to, then you were going to be the weapon and monster you had always been. These three would either kill you or die trying. Maybe, if you were lucky, you'd be able to keep your promise to Santana, but you had your doubts.

"Then would it be a demon? Or perhaps a chimera?" Wait, had they...had they actually encountered those creatures in their lives? There was a part of you that wanted to call it exaggeration, but you had believed vampires myth till Dio proved you wrong. Plus, it wasn't as if these three were normal either. Maybe they were simply speaking of battles with stand users without actually knowing what a stand was?

"No, it's something else. Not even something that I have encountered before. Strange...it tastes sweet...sweet and ravaging. Sickeningly so." Honestly, you felt as if the look he gave you was judgmental, ‌but you couldn't tell for sure, so you instead prepared for a blow to be aimed at you. You refused to change your current position. You would never give an enemy the luxury of knowing where your next attack was coming from, but Wamuu stopped when he noticed you had regrown your severed arm, causing his expression to shift. His muscles tensed, almost seeming to expand under your gaze, as if he was shocked or prepared an attack. "Hm...? Regenerative abilities, far different from any creature we've fought before."

Kars crossed his arms, tilting his head gently, looking between the two of you, with an expression that made you seem like less of a threat. In a way...it was almost amusing to think about, but you kept glancing towards the other. Lord Esidisi. Now, why on earth was he still silent? You couldn't get a good read on any of them. "Then tell us, Wamuu, what do you think it is?"

'What do you think 'it' is? Are they all blind? I'm clearly a male...but...fine, if they treat me as little more than an animal, it only provides me more chances to blindside them. So, let them underestimate me. I'll win.'

"What kneels before us, cradling a mortal human, is not like any creature or being we've ever fought in the past. Instead, what we gaze upon is a being riddled with the taste of divine intervention. What we see before us is not just a being of power or a demon...No, what I have tasted is ichor and ambrosia." His eyes, that had been narrowed, suddenly widened in realization...and you knew you were losing a key advantage here. If there was no longer any mystery in your origins...they might start discovering your abilities.

'...fuck.'

"Ichor and ambrosia of the physical manifestation of a god!" Kars and Esidisi both recoiled at that, not quite out of fear, though between the two of them it was Kars that looked at you with apparent...was that interest? With your vision so heightened, it would've been impossible for you not to notice how his lips curved into a smile even in the dim gloom of these caverns. No, with this realization, you'd be lucky to handle them. You might have to chase them away...if that was even possible anymore. Or...keep their focus on you and you alone.

"Is that so, Wamuu?"

"Well, Wamuu has never been one to lie. He has fought far more battles and encountered many more creatures than either of us." Esidisi finally spoke up, yet you couldn't see the unpredictability that Santana had mentioned, yet you knew your servant wasn't a liar. Maybe he had merely changed due to slumber? Maybe he was a berserker styled fighter? Or maybe it was merely something that you hadn't noticed or were simply ignoring? "If what he says is truth,"

"Then our goal to find the Red Stone of Aja just became far more interesting." Kars finished with sharp fangs flashing, though you were surprised by this stone he mentioned. It wasn't something you had heard mentioned or named before in all of your immortal life. For a split second, you refocused on the heartbeats of your allies, but it was fleeting as they currently seemed content to stay at the stairs. Good. It was far safer for them. If only you could transfer Mark to them without simply tossing him. Before Wamuu could say anything...well, you realized you had forgotten about one thing.

"Ahem!" The loud clearing of someone's throat filled the air, because one couldn't really live in a world where Joseph Joestar didn't rush head first into danger. It would be easier to ask for the sun to rise in place of the moon each night. You shifted to watch him approach Wamuu with no fear. Even his scent didn't betray him. "I'm sorry. I don't think I gave you permission to look at my husband's eyes like that."

"Joseph," you shot up to your feet, only making sure the action didn't hurt Mark, or keep him from being safely behind you. On some level, you knew Caesar had used that motion to get to his friend's side, but you were more focused on Joseph's words. "Just...what do you think you're doing?"

"Yeah, I saw you ogling him, you sick bastard! Honestly, have you no shame in that lovely headdress of yours? You're worse than a nosy neighbor! Then again, I can't blame you, I mean...look at that whole ass meal right there!"

"Joseph...grab Mark, and get the fuck out of here." The god kept his voice flat, it was easy to play a role in hopes it would intimidate them, but you couldn't stop yourself from flinching back when Joseph suddenly spun on his heel to point at you. What the fuck was he doing? Now wasn't the time for his trickster antics.

"Oh, I'm going to talk with you about this at counseling!"

"...what the fuck are you even talking about? We aren't married! No, no...that doesn't matter. Get out of here and I'll handle this."

"Oh, get out of here? That isn't what you said when we first met. Remember how you reacted to that dress I wore? I mean, in less than a day, we were sharing a bed." After saying that, he turned back to the pillar man, completely ignoring the expression that crossed the god's face. He...he was acting as if that conversation hadn't even happened...as if you could imagine that up. "Alright, big boy, I think someone needs to teach you some manners, and lucky for you, I happen to be an excellent teacher...right, M/n?"

"...I want a divorce." You couldn't help but hiss out, feeling far more annoyed at your own ally than the enemy.

"Lucky for you, or unlucky for you, you'll be the first to see my strongest attack. Not even my husband knows about it, and he knows everything." You didn't even have to call your stand. In a flicker of light, your stand formed. Narcissistic Cannibal was quick to grab Joseph by the back of his scruff, tossing him behind you in a single swing of the neck. Finally, you could breathe easily again, or as easily as the scar tissue allowed, but you couldn't bring yourself to care about anything else at this moment. "AH! M/n, what the hell?!?"

"I said; let me handle this." You hissed again, fangs flashing as you tried to focus on your prey.

"It seems like you're letting Egotistical Man-eater handle this. More like Man-handler! Right, Caesar?" You were certain he was wiggling his eyebrows at Caesar, but you didn't look back at him. You wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face if you did.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Caesar hissed out, holding Mark as if he was dying, and for a moment you could imagine a future where you hadn't moved...but that was too dark to ponder for long.

"Oh, but I love his cruel grasp~!"

"Shut up, Joseph." The god hissed out, eyes flashing gold, as he tried to ignore the stares on his own frame.

"I agree with M/n. Sit down and let the immortal handle this."

"Finally, someone with some good ideas." He adjusted his position. Relaxed. Because he would make it seem as if he didn't have a care in the world, no matter how freaked out he was, because...because he would win this. He had too much on the line. There was no way he could risk losing here.

"And behold the familiar of a god." Wamuu easily moved into a fighting stance, it was clearly one he knew well, all of his actions more fluid than anybody you'd seen in eons. Bluford had been a good fighter, but you had enraged him to break that trained behavior...and because of your own weakness. You had a feeling Wamuu wouldn't let you do the same. His movements already suggested that he'd have given all of Ajamu's prized fighters a run for their money. No, this was what a warrior looked like. You'd have to be careful with this one...he may actually kill you, yet all you could think about was the goal Ajamu had for you.

"Such an intriguing creature. Reminiscent of those serpents from India, cobras, am I correct? And those are aphrodisiacs I smell." Fuck. Just fuck all of this. Just by breathing in they knew everything about you. A feat that had been something only you had been capable of till now. It had been easy to ignore how much of an advantage you had when no one else could mimic your senses, while you knew Santana was more aware he didn't mention it, but these three...they were noting every detail about you in a matter of minutes. They could fully see your stand. These weren't vampires. These were something different, yet again you were being reminded of it. The pillar men were almost on a divine level, but not gods. It was still an advantage you held over them. That would have to be enough. You had won with far less in the past.

…right, N/n?

"Wait a second, you're telling me that Egotistical...cannibal...man-handler...is a snake?" Joseph suddenly yelped out, causing M/n to twitch at the noise. He had mentioned his enhanced senses several times before...so why did he keep doing this?

"Joseph, what the fuck are you talking about?" Hm, you really needed to explain to Caesar what a stand was...though it couldn't be any worse than all the questions Joseph had asked.

"I told you it was a snake-like monster when I first explained it to you."

"Yes, well, you say a lot of things...like that time in bed-"

"Joseph, we don't want to hear about your failed love life."

"Wait...failed love life?" M/n paused, actually whipping his head around to stare down at the blond male from his position on the floor. "What are you implying about my performance in bed, Caesar?"

"I think you should focus less on what you've done in bed, and far more on the three in front of you."

"Fine, we're talking about this later. I mean, I could classify myself as a god of lust‌." With a shake of his head, the god looked back towards his opponents. He was spending too much time with Joseph.

"In marriage counsel, right?"

"Yeah, sure, why not...wait...I'm not agreeing to that...we aren't even married!" He could tell that Joseph had placed a hand on the center of his chest, face changing to complete shock, but he refused to look back again. "Now, shut up for once in your short mortal life, so I can actually focus on the matter at hand."

"Hey, that means you only get to fuck me on-"

"Joseph, you're trying my patience."

"Didn't know you had any."

"...?" With an annoyed huff, M/n ignored him, instead watching how Wamuu observed his stand. If the pillar men were annoyed by their constant bickering they weren't showing it, so banter likely wouldn't get you that far in this fight, but as long as he gave you even a second to respond or let you speak then it would be enough. You just needed time. As an immortal, playing the clock should be easy.

"This being...it has your scent."

"Why, of course it does. It is mine, after all."

"It's more than yours. It's a part of you."

"How observant. I wonder...how'd you figure it out?" With a sarcastic drawl to his words, the god felt his ichor flow more clearly than usual, and his eyes were cycling through his different layers of vision. One through seven, then back to one, yet all of them were still present no matter what. His body seemed to have realized the threat, being more than eager to prepare for a brawl. His gaze only went to Kars when he crossed his arms, openly laughing, though at your words or something else wasn't clear.

"We are confident you can handle this, Wamuu. We will return to the surface before the sun rises."

"And what makes you think I'll allow that?" The god took a step forward, his stand shifting to act as a shield, and he grinned to highlight the fangs he held. "Besides, you only leave one warrior to stop me? I've slain entire armies before. This doesn't intimidate me."

"And I have slain creatures far faster and larger than you and your familiar. I care not that you're a god, and neither do my masters."

"Really now? You'll risk your life on that being my top speed? Impressive, but ultimately a childish action to take. Do you underestimate all of your opponents or merely the ones who wear both the title of god and god slayer? Best change your tune or it may be the last you sing, songbird." M/n felt his old southern accent become more prominent as he flashed the pillar man a smirk, yet strangely, the reminder of his upbringing only served as a comfort.

"Hm, I don't sing, and you seem to think I care if you're indeed a god. However, there is nothing, not you, not your familiar, or your forever lover, that will stop me and my masters from our goal. I, Wamuu, will either die this day, or stop you in your tracks."

"Forever, lover...? What the hell does that even mean? I just said we weren't married. Ugh, never mind, that isn't important right now."

"We're not married?!?" Joseph gasped, one of his hands moving to rest on his chest fast enough to make an audible noise, and the sound that escaped his lips seemed to resemble a pained whine. "I can't believe you would say that in front of me!"

"Shut up, Joseph." The god hissed out, his body moved away from the group to circle around Wamuu's still form. If Joseph could just stay silent, then M/n could focus purely on the fight at hand. "So, are you waiting for an invitation to make the first move, or is this a divinity before mortality situation?"

"Hardly. I'm seeing what you offer for a god, and quite frankly, your servants are not that impressive."

"Hm, then I guess it's a good thing I keep them out of fondness and care rather than mere usefulness. Though, if I'm being completely honest with you, I find it far easier to gauge an opponent when...Oh, I don't know, the fight actually starts. So, either you move, or I'll just go after your masters to see if they provide me with a challenge."

"Hold on, don't I get a say in this?"

"No, you don't, Joseph." M/n spoke, not even looking back as he adjusted his weight. Unlike Wamuu, he was refraining from entering a position that even resembled a fighting stance. No, he wanted the other to make the first move.

"If you continue to threaten my masters, but don't have any intent to do so, I'll take my leave. Though I will say that your hesitation to strike first and instead wait for the enemy is admirable."

"...well, if you'll leave unless I attack or show the intent to attack your masters...then I guess I have to attack." The god lunged forward at that, striking at the male's head with a kick, feeling his true strength flare beneath his skin. He had needed to use none of his true strength when handling Santana before they talked, yet he had a feeling that he shouldn't even try to downplay himself with Wamuu. Yet all Wamuu did was almost fold in on himself, causing you to simply go past, or rather through him, and your strike hit the ground. A massive dent was left behind, shaking the very foundations of the caverns as he spun around to face the pillar man who fixed himself. "You know, I was really hoping you'd block that attack. Shame."

"The impact you left...you're far stronger and sturdier than you first appear."

"Hm, well, I love to surprise people."

"Either way, a direct move like that is easy to counter, but it was a good attempt nonetheless."

"You haven't given me much of a reason to take this seriously, now have you?" He rolled his shoulders, eyes trailing over the male's flesh, and he couldn't stop the grin that formed. "I'll be serious when you give me a proper reason to."

"Is that a challenge to a duel?"

"Could it be considered anything else? I haven't had a proper fight in a while, so maybe I've forgotten the words...or maybe they've changed too much over the eons. But yes, I certainly desire a duel, especially if that's my only ticket to stopping your masters."

"So be it." The pillar man adjusted himself, eyes narrowing at the god. He almost felt as if he was being judged. "But first, let's lay down some rules; this is to be a one-on-one fight. No outside help, no chimeras, no tricks, just you and me."

"Sounds good. My...chimera will merely stay to make sure my allies don't get hurt in case of any...collateral damages. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Absolutely. Let your chimera be the Colosseum walls that hold us and let us be two roman gladiators. Though if this will be a battle to the death...that depends on you."

"A battle to the death? Well, that wouldn't be fair to you. Only one of us can actually die." It was true, if Wamuu wasn't attacking Narcissistic Cannibal, then it wouldn't be possible for him to die here. While the god wasn't afraid to fight to the death, Wamuu was showing him a rather honorable side...and he hated breaking a code of honor.

"So, you intend to kill me as well? Hm, then so be it. I won't hold back in this."

"...understood. Make the first move. I hate waiting." Wamuu suddenly charged towards M/n, the ground beneath his heels shattered at the raw force as M/n tilted his head to watch the sight. He felt the hair on his skin twitch at the sudden change in the air pressure, feeling a sudden shift as the air moved to wrap and coil around the pillar man like a cyclone. His movements were constantly changing. Instead of a straight change, he was going for a zig-zag motion, one arm covering his chest in a defensive motion while his other was prepared to strike. You imagined he'd bring it down in a chop motion. Right before he could reach the god, he seemed to vanish in a flash, and a snicker sounded from behind the pillar man, revealing the god was now standing in the shattered location Wamuu had been standing. "Don't look so surprised. I told you not to judge my speed on that earlier action, didn't I? You couldn't outpace me if you tried."

“You believe I could not outpace you...? Hmph, your confidence will one day be your greatest regret.” There was the sound of bones cracking and breaking, causing you to raise an eyebrow as his arms folded in on themselves. The voices in your head began to whisper and hiss in confusion at this attack. His body suddenly moved in sync with his arms, twisting and turning, almost like those dreidels your mother used to keep. In only a few seconds, his body was beyond recognition, then with a series of bones shattering, he suddenly spun back into perfect form. A vortex was forming. M/n could remember a time as mortal when he felt the same. In a few seconds, he knew he was going to be dragged, alongside the rubble, into this vortex...into an attack by Wamuu. From the looks of it, he planned on embedding a finger into your chest.

"You know, no one that's ever said that kind of thing has outlived me." There were several factors at play in every action. Barely being moved by said vortex, at most he only moved an inch forward. He hummed before jumping back several feet. It seemed as if the air Wamuu had sent M/n's way had suddenly gone stagnate. The god mentally raised an eyebrow before realizing what had happened. "I've already fought someone that claimed to be the embodiment of wind and storm, yet your winds lack the hurricanes he created with each breath. Now, what's your next move? I'm quite curious to see if you can actually land a hit on me when I'm not saving someone defenseless."

"You...how did you cease the airflow...?" Wamuu came to a stop, openly glaring at you, as his muscles tensed up at the sudden cease in his attack. Raising a hand, he pointed at you, earning a confused hum from the god. “My power relies on using my body to twist, turn, and finally unwind at speeds harsh enough to create gusts of wind. What physicality did you use?”

"...a side effect of my existence and abilities is a moment where the air stagnates when it comes in contact with me. I didn't even realize it would ruin your attack. Fine then, I won't let it happen again." His form shifted, starting to quickly lose weight as the tar-like markings spread further up his arms to become a darker stain. He grinned as crimson markings formed on his cheeks, glowing in the dim lighting of the caverns, and the air regained its flow. His eyes, now at their brightest shade of gold, landed on Wamuu. "My apologies. It's been a while since I've gotten the chance to use more than a sliver of my strength in a fight. Like I said; I won't let it happen again."

In a single sweeping motion, Joseph gestured towards M/n, watching the others stare in shock at the semi-perfect form of the god. “Take a good look, lads! That’s the sorta-kinda-maybe true form of M/n!”

"That...that's...only a glimpse of M/n's true power we neglected to see all those years ago..." Speedwagon gulped, obvious shock on his face as he seemed frozen at the transformation. While it wasn't a full transformation, or at least according to Joseph, it wasn't a full transformation, he was still bewildered at this more wild state.

“I care not for what M/n truly is, so long as he defeats the Pillar Man! If he must use this, then so be it!” Caesar snapped, though even as he moved to shield Mark, not aware of Narcissistic Cannibal coiling around them, his expression was stuck in a look that bordered on horror. While the snake-like stand let out a soft, almost distressed hiss at his master's state.

…the god started to laugh.

You did not succeed; I am not a monster.

But I could be.

The air began to flicker and ripple as M/n swayed while howling with laughter, his form openly dancing between his current state to a figure wearing a massive skull. Finally, he went silent. For a moment, no one dared to even open their mouth, opening his hands to have each black talon extend to their full length, flashing Wamuu another grin that only a devil could find solace in. Those markings on his face glowing even brighter than they had been a few seconds ago. "Oh man, I didn't even realize what rush of emotions this form would bring during an actual fight, and I'm only partially transformed! Ah...sorry about that. I may not be the most stable at the moment, but I'm more than ready to dance with you! So let's fucking party!"

"Now, hold on for just a second..." Joseph's smile practically wilted as he watched M/n sway on the balls of his heels with his lips still curled into that insane grin. His only time experiencing this form, or rather M/n's complete transformation, had been during sex. In fact, he remembered how M/n had seemed almost emotionless for a split second before taking a deep breath to steady himself. Seeing it like this, no, seeing M/n acting so wild and out of character was...Joseph wasn't a fan of this behavior.

"Hm, quite an intriguing transformation you have. Nonetheless, I've seen many mortal men morph themselves into beasts that were beyond reason or care. Warlocks, vampires, and even hamon users alike rendered themselves into beasts that cast everything aside, including both their humanity and sanity alike...this will be no different. So prepare yourself, God of Insanity, Lord of all Serpents, M/n! I, Wamuu, will be the one to put you out of your mind!" At that Wamuu seamlessly slid into another fighting position, yet you couldn't bring yourself to fully focus on him at the moment. All of those references to similar beings to yourself, things that had...vampires, hamon users, and apparently warlocks who had rejected humanity and sanity...how silly. But is that not what Dio had done? Reject and cast aside his humanity for power that he thought akin to your own? He cast all of it away. In the end, it killed Jonathan. Now, decades later, here you are, with one of his descendants at your side. The irony is rough...cutting into you and then burning like a branding iron to the chest.

…doesn't it, N/n? I mean, you would know all about that sensation, right?

"...God of Insanity and Lord of all Serpents...? What a title you've bestowed upon me, oh honorable Wamuu, had you not been in clear servitude of others, I would wish nothing more than to add you to my ranks! So, champion of Kars and Esidisi, warrior who honors the likes of Athena and Ares before him, let this battle begin anew! Had I lost my sanity completely, I'd have drawn my weapon, but my claws will suffice for this battle, certainly sharp enough. But to put me out of my mind...? I can't tell if you mean to be a slayer of divinity, or to bring me to my true form completely so I may fully relate to that title you give so willingly. Either is...futile. I will admit to that at least. Your abilities, while already proving themselves to be worth any legends written, are not enough to strike a god down. As for insanity, there is nothing you can do that will cloud my mind more than my blood, so, songbird, let's see where this tune ends." A snicker escapes his lips, something softer yet still feral. His heel taps as his position sinks. He's moving lower to the ground, like a beast about to strike. He's still swaying. "I so hate to see a tune die before the symphony can be completed, but I love the venom it produces. I wanna hear this tune till the light fades from the warrior's eyes. Maybe you can even honor the likes of Achilles here. I'm more set in the favor of Thanatos and Apollo myself. So, sing noble warrior in this dance of ours. A masquerade is forming and they can't wait to see what you provide us all!"

Wamuu remained silent, only dropping into a position that resembled a hunting crouch, less of the animal's side and instead a hunter tracking his prey across the horizon. He openly examined the god, scanning him, before his movements became a burst. His speed is inhuman. It was only heightened by the noise, as if the very atmosphere was howling with him. The wind was picking up gashes appearing in the stone and ground alongside the shattered points where Wamuu was leaving footprints. Such an attack would be capable of peeling the skin from flesh like a hunter's prized carving knife. That wind coiled and danced over Wamuu's frame, though it was a far cry from that vortex from earlier. Now it cuts into the air as a whirlwind. Sharp enough to even eviscerate the atmosphere. Still, the god lifted a hand, pulling back and watching the ichor drip down his fingertips before the gashes quickly healed.

"Oh...oh...oh...! Now, this is fun~! Are you going to use those winds to slice me to ribbons? Flay me alive? Disembowel me?" His forked tongue flicked out of his mouth with the words he hissed. Eyes sparking in the dim lighting as his pupils became little more than pinpricks, with even the whites of his eyes having gained a faint gold tint. With a laugh, changing in pitch, M/n charged at Wamuu. His speed made him completely vanish, only the deep furrows in the ground signifying the god was moving rather than simply teleporting, and while Wamuu sounded of the atmosphere M/n carried the crack of a whip in his all movements. "Oh, come on then, you better be willing to drag this out. If I'm gonna be hurt here, I want to feel each drop of ichor leave my veins!"

Their clash began in an almost sonic boom of energy, a sudden gust of air as all the wind around Wamuu's form was quickly expelled as contact was made, with messy pink wisps mingling with the smoke. The cyclone that moved around them lashed out, tearing apart immediate dust and rubble, even tearing up large tiles and flinging them backwards. The mortals were forced to crouch and pray they wouldn't be damaged by the fallout. After effects of such an attack on the god, however, were easily made apparent as the immortal swayed, never moving away from their clash, as his heels dug into the stones. His whirlwind had ripped away the thick black scales that covered his forearms, revealing pale gray skin underneath the protective layers, as well as messy splotches and thin, borderline silky trails of ichor on the male's form. Their arms were locked, gazes interwoven, and their faces were mere inches away from each other. M/n could feel each puff of breath trace over his cheeks.

"Impressive! No mortal has ever recovered so quickly, let alone resisted the power of my Razor Wind Aura. You truly are a worthy opponent! This had skinned dozens of Roman Legionaries alive, yet your forearms are all that are scathed..."

"...hah...hah...hah..." The god was panting, not out of exhaustion, but almost out of pleasure. His eyes darted wildly between Wamuu's gaze to the trails of ichor running down his frame. With each exhale the wisps of pink smoke were becoming more solid and defined, coiling up past the sides of M/n's face and forming into almost heart-like shapes, while the god shivered as he adjusted himself. Broken and torn scales falling alongside ichor to the ground as new ones formed till his arms were fully healed. "You shattered my scales...? Impressive, delightfully so, I can only wonder if you'd break the layer in my last state. Could you? Ugh, just the mere idea of it is making me shiver and shudder. They're howling for more and more. I can't wait for them to hear the next refrain before the chorus begins. This won’t end well, but I don't want it to stop! That's what this is, isn't it? Too bad I learned my lesson from the moment I traced Santana's skin. With my scales, you can't absorb me even if you tried! This is...this is almost orgasmic...I haven't fought a warrior of your...haven't even seen a warrior like you in eons! My ichor's howling for more! I can't wait any longer!"

A sharp crack filled the air, soon followed by several softer cracks, quickly becoming apparent that the cracking was from the bones in Wamuu's arms as M/n's claws sank deep into his flesh. Locking them together. A true spat between cobras. The god took a slight step, actually pushing the pillar man back as his heels dug into the ground.

"Can you even outmatch a single aspect of myself, oh honorable Wamuu?"

Before the god could spit out another venomous remark, Wamuu's head collided with his own, the force of impact sending a splash of ichor across the floor, and a sickening crack joined the symphony. For a second the mad god was stunned...the pillar man had actually head-butted him! How fun! To the others the cave-in of the god's skull was apparent, even if the sounds of it regenerating were starting up the moment his head snapped back from the blow, this clearly wasn't the first time Wamuu had used this tactic on an opponent...yet, it would've been naïve to expect a god who was to represent serpents to ever loosen his grip. Instead, his claws dug in deeper, bones were shattering beneath the muscles that lined Wamuu's arms, and M/n used that point to remain standing. His eyes had instinctively closed at the blow, but the moment he tried to open them he was rendered blind, something sharp ripping his eyes and sockets to nothing but ruined flesh and pulp. The answer came in the faint, yet familiar, jingle of Wamuu's bladed headdress as even more gashes formed over the god's face. These blades were sharp enough to cut through his scales and hardened skin with ease...or it was easy as they currently were.

"...!" M/n simply adjusted himself, his face changing expressions till it settled back on that insane grin, thick molten gold coating the entirety of his face, making him seem akin to a painting. His grip tightened, ‌form flickering back and forth, and then it settled on the god's true form. The white and red of the massive stained skull filled the space, his outfit morphing and rippled till it settled on something far different from the jeans and tank he had been wearing. A soft, wordless whisper seemed to fill the air as those spinal braids clicked against each other. Black scales reformed and had almost completely covered every available segment of the god's pale skin. He looked akin to a truly monstrous god. The muzzle of the skull shifted, creaking as it opened, and a thick haze of pink smog floated around the muzzle. "Clever trick. Not what I expected from a man of honor, given how most would claim a blow to the face, especially to blind someone, is dishonorable. What's next; you'll aim below the belt? No matter, blindness wouldn't stop me in any form, and I would hate to disappoint you. Let's keep going now that I don't have any sanity left!"

The god slammed his heel into Wamuu's stomach. Their height was closer than it had been, without even including the heels he wore, but he was quick to follow suit with his other leg. Using that position to force Wamuu's arms out straight, pulling them hard enough for the pillar man's joints to groan in protest, the spinal braids were quickly wrapped around his wrists to better entrap him.

"Let's see who breaks first!"

The sounds of flesh being warped filled the air as Wamuu's head twisted clockwise by the neck, which caused the flesh below his chin to bulge and churn rapidly, like clay in a potter's hands. Wamuu was winding up like he had before, only this time, such an attack was isolated from the rest of his body. This was coming from his head alone...which meant that it would unwind in another gust of wind. Only now, the attack would be combined with those deadly blade extensions attached to that headdress. Even as they merely swayed and danced around his face, they clicked and chimed, drawing the god's attention, yet the strongest smell on them wasn't ichor. No, they carried the scent of thousands, if not millions, of dead warriors. These weapons had been created in Rome, so they seemed to have a body count separate from their user.

Then...he unwound again.

A miniature tornado of sharpened wind, speeds that could rival a hurricane, shattered the muzzle of the skull and the god blinked at the lack of sensation in his arms. It seemed as if Wamuu had removed them in the strike; the braids snapping as he darted away from M/n. The god swayed, his skull shattered at the muzzle, only one eye socket not having that ever-present darkness, revealing a single gold pupil staring back at him. Alongside the wounds regenerating, it was easy to note that the skull, spinal braids, and torn segments of his fabric were reforming. The whispers became quicker and quicker, still wordless and impossible to note, but more frantic.

"An intriguing scent...but when combined with your insanity, it is no less than an intoxicating aroma that is infuriating to the soul. A chemical weapon in the right hands, and a toxin that serves to cloud the mind, but it appears to have its benefits." Using his own hands, Wamuu ripped his arms off and exfoliated the ichor into his body, as if a fine oil that was being used in some foreign ritual. "The regenerative properties will prove useful, albeit tasting far too sweet for my own tastes."

"Sangue e ossa...sangue e ossa...Non importa quanto forte faccio le mie squame trovi ancora i segmenti delle mie articolazioni e li mi miri a mente. Che furbo! Che fastidioso! Voglio inchiodarti e divorarti...Mi serve la mia arma. Mi serve la mia arma. Non piangere per me...No, hai ragione. Posso vincerlo senza quello strumento." M/n shook his head. The god's expression changed before that grin reformed, and he snapped his fingers before starting to circle Wamuu again. The skull regrew with each step till he was back to having his face fully hidden. "You'll have to be careful with my ichor, songbird. Too much will put your brain in the same state as my own. Can't have that, now can we? Let's keep fighting! I mean, you can't keep me down for very long, but I am starting to get bored. A terrible thing. Can you remedy it?"

“Hmph, I only grow tired of your style of fighting. You wait, dodge, shift, take all my strikes and then laugh in a confidence of little more than pure insanity. You're degenerating yourself into something that rejects what little humanity, decency, and strategy you have left, all in favor of an intoxicating corruption of ichor and ambrosia combined. This whole time I held back because a true, honorable warrior bears both clarity and understanding. It is something that the truest of warriors I have fought have always had; for the Romans: Centurions, Praetorians, Legates, and Gladiators. For the Greeks: Hoplites, Spartans, Amazons, even their Athenian cousins. And as far south and east as Persia; Sparabaras, and the legendary Immortals. Even if it was just a few from each, or tens of thousands, none would ever have rejected their clarity for your fighting style. It is nothing more than a war of attrition. The one of waiting pathetically for the other, and I had thought that humanity would have outgrown it…Apparently not, Mad-God. You’re far more akin to the beasts and monsters I’ve slain in the past. I will have you know I will not stand here and play along with your pathetic game. You will either strike as well as I on even grounds, or this fight will be over.” He crushed the severed limbs with his bare hands, what ichor remained coating his palms. He didn't absorb or taste a single drop. No longer did he form a fighting position, instead he had analyzed your strategy like he analyzed what made you. All your tactics were no different from the intoxicating sweetness of your ichor, and like your ichor, it wasn't a taste he favored.

No, in all of his words, Wamuu spoke with an unwavering, unyielding commitment to his honor and strive. In a way, one could call that his battle tendency. An unstoppable, unbreakable force that continued to see him forward and clearly set him aside from the other pillar men. Santana would follow strength and conviction. A servant or thrall was his best place. Esidisi acted as an unknown, yet his place was near and dear to Kars if the way both Wamuu and Santana spoke of him was any indication. Kars acted as the primordial leader of these men, with a goal beyond your current range...but Wamuu? He was only honor bound. A warrior of all codes and traditions manifested in this form. Sturdy as a mountain, yet as devastating as the greatest of storms. No, it was clear that Wamuu wasn't one to merely go along with this style of fighting. He wouldn't push the boulder up the hill each time it rolled down again...there were no gods that could force him on that path. You couldn't play the game you mastered with Ajamu.

"This isn't...well..." Speedwagon mumbled, eyes locked on the god's last form, unable to even look away from the being of pure power that stood before them. “This...This is what I’ve felt was amiss in the very confounds of my soul. It’s this being. This form. This masquerade that’s revealed itself…It’s the true form of what I...what Jonathon…what Dio…”

“Uncle Speedwagon, now’s not the time for another heart attack, you can wait a few more decades, can’t you???” Joseph cut him off, feeling that Speedwagon's usual panicking was just causing intense babbling and raving. “Honestly, with panicking like that, I can see why you and M/n got along so well!”

"Mad-god...? Degenerating myself...? I see how it is. You really have a point. I'm so used to opponents that lack honor, that have no real fighting experience and just throw their weight around...it seems I forgot how to play. I won't make that mistake again. Thank you, oh honorable Wamuu, for correcting my shameful behavior." The god vanished, reappearing on one of the broken pillars in a sitting position. In one clawed hand was Wamuu's headdress. Using his claws, he picked each metal blade free, crushing them between his talons, and letting the dust be blown away. "When I fought the embodiment of the storm, I wasn't allowed to merely sit and wait for his weakness to become apparent. I had to break him apart piece by piece. To win a war...well, I'm only aiming for a battle at the moment, so I'll refrain from that. But let me declaw you...that way, this fight will actually be of value for the both of us."

Wamuu was then slammed back, a massive gash going from his center down to his left hip. Speedwagon flinched, remembering how M/n had done the same to Dio over fifty years ago. The god absentmindedly smeared the blood over his claw tips. Perhaps his expression would read as bored if not for the skull, but then he laughed again.

"You want me to take this seriously? To not play a slow war? You seem to forget things after your slumber, not that I fault you for it. I remember how my own left me quiet and empty for what felt like years. No, I said; give me a reason to take this seriously. You wanting to throw the match and leave is not enough to win my approval. It only marks you as someone who isn't willing to put enough work in." He tossed the headdress, or what remained of it, away from him. Another gash appeared as the god was now laying on one of the support beams that ran overhead, covering Wamuu from both shoulders and ripping his neck open. "All you mortals want me to do is take this seriously, as if you'd actually last a fight with me in those conditions. I swore to bring you three in alive, for fuck's sake, yet here you are. Wanting a serious fight, bah, as if you know what that entails. As if I'm not trying my fucking hardest to avoid killing you with each move I make. You're too slow. Too open. You're driving me insane because it would be so easy! Because I hate killing people that don't deserve it! YOU DON'T DESERVE IT! YOU KNOW WHAT...Fine, you want this to be serious...then I'll fucking show you serious!"

He slammed back down, opening his palm. A dark crimson trident appeared, twirling it in one hand as the god adjusted himself. The position of a wild animal being replaced by a master of the weapon he held.

"They said it was the calm that killed the storm, didn't they?"

The voices howled, and the blade glowed in the lighting, almost as if human figures were reflected in the shine, and the god took a trained stance with a fluidity that made some of Wamuu's own moves seem stiff in comparison.

“OKAY, OKAY, OKAY! I think I’ve seen enough of this!” Joseph practically nailed the snake-like beast coiled around them, leaping over the invisible form of Narcissistic Cannibal with little effort, running towards the duo. To the god, viscous and snarling, alongside the warrior, now wounded and gagging on his own fresh blood as if it were oil ready to burn. The human didn't cease his sprint, not even when the snake tried to pull him back, claws merely tearing off his sweater. “Sorry, snake boy! I can’t let you do that!”

No, it didn't stop there, certainly not when the god was bound to strike the wounded Wamuu…no, it didn't even phase him. Joseph leapt in front of the downed warrior, the god's trident stopping inches from his face, causing his hair to ruffle in the breeze. “Woah there, big boy! I think you’ve gone a little bit too far this time.”

"Human...get back..." Wamuu's desperate gagging echoed as he tried to shout for the human to leave their fight, yet all he did was hack as darkened blood ran down the sides of his mouth and the gash in his throat. "Get back...behind the snake!"

“Jojo, what do you think you’re doing?!” Speedwagon cried out, shivering at the sight of the human openly blocking the pillar man from God's wrath.

“Jojo, you idiot, get out of the way!” Caesar moved to shield Mark from a potential clash, his eyes alight with a mix of fear and anger at the trickster's interference.

"....................Jonathan…?" A clang filled the cavern as the god let the trident fall from his hands, clattering before lying still as he took a shaky step back. The muzzle of the skull opened, but not to speak or snarl, instead the god seemed to pant. As if holding back a panic attack. Another step. Then another. He was backing away from Joseph as if all the fight had suddenly drained from him.

'That's the hard part with us gods, right N/n? No one can tell the difference between our pleasure and wrath. Pick that weapon back up. So you can't complete one promise. There are still two others to save, and show that boy what being a god's favored means in the act of defiance. He shouldn't hold his head so high.'

"...I....I...." The god's gaze, not that anyone could properly see his eyes, had landed on Wamuu's shaking form. He felt sick. Why the fuck had he done that? What was the point of that? An eagerness for bloodshed? A desire to win, no matter what? Why had he done that? Why had he...why had he hurt someone like how Ajamu hurt him all those years ago? Was this the same as him, using his words to get Bluford to fight him? His eyes, E/c instead of gold, watered under the skull. His stand whined. Why...why couldn't he remember what exactly he had said or done just now? He remembered...transforming to his god form...then it was just Joseph's voice calling to him...his form shivered.

'You were supposed to be better, right? Well, N/n, I don't think you've ever been better than you were mere moments ago.'

The god held back a wail.

Now, they say that this is the reason people cry at stories; there isn't a single character in a story that can help themselves. Their fate had already staked its claim on them from the moment the story was written.

Ophelia was dead from the very beginning.

She was written to be.

So imagine this;

You pull the car over. Someone's waiting for you. You're going to die, unloved and unmourned, and you play along with these plans because it was written. You've memorized it. It's all you know. Everyone plays along.

Characters are merely ghosts in a story that haunt each page.

Your actions weren't received with screams, silenced by rage, shown contempt, or the hold of a loved one, instead, by the sudden push and pull of something inside your abdomen. The skull tilted slowly, allowing a front-row seat so all could watch a slick crescent-shaped blade tear through flesh and bone with a chainsaw-like purr. It cut upwards before you could make a sound, before you could take another weak breath, and to your shoulder the blade cut. Your body severed and forced away from your shoulder...yet before anything could hit the ground, you were moved to the group that you stand was supposed to be guarding. Had it moved you? Similar to how it allowed Joseph to 'escape' its grasp? All to help you...a kindness you didn't even deserve. Still, you wondered what, or rather who, had attacked you in the first place, then you were met with the voice of Kars.

“Whilst you couldn't have possibly hoped to defeat a god, you put up a fair fight to the best of your abilities, Wamuu, but one criticism is that you seem to have forgotten the Roman legends of Saturn, Jupiter, and the rest of the pantheon they worshiped. Gods don't play fair, or honorably, and go all in with everything they have, even to the dismay of mere mortals and beings like us." Kars raised his arm, licking the blood off the blade that sprouted from his arms, humming softly as he licked it clean revealing a bright glow. "For a God of insanity, your blood is pure, unbridled sweetness, like the warmest, kindest sugars imaginable.”

Forcing his wounds close to the best of his abilities, Wamuu moved to his lords, sinking down to a kneeling position in front of Kars and Esidisi. It seemed as if he was accepting his failure to not even match the god and becoming so wounded. “Forgive me, my masters. I have misunderstood and underestimated my opponent.”

Joseph, who remained between the pillar men almost as if they had forgotten about him, shrugged at the warrior's statement. "To be fair...not even I expected him to go...off his rocker like that. I mean, I only experienced that form in bed, and he didn't go all psycho-murderer on me...so I assumed he wouldn't on you...Then again, I never saw him fight anyone in that form..."

"Human," Joseph jolted, almost yelping, as Kars suddenly focused his attention on the hamon user. “You stopped the god from vanquishing our most loyal servant, Wamuu. For an action so brave, and contradicting even for a member of the Hamon Tribe, you’re commendable. And as for that, I bestow upon you a gift from my authority.”

“Oh, goody! I always wanted a surprise from three tall, meaty, male strippers! Will I perhaps get a private dance? I’d ask M/n but…He’s not too well at the moment, and he doesn’t even prefer that kind of position…I bet he’s an awful dancer, too.” Beneath the skull, M/n blinked at the statement. For a moment, it cuts through your panic attack. Joseph's existence...could actually overwrite even the divine's mental instability. How like Joseph. How impressive.

"So long as you live, any family that you currently have or collect will not be harmed in our quest for the Red Stone of Aja. Both before and after. But this does not extend to you, as you yourself are a member of the hamon tribe and a viable threat to us."

"I am both...absolutely disappointed and extremely grateful on a near cosmic scale at this reward."

M/n twitched at that statement, feeling that same complicated rush of emotions as Joseph in that moment, as his eyes darted towards Speedwagon and Caesar. According to Kars's logic, only Speedwagon would be unharmed in the grand scheme of things. A small victory, but one that he would take. His claws twitched, hands shaking, and his gaze darted towards La cacciatrice dei diavoli divini resting on the floor. Catching the light in a way that made it sparkle like crystalized blood. Dark red...if you had struck Joseph down, it wouldn't even look that different.

A cursed blade.

A cursed god.

A monster.

You were...you would've...what had you attempted? You felt like you were going to throw up. Forcing yourself up to your feet, feeling the strange weirdness of your body having reconnected, you adjusted your position.

"..." Opening your palm, you allowed the cursed blade to go flying into your hand. All it took was a thought for it to vanish, and you relaxed the moment it was gone. At least you couldn't use that to hurt anyone. The jaws of the skull snapped closed with a solid click, not allowing even a glimpse into the maw. Not that the darkness would allow it. His stand hissed, worry coloring the noise, as it shifted to brush its muzzle against his frame. Why was it so worried for you? You were the one that fucked everything up yet again.

'Like always.'

Ajamu was always right about you.

…wasn't he?

I don't remember

(The day's gone.)

What do we look like?

(The night's dawn.)

At that, the pillar men turned to leave, not even Wamuu having a complaint, their business here seeming to have ended the moment Kars gave his 'gift' to Joseph. Not that you would dare complain about such a small, yet meaningful, reward. But then Joseph once again cleared his throat. Because where would you all be in a world where Joseph behaved himself?

"Hold your horses there, I never got to show you my ultra-secret technique that I've been working on...I didn't get to, seeing as how I was so-" Joseph looked back to the god, swaying slightly as if he'd fall back on the floor at any second, clearly not caring about the severe mental state or pure psychological agony that tangling and intertwining with his...more...hopeless mindless. No, he didn't care as he pointed at you again, screaming at the top of his lungs like a madman raving about you being a boy toy whilst cleaning his blade from a psychotic killing spree through the streets of London. "RUDELY INTERRUPTED BY A GOD WHO LOOKS LIKE HE'S ABOUT TO FALL OVER AND HIS NARCISSISTIC SNAKE PET!"

M/n flinched, the skull remaining shut as the muzzle pointed down towards the ground. For now, the god was clearly mortified with his behavior, even if he couldn't remember it, and seemed keen on staying quiet. His stand was not quite the same beast. While it wouldn't attack any of them, at least not yet, it was quick to open its maw and hiss at Joseph, though given that he wasn't a stand user the male didn't react. So the beast swayed its tail back and forth, causing a sharp ring of the many bells tied to the end. The stand shifted, massive hand wrapping around the god's waist as it allowed the rest of its form to move in a way that covered their allies. It may not be happy with this behavior of such a loud mortal, but not even their shared connection had been enough for Narcissistic Cannibal to wake up his master, so he was thankful. He would keep what belonged to his master safe, no matter what. If they thought his master's god form was too much, that he wasn't playing by the same rules, then they'd learn that even while driven mad, his master had been holding back. Those attacks...? Those were nothing compared to what Ajamu could do. Narcissistic Cannibal could be labeled something with a bias, but he knew his master was far stronger than Ajamu had been in all his forms, so his master had been holding back. There had been a reason he had been enraged by Wamuu telling him to take it seriously because he was still holding back in those attacks...destroying that headdress had been an intimidation tactic in hopes he wouldn't have to hurt someone.

…they didn't even realize how easy it would've been for him to kill all of them.

It was harder to hold back in madness.

Yet his master had thought of what people deserved, of promises made between lord and servant, and with a deep love he had been willing to risk injury all so he could avoid staining his talons in blood. Master had been holding back...but he was a different beast from the master he loved so deeply. He regretted killings he had no control of, the idea of harming innocents, a feeling that made something pang in his very creation, but the only human he loved was his master.

If he attacked them, he'd regret it, but he'd kill them all without so much as a tear to shed.

He wouldn't hold back like his master did.

I have so many questions about the migration of salmon. I wonder what it must feel like.

A kind of almost religious fervor?

A kind of fear?

Or just another obligation because of your own body?

Is it akin to finding your home or losing your mind?

Do they even know where they're going? Do they realize they won't be coming back? We've found that even after generations of landlocked life salmon can still navigate by magnetic field.

Do fish experience longing?

Do they celebrate the familiar routes of their rivers?

Do they recognize the same instinctive pull in one another?

It's impossible to imagine they can't tell they're dying.

Maybe it's like falling apart, being laid bare before the world at large, illuminated inside and out and finally known, the way we were always meant to be known.

Maybe it's like silence?

When the trees get to drink their bodies at last, I wonder; do they taste the ocean?

Speedwagon, still visibly shaking from the previously established events, quickly moved behind Joseph, because one of them needed to act with common sense. Grabbing at the male's shoulder, he tried and failed to pull Joseph back. “Joseph, don’t be ridiculous! We’re lucky enough to get out of this without our lives, let alone without M/n going catatonic!”

You had to admit you deserved that, not that it stopped Joseph.

"Not to worry, Uncle Speedwagon. Trust me on this, I've got a new, secret, ultimate technique I’ve been working so hard on~!" Despite Speedwagon backing off and making no more objections, you knew that 'trusting' Joseph always led to bad things.

Wamuu, despite having sustained a rather dire injury, went still, waiting for Joseph's little trick to unfold after a single gesture from Esidisi. "Oh, come now, Wamuu. The human saved your life. The least you could do is gift him your audience."

"Oh, thank you so much, grandma hair~!" Joseph cracked his knuckles as Esidisi delicately patted the sides of his hair, clearly viewing the statement as more of a compliment than a nickname or insult. “I’ll start off with a little introduction, seeing as how we appeared to skip that: I’m Joseph Joestar, but you can call me Jojo. I’m the guy who beat the shit out of your buddy Santana. Then the sniffling deity on the floor over there went ahead and tamed him. Right, M/n? Even got a lovely collar for him! I think he likes it, too.”

"Sniffling on the floor...?" M/n questioned, despite how far you had been dragged from your mind, the god couldn't help but tilt his head to the side at that comment. Had he not looked over to see M/n standing? But still...Joseph practically wrapped a hamon charged chain around your neck to drag you back to reality. Amazing, yet stupid all the same. Though...that was a good way to describe him.

Joseph waved both his arms circularly, fluid and flexible, like a magician using the power of sleight of hand, and in one hand he pulled forth a pair of...shiny metal balls connected by a string to a ring on his finger...balls. That was Joseph's plan. His amazing, secret technique that he'd been working so hard on...a pair of balls.

"I call this big, shiny pair of balls..." The moment he started talking, M/n ran a hand over the snout of the skull, acting as if it was his own face. He was not a fan of where this was going. “The hamon clacker volley!”

But...there was something about the clackers that almost...mesmerized you. It was all in the action he was doing, the movement and sound of the pair of shiny...clackers. The shine only made you want to take them. It was them banging together, a clash of smooth, unscathed metal like two spheres of perfect noise...the bang and ringing of metal...those vibrations sending shivers down your spine which each slam of kinetic energy. Only for the volley to clack more and more, adding to, or keeping, that perfect symphony alive. You could listen to that forever. Though as Wamuu merely squinted at the Joestar, seeming to be unamused, it made you feel like the odd one out.

“Oh, it just doesn’t end there! I start this little gig off by filling this pair of big, shiny balls with hamon! The best part is this: just watch!” His hand lit up with hamon, crackling in bright sparks, and the clackers became illuminated with the pulse of breath. The movements became faster as they became akin to miniature suns. A beat like a thousand church bells, the clicks of a thousand different keys...it was impossible to think clearly. Your pupils had become perfect circles instead of their usual slits, and had you not been wearing the skull, it would be clear that you were almost hypnotized by the sound.

Until Joseph tried to use them as a num-chuk and hit his head...with his own fucking weapon. Dropping both to the ground in an ugly clash of metal scraping against stone.

"Oh no!"

“Joseph! Quit mucking around like a hooligan, this is no time for jokes!” Speedwagon snapped, having lost any patience for the Joestar's behavior. M/n, on the other hand, slumped visibly at the loss of noise.

"You really think I'm just joking around, Uncle Speedwagon?" Joseph rubbed the point where the clackers had slammed into his skull with a soft wince, quickly grabbing the aforementioned pair of clackers off the ground. "Caesar, I'm happy that M/n managed to save Mark and set aside all his unnecessary douchebaggery for Germany, even if I'm not their biggest fan myself, and I'm happy that Wamuu is alive and...as well as he possibly needs to be. With this, no one has to mourn on this day."

That...that last remark...was so akin to Jonathan that you felt sick to your stomach. A saint standing above everyone...speaking with nothing but conviction, purity, and righteousness. Clearly, his heart was in every word. It was haunting. For a second you could just see Jonathan, then it was back to Joseph.

…and then he spoke again.

"Well, that, and I just can't stand egotistical, narcissistic, douchebag jerks like these! So, I'm gonna kick their asses for looking at MY ex-husband!"

"Why do I feel like that last comment was aimed at me?" M/n mumbled, his stand huffing at that remark, only for him to twitch at the last part. "Wait, ex-husband? We aren't even married."

"I heard that, M/n! We'll just settle this in court afterwards!" Once again, he grabbed the set of clackers, holding them rather delicately when compared to how he initially brandished them, all while wearing a rather smug look on his face. That smirk clearly told everyone that Joseph thought himself a genius for this plan. "Now then, I'm no expert in any way, shape, or form, when it comes to the clacker volley, but let's see what you think of them, anyway!"

Joseph clapped. The moment he moved his hands away, there was now a second set of clackers, earning a hum of appreciation from the god. More clackers meant more of that delightful sound. But while Joseph's skill in misdirection was both impressive in terms of and ambition...it was still doomed to fail against an opponent like Wamuu. Even without his memories of their fight, the god could tell that much with no difficulty.

Yet Wamuu, while still wounded, tensed up at the revelation of those clackers. Unlike M/n, or the others present, Wamuu clearly took the display seriously...for some reason, the grit of his teeth and slight expansion of the muscles were...familiar to the god. Had he done something similar when he was out of mind? Either way, he was clearly preparing for whatever Joseph would throw at him. A good mindset to have when facing a trickster. He was only growing in tension when Joseph's position became a slight squat, and this time with ease, he began flinging the clackers along his body seamlessly. His earlier struggle seemed far away. Strange. M/n couldn't remember Joseph practicing with these. He certainly would've remembered the sound, but he seemed to be a natural with them. The shine from the hamon charge running through them made them look like comets coiling around Joseph's form, a celestial body pulling everything into its orbit, and the god watched the universe dance against his frame. Yet Joseph still had that smug grin.

"It really pains me to say this, it truly does, but my hamon is nothing even remotely impressive...but that won't stop me from using these two pairs of heavy, shiny steel balls to kick you to the curb! Afterwards I could tell you a very similar story about two pair of balls moving and clacking against each other in a different sense~!" Okay...no matter how nice the light-show and sound was, or how impressive it may actually be to watch, M/n knew that final comment was definitely directed at your sexual encounter...you really didn't want to hear him tell an enemy about you two fucking.

'Is nothing sacred to him?' The god thought, glad he was still wearing the skull so his emotions weren't on display, his foot tapping in sync with the clicking of the clacker volley.

At that, Wamuu stopped tensing, shooting Joseph what could only be described as a thousand-yard stare. M/n had to stop himself from giggling. Judging by the look he received, he wasn't doing that well at suffocating the sound.

“Either way, this little gig I’ve got going should even my odds despite the pair of blue balls I’m developing!” He spun the volley in his left hand, picking up speed and illuminating the world in a blue light, the god perked at the clicking and color shift. “Pretty cool, right, Mr. Stonehenge?"

Wamuu didn't react to the nickname or light-show. As a matter of fact, he only seemed to grow more unamused the crazier Joseph's antics got, in direct contrast to the god who was snickering while his stand openly howled with laughter while ringing the bells on his tail. It seemed as if ichor loss was affecting the god.

“Suck on these!” Joseph called as he threw the metal clackers at Wamuu…only for the pillar man to simply shut his eyes and move his body to the side. His motions were relaxed, casual, even, and the god nearly fell over at how easy it was to dodge. It ended with the first set of clackers lodged in the pillar behind Wamuu. Joseph then flung the second set behind his back in preparation, almost acting as if each of his moves were done on purpose like some kind of ninja, though it still didn't phase Wamuu. No, the god may laugh, but Wamuu wasn't even remotely amused by such behavior. Merely rubbing the back of his head with a smirk. Joseph's face expressed pure frustration at the pillar man's reaction earning more laughter from the god.

Did he...honestly think that would work...? The pillar men surely didn't, as Esidisi chuckled before waving a hand. “Come, Wamuu.”

Kars' original demeanor, that fanged grin and spark of curiosity in his eyes, had faded to a far less intrigued and more disappointed mood. “This is just pathetic. Truly, humans have regressed in their intellect in the time we’ve been asleep.”

A sound stopped the pillar men, when they looked over the god was clapping, before nodding the skull at Joseph. Narcissistic Cannibal even stopped laughing to lift his head up and nod at Joseph while flashing the human a fanged grin. "Great job, Joseph! You're a trickster living up to the name of Loki and all those before and after! Keep going, I'm sure you can tempt even the devil himself into a trap with these techniques."

"Regressed, Lord Kars? Hmph…maybe so, or maybe this is merely the result of traveling alongside the God of Madness. He may suffer from too many venomous bites to think clearly anymore." Joseph only grew more frustrated at this, and the god's laughter wasn't helping anymore, rather it was making it far more insolent in the eyes of the pillar men. Especially since they referred to your bite as why Joseph was acting like this. Beneath the skull, the god's eyes snapped open at Wamuu's words.

"Jojo, quit acting like a damn idiot! You're going to get yourself killed, or kill M/n from laughter, which will be a relief on my damn ears! They're starting to bleed, goddamn it! Besides, all you did was throw a pair of steel balls at him!" Caesar was just as frustrated with this whole situation as Joseph, if not even more so. Joseph was annoyed by everyone's reactions and your insane laughter, and then Caesar was annoyed by Joseph's antics and your laughter. Good thing they couldn't hear Narcissistic Cannibal.

Speedwagon, however, was universally appalled by the situation at hand, gazing back and forth at Joseph and Wamuu in shock and awe. 'The horrible truth about this mess is that Jojo might actually be serious about these so-called antics! Now, if he were fighting a common gangster, he'd be fine...but these beings are beyond anything human...It's all so unorthodoxly insane and silly. I'm about to start weeping!'

“Why is no one taking my little metal balls seriously?! It certainly isn’t helping with how ANNOYING THAT LAUGH IS GETTING!” Wamuu turned away from Joseph, moving to join his masters before the trickster could finish talking. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going, big boy?! Get back here so I can kick your ass like a man!”

"Don't even try it, human." Wamuu stopped his tracks before turning his head to level a glare at the Joestar. Any interest or tension that he had shown beforehand was now replaced with pure annoyance. "You humans have lives that are short enough. Don't run headfirst into the shadow of death."

“SILENCE!” The sudden shout from Joseph didn't matter to any of the pillar men, but to the god...it actually stopped the laughing fit M/n had been stuck in because of ichor loss. But the very next thing he said earned both more giggling and his focus as he now wielded a third set of clackers in combination with the previous pair he had equipped. “If you’ve ever had spaghetti al nero di sepia, then you know it looks bad, but it’s delicious! You should taste my clacker balls BEFORE you judge them!”

Then, almost like a magician, the clackers vanished behind his hands. Earning a pair of gasps from both Caesar and Speedwagon, in a strange sort of unity, and a look of concern, or perhaps caution, mixed with curiosity, from Wamuu.

All of Caesar's thoughts led to a current of pure shock, akin to an air-raid siren going off in his skull.

'His balls...they disappeared!'

Though it was evident that he was, at the very least somewhat, impressed by Joseph's sleight of hand. He knew Joseph was a trickster, but he suspected that was only childish play. This was an actually efficient integration, a clear style, a battle tendency. With proper training, it would no doubt flourish endlessly...but it wouldn't be rid of Joseph's antics. He'd need an actual lobotomy for that.

“I’ve been working on my hamon~! All the livelong day~!”

“He's insane! Wait, are…are you humming along?!” Caesar was still holding Mark close to his chest, gazing at M/n as he gently hummed along to Joseph's singing. It was silly and stupid. You know, for a fact, Joseph hasn't been training with his hamon and here he was singing with his antics. Singing...fucking singing, all while facing an ancient being that had easily placed you as god.

"Don't blame me! That song's catchy...I used to hear it a lot by the railways..." M/n mumbled, the skull's jaws tightening as if embarrassed, before the god waved a hand toward the Italian. "Besides, isn't this less annoying than my laughter?"

"On the contrary, it's just as annoying because now it's the both of you!"

"...Oh, fuck you!"

“...?” Joseph was smirking, almost psychotically, as the pillar man grunted in surprise. The clackers visibly tied behind his back...how in the actual fuck did he manage that...? Also, you should really get Joseph some silk ribbons to see how he used them.

“Well, look it, ma! No hands! Where are the clackers?” Joseph let out a maniacal giggle. Now the god was understanding the pillar man's earlier remark, as Wamuu's expression changed from curiosity to pure disappointment, honestly, mood. "A true magician..."

In a snap, his clackers would untie themselves, land in Joseph's hands, before flinging themselves at Wamuu.

“Never reveals his secret! Eat this!” The clackers would spin vigorously once more...and struck absolutely nothing. Wamuu's form had snapped and compressed itself at relativistic speeds, dodging the clackers with ease, his torso shifting violently from side to side, fast enough that it looked like watching a propeller blade spin violently. Joseph would gasp in shock and awe, as they all saw how Wamuu's speed and agility outmatched even Santana, and like that the clackers were free from his hands, instead disappearing behind the pillar man.

"How can anything move like that!? I can't believe what I'm seeing! He's faster than Santviento!"

“I don’t think those idiotic clackers did so much as graze him!”

Wamuu only chuckled softly, reshaping his body into something more 'natural' and 'humanoid', although it was far more boney and mechanical when compared to Santana's style of reconfiguration. A trait the god noted, causing him to lose most of his glee. “I admire your weapon, your courage, and your creativity, human. I’m actually enjoying your company. You deserve time, and because you risked your already incredibly short life to stop your mad-god from slaying me unfairly, you receive no timer for this. Only the bravest of souls that have earned their honor deserves the same privilege of a Roman gladiatorial champion in my eyes. Something no member of the hamon tribe has ever earned.”

“Wamuu, we’ll be waiting outside.” The other two pillar men ascended the stairs, leaving Joseph and Wamuu to their duel, earning a slight hiss from the god.

“Now, boy. Go ahead and retrieve your weapon, quickly!”

“What? I’m sorry? I’m growing deaf in this ear! It almost sounded like you said ‘go ahead & pick up your weapon!’ Which would be ridiculous. I mean, why would you retrieve something that comes right back to you?”

“...?”

A powerful whirlwind formed from behind Wamuu, singing its way over to the pillar man. You all recognized the violent spinning pattern as Joseph's own clackers, slamming into Wamuu's head forming a precise slash over the right side of his temple and forehead. The wound was a familiar burn...the faint glow of embers emerging from the deepest points in the gash within Wamuu's flesh. Hamon...the burn and scent of it was familiar.

'Like all those years ago...right, N/n? You remember all the burns and embers from the vampires slayed, right? When Dio was cut in two and burning up from the inside out...remember how he screamed? In reality, this isn't too different...'

Ajamu's voice was cut short by the sudden screams of Caesar and Speedwagon at the wound that Wamuu had just suffered. Blood gushing out and running down his forehead...staining half his face in dark gore, but it didn't keep your hands from shaking or your breathing to not hitch painfully in the back of your throat. Or as painful as one like you could experience. No, if anything, it only worsened your reactions.

Joseph caught the clackers in the rebound, proudly holding them up and spinning the clackers by the chain with a grin on his face.

"Looks like my clacker boomerang worked pretty well! And with all the time in the world, it’s a piece of cake to destroy you, now!” He lunged at Wamuu striking repeatedly, doing a series of blows both from the left and right with those clackers, the sound of steel scratching against Wamuu's skin...almost grinding like it was scraping against stone. Hamon and raw physical strength make it a messy sight. Yet Wamuu wasn't retaliating...strange. “That’s for almost killing Caesar’s friend! That’s for not taking me seriously! AND THAT’S CAUSE I’M SICK OF YOUR UGLY FACE!”

"Do what you must. I deserve as much. No opponent has ever struck my face, and this is merely the price of my carelessness." He was taking each blow...as penitence. Like a catholic zealot taking lashings from a whip to erase their sins. Battle was this one's religion. His god was honor bound and coated in gore, and his penitence was to be struck down by the Joestar, however temporarily. His eyes flashing like emeralds, and while his soul may show through his body, it didn't outshine hamon blows and the nature of divine punishments. “And I shall take this beating in order to properly honor you. Before I destroy you.”

His body tensed up further, veins bulging and even burst from his body, coating his frame and the ground with each additional blow. You watched a thick trail dip into the ravine of the throat scar you had given him. Was this really his punishment? Or was he planning something more...?

'Oh my, such a powerful and dedicated servant, he's bound to honor more than a priest to the bible! He even punishes himself without hesitating or crying like a scared child. Don't you want to have that at your side, N/n? I mean, you already ripped him open and declawed him like a pesky alley cat. No harm in taking it up a notch if he's so addicted to it, right n/n? don't you love to hold a whip, anyway?'

"You say that no one has ever hit you in that ugly mug of yours?!?” Joseph reared back to strike Wamuu, no longer relying on his clackers, instead the Joestar was relying on righteous force alone. "What an honor!”

He swung at Wamuu's head, no doubt driving it further in that he was the first human to ever strike the pillar man's face like the smug bastard he is. It'd be like Joseph to push in a fact to someone that he'd deemed as 'egotistical', but all his raving would soon be squashed, leaving only warm embers behind.

"You didn't even stop to blink when you almost killed Caesar's friend, Mark! You only stopped because you tasted what M/n had to offer and you never even stopped as you absorbed half his body! You monster! Is that flavor all that matters to you?! You could have killed an innocent life! Does that not matter to you?!? Do you not value life at all?!?"

His anger, his mannerisms; rage filled every punch that landed against Wamuu's flesh. This wasn't him showing off, being a model trickster, or a rabbit facing down the wolf...no, everything he offered the pillar man in this moment was raw rage. Righteous and altruistic fury was fueling every strike he made. For you, for Mark, for that, Wamuu didn't even move until he was several feet away. Joseph had targeted that one aspect and was clearly disgusted by it. No, he was fueled by a respect and passion for life. In a way it made sense, after all, Joseph didn't kill Straights...all because he was a family friend and fellow hamon user, even if he allowed for Straights to kill himself, he felt remorse for it after realizing the male's true intentions. He didn't kill a single Nazi while in Mexico...something you were certainly guilty of. No one died to him. Now he wanted to destroy, to kill, Wamuu because he deemed him a monster...something so careless with life, only having respect for the next battle.

Of course, Joseph would hate and rebuke it with every breath.

'Oh, he's so much like Jonathan that it's precious! Isn't this familiar? A powerful hamon user, fighting evil, purposefully chasing justice for the weak and innocent...do you think he'll even act like Jonathan would when he realizes all the people you've devoured in the blink of an eye, n/n? This is all so lovely, and it even matches the same setting from all those years ago! A righteous man of Joestar blood, an Italian scholar, and good old Speedwagon, all against an evil that hides away in the night. it would be so beautiful to see how such a righteous man would react to your sins...i mean, he's no saint, but he can make you pray, nonetheless.'

"Jojo, watch yourself! His arm isn't broken, he's going to use it!" Wamuu's arm began cracking and tensing, more veins bursting and spilling blood onto the floor. Joseph stopped his next punch mere inches from his face, gasping in terror and leaping back, holding the clackers as if they were his personal shield.

“WOAH! I have a feeling this isn’t good for me...!” He was smiling, clearly trying to make light of the situation. Wamuu gave one in return. His whole body started to expand and shift.

“A charming observation, human. I am now scarred due to my carelessness. It was my duty to allow you to pummel me as a punishment for my own lack of judgment. That has now ended, however.”

“Jojo, finish him now while you still can!” Speedwagon screamed, sweating from terror as everyone watched Wamuu prepare his unholy attack. For some reason, the motions were familiar...as if you had seen them before. His movements were less akin to the noble warrior and merely a terrible machine. Yes, something was very wrong here. Especially as his body started to glow and emit an emerald colored light seemed to emit from his body, as if the air was dancing for him.

“My ultimate technique, you can say it has a bit of the god in this: The Divine Sandstorm!”

“Gah! I don’t like the sound of that!” Then he blinked for a moment. “Wait, a moment here! M/n! You had SEX with this jackass!?”

"No! Of course not! I haven't even met him till today...besides, he wouldn't be walking if I had."

Wamuu reconfigured himself into a terrible, powerful machine. First, he spun his left arm clockwise, forcing its power to immediately grind and sharpen the winds that picked up around him. Far worse than a cyclone of razor blades. Then he spun his right arm counter clockwise, making the atmosphere of the whole cavern swirl and bend to his body's will. The combined might of his storm-like forces leave Joseph with no abilities to counter this.

No...Joseph was completely unprepared to counter a technique like this!

All as Wamuu's fists seemed to grow before their eyes, only expanding the maelstrom that pulled Joseph in.

'Hm...that technique's different than what the winds I fought used, but...it still doesn't change the fact that he's fucked.' M/n narrowed his eyes, all playful behavior gone as he observed his prey, if there was one thing M/n was good at it was watching and observing. He had learned all of Ajamu's moves down to when his heart rate increased before a blow. It would be easy to learn all of Wamuu's.

Joseph howled in shock as he was dragged into the air. Blood from Wamuu's head wound ran into his eye, the increased rate no doubt caused by how much energy he was spending to use this attack. The air and space between Wamuu's arms had transformed into a razor sharp, and ultimately, unstoppable vortex. You could feel the pressure and wind snap against you and the others, forcing your allies back a few feet as they stared in open shock. The god, on the other hand, didn't move an inch other than the chime of the spinal braids whipping against each other. Joseph was completely powerless, being slammed and knocked around endlessly from pillar to pillar, floor to ceiling. He was almost like a pinball. Pillars broke at the wind's impact, stone shattered, and cracks running from each corner of the room were forming.

This was the ultimate power of Wamuu; to create a force of wind strong enough to destroy the very earth and toss aside warriors as if they were mere toys.

“Great! If he can tear through marble pillars, I don’t see myself having much of a chance against a windstorm like this! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything this powerful-”

Joseph's speech was cut off as the wind ripped at his clothes and flesh like they were prey to a rabid dog. The pillar he encircled was ground into dust within seconds. Without thinking, you moved in front of the others, feeling each force of impact as debris broke when it came in contact with your scales. Hm, it was like being caught in a tornado. Impressive.

“Jojo!” Speedwagon cried from behind you, holding onto his hat as the storm tore away at the cavern. Joseph was flung into the air, seeming almost lifeless, yet the god could still hear the frantic beat of his heart.

"I call that the Divine Sandstorm." Wamuu ceased his abilities at once, turning away from the destruction he had caused. A thud was heard as Joseph landed, barely avoiding the pillar man's shadow, and ‌you considered that a blessing.

“No! Jojo!” Speedwagon attempted to rush towards Joseph's prone form, but you held him back with a single hand. After all, you could easily tell that Joseph wasn't dead yet...despite looking like a fish dropped onto the floor of a boat.

“Curse this blood in my eye, it threw off my aim!” Turning to face Joseph, you watched as the Joestar stopped shaking. “But it proved enough when you made the choice to hide behind a pillar…Hmph. You die quickly...?”

He turned towards the four of you. No longer scarred by the battle...though you noted your claw marks still stood out on his skin. His eyes focused on Caesar's form.

"Whilst I would normally ignore onlookers such as yourselves, and including the fact that two of you have earned sanctuary and safety, there's still one of you I must destroy for witnessing my shame." You now understood why he was looking at Caesar and only Caesar, but then...only for a second, his gaze went to you. Seeming to be cautious of you...but...what exactly had you done to him? Looking past the pillar man, you saw Joseph crawl towards a nearby mine cart...that clever trickster. "No member of the Hamon tribe has ever witnessed my shame, and this, I can not allow...Unless your god has any objections? If not, you may begin praying to him now."

"As if I'd allow you to kill any of my mortals...I mean, you already went and slaughtered my hierophant. Though honestly, I'm impressed you did that. You realize you just slaughtered the only mortal that would step in and save your life, correct?" Time. That was what Joseph needed right now. If his plans hinged on getting to that mine cart, then you'd give him the time to do so. "I wonder; are you confident that you can actually kill me or did you merely think I'd sit idle once you turned your sights on the bystanders?"

Joseph stopped crawling, turning his gaze to you with a look that showed nothing but frustration at hearing you once again threaten to murder Wamuu. He mouthed out 'What the fuck, M/n?' while carrying a look that somehow bordered a line between shameful and annoyed. It was clear he didn't want to reveal to Wamuu that he was still alive to keep you from going berserk...again.

"Or perhaps you want to fight till we reach a standstill? I swore to my servant that I wouldn't kill you, and I intend to keep that promise, but if you really attempt to go after any of these three, you may end up forcing my hand." The god waved a hand casually, both hating and thankful for the skull covering his expressions. Hopefully, Joseph would be smart enough to realize he was merely bluffing.

Joseph flipped the god off before once again lying 'lifeless' on the floor...just in time for Wamuu to turn his eyes towards the fallen Joestar. "Hmph, it must be the light playing tricks on me. And if I recall correctly, you and that hamon user were at each other's throats during our entire encounter. All about your now fallen forever lover and failed love life."

"That doesn't mean I'll let him die. Especially not for a reason as petty as seeing your 'shame'. I mean, by that logic I'd have to kill everyone in here for seeing me go out of mind. No, it would be dishonorable for me not to care for those under my protection, so either decide to fight me, or accept defeat and leave with your tail between your legs. I really don't care anymore which you choose. I'll be too busy in my quest for a new hierophant to give chase."

"A new priest? You mean to tell me that this human was your priest or head of worship...? He acts far more like a dissenter. Fitting, given how you act as a mad-god more than anything 'divine'. But he was hardly a priest. More like a sufferer of your own immortal madness. But I admired what courage, tact, and determination he had. I can see why you chose him...but how you didn't kill him yourself, I'll never know." Joseph gave M/n a thumbs up before playing dead again.

"Do you always see things purely from a surface level?" M/n scoffed, adjusting the skull so the mouth opened, allowing thick wisps of dark pink smoke to coil around his form. "Do you think the only hand that could help steer a god of madness would be someone calm and calculating? No, a mortal like that would fall victim to insanity quickly and be left useless by sunrise. It takes a spark of madness to keep up with me, to calculate alongside my own plans, and to have the courage to stand against me when needed. Joseph, as a trickster, was easily suited to that role. You standing in front of me proves that. Besides, I had a peerless saint who once stood at my side, but sadly, he was dragged away by prophecy and left me alone years ago. Not that he knew of the role he held. No, Joseph has been one of my better hierophants, and now I'm stuck without one. It took me fifty years to find him after my saint's passing...I can only hope the fates will be kinder to me this time around."

The conversation was interrupted by the sounds of weeping. Gentle, frail, and upset. Tilting the skull slightly, you watched Speedwagon rub at his eyes...it seemed as if your speech, your words, and the references to Jonathan had moved him greatly. How could it not? You knew he had been there, fifty years ago, alongside you and the saint...and just like you, he had been shattered at the news of his demise. He loved Jonathan. In much the same way you had. Admired him, followed him, always on his heels...and he had shared a deep connection with him, one that you couldn't experience because of your feelings, and once again, the two of you were here. With another altruistic man of Joestar blood beaten down in front of an Italian hamon user. To think a former street thug and god of insanity would share such wounds.

"I meant what I said when I told you to leave. I'm not the god who grieves a death without harming the one who struck my mortal down. If you don't, my emotions may get the better of me, or perhaps I'll act on the emotions of those around me. Either way, it will end in bloodshed. Mortals of all kinds have trouble telling our pleasure from our wrath...what do you think a god's sorrow and grief looks like?"

Joseph adjusted himself, mouthing out; 'Hurry the fuck up!' to you as he reached forward to finally come in contact with the mine cart. Only just barely avoiding another turn of Wamuu's head...but only just.

"You speak fondly of this saint and this hierophant. But I know when to respect one's losses. I will not press further. But at the same time, I cannot allow this bystander to witness my shame and go unscathed. At the very least, I ask the permission of their god to duel the Hamon user in a non-lethal spar. No death, no destruction, only skill." Despite not having an answer from M/n yet, his muscles tensed. Once more preparing for battle, similar to when he was fighting Joseph, as well as the moments when he first learned of the god's true nature.

"Hm, you seem to be fearless in your quest, or you're underestimating me. Either could prove to be your downfall if you aren't careful." M/n opened his hands, extending his claws to their full length once again, right as Joseph pulled himself in the cart. Wamuu tensed, perhaps hearing Joseph or maybe expecting another fight with you. Either way, M/n didn't quite care. It didn't matter. You had gotten more than enough time for your trickster. You lunged at Wamuu, watching him brace for an attack, but you went past him. Leaping onto the side of the cart you found easy purchase, a single kick of your leg sent the cart in motion as Wamuu spun around, face contorting into anger at being tricked. "But fine. If you want to abandon your current honorable fight for something so petty...then go ahead. Have fun."

"You dare-"

"Bye!"

He knew what choice Wamuu would make.

I keep finding my heart left behind. Stuck in ditches and ravines. At the bottom of a hillside. Lying still next to me in bed.

I threw the corpse at the ground.

I hoped that this shell of my heart would break, but this time in a way that made sense.

No one who helped me could find logic in the pieces at all.

A father's heart had slugged a hole in the wall. He told his only child, a child he didn't even want, to treat it as a sign of his own failings.

The boy only guessed all the wrong numbers.

Now his stomach is ripped out through his mouth in all these waking dreams.

"So, that happened." M/n spoke, keeping his voice level as he removed the skull, making it vanish before Joseph pulled him from his perch and into the cart. Letting out a hiss, the god quickly adjusted himself, raising an eyebrow at the Joestar. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I am literally on the brink of death, struggling to move, and you threaten to kill him again!? Does it look like I can intervene in this state?! Does it?!" Joseph leveled a glare at the god, earning a confused head tilt from M/n, not sure how to take the trickster's fire.

"Joseph, I wasn't going to kill him."

"You sure acted like it!"

"I was trying to get you more time before being discovered. You wanted to get to the mine cart, so I allowed it to happen." His eyes narrowed at Joseph, waving a hand back toward Wamuu and the others. "Besides, I was bluffing! You've heard of that, right trickster?!?"

"Yes, I have, and I've made several bluffs in my life, but they never sounded that serious! There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in your voice!"

"Because I'm good at bluffing. The best bluffs, or lies, or half truths all come with truth. People will believe what makes sense. So, all I did was use preexisting truths to establish a good chain of dialogue. I have no desire to kill Wamuu, even if I hadn't made that promise to Santana I still wouldn't want to kill him, but if he went after Robert, Caesar, and Mark...well, I'd be stuck at an issue. I mean...sometimes there isn't always a choice in matters..." Joseph wacked M/n over the head, earning a yelp from the god. "What the hell was that for?!?"

"Stop acting all angsty!"

"Excuse me?!? What the hell does that mean, trickster?!?" Baring his fangs, the god didn't get a reply before there was a thud as Wamuu landed on the edge of the mine cart. Vaguely, M/n registered a sound similar to a squeak escaping Joseph's mouth as his eyes trailed up Wamuu's frame, meeting the pillar man's angered stare. "...hey, how's it going? You're looking rather tense. Wanna sit down and take a breather?"

"You coward." Wamuu snarled out each word as if it were the greatest insult he knew, given his nature it very well might be, but the god grins with all the bravado of a man who's never lost a hand of blackjack because...holy shit, this is actually working! He can hear their heartbeats in the distance and he knows that Joseph and he won one of the most important parts of this fight. Wasn't that enough reason to smile? "No true warrior would ever feign death to save himself. I shouldn't have given you the honor of experiencing my Divine Sandstorm, and what of you, God of Insanity, you claimed to have honor yet you allowed this trick?"

"I mean...I call him a trickster for a reason, but if you really take a good hard look at what's happening, I think you'll find this is far from cowardice." M/n watches how Wamuu narrows his eyes, and if looks could kill he'd have been dead eons ago, but Joseph hits the lever again, causing sparks to form as the cart's speed increases. Joseph laughs when Wamuu hums and leans back to examine the sparks as they dart down a sudden dip on the rails.

"My ever so lovely husband has a point. While it is true, my intention was never to escape, but to distract you, big boy. Truth be told, I was just trying to get you on this mine cart." Joseph grins like a maniac, which M/n thinks he is, as Wamuu's expression shifts subtly. "All I needed was roughly ten meters of you not noticing me."

"Every time you call him that I feel more and more like a husband watching his wife have an affair with the pool boy." M/n hissed out, adjusting himself to see how the two were reacting to each other, there certainly was a tension there. Honestly, he wasn't sure who would win this battle. Joseph has the schemes to potentially win, but Wamuu had more experience, strategy, and raw power backing him up. M/n wasn't supposed to rejoin this fight unless something bad happened...he missed the days when he could just fight whoever he pleased with no one getting in his way. Even when he was mortal, he had been left alone to handle things however he could. 'If I were a betting man, which I've been forced to be hundreds of times before, I would place all of my money on Wamuu.'

"Hm, you are clever indeed. I'm starting to see why your god allowed you the position of hierophant in the first place. So, you were only playing the part of the coward to lure me away from your friends. Is that right?" Strangely enough, M/n decided that the look Wamuu was giving Joseph was one of respect, though when his eyes landed on M/n, the god couldn't help but blink in surprise at the look he received. He couldn't even describe what the look was supposed to mean. "That's why you assisted him in this scheme?"

"I'm surprised you even fell for it. That trick is probably older than you. Hell, it's probably older than M/n and he likes to use eons when he talks about his age. Isn't that right, M/n?" Joseph shifted, barely able to move without hissing in pain at the actions, and he knew that his breathing still wasn't steady. This would be a problem, but that wasn't what was distracting him at the moment. 'Get out now, Uncle Speedwagon! Run! Caesar, go! What are the two of you doing?'

"Oh, of course, these kinds of tricks have been around long before his species even formed. Let alone humans. Hell, I remember using those tricks when I was a mortal, and yes, that is why I joined in this little scheme. I would have dragged him back to face you myself had I thought he was just trying to run away." On some level, M/n knew that the statement was true. He wouldn't have enjoyed having to drag Joseph back, but he hadn't really considered it more than a brief passing thought. Joseph wasn't the type to back down. When he had regained his mind, the voices had been happy to plead with him, to tell him to stand down mostly because they had faith in Joseph. You had agreed to that with minor complaint.

Trust was something you rarely found as a comfort, but Joseph certainly made it easy to forget your own hangups.

Sing.

For the dying of the day.

Sing for all the flames that will rip through here.

Sing for the smoke that will carry our bodies away.

Sing for the damage we've done.

Sing for the worst things we'll do.

Open your mouth and sing for me now and I will in turn sing for you.

So do our best vampire behavior and drain the days away from our youth.

We've already lost it all.

"Jojo…M/n..." Speedwagon's voice trembled, eyes still teary from M/n's earlier words, as he nearly stumbled over his own feet as if ready to chase after them. He didn't. He knew that no matter what, he wouldn't be able to catch up with the mine cart, knew that there was no reason for him to give chase, that he couldn't possibly assist Joseph or M/n in their shared battle against Wamuu. Again...yet again, he was left behind by those around him...unable to do anything to help them. Even if he had been in his youth, what exactly could he do? Joseph was a natural hamon user, M/n was a literal god...one that had transformed into his true form and would've killed Wamuu in a few simple blows if not for Joseph stepping in the middle of an attack.

"That bastard. What a noble move." Caesar spat out, eyes wide and a strange tenseness in his chest. On some level, he knew he was scared. It was hard to admit, he didn't want to admit even to himself that he had frozen in shock and fear when Wamuu had turned his sights on him, but it had been there. In the same way, he had felt a sickening fear when he had seen the pillar man approach Mark, only for it to grow deeper when gold had coated the floor as M/n pinned his friend to the ground to protect him. M/n had no reason to do it. He knew that. Joseph had openly stated that M/n hated Nazis and German soldiers, had heard him mention that M/n had slaughtered soldiers in the base when they found Santana, and had barely interacted with Mark since they met.

There had been no reason for it.

"Damn you, Jojo! He's in far worse shape than me. I haven't even fought yet. I should've been the one to lure Wamuu away!"

M/n had done it without question, going as far to lose an arm even if it just regenerated a moment later, and even in the height of his insanity he had avoided harming them. His argument, though it may have fallen apart when he had aimed that weapon at Wamuu, had been that Wamuu, and by extension the other pillar men, didn't deserve death.

'I see now that Jojo only acts foolishly to confound his opponent. He must actually have a good plan to beat these monsters.'

God had saved his best friend, and then his own life, yet here he was not even aiming a blow at those who threatened him or Joseph.

'M/n wouldn't have let him go at all if he hadn't.'

Why was he freezing up?

So the descendent of the scholar gave chase.

...I am human.

I'm in a body.

I am my body.

Always and forever.

These hands aren't merely a tool I use, they are me. For as long as I draw breath. No, these will still be part of me even when I'm buried in the ground.

I'll only ever see through these eyes.

…this is just me.

'Now that I've painted myself into a corner here...I really need to come up with a second part to my plan, which would be...' Joseph pressed the back of his hand to the underside of his chin, eyes darting over to the god who seemed far more lax as he looked between him and the pillar man with a casual nature.

Then again, he had been playing this whole thing relaxed as well...but even Joseph lost that as time went on. On one hand, M/n had the luck of being immortal, of having the strength and experience to fight anyone without worrying about falling in battle, there had even been a few points where he had seen the god look in confusion at how long people could hold their breath or survive without food or water. For someone who claimed to have once been mortal, not that Joseph actually doubts that claim, it's pretty clear to most that M/n has forgotten the finer details of humanity. Either considering Joseph and the others as too fragile or far too sturdy when placed in the path of something like Wamuu.

Wamuu laughed, earning confused looks from both M/n and Joseph.

"...?" M/n opened his mouth, but ultimately thought better of it. Instead, his thoughts were drowned out by the sound of Joseph panting by his ear...the sound of hamon far too soft and distant from the male's form. No, Joseph was getting weaker and weaker from blood loss. Would he have to interfere?

'Although you are quite confident for someone who is knocking on death's door, I must tell you that your plan is a poor one. You're quite tough. I'll give you that. I can see why you're god's chosen, though rather soft headed, but tough nonetheless." Wamuu moved from his perch on the edge of the mine cart to be inside of it, crouching down and pointing at Joseph in what M/n could only describe as amusement. “Tell me, how do you remain unyielding in the moments before your death? Is it because you have bricks for brains or do you still have another trick for me? Your god and forever lover speaks passionately about your tricks and schemes, even comparing you to gods like Loki, so I can only imagine you have something prepared.”

"Do you really want to know?" Joseph hissed out, still struggling to draw his next breath, all while M/n held back a snicker at the bricks for brain's comment. What a funny expression for an ancient warrior. Wait...what happened to his headdress?

"Actually, no. Let me guess. Because you're obviously so clever, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt that you wouldn't be stupid enough to be holding a stick of dynamite behind your back." The god heard the telltale sound of burning cord and explosives and realized that this plan may go a lot differently if Joseph's timing isn't perfect.

'Damn, he's onto me!' The look Wamuu gives Joseph is almost a fond smile.

"And I know you wouldn't insult my intelligence by thinking you could quickly throw the break and send the mine cart flying off the tracks, maybe like this!" A single kick slams the lever back into its initial position, and the cart slams to a stop earning a loud hiss from the god.

Both the god and Joseph go flying out of the cart, which skids off the rails and plummets anyway, all while Wamuu merely jumps down.

'Damn, he got me there too!'

"Dannazione!"

Make sure to take care of where you wander, traveler. Don't stray from the path you planned.

You know not what may be lurking,

In the shadow of the wood.

From their perch atop the structure, both Esidisi and Kars paused, gazes going from the moon hanging above their heads down to the darkened caverns below where the snarls of the god alongside the crash of the mine cart echoed. Esidisi's eyes darted back up to Kars, noting how the other seemed to perk ever so slightly at the god's voice, as well as noting the slightest tremors in his fingertips, it seemed as if that ichor he had taken from the god was still in effect.

Or maybe he wanted more?

Death is a seed only grown by the blind man's greed.

Poets are left starving as children bleed.

"The time of this fight is drawing to a close. There is absolutely no chance you'll survive this encounter without your god's assistance." M/n had landed on his feet, bouncing back on instinct to be by the pillars, while Joseph landed in the center with the dynamite resting by his head, still lit. For a moment the god considers charging Wamuu and making this an actual battle, the hum of his true form reminding him of his own abilities, but then he frowns and catches Joseph's eye. No, he'll wait just a bit longer. "I found your tricks to be very quaint. But before you die, tell me, why do I still not see defeat in your eyes?"

"I'll tell you if you want, but you're gonna have to say, 'please,' first."

"More games?" With a low growl, reminding you of wind formed into claws scraping against stone, he raises a fist. You snarl in response, earning a quick glance, but Wamuu notes you don't move to strike and keeps speaking while going for the easy blow. "You've tested me long enough. Prepare to die, hierophant."

"Such a shame, because a month from now, I can guarantee that I would be able to destroy you." A finger stops a mere inch from Joseph's throat. Your eyes widen slightly, and now you know the game. Look at the cards and prepare your bluff.

"What was that?"

"With just one more month of training, I would annihilate you." Joseph grins, expression relaxed as if he's already made peace with death, and Wamuu takes a slight step back. "I was the first person to hit, as well as the first, to scar your face. When I put my mind to something, I can accomplish pretty much anything. Oh, well. I guess none of that really matters now. So, can we just get this over with? It will be an honor to be killed by a warrior like you, and I'm sure my husband will find comfort in your arms."

"What?" You jolt, looking over at him with a growl building in your chest.

"Oh, don't sound so shocked M/n, I'm sure Wamuu will be honored to have a god in his presence. Besides, surely a pillar man would bring you eternal happiness and satisfaction, right?"

"Shut up before I kill you myself!"

"Anyway, so finish me off painlessly, oh great Wamuu, that's all I ask of...blah, blah, blah..."

"What do you mean by this?"

"Oh, I'm sick and tired of all this talking. Just hurry up, and make it painless, Wamuu." Joseph whined, hands at his chest as if trying to stop his heart from beating. M/n looks away as if saddened by such behavior.

"Explain yourself. What are you trying to get at?" You register the sounds of Caesar approaching, hamon sparks echoing in your ears, yet you don't react. You can't. That would ruin the bluff.

'I don't know how, but he's still alive. Yet...M/n isn't doing anything?' Caesar moved behind one of the many pillars, getting a slight nod of the head from the god, who seemed to have removed that skull, before gold eyes were back on Wamuu's form.

"Is it true that you pillar men often live for millennia? No, it must be given what M/n has said about his little talks with Santana. That's a long time to be walking around with the shame of having your face rearranged by a lowly human. I mean, if M/n had done it then it would be understandable given that he's a god, not even the best warrior could really outmatch him in raw strength, but no...It was just one human that's never trained a day in his life."

"True." Wamuu's gaze went to the god who merely shook his head in sad agreement, expression changing to something almost akin to mourning, and his eyes even reverted to a gold tinged shade of E/c rather than the solid molten shade that had been present since he transformed. "When I first met Joseph, he had never fought anyone seriously. Since this encounter he's had two serious fights, one with a former hamon user turned vampire while the next was a brief spat with Santana. The vampire killed himself rather than be struck down, and I brought Santana into my ranks before the fight could last more than a few shared blows. While he has good instincts and a mind for schemes, the trickster you see before you has never trained in physical fighting or hamon a day in his life."

"...?"

"My saint before he passed," M/n's expression became far sadder at the mention of the long dead Jonathan, though was fifty years really that long for an immortal? "Only trained with hamon for a few weeks, barely even a month, yet he could defeat long dead warriors that had been revived and transformed with the stone masks that your master created. They had trained their entire lives and kept that strength and experience when revived, so I would agree that within a month my trickster will become something that outshines the lofty moon. After all, he and my saint are blood related, and not even my saint had hamon running through his veins till his twenties, let alone all his life. Greatness seems to flow through their veins much like the sun."

"It seems to me that the only way you could regain your honor would be by defeating me in a fight after I've undergone proper hamon training. I mean, M/n has to know one or two people that could teach me a few tricks, right M/n?"

"I do." The god gave a small nod, his mind going to the regions of Tibet easily enough, before he caught another glimpse of the blond behind the pillar. "And even if I didn't, I'm certain Caesar would introduce his teachers."

"I do not have to defeat you in order to maintain my honor." Wamuu snarled, earning a raised eyebrow from both the Joestar and the god. Clearly, he didn't believe his own words.

'His entire body is shaking with rage. I have a chance if I can just make him think his integrity is at stake. He gave himself away as the proud warrior type the moment he called me a coward, or when he allowed M/n to challenge him to a duel. Hell, even when insane M/n called him an honorable warrior. Pride is his Achilles heel.' Joseph tilted his head to the side, watching as Wamuu shuddered with rage. "I don't know if you noticed, but I'm still new at all this. However, if I trained with my hamon for a month, I know I could give you the fair fight a warrior like you deserves. The first person who ever hit you in the face gave you a rather nasty scar. It would be a shame if you killed that person before he's worthy, but if you feel the need to kill me before I have a chance to battle you as an equal, then go ahead and do whatever you need to do."

Wamuu snarled, teeth grating against each other, allowing M/n to note that like Santana and Kars, it seems he possessed a rather sharp set of fangs.

"You bastard!"

A figure was now behind Wamuu, earning a slight flinch from both Joseph and the god.

It seemed as if their bluff had new opposition.

This is August.

This is August's mind, lost down some city alley. This is August's body, sitting in an apartment filled with boxes.

He used to stay awake until the sun rose each morning.

(To make sure all the bad days ended.)

But these drugs make him sleep all the time. There's no escaping exhaustion.

August?

Are you there?

You're too hot to hold on to, slick from sweat and burning all over from the deep fever.

You'll have to get off the ledge yourself because no one can hold you.

"Wamuu," the other pillar man tensed at Esidisi's voice, quick to lower his head in respect, but not fully reaching a bow or kneeling position. It seemed as if the two of you had done a good job of working Wamuu into a rage, or at least a rather heavy layer of frustration.

"Master Esidisi."

"You promised this human a fight, and here he is laying on his deathbed. Why must you insist on letting him toy with you? Not even his god is making a move to attack or stop you from finishing him. Eh?" Esidisi seemed to get distracted, his gaze going to a space by Joseph's left hand. M/n noted he was staring at the still lit stick of dynamite.

'Just go away already. I almost had him!'

Kneeling at Joseph's side, the pair watched in horror and shock as Esidisi merely swallowed the dynamite whole, frame breaking and expanding at the eternal explosion before resettling unharmed almost instantly. Faced with such a strange sight, the god burst into laughter again. Joseph whipped his head around to the best of his abilities to level a glare at M/n earning a muffled apology as the god contained himself.

"Master Esidisi, I have grown rather fond of this particular member of the hamon tribe."

'I got him!'

"Jojo, you will be happy to know that I have decided to accept your proposition. If you swear that you will train your hardest to fulfill your potential, then I will give you exactly one month to do so."

"I refuse to deal with slackers." M/n interjects earning the attention of both pillar men, yet he can't seem to find the third. "If he agrees to this, I won't allow him a moment of laziness. He'll be trained like the warriors of old or he will die trying."

"M/n, as my husband, does speak for me on these matters."

"For the last time we're not even courting, let alone married!"

"So, ignoring him, you're not going to kill me now?"

"That's right."

"But we're going to fight again?"

"We are."

"Are you sure you want to do this? I'll give you a chance to take it back." Joseph managed a playful smirk despite the effects of blood loss only getting worse as time went on. 'Yes! I can't believe this is actually working!'

"However...I will need assurances, other than your god's word, of course, that you will not try to run away again." With that, Wamuu held up a...ring, almost like a wedding band, and when he caught the item's scent, M/n twitched at the powerful poison he could smell from inside of the metal casing.

"Heh, nice Wamuu, I was wondering when you would finally propose. Though you may want to be careful, given this human's insistence to consider himself god's lover, after all, gods are known to be rather possessive of their lovers." M/n twitched at that statement, not sure if he had to agree with them, or if he wanted to snap. Were they even listening to him? Why was Joseph's word on their 'relationship' set as some sort of law when his remarks were treated as nothing more than him being childish? That he was merely feisty or playing hard to get?

"Say hello to the wedding ring of death. Guess where it goes. A hint; not on your finger."

"W-what are you doing with that?" Joseph screamed as the ring was inserted into his chest, his weakened state not even allowing his hamon to oppose Wamuu, and M/n saw in one layer how it wrapped around part of Joseph's heart.

"This ring will start to dissolve in thirty-three days. It's impossible to remove, and once dissolved, it will release a virulent poison. Any attempt to remove or damage it will also release that lethal poison. However, there is one certain way to dissolve the ring without harm. Simply battle and defeat me within these thirty-three days, and I shall give you the antidote that I keep inside the hollow of my lip ring. The vow on that wedding ring states; 'Till death do us part,' Jojo. Be at the Colosseum in thirty-three days, meet me there at midnight, and we shall battle as equals, Jojo."

"I hope you didn't think your little paltry tricks would help you escape, human." Esidisi approached Joseph with a chuckle while Wamuu turned to leave. M/n tensed. For a second, he thought he sensed someone drawing nearer, but it was gone in an instant. "I don't imagine the two of us will fight, but just in case, here's a gift for you..."

A hand enters his throat and Joseph screams again.

"One that fits perfectly around your windpipe! My poison is quite different from Wamuu's. His antidote won't work on mine and vice versa, and I keep the antidote for that poison in my nose ring. Kars, would you like to go next?" M/n flinched, because when Esidisi asked that question he wasn't looking at the other pillar man, but at you. No, directly behind you. Tilting his head, the god needed to pretend he wasn't startled. He met Kars's gaze.

"Oh, I don't think so. Immortality can be boring at times, so to encounter a worthy opponent, that is both such a rare and tantalizing thought, a gift that would give our lives meaning. No, I have no intention of taking that from you, Wamuu. I understand why you've made this choice, however, do not forget that our goal is to obtain the Red Stone of Aja." Kars paused, expression shifting to that look of interest as all his attention went fully to the god in front of him. M/n spun to fully face him, taking a half step back, feeling his stand's worry from where he remained at Speedwagon's side. "Though it isn't as if there's only one person here, is there? I'm quite curious about you, god."

"Oh, is that so? I would say I'm flattered, but the way you're looking at me is...unsettling."

"How could I not? Out of every Animalia, genus, phylum, and kingdom with nature's purity...you are perhaps the most gorgeous lifeform to be seen by mortal eyes."

"What?" You twitched at that. Out of everything he could've said to you, that had not been what you were expecting, not even between possibilities if you were being honest. Yet Kars sounded genuine in his words...but that couldn't be right. It just couldn't. You weren't even in the range of pretty, let alone gorgeous, yet he was clearly speaking to you...so what the fuck? You took another half step back as Kars moved towards you.

"HEY!" Joseph yelled, trying his best to look intimidating from his place on the ground. "Stop flirting with my husband! We all already know he's the most gorgeous thing to exist, you don't need to say it! So back off!"

"What a loud human." Kars murmured, eyes briefly narrowing, before he turned his head towards you, expression easily sliding into that softer look. You held back a shudder. This wasn't something you had prepared for. In fact, you had never imagined that the leader of these pillar men would consider you anything but an annoyance, or...was that it? Was he hoping to flatter you? To make you a weapon? It didn't seem right, but you couldn't understand his motives otherwise. "Still, it seems as if your lover's been stolen from you. I'm not sure Wamuu will give him back."

"He's not my lover."

"Oh?" Another step towards you. If you kept moving, the two of you would get closer to the center where Joseph was still on the ground. "How interesting. Is there anyone waiting for you?"

"No."

"Hm, how surprising?" With you no longer moving away from him, it was all too easy for Kars to step into your personal space. Even with the added height your god form brought, he was still looking down at you, and a single hand rested on your shoulder. The touch is light. Even a regular human could shrug it off without fail. Somehow, that only made the whole encounter feel more suffocating. "I could only imagine how many you've had to chase off in the past. Surely there are hundreds hoping for a spot in God's bed."

"There are far better achievements to desire than merely wanting a place in god's bed, and as I'm sure many myths will tell you a place in a god's heart, or bed, leads to far darker outcomes far more times than not."

"I suppose that only proves my point." A shift of his arm led to you angling your head back, preventing the blade that sprouted from damaging your choker, and watched as rivets of ichor pooled over the gleaming silver and bone white of the weapon. A swipe of his free hand and you watched Kars lick the ichor from his fingertips with a sigh that bordered on sexual, if not fully crossing the line, and you swallowed for a reason that was...rather different from mere fear. "Nature's delicacies are perhaps the sweetest; fruits, berries, the gum of trees, and the sweet scent of sap staining the bark of an oak...but your ichor is one that may indeed rival the ambrosia and silky texture of even the wine that has touched Hera's lips."

"...thanks, I'm glad to hear that you enjoy drinking my blood. What next? How my fangs would look lovely on a necklace or as a set of earrings?" You note that Joseph's gone silent because he's finally on the verge of passing out, simply too weak to even vocalize his anger, while the other two pillar men are watching this conversation, almost as if waiting for you to slip up. Even Caesar seems frozen from the glimpse you manage to catch. Wamuu looks surprised and almost irritated by Kars's behavior, while Esidisi seems to find this whole thing more amusing than anything else. Kars merely laughs at the barbed comment, easily deflecting your venom, so you raise an eyebrow.

"You're the most intriguing life form imaginable. You're warmer than all of life combined, fiery blood running through your veins, and sweeter than any succulent fruit. Yet you're as dead inside as a corpse decomposing far in the past...You're a walking relic, aren't you? And yet you haven't lost a single sparkle or shimmer of life...it's beautiful and so intriguing. I want to know more about you, about your past, and your ascension. But, to make sure we meet again, I think a proposal is in order." One clean motion of the hand that once rested on your shoulder is all it takes for you to freeze, feeling something warm and metallic be placed deep inside your chest. Your pulmonary valve. The central valve of your heart. That's where the ring is. Not around it, but pressing against the internal walls of the valve, even when lax, the ring is just wide enough to prevent any movement. Before you can so much as mutter a curse in Italian, Kars presses his face to your neck, by the freshly healed line he had carved, and whispers in a tone of voice you would've been delighted to hear if not for circumstance. "Consider us lovers of a different fruit. But don't worry; I know not to bite just yet."

A snarl escapes your lips as he frees you, walking past Joseph's still form and joining the other two pillar men, a single hand gesture enough for them to all take leave.

Luckily, you don't pass out till they've fully vanished in the night sky.

Imagine all the people.

Dream them up.

You're the only real one.

…right?

You awoke to the empty region of the void, a place where you couldn't even see the altar you spent eons sleeping upon. For a moment you couldn't even fathom why you were here. Then...well, everything comes back in a hazy focus. You know what happened, or rather you had a general idea of most of it. Saving Mark, transforming, coming back to consciousness with Joseph saving Wamuu…and then the whole fight that led to you and Joseph getting...married.

…not a good way to end a battle, but not the strangest either.

You pull yourself up into a sitting position, feeling worn and sore in a way that you attribute to little more than your own immortality, and conclude you must've blacked out. It wasn't an impossible fate. Hell, Tarkus had rendered you unconscious for several moments all those years ago...perhaps it was a good thing considering what you must've done while out of mind. The dark blood coating Wamuu's form had been a haunting thing to see, yet at the end of the fight...you were still...no, you didn't want to think about that right now.

"...but why the fuck did I wake up here?" Was it a type of burnout? Emotional stress merely getting the better for you? Looking down, you noted you were wearing a ruined version of your god form's outfit, which...that shouldn't be possible. This outfit was designed to heal and repair itself at the same rate as your regeneration. Something was wrong here. You leapt to your feet at the realization, nearly falling over as the world spun, looking at the monochrome of the void as it hummed and shifted...but it shouldn't be monochrome in the first place. Where were all the purples? The blues? The reds? Where were the fucking colors? Sterile was one thing, a thing you had grown to tolerate, but this monochrome dreamscape was a completely different beast. "Is anybody here? HELLO?!?"

Silence.

"...Narcissistic Cannibal...NC...? Hm, I can't even feel our connection in this place...maybe he remained in the waking world?" With a shake of the head, you dismissed that train of thought and walked through the void, ignoring how every step made your legs tremble and shake like a newborn deer, and you only hoped that you'd figure out the reason along the way. But then, you catch sight of a familiar form up ahead. "Ajamu…why am I even surprised? I should've known that this was all you're doing. Well, whatever scheme you've cooked up won't do jack shit, ya fucking hear me?!? I'm done. I ain't listening to you no more! Especially after that horse shit you said when Joseph talked me down."

Ajamu was silent with his back towards you.

You couldn't help but blink in confusion. Ajamu had never been the silent type. He loved to hear his own voice, and you had expected him to turn and smirk before mocking you. No, this was unusual. He didn't even turn to face you. He wasn't even moving. Tapping your foot hearing a series of wild clicks, you watched how Ajamu's form suddenly glitched, almost like an image on a TV screen. Then he straightened out. Just like the rest of this place, he was completely black and white, and you watched how his form changed. You saw his usual state, the corpse you had watched die, and then his god form. You had rarely seen that one, sending shivers down your spine, and you quickly took a half step back. He was dressed like Quetzalcoatl, with detailed feathers and scales connected to the regal fabric you always found sickening to look at, and that didn't change when lacking color. You watched his form keep flickering.

"I...I always thought you hated using that form." It came out as a weak whisper. You shake and shiver like when you were a child, though the memories of what you must've done in your god form cut in your thoughts. You could understand that hatred now. Those interactions with Joseph and Santana seemed rather far away and heavy, completely ruined by what happened, and you hoped you could change that by bringing better moments to the future. Hoped you could change a lot of things. "I...Listen, I...can you...can you just tell me how I fucked up...like you usually do...?"

I'm tired, goes completely unsaid. I hate these fucking games...I just want you to hurt me and yell because that's something I know compared to this unknown bullshit, which is also hidden away.

You wouldn't want him to feel even better about all this.

"Just...come on, just get it over with." The form keeps flickering like TV static. You listen to the crackle of it, left even more confused and terrified. "Seriously, what the fuck are you waiting for? I'm right here! Come on and attack me! Is it because I don't feel pain anymore? That never stopped you before! So, why the hell are you stagnating? Have I won, Ajamu? Come on, tell me, have I won?!?"

'This masquerade that’s revealed itself…It’s the true form of what I...what Jonathon…what Dio…' You jolted with a hiss, whipping your head around to look for the source of the voice. 'That which we loved and worshiped at the same time, like it was our forever necessary end...beautiful and horrifying.'

"Wait...Robert? Robert, is that you?" You kept turning, looking away from the still flickering form of Ajamu, yet you couldn't even glimpse the older blond. His voice was here...yet you couldn't track him. Why was he even here? And what the hell was he even talking about? It sounds familiar...It's the true form of...wait, had he said that about you? No one else had a true form to your knowledge. Our forever ends...as if that was something to say so...reverently. "Robert...?"

Something wet dripped down onto your scalp, sinking into your hair, earning a confused hiss.

Reaching up, you pulled your hand back almost instantly to stare at the damp black tar sticking to your fingertips. You flinched at the coloration. It was the same shade as Ajamu's blood. Loud crackling filled your ears, as more drops fell onto your heads. Jolting out of the way, you skidded backwards, almost crouching on all fours at how quickly you had bolted, and looking up, you watched a point in the void bubble with more tar landing in front of you.

"...?"

'Then again, this isn't a surprise, is it?' You whipped your head around to see Speedwagon standing there, looking to be in his late twenties once again, yet his throat was exposed, showing the wound from his attempted suicide. The blood that dripped from it was the same tar, he was the same colorless haze as Ajamu. He frowned at you when you attempted to take a step towards him. 'We were all merely caught up in the haze of a god, weren't we? We fell for your charms, grew to love you, but that was never shared. Was it M/n?'

"Robert, I...I don't know what you mean..."

'I love you. Jonathan loved you. Dio loved you.' You flinched back, a whimper rising to a head at that word, because all you could think about was Ajamu holding you. Telling you the pain would stop if you just said it. Because you had to. He was your friend...you loved your friend, right? 'We all felt these feelings for you, I still feel that way for you...and each time we die or will die before those feelings even have a chance at being snuffed out...yet, what about you? What do you feel? Are we comrades? Friends? Lovers? Where do the people in your life stand? Why do you act this way?'

"Robert, I...I...I care so deeply about you...I cared about Dio and Jonathan...I just...I can't say that...I want to...But, that word just feels...it was ruined for me a long time ago...I try to prove it through my actions instead, but-"

'Then why weren't you ever here when we needed you? Why weren't you here when I needed you?' You whined, lowering your head in an obvious show of submission, because there was no way you could answer that. 'Was it because you were mourning? Do you think that changes anything? Were you the only one suffering? Erina lost the love of her life, the father of her unborn child, and you left her on her own. I lost a friend, the man who helped me change from my criminal ways...the first person who thought I was more than some lowlife...and yet you left the both of us...like we were nothing. Do you know what it felt like to have all these letters and photos sent that showed how at peace you were? That you never wanted to come back and see us in person? Would...would you have come to see me on my deathbed...or merely my grave after I was lowered in the ground? Would you have ever visited me? Would I have even mattered?'

"...please, tell me that isn't what you think...please, tell me that isn't what you think, Robert. Don't think that way about this. I...you mean so much to me...I may not have the words to say it...but please don't doubt me. Please..."

'You're telling me that in an eon you'll remember me? That you'll still care for me? For any of us? What about in fifty years? I'll be dead. How easy will it be to replace me? To replace everyone?' Speedwagon frowned at you, deep tar gushing from the wound on his neck as the puddle behind you only grew. Ajamu didn't move. He didn't seem to react. 'I wouldn't be able to blame you for it. I wouldn't hate you for it. You'll never die, so I couldn't bring myself to hate you for it. You'll never stop...there will always be another person on the horizon to see everything about you and fall in love...and you'll never even notice, will you? Did you know that Jonathan never stopped loving you? That people care about you? That you care about people?'

"...Robert, I will remember you. I remember people from eons ago. I still think of them, still wish I could see them. That doesn't fade away with time. It doesn't. I will still care for you...these feelings will still burn within me...I don't aim my interactions with replacing people as some sort of perverse goal. As for that...I...I knew that Jonathan still held feelings for me. I knew that. I just...I couldn't be what we both needed. Erina was the right choice for him, but I thought about it, you know? I wanted to imagine a...no, it doesn't matter anymore." You shook your head, swallowing down a thousand words, but you recoiled at the look of anger Speedwagon gave you‌.

'Doesn't matter anymore? You really just...think that? Why does it matter if you remember me eons from now if you think every problem we had doesn't matter because someone's dead? Because you didn't change. Didn't improve...didn't even try...you could be better, you know that? I want you to be better. I want you to feel better. To be happy. Do you not want that? Do you just want to spiral forever?' You opened your mouth to respond, taking a step forward to gently take one of his hands, but the moment you touched his skin, cold and tense like the dead's, his form shattered into a series of black butterflies.

"ROBERT?!?" You howled, trying and failing to catch a single one, before a scoff sounded behind you. Looking back, you stared at the puddle, only growing deeper and bigger, with Ajamu now standing in the center. No life. No color. Just a form. "Oh, you have something to say now?"

'Isn't it obvious? You're going to fail him, N/n. Just like you fail everyone else. You aren't getting better. You don't want to get better. All you want is to say that you're better. That things are recovering naturally, yet they aren't. You're spiraling more and more by the day. Repression will only get you so far, N/n, and you're hitting rock bottom. Hard. There's nothing that will challenge you from this viewpoint. There's nobody you love enough to pull you out of this pit. You're going to die in this pit because you won't ever think to crawl out.' Ajamu grinned at you, the teeth of a panther on full display, and he crossed the pit of tar towards you. 'You like spiraling, right? Is that it? Do you like suffering because you deserve it? Because you want to suffer. You lost the ability to merely hurt yourself, so you decided that this was an acceptable option. Of course, you didn't want to think about how you were dragging everyone into your own torment. That people would grow to care.'

Points in the tar bubbled upwards as he finally got off the puddle, crossing the void to be in front of you.

'When will you learn, N/n? it doesn't matter if you were born broken or not, a good person or a bad person, because you were fucked anyway. Your actions haven't changed a thing. You're stuck like that. As a broken shell of a human. All these bad things that happened to you, this trauma or that trauma, they don't matter. They didn't make you, you, you always were. Do you get it?'

"That...that isn't true..."

Ajamu made a tsk noise, shaking his head slowly with a curved grin, and just like Speedwagon he simply broke apart.

"That isn't true! Get back here! That isn't...that can't be true...I don't want to..."

The tar burst.

You hissed in shock, scrambling back in fear, as hundreds of human arms emerged from the massive puddle. Each limb was a deep black, as if tar had solidified and taken human shape rather than humans crawling out, but that didn't change what was happening. You stood frozen as the thing began crawling out, revealing human faces, and you noted that all these forms were stuck together. Bound together.

"What...what the fuck...is that?"

(LOOKATHIMPRETENDINGHEDOESN'TKNOWHWATWEARE!WE'RELIKETHISBECAUSEOFYOU!WEAREYOURPUNISHMENT!YOURGREATESTSINS!TRAPPEDFOREVER!NOHEAVENORHELLONLYSUFFERINGALLBECAUSEOFYOU!WE'REALLGOINGTOBESTUCKHEREFOREVER!YOUDIDTHISTOUS!)

"No...no...I'm sorry, I'm-" The thing lunged and, like the coward you always were, you turned and ran. "Just stop...just stop...This is a dream, it has to be a dream, it has to be a dream...I just need to wake up...I can wake up...I have to wake up..."

There was the sound of liquid hitting the ground at high velocity, splashing as a result, and then you feel tar coat the ground beneath your feet. Thick tendrils of it wrapping up your legs, coiling tightly and pulling you down, the tar coated your hands. Preventing you from struggling or clawing for purchase. You were drowning again. You...you deserved this, right?

You stopped struggling.

This was what you deserved, right?

But the dream didn't end. Instead, there was a moment of nothing before you were tossed free, landing in a heap on your back like an upside down cat. The tar suddenly surged forward again, wrapping around your legs, dragging you towards the center. You tried to struggle this time, but you couldn't flip over and grab onto the ground, so you were forced to the center. It rose above your form, twisting and taking shape, the first object in this twisted world other than yourself that had color. Your breath caught in your throat.

...it was Dio.

'Oh M/n,' no, no, no...this couldn't be happening. Why did he have to come to torment you? You could've handled Ajamu for an eternity before this...and why was he in color? 'Look at you. I knew this would happen. Yet again, someone drags you on a journey that you didn't want, yet again you're being forced to fight, and it's destroying you from the inside out. You're shaking.'

"I have to do this."

'No, you don't, M/n, the world doesn't need you. These people will make do without you, but what about you? Can you keep on this path without facing your own destruction?' You watched how his expression still looked loving and worried despite the narrowing of his eyes. The lower half of his body, or rather everything from the neck down, seemed to shift and change ever so slightly. Both bodies...looked familiar, but you couldn't place it. A hand under your chin drew your gaze back to his face before you could even think to question it. 'Because I would rather die again, then see you suffer like this.'

"It...doesn't matter. The world needs me to help...they need me...I just...It doesn't matter if I'm suffering, as long as other people are...okay?"

'If I had the ability, I would've turned that boat around, I would've met you at the castle gates in Wind-Knights Lot...I would've done everything to savor that moment.' A hand glided over the side of your cheek, thumb tracing the sides of your face, almost as if he feared hurting you of all people. 'I would've dragged time to a halt just to see you in the moon's glow.'

"You always were such a romantic. I could never keep up." You whispered out, feeling warm, yet still shaken from the earlier encounters.

'You deserve far more love than you've been shown.'

"You're...the only one who's ever believed that Dio."

'Oh, I'm not, M/n, I'm just the most apparent with my actions.' His expression was still soft. It made you feel...worth something. 'You just need to get out of your own mind, even if just for a second, to see what everyone else sees when they look at you.'

Dio turns back to tar and you plummet down through a blackened tunnel, screams dying on your lips, and you land on a road. Pushing yourself up, there's a moment of silence as you look around before a whine escapes your lips. You're in the town. The one where you killed everyone. Twenty-five thousand gone. Your greatest sin.

But you had to keep going.

The streets were silent, a haze of pink smoke covering the town, or at least you assumed it was pink given the taste in your mouth marking it as your own. The splatters, even without color, were clearly bloodstains but now Ajamu's distinct tar. It was quiet. The air had stagnated after the massacre...the massacre you and your stand had been forced to commit. It stung just to think about those people you had killed. The blood stains your soul.

"So...I'm just supposed to walk around? Where do I need to go?"

The windows of the buildings opened up, thick waves of tar falling and filling the streets, acting on instinct. You ran at full speed down the road. Every part of your brain was screaming, completely ignoring how this was all a dream, instead only focusing on what drowning in tar must feel like. It was chasing after you. You were going to be engulfed. Screams filled the air, thousands of voices begging for mercy, begging for you to stop. You shivered, tempted to stop running and let it overtake you, but then you saw a window open with no tar. Leaping up the walls, you used your claws to get a better purchase. The screaming went still for a second, shocked at you climbing, only for it to restart...but now it was only the screams of children.

"Shut up...shut up...I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I didn't want to....It wasn't my choice...I'm so sorry..."

Tar wrapped around one of your legs, nearly dragging you back down to the massive pool flooding the town, before you managed to crawl through the window with a hiss. The tar stopped, closing the window you noted your left leg was completely coated in tar, yet rolling it proved that you could still move it easily enough.

"Why won't this dream just end?"

You didn't get an answer.

The room you had landed in seemed to be a hospital examination room, empty with a sort of dust hanging over everything. Those posters on the wall were messed up...the words flickering through phrases that had nothing to do with medical advice. Your fault. You're to blame. Murderer. Monster. The list went on and on. With a shake of the head, you opened the door and walked down one of the many sterile hospital halls. Unlike the town, this place wasn't stained in blood, but still forced to be monochrome.

It didn't change anything. You already knew what this place was.

'Do you feel any better?'

'...what do you think?' You paused, listening to the sound of people talking behind one door, recognizing both of their voices in an instant. You, at seventeen, and your first therapist when you had been found and admitted. A frown formed on your face. Pushing at the door, it swung open revealing the bound form of yourself and said doctor sitting across from you. That version of yourself was a mess, tangled and only just being cleaned and washed by hospital staff. It certainly highlighted the fact that you had been homeless for so long. 'When will you take this off me?!?'

'You need to wear the straightjacket till we can get you out of suicide watch. The options were restraints or keeping you sedated. If you work yourself up, we'll have to sedate you, regardless.'

"They should have kept me sedated the first week." You murmured, remembering how volatile you had been that week, constantly snapping and baring your teeth at any staff members that interacted with you.

'Suicide watch...? I'm not suicidal!'

'That what happened for you to be in a ditch with two broken legs and your throat cut open by a box cutter that only had your fingerprints on it.' He looked at the past version of you with a frown, an expression somewhere between concern and something different, though you didn't want to call it pity. 'I know you may not believe it, and we don't expect you to at the moment, but we want to help you.'

'...'

"They were. Everything they did helped me...I just didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to trust anyone." You swallowed, looking away from the scene with a sigh. "But...if they had realized why I tried to kill myself, they would've let me die. Would've been the right thing to do."

'Once you're off suicide watch and we take the restraints off, I can get you a journal. A lot of patients have an easier time writing their thoughts at first than talking with people. I won't blame you for that.'

'I don't do diaries, and I don't want you reading through my thoughts even if I did, so don't go out of your way to get me anything. I'm leaving as soon as I get the chance.'

'Then find something else to put in the journal. Some people just draw, others write potential novels, and some just make lists for things they want to do in the future. You can keep it and put whatever you want in it. It'll be yours the moment you get it. When we found you, there was a spiral notebook full of poems. You can write poems in it.'

'What? You found that...? That's private! You can't just read through all of it! I want that back! It's mine!'

'I'll put it in your room. The police only looked through it to see if it was your suicide note.'

'...they shouldn't have done that.'

"They only did what they had to."

'If it makes you feel better...your writing is beautiful. You have a genuine way with words and metaphor. Maybe after this you could publish a series of them?' The past version of you flinched as if struck.

'No...no, I don't...it's pathetic. To only convey your emotions through poetry...people would think I'm pathetic for it. I wouldn't even know how to...I don't know how to interact with people.'

'That isn't pathetic. Plenty of people have difficulty talking to-'

At that you turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind you, a growl escaping your lips at the reminder of that conversation. You hadn't thought about the years you'd stayed at the mental hospital, nearly three in eons. The idea of ever going back to a place like that had seemed insane. They'd discover you. You weren't fixable back then...you certainly weren't fixable now. The leg coated in tar was stiffening up. Hopefully, movement would fix that.

"He shouldn't have lied like that. Of course, it's pathetic to be like that...I've hurt so many people because of my bullshit. If I could just fucking talk instead of writing poem after poem I'd...this is always my fault. I didn't need this dream to know that."

'Why are you acting like this?' You whipped your head around to look at the past version of yourself, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a raised eyebrow. Your eyes traced over the scar across his, your face. You had forgotten how it stretched and shifted with each expression you made. 'No, I'm serious. Why the fuck are you acting like this?'

"What...do you mean?"

'What do I mean? Are you an idiot? Look at you! You're just letting this happen...? Letting people use and manipulate you...letting yourself believe that shit? What kind of person do I become to believe all of that...?'

"I...I wouldn't believe it if it wasn't correct."

'Who told you that? Ajamu? Oh great, you're listening to the god who used and abused you for how fucking long?!? What about the people that loved you? The people that love you now? The people that care and are mad at you here are mad because you aren't trying! Why can't you try?'

A whimper escaped your throat as the other version of you shook his head.

'Let people love you. Let yourself love people. There are people in this world that care about you...that actually love you...and you're pushing them all away. What would we have done for that before becoming a god?'

"I would've..." Was there a real limit to what you would've gone for back then?

'So don't stop trying.'

You ran a hand over your throat scar, pausing for a second before it dropped to the center of the cross-shaped brand on your chest, and you shook your head with a sigh.

"I was right, wasn't I? These wounds...no one could survive all these wounds...no one...You didn't. Never felt right after becoming an immortal, like something was missing from me...that was you, wasn't it? I lost all my...Of course, he died with everything else...the most fitting thing Ajamu could do to me, right? That's why you're talking to me. You're just another ghost!"

'...?'

"I died and everything good died with me!" You laughed, shaking at the realization. "If you had lived...things would've been better...I could've actually been worth something...but...no...it's all gone!"

'...' His eyes narrowed at you, but you were laughing again. This was too funny. Of course, of course, you were fucked either way. Ajamu was right. He had to know how much of you died at the end of that battle. Ajamu was always right about you.

"I'm stuck like this now! That's it! This wrongness that makes me...me...this isn't going away! I just got rid of whatever good was in me. I'm a monster...I'm god now and I'm a monster! Fuck it all! Fuck all of it!" You clutched your head, tugging at your hair, as you kept on laughing. This was too funny. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't, but you didn't need the air. "Fuck heaven, fuck hell, fuck it all...fuck god, and all gods past, present, and future, and fuck the devil, and all angels fallen or not, and all demons, and the five headed beast, and the whore of Babylon...and fuck all the rest! There's nothing left!"

You staggered back as the other you vanished; the building filled with tar, and you hoped it would kill you.

...it doesn't.

…nothing ever does.

It's never your time to die. You already knew that, didn't you?

You wake in a morgue, laying on the autopsy table, and you shift, feeling the straps dig into your skin. You don't expect to break these; don't want to break these, and you want nothing more than to let your mind fade away. To stop thinking. That would be the closest thing to death if no one destroyed your stand, right?

That would be nice.

'M/n,' that voice made you flinch, eyes snapping open, and your eyes locked onto the person approaching the table. 'It's good to see you again.'

"Jonathan...?" Of all the ghosts that were haunting you...Jonathan was one you had hoped to never see, somehow even more than Dio himself, so you shifted as if trying to escape the straps. They didn't budge at all. "Why are you here?"

'Why wouldn't I be here for you?'

"...?" Jonathan moved around the table, examining a tray of tools, and you struggled more. You were not getting dissected by him...but the straps didn't do more than dig into your skin. 'With this world being monochrome...this whole thing feels like a snuff film...'

'You know, when you didn't let me confess, it killed me, right?' Jonathan's appearance rippled. A thick line of deep tar dripped from his throat, earning a whimper from you. Gently he picked up a scalpel, causing you to flinch in your bonds. 'If you had listened to me...if you had even thought about accepting what we both felt...well, I would've done things differently. I might've avoided that cruise ship. I might've had you to help me.'

"I...I'm sorry Jonathan...that was never my intention..."

'Do you leave everyone you love drowning in their own blood, M/n?' You lost all words at that moment. What were you supposed to feel? Anger at the reminder of how you killed your own mother? Fear at the fact this version of Jonathan knew what you had done in the past? Self hatred...no, you were already feeling that one. It was shocking enough that you didn't even register him rolling up the crop top you wore in your god form till it was bundled up at your Adam's apple. You opened your mouth only to freeze when the edge of the blade started at your throat. ‘No, I know you don't. You leave people to suffer because you'd rather die than admit weakness. Because you can't fathom that people may want you to stay when they suffer so they have someone to support them. You couldn't accept that it would've been better for me to say that I loved you and get rejected than to just be cut off. You don't know how to accept anything like that, do you?’

You hissed, feeling him press the blade against something a bit more solid beneath the first few layers of skin, and then he cut.

'I wish you did. I wish the people in your life had been better. I wish you could've grown up in a world where people took care of you, but that doesn't excuse this. You need to be a better person. There isn't...you can't always blame everything on what happened to you.' The massive ball of scar tissue was set on a tray. 'No one gets anywhere with hatred. There's nothing left when all the bridges are burned, and you won't have anything. Anyone. I know you don't want that. People are something you want to have around you. You want to know people. You want to. So, you need to stop. You need to try to be happy.'

You could feel him cut down, peeling back layers of your skin, feeling ichor spill even if it looked pitch black in this world. Your fingers twitched as you tried and failed to reply. Jonathan simply frowned at that. You looked away, focusing on the dark shadows in the room's corner. Each sound that escaped the ripped open cavern of your throat was wet and raw.

'My family is suffering because of you.' You whimpered, but Jonathan pressed on. 'Erina was left alone, my son died being ripped apart by a zombie, my daughter-in-law is on the run unable to see her family, and my grandson now has two rings inside of him that will poison him soon enough.'

You tap an apology in code, but he doesn't seem to listen to you.

'Things could've been better. I love you, M/n.'

He leaves. Your open wound isn't healing and you shake. If it doesn't heal, then does that mean infection can set in? You whimper at the idea of going septic again. Even if you can't feel pain, the scent and sensation will ruin you. You can't go septic again. The door opens and the man that enters is Ajamu again.

‘Oh N/n, it seems everyone left you again. Why do you expect anything else? They say they love you, they say they want to help you, but at the end of the day, they always leave you behind. No one cares enough to stay. No one wants to stay. Now you can outlast all of them, ironic given how you love to fight using those same techniques, but it changes nothing.' Ajamu grabbed the mass of scar tissue off the tray and crushed it in his hands before plunging his hand into the gash on your chest. He rips out your heart, holding the stained item in front of your eyes. 'What a pesky thing it is, N/n, to have emotions. To care for and love things. It makes you weaker. It makes you hesitate. You only make the wrong choices because of this ability to feel. Don't you want it all to fade away? Don't you want to close your eyes and have it all go away?'

Despite lacking a heart, you can still growl.

'Like always, you refuse to listen to reason. Your life would've been so much easier if you had just listened to me when we first met, N/n, but you cling to ideals that have never helped you in the first place. Why follow mortal morality when you're above them? Oh, I know why you're acting like this, you're holding onto what's lost. You still crave the taste of mortality, though I think you'd find the taste wouldn't satisfy you like it used to. You crave a summer, but really you mean a summer, one that happened eons ago.'

You wouldn't grace that with a reply even if you could.

'You hate yourself so much. What are you, N/n? A disgrace born of god's antipathy with a devil living in your blood. You, destined to suffer for the penance of humanity, for the sins of your species, the worst creature to ever be born and someone that destroys all that he touches with only his touch alone.'

The bonds snap, but when you leapt to your feet, he crushes your heart and vanishes.

Your wounds heal.

…you drown in tar again.

You wake standing in a grassy field, black grass sways back and forth, and you stalk through the area like a beast possessed. You don't resemble it. In fact, you likely resemble a rabid dog limping forward with three broken legs, but you don't want to think about that right now. These fields...they almost resemble the ones at Wind-Knight's Lot, but it was too wide...too flat...there was no change in the landscape. This couldn't be the land you called home. Then you heard someone's voice.

A scholar.

'Hey baby~!' You stare in shock at the scene in front of you. Under a single lonely tree is William A. Zeppeli with a picnic basket. Both he and that tree are in color and he watches you with a smile. You hesitate for only a moment, long enough for him to beckon you closer. 'Come and take a seat. Non vuoi lasciare un vecchio appeso, vero?'

"It's been a while." You watch him struggle to open a bottle of wine, without thinking you take it from him, popping the cork off with a fang, before silently handing it back. Looking to the basket, you noted grapes, another bottle of wine, and human intestines that stained segments of the basket a dark red. "Are you here to yell at me, too?"

'No. Besides, it seems you've been beating yourself up enough, so why don't you tell me what's going through your head?' You blinked at that, everyone other than Dio had been quick to point out your flaws, maybe it was something to do with them being in color to the monochrome of the world? You tried to find the correct answer, but you realize there isn't one.

"I'm...I'm tired, but I don't think there's a way for this to end...a way for me to get rest or peace. I want to be better, but I don't know the first place to start."

'Then why don't you ask?'

"What?" He smiled at you, pouring you a glass, and when you looked in the liquid you saw moments of your journey with Zeppeli and the others reflected up at you. "This is..."

'Your past. Part of it, the part I was allowed to see, and the part that both aided and damaged you in turn. But I meant what I said; there is an option that you haven't considered as of late. You haven't asked anyone for help. Why? There's always been at least one person since I met you that would gladly assist in the burden.'

"I...I don't want to be a-"

'A burden? Do you think those that loved you would ever consider you as such?'

"I don't want to know the answer to that, so I'd never want to ask."

'But then you never get the answer to your question. You never get to find out if the people around you wanted to help.' Zeppeli would tilt his head, openly examine you, before shaking it with a smile appearing on his face. 'I don't blame you for my death.'

"...you should."

'Perhaps, but I don't, and at the end of the day it's my choice, isn't it?' You nodded, twitching as you examined your claws with an annoyed hiss. You didn't understand this. Didn't know why there was a lull in people yelling at you. Or why people suddenly appeared in color. 'You want me to be mad at you?'

"I think you should be mad at me...I'm something that can't die and you...died trying to save me. It was a death that shouldn't have happened."

'I think that's the thing you'll find with death, youngster; when someone finally leaves your life, those exits aren't always equal. Some are the stuff of legends, beautiful and poetic, and most of all, satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most? Most are just...unremarkable, unintentional, and clumsy. No rhyme. No reason. That's simply the cost of life in a way. I'm not mad that I died. Not mad that I died for you and Jojo. I knew I was going to die. I accepted it all a long time ago, but if you really believe you owe me, then I only have one request for you.'

"I'll do anything."

'Please keep my grandson from following the same path as me.' You blinked at that, trying and ultimately failing to see what he meant. Caesar was the more capable hamon user. You doubted he'd get dragged into a match like William had, but you shivered when your mind then tried to create a scenario where he did.

"Of course, I won't let him die on my watch." He smiled at that. You looked away, plucking a grape free, and it tasted like ash and gore in your mouth.

'I know you won't.' He rests a hand on your tar coated legs, hamon burns it off, and he pulls away before you feel more than a light warmth grace your skin. Then...it all changes.

There's the sound of steel snapping, Zeppeli is wrapped in thick layers of steel, and torn apart.

He didn't stop smiling once.

His body turns into gold flower petals, before they all scatter and the world becomes monochrome once again.

…you drown in tar yet again.

'It was always too late.' You don't stop walking. You don't dare look back at Ajamu as he follows you. There's no point. You know how this story goes. All you need to do is figure out how to end this dream. So, you roam through smoke filled hallways with no answers to any of your questions. 'There was never anything you could do.'

"Perhaps. But that doesn't mean it didn't matter. I have a role in this story no matter what. I'm not the traveler, but the wolf in the woods, and a story can't end without a moral."

'You are the moral of this story,' Ajamu agreed, his voice changing to a far kinder tone than what you were used to. His voice didn't even seem to come from his mouth, but from the environment itself. 'You know I love you.'

And, despite yourself, you nod your head. It was true; Ajamu loved you. But at the end of the day, Ajamu only loved you in the way a dictator loved power or the greedy loved money. In Ajamu's T50 eyes, you knew you were little more than some trinket, toy, or possession, nothing more. A tolerated pet, and one that's behavior had stopped being entertaining eons ago.

'Hm, at least you know that much N/n.'

You end up alone yet again.

It doesn't take long for a ghost to follow you. The hall turns into one with mirrors on each side of you, narrow enough that the ghost remains behind you the entire time, and you only catch sight of the reflection once to know who it is. It doesn't matter. This is all a bad dream, anyway. The reflections are messy, none of them are correct, or maybe they are...what form of yours is actually you?

You don't know the answer.

"I got sick, once. I don't think I ever told you that." Jonathan frowns in one reflection, but the rest make him look like a monochrome corpse. You try not to think about it. "Really sick...it lasted for months. I shouldn't have lived. There wasn't even a cure in the traditional sense. My mother had me under constant observation, but nothing worked. Then I lived. I got a second chance. That's more than most people will ever get, you know? But often I wonder...have I wasted it?"

'M/n...'

"It's funny to say that, right? I mean, what kind of person who...who killed a god...who became a god worries that they wasted their second chance?" You scoff, feeling bitter once more, as Jonathan looks at you as if you had been the one to hang each star in the night sky. "But that's it, isn't it? I haven't been a good god. A kind god. I've still killed and maimed as I pleased. This ends in bloodshed all the same...I'm just too strong to kill now. I'm as fucked as any church. There was never any moment where I'd thought I'd be a good god, just better than Ajamu, and there are days where I think I'll end up just like him. That's all it ever is."

'You aren't like that M/n. I never met this Ajamu, but I know you're a good person.'

You don't know what to say to that, but honesty to a ghost can't hurt you.

"I love you, or I loved you, either way I want you to know I love you." Jonathan stops walking at that, you stop only because you don't want to leave him again. The bitterness rises in the back of your throat, the memories of Ajamu dance in your mind, but you want to be honest. "I wanted to tell you how I felt, I wanted to be brave enough to say three fucking words to you, but I realized it didn't matter even before we entered those tunnels. A relationship wouldn't have worked out between us. Even if people accepted two men together, which they wouldn't, I wanted things from you that would've put us in a...a shit show to say the least. You were a moral compass to me. That isn't...I shouldn't look at my partner in hopes they'll tell me how to behave. You deserved someone that could see you completely. I wouldn't have been able to let go of myself for that."

'...'

"That's just how things are. I was cursed to die alone, and now I'm cursed to live alone."

You look back only once. Jonathan's in full color, tears running down his cheeks.

You look ahead to the light.

You make your choice.

Don't forget that you are my son, no matter how many days fade into the night.

(Go back to bed. This is all a bad dream.)

I know that you'll do well.

(You won't come to harm forever. The sun will rise on you.)

So, death to all that stands in your way.

(Please wake my dear.)

…

Let's try again.

Let's answer an important question; how does one become a myth?

Don't be afraid to take risks, especially for love, because at the end of the day, that's all you have. So, fly into the sun without hesitation, and dare to defy anyone who tells you it isn't possible for you to love him. The ocean is below you. Let it break your fall, even if it is by drowning you.

(That's it, isn't it? You knew he was too bright, that he would burn you, didn't you, Icarus? You merely thought that he was worth the risk.)

Get stolen away by a god, far from the sun and meadows you knew, let yourself fall into those arms waiting for you. Press a kiss to his lips, taste the blood that stains them. You'd never fall in love with someone sweet and innocent. Become the queen of the underworld. Turn the land of death into a home unlike any other.

(You knew it from the start, didn't you, Kore? That to survive and find happiness you'd have to become Persephone?)

Turn yourself into little more than an echo of the person you used to be, no one needs that person anymore, and then fall in love with him. And when everything happens, when he only grows to love himself, pine away.

(Narcissus would’ve never loved you, at least not the way you needed, my sweet Echo. Not in the way he loved his own reflection.)

Become an indestructible monster, make people whisper your name in fear, make even the greatest of warriors speak of you in hushed whispers under their breath in terror. When you finally die at someone's hands, make sure it's a battle that will go down in myth.

(We all know that Theseus was the only end worthy of you, my dear minotaur.)

When a man, or god, in a position of power over you dares to assaults you make it so you turn those to stone. Turn the very gods into stone. Turn anything that becomes a threat into stone.

(Medusa, don't you see? Athena didn't turn you into a monster out of spite, she did it to protect you. Your beauty was the cost for power.)

Adore her so much that the first chord on your instrument brings the very world to tears. Make the broken song that plays in your very soul echo. Almost save her from the underworld.

…almost.

(Oh Orpheus, all you had to do was not look back, but there are far greater sins than to love so deeply. No one could blame you for that.)

Marry the king of gods. Watch as he betrays you over and over again...learn that he doesn't feel the same way. Become bitter. Grow cruel. Learn that he will never respect or love you in the same way. Promise to yourself, the world, that he will suffer till he learns.

(Oh darling Hera, I know why you couldn't leave him, it was because you loved him. Everything you did was for love.)

Become a warrior that's never defeated. Become someone who can't be harmed. Join a war where you lose everything you've ever loved. Even the one you love most of all. Don't even notice. Keep on fighting.

(Achilles, what was the point of it all? Godhood? Patroclus' love would've made you immortal anyway.)

Realize that a marriage has only bound you. Feel yourself grow unhappier by the day. Then find a dangerous prince who promises you an actual love. Run away with him. Don't think of fear or consequence.

(Helen, you didn't just launch a thousand ships; you set entire kingdoms ablaze.)

10.

Destroy everything you've ever loved in a murderous rage. Realize. Scream to the gods who never loved you. Go on a journey hoping it will bring about your doom.

(Hercules, tell us all the truth. You hoped those labors would bring about your destruction, didn't you?)

Or maybe it is better to avoid becoming a myth?

Yes. Don't become a myth. stay human.

Stay mortal.

It brings less wounds.

I promise...it was never worth it.

You wake with a sort of dying sob trying to escape your lips.

A form is pulling you out of water, not deep water but water nonetheless, and for a moment you nearly open your hand to try to claw them. A moment later, you realize that you're back to your mortal form and the person holding you is none other than Santana. You blink water out of your eyes, know that some of it is your own tears, and try to steady yourself.

Santana does it for you.

"What...what happened...?"

"The blond hamon user brought you all here." You realize you're in the hotel bathroom. Santana had pulled you from the bathtub. "I walked in on you drowning yourself."

"I..."

"You fought me in your sleep."

"Did I hurt you?" He shakes his head, but you adjust yourself to check him over anyway, only stopping when he carefully adjusts you. Simply stopping you by manhandling you, had it been anyone else you would've panicked, but you went still in his grasp. "I'm sorry. Didn't think to mention that I sleepwalk...I hadn't in months...since I left Wind-Knight's Lot. I...I'm sorry."

"You're panicking."

"Yeah, I am." He seems to study you, honestly he's hard to read more times than naught, but all he does is pull you into his arms earning a weak gasp.

Oh...you're crying again.

I think in another life; you didn't ruin me.

No, somewhere along the lines, you let me go instead. But that's not how the story goes. Instead I was stuck, merely one match away from self immolation, just to keep you warm.

I could not keep us both alive. In my foolish, loving heart, I chose you instead. While choosing me never crossed my mind. I was stuck rotting from the inside out while you pulled the wool further over your eyes.

Because it was more convenient for you.

There are times when I still want to ask if you ever thought of putting me first, but I'm scared of the answer.

I should feel vindicated, or even excited, now that you're gone. As I'm left sewing up the holes inside my heart. Parts that I won't ever get back.

But I don't feel satisfied at all.

I just feel empty.

Notes:

I want to hear everyone thank our lovely editor since he helped me come up with almost all the dialogue and fight scenes between the pillar men and Joseph in the first part of this chapter. When the reader says 'Bye!' to Wamuu, please listen to Hunter/Golden Guard from The Owl House saying bye because that's the energy I hope for. And Mindfulldreams I hope you enjoyed M/n talking with Jonathan again, this is what you wanted, right? :)
Anyway, translations;
Sangue e ossa...sangue e ossa...Non importa quanto forte faccio le mie squame trovi ancora i segmenti delle mie articolazioni e li mi miri a mente. Che furbo! Che fastidioso! Voglio inchiodarti e divorarti...Mi serve la mia arma. Mi serve la mia arma. Non piangere per me...No, hai ragione. Posso vincerlo senza quello strumento.=Blood and bones...blood and bones...No matter how strong I make my scales, you still find the segments of my joints and target them to sever me. How clever! How annoying! I want to pin you down and devour you...I need my weapon. I need my weapon. Don't cry for me...no, you're right. I can win this without that tool.
La cacciatrice dei diavoli divini=The slayer of divine devils
Dannazione=Goddammit
Non vuoi lasciare un vecchio appeso, vero?=You don't want to leave an old man hanging, do you?

Chapter 11: I'm not your devil anymore.

Summary:

And you can't make me the scapegoat again.

Notes:

Take some meme art I made of the reader, but on a far more serious note in this chapter is talk of underage sex work, and mentions of a heat/rut cycle and what that realistically means, so please be careful and heed all warnings.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

To be a god is to be a thing, or rather a person, if one could call this existence personhood, that comprises a massive pile of regrets. There's no way to avoid having regrets, especially because gods aren't forgetful things by nature, so there's always a moment, no matter how small, that can pull the mind down one spiral or another.

What does one do about regrets?

…you pull yourself out of the fucking spiral like the damned pull themselves out of hell.

You don't look back.

You made your choice.

Recently, my doctor told me to take all of my meds in front of a roommate or coworkers. He doesn't trust me and I don't trust him. That medicine made me so sick I thought it must've been poison.

Desperate for some sort of change, I keep on taking it.

Everyone can hear all my thoughts in the city. I think I'm too young for these thoughts. I never should've moved.

I see pitch black cars and think they're coming for me.

"AHH! Why the hell did I say that?!?" There wasn't even a moment of acknowledgement from either Joseph or Caesar when the god and pillar man entered the room, only Caesar slamming a segment of the curtains closed so half of the room was bathed in shadow for Santana, all while Joseph laid curled out on a single chair screaming. Looking back at Santana, he raised an eyebrow, only receiving a small shrug, barely noticeable given how reserved the pillar man was, so he refocused back on the two hamon users. Joseph, as he had already noted, was a ball of raw panic and energy. Caesar just looked annoyed with the other's behavior. He didn't spot Speedwagon. At least the lack of attention on the god meant it was less likely for them to realize that he had been crying, besides the whites of his eyes always had a permanent red or gold tint to them anyway, they'd think it was natural. "When I said I needed a month, I only meant that as a bluff! I didn't think he'd take me seriously! I should have said I needed a year."

'Really? He's bitching and moaning about that of all things?' M/n wasn't sure what the problem was in all honesty. He had expected Joseph to be mad about the wedding rings. That one Esidisi gave him had to be suffocating, but he was just whining about the time limit? Not the violation of having some death trap placed inside his body? He...really didn't understand, but maybe that was just because of emotional exhaustion? Still, he watched Joseph spot him, expression changing to overdramatized outrage.

"M/n, why did you let me agree to that?!?"

"Hm?" The god tilted his head, certain that his expression was somewhere caught between pure confusion and a hint of annoyance, somewhat aware that Santana had shifted closer to him. "What does that mean, exactly? Last I checked, I only went along with your bluff. I didn't force you to say a month. Don't pin this problem on me."

"A tip for you, Jojo; quit screwing around, act like a man, and stop blaming your allies for your mistakes!" Caesar interjects, though M/n isn't sure why anyone would step to his defense, but watches the blond approach Joseph with an annoyed huff. "We need to think of something, and fast."

"I know. This is how I think."

"Sadly, he's not lying to you." M/n added on, now that Joseph seemed less upset, he was content to draw closer, his vision dancing so he could see each ring inside his body. If he looked down, the one in his heart would be even more apparent. His gaze goes to his servant when he moves Joseph's chin up to feel the slight point in his throat when the skin bulges because of the ring wrapped around it. "Santana, do you know a trick to remove either of these wedding rings?"

"No." His eyes are narrowed, expression still mostly blank, as his focus is on Joseph's frame where your fingertips linger over. "These wedding rings must have been invented after my time. With his hamon, I wouldn't be able to remove them even if I did."

"Figures." Noting Joseph's look, he shook his head. "I can't just remove them, either. My body doesn't phase through flesh like a pillar man's. The only way I'd get the rings out would be to rip them out, and my ichor wouldn't be able to heal you because of the hamon running through your veins."

'Then there really isn't a point in me thinking too hard about all of this. If we do that, we'll realize just how much trouble we're all in.' Joseph's gaze goes to M/n who seems calm, heels tapping lightly, hands gently brushing over his throat one more time before pulling back and settling on the hotel's couch. Santana moves fast enough that Joseph barely realizes that he's moving in the first place till he's suddenly recoiling at how Santana is by the side of the couch, hand moving to rest on the god's shoulder, and he watches how M/n leans into the touch. They share a single glance. The Joestar wonders when they even got so close in the first place, it was pretty obvious that they had sex at some point or another, but M/n seems fine with letting a few of his many walls down when Santana interacts with him. That seems unique given all he knows about the god.

"Well, once you're done with your thinking...freak-out, I want you to pay close attention to what I'm about to do." Caesar demands, moving to a table and pouring a single glass of water, without thinking M/n crosses his legs. The position is just leaned back enough that his heels are hanging off the couch, the edges of his boots clicking against each other, with his back pressed against the uncomfortably firm cushions of the couch. The lightest touch from Santana is a rather comfy grounding point, one that is rather kind compared to the others he had used as a mortal, and he listens to Caesar's hamon. His is a more liquid sound, the hamon gathering in those pouches that hold soap, while Joseph reminds you of live wires with how it sparks.

"Eh...?" Joseph doesn't have time to say anymore before Caesar turns, flipping the water cup upside down, allowing all of you to watch the way it stays in place with a layer of gold sparks coating the liquid. Santana hums, looking slightly curious although hamon is a death sentence for him, and M/n has to admit that strange energy has grown on him. "The water's suspended in midair!"

"Jojo, catch. Try to keep the water in the glass like I did." With a scoff, Caesar tosses the glass, earning a panicked gasp from Joseph, who had the water barely stay covered for half a second before he's soaked. The action was just fast enough that Joseph didn't even have time to brag about his skills. M/n doesn't remember water glasses being involved in Jonathan's training with Zeppeli. Sure, they walked on water, but he supposed it didn't matter. As long as they reached the same end results. "Here's what you did wrong; the strength of your hamon is pretty much on the same level as mine, but you waste a lot of your power, because you release it from the palm of your hand."

Joseph gasped, while the god stared at the now drenched shirt with barely disguised lust, quickly looking away when Caesar rolled his eyes. Even if the action wasn't directed at him...well, it still wasn't polite.

"And thus you can't control the water. However, when I hold the water, I release hamon from the tip of my fingers, a single point. That method allows me to focus my energy. Making it far easier to control the water. Scattering hamon everywhere the way you do just disperses your energy. Here, think of it like using a squirt gun with its smaller hole, rather than an open water hose, capiche?" Caesar sighs, noting how Joseph just seems shocked at the idea, before adjusting his position. "You're naturally gifted, Jojo, but you need a lot of work to get your hamon under control. One reason I brought you all to Venice was to meet my mentor, but it's going to be a grind."

"Is that really a surprise?" M/n interjects, earning a look from Caesar, but the god waves a hand at the look. "When Jonathan was training to defeat Dio, the first week was spent constantly outside. He only slept for three to four hours each night, and even the meals given were only designed for calories, not flavor. I can't imagine this will be that different."

Joseph looked as if he was about to scream in horror.

A few moments later, he actually did.

There was a point when I first moved into that old apartment that I had a dream I was a child again. I had been kidnapped by a person coated in shadow and kept locked away in their house.

When I finally escaped that place, I ran home. But that shadow was on my tail like death itself.

I slammed the door closed and locked it before running to the backdoor to do the same.

The dream ended with me staring at the figure, kitchen knife in hand.

Deep down, I knew that just locking the door wasn't enough to keep it out.

It's only a matter of time.

The entire thing ended with all four of you going down to the docks, it had been a difficult matter when dealing with Santana given his extreme weakness to even a flicker of sunlight, but M/n was nothing if not a man, or rather god, who could come up with plans on the spot. He had won against enough stand users by just looking at the items around him and making a plan up in a matter of moments, though it had often ended with him bloody and bruised, but he wasn't alone this time. Despite the emotional exhaustion he still felt from the entire shit show that had been encountering the three other pillar men, M/n was lucky enough to have a trickster with him. A few items from the inside of his stand and a couple of things from some shops had been easy enough. A sun proof outfit had been made, and while Santana was left blind, M/n simply had the pillar man loop an arm over his shoulders and walk with him. Had it been anything else, or better yet, anyone else, he may have been uncomfortable, but Santana was his servant. He didn't know how to describe it better than that.

Besides...today was going to go from bad to worse soon enough.

"So this is Venice, huh? I always thought it was just some tourist town. What's a hamon master doing in a place like this?" Looking over his shoulder Joseph caught the god's eyes, now a cool shade of E/c rather than gold if tinted with a hint of scarlet, and watched as M/n made a slight, confused expression. Obviously waiting for him to make a statement, or give some sort of body movement that would tell him what exactly he wanted. "I wonder; were the teachers you planned on taking me to living it up in such a pleasant city?"

"Not sure. I never went to Tibet." M/n answered back easily enough, and it was true he had never wanted to go to Tibet, though while polite, Tonpeti had made it obvious that non hamon users weren't exactly welcome, mostly. At the time the god had nearly hissed out his thanks because of every emotion he had been feeling before their departure, there was also his very vocal distaste of hamon that had taken years to fully fade away, so he had only thought of it all in passing. However, when fighting Straights, there had been a part of him that was concerned about what the old hamon master must be feeling because of his student's choices. No matter. It didn't seem as if they would go to Tibet anytime soon. "Wasn't invited."

"So? You're a god!"

"That doesn't mean I just go wherever I please. Being a god doesn't mean being a tyrant despite what many myths will let you believe." Joseph watched M/n roll his eyes, only shifting to better adjust Santana's stance, before looking out to the water. It reflected in his gaze, making his eyes seem to hold an entire universe. Joseph swallowed a bit at the sight, a pang in his chest that didn't revolve around the poisoned wedding ring, and then he remembered something else.

"M/n," the god looked back to him, raising an eyebrow, and his eyes once again darted between the two points where the rings were inside his body. Joseph was certain that M/n could actually see them even now. "Have you removed the ring Kars put in you?"

The god twitched at that.

"That ring...? No, no, I haven't." He frowns a bit. Expression unreadable. Eyes narrowing ever so slightly before he looked back at Joseph and Caesar. "I didn't even think about it after waking up. There was...a lot on my mind. Besides, there's no rush for me. My ichor will act as a natural preserve that will prevent the ring from dissolving, and even if it did, the poison wouldn't do anything to me. But the moment I rip it out, it'll break. Seems better to just keep it here for now. Gut feeling I suppose."

"Excuse me!" The three of them looked over, though it wasn't as if Santana could see Caesar, and watched the blond wave a hand to a figure resting in one of those long boats. The god blinked, trying and failing to remember the name of the type of boat. But he quickly forgot about silly things like boat names, instead he was fully paying attention to the masked figure.

...it was her.

There is a truth that in every tragedy, great, or small, can in turn find its root in how someone was once treated.

For every action, a reaction.

For every action of cruelty, an act of vengeance.

Everything you do to a person teaches them how they should be treated and how they should treat others.

So please,

Be kind.

"Do you know Air Supplena island, and how long it takes to get there?" M/n barely registers what Caesar had said, they feel muddled and far from him, but when they hit he feels as if things would be better if he had stayed drowning in the hotel bathroom. Almost as if he could read your thoughts, Santana's hold tightens ever so slightly. To her credit, or maybe to Caesar's discredit, Lisa Lisa, though he had known her first as Elizabeth, doesn't even react to her student's shouting.

If anything, she only seems to lean further back in the boat's seat with a relaxed air that doesn't relate back to anyone else. Adrift away from everyone else. It was fitting and saddening all the same. Perhaps he had understood, though he knew their pain wasn't the same, but he imagined they both would have a story to tell if they liked the other enough to say that to their face. They don't. She hates him. He isn't sure what he feels about her. The emotions had been easier to never think about when he had never met Elizabeth or George Joestar the Second, or the young Joseph who would never know his mother or father in the way one should.

George had written him letters.

Did she know he kept them?

They had been overly formal and awkward, a bit too unsure even as the years went by and the letters grew slightly more frequent, and what had only been a child wanting to mimic his mother had become a young man sending letters to god that went answered. He was the son of a saint, after all. M/n hadn’t known how to speak, even in the written word, to Jonathan's son, but he had hoped that he could impart something of value to the other.

He told George that sometimes to do the right thing, you have to risk it all. How will I know it was the right thing to do, was what George had written in the next letter, showing that even as he had grown, the young Joestar was still a man at the early stages of adulthood. Though maybe M/n forgot that he had only lived to be in his early twenties.

Because you won't regret it, M/n had responded, watching the thin black lines of ink dry on the letter. He had sent it off two days later, arriving back in Wind-Knight's Lot while petting one of those cat owls on the head to hear it coo and purr. He had remembered feeling comforted by sending that letter, as if the idea that risking it all was good advice for a mortal, as if the Joestar bloodline's fate was content with him getting to keep one fucking thing.

It doesn't last.

After all, George Joestar is killed. Dies being ripped apart and devoured, although, or maybe because, that the zombie doesn't have the honor of killing him. His lungs fill with blood to muffle his own dying screams because the zombie doesn't care enough to cover his mouth with a hand. The world, yet again, loses another person of pure heart and soul. You supposed that in one regard you had damned him by telling George to risk it all to do what was right. That was the end of him. M/n had considered a world where he hadn't said a word, or one where he had told him that the world didn't need him to do anything insane for it to survive, but he had kept the sickening feeling that nothing would have changed.

No, he decided that in a way he hated Lisa Lisa for it.

There had been a point in time where Erina, Speedwagon, and George himself had all written about the woman Elizabeth Joestar had been. The god had reread each description when the letters arrived, hoping to intersect each one to see which points aligned to give him a real idea of who she was, and at some point or another he had decided if he had ever met her he could've loved Elizabeth. Not romantically or sexually. Didn't care for women in either of those regards, but some of her traits reminded him of his mother and despite how painful remembering her could be, there wasn't a definition of a strong woman that didn't link back to Ophelia Mary Black. He had traced black ink lines as he wondered repeatedly what kind of woman Elizabeth was outside of the eyes of her loved ones. He knows people are soft in that regard, he could only describe his mother as a saint or goddess for instance, and he knew that if Dio or Jonathan had lived and remained in ignorance they'd describe him in those soft terms that only loved ones can manage.

Lisa Lisa, on the other hand, is a woman that he pities far more than he likes. He hasn't even met her till today, but he sees a person who ran with blood on her hands. Blood, that was justified for sure, but that still doesn't mean it wasn't dark red blood all the same. He knows everything he did in life and immortal status, knows that the level of blood on their hands isn't comparable, but it still means something that they made the same major decisions. To kill and run. To be cowards that acted far too late to save their loved ones. Some that are shared. Some that aren't. It never changed. No, in a world where George Joestar took his life by hoping to help everyone, to help people he'd never met and would never know, there was a world where she had noted the behavior of the love of her life and went with him. Where just another zombie was slain with hamon. A world where everyone gets to live.

But that world never got to happen.

They say that a butterfly beating its wings can cause a hurricane.

The ripples on a pond can cause the flood that Noah feared.

Action equals reaction.

A whirlwind of mistakes and accidents.

Once upon a time.

Someone hurt someone.

Or, maybe...

Someone took something from someone.

Or, maybe...

Stop.

Someone hurt someone.

Who hurt someone else.

Who hurt me.

…who hurt me...who hasn't hurt me?

"Gondolier, did you hear me?" Caesar asks again, voice getting slightly louder this time as M/n adjusts himself, the comforting beat of Santana's heart, even if it differed from a human's, acting as a good grounding point that helps balance him out. His thoughts go away from crazed opinions on those in some sphere of his social circles and back to the form of the boat. Slowly she turns towards them, revealing the sharp features of the mask she's currently wearing. Joseph jolted at the sight, a gasp escaping his lips, as M/n tried to link this mask to something he had known beforehand. He couldn't place it. In a single motion she rises to her feet, the row slams hard against the water, as she points a finger at Joseph. M/n wonders if there was a moment when she froze up at the sight of her son because she has to recognize him.

But she doesn't show it.

No, instead she seems to float till she lands gently on the floating row, balancing perfectly on her toes with all the grace of a ballet dancer. The water starts to shift and change patterns with the gentle glow of hamon. The other two tense up. He can hear Santana make a sort of confused hum, his lack of sight preventing him from having a full sense of situational awareness.

"How is he standing on the oar like that?" M/n wondered how Caesar hadn't noted who this person actually was.

"Uh, I don't think I like this, not one bit." Joseph whispered, right as with a leg sweep the row is raised up in the air before a secondary leg motion causes the paddle of the row to smack the Joestar right in the face. The god jolts. For a second, his face flickers through emotions. He can almost hear someone yelling and smell alcohol in the air. A tug from the pillar man drags him back from the world at large. He mumbles a silent thanks as Joseph jolts at the painful blow while Caesar gasps in shock. The force of the blow knocks him back into the water, where he skids along the surface on all fours with palms flat against the water to make sure he balances out. Hamon sparks loudly when compared to the waves Lisa Lisa had made, yet he sinks past the surface as his mother tilts her head to the side, watching him easily adjust himself back to be balanced out. Mask hiding all expressions as Joseph glares up at her. "You asked for it. I have no idea who you are, but I'm going to make you pay for that. You're gonna wish you never met me."

Not the best way for them to meet.

"At least he can control his hamon well enough to stand on water. That's a start." Caesar gasps as she pulls the mask up and off of her face. M/n notes they didn't lie in any of those letters. In terms of physical beauty Lisa Lisa is still stunning even now when she's fifty, but the look in her eyes is far more compelling than physical beauty...though it might be due to him being a gay man rather than him being something so ancient...maybe a combination of both. He doesn't know. Yet the look in her eyes is haunted, the color of them is a brilliant blue, yet there's a dullness there from the loss in her life. His eyes have that same dullness.

"A woman?!?"

"Is that you, coach?" She remains on the row, that is now back to floating on top of the water, and he shudders at the soft purr of the hamon and the way the sound mingles with the water, shifting and rippling.

"Well, well, don't think that I'll forgive you for hitting me in the face with that oar! Just because you're a girl, doesn't mean that I won't give you what you deserve." Joseph snaps, expression sharp and furious, but M/n stays quiet inside of chiding him on his manners. Santana is a presence at his side that stays strong and sturdy in a way that nothing else seems to be. He hums. There's nothing there that he wants to be a part of, the inherent tension of their conversation, something that's heavy in a way that threatens to add to the weight on his lungs and throat, so he stays tense with the pillar man acting as god's only sense of support. There's something funny about that remark, but he isn't in the mood to find it.

"You should just be happy that you impressed me with your initial display of skills. Walking on water when you obviously lack proper training is quite an accomplishment." Her voice isn't cruel, lacking the tone of a mother seeing her son for the first time in years, but not cruel. That's something important, but he doesn't know how to place it either. Maybe it's the simple fact that Lisa Lisa seems keen on taking whatever brief glimpse of motherhood she had and then crushing it in one clenched fist rather than embracing any sort of fondness that's clearly there for her son. M/n had never wanted to be a parent, never felt that desire before it had been taken from him, and had never mourned when he realized a child had become an impossible dream. Adoption was still an option, but an immortal raising a mortal was bound to end with him in front of a coffin. The loss of romantic flames had nearly destroyed him...what would a child be? He thinks he knows why Ajamu never bothered with kids. Well, there are other reasons, but he doesn't want to think about it. Still, Joseph crosses the water, shoes still half sinking in. He doesn't seem afraid like Caesar does.

M/n doesn't fear her either.

"However..." Another kick of the leg and the row is back into the air, all of her motions are gently and flowing like the water they stand on, and Joseph stills to prepare for the next attack. "If you truly wish to master hamon in a month, you must be prepared to die for it!"

"Sh-she's using the water as a high bar!" Joseph yelps, because two thick streams of water hold that row up as Lisa Lisa grabs the center point of the row like a pullup bar, and easily flips around it in a circular motion. This act of rotation only lasts a few seconds before she launches up like a professional gymnastic, and she...

…she muzzles Joseph.

M/n swallows. The fear is there, not at Lisa Lisa, but the black steel of the muzzle. He hates muzzles. He fears them. Because M/n had fangs and claws and was sharp enough that most could tell he wasn't an easy mark in any sense of the word...then he had been placed in a mental hospital and wore a straightjacket and muzzle because they think he may bite. He makes an attempt on day two. That had been easy to fade away, but Ajamu had always had an ease with making you feel smaller and weaker. It had only been a matter of time for him to keep one around your face, the steel tight and stabbing into flesh so there was always dried blood on the edges, and you don't like the sight of Joseph wearing one.

No, Lisa Lisa seems to have easily thrown away the role of mother.

"What is this?" Joseph's hands are at his face, body shaking in shock at the sudden object being placed on his frame, and he sinks, his hamon unsteady. He seems to have trouble breathing. M/n's throat burns in some sort of sympathy.

"Joseph Joestar. From this moment forward, you will be wearing that breathing correction apparatus until I say otherwise."

"I...I can't breathe!" Joseph nearly fell into the water, chest tightening till it felt painfully hot, and blurry spots flickered in and out of his vision.

"Not without proper rhythm, you can't. However, with proper breathing control, you'll have no problem. If you do not maintain proper breath control, then, yes, the mask will eventually suffocate you. So focus. Learn to master your breathing, and you'll be running marathons while wearing it."

"Are you crazy? Get this damn thing off my face right-" Immediately he curled in on himself to catch his breath before falling into the water with a pained gasp. "I can't breathe!"

"You do realize your training's already begun, right? You can take the mask off for meals and whenever you need to brush your teeth." Lisa Lisa spoke up, her voice calm and indifferent, though M/n raised an eyebrow at her when she looked at him and Santana.

"Jojo, don't make it hard on yourself. Just keep your rhythm and pretend that it's Halloween."

"Caesar...just what kind of Halloween costumes do you wear?" The god asked, vaguely aware of Santana making a questioning sound at the mention of Halloween. He'd buy him a book about it later.

"I'm gonna get you, lady!"

"And one more thing before I forget, so we're both on the same page. I did not accept the responsibility of training you just so you could save your own skin. I am forging a squad of warriors capable of annihilating our enemies."

"You...you witch!"

"Careful. You really want another go-around with her?"

"Humph! I would never hit a woman." At that both M/n and Caesar burst into surprised laughter, with Santana muffled saying 'Yes, you would.' as the god slumped in his grasp from how hard he was shaking.

"It's always a pleasure, Caesar. And you, Jojo, welcome to Venice. But I'm confused as to who these two are. I don't sense even a spark of hamon from either of them."

"Oh, well, that's my husband, M/n, and the figure that probably looks as if he's been kidnapped is Santana. He's the pillar man the Germans freed in Mexico, but M/n convinced him to join us, so now he's...M/n's servant...I guess." Lisa Lisa seemed to pause ever so slightly at the mention of his name, icy blue eyes landing on his frame, and M/n realized she had never known what he looked like. It made sense. He hadn't sent photos, and they had never met.

"We're not married. We're not even dating." M/n responded without even thinking about it. His gaze met Lisa Lisa's and he nodded, catching a flash of something pained mixed with open shock before it was suffocated by something he better understood. Hatred. Good, at least that was an emotion he understood compared to the expressions she had shown a mere moment ago. He nods at her again, wondering if that hint of hatred appears in his expression, but decides rather quickly that it doesn't matter.

They don't have to get along.

Empty.

A bullet is shot.

Free.

And at the end of its path.

Shock.

A body lying dead.

…

So now I'm the monster.

How?

I'm prepared to meet the bad guy at the end of this tale.

So charming.

Air Supplena Island is about thirty minutes off the coast of Venice. Of course, that depends on how good the boat is, but a standard one with a new engine makes the trip go from thirty minutes to about twenty if you push it hard enough. They didn't, so it actually took thirty-three minutes. M/n isn't sure if he hated the trip for the strange tenseness in the air or loved it for the view. Still, the island's mysterious air made it a direct contrast to the bustling city of canals, but, in a way, it possesses a dark beauty that seems to be a perfect fit for someone like Lisa Lisa.

"This is your new training ground, Jojo. I've claimed this entire island as my home." Lisa Lisa never allowed her voice to rise in pitch or volume, yet it still stood out against the crashing waves. Tilting his head, M/n watched how the sky seemed to darken the closer they got to the island. Strange.

"So, this is where I'll have to die for my hamon training. We'll just see about that." Joseph huffed under his breath. M/n noted he seemed to have finally grown accustomed to the muzzle strapped around his face. He was thankful for it since the constant panting and rasping had been keeping him on edge.

No one liked to hear someone suffocating, right N/n?

I'm not religious.

I don't believe we go anywhere when we die.

We only get one chance to sit beneath the sun.

So,

Who am I to take it from you?

“I see.'' Despite the sound of a teaspoon clicking against the glass not being ominous, Speedwagon felt as if the shadow of the guillotine loomed over him. Erina had only grown more intimidating as the years went by, though he'd be an idiot to have ignored the fire that had been there since they first met, but...looking her down now certainly sent a shiver down his spine. Even the slightest narrowing of her eyes made him want to confess all his sins, and he wondered, however briefly, if M/n had a similar problem when he faced her. “Still, I'm glad you, M/n, and my grandson are all safe. I don't know if I've ever been happier.”

He managed a shaky laugh. How did her glasses always manage to perfectly catch the light like that? At least with someone like M/n the sense of potential danger was obvious, especially after watching him transform into his true state, but for someone like Erina there was no reason, at least physically, why he felt like bolting...even if it meant going out the window. Smokey, on the other hand, seemed unaware of the present tension and was looking between the two of them like an interesting game of tennis.

'Hey, if you mention one word of these stupid poison rings to Granny Erina, I'll beat you senseless!'

'Robert, you know I'm not exactly...um...the best at human interaction, yeah, we'll go with that one, but I think it would be better if we...didn't mention all the details of this to Erina. Or...at the very least, can you not mention my transformation to her? I don't want her to...think of me that way.'

'It...it would do no good to tell her anything.' He finally decided, besides it wasn't as if she'd believe that M/n was a god that had transformed or that her grandson now had two deadly rings inside of his chest and throat, so he tried to feign ignorance.

"Smokey, would you do me a favor? I seem to have left a tray of biscuits in the kitchen." He blinks at Erina's request, while Speedwagon feels a sudden chill race down his spine, mentally hoping the other would refuse the request...but Smokey was far too polite.

"O-of course!" Leaping to his feet, he was out of the room in an instant, almost as if panicked about the whole thing. Or maybe he wasn't the only one that spotted the sudden glint in her eyes behind the reflective lens of her glasses.

"Erina, is everything-"

"I don't like liars, Robert. It was one reason I hated Dio so much. Why I would've hated him, even if he hadn't made all of those...choices. So, what are you hiding?"

"P-pardon?"

"No 'pardon'. I want an actual answer." He flinched, lowering his head to avoid her gaze, only to feel her eyes still burning holes into his frame. There was no getting out of this, was there? "Joseph's in danger, isn't he?"

"He...he is."

"Hm, do you think he'll be okay?"

"I do."

"So do I." She managed a warm smile. He couldn't help but wonder how she remained so calm and lax in this situation, but he forced himself to raise his own tea glass and take a sip. Despite how calming the blend was supposed to be, it didn't do anything for him. "M/n is with him, isn't he? I'm sure that he won't let anything happen."

"You're right..." Still, he could easily hear M/n's mad laughter and remember how the air filled with wordless chanting as he lunged at the pillar man. Skin covered in black scales and red markings covering his face when that skull was finally removed. Even that skull by itself had been terrifying with the dark red stain that coated the span of it. "He seems rather protective of Joseph."

"Oh, he does? I'm glad to hear it. When they first met, M/n seemed at odds with him. I think he was expecting someone far closer to Jonathan rather than someone as abrasive as Joseph." She sighed at that, expression becoming something wistful, and Speedwagon could easily imagine what she was thinking about. M/n's interactions with Joseph were certainly different from how he and Jonathan had interacted back in the day. M/n had never been as snappy with Jonathan, yet the two of them had never been as physically affectionate either. Sure, he remembered how they would hold each other through tragedy or how M/n would lightly nudge Jonathan with his shoulder to get his attention or steady him, but it lacked the more consistent nature of Joseph's and M/n's interactions.

'Besides, I had a peerless saint who once stood at my side, but sadly, he was dragged away by prophecy and left me alone years ago. Not that he knew of the role he held. No, Joseph has been one of my better hierophants, and now I'm stuck without one. It took me fifty years to find him after my saint's passing...I can only hope the fates will be kinder to me this time around.'

Then again, it wasn't as if M/n had gotten over the loss of Jonathan, either. He wondered if Erina would've been upset to hear him refer to both Jonathan and Joseph as his, though he had a feeling that the two of them had spoken about Jonathan at some point or another. Still, there had been a part of him that had always wondered how M/n felt when it came to Jonathan, his letters had never revealed the level of grief he had been going through, though it certainly had been a painful moment to hear the genuine heartbreak in his voice.

"Though tell me; did M/n ever tell you what he was?"

"...?"

"Come now, we both know that he's not human, but he clearly isn't a byproduct of the mask. Has he told you what exactly he is?"

"His claim is that he's god." Claim. That was how he phrased it, as if M/n had no proof or evidence to back it up, but he certainly had proven it...hadn't he? He could still remember the wordless chanting, the stagnation of the air, the pink smoke, the clicking of the spinal braids and the snap of the skull's jaws. Or perhaps it was the opposite of god he was thinking about?

"Of course." She doesn't sound shocked by it. Merely amused by the entire thing as if she had known from the very beginning, with her behavior and attitude it was likely that she had suspected something like that since the funeral, but it seemed like she wanted to keep her cards close to the chest at the moment.

He lowered his head as if waiting for the blade to come down.

The trident.

The trident...is crying...?

Huh...?

'Make a wish.'

Make a wish...as if they'd answer for me.

As if I'd want them to answer me.

Let the blood flow!

Let the blade be blessed in the blood of an unrepentant sinner!

Let this stand be born today!

To slay divine devils.

What a purpose, right?

"Well, no sense in wasting anymore of my time. I hope you're ready for the Hell Climb Pillar!" Lisa Lisa opened the doors to the central building, not even sparing any of you a secondary glance, though M/n noted Caesar seemed horrified at the mere mention of this...pillar? Was it a weapon? Or was Caesar terrified of an actual support beam?

"But...but Coach, you know I haven't even made an attempt on the Hell Climb Pillar! Do you really intend for us to start on this? I mean, so many have died on Hell Climb Pillar..."

"Wait, what?" M/n looked at Caesar in shock. Was that true? Just how many innocent lives had been killed in a fucking training exercise? "Are you serious?"

"I've heard countless stories."

"Stories that may or may not be true." Was Lisa Lisa's counter, though it would've been easier to just give a simple yes or no, but...maybe the purpose of these rumors was to scare and motivate future hamon users? Then again, fighting pillar men was a life or death situation, so maybe the training, by a sort of proxy, needed the same rough life or death nature? Do or die. M/n certainly had experience with that kind of thing, but it wasn't as if he enjoyed the idea of Joseph and Caesar's suffering. Jonathan had dealt with many difficulties during his training with William. You could remember how weak and tired he had been at the end of each day. Yet he had never been at risk of dying. Maybe at risk of broken bones or passing out from exhaustion, but nothing as deadly as what Dio threw at them. "If you fail, you have no place here."

"Uh, hello, would somebody care to clue me in on what's going on?" Joseph snapped, as the door fully opened with a low, ominous groan. Though it allowed all of you to finally see the infamous pillar. "This Hell Pillar...thing, doesn't seem all that tall."

"Well, from up here, it's really more deep than tall." M/n tilted his head, Narcissistic Cannibal forming and leaping past the others to peer down with his form hanging on the wall like a gecko, with a single tongue flick the god felt a small twinge of fear for Joseph as he gained a better idea of the thing's structure. At least the climb part was making more sense.

"Huh...?" And in an instant, both Joseph and Caesar were pushed off the ledge and into the pit below. M/n jolted with a slight hiss at the action, causing Santana to tense up, obviously trying to mentally keep up with the situation. Hopefully, he'd unwrap his servant at some point.

"Coach, wait! Please don't do this!"

Do you hear that?

Love is calling,

It's time to let it through,

Find a love that will make you,

I dare you to try,

Because,

…love was always a foreign concept for me,

I was a shadow, a reminder.

Except to her, but she's gone.

But you,

Oh you,

You were love.

I love you.

…

I loved you.

A god's true form is not a mere transformation.

It merely is.

As such, it can roam. There is a chance it can separate. It can think. It can feel. In some ways, the god can remain completely ignorant of the form's abilities to wander and interact with the world in ways that not even a stand could. Or most stands. But, then again, is it amazing when one considers the full abilities of a god?

It had only done this once before, only allowing one to see it, but now the form moves.

Still, the figure lingers to the shadows of the world, never stepping out of darkness to risk having a single person spot the god's form. A soft click of the heels is the only impression it leaves on the world. The two skulls that serve as knee pads shift and trail against the stockings that trail from beneath its shorts to disappear in the dancer's shoes he wears.

Hm, is 'he' even the right term for a shadow of the forsaken god?

Yes, it thinks, if anything that is correct...but if there is a better term...? No, it doesn't know, so it doesn't bother questioning it.

The jaws of the skull snap closed with a hum. This form can't speak properly when compared to the true state, but it doesn't care about such matters. There's something more important at the moment. The figure looks back and forth, for a moment unsure which direction to go that would keep it away from other's eyes, but settles on a path beneath an abandoned building's roof. It lifts its head, tongue tasting the air, a scent that's wild and purer lingers before that makes it move quicker.

They're hidden from the mortals, but it's a hunter.

It comes to rest at the building's edge. Its claws twitch, sharp black edges digging into the stone perch, and it swallows beneath the skull. The scent of their blood, the sound of their heartbeats, so different from a human that it makes its own pulse beat quicker. A taste of Santana's blood was something that sent its reality wild, so why shouldn't it kill and devour the ones that weren't cared for? The ones that threatened the things claimed, that threatens it, that threatens everything. It hungers. The skull shifts, a tongue runs over a set of hidden fangs, and it adjusts its position.

Time to move.

It leaps down and enters the empty building, movements slow and precise. If it wanted to, then it would be easy to hide its presence even after it killed them. Even as it killed them. Easy as a mere child drawing breath. As easy as blinking. It would be dishonorable to do that, or it would be enough to spoil the point of the game. A hunt shouldn't be ruined by poor sportsmanship. Two are in one room, talking in soft tones, but it doesn't bother registering the words. They'll be dead soon enough.

The third is approaching.

It stops, watching the warrior appear, and it notes he doesn't have a replacement headdress after it declawed him, but it watches his expression shift in and out of anger and shock. It adjusts itself. The braids click together, back and forth, as if they had a mind of their own, and it swallows down a mouthful of saliva.

"God of insanity," Wamuu says in lieu of a greeting. The thing considers it rude, but its lack of words only allows for it to hum softly in response. Its heels click, the jaws of its skull opening so smoke can coil. There's silence from the room where the other two remain. They hear it, and they're going to approach. A spark of panic comes from the true form. Not even aware of its actions. The thing looks to the distance where its soul, conscious, and reality lies. There's no comfort to come from such behaviors. "I don't sense Lord Kars's ring. Have you removed it?"

The ring isn't there because it resides in its reality is what the thing would say, instead it shakes its head because it didn't remove the ring. No one did. The male's face changes to an expression of confusion. The pillar man doesn't understand. That's apparent, but it lacks the words or level of care that would make it truly want to explain.

"We have a guest?" Esidisi asks. Unlike the warrior, his form is lax and unguarded. Confident. The thing tilts its head to the side, feeling how the pillar man's eyes trail over its form. Its heel taps slowly as it senses the other remaining in the room. "Oh my, an apparition of god has come to visit us."

"An apparition, my Lord?" Wamuu drops to a kneeling position without a hint of prompting, all while the thing breathes in, it wonders if this pillar man that smells of ember and ash will taste as burnt on its tongue.

"Just like us, Kars is fully aware of both the location and condition of his wedding ring, the real god remains alongside our hamon user."

"..." It continues to hum ever so softly, letting the tune carry it mentally, as the warrior remains in position.

"I wonder," Esidisi slowly crossed the distance between them. The thing felt the urge to pounce rise, as the lord circled it almost like a cat playing with its food. Slowly tilting the skull back, it followed the movements without any worry. It wasn't as if anything they could do would kill its reality that remained at the island, so there was no need to be on guard. Its form still shivers. The hollow of its torso throbs, the lack of internal organs beneath the ribs makes it feel fully detached. "Does god know you're here?"

The humming stops, and it gives a shake of the head.

"And you can't even speak. What an interesting state you're in. You perfectly mimic the state of the god down to the way you breathe, a true shadow. So, why have you come here?"

A tilt of the head. If it killed the both of them right here and now, then it'd be able to bring their rings to its reality and allow for his trickster to live without two internal nooses draining his life. Consider the shadow possessive. Yet...this wasn't the hunt it had hoped for. Images of prey running, the last struggles of elite warriors...the two in front of it may give the god a fight, but it wasn't the hunt it craved. There was no reason to remain with the two of them, lest see the third, but it was left adrift. At least the first time it wandered it hadn't been for carnage, rather the desire its reality had for the vampire. Still, its reality's feelings towards these three were stuck in some strange dance of distaste, fear, and unease. He wanted them to live. That left the shadow, as the pillar man had named it, uneasy. If it just killed the three of them, this would be easy. It just had to kill them, but its reality had sworn to let them live. It had come close. That warrior had been declawed by it. His blood had tasted wilder than any other's, but it had been shameful. It had damn near broken its reality.

…troublesome.

"I'll escort them off the property, Lord Esidisi." For a second it seemed as if Wamuu was about to stand, but Esidisi stopped him with the wave of a hand.

"No need for that, Wamuu. I know why they're here." Underneath the skull, it raised an eyebrow. It wasn't as if it knew why it was here anymore, so why exactly did this pillar man think he knew what the shadow's motives were? An arm wrapped around its shoulders before drawing the shadow in closer, earning a low growl from the thing, but Esidisi led it towards the room that held the third. For a moment, it considered breaking the other's hold and leaving, but it would be good to see what their current state was. It may even give it an advantage when they meet in combat again. Its reality would certainly appreciate an advantage. "We can't blame them for wanting to see the man they married."

"Then-" Wamuu went silent, dropping even lower into his bow as Kars entered the room. The shadow blinked beneath the skull at the flicker of light that seemed to coat his movements. Light? Wasn't he weak to the light of the sun like Santana? He had to be. Yet...?

The shadow shifted at his movements, the jaws of the skull slowly closing with a small click, and it leaned forward ever so slightly. The action seemed to please Kars, though it wasn't as if the shadow could explain why he was acting like this. Why did the pillar man seem so eager to see it? Why had he been so eager to interact with its reality? The actions didn't make any sense, and in turn, its humming changed from a slow and steady rhythm to a more speedy and confused tone that would've been difficult to dance along with.

"Lord Kars, at least allow me to escort the god off the premises." Wamuu spoke up, opening his eyes and watching his master cross the room to stand in front of the god's shadow. Its heel tapped. The tempo didn't even matter at this point, merely a small grounding point that wasn't as useful as the shadow hoped.

"Now, now, Wamuu, you don't need to be so hasty with our guest." The pillar man gently reached towards it. For some reason, the shadow allowed it...maybe because of the lack of non-violent contact it had from its times wandering and possessing the body of its reality when he transformed? The blond, while lovely in his own way, hadn't exactly had the time to properly interact with it before he was speaking to that girl. Yet, there was something unique about the way Kars ran his fingertips over the shadow's skull, not even shying away from the long dried blood stains that stood out against the tannish white of ancient bone. Despite not feeling the touch, it may be connected to the shadow and part of its form, but the skull wasn't. In the same way the clothes it wore weren't something it felt, the shadow shifted ever so slightly into the action. Kars hummed, though the action was deeper and more throaty than a simple hum, and his lips curved into a warm smile. "They entered our domain with little intent to harm us...and it's evident that no matter their intentions, they came for me nonetheless. Much like the monsters of old traveling after something so beautiful as tribute..."

"A monster would be correct in this sense." Wamuu retorted. The shadow supposed he was still mad from their bout. It couldn't blame him for that.

"Oh, Wamuu, I was speaking of myself. But you're right, as much as it pains me, our dear god must leave soon." It hummed softly at Kars's remark, feeling his hand dip to trace the bottom jaw of the skull before running a finger over the skin of its neck. As long as he didn't remove the skull, the shadow would allow it.

"Soon?" Esidisi didn't sound curious, rather teasing, and gestured for Wamuu to rise. "Not yet, Kars? Oh, I see. Have fun, come on Wamuu, let's leave them to their talk."

"My Lord?"

"That's an order, Wamuu." Esidisi spoke, voice losing the more teasing nature it had carried when he was speaking with Kars, and now it held the deep boom of a man, or creature, of his position. Wamuu looked surprised at the change, though his actions were so subtle it was hard for it to register, and lowered his head in understanding. It grew distracted as Kars gently led the shadow towards the room he and Esidisi had been speaking in. It heard a low growl from the warrior as the door closed behind them.

It wasn't sure what it had expected from the room they had been residing in.

Incense burned in thin sticks, low candlelight hung around the room in a haze provided by the drifting wisps of smoke that coiled freely in the air, and the entire room had gained plush pillows and blankets that were clearly fit for royalty. It wasn't sure how they had gained these items on such short notice, but its reality could gain items fast when provoked, so it assumed the pillar men were much the same. The scent was soft on its senses. It kept humming ever so softly as Kars led it to one of the many pillows by a short table where maps and a few stone masks laid freely. There were also...?

Vials...?

Two, to be exact, but even it could recognize the molten gold color of its reality's ichor. Where...had he preserved some of it? After making that cut along the throat, or was it when he placed the wedding ring inside of the god's chest?

Sitting down, it kept the skull at an angle so Kars wouldn't be able to tell where its eyes were wandering. Perhaps Kars hoped that it would provide more ichor? It could bleed and be drained, but the shadow had no plan of allowing that. Kars settled next to it, close, perhaps closer than it liked. The skull shifted, its hum became a tune it remembered from an old scratchy radio eons ago, from before it had been anything.

'Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.'

Kars was examining the shadow openly. He had done that with the god himself. It swallowed down a growl and mentally continued the tune.

'I'm half crazy. All for the love of you.'

A hand running over its own, clawed nails trailing over blackened scales.

'It won't be a stylish marriage. I can't afford a carriage.'

Kars hummed, not to a tune it knew, but more in thought when he traced the tattoo that ran along the inside of his left wrist.

'But you'd look sweet upon the seat,'

His other hand rested on one skull on its knees. Tapping lightly against bone white, the sound makes it perk ever so slightly.

'Of a bicycle built for two.'

Kars laughed, the sound tender, not the laugh it expected from the pillar man. Slowly, the shadow tilted the skull to the side. It paused in the humming since it couldn't remember the rest of the lyrics. Maybe it didn't have any other lyrics, and instead focused on Kars entirely. It didn't understand his behavior.

"Your humming..." A hand trailing over the skull's muzzle, dipping down to rest at its shoulder, all while he smiled. "Soft, gentle like the waters of life. Humans would find it disturbing, but it's only those who have no humanity that can understand the beauty of things beyond their reach. But who says you're far from my reach at all?"

It was an obvious question, right? Perhaps. It didn't know if Kars was looking for an answer, or even then what exactly he meant by asking that. The blond had been easy to follow along. Questions the god knew the answers to, ones that it could pinpoint, but this was curious. Physically, the shadow wasn't far from Kars. The pillar man hadn't stopped touching it, but it wasn't the god. It also wasn't something that belonged to anyone other than its reality, so Kars had no claim, but...still, the answer wasn't clear. Physically was the easiest point to answer, though it lacked words, so it hummed and leaned into the touch. Kars made that throaty sound, similar to its reality purring, and it decided it had answered correctly for the moment. It still didn't understand the full question.

"I must say, to see you come all this way to me, not just as a manifestation of yourself, but a mirror of your true divinity, your beauty in all its form...come to see me in this hour? I'm honored, your divinity, and enticed as well." The hand trailed up its leg, meeting the gap between its shorts and stockings, fingertips gliding over the burn scars wrapping around its thighs, and Kars tilted its head up to glide his fangs over the span of its throat scar. “So very enticed~”

I have been assimilated into a vast system. The flesh wraps around me and keeps me warm.

I am forever happy.

There are scholars who help with our transformation: they know a thousand ways to fold tissue and a thousand ways to make it enjoyable. I can't see it but I know we are billions. We are a flower about to bloom.

I'm glad I went back.

…I'm glad I went back.

..........I'm glad we went back.

The two hamon users slammed into the oil's surface with a magnificent splash, sending dark waves up and crashing against the sides of the pillar, while also acting as the perfect silencer to their screams. Using his stand to keep Santana away from the edge the god used the opportunity to look down, all while monitoring Lisa Lisa in case she tried anything, feeling a wave of relief when they both surfaced to cough up any oil that got in their mouths. Joseph, especially when compared to Caesar, was struggling far more because of the mask and M/n could hear the echo of his raspy breathing from his perch.

"What the hell is this? Oil...?" Joseph turned, running a hand over the side of the pillar, quickly pulling away to examine the dark liquid staining his fingertips. "This pillar is covered in flowing oil..."

"It's twenty-four meters to the top of the pillar, and you may only use your hands to climb. There is no other way out. If you can't find a way to climb back out, you'll die down there."

"But that's impossible! There's no way that anyone could climb up that pillar." Joseph yelled up at them, M/n blinked slowly at that statement, looking between the hamon teacher and his trickster. There was nothing in her gaze that suggested Lisa Lisa would toss a rope down for the two to be able to escape the puzzle, so no, this was reality.

They'd have to get out on their own.

He moves to place Santana in a room with no sunlight and ignores the eyes on his frame.

Once upon a time,

There lived a small house on a cliff by the raging sea below.

In that small house lived a small boy with his cruel, cruel father.

Life is already hard enough, and with a cruel father, it only grew to be harder for the little boy. He hardly spoke a word, but he worked for him tirelessly, and he asked for very little. If anything at all.

But he never could be pleased.

And so, this was the way things were, until one morning a strange, unfamiliar shadow appeared at the edge of the forest. The thing looked thin and sickly. Its coloration was a hazy black with smooth scales. It bore no health.

And every morning,

It was closer,

To the house.

The boy tried to tell his father...but of course...

So, the boy watched as the thing came closer and closer, and began to circle.

It was by the kitchen window for four days.

It remained at the front door for two.

It lay beneath the child's bedroom window for ten long days.

One night the boy freed himself from the monster's grasp, for that was no father, and ran. Bloody and bruised into the dark of the night. His father gave chase with something in his eyes that the boy had never seen before. He crashed into the thing. Clinging to smooth scales.

'Help me...'

As the father closed in on him...

Something else closed in upon him.

The boy looked up at the form and realized the shadow was god.

Remember; be kind.

Because when people cry for help, there's no clue on who will answer.

"Sorry that we had to...wrap you for so long." Santana hums at his words, easily shedding layers of clothing till he's in his more common state of dress, and M/n settles by the closed and covered window. He'll have to remember to thank that blond maid who had led them to this room. He'd also have to learn her name, but for now his focus is on making sure Santana's alright. His heel clicks, the steady tap-tap-tap filling his very core with a steady sense of balance, and he watched how the pillar man examined the room before looking back to him. It was a dip of the head that caught him off guard, far from the bow that Wamuu had given his lords, but still enough of a sign of...allegiance that it made him feel queasy.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to Santana's perception of him.

"It's fine."

"Really? Cause I won't blame you for being a little-"

"It's fine." He goes silent at that, unsure of what to say, but it seems Santana has a plan for this conversation. He looks back at the god, expression settling on something that he doesn't know how to decipher. Maybe part of it is due to how he doesn't want to think about what that expression might mean.

"Is everything alright?"

"Why do you try to drown yourself?"

"..." He flinched, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, because he didn't know how to answer that question. There isn't an answer. "I...I told you I sleepwalk..."

"That isn't an answer."

"I...I don't know why I do it...it just started happening soon after...a few times I...I don't have an answer."

"What stops it?"

"...I guess sleeping next to someone, being held, I mean...I didn't..." He trails off, there isn't an answer, and he doesn't want to make one up. That's the only solution he's found. "I...don't know what else works..."

"Hello," Both of you turned to the doorway to see the blond maid from earlier. M/n blinked and tilted his head to the side. "Miss Lisa Lisa wants to speak with you alone once she's done talking with those two in the pillar room."

"Alone...?"

"Yup!" You blink, feeling a slight pang of something at the idea of talking to Lisa Lisa alone, but you gave Santana a smile that you knew didn't reach your eyes.

"I'll be right back then. See ya in a...bit, Santana."

She takes his hand, not even blinking at the black scales, and he gets dragged along without too much of a fuss. Though it ends with you waiting in a hallway, for some reason you're tired enough that your head droops. You try to fight it two more times before you allow the black spots to take control of your vision.

A few moments will be enough.

a puppet lies on the ground.

Discarded by my puppeteer.

I lie waiting in silence. Waiting for yet another chance to speak only a stranger's words.

One day, I reached into where many hands have reached before. But never my own.

For the first time, the words from my mouth were mine.

What a feeling it is to be one's own puppeteer.

Oh...I'm crying.

The air is stagnant.

There is nothing. There is everything. Is anything real? Does anything have value? What's happening? Are you real? Am I real?

Even after the longest night, the sunrise is still the same, is it not?

See that?

That's what they call 'you'.

The world is cruel; the world is kind, and everything in it is merely trying to continue.

Is that not beautiful?

You blink, confused, because you're sitting down in a forest. No...no...a garden. You're in a garden. Things are cool. The wind brushes past your skin. You feel alive but calm despite it all. You don't know what to do. Aren't sure if you even want to go walking around this world given the last dream...and if this is a dream...are you drowning yet again? You were trying to do better. You...you really were, yet things don't ever stop. There's always another fight. Always another person who needed to be stopped. Always another conflict. The voices in the masquerade only got louder and louder as the years went by, and yeah, they weren't laughing and praying for your death or telling you to kill yourself anymore, but that didn't change how bad it was. They were trying, but it didn't stop them from being too loud or all their whispers mixing and jumbling in your ears...or how some were criminals who wanted you to kill and main as they pleased...or those that just wanted you to be a mad god rather than a...honestly, what were you?

These days, you don't have any idea on what you were or who you were supposed to be.

It didn't matter.

Footsteps echoed from somewhere behind you. For a moment you considered your chances at running away, but these dreams don't allow for things like peace or easy outs...so, you wait.

It's...Kars...?

You don't understand.

You can't fathom why he would appear in one of your dreams, but you tilt your head, watching him approach, seeing how flowers sprout from where he stepped. You wanted to laugh. Of course. You couldn't have a single moment to linger in your own self doubt. Instead, because the world hated you, this dream showed you someone that would be ten times the god you were. This time the man who, for some reason, had claimed you with a wedding ring.

…joy.

Kars smiles, but he doesn't speak, and you aren't sure if that's a benefit or some sort of cosmic punishment. Then again, it isn't as if you know Kars that well, other than his strange attempts at manipulating you, so maybe you just can't make dialogue for him...?

A slow draw of the blade that emerges from his arm.

…the blood that comes from your chest is a dark shade of red.

His hand reaches in deep, and you feel him clench a fist around something solid, and then he pulls it free.

In place of your heart is a crystalline red stone.

"...?!?"

It...it hurts. You feel pain. This hurt. The sound that escapes your lips is a feral whine because it hurts and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts...and then you feel it. Rot. Your flesh is gaining the discoloration of sepsis.

You're rotting.

You're fucking rotting.

You're starting to die.

You're going to rot again.

You look up at his face and all he does is tilt his head with a sad sort of smile on his face. You can even see the wedding ring perfectly preserved inside of your crystalline heart.

He turns and leaves you.

He doesn't look back.

…you whimper, but you can't speak. You're dying. It hurts so bad, you're dying. Through the ever-growing black spots in your vision you can see the other pillar men as figures standing at Kars' side...even Santana. And doesn't that just fucking hurt? But, then again, what could you have ever expected? Maybe this is just the cost of prophecy? You don't know. It hurts too much. You can't fucking think...you feel dazed...and the rot is spreading.

You don't even have any more organs.

Don't you have more to give though?

Can't you give more?

You have to...right?

That's...that's...

You don't get to finish that thought before a series of hooks are impaling into your body. The click of the muzzle. Worms dig through your flesh, or rather, what remains of it. The blazing heat.

You went somewhere when you died...before you woke in your god form.

You don't want to go back to hell.

The world dies again.

The air is blazing hot and burns what remains of your lungs.

You die alone, or rather you live alone, because that is the fate you have earned.

"Fear is...for the weak."

He takes another step.

"Fear is...f-for the weak."

Having cleared a blood-stained path through the mockeries created by the current god, Ajamu,

"Hah...hah..."

M/n Sirius Black, the terror-stricken son of Ophelia Mary Black, hopes that by invoking words told of heroes in past myth,

"Fear is for the weak...hah...hah..."

He might be able to rouse himself from the petrified state so as to,

"Fear is...for the weak..."

Continue moving through the cruel god's domain, yet should he waiver, the only thing that would wait for him would be the desolate barn he once called home.

"J-just call me a coward...you wouldn't be wrong..."

The self-deprecating stand user says with an annoyed hiss to his words. Though, deep in his heart, he yearns for assurance to the contrary.

"Stop! I don't...I don't see how I'm not...I can just hear them...'running from all your problems? After everything we did for you! You are the very definition of cowardice!' Or...something like that..."

It seems the boy has forgotten that no one person could ever be the 'very definition of cowardice'.

"You know what I mean..."

The boy then ignores that perhaps the problem may, in turn, lie with his companions rather than himself-

"I'm not...!"

Because otherwise he doesn't have much evidence to prove his so-called flaws.

"Er, well, let's see..."

"I could go home. Pretend that everything is fine. Forget my...forget about everything that's happened since I learned about Ajamu, try to make people happy, again...try to find my place in a world that doesn't even want me...again. Try to convince my grandparents not to hate me...again. But I am...so tired...of trying. Leaving, doing this, is easier. I mean, I already know the ending. And besides, they're all right."

…the boy is struck with a realization.

"Huh, I am...?"

A coward would not go after what they fear, would they?

"Well, no, but-"

Therefore, perhaps the terror he feels at the mere idea of pressing onward...proves that leaving or staying is neither the easiest option...nor one that a coward would ever pursue? Er, he considers the question.

"But it is. That's...that's why I'm doing this. It's too much."

…

"I'm too...I need to keep going. Even...even if I'm wrong...whatever's out there...whatever lies ahead...it....has to be better because I get to choose the ending and when I finally die. But I'm...terrified that I'll be wrong. And it'll all be for nothing. That I don't want to die. That I don't want to kill Ajamu. How I may want to live after this is all said and done. I've always wanted to die...what happens if that goes away?"

…

"Fear is for the weak."

…and then, it dawns on the boy, no, on the young man that perhaps...there is a form of courage in acknowledging the futility of the situation. that perhaps...by fighting against the fear that feels like weakness...and pursuing that faraway hope for something better, or even an ending in one's own terms...

"Something better...?"

He is, in fact, choosing the least cowardly path of them all.

"And if...I'm wrong?"

Then he will have emerged from this feat a stronger, and perhaps kinder, man than who he once was. That this toil will have made him change and hope to one day see the rising sun without sorrow, that he lived to see it in the first place. He'll become a force that even current gods would be remiss to reckon with.

Ah...M/n Sirius Black...resolves to himself silently...erm...

"...?"

…

"Heh...I think...against his better judgment...'M/n Sirius Black' might just believe you."

...!

"And even if there's nothing down this path for me...at least knocking some god down a peg might make all of this worth it. Almost. You'd better be right about this."

Ah-!

Ahem.

And so, at long last, the self-flagellating M/n Sirius Black sets aside his rumination to keep going down the hellish path in front of him. Blood roaring with purpose, he presses ever onwards, his mind whirling with ideas of all the better, brighter horizons which may or may not be waiting for him.

"Brighter...what now...?"

Horizons. A notion that the man can't seem to comprehend despite knowing the definition.

"Shut up! Though...I suppose I just have to take your word for it...at least, for now. And hey,"

…?

"...thank you."

Lisa Lisa goes still when she first enters the hallway, beneath her sunglasses her eyes are stuck on the form of the man she hated or perhaps the form of a man she wanted to hate, and watches how the form half curled in on himself with small puffs of pink smoke escaping his lips every few seconds. He's smaller than her. The thought is random, but she can't help but think about it. She had always stood at five foot nine, five foot eleven because she may have stopped thinking about being the kind of woman who wore heels, yet she didn't stop, but even without them, she was taller than the male. Only by an inch or two, but it was still there.

Still, she isn't sure what to think of him now.

There had been a point where he had been nothing more than a ghost in her life, someone that got mentioned in ways that made it feel as if he died alongside Jonathan, William, and Dire when facing Dio, but the constant back-and-forth letters had spoken otherwise. Straights, the closest thing she had ever had to a father, had never written him a letter or spoken about him with the same fondness. He mentioned how he fought without even moving, how he was cold and callous, how he had cared for Dio…how Dio had claimed that it was M/n who gave him the mask...how he had left without batting an eye. George had mentioned writing to him several times, but she had never seen the appeal of it.

Never wanted to know a man that could've been George's uncle in another life.

Seeing him like this, seeing how small he is compared to what she expected, is something deep and strange.

She doesn't know what to feel about his lack of aging. Bitterness that he'll seemingly live forever when she fucking lost everything because of his letter to her husband? Amusement that, unlike her, it seems he won't die and see the people he so obviously fell in love with? Disgust because there's a chance he did something similar to what the pillar men did to obtain immortality...because he brought a pillar man with him...and what exactly did that mean for his loyalty?

Nothing comes easily.

She takes a step forward, her heels clicking against the tile flooring of the hall. She unwound the scarf she wore. Feeling the unique fabric rub against her gloves. She takes a slow breath. It would be a quiet affair. She wonders if the pillar man would come running if she actually did it. Gold sparks trail over her accessory. If she actually killed him.

Would she ever regret it?

…what was one more death on her hands, right?

She took another step.

The god suddenly whimpered in his sleep.

What actual need does a dragon have for fire?

For it already has;

Claws,

Flight,

Teeth,

Might,

Was it a power source?

A gift?

Or a fury so deep it has no choice but to burn?

After what feels like an eternity of being tortured, the rot never stops spreading as brownish red blood drips down onto the floor, and when you finally get your eyes to open because you're so fucking tired, the world is pale blue and earth tones. You blink slowly. At least the last time you had been dragged from hell, it had been as a fresh god with the unique purr of ichor and chirping voices that were just glad you were back. This dream, if it even was a dream, didn't want you to feel like a god. You look around the area. Slow, you can't think fast right now, and the world is still spinning and you are still in pain from being tortured and rotting...then it hits you.

This is your own farm.

The land you owned as a mortal.

It comes to your brain slowly. You let the thoughts roam, and you blink in turn with each slow pang. Your skin feels hot, you're holding bags of stuff, and nothing makes sense. You move past the barn; the thing is too broken and visible to be worth jack shit for you at the moment, and things start to slowly piece themselves together in something that resembles an image worth salvaging. Curses of your stand being a creature that produced aphrodisiacs and hallucinogens. You weren't unaffected by any of that shit. Hell, your body had adapted to produce them instead of proper sweat or saliva before you had ever had a drop of ichor running through your veins. That meant unpleasant side effects when the amount finally over bled and you went past the familiar small buzz that raced through your veins.

Heat...or was it technically a rut...?

Actually, never mind, it didn't matter because the only people that would bitch about you using the wrong terms were the people who weren't on the verge of overheating from how badly you wanted to fuck...because your blood was burning. You were too tired to even think about this; you had forgotten that you ever experienced shit like this because ichor was always an over bleed and you had forgotten what it felt like to not be aroused and mildly hallucinating, but now you were on some level of autopilot. Luckily, or maybe something that was just plain sad, it seemed as if the you of the past, once again you're certain that this moment is something real because it feels more solid than the last major dream you had before this train wreck, and anyway, it doesn't even matter, prepared.

It's never your time to die...right?

You go where you always go at times like these.

You'd found it years ago, an old ass silo that had been ruptured and nearly caved in before lying unused and completely forgotten about in the world. It was barely visible and sturdy. Of course, you had to wiggle through an air duct just to get into it, but once that was over with you had a tiny, windowless room, one that no one knew existed because the world was full of little pockets and no one ever planned to search them all despite what explorers liked to say. Some things were best left to the animals and wild things of the world.

Wild things...that's where you fall...isn't it?

You crack a smile at that, feeling how the scar runs over shifting flesh, and curl up.

Take a slow breath.

Unfold, stack your supplies up in neat piles and pyramids, take another deep breath. Make sure any tech is turned off. Make sure no one can track you. Barricade the air duct. If people find you, they will hurt you...or worse. Lay on your back, close your eyes.

You were going to be here for a while.

…

You wake in the deepest pits of a fever.

You shiver, hard, ice cold at the first layer beneath skin but coated in condensation while the rest of you is an eternal flame. A part of you is so fucking desperate to undo the covering over the air duct, but all you do is gulp in stale air. Wonder what time it was, how long you were trapped here, but you didn't have any clock at the moment. You dug your nails deep into your arms and tried to stabilize your breathing. You needed to focus on staying steady and keeping your breathing down if you intended to not die, and for once, you intended to survive. Right? I mean, things were shit, but you weren't going to be found as some half rotten corpse years from now. It still seemed funny, you thought, to be praying to some nonexistent god to not die for once.

Was this still a dream?

You...you had no idea.

The sound of your own labored breathing fills the silo. It makes your skin crawl. You wondered what your coworkers would do with you not taking the main stage on the pole. They were used to your vanishing acts. Did they wonder if you were okay? Probably. No, you knew they were going to worry. They knew your age, the fact you weren't legally allowed to be a dancer, but hey, they had done the same out of desperation and knew the struggles. Still, that's what they did; worry. You still didn't know why. You'd never been worth worrying over to anyone except for mom. Then again, the universe had never seen fit to just let you curl up and die somewhere simply because you decided it was time to die or if you wanted to just die. Still, you weren't that delusional anymore to just think no one cared about you...while you didn't get why someone would romantically love you or want you...well, you still knew you were cared for by friends. No, you weren't unlovable M/n. Not platonically. Not anymore.

You dug your claws in deeper. No, no, while it didn't make sense, you were loved. Right...? You had been loved, and you loved in turn. Just still couldn't say the fucking word, but you had grown to accept it, as baffling as all that was. You were loved, and you were lucky for it, if only you could grow to accept and vocalize it. No, there were even moments where you looked around and decided you were glad to be alive. Brief, short moments, but still moments. It was more than you had ever had as a mortal...yeah, yeah; it was.

You took another wheezy breath and shivered hard. Between your legs was a mess of pre-cum staining the inside of your boxers, and there's a deep ache deep within you that you can only ignore. Narcissistic Cannibal, while you love them dearly, doesn't get it. The stand is a thing that was made of these drugs from the very beginning and only knows the effects the way you know breathing, and while he's quick to ask if he can help you in some way...you don't like the idea of anything seeing you like this. Better to suffer cold and alone than let weakness show. Even with your own soul...the thing you love most in the world. No, the few moments you had spent with men while in this state had left a strange taste in your mouth and a lack of desire.

Can't be paranoia if everyone's out to get you or has hurt you at some point or another, right?

The first time it had happened had been fine. Easy enough. You'd been...well, you'd been a homeless drug mule, but, while you hadn't prepared for anything of the sort it had been easy enough to look towards the other guy traveling to the town two days over, another guy your age, and make a quick decision once he agreed. The other had been confused when the week they spent in that town, they had to stay for a while to not rouse suspicion that they were just coming to transport drugs, was all in a hotel room fucking and taking small breaks before he was back to riding your cock with desperate moans. The breaks were, so you two didn't die of dehydration or starvation, but once the week was over, it felt strange. It was easy to be done with, but you hadn't enjoyed it like regular sex. It just seemed inconvenient and embarrassing to be so exposed and desperate.

The second time had been when you threw that life behind, killing all those gang members, and had changed jobs to being a pole dancer because it was the only place that had been willing to hire you with no legal work experience. Because of that, there were certainly plenty of options, but all of those guys were the fucking same. Men that put their hands on you and called you feisty like you were little more than a pet cat that was half feral and needed to be tamed. You had no one your age and on the immediate cusp to turn to and had merely hoped that you could ride it out and that it would pass.

'They're all wrong, you know that, right? You're not a cat, or any kind of house pet.' A coworker had pushed the wet locks of hair out of your face the day you openly complained because you were tired, peering into your eyes with a warm, almost motherly, smile. 'You're a cub.'

"Like a wolf?"

'Doesn't matter what animal you are. Just know that you're a cub. A small creature of infinite potential, as wild and untamed as a hurricane, but currently far too small to be defined yet to be set on just one peculiar path. But no matter what you will become, I can just see greatness in your words and the fierceness in your eyes. And I, for one, would be honored to find out what manner of man you will grow into.'

Still, after four miserable days stuck in bed, aching and sore and wet and hot, you had ignored all principal and succumbed to the desperation and paid someone close enough to your age with some stored money. The relief had been like a liter of water after weeks lost in the desert.

Still, it made your skin crawl.

…

You woke up gasping. You were so hot. The room felt broiling, like a massive oven. You wondered how you would taste if it really was roasting you. You then went to think about your stand and wondered if he would eat you once you died. NC had mentioned that they were a strong enough stand to live long after your own death. They had when you died to become god. Sometimes cats would eat chunks of their owners' faces when they died and left the cat without a steady supply of food. There was something about that, the act of eating faces, not the simple act of eating their owners, that put a small pit in your stomach and you rolled over, feeling sick.

There was an aching chasm in your lower abdomen, a haze that made all your complications seem silly, and your cock rubbed against your boxers and thighs like static electricity. You wanted nothing more than for this all to be over. Why did the dream have to replay this entire thing? But you knew it would be days of this.

'You know this is crazy shit, right?'

You rolled over. A hazy vision of Carlos, a Mexican man in his late thirties that worked at the club you danced for, sat cross-legged next to the supply piles you had made.

"Yeah," you answered. At least the hallucinogens were finally kicking in.

'What's even the problem, cuz?' Carlos asked, waving a lazy hand at the silo's overheated space. 'You're not like some people. You love having sex. Why would you rather die here than have sex with someone?'

"That's different,” you mumbled.

'How so?'

You rubbed your thighs together, but the friction didn't bring any genuine relief. "It's different."

'Is this really worth dying over, cuz?'

"What isn't worth dying over!" Realizing that you had just snapped at a hallucination, you quickly glanced away. "I didn't mean that."

'I know.'

"You know, I don't want to die," you whispered. "That feels so weird to say."

'And unexpected,' said a fresh voice. You turned your head to see that Carlos was gone, replaced by Ajamu. Yet...you weren't scared. 'Never thought I'd see the day, N/n.'

"I mean, if I was gonna actually kill myself, I should've done it eons ago when it would've actually done some good." You sighed. "Might as well live for now, despite it all."

'Fair enough.'

You shifted to pluck a water bottle from the pile. You were so thirsty that there was a second where you thought that would be the thing to kill you. The heat was still unbearable. There was a part of you that was almost willing to have someone penetrate you, despite what that reminded you of and how much you hated it, because that would be something. You just needed a release, no matter how it happened.

'Was it really so bad?' Asked yet another fresh voice. You flinched and looked over your shoulder to see the form of the teen you had spent your first heat with. He looked sad, or rather the undamaged half of his face did, the missing segments allowing blood and brain matter to drip to the floor.

"Oh, it wasn't that bad." You told him. "Well...it was. But not because of you."

'I should have left you alone.'

"It had to be someone." You whispered, closing your eyes. "Not doing that wasn't exactly an option, given the situation. If it hadn't been you, it would've been someone else. That ain't your fault."

'Then it's not your fault, either.'

"Oh, of fucking course it is," you scoffed, "haven't you ever heard? Everything's my fault. Whole damn thing with Ajamu is my fault, but...it ain't no one's fault but mine that I'm broken."

You were met with silence and opened your eyes, looking back over, but you were alone.

…

It had been worse once you started hunting down Ajamu. Too busy and broke to get any drugs or alcohol that might even dull your senses enough to make it easy to continue on. No, don't have jack shit for supplies, and you were moving too frequently to make those piles of blankets and clothes to comfort you. There was a part of you that hated the snake instincts that made you nest, but it was one of the few grounding points you had in life. Even now a regular bed didn't feel even a fraction as welcoming as a nest, though you were growing to enjoy laying next to Santana...maybe he'd be convinced to share one with you? Nah, you weren't worth shit. Too ugly and distracted for even the guy you were dating to spend one round with you. Flinched at your appearance every time he saw you. Vince was only ever with you out of pity and hated you. Fair. You weren't worth anything compared to him.

Yet...red vines coiling around you...so hungry...a town gone overnight...and...and...and you don't want to think about that anymore.

It made you stagger along till you were so deep in the fucking heat that you barely recognized faces and didn't know how to say no. You were just lucky that your stand remained sane and looked out for you. It never went bad. Could've, but didn't.

Not much better when trapped with Ajamu, yet somewhat better, because Ajamu never wanted sex. He said he loved you, but not like that. When you were in the heat, he never touched you. He left you to your makeshift nest with supplies. Rules stated he had to. You had expected him to break those rules since he had made them, but he claimed that there was no fun in a game with rules that could be broken, so it was a time where he left you alone. The closest he had ever come to doing anything during your heat was when at one point you had been sprawled against him in your nest, rambling and craving physical contact more than any sort of sex, and he'd listen to you silently. He had never mentioned it after that. You wished he had been just terrible. That way you could look back and only hate him, but...things were complicated.

On some level you knew in your haze there was a part of you that had probably begged for Ajamu to stay and have sex with you. Bitch. If only past you had closed your mouth and grit your teeth and bore it all. You just had to let what happened, or didn't happen, happen because there was nothing to do about it. All heat and voices begging for you to kill yourself because they hated you. Pack it all away. Pack how you feel about shit and think about it? Never.

You think it was around the second heat when you waited till the third time, when you'd finally said fuck it. If I die here, I die, and started weathering them all out in some hole by yourself till life fucked with you.

So, it was what it was.

…

'Hey, M/n, wake up.'

You groaned and opened your eyes. Your body felt heavy, molten lead and iron, and so hot that you would surely melt before nightfall. You were lightheaded, disoriented, and wavering through several confused moments. Vince smiled from his perch above you.

"Go the fuck away." You mumble, rolling back over to drift again. Vince sighed, stood back up, and slammed his foot down hard on your ribs. You wheezed and recoiled, scrambling up to your knees, as he leaned sideways with both hands on his hips. "Leave me alone!"

He scoffs.

But he does what he always does and leaves you because he hates you. Romantic love is fake. No one is real or stays and you have learned this lesson. People see something in you, stay for a few fucks, and then it ends. People are always the same in that aspect. Why you couldn't stay with Jonathan. You'd ruin him. He'd stare at you, have you a few times, but there'd be no white fence, kids, and dogs. You couldn't provide for that world. You weren't suited for that world. Dio, at least, was open. He made your opinions matter. You swallowed it all down, but at least he had been open. He wanted sex. You were willing to give it. That was it. He'd deluded himself into thinking you were something worth loving, but others had done that and said pretty words. They all left in the end. They realized you weren't the kind of guy worth more than a passionate night and the cigarette smoke in the air.

The ache between your legs was too much, growing too bad, hard for you to ignore. You kept shifting restlessly, curling in on yourself and rolling around, trying to find some sort of position that offered any sort of relief, but nothing was working. You were just glad that you were alone, that no one could see how pathetic you were, crying into your own crossed arms as the sensation of just existing was overwhelming and your body screamed for you to stop being so stubborn.

'Come on, cuz,' Carlos whispers softly, and you growled, spinning around. Your mind had gone feral in a way. You were a hissing cobra, and they needed to fear you. 'You don't want to die, do you?'

"Go away!"

Carlos stuck out his tongue.

'Then why did you dream me up?'

"I guess I'm sentimental!" You snarled, lashing out at him as he vanished, flickering till he fully faded away. You panted and then curled back into yourself.

'Do you want to die?' Asked Speedwagon. You didn't look up, couldn't, shaking your head into the floor.

"God, not you either. Go away."

'Do you want to die?' Asked Jonathan. You shot up to your knees, scrambling away from him. Jonathan didn't approach, but your vision narrowed, terrified, as you flattened yourself against the far wall of the silo.

"I don't want to die." You whispered, shaking. "I can't. Not you either."

You blinked and Jonathan was gone. Now your mom stood in his place. You didn't give her a chance to speak, throwing yourself forward to cover your head in your arms and huddle in a ball on the floor, shaking.

"It'll go away." You told yourself desperately. "Just get through it. Just get through it."

You felt a cold hand rest on your shoulder and looked up pitifully.

'You don't have to get through this alone,' Dio said gently, his palm resting against the side of your cheek. 'Just let me help you.'

You buried your face in your arms again, shaking your head back and forth as fast as you could manage. You felt dizzy. "I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't-"

You picked your head up and found yourself staring at the morgue from your last dream, hazy, like you were watching it through a thick layer of smog. Your own body laid out on a slab, rotten, and a deep blackish gray. No one was there. Obviously. No one would want to see the aftermath of sepsis. Disgusting.

You rolled over, whining and shaking. You were so hot. The room felt as if it were flooding with liquid metal, like you were being cooked alive and dying slowly. You were so fucking stupid.

The area between your thighs was so fucking sore and you ground your hips together, but no amount of friction was good enough. You couldn't even reach one release like this. It only made you more frustrated. Kicking your legs as you tried to get some semblance of sanity back in place.

"I don't want to die." You rasped out, your own voice echoing back. "I don't."

'It isn't so bad,' your own voice cooed. 'Only bad for a little while, but it all goes away, eventually.'

"But I fucking hate it." You hissed.

'Really? You're going to kill yourself because you don't want to just get this over with?' The voice scoffed. 'You know that people have finally started to give a shit about you. Gonna do that to them? Really, are a fucking monster.'

You didn't have a response for that shit. You really were a monster. Why couldn't you just be better? You weren't the only one you were hurting anymore.

…

'Oh, this is the one King Ajamu wanted alive! He smells strange though...sweeter...?' Someone, one of those fighters he kept for entertainment, spoke above your head. A foot connected with your back and shoved your face first, ouch, into the pavement. Your eyes closed and head spun, but by the time you could react, the boot slammed down a second time on the low of your back. You weren't getting up easily. Your legs gave out, useless, and one grabbed you by an ankle and dragged you back across the floor, leaving you clawing at the rubble.

'How lucky for us,' came a second voice, laughing.

"Don't you dare!" You snarled, but unable to turn yourself over, your body left useless. "I'll kill every one of you, I swear, I'll-"

They all die screaming to your stand.

Nothing happens.

Stop being upset about it.

…

You woke up gasping and wailed, rolling back and forth while clutching at your chest, as if you could just rip out your heart. It wouldn't stop. It was too hot. You were burning from the inside out. It just went on and on and on and on and on...and you were so fucking hot that the room warbled and you couldn't even make out the colors properly. You really were going to die here.

'M/n,' Dio whispered. His hand ran over your arm and it felt electric, like a taser going off somewhere deep beneath your skin. You rubbed your thighs together and grabbed uselessly for the vampire.

"Please," you begged. "You gotta…you-you gotta…"

'I've got you,' Dio murmured, hooking an arm under your knees and pulling you in bridal style. Like you were weightless. He was so cool to the touch that you leaned in with a whine.

This was all too much for you. The contact was overwhelming and you could feel how sticky with sweat and fluids your inner thighs were. It was so disgusting, shameful, infuriating, pathetic...

"I don't want to die." You hissed out. "Please...Dio…please, you gotta-just get it over with, I need it...I need it to stop-"

'M/n, I won't do that to you.' Dio said, a bit more firm than his last statement. The room swayed, all the colors shifting and blurring around you.

You shook and openly sobbed. Head bumping against his shoulder with a pleading whine. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know I'm a fucking idiot, please, don't let me die, I don't wanna die, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm not ready yet. Wanna stay."

'Oh M/n, there is nothing in this world that would make me let you die,' Dio whispered, ice cold lips pressed to a spot on your throat, steady and calm. You trembled. 'I refuse to do anything with you, unable to give proper consent. I told you I'd never take more than what you'd give me.'

"I don't wanna," you mumbled blearily. No longer sure what you were arguing about. "I don't wanna…"

You laid against him, dazed and overheated, part of you craving just the way he held you while the rest was begging for some sense of relief. Just something. You pressed your face into the span of his neck. Trying to roll your hips against him, and Dio actually allowed it, only a soft sigh escaping his lips. A part of you loved him for it while the rest felt annoyance at the action.

'You know,' he starts, as if hoping to distract you from the overbearing heat, and you mentally thank him for it. Though feeling him rest his face at your chest was strange. 'I'm glad I'm getting this chance to see you despite it all. I was so worried about you.'

"Shouldn't have left heaven for me. Not worth any of that shit..." Dio tensed at that, but you just snuggled in closer. "Sides, I'm fine. Always fine. Don't need to worry bout little ol' me."

'You weren't fine when I last saw you. Remember? You were coated in tar?'

Your stomach churned. "Right."

'What are you thinking about?'

You swallowed. "I'm sorry, I don't...can't..."

'You aren't going to die here.'

"I know. I know that I'm being stupid. I get that. I know I'm an idiot, but I don't wanna do it like that and I know that there's no one and I'm still just being a dumb-"

'You're far from dumb.'

"-And I knew people would be mad at me about this shit, but this dream is just a memory, and it's already done. Like I survived this, so why does it still bother me so much...? Like, I know people would just make me get over it and be safe or whatever and I just can't...I don't want to. This is all gone anyway. Everything is. Nothing stays."

Dio was silent. Then he pulled back, hands cradling the sides of your face. He looked concerned.

'M/n,' he spoke, voice hesitant and soft. 'Were the people in your life...did you really believe they'd force you?'

You flinched, eyes darting away. "I didn't say force. I just said make. I don't mean it like that."

'M/n…' Dio breathed, 'I...they're dead, right? Or do I have to get rid of them?'

"It's a stupid thing to die over," you mumbled. "And I know y'all don't want me to die."

'I don't know what the problem is, but I intend to stay for as long as you have me.'

"I hate being like this."

'So much it's worth dying over?'

You stared at the floor, frame tense. "Yeah."

Dio ran his fingers over your clawed nails, holding one of your hands to his chest. 'I'm sorry that I didn't know about this. That I didn't ask.'

"That's stupid."

'No, it isn't.' Dio dismissed your concerns. 'If it's this important to you, then it's worth knowing. That makes it important.'

You fidgeted. Things are different now. "I don't wanna be talked out of anything."

'Trust me when I say that whatever needs to be done will be done if I have anything to say about it. Nobody will talk you out of anything. Nobody will make you do anything. Okay? Just talk to me, M/n.'

"I'm sorry." You shifted uncomfortably. "I trust you."

Dio sighed. Moving your face to rest against his chest where the skin was icy yet warm at the same time. 'This isn't your fault. I can tell you're working on it. Soon. I'll be there with you soon. And if you don't want anything or anyone, then I'll be there to stand by your side. No one will force your hand.'

You made a vague, noncommittal noise, clamping your legs together.

'I mean it, M/n. I'd kill them all for you.'

"Oh, I know," you replied. "You've always craved violence."

'Perhaps, but I'm all the more willing for you.'

"...Alright," you mumbled.

'Just tell me next time. If I have to kill for you, M/n, I'll do it in a heartbeat. I'll ravage the entire world and drag time to a halt for you. All for you.'

Despite yourself, you tittered with laughter.

It's not fair...

Please...

…just let me look once more,

Upon that cloudless sky...

You jolted awake.

For a moment you couldn't register anything happening, but then in an instant you could register the crackle of hamon and how close the golden sparks were to your flesh. The first instinct that came to your mind was to lunge forward and attack, the second was to leap backwards and scramble, and the final instinct was to summon your stand and kill the attacker in a single blow.

You don't do any of those things.

No, instead, you simply went still and tried to glimpse Lisa Lisa's eye from beneath the dark lenses of her sunglasses because there might be a chance that she's actually planning on killing you here. Of course, you wouldn't be able to blame her for wanting to kill you. Hell, you may even let her get a few hits since she can't kill you in a fucking way that matters. Maybe....maybe something broken from all these dreams, but there's a part of you that really wants an excuse to just fight someone. Maybe you were hoping for an excuse to fuck up what good graces you had actually established? No, no, you weren't supposed to be doing that kind of thing anymore.

So, you don't.

You take a moment to just breathe. You're no hamon user, over sixty percent of your lung capacity being stolen from you in one sickening wound, but you know the value of it all when it comes to collecting yourself. Hey, it wasn't as if you didn't retain something from all those days in therapy. Just take a slow breath and forget what you've been.

"Elizabeth," he drawls out, allowing his accent to make the word have a southern tint, but he simply adjusted himself as her lips curled into a frown. Listening to the distant heartbeats of everyone else on the island, he straightened out and realized that she stood a few inches taller than him. How annoying. It feels like a constant staple of his new life to have people look down at him, which is bullshit because five foot seven isn't even that short, but he stopped caring about height a long time ago. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure to finally meet you, but I dislike lying, so I will say that I wish we could have met in far better circumstances."

"Likewise. Though I have to ask; what do you think you're doing here?" He raised an eyebrow, tensing slightly at the venom in her voice, and he half expected that scarf of hers to once again spark with hamon. "You leave everyone who loved you and then come crawling back with my son and student...dragging a pillar man along as if he's merely a dog!"

"A dog...?"

"You have him in a collar."

"It's a choker." He defended, swallowing down his own venom before taking a step towards her. "I wouldn't keep someone on a leash like a mere dog unless they specifically asked. Santana pledged his loyalty to me and has no intention of going back to the other pillar men. Say whatever you want about me. I've heard it all before and I don't care, but don't go talking about Santana. He's done nothing to you, unless you count existing as a crime now?"

"...what will you do when he turns his back on you? When he tries to kill you? When he tries to kill my son?"

"He won't." M/n snapped, fangs flashing as he tried to remember those anger management conversations he had all those years ago, but nothing other than the heat of his own anger landed in his mind. His eyes narrowed as he tapped one of his feet in quick succession, but even the tap-tap-tap wasn't as comforting as it usually was. "I know he won't."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do. And even on the off chance that he tries something, I will handle it."

"Like you handled Dio? Or perhaps, like you handled the zombies and vampires, the mask created at Wind-Knights Lot?" He flinched, eyes flashing a bright shade of gold.

"...don't bring that up." He hisses. That actually makes her pause, and maybe at a different point in time, seeing someone so calm and sturdy look shaken would be enough for him to stop, but he can't help it. After all, he had a habit of leaving everyone he loved drowning in their own blood, didn't he? Wamuu had been right in calling him a God of insanity. He really should back up. His heart is beating, thump-thump-thump, and it fills his ears. There are thousands of voices whispering and singing and laughing and howling and crying and...and...and he can't quite think anymore. "You weren't there."

"No, if I had been there, things would've been different." She's still shaken, yet clearly trying to maintain control. He doesn't like it.

"Easy for you to say, right? I mean, like I said, you weren't there. You don't know what forces were at play between me, Dio, and Jonathan. The people that have given you accounts were told what happened or didn't have the full context. Straights was a biased man. He lived with those biases, and then he killed himself and went to hell because of them." That gets her to flinch. "I don't know what people have told you about me, but I'm familiar with that kind of talk. You don't become immortal without having your reputation dragged through the mud a few million times. I don't care what you think of me. Honestly, once this shit is said and done, I plan ongoing back to a life of farming where I try to not lift a weapon till the heat death of the universe.“

"So, you want us to play nice till then?"

"I guess you could call it that." He shrugged, angling his shoulders in a halfhearted motion. "Frankly, I don't care if you hate me. You don't need to hide it either. I just want us to get through this and be done with it. That's it. Santana will stay close to me. If needed, I'll have him stay in the same room as me. If I didn't think Joseph and Caesar would end up dragging me back here, I'd stay at the mainland to save you the grief."

"How kind of you." She spits out, hoping that it will hurt, and her scarf sparks brighter this time. She doesn't hate him, in a way she hates herself more, but right now she wants him to beg for her not to attack. He blinks up at her, eyes widening ever so slightly, and then he just scoffs.

"Done being a scapegoat. I know where my mistakes lie, and don't think for a moment that I don't see every person I failed haunting me in all my dreams, but I'm tired of being the only one at fault. Tired of people acting as if I'm the only one back then that made a bad call. I wasn't. I made mistakes, Jonathan made mistakes, Straights made mistakes. Hell, George made mistakes that got him killed. I know the rule is to not speak ill of the dead, but I'm so fucking tired." He laughed and finally gained the ability to move away from Lisa Lisa. He wasn't doing this fight. "From today on I'm done. No more accepting blame for everything that goes wrong, no more being the villain in a story. I know what parts I've messed up and I'll handle that, but not the rest. You want a ghost, Elizabeth? Fuck off and haunt yourself."

Lisa Lisa watches him vanish out of the room like a shadow and ignores how her hands shake ever so slightly.

There's no true solace in hate, is there?

You thought it was the city, this place, these people, that were bringing you such sorrow,

But it turns out to just be you, again.

You really thought you had more to write about, but there's just not that much left.

Is there?

You walk to an empty room, curl up into a ball and hope sleep comes for you...

…you feel exhausted suddenly.

…

...do you feel that?

It's getting colder.

…

...it feels as if frost is coating each bone.

…

…and then your vision dims.

Be happy.

Scientists look around at the blazing sands of the desert and say that somewhere, while not here, it is snowing.

But you don't live in the desert.

…

…aren't you excited for winter?

Notes:

Daisy Bell is the song the shadow hums, I thought the first song sung by a computer would be a fun pick for the only named tune the shadow bothers to remember the lyrics to. Also, yes, I do believe in every female character in Jojo supremacy because they deserve it and Lisa Lisa is so fucking interesting to write even in small moments. Also, tell me what you think of this chapter I read every comment and they do make me less feral.
Anyway, are you all ready for winter?
:)

Chapter 12: Pick the match, strike it, and burn me away. Whatever, we all know I'm past saving, anyway. So just know he loves you...and that's what breaks your heart the most.

Summary:

And you keep getting colder and colder.

Notes:

Time for winter to start. Also, I think that's the first drawing of the reader as a mortal I've ever posted here.
And have some voice claims for my characters because I needed to get this out of my head.
M/n: Somewhere between Jason Spisak's performance as Razer from Green Lantern, the Animated Series and the lead singer of Måneskin. (A bit more hissy but otherwise perfect, his purring sounds like a Caracal btw.)
Narcissistic Cannibal: PureGrendal's Wendigo voice from YouTube, (Just search it you won't miss it.). Scary yet has the occasional chance to be comical. Cold, raspy, and chattering.
Ajamu: Cyrus Nemati's performance as Dionysus from Hades. (I won't elaborate.)
Ophelia: Anjelica Huston's performance as Morticia Addams from The Addams Family movies. (Is anyone even surprised by that one?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

You're going in the wrong direction. Primal instincts unearthed only in case of a special emergency. One leans in and whispers that there's a snowstorm approaching. That part of you, or rather they, want to evacuate and run away. One could easily kill the other in an instant. The other so desperately wants to die.

They want to evacuate.

The world is ice cold.

(Do you know snakes can't breathe in the snow? Is that true? Of course it is. No, it isn't. Doesn't matter. Birds can't breathe in the snow either. They fall in, too cold to move, and they can't breathe. Winter is suffocation. That's why you have to burrow and hibernate. If you don't, you'll freeze, but you may die of suffocation first. That's the end of the story. Are you cold? Don't you like winter? The season where everything holds its breath and waits. This is winter. You are freezing. Ice cold. Are you finally dying? Will we even bother to miss you? Is this how the story ends? This must be the end. Winter is always the end. Yet the year may end, but a new one starts in spring. Ouroboros. It always comes back. Full circle? Yes. You're starting to freeze.)

You stand in an empty dark hall.

(Cold. You're so cold that I'm feeling cold. We are nothing. There is no cold for us. I feel cold. Maybe we all fell in the snow? We can't breathe. You're whimpering. Why does our lord start to shake? Whispers of frost are coming from somewhere? Does this place have an open window? Think of the frost. Stop freezing. Your joints are locking from the cold. You are freezing. You must move. Canary in a coal mine and an even colder mind. Winter is beautiful. I want to see the snowfall. Winter is here. Aren't you excited?)

You blink, the world is cold, yes, but the world is quiet.

You are cold.

A single ring, gleaming silver with a large red stone that shines like the sun, rests on one finger, and you know it must be important.

…maybe.

You don't know anymore. It looks like something your mom would've worn when she wanted to dress up a little. Do you even have a mom? You don't see anything of value. The room is cold. You move, stiff limbs locking and twitching at each step you take, but you cross the hall. You don't know what else to do.

(Find a window. Close it. Watch the snowfall. Leave it open. Let the icy wind in. You are both a snake and not a snake. Do you think you'll be able to breathe in the snow? Lay down and find yourself. You like the cold, right? Let the winter breeze get rid of everything? Your scales are turning blue. You are freezing. Winter is here.)

Your fingers shift, splaying out, you feel as if frost is dancing between them. Isn't it pretty to think about even if it isn't real? You don't know the answer. Do you even know who you are anymore? What's your name? No, no, it doesn't matter.

(Ice, we can sense it. Glistening somewhere like a broken crystal. The red stone on the ring. Looks like...? Doesn't someone need that? I think. We don't know anyone. All we know is winter. All we want is winter. There's no one to help with the cold. Think of frost. Of ice. Still, that red stone...looks too big for a ring. You have a point. Is that supposed to be on...a necklace? Don't know. It is rather large. Looks like a fire inside of it. Wish it were blue. Keep going. We have to find the window. Ice is beautiful. Just never think about the dark form encased.)

Something might be in your way. You don't really make it out. Does it speak? You only hear the voices? So cold. Winter is a hum in your veins. You can't think. You can't possibly hope to think. The ice is cold. Find the window.

Another thing stands in your way.

You keep going.

You must.

(Isn't this all so wonderful? Can you finally feel it? Feel yourself get stronger. This is great, we can finally see winter, and then we'll be happy. I hope we can breathe. I hope we all stop breathing. I hope we were never breathing. Did you see an enemy? Did you see an obstacle? Can you even hear the voices outside of your own head? Don't you win? Yes, at the end of the day, you're winning. Don't stand a chance. They never did. They aren't getting back up? Can you even see them? Did you? Maybe a different ring would feel better? This one hurts, it digs in, and you must be in pain. Are you so cold that you don't feel it? Does it hurt? Not anymore.)

There was a part of you that felt the cold and wanted to sob at first, scream. Now there is just numbness. You know this hurts, but you just don't feel anything.

(Isn't this perfect? Great? Nothing can stand in your way. Not anymore. You don't even need Narcissistic Cannibal!)

…who?

Have you ever known anyone by that name?

You don't think so.

Someone follows steadily...and when did you think to take the lead? Isn't he supposed to be leading you?

...it doesn't matter.

At least he's here to encourage you despite how cold it is. Firmly, you need firmness, and that's it. Emotionless, but it isn't as if you feel anything anymore. Stoic is all you need. No panic. No fear. No hesitation. Just keep moving forward, feel the power flow through you, because it doesn't matter how stiff you are. How cold it is. Attack. Lunge. No, you're more accurate than all that. Each attack flies, precise. Never a single mistake. Never a misstep. You always win.

Even when...

The window must be broken. The halls are filling with snow. Deep, white, puffy...snow is snow. There's nothing special about it. You're so cold.

(We're close. I can feel it. Keep moving forward. It doesn't matter anymore. We won. We're getting slower. No matter how many things we encounter...it feels as if we're locking up. Movements are supposed to keep us warm, right? They aren't keeping us that warm. You're freezing. Keep moving. Keep moving. You can keep moving. He's behind you. Just keep walking.)

You are a force of raw power. A blizzard that...there's nothing for you to see and far less for you to feel. When it passes, you feel even more drained and...you don't feel right. What are you supposed to feel like?

There are more things approaching.

Bigger things...shaped like you and him...before that they were just...you don't know...

(Isn't it beautiful? I don't think so. It is. Those things...I don't like the stains they leave. The snow is turning red. Like a blank canvas getting a streak of paint. It is pretty. The stain is warm. Smear it over your hands. Your face. Are you thirsty? Hungry? Lap it up? Take a look at what you can do. Look at the snow gaining color. Look...look...look...)

…

…?

…!

Please...please...make it stop. I don't think...don't make me keep going...I can't...it hurts...please...

…

(Maybe you have a point? The snow looks nice when stained. Keep going. Winter won't wait for us. Don't you wanna see the snow falling? Daylight or under the moon...it would look nice either way. That would be pretty. Stop slowing down. There won't be any warmth here. Keep going. If you stop, he'll catch up to you. Keep walking. There's no end. Winter is coming. No, no, winter is already here.)

Still, you were so tired. It would be nice, you think, to have a moment where you could lay down and rest in the snow. Snow is soaked. White, red, and messy shades of pink. Things keep approaching. You can't focus. The world is static. Did you...was there ever a point where you didn't have the voices? No. They've always been guiding you. Lay down, cold, so fucking cold. Stare at the walls, the snow, the stains. You can't even feel the snow falling. Wait...is it also raining? Something is running down your face, but it freezes at the halfway points of your cheeks.

Keep going, N/n.

If you slip into a routine, you will feel as if there's a single thread of control to shakily grasp, some safety in following commands in a perfectly thoughtless trance, if safety is nowhere else to be seen, you know that. Right? You know, if you stay in the freezing cold for too long, you will get hypothermia. It will numb your skin and turn it into a series of unfamiliar shades. but perhaps to you, that means you won't feel your skin, you won't even shiver anymore, it won't feel like you anymore. Do you feel any stronger? Do you feel stronger, even as you're dying from the inside out? Does that strengthen you, or make you safer in any way?

Winter is here.

A shadow stands under the light of the sun, warm light shining down on the tan white of the skull, and wonders. Despite how bright the sun is, it doesn't fade away from the light, yet...

...it doesn't feel warmer.

Shouldn't it?

It knows temperature, knows how its reality reacts to the sensations, and earlier it had been warm when it had stood in the sunlight. Now it doesn't feel even a pang of warmth. Maybe...maybe that pillar man did something to it? Frost is coating its scales. Or maybe...

…

...is it finally winter?

…

It stops at the balcony of a path. The outcropping of the cliffs below lead way to the dark blue depths of the ocean. A crashing wave soaks the shadow, but it is already frozen from the inside out. Winter must be here, and yet it is not frozen away. Not completely.

'Just seeing you, I knew.'

It leapt down the cliff side, landing on top of the water, yet easily balancing on the balls of its shoes. Rocking for a second as the water rippled below, a myriad of dark sights and horrors with one that seemed to call to it, but for now, it merely stalked across the surface of the water. The surface tension shifted constantly, reminding the shadow of when its reality stalked around the void when in thought. It felt how the heels of its shoes sank slightly, how a wave splashed against the stockings it wore, but nothing made it colder or warmer. It had already gone completely numb.

'A bond between us two had grew,'

It was so easy to cross the raging ocean and reach the island. Though the first steps on the island felt...strange. It had prepared mentally for the warmth of hamon, maybe on some level it had even been excited for the warmth, but right now it was just stuck being completely numb with frost and ice forming in its veins. Approaching the main door, something it could recognize from its reality’s memories, it remained undetached and stared down at the two forms barely a quarter up the pillar. It would be so easy to just...No, no, it didn't humor that fact.

'And love spilled out the open doors,'

Crossing the halls didn't allow the teacher to catch sight of it, honestly the shadow wasn't sure how that confrontation would even go, and besides, it had something more important to do at the moment.

'And smeared around the kitchen floor,'

The maid was humming a tune that didn't match the one it had chosen. Over the years, it had heard the true god howl and hum tune after tune, but rarely did it ever find a singular piece that the god had actually sung to. Tunes from the days as a dancer, tunes in the void over eons to keep sanity, but after the throat and chest wounds, its reality loses the desire to sing. This one had been sung a few times, usually because the unrepentant monster liked to hear it, a quick tune that didn't make the air feel stolen from the god's lungs.

'Two hearts, through all complexity,'

There he was.

'Contoured into harmony,'

Kneeling in front of the god, it ran its claws over the layers of frost that had coiled and layer itself over the dark black scales. His cheeks were paler than usual and the edges of his ears and the tip of his nose, the few parts of his body that weren't fully scaled, had turned a shade of blue.

'And blood won't travel through those veins,'

There was something on the horizon and a call to the sea, yet it seemed as if the ice and frost would be the thing to overtake them both. But did it have anything that would help?

'But love will,'

…had its reality always been wearing that ring?

'Oh, love will.'

You don't recognize people you once knew anymore. You're completely isolated and entranced. They aren't totally lost to you yet. If a familiar voice calls out to you in worry, you will snap out of it just long enough to feel terrified at what you have become and what you must do next.

You have to keep going.

(The snow is getting thicker. It's already at our knees. You're having trouble walking. They keep approaching you. I hate them. Get rid of all of them. The snow is starting to look more red than white. We still haven't found that window. Things are going badly. We need to close that window. No, I want it to stay snowing. This is going to be a long winter. You're having trouble breathing. I guess the rumors are true. Snakes are suffocating. The birds are silent. I can't hear them either. Maybe they're all dead? Let's dig and see if we can find them. His hands are already frosted over. There's frost segmenting in between all of your scales. You're freezing. The cold is dragging you down. You're going to be nothing soon. Winter kills the old for spring to grow the new. Is that your fate? Fate was always your greatest curse. This will be the end of you.)

This is all supposed to feel natural, is what you think. Isn't that what he told you?

Instead, there's merely an uncomfortable weight deep inside your stomach. Your entire body feels heavy. Your hands are still cold, ice fucking cold, and when you adjust them against your sides, you find your fingers are too numb to even feel the soft fabric of your current outfit. The outfit is too thin, too weak, and you are freezing. Images are stuck playing on a loop.

(Think of all your sins. Winter is here. And the weather outside is frightful. Think of the ice. Think of the hail. Think of the snow. Think of the blizzards. Think. Think. Think. All you can do is lean into it, right? There's a vacancy in your eyes. Your own...wait, did you ever have anyone other than us? No, you haven't. How could you? This is all there is. No true ending. A snake biting at its own tail. An endless cycle. An ouroboros. A flash of light. The thickest flurry of snow. Listen to him repeating that same word over and over again. There is no stopping. A body lying in the snow and ice, staining everything in scarlet and eyes that show you reflected back. Wander aimlessly till you find the window.)

You clench your fists, there's a part of you that is feeling more aware, and you want to rip that ring off. Can't you go back to being numb? You don't like this. What will he think? He's being so nice. You owe him everything. This winter is his greatest blessing. You have to go out and see the snow for him...because he made this for you...and that's...this is nice.

…if only things would stop getting in your way.

You don't like them. Unlike the snow, you can't make them out, the features blurry and inhuman, and their voices are just loud static that hurts your ears. The scarlet that paints your hands and boots when you get rid of them is the only solace to the act. It's warm. You want to be warm. There's a memory somewhere of...he tells you he...no, you don't know anyone else. Only him. Only the voices. That's all you have. All you've ever had.

Isn't it nice...?

To be part of a group...? To be owned...? Because that means someone will take care of you, right? You're taken care of. He makes sure of it. All you have to do is keep going no matter how cold it is or how much scarlet is staining the snow.

…if only they'd stop getting in your way.

Thickly, you swallow.

This is all supposed to feel natural, you remind yourself. That's what he said, and knowing you're obeying him when you love him makes the thought even more reassuring.

Or...

…the thought is reassuring for a moment.

(Winter is here. Keep going. Don't mind the frost. You can't even feel the pain anymore. What are you? The snow is still falling. That's all we can hope to find. Frost is spreading. Do you remember being born? Are you even human? Were you ever? Look at the snow. Can we make a snow angel? A snow devil? Is that even a thing? The weather outside is frightful. Look at the red stone on the ring. It reminds me of the sun. What use do we even have for it? Can we break it open?)

You sway on your feet. This is so cold. Or maybe...you're the only thing that's cold here...? He's still following you. But there's a part of you that really wants to stop and lie back down. This is what's supposed to happen...right? If you just fell back and let the snow...

…well.

That kind of thing wouldn't help you find the window. It wouldn't let you or the voices see the snow fall. That was your goal. You had to keep moving because that was your goal. Those things you think hurt you, but you can't feel any of it anymore. Still, when you look down at yourself through the haze, you spot gashes with brownish red stains, yet the frost has filled the gaps in your flesh. You don't feel any of it. Keep going.

He had told you it was natural to feel this way. That you deserved to be hurt.

…

…he wouldn't...

…would he?

(Hurt you? You can't feel pain. Besides, if you could, then it means he wants you to feel pain. Which, in turn, means you deserve it. He'll heal you when you've earned it. For now just find the window. Keep moving. Lean down and touch the snow. Look for more enemies. Never lower your guard. Never stop moving. Always be prepared. No one is safe besides him. The world is ice cold. Winter is here. Everything will either die or be forced to adapt. You are the deciding factor to their ends.)

No, that kind of thing doesn't matter. Your mind was right, they were right, because what good were you if you weren't moving? Weren't improving? Becoming something stronger for him? You had a purpose, and that was beautiful.

You keep moving.

Everything was just echoes and static. Mindless chatter. Are these things still charging you or you chasing them? That...that...is that bad? You don't know. He isn't saying its bad. You keep moving. That's what you must do. It doesn't matter if they run. It doesn't matter if they're talking. You have to. Need to get better. You need to find the window.

This is supposed to feel natural.

...it does.

You look at the ring on your frost coated hands. It isn't coated in ice. It feels effortless to keep moving. You are moving on your own. Everything is merely winter. Keep going. Is he even telling you what to do anymore?

You're freezing.

But you're doing it no matter what.

You're going to do fine...right?

The tension that's built in your shoulders eases at that ideal. You take a deep breath.

(In. Then out. Let yourself relax. There is no pain. Only cold. Only numb. That is all. Think. Think. Think. Think. Think. To the beat of your heart. Did we teach you that trick? Maybe.)

Everything blurs together.

Snow white.

Ice blue.

Carry you through.

Slowly, as if all this were merely a dream, you slip back into the constant motion of it all. Is that...?

You forgot what a door opening even sounded like

…almost.

Was he the one who opened the door for you? Or was it one of those things? An enemy? It could be. Yet it also will serve as another chance to follow his will.

Second nature. You lunge because this thing must be a threat. With brown hair, blueish green eyes, and that...scarf?

…?

Someone calls out to you, but it's just static in your ears. Mind a blur. Stronger than you. Stronger than him. Stronger than everyone. The thoughts drown you out.

…this is a good thing, right?

And then...

A metal clicking sound...

And then...

"M/n? Are you okay?"

M/n...is that your name?

…

…who is this?

…and oh, god...oh, god.

Something deep in your chest defrosts, metal steel keeps clicking together, face shown in an expression that you don't recognize or decipher. Who is this? Reaching out to you with a free hand, calling that name as if it belongs to you, and you go still.

"M/n!" He repeats, relief flooding his face as he rushes forward to take you into his arms in a near bone-crushing hug and those steel clackers fall to the floor. "God, you had me worried for a second there."

You don't have any words to say. You feel as if you should react to something here, like you should move to return the embrace, but without the clicking all your mind is still droning on and on and on and on and on and on...with loud whispers and chirps and you feel as if you can't make yourself do anything but hang limply like a puppet.

Who is this?

The lump of ice deep in your stomach comes back with a vengeance.

A whisper catches your ears.

You know what to do, N/n.

"M/n..."

You move. He chuckles. You wish that your body wasn't so heavy as he collapses back into the snow.

You did the right thing. You did what he told you.

(Why am I sad? I miss him. Who was that? He's staining the snow. Look at him. His eyes are completely vacant. He's a corpse. You killed him. He's going to be buried under the snow. This is the end.)

You can't even lift your hands up to cover your ears and deafen the sound. The numbness is complete. Stained with frost.

It's so cold.

The memory of the man even as you stare down at the corpse is fading.

What did he call you?

Was that your...?

You don't remember.

...it must not be important.

The terror in his expression is something you don't remember. Unrecognizable. You want to close his eyes? You don't.

The ring digs in. It doesn't hurt. You don't remember what pain feels like. It's...blood is dripping down. That's a good thing, isn't it?

N/n.

You need to keep going.

N/n.

Why is he calling for you? What do you need to do?

n/n, aren't you hungry?

…?

You stop.

...is he serious?

(Hungry? Are you hungry? The world is ending. Why do I feel sad? Why do I also feel sad...I mean, this is just a...? Who the fuck cares? Eat! You have to eat! It'll make you warm. Are you sad? I mean, you can keep him. Just take a bite.)

You don't want to.

N/n.

Please...

N/n.

You'll do anything else.

N/n.

You want to serve him, but staring at the corpse, you don't want to.

N/n, are you doubting your god?

You want to...?

You're starving, N/n.

You are...?

…

You could eat.

…

You want to eat.

…

You want to be warm.

…

This is what you wanted, right?

…I think I want to go home.

A person who lived at the house next door your entire life has acted strange and unlike the one you remember. Have you changed too much to know them? Have they changed too much? They move erratically. They say and do things they never would've done all those years ago, and now they seem to follow you and check up on you no matter where you go or what you do. You try to lie. Tell yourself that they're just being nice. You're merely going through a rough time right now. But deep down...you know none of this is right.

Then they suddenly look over a shoulder and smile before becoming friends with your crush. Not a big deal, right? I mean, they told you they're only friends. But...why did they go out of their way to do that? Is this a situation that's happened before? Is that even a friend? You don't know anymore. Whatever, your friend is just trying to help. You get the confidence to talk to your crush and invite him to some café where you forget yourself. You do that, but then your friend is here and the two of them are acting strange. Ignore it. Invite them both because you can't imagine asking for a date right now, and move on.

You get to the café alone, and you find the lights are off, and everyone is gone. You walk in because the door is unlocked, reach for a light switch, and merely collapse.

You wake alone and scared.

There's something chasing you through the dark, and you are alone, and you hate being alone, and you hate being alone, and you hate being alone...

The clothes on your back are things you've never worn before, so you run as fast as you can to avoid things chasing you.

A god grins down at you because he's claimed you are his destined end.

Before you can even ask, that friend is back, cold and quiet, but saving you.

He tells you that you'll be fine.

Only a matter of time, yet he's kind and agrees to show you how to fight and defend yourself, and maybe you’ll be that god's end. He takes your hand. You kill dozens. Go further and further because this needs to be done. They tell you to take an item...a trident...and in a way you know you'll need it but you don't deserve it. The maker knows that. You are told to take it. Over and over. Over and over.

Then...

The trident is in your hands. You took it but the maker is gone and you don't know...what even happened there? You're coated in blood, but there's an iv that connects you to the massive pool...is it all yours?

What have you done to be stronger?

Your stomach, or perhaps the hollow of your chest, is full and you don't feel warmer. You just feel sick, and the tears keep running down your face, but he is following you. Keep going. You have to. Your stomach is...this is horrible. You regret everything. This is hell. His voice was...it was the only thing other than your god that you could hear. It wasn't the voices. He had been...had you known him?

Had he said your name?

(We have to keep going. The window. There has to be a window. Winter will never end. You can only prepare for hibernation. You did what you had to. This is the way the world ends. Ice cold and frost blue. The weather outside is frightful. He was in the way. You were starving. You simply decided you had to. It was God's will. That was all. You have to kill. Keep moving. This won't be the end of you if you don't lay down in the snow. Take a breath. You're doing great. Breathe in and out. This is the end of everything. Ouroboros. His body is gone. I don't hear him. Did we not eat enough? Was there anything left?)

You keep moving.

You keep stopping things that get in your way and you want to vomit.

There has to be a window...right?

Otherwise...

…

…if none of this means anything, then what's your anger for?

Oh N/n, have you forgotten what are you?

…I'm...I'd rather be anything you desire, the dirt under your heel, my king.

Oh?

What role in this story do you need me to be, my king? A peasant? Or a pauper? Or a knight in shining armor? What's required of me, for only in your direction am I free, so I ask; what's required of me?

and will you stand in my way?

No, I wouldn't dare stand in the way of what you've decreed.

Then all you have to do is forget him and keep walking.

…

Okay, M/n?

As you keep walking with your friend, there's a realization that when they speak you aren't hearing their voice, rather someone familiar...didn't the god sound like that when he spoke to you? He has you wrapped around his finger.

You think about killing your friend and when you mentally think about how horrible that idea is...he looks at you and smiles.

'This is all natural.'

Everything blurs together.

This is the end, right?

You keep moving.

This is the only thing you can do. This is the order your king has given you. That means you have to do this. Fight whoever or whatever gets in your way. You keep moving to find the window. That's the only goal you can have right now.

And there it is.

…but a figure's in front of you.

"Cold. Cold and dark. Going on forever as far as I can see. I can't smell it. No, there is no scent all the way in the ice. Each molecule of frozen water carries no sense of smell. I can't taste it, for I haven't had the time to collect your frozen ichor from your footsteps. They become frosted over, and there's no point in cutting through the blankets of snow to get to it in this weather..." He crooned, his headscarf shifting as he tilted his head in your direction. Still, despite the weather, he was nearly naked, lacking all clothing except for the loincloth, arm bracers, and that pair of boots. It was easy for you to trace the massive expanses of bare skin, yet he shined brightly, all the brighter against the stark white of ice and snow. "Tell me, you're cold, aren't you? I can see the blue forming on you, growing like a deadly infection, almost necrotic at this rate. In your condition, I'd say you won't last much longer without heat...you don't wish to be cold, do you?"

…?

You don't wish to be cold? What other choice was there? Your king ordered you to keep going. The only way to retain warmth is to keep moving, and yet...what this man was implying...

N/n, why are you stopping?

"You wish for warmth, don't you?" He's smiling, and you feel a flicker of heat emanating from him. Strong enough to make you want to get closer. The gashes in your frame have long since filled with ice and frost. You're rotting if you don't get warmth. Your king is not giving you warmth. He forced you to eat that man who seemed to care...he was taking things from you.

Don't you want to close the window, N/n?

The window. It was behind him. You could catch glimpses of the moonlight as wind and snow fell around him. The ring on your hand felt heavy.

N/n, keep moving. That's an order.

You take a step forward.

…you don't want to hurt this figure. Honestly, you don't even care about the window. It feels as if frost is forming between your bones and joints. Your legs are shaking. You don't think you have the strength to fight anymore. You don't think you could win even if you tried.

You take another step forward.

"Come to me, won't you?"

You fall into his arms.

N/n, are you betraying me?

Your form shakes. For a moment, you had sworn that the light shined further beyond him...yet it wasn't from the window. Around his shoulders, it was something...bright...a glow of purity. Yet it didn't burn you away. It instead...seemed to form a pair of feathery wings that blended in with both the snow and starlight. A snow angel that seemed to reach forward and caress you.

And in his radiance, the glow of his wings, you felt...

…warm.

For a second, you heard nothing.

There it is,

A golden halo,

Face unseen in a world of molten gold,

Everything is gold, gold, gold,

May all the humans pluck their own eyes,

Before gazing upon the face of my god,

In all his righteous glory,

Let myself stand below him made of love and light,

Holy, holy, holy,

I rest made of the sun's rays and the sea foam,

My eyes see all, and my heart is full in his presence,

An angel can't fall in love,

For he is already in love with god.

-A poem from god's most loyal seraphim

You jolt awake, skin damp with half melted frost, and you blink slowly at the sudden realization that it was all just...just another fucking dream. Why...why the fuck did this keep happening? You shifted a bit, feeling how your veins were still mostly ice and sleet, before rising to your heels with a groan. The sensations in your body were shaky, stiffened up and weak, but it wasn't as if you weren't used to that kind of feeling. You’d died. Had been dragged to hell. You had dealt with worse, it wasn't as if you were even feeling pain, so you flexed your muscles and ignored flesh tearing from the internal ice.

…what a fucking mess.

(Are you okay? You're crying. Maybe something bad happened? Take a deep breath. He can't. Ajamu caved his chest in with that brand. Well, try to slow your breathing then. Is that ring new? Dearie, I need you to calm down, so can you please sit back down for a moment? That isn't going to work. He's only getting more panicked. I wish we could see his dreams. He'll tell us, eventually. Can't hear his thoughts, can't see his dreams. Is there anything else we can do other than chatter at him? Nothing to do about it.)

With a snarl, you smothered the voices back to the violent, mindless chanting that you had grown used to over the years. It wasn't as if they would stop even if you begged them. You had. They just didn't care, not that they cared when you were mortal either, so at least you could call them consistent. Looking down at your hands, you stopped at the sight of ichor dripping from your left hand, your ring finger, where a beautiful red stone lies on a silver and black band. It was sharp, hooks pointedly digging in the gaps and seams of your scales, forcing a slight drip of ichor in case you moved in any way that required the flesh to bend or shift. A ring of thorns almost.

…how do you get this off without just cutting the finger off and letting it regrow?

No, it wasn't as if you could feel pain, anyway.

You stalked down the halls of the island, ignoring how the world swayed and shifted around you, and listened to the distant sound of heartbeats echo through the framework of the building. You stopped for a moment, your heel tapping quickly. From the sounds of it both your hierophant and scholar were still in that pillar...less than halfway up. It seemed as if it would take them a while. With a shake of the head, you started walking again, ignoring how cold you were, or perhaps how tired you were. You were overly lethargic. Right now, it felt as if you were stuck in winter on the farm with no fire or heat...just an instinct to bury yourself and sleep for months and months. The urge to hibernate...to just stop existing...to warm up...or maybe...or maybe...

"Lord M/n." There was a moment of silence after the second where you jolted back with a slight hiss, blinking at the redhead, you watched as Santana tilted his head at you, opening your mouth the smoke that escapes your lips is thicker than usual as if you're out in a blizzard. "You're freezing."

Nothing escapes your lips. On some level, you know they must be turning blue, and you really don't know why. Hibernation was one thing, but you had never felt this cold except for...when you spoke to a far different god, but you didn't want to think about that. With a slight hiss, you wave a hand gently in the easiest way to convince him you're doing okay, but the hand motion is still stilted because of the frost that had formed throughout your veins.

"I'm fine...just some kind of ailment."

"This happens often?"

"No...I mean, sometimes during winter I can enter a hibernation state if I'm not careful, but this is a bit more extreme than what I'm used to. I just need to warm up for a bit, and I'll be fine."

"Our room has a fireplace. I'll start it for you." You give a nod. The long fangs you had inherited from your stand kept clicking together in a way that prevented the words from escaping, not that you really wanted to speak right now. You had to thank whoever designed the island's architecture for making guest rooms with fully functioning fireplaces, your bedroom in Wind-Knight's Lot didn't even have one which left you moving into the room that used to be Dio's during the winter months.

(How nice of him. It was a good idea for you to keep him. He's a wonderful influence. Doesn't change how...strange the other three are. I mean, you have a point with that one. The warrior wasn't that bad. The other lord was too quiet to really question, but Kars...he's strange. How are we supposed to handle that one? He forced a ring on him! Our poor god...no one should be forced to be married against their will. Remember that comment about knowing not to bite? Creeped me out. I think it was romantic. Really? It was sweet. Like love at first sight! Isn't love at first sight...like something both parties are supposed to experience? It is. Seems pretty one sided to me. We should've asked our god to bite him. Would he have enjoyed it? Probably. Wait, wait, wait, we need to quiet down a bit! Why? Santana's talking and our god can't hear him. So? Sorry. All of you shut up!)

"...my Lord?" You blinked, the voices back to being muffled down, and slowly tilted your head at Santana.

"Sorry...I didn't catch that. Can you repeat that?"

"You're crying."

"Oh, I guess the cold is getting to me."

"What happened?"

"Oh, me and Lisa Lisa just spoke for a bit. Just us...arguing. We don't like each other that much, but I don't plan on being here for longer than needed, so it will be fine. Think I snapped at her more than she snapped at me." The god shifted, ice crackling inside of him, and the world was ice cold. Ice blue frost had tinted the many layers of your vision.

'You wish for warmth, don't you?' Why were you even thinking about that? That...that didn't matter.

"Why do you not like each other?"

"She blames me for the death of her...someone she used to love. I think on some level I blame myself for it, but I...I'm not the only factor at play in any situation, so I wasn't going to be the sole factor in his death. That's...we both see too much of ourselves in each other to even like each other. I think...at one point or another, we both decided that we pitied each other far more than we would ever like each other. Probably gonna stay that way till the end of time."

"You're blacking out."

"I am." The spots in your vision were ever present, you were certain that on some level you were going to black out for a few more hours at least, but maybe when you woke up Joseph and Caesar would be done with that step of their training. It wasn't as if you could do anything to help them with something like that, at least with sparring you had experience, hamon or not, so you might be useful should either need a partner. "Just need to warm up for a bit. I'll be fine once this damn frost melts. Hm, I didn't even think this island was that cold, but I guess the storm is affecting me far more than I expected. Can you stay with me? You don't have to lie down or anything, I just...really hate being alone."

You're rambling again.

"I plan on staying."

"Thank you." The fire is a warm crackle that faintly echoes in your ears and you sprawl across the bed, still wishing you could have a nest rather than a bed, but you ignore that, feeling how Santana crossed the room to lie next to you. Shifting closer, you adjusted your position to curl into his side, purring at the surge of warmth. You hadn't realized how warm the pillar man was in Mexico or in that hotel room, but now it felt amazing. Arms wrapped around you, a sensation you still weren't used to, but you could grow used to it if just given the chance. "I used to love the cold before all this. Most people get seasonal depression in the winter because of the cold and lack of light and all that, but I always got that kind of feeling in the summer. Bad things always happen in summer. Always my fault."

"You're exaggerating."

"...I don't think so. A lot of bad things could only happen because I'm around, not that I want to go looking for trouble, it just seems to follow me around. What's that phrase...? Trauma is like a cat that you bag and toss into...the sea, yet at the end of every day it's back to yowling at your front door. I wrote that poem a while back. Not my greatest one, but it sounded nice when I wrote it."

"Is this still true?"

"I mean...I outlive people, but I think in a way my luck's finally turning around. At least, I hope it is. I don't want things to end again."

"...rest, Lord M/n."

So you do.

You cross the room, bloody and sore, because you have suffered today at your age. Fourteen, what a fucking joke. This is the year of suffering. The world is cold. You are cold. Bloody cuts drip and fester. Bite marks are the sign of the devil. There is no way the world will forgive you as the set of scissors goes clip-clip-clip. A saint will come home and she will never know.

That's all.

Narcissistic, that's the person you must be for thinking that you're suffering matters. Don't you see the scar that runs across your face? You were born broken. You were...you are a harbinger...an albatross...that's it. Cannibal, you are self devouring at this moment.

Narcissistic cannibal; a person who is draining on others and self centered.

What else are you if not that?

You stop at the mirror, look in the reflection, and settle down.

You never were religious.

You never were...not even now.

Then, God speaks to you, because, of course, he would now of all times.

"Yes, you have been given a life in which none of your suffering will ever be meaningful or justified. I am asking you to endure it, anyway."

"..."

"We both know that you know that I only speak in silences."

"..."

"A thousand faces, all of them mine."

"A thousand faces, none of them mine."

"Beloved,"

"..."

"I am asking you to endure it."

"..."

"You did not always live inside this mirror. You will not always be here, suffering."

"..."

"You understand what will happen to you if I look away, don't you? If I blink? I have had to watch every mean and sordid instant of your life, bound within these chains of ardent love. Although you beg me, curse me, and hate me, I will not look away from you. This was the choice I made on your behalf, not my own."

"...?"

"No. But I'm close enough to your idea of the real thing that it shouldn't matter."

"..."

"Time flies straight like an arrow, which is to say, it doesn't."

"Narrow is the straight."

"I gave you language. You ate the fruit. You will not persuade me not to stay my hand."

"I am asking you how to endure it."

"On the strength of my having asked it of you."

"I am asking not to endure it."

"Scio, sweetheart."

A canary in a coal mine.

Or a canary in a cold mind?

You're back to the fields of snow and ice. The ring on your hand is still digging into flesh beneath your scales, but there's an end to them. Or rather, a set of pearly white stairs leading to a wooden door. You look at the snowy terrain for only a moment before you start up the stairs with a hum. The voices are a series of messy chants that you can't fully make out, and the god is completely gone...leaving you alone. You can feel the absence in your very soul, but you don't question it. There's nothing in there that you can fathom any more.

Maybe this is the ending?

Reaching the wooden doors, you slowly push them open, revealing the inside of a humble cathedral. For a moment, light blinds you before your vision settles and you close the door behind you with the sickening click of the lock preventing you from escaping. Yet, you don't feel even a spark of fear as you cross down the carpeted path. This is the main room...where one would find solace in prayer. Passing the many empty aisles in the nave, not a single person praying to be found.

You look at the door leading out of the church, a path you don't know, and you swear you hear someone that you recognize up ahead.

Clarity forms.

God looks down at you when he enters the room.

"Great news, beloved!"

You shift, laying in the torturous prison.

"..."

"Yours is the throat that shall sing my hymn to agony!"

"..."

"Ha, come on, the music's so beautiful in this one. For me?"

"..."

"And must you think of it as a torturous prison? Isn't this exactly what you asked for, an immaculately clean white room? A place where creative soldiers go to die because there is nothing there to see, to think, to handle. You chose this form of suicide, didn't you?"

"..."

"So, please sing for me, my beloved?"

The path leads you to a forest encased in more snow than you know what to do with, not that it matters. The realization of what you've done just now is more than enough to chill you to your very core. Still, you had to keep going. That was the point of all this. You could hear that familiar voice in the distance calling for you, beckoning you deeper and deeper into the woods, and then you spotted an end to the trees. Tapping your foot, you came to a slow stop, staring at the opening where you could see what looked like the drop of a cliff. That was it, wasn't it? This was the end of the road.

You had to stop eventually, right?

With a sigh, you crossed the snowy fields and exited the woods before coming to a stop. You were right. This was a cliff leading down to the raging icy sea. Sharp pointed rocks glinted down at earning a strange sort of shiver down the line of your back. You were supposed to jump down the cliff and end in the ocean. That was the obvious ending, but you were hesitating. The voices howled back and forth in a mix that you couldn't quite understand...and maybe if this...this was all a dream, right? It wasn't as if you were going to die here. You'd just wake up and at worst you'd be drowning in the sea or a bathtub. It would be so easy for all this to end. Maybe you'd even wake up?

The water slammed against the cliff hard enough for the spray to splash into your face as something massive rose from the sea. You jolted, not sure what to say or do, as the water fell back into the ocean revealing the thing to be a massive leviathan. You don't flinch, it isn't as if you could ever fear a snake, but now you don't know the meaning or reason. The serpent moved its head around to stare at you with one clouded gold eye.

"W-who are you?"

'I am the rumble that shakes the earth, the beast that makes the depths so haunting, the ocean embodied.'

"I didn't think anyone would be here."

'Did you now? Well, clearly you were wrong, because I'm here.' It opened its mouth to allow its tongue to flick out before adjusting its muzzle to be even closer to you. 'I sensed you were here.'

"...?"

'Hello, hello, how nice to meet you. I came here to greet you, and...well, why don't we talk about why you're here?'

"I don't have a reason for being here."

'Oh? Because I sense something in you. I have a place for you inside my maw. Let me be the consumer of all pain.'

"Pain? I can't feel pain, I'm fine, I...I don't need a consumer of all pain or whatever-"

'I know sadness and sorrow when I see it.' A tongue flick that graced the side of your face. 'And I'm here, so you don't ever fear that way again. Let me absorb your grief and numb the pain. Let me take away the horror. Let me grace your day. Fade in blissful peace. Let this be your last peaceful day. So, tell me what ails you, won't you?'

"I...I...where do I even begin? I guess...I'm hearing a voice calling for me...I want to see him again."

'Oh, you simply need a path to walk? Usually, when one comes to this cliff side, they want to leave the world behind, yet you come here to keep walking. How strange, but is that really what you want?'

"But...you know, that's the problem. Even if I make it to him...even if I see him...it won't be real. The dream will end and he'll be taken from me again...then the next night I'll see him again or merely think I see him, and I never get to grieve or move on. I'm stuck missing him. Nothing ever changes. Besides, I'm not the man he grew up with. I'm not the man he remembers anymore. I've changed too much. What if he stops recognizing me? Will he even need me anymore?"

'Why wouldn't he?'

"I mean, I don't even recognize myself these days...I haven't recognized myself in eons! I'm not human, I'm not good, and whatever part of me remains is always this twisted piece of...of...something that lingers and hurts and infects everything in my life! I'm just a serpent! Not even a human...not even a lover or a fighter...just something that...that's stuck."

'Who doesn't like serpents?'

"I haven't mentioned this to anyone...but there are moments when I don't remember exactly what Jonathan or Dio look like, the sound of their voices, and then these dreams come...even so, what if I'm remembering it wrong? What if I'm just making things up? The sound of their voices, the shape of their eyes...what if this is all gone...what if I'm lying to myself?" You whimpered, the realization sounding all the more chilling when you actually spoke it out loud. "The longer I live...the more I change...everything becomes more apparent. My strongest memory of him...of them...is the pain of losing them, and that isn't right, is it? Do I even love them anymore?"

'That depends on what people think, doesn't it? You have a right to bear your sorrow, as does anyone else, and to deny that yourself is harmful no matter who you are.'

"I'm supposed to be above that."

'Because your god?'

"...yeah, I'm not supposed to still think that. I've moved past that mindset."

'Regression happens, so do relapses. This is merely a part of life. The ocean tides will pull back into the sea eventually, but if given the chance, they'll always go back to the land. It merely takes time.' Your claws twitched, you still couldn't feel them, and you wanted to laugh at how cold you could get. 'Nothing ever changes in the way you expect, but the world will move.'

"I think I'm far too gone."

'Oh?'

"This reflection isn't mine, but I think I'm stuck in place."

'Then stay.'

"...I don't deserve either of them if I've forgotten their faces."

'You do.'

"...you said you could take away my pain?"

'If you jump into my maw.' It slowly opened its mouth, almost as if hesitating, but you don't care anymore.

You leapt past the front fangs without hesitation.

Was this inevitable?

Could you have been saved, if only others had been better? You have known hate like all creatures must, but you had a chance, though. Everyone does. You could have been helped, if only anyone had realized just what you needed in time. Trauma is trauma. But you deserved to be seen. Your pain should have had time to heal.

Miracle, it wasn't your fault, but mine.

You deserved to grow up.

The god was thrashing in his sleep.

Santana tightened his grip, feeling how the god slowed in motions before he let out a soft whimper with his form shaking like an animal hiding from a storm, and Santana ran his fingers through his Lord's hair. While his sleep was restless and still panicked, at least he wasn't trying to drown himself again, a minor miracle when compared to what he had found in that hotel room. Truthfully, he had only left the room for a few moments to hear the finer details of the encounter between his Lord and the other pillar men. Though it was rather strange to think about his Lord fighting and trying to kill his former lords and comrade. He wasn't ashamed to admit that his dynamic with the other three had been stilted, if that wasn't clear by him not traveling with them across the ocean so he could watch the Aztecs and Mayan societies grow beneath his reign before falling into slumber, and now they all felt distant from him.

Further away, almost in a manner not physical.

Even with Wamuu, the only one that held the same position as him during his time with the remaining members of his kind, they had been far too different, with motives and methods that never quite aligned. He hadn't even known Wamuu till Kars had started his mass slaughter of their race, he certainly couldn't have claimed to know him at all, but it was clear by how they both joined Kars's side that they didn't care for the same things. He had joined Kars and Esidisi because he followed the winning side, the powerful and intelligent, while Wamuu, always the prideful warrior, had fought Kars to a standstill before losing. His own sense of honor had forced him to serve Kars and Esidisi despite his open hatred and disgust towards the genocide of their people. In that way Wamuu was soft-hearted, yet there were certainly moments where Santana had wondered if something was wrong with how little the loss of the past truly affected him.

At the moment the god jolted in his sleep with a feral whine, body heat spiking drastically as if he was set on fire, before his Lord whispered in both English and Italian, Santana caught a series of apologies and pleads for someone to forgive him, and Santana quickly adjusted himself so that he was fully sitting up with the god on his lap and head against his chest.

Now, this change hadn't been an expected outcome, nor had leaving the others behind.

In fact, there had never been a part of him that planned on changing his allegiance, or perhaps not until the red stone was gained and ascension made it all the easier to simply abandon them, yet the moment that human killed himself Santana had been left certain that he was going to be killed. A clear moment where crossing the ocean or merely returning to slumber in stone had proven to be impossible, with no reality left for him. No ascension. No walking in the sun without pain and blindness. Then in a single strike the god had interfered on the mere idea that he could convince him to actually switch sides, and then he actually did, something that Santana hadn't been expecting. To interfere with destiny and then just hold out a hand as if what he was offering made perfect sense, yet clearly it wasn't as if his Lord wanted a servant or anything akin to what he had done while under the rule of Kars and Esidisi. To this day when speaking with him, the god just treated him more or less like a friend or ally. What did he even want from this dynamic?

'For you to be happy with this arrangement.'

That was all, according to Lord M/n. A rather strange desire, certainly not fitting for even the more loving gods he remembered from the many pantheons he had seen during his time in the empires. Maybe a bit fitting for a creation deity, but that wasn't a title the god in his lap seemed eager to claim, although he lived on a farm. No, instead he claimed the titles; Lord of all Serpents, God of Insanity, Lust, Cannibalism, and perhaps something else if god's avoidance seemed to mean anything.

It was this god he willingly tied himself to; one with a hierophant that didn't properly serve him, no open worshippers, and seemingly no temples. One followed by ghosts rather than an open Ah Kin.

Yet, or maybe because of this, it became all the more obvious that the god wasn't in a stable condition, even when taking his title in account, yet Santana still wasn't sure of what could leave a god so haunted. His Lord had been through something terrible, yet he hadn't been open with the exact details. It was, according to him, all his fault, but that didn't explain what happened. He reran his fingers through the god's hair, drawing the motion till he got to the faded blackish blue ribbon that tied his hair back before repeating it, and he watched the god shift with pink wisps escaping his lips. The sound he made at the action was...off which caused Santana to tilt his face and open the god's mouth to examine the thick layer of frost coating the inside of his throat, while the heat of the room seemed to have some melting the rest stubbornly remained as a harsh coating. Lord M/n had mentioned it just being a side effect of the cold, yet this persistent trait was more akin to some kind of disease. Could a god truly catch or maintain an illness? From what he had seen and heard, his regeneration suggested nothing like that, yet a god's biology wasn't something he knew well enough.

Perhaps he should bring him closer to the fire?

Still, to think this was the same god that had nearly killed Wamuu in a simple fight.

What an...almost impossible to imagine situation. Wamuu had always been a fierce fighter, Santana doubted that such a fact would've ever changed over the years even if the others had been slumbering as well, so to think that anyone had been on the verge of killing him without suffering any wounds or near fatal injuries...well, it was a rather unsettling thought.

'I have the strength to defeat anyone in physical combat, I had the will to beat the one before me for this seat even if it took years and nearly killed me a thousand different times, so I'd argue I have the will to achieve any goal I set out for.'

His god hadn't been lying to say the least.

Still, to nearly kill Wamuu who had fought Kars for several days and nights, to the point where even Esidisi had been openly wondering if this battle would be what killed their rebellion, but...even when half dead Kars won with cunning. The god hadn't done that, with no injuries it seemed as if he won his bout with raw power.

…so, it certainly seemed as if he had chosen the winning side after all.

He stood, still carrying the god, and settled by the fire.

And there are times I worry for you, there are times I think everything is fine, and times where people forget who we are.

…I worry for you.

Music fills your ears.

A slow, comforting march that doesn't stop, yet doesn't seem to come from anywhere in particular, which causes you to spin on your heels for a moment. The world is slow, everything tinted a low gray, and you walk blind for a while before stumbling across a full body mirror. For a moment, you hesitate on even bothering with it, but you ignored that feeling to step in front of it. Looking into the glass, you resisted the urge to hiss in disgust or look away.

You had skipped the chance for this body to be something sensual a long time ago.

Or maybe it was just because of the change in appearance from becoming a god in the first place?

On some level, you were still the same corpse that you had been on your deathbed; you lacked the rot and infection of sepsis, but the hints of your death were in the shape of your frame. The drastic dip of where your ribs ended before the curve of your hips from lack of internal organs made you look inhuman. No one could survive in such a state without a drastic medical plan. It was unnatural...monstrous, even. The scars, the paleness of death, the weight loss...a man five foot seven was supposed to be anywhere from one hundred and twenty-one pounds to one hundred and fifty-three pounds, you were, including the alteration to your skeleton, under one hundred pounds. It made sense. You had been underweight since you were fourteen and homeless; you were now missing most of your organs and had the skeletal system of a snake.

…probably why people had such an easy time lifting you up.

Was this body meant to be sensual?

…you were the god of lust, so probably.

Your reflection completely shifted to when you were mortal, scarred up and homeless, but far from a measly reanimated corpse. You tilt your head to the side watching how the reflection tried to copy the motion. One hundred and seventeen pounds was still underweight but a lot better than your current state. The dark circles weren't as deep, your scars weren't from torture but spats and bad dads, and you just looked...you fucking looked happy. You were homeless. Shitty jobs, lack of money, always someone trying to kill you, yet you looked happier.

Why...?

…why the fuck couldn't you be better?

You slammed your fist against the mirror, feeling how it shattered and dug into your hands, and the ground below you shattered as well.

Shards of glass shine like stars as you plummet.

Whatever I'm hungering for doesn't exist in this world, I've decided. I've been hungry and stuck wandering the world looking for 'it' since the day I was born...sometimes I think God is playing a practical joke. Surely you can't be serious? To put me here, build me like this, and then just leave me here. Surely you weren't serious?

…God and I haven't been talking lately.

"Oh, now I see. That's what's happening, isn't it?" You stand up on shaky legs, the walls of the hallway you find yourself in are red and pulsing, and you only start looking around when you hear Dio's voice echo down the darker hallways up ahead. After that fight, your mind feels clearer with the soft wordless chanting in the distance easily intermingling with the muffled whispers of the ones in your head, the scattered candles on the floor at least kept the fleshy halls from being pitch black, yet it did nothing for the cold seeping into your bones. Yet...that...that is Dio, you know that voice despite your fears, but on some level recollection is still fuzzy, so you look at the strange white suit with the red patterns you're now wearing. "Look at all of them; they wake up every morning of every day in their lives, and they know perfectly well that there's nothing in the world to actually trouble them. They all go through their ordinary little days, and at night they'll all sleep their untroubled ordinary little sleep...filled with peaceful stupid dreams."

"...hm?"

"And then I brought them all nightmares."

Exiting the halls you stood in a massive church-like chamber with a massive heart hanging in the center like a chandelier, the entire place was decorated as if prepared for a wedding despite how dim the room was, and strangely enough the stained glass mural with the alter in the back showcased the famous scene of Judas kissing Jesus's cheek. A strange image to choose for the centerpiece of a chapel or church. Hunched over in the pews were black cloaked figures that kept whispering and didn't respond when you waved or tried to speak to them, so you crossed the room to stand at the altar. Was...was this supposed to be your wedding? A sudden flicker of motion from behind you caused you to jolt, whipping your head around. "Dio…?"

"M/n, how good to see you again! I was worried that these past few meetings were just random coincidences. Hopefully, this will become a trend." The entire time his expression was warm and caring, but you were used to that since Dio…well, for some reason, Dio loved you. To this day you still don't understand why he thought that, but you'd be lying if you didn't feel the same way for him...of course, only you could fall in love with a ghost when you'd never be able to follow him into heaven. Yet the outfit he was wearing...it matched yours, another white and red patterned suit...fit for a wedding.

'Till death do us part...right? I suppose we're both dead already, eh Dio?'

"...I wouldn't be opposed to that." Yet, you take a half step back, tilting your head back and forth to better examine the chamber and figures till you finally meet his gaze again. "Dio, what is this place?"

"Oh M/n, don't you understand?" Dio took a step towards you, waving a hand to gesture to the entire room with a smile only growing on his face, and you weren't sure what this was supposed to mean. "This...well, this isn't our beginning, but it isn't our ending...and it certainly isn't a funeral, far more akin to a christening, if anything else. No need for anyone to wear black, no need for a gravestone, no need for a rose on a coffin's lid."

"Dio…that isn't very helpful." He laughed, drawing you into his arms with a purr and swaying you back and forth like the two of you were dancing. Without thinking you relaxed in his grip.

"No one should mourn. No, no one should ever shed a tear."

"Dio."

"There's not a priest that should pray for either of us, neither of us even have a mortal soul to save."

"Dio!"

"I'm rambling, aren't I?" Dio purred, face moving to rest in the junction of your neck, earning a slight hum as his teeth grazed the skin. "I just...I think I had an epiphany, my god."

"Really...?" And what was that nickname? Had he finally...finally figured you out?

"Of course, I realized I won't be here forever, that eventually, even if it takes a thousand years, I will see you again outside of my dreams. This will be the world I want...a world where you and I stand under the same moon with no interference. That world will come to pass. I just need to know you're waiting for me."

"...as if I'd do anything else."

"Then I'll be there. Everything will be perfect. You know, there was a point where I planned on bringing you here, or rather somewhere like this, so we could be wed. I never had the time, or well, I could never just up and drag you without knowing this wasn't what you wanted, but I dreamed about having you at the end of an aisle waiting for me. All I'd have to do was turn a priest or force one to wed us. It would be easy."

"So I'd be the husband? Figured with my frame you'd want me in a wedding dress."

"You would look stunning in one, but I always imagined you'd be more comfortable in a suit. That was what you used to wear in the manor: gothic suits with those studded jewels."

"I almost forgot. I used to dress like that." You laughed, all that really felt like a lifetime ago, and to be honest, you hadn't even considered wearing anything like that in years. The closest thing to finery you really wore these days were the fabrics of your god form, though that was to be expected. But...you could admit that you missed wearing those outfits. The aesthetic and colors were something you truly adored, but those clothes weren't suited for farm life.

"I wanted to rip that outfit off you more times than not."

"Really?"

"How could I not? Jojo was too polite, but I imagine he felt the same way, though those girls who confessed to you likely hoped for the reverse." He murmured, pressing a kiss to the scar on your throat, as you burst into snickers at the reminder.

"Fuck, I forgot about them. Still can't believe I was the heartbreaker out of the three of us. Don't even like women, sides, they would've realized that I'm only worth a good fuck and the cigarette smoke in the air even if I did." Dio suddenly stopped, causing you to open your eyes and look down at him in confusion. Then, you felt that purr suddenly stop and be replaced by a low growl. "Wha...what's wrong?"

"...you...you really don't think that, do you?"

"...am...am I not supposed to...?" Is the thing you finally say because you've never had anyone openly argue? Most people knew you long enough to know your worth, and the ones that didn't never last long. That was it. Yet the look on his face...you raised an eyebrow. "This...this isn't...I mean, this isn't something that...everyone knows that. Everyone. Not like that kind of thing even bothers me anymore."

"...you're not serious, are you?"

"...?"

"I wish I could've met the people that used to be in your life." He growled out, a tone venomous enough that even a snake like you was taken aback. "Those...vermin that tricked you."

"Tricked me...?"

"I should've known something had happened in your past." His expression changed to something frustrated before he once again buried his face into your neck, shaking from what you guessed was rage, and you ran your fingers through his hair, hoping to calm him down. Yet that only seemed to make him more upset. "How dare they...all those times you second guessed yourself...that dependency on Jojo's decisions because you thought you needed a moral compass...all that time I assumed it was just your nature to wait and then react...but then when we met on the cliffs I saw how panicked you grew...I should've known that something ran deeper than simple hesitation...than nature...and I didn't do anything...I swore I wouldn't hurt you...and I even broke that..."

"What are you-"

"When I fell after Jojo attacked me...I knew I hit you...I thought I killed you."

"...that was an accident."

"It doesn't change the fact I hurt you. That I didn't help you."

"I didn't ask for help." You snap, suddenly feeling panicked and more than a little smothered by the strange level of affections currently being led your way. This wasn't normal. People didn't treat you like this. But Dio cared...Dio cared more than anyone else...he was the only one that had ever pinpointed your consent issues and worked around it. He openly waited for you to agree before doing anything. That meant something...didn't it? "I...I didn't. Closed mouths don't get fed. I didn't want help, and I didn't ask for help. I still...I still don't ask people for help because I don't want it...I hate...it doesn't matter. You didn't mean to hurt me, so I wouldn't say you broke that promise, just don't do it on purpose. I won't hold that incident over your head. The man who doesn't know me has no stakes in my suffering."

"I don't care. I would kill all of those people from your past if given the chance, I'd rip them out of whatever afterlife they found themselves in if I was able, and I'd bring you what remains of their worthless forms to show you my devotion to you, my god. I'd build a cathedral out of their bones...yet they're too far gone, aren't they? They died, leaving you with what remains. This mindset that you somehow aren't worthy of love, that you aren't worth anything, that I couldn't possibly find you attractive."

"Dio, I don't-"

"You do. I see it in your eyes. You don't think of yourself as something valuable. I love you, I love you every day of my life, I'll continue to love you long after I'm buried. I hope that any memory you have of me should anything happen would show how much I loved you." He adjusted his position, moving to grab your hands, only to stop at the sight of the ring digging into your flesh. Running a thumb over one spine, the vampire hissed in distaste. "A...wedding ring? One that hurts you? What kind of man gave you this?"

"Well...I mean, not exactly a human man, but..."

"M/n."

"We're fighting these enemies, okay?" You waited till he gave you a nod before continuing. "The ones that created the mask you used, think of them as vampire adjacent, ended up emerging from these stone pillars they'd been sleeping in...and when fighting the servant of the other two...well, the leader seemed to take a shine to me and shoved a wedding ring in my heart...so, now I'm kinda stuck with it. I don't feel pain so it doesn't matter, but Jonathan's grandson has two in him from the others. Though there was a fourth, he's become a personal servant to me."

"He...?" Dio looked shell-shocked. You couldn't blame him. The whole thing was bullshit, and you were the person who had lived through it.

"Yeah, but he promised not to bite just yet, so that's something." Another growl...you had a feeling that you weren't helping the situation. "I should...just stop talking, right?"

"Do you not see a problem with that?"

"I didn't have time to argue much, plus it isn't like this ring will kill me, so I stopped thinking about it, mostly. If these dreams hadn't made an external version of this ring, I wouldn't have even thought to mention it." You shrug your shoulders as Dio lifts your hand to better examine the cursed ring, narrowing his eyes with each drop of gold that formed at the shifting motion before dripping down your skin and onto his claws. "I mean, I'm not okay with this, but I have little of a choice, anyway. Besides, I was more upset with him cutting me in half than a measly ring and whatever title it comes with."

"He did what...?"

"I'm sturdier than I look. I mean, I don't age, so I figured all that was apparent. Besides, I don't feel pain, so it doesn't matter."

"That doesn't change what he did! He had the audacity to cut you in half and then force you into some sham marriage without your consent? Just because you heal or can't feel pain doesn't change that. If only I...No, thinking about that won't change anything. Don't let him decide for you, please? I know you...if he expects something of you, kill him."

"...I swore I wouldn't."

"...and him forcing you to be wed doesn't change that?"

"No, it doesn't." You mumbled, shifting as he pressed his face back into your neck with a frustrated sigh while you tried to figure out how to properly form an explanation. Honestly, how were you even supposed to explain that kind of thing? The complete series of events was... "I promised."

"Then all I ask is you guard yourself. Men like that can't be turned away without risk." With a sigh he looked back to the stained glass mural, a sad sort of smile on his face. "But that doesn't matter at the moment, I suppose. This matters. This...this is the starting point. This right here...This will be our dynasty, the dark side of the sun."

…what the hell did he mean by that?

You didn't have time to ask before he pulled you in even closer, hips rolling against your own, and despite the room and chanting people in the pews, you draw him in.

This is your absolution.

I can't help but wonder,

If you were to hit me with your father's beat up truck, what would you notice about me first?

Dio is the one who kisses you first, only a swipe of his tongue against your lips for a moment, before you open yours to allow for the kiss to deepen. His hips keep rocking against your own, the slow repetition of the motion earns a hum from you as the vampire purrs from the back of his throat, hands freely trailing over your sides before settling at the curve of your hips. Usually that kind of action would send something unpleasant deep into your chest, but you were certain Dio wouldn't do anything you weren't comfortable with.

"M/n...M/n...M/n..." Dio whispered in between littering kisses over your neck, teeth scraping and biting you for only a few seconds before he pulled back to move on, and you sighed. Adjusting your position to unbutton your suit, Dio pulled back a bit, a soft laugh escaping his lips, and he rested his forehead against yours with a smile. "To think, when we first met, I knew that my life would never be the same, but I never imagined how it would change. I never knew I'd get such pleasure from whispering your name."

"Dio…?"

"It was you that showed me the empty life I was leading."

"...?" There was a part of you that wondered if that was true for you as well. You almost flinched at the implications, unsure of what to say in response, because those days before Dio were something that one may consider dull or boring...but they still had value.

"You are the only love I'll ever need."

His hands move up to take off your suit jacket, fingertips gracing your bare skin when it and the undershirt fell to the ground. Two fingers trailed over the cross-shaped brand, one sliding in the dip over your scabs and scarring while the other treaded the line where pale unmarred skin met the wound's harsh edgings. His lips pressed against your Adam's apple, feather light, before he once again pulled back to remove his own shirt, yet you couldn't help but freeze up.

…there was something wrong with Dio's throat.

God smiles, all the while pressing the fire iron into my skin.

"Someday you're going to look back and agree this was all necessary."

There was a jagged red scar that ran in a full circle around the blond's throat, yet the two points of skin at each different side of the scar were in completely distinct tones...as if they weren't from the same person. But then reality seems to spark and glitch...and then the scar is gone. Dio is whole again. He didn't seem affected by any of that.

You...fine, you must be hallucinating again.

Taking a slow breath, because you wouldn't let that ruin this moment, you closed your eyes and then slammed your lips against his. If Dio's surprised he doesn't show it, simply kissing you back while getting his clothes off. Pulling away, a small trail of saliva connecting the two of you for a second, you laughed and watched his expression change to a look of fondness. Part of you wants to jokingly ask why the two of you are only shirtless, but Dio merely kisses you again. Adjusting your body to be more or less sitting on the altar, reminding you of your days in the void before he works down your chest. Pausing at a few spots to break skin and drain ichor from you, the blond seems more than content to lap the molten gold away from your torn flesh while you fully throw your head back with a moan. Curse your masochistic streak that had never fully died even when you stopped feeling pain...ichor loss really screwed you in that aspect. You feel his fingers trail over the point where your ribs end and your form unnaturally concave because of the lack of internal organs before the bony start of your hips, yet despite the almost ghastly nature he mumbles out praise with each kiss he leaves behind as his hands work your pants off.

"Continuate così, per favore, è bello..."

"Don't worry, I just want to try something." Dio cooed, sliding your pants and boxers down to your ankles, openly ogling your shaft as he adjusted his position to better align his chest with your hips.

"Try something? What exactly-" You went silent with a flustered hiss when you watched your cock disappear between Dio's breasts. Pleased with your reaction the blond repeated the motion, watching how your claws dug into the framework of the altar alongside the wisps of pink smoke that escape your lips when you steady your breathing, and he grins when he adjusts himself allowing you to see the head of your own cock emerge from between his breasts. "Where...exactly did you learn this?"

"From a few working girls." Dio answers, with a vague sort of hand wave before he's moving and you watch how you vanish and reappear repeatedly, the experience unlike anything you'd ever done before...yet that's not exactly a bad thing. You hum, hips twitching but not fully thrusting with the motion just yet, unsure of what exactly to do or where to put your hands. You unhook one to rest on one of Dio's shoulders, careful not to dig in or break bone, and let out a sharp hiss when he increases his pace.

"Working girls...? When did you-Ah! I mean, that's...oh...fuck...È bello...Davvero…per favore, non fermare l'amore, non credo che potrei prenderlo se ti fermassi…mi stai facendo impazzire…" As you start to ramble in Italian, truly losing yourself in the motion, you start to buck your hips up at the fastest pace you can manage without hurting Dio. The vampire purrs in satisfaction, adjusting himself to match your pace while your claws finally break skin despite your original wishes, causing thin red lines to trail down the curves of his muscles. Part of the altar broke from how hard your hand was clenching the black stone, the wordless chanting was being drowned out by their own panting, and for a moment it was easy for you to forget that there were others in the chamber. Claws twitched before you fully chirped, actually fucking chirped as if you were a cat mimicking a bird, when Dio lowered his head to swipe his tongue over your head at the apex of your thrust. Dio laughed when you made a strangled whine as you tried to explain the strange sound...or rather figure out how to explain it, before he continued to work his mouth over whatever was available.

"You know, most of the girls told me it would be difficult to do this because of their partner's sizes. Good thing you're more than adequate." Your face feels hot as you watch Dio swipe at a trail of pre-cum with his tongue, earning another chirp sound from your lips, and you shuddered openly when Dio went as far down as he could to take a segment of your cock in his mouth without any difficulty. Pulling back with a wet pop sound, Dio met your gaze. "Tell me how good I'm doing. I don't care what language you speak in, I just want to hear you."

"Maledetto…Maledetto…Maledetto…Dio, per favore, che si sente così bene…feels good...missed you so much...want you...wanna...want you to ride me...wanna kiss you...love you...wanna...Maledetto…" Dio froze for only a second, and you realized what you had just said, but the vampire moved again with a low growl that bordered on feral. You responded in kind, hips back to rocking as fast as you could, feeling the familiar heat of your orgasm building as Dio swiped his tongue over your cock in time with each thrust and roll of his chest. "Feels so good...please...please...please...wanna...more...more...maledetto…maledetto…maledetto…!"

Dio pulled away right as your orgasm hit, staining his face and chest in cum. The vampire stood up again, allowing your cock to slide free from between his breasts, all while leaving a trail behind. Running his fingers over his chest, Dio brought them to his lips, moaning at the taste, before pulling you in a far messier kiss where you tasted yourself on his tongue. Adjusting your position, you drew him in as close as possible while your hands settled at his hips.

"I love you too," he whispers when the two of you pull away from each other. "There is nothing in this world I wouldn't do for you, nothing in the world that would stop me from serving you. Don't you see my devotion?"

"You don't need to do that...I'm more than happy to pleasure you."

"Don't you remember the last time we met like this?" You gave a nod, remembering that night in the inn. "Then you surely remember that you spent that entire night pleasuring me without me lifting a finger. It's only fair that I do something, right M/n?"

"...I suppose that makes sen-" You jolted when he ran a hand up and down your shaft as he plunged his fangs into your neck earning a frenzied chirp, entire body shivering at the sensation, you could feel your ichor being drained from your frame while his hand picked up pace. You wanted to do something. You tugged at his hips to pull him up onto the flat surface of the altar so you could adjust your positions. Dio pulled away, not bothered by having to move, and the two of you ended up in a sixty-nine position. Pulling his hips all the way down, you took his cock to the base, yet it didn't feel quite the same as when you and Dio had last slept together, but relaxed when you felt the head press against the back of your throat. Allowing a low purr to build in your chest, you took advantage of the separated parts of your tongue to wrap around his cock while you felt Dio lap at the cum coating your shaft. Heating your tongue, you heard Dio curse loudly, rolling his hips down to force his cock deeper down your throat, as you worked him over.

"Fuck! My god...M/n...do that again! M/n...M/n...M/n...!" You pulled away, knowing that a thin trail of cum was running down the corner of your mouth, and looked over and caught Dio's eyes. The vampire was purring, shaky from his orgasm, with his face flushed a deep red. He seemed to have forgotten that he was trying to give you a blowjob, but that wasn't a problem.

"You really worked yourself up, didn't you?"

"...can you really blame me?"

"I'd be mad if you weren't worked up." You examined him. There was still something strange about his body that you couldn't quite place, but you gave his cock one last swipe of the tongue before patting at his hip. "Sit on my face."

"How...could I refuse...?" Dio asked, voice still breathy, and rose to fully rest on top of your face. At first he rested lightly, probably worried about putting too much weight down, but you pulled his hips down so he was fully sitting down. The weight pressing down on you was a strange sensation, his hips instinctively shifted so his thighs were pressing against your ears muffling the chanting in the background and the scattered voices in your own head, and you happily sank your fangs into the first area of exposed flesh before entering him with your tongue. The reaction was immediate, with Dio hissing in pleasure, rolling his hips down despite his earlier concerns, and throwing his head back to let out a low moan. Again, his body felt strange, nowhere near as familiar when you compared it to your last encounter with him. Still, you found his prostate and pressed against it for a moment before working on stressing him out. The vampire rocked his hips back and forth, only occasionally lifting his weight before pressing back down. His breathing was shaky, whines and whispers of your name escaping his lips, and sometimes you assumed the pressure applied might crack your skull. You immediately shuddered at the image of Dio's thighs coated in ichor and brain matter...a perfect display of gore...the kind that...you wouldn't be able to help yourself...

…that shouldn't turn you on, right?

"Keep hitting that spot...Oh, right there M/n...I forgot how good this feels...more...more...please..." Dio kept whining and purring, hips twitching back and forth, and the vampire was digging into his chest and hips leaving messy trails of ichor behind. "I missed you so much...I was worried I'd never see you again...there...don't stop...I'm close..."

Dio howled in pleasure as the chanting rose in pitch till everything seemed to howl in glee.

You felt your chest stained, pulling your tongue away as Dio pants, from still shaking from his orgasm while you moved, so he was on his back while you were between his hips. The vampire's head was resting on the altar, fully tilted to the left so the right side was completely hidden from view, eye unfocused as he kept panting.

"You really are pent up." Running a thumb over the head of his cock, you watched how Dio jolted his hips at the touch with a whine. Crawling over his form, you ground your hips against his while swiping your tongue over his chest to clean his skin. You hummed at the taste. Like your ichor, it was sweeter than most things, before swiping a tongue over one of his nipples. Dio made a low huff at that, sounding pleased, yet he still seemed dazed as you continued. Like to roll your hips. The cavern seemed to press down, as if the pressure of the water was getting to the beast and trapping it beneath the sea, all while you watched how Dio's expression grew more pleasured and hazy.

…he looked completely drained...surely a vampire's stamina should be able to handle a few more rounds?

It did before.

No, Dio looked as if he was growing dazed from something like pressure.

…like being too deep in the ocean.

…

…wait, what?

…the world was slipping away from you.

"Wait! No, don't leave me, God!"

That's the thing, isn't it? That's the thing you don't understand, all because you will never live this life.

I have to be big. I have to be tall.

Terrifying!

Or I will die.

Horrifying!

Or I will die.

Viscous!

Or I die.

I can't let them know. I can't let them see...just how small I actually am.

Or we die.

You will never know what that is because you've never been small in your fucking life!

You staggered, suddenly standing in front of an ornate, white door.

When it doesn't open immediately, the handle is stuck, yet not appearing to be locked; you push your shoulder against it, yet in a moment, your balance is suddenly thrown off by the door being opened from the other side. With a surprised hiss, you end up in a heap by whatever actually opened the door. Curse these dreams for making you so slow and unresponsive! The hum from above your head only implied this guy was amused by your behavior.

Who the hell was this?

Pulling yourself up onto your knees, you were forced to crane your head back to even meet this figure's eyes. Certainly an imposing person, but after a moment you realized this was...Kars, or some strange version of him. Multiple sets of white wings extended from his frame before gently coiling around him, each one seeming to produce its own warm lighting, while his outfit had changed to jeweled white fabrics that loosely hung off him, contrasting that black loincloth that seemed to be the only thing that stayed consistent with your view of the pillar man. He looked...angelic.

…wait, when did he take headscarf off?

Never mind! It... he was going to kill you, because what if you were not an unrepentant sinner...I mean, you had gone to hell for a reason, after all? It was clear to anyone that didn't love you...well; you weren't designed for heaven. Your stand was a snake for a reason, you were a snake for a reason, and all of that was defined by your own inherent nature as a sinner. The fact you were born broken was told by the night sky. While there may be people that grew to care for you...it never changed what was already there. You knew that...you had tried to change it, but...a snake is a snake. Nothing ever changes. You already knew that by now.

A hint of motion caught your attention as Kars hooked his fingers around the collar of your shirt. You honestly expected some blow that would end you. That was the point, right? Something holy coming forth to burn away impurity. You deserved it, even if no one was willing to say that out loud...you may not be a willing scapegoat anymore, but that doesn't change what you have done in both life and death, did it?

Yet, all he did was toss you, gently given the strength you knew he could possess, leading to you landing on the bed with a confused yelp.

You felt...off.

Looking down at yourself, it only takes a moment before you look back at the doorway to see the fallen corpse of your own mortality. That was...he...he had literally ripped you out of your mortal disguise.

You snickered...raw panic flooding your veins because you always laughed when shit went wrong...because only Kars as some form of angel would do this because in your mind, he was yet another person who was worth more than you'd ever be. Yet...still, you're still alive. You've been moved, but have yet to go anywhere. This angel hasn't killed you. You still are. Not only are you still alive, which could be considered a miracle given how these dreams went, but you've discarded your human vessel as if it were little more than a coat for the rack...he made you discard your form. You're in this monstrous form...doesn't that make you a monster? Fuck this! Fuck heaven...fuck hell...fuck Jesus...and god...and gods...and Satan...and stands...and...and all the angels...and the five-headed beast....and the whores of Babylon...and all the rest!

You had just been taken from humanity yet again!

Your laughter dies as you find yourself pinned under his gaze, watching how the angel approached...slow and precise in all his movements. It felt as if you couldn't move an inch. All it took was a moment for him to kneel, coiled over you like a steel cage or mother bear protecting her cubs...yet it was strange. You weren't afraid. Uncertain, yes, but not scared. Even as he remained fully above you, kneeling over you to where you couldn't see the exit of the room, let alone the pressure in the air, there was no malice in his presence. You knew violence, had known what it felt like to have someone larger than you use their presence as a threat, as if Ajamu would've ever let you live without that knowledge...but that wasn't what this was. Rather, it felt...soft and gentle. The light shining around you illuminated the room, or rather what you could see of it, with the pure white glow of his wings. Almost reminiscent of that of a white dwarf star you would've observed in the void's reflections. The steady flap of his wings, loud yet gracious, felt as if you were in the presence of a hurricane. Your hair was even blowing in the motion, the fabrics of your god form fit to follow suit.

You shivered.

"Hush, hush, there's no need for that. Not anymore, not in the least. Not when I'm here~"

At that he completely lowers himself down to you, arms moving to your shoulders and wings dripping down and wrapping around you in warm, luscious light, and despite it all, that light didn't dip into an intensity that burned your eyes. It remained bright, certainly, yet soft. Like the sun shining through the crack of clouds and reflecting off a river's surface. Both an odd yet sweet comfort. It was as if the light burned away the panic forming in your chest before it could even finalize itself, and as the angel grew closer to you, well as cliché as it may sound, it felt as if the sins in your heart disintegrated...all burned away in the light of this angel.

What was he...some kind of seraphim?

Wait...

…wait...

WAIT!

…why...why couldn't you hear the voices?

The usual backdrop to your mind was suddenly gone. On one hand, you knew you were supposed to be freaking out because of either the holy nature of the angel in front of you or the sudden silence making all of your own thoughts pulse and bang around your skull. Now there was nothing to possibly steady you...because you hadn't had a moment to just think...since...there were no other exceptions other than...why was this always happening around Kars...or some strange version of him at the very least...? There was a weak attempt for you to gather your better senses, to remember that you weren't supposed to be relaxed in the holy's embrace, but your heart still refused to beat faster and all of your instincts and mistakes remained muddled. In your present state, you were little more than a creature starved for contact...even if it came from an angel.

'Is this...this is...this has to be what I want, right? I mean, is this really so bad? It isn't as if he's forcing me to do anything.' That was true, of course it was, all you found were his hands tracing your frame and the slight sensation of those feathers brushing against your skin. If they moved any more you'd laugh, but then he moved the wild, silken curtain of dark purple hair canopied over you, as he slightly adjusted your frame to be more or less laying back against the plush pillows, surrounding you with a sweet smell that you couldn't quite place, but loved all the same. You calmed even more in his embrace. 'This is...is this safety? No, it isn't as if I know what that actually is anyway.'

Your palm moved to rest on the angel's chest, some part of you, while deep down, still howling that there was something inherently wrong with this encounter, and you wondered if this was just moving too fast or something else that you couldn't quite fathom in the mortal sense of the world. Yet...your god form didn't detect any wrongness either...were you just concerned over nothing? Yeah, you had to panic over nothing. You had been paranoid till the end of your life and were now far beyond it. That was all. There was nothing wrong here...you were just...just freaking out, right?

Then, almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his wings wrapped around you, tight yet with the softness of the finest fabrics. Velvety, perhaps? You shivered, feeling the tips of feathers catch on the grooves and crooked ends of scales, as yours grew so the wrong touch would scrape or even stab the person who dared rest a hand on you...but here he was just pulling you in.

…why?

"See, there's no need to fear while I have you in my embrace." He murmured, hands gently toying with the black fabric of your top, and you lean into the touch although you know he plans on removing it, but...don't you want this? You aren't so overtly aroused that you're drowning in the sensations, nothing like the sickness of your former hearts, which means you have full control. Full ability to lean into the sensations and accept them or reject them. You lean in further, for a second almost jolting at the sound of the internal frost in your veins cracking and breaking from your sudden motion, and you see how the angel's lips shift into a frown. "You're still so cold. Let me keep you warm."

Despite the internal conflict you managed a nod as you felt the internal layers of his wings heat against your scales, the sudden heat sent a surge through your body as if something primal took control of you, and you leaned into his frame as you purred till your very frame was shaking from the vibrations. This was just some random instinct, right? Reptilian instincts were damning you. Yet the frost in your veins was melting, so you ignored how panicked you were and listened to the delighted sound the angel made in response. You huffed, shifting so your head was pressed in the crook of his neck. You knew on some level that you should probably start something, but you were just...this was...you didn’t know what to do. An angel was bothering with you...why?

Slowly, as expected, he removed your top and gently set it to the side. Openly examining every inch of flesh exposed by that action before pressing his face against the scar across your throat, lips brushing against scabbing and unhealed scar tissue, and you nearly laughed at how wrong this image must be should an outsider see it.

"You're not breathing." He murmurs, concern evident, and you open your mouth to argue before realizing that you weren't breathing. Taking a shaky inhale, the angel withdrew, examining you more closely before taking one of your hands and placing it at his side. On instinct, your fingers glide down his frame to rest at the curve of his hip. Familiar. This was familiar. You knew how to do this shit. It was one of the few things you were good at...and didn't that remind you of being in that hospital? Hypersexual, a symptom of being bipolar, but now you were the god of lust, so who cared? Did that matter anymore? Probably not. This was just your nature. Feeling your claws lightly trace circles in the angel's skin helped ground you, your other hand going to his other hip in a strange sense of symmetry, as the action caused the gold hoops that held each side of his loincloth to jingle and click. Just breathe. That was all you needed to do, right? The angel leaned back, yet never enough for contact to be broken between the two of you, and although you were still wearing the rest of your outfit, he removed each long stretch of white fabric, their latches making a series of soft click...click...clicks, and part of you wished your usual skull had formed over your face because you must be staring. All he did was smile. "See? There's no need to fear. I have no intention of ever harming you."

He leans into your touch, each motion clearly designed to purposefully show off each curve of muscle and inch of revealed flesh, and you'd be lying if you ever claimed that his frame, or the angel's real-world counterpart, didn't interest you and inspire several thoughts that would be too impolite to say out loud, but now you still felt shaky. His wings shifted, uncoiling from around you before resettling, the motion repeating over and over again. Like a bird trying to woo its mate. The fact that it was working on you said something about how strange your taste was, but you had spent a whole eon fucking your stand...so you clearly had some screw loose, right?

"There you go. Match my breathing." So you do. His wings seem to get warmer. He draws you in for a kiss, slow as he works your mouth open and your tongues mingle, and when you pull away, there's a trail of saliva connecting the two of you before it breaks. He looks so happy that you feel muddled, tilting your head in confusion, as he adjusts from his place over you.

"...?"

"Every mortal must bask in the radiance of an angel, shouldn't they?" Your angel, and when did you think of him as yours, let loose an innocent giggle, like chiming bells, as he placed a gentle hand against your cheek. Even if he was a potential threat to you, his touch was as light as silk. It didn't make any sense, not in the slightest. Even so, you weren't complaining. And despite that, you wouldn't dare flinch as his lips pressed to your forehead in such a gentle and kind gesture. "Even God himself can bask in the light of his own little glories, can't he? A throne is not perfectly accompanied without the choir that comes with it. Hum with me, won't you? Come on, we can do it while we begin~"

Slowly and softly, almost reminiscent of a matriarch, as a gentle hum came from his throat. Three at a time, two syllables each...Yes. They almost sound like the words...

'Holy, holy, holy.'

For a moment you go silent, just listening to him hum, before you slowly match it. The sound gets stuck in your own purring. For a moment you linger a few seconds behind him, then you match his pace, feeling his hands move down, pulling away to remove his loincloth to leave his frame completely bare. Then his hands were pulling down your shorts and underwear, you felt the fabrics of the cloak bunch up as you then adjusted your legs to fully be free of any clothes, though you hadn't had time to pull off those stockings yet...at least they weren't in the way.

"Oh my," the angel drew out with a purr, a hand running down from your chest till he took hold of both your shafts, earning a hitch in your breath at the silk touch. "What do we have here?"

"...!" You hissed in pleasure before a hand was down on your chest to keep you in place. The motion wasn't rough or too forceful, so you allowed it with a shudder going down your spine.

"Keep humming." He reminds you, and whenever he stops speaking, he continues that simple tune seamlessly. You can't help but feel jealous of how easily he does it, since all it takes is a small shift to drag you away from the tune. The hand on your chest shifted, gently tracing over the scabbing as if it wasn't an ugly mess, and leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. Slowly opening your mouth, you tried to keep the tune going as your tongue danced with his own, but you could feel how it broke and shook from that combined with your own purring. Pulling away with his own content purr, your angel scattered a few kisses down your neck, sharp fangs occasionally breaking flesh only to pull back the moment your humming messed up, and each time you swallowed down the urge to whine. This constant pulling away while stroking you off was slowly driving you insane, let alone doing anything to cool your already shot nerves, which made your frame feel red hot.

…fuck, your hands were shaking so badly you'd doubt you be able to even hold a pen in this state. Why was this the one wound Ajamu inflicted that still gave you the most grief?

He seemed to notice, pulling one hand away from your hip to press his lips to your knuckles, and you made sure you were matching his tune. This was the one task you had been given. You weren't...no, you couldn't mess this up.

"You don't have to be nervous, dear. After all, why would an angel, your angel, ever bring harm to you in the first place? If I didn't do it in the beginning, I wouldn't have anywhere else~ Now relax, take a deep breath, take in my light, and prepare yourself~ Let someone pleasure you for once." Pressing one last kiss against the corner of your mouth, your angel, because for some reason you had earned an angel, moved further down and all of his wings suddenly covered his frame. You tensed, not sure what exactly he was doing, but you shuddered at the sudden surge of pleasure. Hips twitching at the sensations.

"...!" You were still stuck, utterly soundless, unable to form any words and barely able to keep the tune given to you, and with your new lack of vision, a part of you had tensed up, waiting for the inevitable. There was a reason you could never let your guard down, but your body shuddered and twitched at each surge of pleasure. Remembering the anatomy of bird wings, your hand moves into the feathers, trailing over the different layers of feathers and muscles bound over bone and joints before settling at the scapulars and trying to find the gland. Raising chickens and other fowl had taught you enough when it came to the soft spots of a wing, and given how they shudder and twitch at each slow motion of your claws. You throw your head back, still humming even as your voice hitches with each surge of pleasure, and right as you're sure that you found that gland, all of his wings reopen, keeping it out of your reach without pushing his weight off of you.

His form is between your legs, face down at a sideways angle as his tongue draws slow patterns over your cocks, and you shiver at the sight. He moves his head up seamlessly, a trail of pre-cum catching on his tongue before he fully withdraws, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes. You went silent, wanting little more than to kiss him and flip positions so you were in control, but he ran a hand over your hips before he was back to stroking your shafts as he licked his lips.

"Don't stop. Keep the tune, precious." His head moved back to rest near the heads of your cocks as you went back to humming the tune. Three at a time, two beats or syllables, easy enough. Your angel smiled, fangs catching in his own light, as he trailed a thumb over a sensitive spot which called your breath to hitch. "It does wonders for the feel of things."

In a single dip of the head he fully engulfed both shafts down to the base causing you to throw your head back in a howl, once again you tried to form words but all you could do was purr and whine, the dream making it impossible for you to vocalize anything coherent.

…just keep humming.

Holding your hips in place with one hand, he bobs his head up and down. The tune that echoes in your head is a good grounding point, making the sensations feel more focused. You certainly had to agree with his statement moments ago. Catching his eye, you watched how he smirked before a sudden vibration had you fully back against the pillows as you clawed at the blankets in desperation. Purring. He was purring. Was this what it felt like for others? You wanted to grab his hair and force his head to bob faster, but his wings kept shifting with the edges, pushing your hands away from getting a solid hold on his shoulders or sides. Watching his head move you caught sight of the three black horns that emerged from his hair, remembering how Santana reacted to having his horns touched you tried to adjust your position and reached out, running the pad of your thumb over the curve of the center horn you watched how his eyes snapped open and you could feel him moan around your cock.

'Are all pillar men this sensitive? But...do Esidisi and Wamuu even have horns?'

You really didn't know the answer to that one. Hearing the low scrape of your claws as you close your eyes. It was too quiet. Even as your pleasure built up and you tried, and then failed, to roll your hips there was a part of your brain that kept going back to the absence of the voices. While distracting at the best of times, and terrifying at the worst, but mostly the worst of it had faded as more voices were added. Simply put, enough voices changed the game from deeply personal attacks to the low hum of being in a filled cafeteria, while all of them yelling became a sports stadium at full blast. It was still something that was constant. A rule of everything. Consistent in all its inconsistencies.

You missed the voices.

Continuing your motions, you kept humming, mentally counting down and listing every random thing your brain could provide you with, desperate for the noise to keep the silence away. While listing what exact chain of DNA one needed to make a pure white dove that wasn't technically high albino, you threw your head back in a whine, tongue catching and being forcibly spread by your fangs, as your angel purrs even louder.

"And here I thought your ichor would be the sweetest thing I'd get to taste." A slow rolling motion that flowed with the humming that escaped the both of you as he came up to align himself over you. Humming each beat, three words, two syllables. There were three acts of repetition before he sank down. The two of you both taking a moment to breathe, pink smoke coiling around the both of you, as you rested your head against his chest to catch your breath. Pupils mere pinpricks as you tried to steady out. "Relax for me. There's no harm, no worries, only the sweetest lust found amongst divinity~"

And so the angel takes hold of you.

Hey ho, let's go of fire, flames and fry,

Lord, don't you see, I'm only human.

Please don't watch me die.

I'm tired and I wanna go home.

You wake with a fire crackling, skin hot for a different reason than the flames that stand out against the ice that refused to melt, and Santana is still there. You remain still. Nearly wanting to howl in glee at the chatter of the voice, mostly about if you were sick, and you lingered in the noise. Overwhelming and terrifying, but it was yours. Still, there was a moment where you almost missed the silence...but the dream was already foggy and you couldn't quite recall what silence even felt like. You missed the angel's touch. Opening your eyes, you examined how you were being held bridal style in his arms, his head above your own, and he seemed to be asleep.

…just another set of dreams.

Leaning into the contact, you tried to tell yourself that it didn't matter, that the ring on your finger mirroring the one in your chest was just an annoyance, but for something like that...did it even matter? You didn't know what to say about that.

Things would be over in a month, anyway.

You look to me and say; "you're made of darkness and fire, my friend."

I think this world may be coming to an end.

But when heaven and hell do collide, know that I'll always be at your side.

The world may end eventually, so come with me.

…

Oh god...

Oh fuck...

…I'm gonna die alone.

Something deep beneath the ocean shifts.

The body inside the coffin jolts, tears running down the man's face as he remains trapped, an unbearable pressure bearing down, and a cleaned skull hovers on the verge of being broken in his grasp, but for a moment, barely even a full second, time had no meaning. No one would have known or realized that shift, that something changed in that one moment, but the vampire continued to weep. Or attempted to. It was meaningless. There was no oxygen in the coffin. Long since taken from his lungs...and now they burn...red hot in a way the vampire would call hell.

It would be so easy...to just slip away.

No!

His eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide, and he didn't even react to how most of his vision was blurred and covered by black spots. He was used to it after all. No, he had been told that M/n would wait for him, even if in that dream he still believed Dio to be long dead, which in turn gave him a reason to continue existing. He had to...get to heaven. Get to M/n. Maybe...maybe he was what his mother had meant by heaven, or maybe it truly was a world where everyone knew their fate and could walk forward...where he could stand just under his god? That was what was destined for him. Dio knew it, felt it the moment his now undead heart restarted at the pulse of the mask's spines in his skull. His first breath, drawn as a vampire, had filled his senses with a scent so sweet that he wanted to drown in it, liquid gold in his mind, all emanating from his god.

His...his god...how he wished he could've said that before this coffin trapped him beneath the sea.

Jonathan's body, his now, felt too hot when compared to how icy his frame had been after the mask's influence, part of that is the latest dream he shared with his god...and he knows it was a shared dream by the way the other reacted. He knew because he felt it. Felt how Jonathan's body reacted differently than his own, the wrongness of it, how he missed his own frame. This body was more than adequate, but not his, not bearing the scars left behind by the god and his stand that never healed, no matter how much blood he drank. Thick silver lines that curled around his flesh like ribbons. The only marks here were a few small bite marks and scratches left by the god's hands and jaws...not enough. He wanted the claim to be more permanent...to have the body that his god openly marked and fought with.

Still, there was something new. He had felt it for just a second. Opening his hand, he could see a golden arm forming around the limb like a layer of armor, could feel the presence hum beneath his skin, feel the separate layer of consciousness that was just questioning with no proper words.

A stand.

One just like M/n's stand.

One that seemed to have something to do with the very flow of time. Which meant...that watch...was it really that watch? He could remember that watch. How many...how many years had he been down here? How many years since he took that watch from Jonathan...since M/n had bared his fangs and told him to return it...only for it to remain hidden. He never gave it back or took it from the manor.

'I intend to keep this till it breaks.'

Ever since that day...he had taken Jonathan's time...time...life...did it even matter? In the end, he had claimed everything.

Still...this was a stand.

One that...one that would give him everything he needed. Now he just needed to wait, at the moment his stand was too weak...too new...and should he even bother to use it or his strength, as weak as it was from starvation, he'd be quickly crushed in the pressure or swim up only for timing to have him be greeted by the sun. He just had to wait. Even if it took a thousand years, even an eon, he would wait till he could stand under the moon with M/n again.

His god had promised to wait for him.

Stopping time wouldn't be enough, at least not for just a few seconds, if even that, no, he would have to get stronger. He could only imagine how much skill M/n had with his stand, given how long he must've been in possession of it. Still, he didn't know what exact abilities M/n's stand had, having only seen it attack with claws and teeth, but he had to imagine it took time for M/n to learn how to fight seamlessly with something so different from himself.

No, he needed to get stronger.

Strong enough until he could control the entire world.

For what better gift could he give to his god?

Tell me you love me, is what he says. Ajamu. And you flinch because you've already said it. Tell me again, he purrs. He is a liar. He is a liar even in design, claims to be a black panther when he's just a solid black tiger, living off technicalities, and you know this is a trick. Could there be a sweeter arrangement? That's the joke he makes. Over and over again. He keeps on asking.

You spit the words out.

He puts his cheek against yours, and for a moment you think the god purrs a hint of joy at raw obedience. And had you ever been awake enough, alive enough to actually take a full breath of air, you'd see his eyes are dark and fervent.

Come on, N/n, tell me you love me again, is what he says.

Tell me again, and again, and again.

Could there ever be a sweeter arrangement?

Over and over.

As he breaks your arm, starting at your fingertips, works his way to your shoulder, and then starts on the next one.

Over and over.

He gets to ask.

You have to tell him.

Could anyone blame you for associating love with broken bones?

"You should stay by the fire, Lord M/n. You still have ice in your veins." Santana murmurs, yet he isn't concerned by how quiet he is given how the god openly flinches when he says it, the cigarette between his fingers bobbing up and down at the motion. The balcony door was only cracked open a sliver to allow the smoke an escape route, though he found his gaze constantly going to what few beams of sunlight entered the dim light, while the god moved to tap the end of his cig to the ashtray he had recovered from his familiar.

"...I know." He says after a beat, adjusting his positioning for a moment to spare the fire a glance, and then goes back towards the balcony. He kept shivering, reminding Santana of an animal half dead in the snow, but it had slowed to where he looked as if he merely needed more layers of clothing rather than on the verge of frostbite. "But...the fire's not working and I don't like getting closer to an open flame if it's unnecessary. Brings up terrible memories."

"Of what?" He watches how the god blinks for a moment, eyes flashing gold, and he twitches, causing that new ring to rip into his flesh. He doesn't even notice the gold running down his finger.

"Of being in an empty basement coated in gasoline with a lit match in one hand, or of a manor burning while you're trapped inside dealing with the loss of normalcy...or hell." M/n laughed with a shake of the head and took another drag. "Flames always equal trouble."

Santana considers it. Perhaps part of the stiffness of their conversations is in his lack of emotional range when intermingled with the more closed off nature of the god? Either way, he can't serve his Lord without knowing more, so he lowers his head ever so slightly, a sign of respect for one who certainly earned it.

"What kind of life did you lead before becoming a god?"

"..." A moment of silence stretched between them. "A life unendurable, but it was endured. I...I think that's what someone would've put on my gravestone had they ever learned I died, but I ruined that. Doesn't matter. Graves from when I existed as a mortal are long gone. No use thinking about that sort of thing anymore."

"How did you ruin it?"

"I made everyone forget me. Like I never existed in the first place, being a god meant setting things right before I slept...I wanted to make sure everyone had an ending, and I didn't want to be remembered. They'd have gotten me wrong, anyway." He waved a hand as if the idea of erasing one's existence was supposed to be rational. Santana wondered if the god had rationalized it away by everything simply 'being gone', or if there was something deeper. "I wasn't even supposed to survive."

"...?"

"I didn't know about God being real...being someone that could be killed...till a group of people came to me because they knew I was a monster with a body count. I only went along with it cause I hoped I'd be helping people, doing something right. I just thought he was some cult leader using his...familiar to make people think he was inhuman. I was so certain of that...I wasn't in a good place when they found me. I had just ended a stay at a hospital for my mental health...I had been there for about three years, and I was tired and mostly hated my job...I just wanted to...wanted an excuse to die. I didn't want to kill myself, though. They kept showing up...at my home, my work, the few therapy sessions I did...it all became too much. I just...was already hoping something bad would happen...so, I..."

"Gave in?"

"Yup." He laughed again before taking another drag, the smoke escaping his lips formed skull-like patterns in the air, and he tapped his foot fast enough for the motion to blur. "You know the worst part?"

"...?"

"I was happy when I first started. One of them always talked about honor and I had only ever fought people to survive because they tried to kill me first...or because my familiar was starving...or because they were bad, like really bad, people...and I had never had someone actually try to explain what honor actually was...and I liked it. I wanted to have a purpose. I wanted to be doing things that were...right, like inherently good, so when they told me we were fighting a war, I leapt into it with ease. This was the reason. The people I fought didn't know me as anything more than an enemy, and none of us were anything more than on opposite sides of this conflict. I fought, I killed, I got torn up and bloodied, yet I was happy because this was my element. I was great at fighting people...I didn't even enjoy it that much looking back, but I knew what I was good at. So, I had to like it, right?" He laughed, bordering on hysterical, before lowering his head with a groan. "I fought and fought...and it never ended. Then I got caught."

"Caught, Lord M/n?"

"We entered God's realm for the last battle...everyone else died...and so, I was left there with the former god."

'Don't you want to tell him everything, N/n? What we did? How you said you loved me and then you killed me? How we were friends? How I broke whatever good was in you to make you better?'

"...I ended up there when I was twenty-one and I died around twenty-three...a month or so after I killed him...for a while I was just dead...and then I woke up...as god. Time worked strange in that realm, I should know...I lived there for three eons after my universe...reset would be the right term, I guess...anyway, what should've been a few years actually timed itself as decades, if not longer, in a world where there was no setting sun or rising moon. He wanted me alive...to serve him...because I'd have made a good pet, or weapon, and I...I refused to die. All my scars, well, all my scars minus the two on my back, are all from him. The only scars divinity allowed me to keep not counting the internal damage."

"What other scars did you have?"

"Ton of them. Um...one ran across my face, from the start of my right eye to the corner of my mouth on the left side, and the insides of my arms were covered in a bunch of thin scars that were all lines...Yeah, I had a lot back then. Couldn't name all of them even if I tried." He drew another drag of the smoke, now about halfway through with it, and Santana noted his hands were shaking, causing the cigarette to occasionally tap and burn small segments of the god's knuckles. He didn't even react. "Could...could I ask you a question, Santana?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"What happened to your race...or were they a species? I mean, you haven't mentioned anyone else besides Kars and the others...so, was it some kind of plague or natural disaster? If this is too personal, then I won't ask ag-"

"Kars."

"Huh?"

"Kars killed everyone. A mass genocide of our tribes."

"Ah...that makes sense. The four of you all carry a scent of mass death...and I had noted....everyone? He even massacred children? Did you ever...why did he spare the three of you?" The god looked at him, head tilted to the side in confusion, obviously unsure on if he should press the matter any further.

"No one was spared. Not women. Not children. Esidisi was with Kars from the beginning. They knew each other before the massacre started, which surprised no one given their positions."

"...?"

"Kars was the son of a tribe's chieftain. Esidisi was a shaman for that tribe. The two interacted constantly because of their positions."

"Were you all from the same tribe?"

"No." Santana watched how the cigarette continued to burn against the god's flesh. All the while, he remained unaware. "Wamuu came from one of the largest tribes. I was from a much smaller one. I joined Kars because I believed he was the winning side. Wamuu refused. He openly fought Kars for several days and nights in his tribe's center arena. He served as their chieftain's guard, and when he lost Kars made Wamuu his servant. His honorable nature made it impossible for him to fight against his new role."

"...ah." The god looked sickened at that. Santana rose to his feet and approached his Lord. Kneeling down, he pulled the cigarette free and watched the sickening shade of red vanish as his regeneration kicked in. M/n blinked at that. Looking down, his mouth formed a silent 'O' shape as he realized what had been happening. The pillar man merely tossed what remained into the ashtray before settling at his side. The god was still icy to the touch, frost filling his veins, and Santana was tempted to drag him back to the fireplace. "Sorry, I didn't even realize..."

"You need to pay attention."

"...sorry." Seeming to adjust without realizing it the god moved, so he was curled into Santana's side. For a moment, the pillar man merely observed him, and he eased an arm over his shoulders and drew him in fully. "Do you...never mind."

"...?"

"...I just...do you ever miss them? The people from your tribe? Even if it has been thousands of years since you knew them alive?"

Santana doesn't have an answer for him.

The god blinks before humming in thought, and they rest in the shared silence, a single moment where the world paused and went unnoticed.

There's a hole in your chest that craves and craved,

No matter how much you eat, you won't be saved.

In a dim room filled with the deep haze of burning incense, Kars drew to a stop on his work, raising an eyebrow at a strange...pause that he swore he felt but couldn't place, before his gaze went back to his current project. While it had once been set to be another stone mask with the proper adjustments for the Red Stone of Aja, but now it seemed to have strayed in design. Less basic in primary shapes and more detailed to reflect the god it mimicked. Inspecting it, he was pleased with the results, face crafted into that expression the god had worn while pinning that human beneath him, fierce like a mother lion over her cubs. Or perhaps coiled like a snake about to strike?

Still, it wasn't completely accurate to that moment; he had used the god's true form as he had observed the finer details of that design more than his mortal shell, thumb running over the jawline of the design right where the scales ended into pale skin. From an evolutionary standpoint, it was counterproductive, leaving the area surrounding some of the most important sensory organs and brain far less protected than the rest of his frame, yet the skull he wore certainly added a layer of defense. Wamuu had broken through part of it, but it regenerated as quickly as it shattered, and even then he had only shattered a segment despite the blow spanning the entire skull.

Even then...how easily he defeated Wamuu.

Wamuu was a peerless warrior, the scars he left behind had taken decades and countless uses of the mask to fully fade from his skin, and he had come close to death several times during their battle before he had finally found a strategy that allowed him victory. Kars had never hesitated in the past to send Wamuu against armies when needed, had only seen him at a near death state beneath his own blades, and had seen fields of torn bodies left behind by Wamuu's Divine Sandstorm.

Two attacks. That was all it took. Sharp claws ripping through Wamuu's flesh seamlessly. Both wounds hadn't healed completely, instead leaving long silver streaks that didn't fade or shrink no matter how much blood or flesh the other consumed, almost sparking in light like molten steel. Even the hamon attack had left only a thin scar that would fade completely by the time that mortal resurfaced to gain the antidote to the wedding ring. Still...just two attacks. The god's talons had to be serrated, akin to an avian, even though their shape was akin to a Harpy Eagle's talons. Yet the rest of his form was far more reptilian, down to the inside of his mouth, having the same coloration as a Black Mamba to suggest a high level of venom, yet he only smelled of ichor. Aphrodisiacs and hallucinogens. Sweet. Not a hint of a snake's venom. Maybe there was a toxin in his talons to leave permanent scarring?

But if there was such a thing, how potent was it to completely suppress their regeneration? How strong in contrast was the god's regeneration? All of Wamuu's attacks had taken mere seconds to heal. His bone blade completely cutting him in half had healed in twenty-seven seconds, yet his transformations had given clear view of the scars on his body. A brand on his chest is reminiscent of the catholic cross, the gash to his throat, the two wounds on his back, and the burns on his legs. He doubted a god would have a weakness to fire or common blades when the divine sandstorm was so easily healed...so what could scar a god?

Perhaps another god?

Or...could he have retained the scars he had as a mortal like those from myth?

He examined the mask for a moment longer. M/n, the God of Insanity and Lord of All Serpents...he would be the one to bring him the Red Stone of Aja, of which Kars was certain.

It was destined.

Fragile like a hurting god.

There's a softness you are not accustomed to. Perhaps all of your organs do not know how to react to the sudden amount of love living inside you, little creature left dissolving from blood loss, all by the open hand of your own desires.

Creature upon the mountain.

Creature pondering by the water.

Your gods made no sound.

Clasped hands, fated laughter, and cold water.

You wouldn't know an angel if it burned your flesh from the inside out, bones hollowed out by noise and desire.

You were sick of looking out of windows, looking into other windows at other people, observing domestic rituals and monotonous humanity, you wished to sink your teeth into your own marrow, read inscriptions upon stone in a language dead but still breathing through you, drink from crystalline glasses and touch your hand to another's.

You wanted wings and bones light enough to allow your flesh to move airborne, to keep the darkness sealed within.

To leave.

Little serpent, what pains have been wrought upon you by other creatures of this world?

Your feeble limbs collapse against cold earth, soft skin scored with marks from the sharp actions of others, and from your own too, your moments of action and inaction, the times you took your beatings with no tears, the times you stayed for no one who really cared, or the times you walked forward like a lamb to slaughter. Your still-soft hide acting as a map of these choices, a monument rising and falling with each breath you take, will continue to take, until your limbs fix themselves and you can run away.

Does there sit an angel in the garden?

Afraid of a blind and savage god? Or does he love that god who creates and takes? Does he pray for him to be safe beneath the breaking sky and sit amongst the plants that have sprouted at his feet as the storm rages around them?

So, walk barefoot to the altar once the rain passed, light the candle and then use it to burn what resides in the dark, all while thinking of dead gods and future gods who linger in the world, thinking of the current god, longing to help your god, the angel's god, but knowing that nothing can be done in the face of hesitation.

So, God trembles in a snow-covered field.

Click!

With that, a wall of oil erupts at the pillar's twenty meter point, creating a sickening crash noise when it hits the walls surrounding the pillar, earning a series of shocked yelps from the two hamon users trapped beneath the waves. Joseph made another panicked yelp noise as he nearly slipped off the pillar. "Shit! I turned something on!"

"How are we supposed to break through that when we can barely hang onto the pillar?" Caesar was the first to visibly snap out of his shock, awkwardly removing one hand from the pillar to reach into an inner pocket and pull out a pen, holding it in the oil before removing it only to hiss in shock at how it had been cleanly cut in half. "This high-pressure stream cuts like a razor!"

Joseph flinched when Caesar looked down at him, earning a panicked stammer from the trickster. "W-what's up, Caesar? A-are you mad at me or something?"

Caesar just glared at him.

"S-sorry Caesar. But anyone would've tried to take a rest back there." Joseph pressed closer to the pillar as the spray of oil splashed against his frame. 'Seriously, whoever made this thing is twisted!'

'I wasn't looking at Jojo with contempt...it was worry. It isn't as if he has the same regeneration as M/n...yet, can my hamon get me through that razor sharp barrier? Well...there's only one way to find out!'

So, the scholar takes a risk while the trickster watches on.

All those wretched emotions,

Consuming your insides,

Too prideful to say anything,

But you never really cared.

They end up back in the bed, M/n still so cold yet unwilling to get too close to the fire, and Santana being pulled, so he laid atop of the god with his face pressed into his neck. The pillar man had to constantly adjust his weight, though doing it at a cellular level seemed to keep the god from noting the change, mainly to avoid pressing down on the brand that ran across his chest. His breathing suggested that his lungs were compromised, and despite not needing any air, Santana had no desire to suffocate him. The pillar man hummed as the god ran his fingers through waves of dark red hair, watching with narrowed eyes at how the god's lips would occasionally move as if talking despite the lack of sound. It wasn't his familiar. Santana could sense the subtle change when it started to subconsciously manifest around the god. No, he was talking with something else, or rather mouthing out words so someone or something could see it. He fails to find meaning in the action, or rather Santana knows there's a meaning there, but he doesn't know what it is just yet, so Santana remains still and observes the god. So far, it all borders on him agreeing to a conversation the pillar man simply isn't privy to.

"...?" The god pauses, eyes opening and Santana notes they're back to a shade of E/c rather than gold, and he meets Santana's gaze before he manages a shaky smile. "Sorry...was I saying anything out loud?"

"No."

"...good."

"Who were you talking to?" That gets him to pause, obviously in panic. Santana moves himself more visibly to press his fingertips into M/n's sides, feeling how his Lord relaxes a bit at the contact.

"You know me...god of insanity...I'm just talking to myself...No real meaning behind any of it." His Lord murmurs, obviously lying through his teeth, and he can tell by the way the god flinches that he knows he's caught. Santana pulls himself up to rest on his elbows so he can fully look down at his Lord, yet M/n is staring at the silver scars left from when he tackled him through the walls of the German base.

"You're wrong." Santana reiterates, the god looks away completely.

"I am?"

"You were talking to someone." Santana clarifies, feeling how the god tenses, and once again presses against his sides to get him to relax. "Who was it?"

"...would you believe me if I said it was just Narcissistic Cannibal?"

"I can tell the difference." He frowned, eyes flickering between gold and E/c, and he swallowed awkwardly.

"My stand...survives off consumption of human flesh, but when a person is completely devoured, their soul lingers inside my stand...and they retain the ability to communicate."

"All of them?"

"Yep. They used to be pretty bad, but now they're cool. Just like chatting." He seems to calm down at that, eyes flickering faster before he closes them with a sigh. "They like you."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"...no." M/n pulled him back down, so he was fully resting atop the god, it seemed as if the pressure finally got him to calm completely, and before he could ask again M/n leaned forward to kiss him. Santana hums and opens his mouth, allowing their tongues to dance together before the god pulls away, examining him openly for a moment only to press a few lazy kisses to his face. For a moment Santana wonders if the god is doing this to avoid talking, yet he notes how the god purrs and draws him in even closer, eyes having a thick haze over them. "You look cute. I never really noticed that before, ya know? You look really cute despite not being that visually expressive. You remind me of a lion with your hair all messy like that."

"A lion...?"

"Yeah, something fierce yet regal...beautiful. Yet cute. Looks all nice when compared to how scaly I am, plus it suits the way you have your hair. Looks like a mane. Makes me like lions again...used to mean danger." The god ran one of his hands lazily through Santana's hair, long black claws tangling in thick waves of dark red, and instead of elaborating, the god brushed their faces together. All of his motions were simple, reflecting how the still melting frost messed with his ability to move, yet there didn't seem to be a rush. Santana went limp when the god finally reached his horns, for a second just feeling the tips of claws trace around them, until finally he ran his talons over each ridge of the material. Santana moaned, low in the back of his throat, earning a pleased purr. "Beautiful. Open your legs for me."

"Yes, my Lord." He felt the change in air pressure before the deep blue of the god's familiar appeared in his view, for a moment Santana was confused on what the beast was doing till he heard it gave a low coo and felt his loincloth be ripped off. The edges of the beast's claws linger over his skin for a few seconds longer, and he can feel the heat of the familiar's breath, the weight as it settles so its muzzle is resting on the bed.

"Just relax for me. Just like that. If it gets too much, just tell me and we'll stop, okay?" M/n waits till he actually nods in response, gently waving a hand, and Santana hums in approval as the beast runs its tongue from the head of his cock all the way to his hole. Had the continued contact on his horns not already put him in a state of arousal, he'd have been hard at the warm line of saliva left behind by each stroke of the familiar's tongue. It felt akin to molten metal, leaving a sparking sensation on each segment of flesh touched, a far stronger version of what the god's tongue did when they slept together. A particularly slow scrape of the god's nails earned him a frantic hiss as the snake's tongue entered him. Eyes widening slightly the male shuddered, hips rolling back as the god pulled him into another kiss, sharp claws continued to scrape and trail over his horns as Santana rolled his hips down on the god's pelvis and then rolled back with each motion of Narcissistic Cannibal's tongue. "You like that?"

"...!"

"Too much?" Santana shook his head, the god tilting his head up and running a thumb over his bottom lip, M/n purred at how the pillar man leaned into his touch. His stand made sure to fully enter him, earning a strange noise. "Really? Most snakes have a tongue that's longer than their head, his head is the size of my torso, so do you really think you can take all of it? I suppose your anatomy is rather unique."

Santana was panting.

"Oh...is that it? Have you already had an orgasm? Quieter than last time, your horns really are sensitive, so is this just a post climax high?" M/n pressed hard on the black ridges earning a more desperate whine from the pillar man, using both hands he forced Santana to maintain eye contact purely by using his hold on those horns of his, brushing their lips together Santana moaned as the tongue inside him went deeper. "I like that sound. Make it again."

So he did, feeling how the god moved to give a slow roll of his own hips, kissing him when the sound finally died out on his lips with a soft hum. Santana kept rocking his hips, one of his horns being freed so the god could force his lips open with a hand, causing a trail of saliva to run down the male's mouth.

"This is pretty lazy of me, ain't it? Sorry, I'll start doing more." His hand was moved so Santana could speak.

"Are you up to that, my Lord?" Santana managed to lean up, still hearing frost shattering at the slightest movements from inside of the god's veins, and watching how his eyes were tinted with a frost blue. He could even feel the familiar stop for a moment to withdraw and saw the way it leaned its muzzle over him to examine the god.

"I'll be fine. I'm good at this kind of thing, little cold won't keep me down, besides you'll warm me up, right?" Patting at his hip, Santana obliged the god and rose into a sitting position, still feeling how much saliva was dripping out of him and intermingling with the cum staining the god's jeans. Looking over his shoulder Santana watched how the familiar settled on his haunches to wait for the next command, a low purr filling the room like a fast approaching thunderstorm, and the god pulled himself up with an annoyed grumble at the ice shattering. Working on getting his tank off, followed by Santana having to move away so he could toss his jeans and boxers into a heap off the bed. Still shivering. "Shouldn't need any more foreplay, right?"

"No."

"Good. How many orgasms have you had so far?" Hands trailing circles over the pillar man's sides, sharp claws occasionally catching and breaking skin to allow thin red lines to flow like ink trailing down a page, and Santana is already moving back onto the god's lap.

"Two."

"How many more do you think you can handle?" Santana doesn't answer. "Hm, let me try a different question; how many do you think you could have before either they finish their training or this stupid cold knocks me out?"

Santana clearly considers this question as he lowers himself down, M/n notes that when he fully settles there's a clear shift in the outline of his stomach, something he hadn't ever paid attention to till sex with Joseph, yet now...it was all too apparent. Still, he had been right...Santana was warm. Mumbling something senseless in Italian, how Father Agnello would've scoffed at him for not speaking clearly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Santana's Adam's apple. Felt how it bobbed with each breath he took and how he hummed in pleasure when he gave a slow roll of the hips. Pressing a few more kisses to his frame he felt Santana bounce up and down, the god purred as he bit, yet without the true sharpness of their last encounter. Swallowing down a pant, and not even from being pleasured, the god focused on rolling his hips.

Three.

Honestly...this stupid illness was getting to you...a permanent drain on you and your abilities, and you knew the exhaustion was growing worse, but...fuck it. You were a god...illnesses be damned. You were a lot stronger than some head cold that manifested...you had been pretty sickly in your last months in the void, yet you still won...even if it killed you...so...you could handle this without too many problems.

A bit faster, a bit more at that angle, and there you go.

Four.

…

…make that five.

"Tilt your head down for me. I can't reach your horns like this." He shivers at that. M/n can feel the motion and how it causes the slow pace they've started to wobble and lose traction, yet follows the request perfectly. Grabbing his horns, the god listens to how his breath hitches as he forces the pillar man's head down even further, openly tugging at them to earn full compliance, and feeling how he tightens. Each slow thrust up is followed by you working his horns over to see how stimulated you can make him. He purrs and moans beautifully, hips stained, and you move in earnest. "There ya go."

Six.

…you were starting to feel dizzy.

"My...Lord...?" Was Santana pausing or were you...? You blinked. For a moment, you remained confused at what was blocking your vision and making it so difficult to keep your eyes open, only to realize that you had blacked out till you had slumped into Santana's chest. The pillar man moved. All it took was the blink of an eye for you to be lying on your back with Santana holding you. Noting a hint of something that may resemble panic in his eyes, you tried to force your mouth open, feeling the ice that had spread shatter only to hiss and tilt your head so the ichor that filled your mouth didn't choke you alongside the ice. It seemed...had your...you noted you were more stained than mere moments ago...you and him must've both reached an orgasm...but you were so fucking tired.

...it was cold.

"S...s...so...rry..." You stutter out, voice shaky from cold and frost, and Santana merely moves so you're suddenly on your side. You're still inside him, but all you do is rest your head against his chest and try to steady out...it doesn't work. You're too cold...too tired...drained yet not physically or sexually...just a wave of weakness. Slowly he moves off of you, not even bothering to clean up the cum and saliva that runs down his thighs when you're pulled out, just adjusting blankets and pillows with a sort of well-practiced precision. "Supposed to be good at...this."

Santana merely settles down at his side, ribs suddenly cracking to coil around you like chains, and you're settled into his chest where it's warm and you don't have to think. Ice doesn't spread, but doesn't melt either. Santana may say something by your ear, but whatever it was is lost as quickly as it dies on his lips. You don't worry. You're certain he'll tell you later.

Though you feel a bit of satisfaction at getting seven out of him...even if it was supposed to be a lucky number.

Back when I was younger, fourteen, I suffered from what my mom would call 'dizzy spells', but her tone always turned panicked when she thought I couldn't hear her. She thought I was going to die. You know that scary feeling of when you stand too fast and all the blood suddenly rushes to your head. Maybe your vision goes out and back in, just for a few seconds? They were kind of like that. They would come in and out without warning, and I'd suddenly fall to the floor like a bag of rocks. After just a moment or two, it would all be over. Like nothing happened.

I went to the doctor, and they ran a lot of scary tests. I was so freaked out that I didn't remember much of it. I had assumed that it didn't work since I went home with a prescription and the dizzy spells didn't stop.

But something else started.

"Not again! Fuck...where the hell am I...?" You jolted, your breath coming out in messy pink clouds, but all you could think about was how you seemed to be trapped in a black box of a room. Barely enough room for you to pace, little for anything else. Grooves...yet no visible doors or windows. "This...this...Questo stupido cazzo di freddo! I was happy! You couldn't let me have one fucking day!"

'As if there was ever a chance of you getting that mercy, N/n.' Spinning around with a hiss you watched how Ajamu stared back at you, lips already curling into that familiar smirk, and you knew this wouldn't be a pleasant dream. 'Are you really that surprised? You know the rules. Every game has them.'

"..." You took a slow shaky inhale, feeling cold, feeling wound up, and feeling self destructive. "I hate you...I hate you...I...I hate you...you ugly, pathetic excuse of a god!"

'Is that really the best you can come up with? Or are you already starting to panic, N/n?'

You claw at one groove experimentally. "Let me out!"

'N/n, there isn't...well, you know, there's always a moment where we can leave together. Okay?' Ajamu took a few steps forward, eyes that same tint that never told you what the other god was thinking...if he was lying. You shuddered.

"I'm not...I wouldn't...No. Because then you'd break out with me, and I don't want you to break out with me, and I don't want to ever think about being in a room with you again. Don't you get it, Ajamu? When I finally leave, and I will leave, you will have nothing! Because under that attitude and gold, you are just lonely...manipulative...you're a fucking asshole. Let's...I don't know, analyze you." Swallowing down whatever weighed down on the low of your very soul, you grinned, openly waving a hand at the former god. "Ajamu, how do you feel? Probably like someone who felt their soul collapse in my stand's jaws, right? Because you are just a flicker of a time long forgotten, a shit person, a monster, and an utter failure of a god. You deserved a fate far worse than the one you got at my hands...you deserved far worse than a simple death. You deserved hell."

'Well, you would know all about hell.'

"..."

'I will get out and when I do...I'll get everything I've ever wanted.'

"And what do you even want anymore?" You snarled low from the depths of your reduced lungs. "Oh, I know, fucking everything. Isn't that right? You'll go out there and take everything, everyone...you'll kill everyone I...you'll kill Narcissistic Cannibal...you'll ruin...I won't let you kill Narcissistic Cannibal...what else will you do? Come on! You said whatever you wanted...you want revenge. You want gore. What? You're gonna rip the world apart again...oh wait, you can't! Such...a fucking bastard."

'And you're a worthless monster.'

"Yeah, everyone thinks that when they meet me, and then they...well, they make a more concrete assessment of me." You started back on the many grooves in the framework of the walls. "Let me out...let me out..."

"How am I supposed to let you out, N/n? You put yourself here.'

"Oh, my god...just fucking die out. Just become another soul that's silent in the masquerade. Fuck you." Baring your teeth, you went back to the challenge at hand. It had to be some kind of puzzle. "You always lie...fuck you...fuck you...fuck you..."

'Fuck you, N/n. I've been here for so long, listening to you whine and bitch like a dying hound, crying about how this is so bad. You must think being in a room with me is so much worse than being in the void. That this is so terrible. You're just sitting in a box, talking with me, that's it.'

"Yeah, well, maybe I happen to dislike being trapped? Maybe I'm claustrophobic...you insensitive fuck! This is a small box!"

'We have each other to talk to.'

"Ajamu, you don't have me. You never had me. We don't have each other. I know who I am. I know what I am. I know what you are. I am me, and you are you...we've never been the same. You are this fucking bastard who goes around manipulating people, lying to get whatever the fuck he wants, but outside of you becoming a god...you are a fucking no one. A former god with no worshippers. No gold. No offerings. No love. No one cares about you anymore. Maybe...maybe they never did. You might have a favor owed by someone in the masquerade...so what? Do you think any of your former worshippers can just teleport you in and out of this place? Into a better part of this scene? No, no, no, they may like you a hell of a lot, but they also like self gain. Hell, they like self gain more. They know this ballroom is the last stop for a long time, if they ever leave it, and who really knows what's on the other side? I mean, I don't know if anything but hell's there. You think they're brave enough to piss off the one who controls it? I know me and my stand are limited in how we affect this place, but given that you're here, we still have some power. We are the most powerful things in this universe. My strength both in and out of god form is higher than yours was...I know my faults, but I know why I'm feared, and for good reason." Ajamu raised an eyebrow. "No, Ajamu, you're a fucking idiot. You're delusional....you've always been delusional...I hate you."

'N/n, even when I'm in here, I'm more powerful than you are. Even when you're outside these walls.'

"Stop fucking talking for once in your self-obsessed life."

‘Says you.' A sudden motion, the crack of a hand across your jaw, and the liquid that fills your mouth isn't ichor...it's blood. You snarl and hold back a pained whine in the same shaky breath. 'All you're doing is annoying me, N/n.'

"That's it...I could fucking kill you right now." You laughed. "The only reason I'm not is because it may not do shit. Because I hate speaking the so-called 'universal language' known as violence. Because I could need Conscious Party...because..."

'I am never giving you control of my stand, N/n. I don't care if you can summon and use the stands of those you've eaten. You will never have control of mine. So, go ahead, kill me. Go ahead, come on. When yet another person is dying because of you...well, you'll come crying and begging for me to help you because you can only heal with the madness of your own ichor. That's all you have. Your little hierophant will die with those methods, won't he?' Ajamu grins. 'I'll look at you as you beg. Let me out. That's what I'll tell you. Otherwise nothing will happen. And they'll be dead forever. Drowning in their own blood, like dear old mom.'

The silence stretched for a moment that felt like an eon, a time measurement that only the two of you could know.

"This isn't worse than the void, Ajamu. This isn't worse than the void at all. Because the thing is...when we were in the void I thought you had all the power in the world, I thought you were fucking dangling me like some fucking marionette...and even though this place is small and I hate being trapped, and I hate this..." You trailed off, a sigh escaping your lips before you laughed. "This isn't real, is it? You may make your stand appear and use it on me, but you don't have any of your godly powers or abilities anymore, do you? You can change forms for a small boost, but that's it. All you do is-"

'N/n-'

"Shut up! What I remember from being in the void is all you do is lie to me. You are a textbook manipulator. I know that. Probably a psychopath, if you will, so you know what, Ajamu-"

‘You come in and keep being disrespectful-’

"I don't-"

'You keep pushing me.' Another hard blow sent you back with a pained yelp. 'You only think about yourself, N/n. Just complaining. Over and over again.'

Another blow.

'After everything I've done for you, you keep doing this.'

A crack sounds.

'I thought I taught you better. Yet you accuse me of everything you can think of, don't you? Come now, N/n, you know this is all your fault. I'm a liar. I'm manipulative. I did this all for you.'

Each sentence is another blow.

"Stop fucking hitting me!"

'...' You flinch at the whimper that fills your ears. A low rumble. Ajamu's crying...? You immediately recognize the signs and shake. 'Why am I surprised anymore? You always do this...yet, the end result is always the same. You deny what I've done, How I did it all because I love you, because I wanted you to be something more. This feeling just drowns me out. Crushing and primordial in all it touches within my mind, my heart, my soul. Yet...you keep doing it. Does this make you feel good, N/n? To know that you're hurting me? That you're making me hurt you? When you do this...claim, I'm a liar... I wish for nothing more than to die.'

You backed up.

'I can't believe you. Always the fucking same, N/n.'

"Go ahead then! Do something that proves how strong you are other than smacking me around! I'll wake up and this will just be another dream! I won't even be able to tell you what pain feels like, so go ahead, do something!"

'Why would I be lying about that?' He speaks through his tears, a blow causing you to spit out more blood as your fangs shred the inside of your own mouth.

"Look at you. Do you know what I see? I see a sad little man who is so fucking insecure about the fact that the world has moved on without you. Because at least I know that. At least I accepted everyone will pass me by, but that would never fit in your worldview, eh? You have to be the biggest, the shiniest thing to ever exist. Now all you are is yet another face in a field of ghosts. My ears are the only ones you're going to grace as long as you remain in here. Don't you get it? You fucking lost. Your only brief glimpse of power is gone. So fuck off."

'Your life is still in my hands still, n/n. it will always be in my hands. Does that piss you off? Does it make you mad?' hello. hi.

"My life isn't in your hands, Ajamu, it never was. I know you're not gonna do shit to me!"

'i might as well still be god, n/n! you can't kill me while I can still kill you!'

"Do you even hear yourself speak?!?" You were shaking and staggered from how many blows you had taken, but fighting back physically never worked, so you would have to wait it out.

'Think about it; if you can't kill me, doesn't that make me a god that still reigns above you?'

"Don't fucking say that-" You fell at the next blow, landing on your back, and you curled inward instinctively. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! D-don't you get it? This doesn't mean shit! I'm gonna get out and I'll be fine, Ajamu. But you? You're stuck in here forever. As long as I remain. And you know what? I don't think you can do shit! Everyone who died is dead forever. Gods can't restore death. They can only..."

The realization set in as Ajamu laughed.

'Make puppets or constructions of what they assumed was that person. Like what would happen if one revived their dead teammates after they became god. Right, N/n?'

"They're...they're dead. I saw all the graves. Dead and gone. Souls and ghosts may reappear in dreams and the wake of the world, but the dead can never rise fully by just god's hand. The graves are real. The corpses...wherever they lie, are real."

'You're not even thinking about them, are you? You're thinking about Jonathan and Dio, aren't you?'

"..."

'Well then, N/n, why don't you go see them?'

'CRACK'

The last thing you feel is your neck being crushed and Ajamu's tears landing on your cheek, and the last thing you hear is mad laughter and sobbing.

So the snake dies and the ouroboros spins.

I never slept well as a child, but then it only got worse after I started taking that medication. Sleep would approach me like a pack of hounds on the trail of a wounded rabbit. I welcomed the rest, yet each morning I awoke from some new form of hell, all from my design. Most were just a messy bundle of things that didn't make sense. A child's ideals taken to a sickening extreme.

There was one...it would repeat, always.

Santana listened to a single worried huff echo through the room like a dying storm, watching how the familiar drew closer to the bed. Not that it was difficult because of the massive size of the beast. At nearly thirty feet, it covered most of the room's space and could easily loom over the bed with a slight lean. The pillar man watched, only tensing slightly, when it lowered its muzzle down to swipe a tongue over its master's face. An action that didn't fail to show him all the sharp fangs that lined its jaw. Outside of the primary venomous fangs in the front, Santana could see long fangs with a distinctly hooked curve to them so prey would be prevented from escaping. Despite it comforting the sleeping form of the god, every action was a reminder of how dangerous it was.

"What happened to him?" The familiar paused at that, mouth slowly drawing to a close, before it swung its tail back and forth to make the tied bells jingle. Santana noted how similar it was to the way the god would frantically tap his foot or drum his fingers on something just for noise.

"My Master already told you."

"I want to hear it from you."

"It seems as if my Master has been cursed to be in a life that he doesn't want to endure yet must for those he cares. His words on the matter earlier were the best way to describe it. One that lies on the edge of the oblivion, yet always resurfaces even with the dark of the abyss clinging to his skin. He does not exaggerate if he claims no enemy has ever lived past him or their encounters. You're an obedient servant. My Master is far more trusting than I am, but I enjoy what you've done so far. Let it be known I don't refuse to tell you the details out of malice, my master carries terrible scars...the former god never did anything in halves, so it is only his right to disclose this information at his own pace. I know where my loyalties lie, morsel, I dare not step over them. Handle him with care and we won't have any problems."

"He's my Lord." Was the answer Santana gave, the beast huffed in amusement before settling down on the bed, or rather as much of it that could safely fit, which still groaned at the added weight, it then tilted its head in thought.

"You betrayed your first lords easily enough, didn't you, morsel? Now, it may have been because of resentment either at being outmatched or for the blood on his hands. Either would be fair, but it doesn't change one fact; you're an opportunist when it matters. Should my master appear to be the weakest link I'm certain that you'll turn tail, let it be known that should that happen I will make sure you don't live to see the next sunset, and the only thing that would stop me is the reaper himself." A pointed claw rested right above the pillar man's heart. Unbothered by the angle due to him keeping his ribs around the god's form. "You demand promises of my Master, ones that he has sworn to despite the harm they can and will bring to him, so I will consider your loyalty a promise you made to him. The difference between me and my master is that he'll willingly die if it means he gets to make people happy and make a promise fulfilled, I will die only for my master's sake and nothing less, and there is never a moment where my death would bring my master happiness or health, so I intend to live forever. Should the other three of your species become too much, I will kill them, and eventually my master will forgive me for the offense. I do not care if you hate me till the end of everything. I have known far worse. I am made from far worse. So, remember that by allowing you to remain and live here alongside my Master, I've placed a lot of faith and trust in you already. Don't ruin that."

"I swear I won't."

"On your life?"

"Yes."

Santana is surprised to find that he isn't lying or intimidated by the promise.

It would always be evening in the dream. The sun started to set and exhaustion slowly creeped into my bones. I could hear my mother typing on her laptop downstairs.

Click.

Everything else was completely silent. Eerie in the calm. Something would then catch my eye just past the window blinds. A shuffle or flash. Maybe a tap or a knock. I would walk to the window and peer out, but it was too dark in the yard to make anything out. I'd cover my eyes and lean in to see better with the lamp's light behind my head.

Outside in the backyard, I'd soon see something at the far edge of the yard, like a speck of dust. I would soon realize it was a solid red figure. The moment I saw it, this deep chill would settle down the line of my spine. On instinct alone, I knew it was dangerous. Standing frozen against the window, I would watch the figure approach.

Sometimes it was achingly slow, as if it were limping or lagging. Other times, it would leap at the window in enormous leaps and bounds forward with each blink and breath that escaped me.

You were running.

The halls of this massive cathedral were all blurred together. Even the sounds of your heels clicking against the tiles weren't enough to distract you. There was something approaching. You knew it. Your senses were going haywire. The lingering sensations of Ajamu beating you to death had taken hold of your paranoia, as you barely avoided slamming into the wall when you made a turn too fast. Chest heaving, and questioning why all your dreams ended up in churches, you stopped at the sight of robed figures, the first people you had seen in this church, who all stood and turned towards you. Taking a half step back you swallowed, mentally calculating the halls and paths you had taken to get here and how you'd outrun these people if you went a different route, but stopped when three figures in far different robes stepped forward and the singing started. You couldn't make out any unique details except for the third, who had to be nearly eleven feet in height.

"We Three Kings of Orient are,"

"What...?" Jolting at the choir's howling, you scrambled back as the exit was suddenly blocked by more robed figures.

"Bearing gifts we traverse afar,"

A long silver ribbon was unwound and coiled around you, with a red one soon joining the fray. The red was similar in color to the blindfold that wrapped around your stand's eyes.

"Field and fountain. Moor and mountain. Following yonder star."

"Star...? Is this biblically inclined, or the star mark on the Joestar's, or the two stars on Narcissistic Cannibal's back? Or...all three?" You didn't get an answer as you were soon dragged into the crowd as if you were supposed to be dancing. Hands reached out to trace segments of your frame, earning a panicked hiss from you. "Don't touch me!"

"O star of wonder, star of night, star with royal beauty bright,"

"Are you listening to me?!?"

"Westward leading, still proceeding, guide us to thy perfect light~!"

"What does that even mean?" Hands kept moving over you despite your thrashing and protests, guiding you to the main altar, and yet again you shook at the realizations. As you were quickly placed on your knees at the base of the alter one of the three figures walked forward, removing the robes, sets of blacks and whites, to reveal your god form with the white of bone staring back at you, twitching you tried to break the ribbons but it merely came to stand in front of you.

'Born a King on Bethlehem's plain, gold I bring to crown Him again.' Opening its hands with palms turned upwards a crown of gold connected to a series of large golden chains formed which it placed on you, the chains coiling as if they had a mind of their own, and you shuddered despite yourself at how cold they were. 'King for ever, ceasing never. Over us all to reign.'

The next figure stepped forward, robes a warm red that were patterned with white spots, who revealed themselves to be your past self. He sighed, eyes not showing even a hint of emotion as he moved away from the crowd to approach you. You weren't sure if you even had the right to meet his gaze.

"Frankincense to offer have I! Incense owns a Deity nigh." At that he dropped to his knees, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he slipped into a full bow on the floor, earning a panicked hiss from your throat. The kiss had been hot, your entire frame burning, and you could see how your scales grew over most of your frame, meaning you had transformed again. "Prayer and praising, all men raising. Worship Him, God most high."

"...?"

'O star of wonder, star of night, star with royal beauty bright. Westward leading, still proceeding. Guide us to they perfect light~!" The sudden crack, similar to a whip, caused the choir to go silent and move out of the way as the tall, robed figure crossed the room. Every figure dropped to their knees the moment it passed them, including your god form, though the past version of yourself rose to his feet and moved aside before getting back into that kneeling position. These robes were blue with detailed gold patterning, causing you to raise an eyebrow. The robes were tossed off, revealing a figure that was solid black with white lines, as if a drawing or ghost rather than a person. You assumed it was supposed to be a demon, though you swore you had never seen anyone that looked like that. Yet...the figure was crying. His tail swung, making another whip crack before he kneeled to get a better look at you.

'Myrrh is mine. It's bitter perfume breathes a life of gathering gloom.' A hand pressed to the scar on your throat and you screamed at how badly it hurt. You felt as if you were dying. The sepsis was back. You could feel the tears running down your cheeks. 'Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying...! Sealed in the stone, cold tomb.'

'Glorious now behold Him arise!'

'King,'

"And God,"

'And Sacrifice.'

The world went black to the howling of the figures and choir.

It took sixty-one hours and nine minutes for both Joseph and Caesar to climb out of the Hell Climb Pillar, and now Joseph has twenty-six days till the rings melt and release the poison inside, the ring inside of god remains perfectly preserved, same with the copy that appeared on his hand.

"M/n!" The sudden yell woke you up. After a moment, you realized you had broken a few of Santana's ribs that had been wrapped around you, and that Joseph was straddling you while coated in oil. You were...still naked. Mentally screaming, you nearly hit your head against the steel muzzle still covering his face, but all he does is laugh while Santana retracts his ribs, the sounds of them reentering the body and regenerating fills your ears alongside Joseph's sudden chatter. Blinking, you tried to understand any of it, but all you picked up was that they were out of the pillar and training had officially begun.

"..."

"You agree with me on this, right M/n?"

"Sure." You answer, with no clue on what's actually going on, and he laughs.

You feel less cold.

The closer the light, the figure, got to the window, the more I seemed to understand that the others in my house were not actually my friends. My friends. When the light finally got to the other side of the glass, my vision would pulse with afterimages and my head would pound like the beat of a drum. I would feel the crawling heat of others standing behind me. voices begging for me to kill my mother. Any family. Anyone close to me. They would get me. They would all kill me. Were planning on killing me. The light of the figure would get brighter and brighter, and I know that I'm trapped. Everything melting together.

"You talked with Santana, didn't you?" Narcissistic Cannibal pauses when he speaks, but M/n doesn't focus on his stand at the moment, his eyes focused on his reflection as he removes the ribbon that keeps his hair bound. Typically, he kept his hair tied in complicated layers, making his hair appear to end at the small of his back, yet when it was untied, it fell down past his knees. In his god form, it went to his ankles. He hadn't bothered doing more than light trims over the years after his...breakdown. He still doesn't want to cut it. Though a trim might be needed, especially if he was expected to be doing sparring training with Joseph and Caesar...and then actually fighting the other pillar men. If only he could remember how Wamuu fought.

"Why do you ask, Master?"

"He was acting strange. You spoke with him after I passed out, right?" The stand paused, tongue flicking, and the god moved to reach into his stand's chest to withdraw a set of brushes, combs, and scissors.

"I did."

"What did you say?" Quickly smoothing his hair with the brush, the god grabs a comb and measures it down to about his hips, he'll cut the rest and just regrow it all later, this way he can tie it so it'll end closer to his shoulders. He grabbed a small, silver pair of scissors. "I won't be mad."

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"I know you won't. Maybe disappointed, but not mad." The snake replies, tail swinging as best as it can in the cramped space of the bathroom, and it listens to the steady rhythm of his master's heartbeat. "I gave him a warning."

"Why?"

"To make sure he doesn't betray you, Master."

"He won't."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Neither do you." The god pauses as a realization hits him. "How did you talk to him?"

"How...?"

"You spoke with him in the same way you talk with me, right? Not all creepy and poetic, like how I used to talk with Jonathan and Dio. Right?" The stand doesn't reply. "NC...?"

"I'm not apologizing."

"I don't need an apology, Santana does." The snake growled at his words, M/n nearly dropped the pair of scissors at the sound, hands shaking again...for a moment he remained silent till he cursed. While ever present, his hands hadn't been shaking that badly till now. His stand moved to cut his hair for him while M/n swallowed down his annoyance, not even directed at his stand, it was just...he enjoyed tending to his hair. Something that actually brought back good memories most days became difficult because of something all in his head, not even an actual injury that healed wrong. It was a fucking nightmare. "Why are you even concerned about him betraying us? I mean, has he done anything suspicious?"

"No, not yet at least."

"Then why are you worried?"

"You told that woman that should anything happen, you'd take care of it."

"I did."

"But that was a lie."

"...was it?" M/n swallowed as he looked away from his reflection. Small piles of H/c strands littered the floor, and soon they'd be far larger clumps. He'd probably have to do some thinning as well to make his hair a little bit lighter and more layered. Still... "How was I lying?"

"We both know you won't be able to bring yourself to kill him. Maybe the other three, but you're growing to care for Santana, as if he sparks something within you." His stand's voice isn't judgmental. Then again, Narcissistic Cannibal had never been that possessive of him when it came to people he fucked or kept around, yet that only puts him more on edge. He can't tell if he's doing something his stand disapproves of or not. "He's good for you, I think."

"You think?"

"He may betray you. He said it himself; he chooses the winning side. I wanted him to know this is the winning side and if he gets cold feet, I'll kill him. You won't be able to." Narcissistic Cannibal goes silent for a moment as it works on cutting his hair. "Still, you care for him. I think, in a way, he cares for you. He makes you be honest with yourself, and... he's good for you."

"Are you worried that we won't be as close?" When he doesn't get a reply, M/n moves back, getting his stand to stop, and he forces the muzzle to move at an angle where he can kiss the snake. It had always been a challenge to properly kiss his stand. Even when it had only been around nine feet, the shape of the muzzle and size difference had made the two awkward and clunky even after months of practice. When his stand reached its full size of nearly thirty feet, the challenge had become even more apparent. The fact they spent an eon in some variant of sex was likely the only reason they were as skilled as they currently were. Still, they had figured something out and their tongues danced while M/n tried not to be choked by his stand. Pulling away a moment later, he rested his forehead against the cool scales, ignoring how he was still cold, and ignoring how strands of hair would get caught between those scales. "I would."

"...?"

"That conversation we had in the void; I would do it all again to have you by my side. With hindsight and everything else. I don't care. I would want you, always. There is no me without you." His stand pauses at that, but he ignores it to press a kiss against the blue of his scales. "I...I...I love you...I know I haven't said it since...the point is...I want you to get this idea that I'll leave or stop caring out of your head. I'm not going to live in a world without you. With less of you. If Santana couldn't handle me having you...he'd be gone."

"...really?"

"I'd rather be alone with you than have someone who'd mistreat you." The god knows he isn't lying, that he can't live without his stand even in a world where his stand could die and leave him free of harm, there would be no point to it. "I love you."

The connection meant both cringed at the usual flashback those words brought to the surface, but the meaning wasn't lost.

"...if Jonathan had known about me, he'd have hated you."

"...He'd have hated me. Not your fault. I made most of those choices. You were just born with hunger." Narcissistic Cannibal cuts his hair again, M/n hums for a moment. For some reason, Daisy Bell is stuck in his head. He doesn't question it since the tune is familiar on the tongue. "He would've apologized when he attacked you, but I don't think he'd have forgiven me...then again, Jonathan was...soft."

"..."

"Dio would've...he would've been happy, I think. Had he gotten to hear you talk and interact."

"Maybe."

Silence settles for a moment.

"...you didn't do that thing where you called Santana 'morsel', did you?"

"I said I wasn't apologizing."

"Cannibal," he huffs, yet he can't deny the fondness in his voice. "You were super cryptic, weren't you?"

"It was needed."

"If I keep being sick, then that's what my argument will be when I make you into an outfit."

His stands wails and whines as he manages a smile at his reflection, he thinks he's feeling warm.

When I was eleven, we got the house reestablished. You'd have to fill a hole in the deck to prevent animals from getting into the crawl space.

What was the point of it all?

A house that smelled like fresh paint and old wood. Two rooms upstairs that stayed empty my entire stay in there. I still don't know what my mother ever saw in that place. Although refined, it was still ancient. Creaking and whining when the wind picked, moaning and wailing in the rain. The pipes would rattle and cough in the walls, the bedroom had a constant chill. Becomes even colder as time goes by.

The chill lingers in your bones.

"Since you have a literal god with you, I've decided that the two of you are more than willing to undergo a training mission that's a bit more...dangerous."

"Dangerous, coach?" Caesar asked, while you mentally wondered what she wanted from you in the first place unless you were supposed to fight them, or perhaps hunt them down, so all you did was lean back on your makeshift perch.

"You'll be traveling to the Alps, where you'll be hiking up an abandoned trail till you reach an old temple there. All of you will stay two nights and then you'll be retrieved by Messina and Loggins, understood?" You shuddered at the idea of going up such an icy trail even if you pulled out every winter outfit you stored in your stand and overlaid them. The frost was still set in, and you felt sick more times than not.

"Please, that doesn't sound that bad, I mean, it's just a hike!" Joseph crowed, looking more than pleased at the idea of the arrangement, which was likely because of his absolute hatred of the deep-sea diving and spike pits that formed his usual training these days. You would kill to do the spike pit rather than snow and sleet while hiking. Balance and flexibility. Easy. The one time you had fallen down the spike pit you had just wrapped around one and coiled like it was a pole.

"Naked."

"WHAT?"

You were certain Lisa Lisa's eyes would be shining with glee at how your face paled had she not been wearing those sunglasses.

There are two sides to my health, my body.

One where all my organs are rotting away, deep inside my form. The kind of moments where I get home and the thing I can't help but do is lay and tear into my own flesh with reckless abandon.

The other feels as if my very frame has been dipped in liquid gold. Organs healed and humming as if they belong to something, or someone, that perhaps has value that I simply can't see. Humming and whispering in perfect harmony.

One day, they shall meet.

Upon this occasion i shall put my hands to yours,

When this happens, our bodies will annihilate each other perfectly,

And it will be perfectly silent.

It was the middle of the night, and Joseph couldn't sleep. There was a faint sound echoing from outside his window. Almost like humming and something scraping against stone and glass. A few more minutes passed of him rolling in the sheets and trying to fall asleep before he shot up to look towards his window.

Something was looking back.

The trickster froze at the white skull, staring back at him through the break in the curtains. For some reason M/n was in his god form, sitting right outside the balcony door all while running his nails down the glass. The form didn't seem to react to how cold the night air was. All he could see was how the skull kept bobbing up and down at each portion of the tune he hummed. Joseph shuddered. Slowly he rose to his feet, watching how M/n leapt away from the door and onto the railing where it shifted back and forth constantly.

"M/n, what the hell are you doing?" He hissed out, shivering from the cold and missing the warmth of his bed, yet he couldn't stop himself from worrying about the other...even if he was creeping the hell out of him right now. However, all he did was keep humming, well, that and lifting a hand to wave at him. "M/n!"

He merely beckoned for Joseph to follow.

Swallowing down a groan, Joseph drew closer to the god, trying not to think about how creepy the humming was when echoing out of the giant skull, only to stop when he spotted a light in a room. M/n's room. Stopping in his tracks, the hamon user stared at the open curtains and realized that the angle allowed him to see the male in bed laying down, seemingly fast asleep, while Santana was awake at his side reading some massive novel.

"You...you aren't M/n, are you?"

It looked over its shoulder and shrugged.

Joseph took a half step back only for it to grab his arm and pull him in, for a moment they remain a mere inches away from each other before the thing let go and walked across the railing till it was pulling itself up onto the start of the roof. Turning, it beckoned again. Joseph looked back to the window's light where he could see M/n's sleeping form and then back to the haunting figure that kept humming. With a sigh, he followed it.

The form was quick to move once it knew that Joseph wasn't going back to bed yet, and Joseph was left scrambling after it. Soon they were at the roof, with Joseph watching how the figure walked across the thin point where the slopes of the roof connected, arms stretched out and balancing on its toes. The shoes he wore made the sight all the more fitting. Spinning on its heel, it beckoned. Joseph was forced to join the balancing act as pink smoke danced and coiled around him. Hands catching his own. They began the dance. It hummed. Joseph was left trying to match the beat of a waltz he had never learned. Every couple of steps, he nearly fell or slipped.

"Why are you even doing this?"

The tune slowed to a funeral march.

"Is there a reason for any of this, Not-M/n?"

It twirls him.

"Can you quit humming?"

It only hums faster.

In a sudden shift, Joseph was spun again, one foot hanging in the open air before his other leg slipped, so he now hung fully over the crashing waves below. A hand fully grabbed the front of his shirt. He hangs over the edge. It felt as if his heart had stopped for a second before leaping to a hundred miles per second as the skull slowly turns to the side. Observing him. The panic and position caused Joseph to suffocate himself, black spots in his vision, as the humming grew distant.

"...M/n..."

"...?" Before he could fully blackout, he was suddenly moved, being tossed back onto the balcony allowing his breathing to steady once more, and he watched how the form crouched by his head waiting for him to catch his breath.

"And here I thought regular M/n was an asshole."

"..."

"...well, thanks for not killing me." The skull slowly moved into a tilted position. "Guess you're not as bad as I thought, right?"

"..."

"Still wish you would stop humming."

This time it does.

I am a telescope. And I am both in awe and in love with the universe. Call me naïve, but I can't help it. It's not like I'm mistreated.

(I'm very grateful for all this.)

But I really can't help but wonder what it'd be like to be on the other side of such intense adoration.

You laid out in bed as your thoughts ran wild, Santana having vanished to the library on the island, and your claws lazily trailed through the air. Slow blue and pink symbols being traced into the air as you tried to remember the exact patterns and motions Ajamu had used all those years ago.

Gods were creatures of creation.

When your ichor spilled onto the soil, flowers would bloom, tears would water a plant so it could survive weeks or months without a drop otherwise, and you had the power to create whatever you wanted. Or...within reason. Truthfully, you only knew how to make organic materials, mainly plants, and even then, it was impossible to remake a person or make an entirely new human. Just as Ajamu had said, it was impossible for even a god to remake a person completely because no one perfectly knew another. Animals were simple. They would develop on their own, personalities only needed one trait and the rest would come on its own, so you weren't worried. Hell, when you couldn't get a plant or particular strain of flower for Wind-Knight's Lot you had just created them and then planted them, but you rarely made animals in hopes you could find the ones that needed a home already...yet, there was a part of you that was just desperate to create something alive. Ajamu liked to make exotic birds and animals to fly and parade around him, to make you have something difficult to hunt if he didn't leave you what remained of a corpse to eat, yet the motions he used weren't something you ever paid much attention to. You hadn't thought you'd ever be god, after all.

Pink and blue ruins glowed as you reached out to take the glyphs you drew, each one folding in mid-air and forming into a ball, which you grabbed to feel the glassy texture against your scales before you blew a cloud of pink smoke into it.

…that should do it.

Lightly tossing it into the air, the orb shattered, and seven white doves circled overhead. The gentle flapping of wings fills your ears, earning a pleased hum from you. Somewhere deep in your chest feels warm, honestly you missed the sound of birds gently chirping and flapping their wings around you. You wished you could've taken some of those pigeons Joseph had been feeding in the city when you all first met Caesar. They were so chubby and sweet. One dove lands on top of your head while the others settle at any available point on the bed frame. You hold out your hand so one can hop on it and you gently part the feathers on its chest to see the glyphs are emblazed there like a tattoo.

"Welcome to the world, piccoli. Spero che tu trovi questo posto per essere tutto ciò che potresti mai sperare. So di non essere un dio della creazione e certamente non un dio con le parole giuste da dire, ma vi adoro tutti. Questo è il mio dono per voi. Vi amo tutti." M/n shudders at his own words, feeling scared of something that won't happen, and then he remembers the old days where he could say the word love without any hesitation. Carlos used to....fuck, he missed Carlos. He hadn't thought about the other man by name, but he missed him so much. Wished he had gotten to say goodbye. "Me pregunto...si estuvieras aquí, ¿pensarías que estoy haciendo un buen trabajo? Realmente lo estoy intentando, pero no creo que lo esté haciendo lo suficientemente bien. Hubiera sabido qué hacer si hubieras estado aquí. O...me habrías mirado a los ojos y habrías hecho alguna broma que me habría hecho reír y estaría dispuesto a hacer lo que fuera necesario hacer."

The doves didn't seem to mind.

A knock on the side of the wall caused him to pause; no one he knew would knock...or at least without vocally announcing their presence in sync with the knocking. This...wasn't the case. Looking towards the open doorway, M/n freezes up. Something he hadn't seen outside of himself or the souls in Narcissistic Cannibal stands in the doorway.

Another stand.

A warrior of gold looks back at him.

…there's no reason to think it...yet...

"...Dio?"

No one will ever know for sure the life you have led. They'll all get it wrong over the course of the years and that will be accepted. In a way, you won't have a choice. You don't have the words to tell them, anyway.

…if you could, then, it was like this; you were happy once. Then you were sad, then happy again. The cycle continues on and on again. Happy for one moment, then not another. It went on. Happy or not...? Is that how everything truly is? You were innocent, or you were guilty. Actions were taken, or they weren't. At times, you spoke up. At other times, you remained silent. Mostly, it seems as if you were in fact silenced. What could you say? Or what would you have said if only given the chance to speak?

Yet now it is almost over.

It doesn't matter what they will make of me or my final days.

They will all be wrong.

They will forget a person who mattered. All the stories told will merely be tales of their own invention.

Your story was this; you were happy and then you were sad.

You slept, you awoke.

sometimes you ate candied apples, sometimes hearts.

Perhaps in a way there was a bit of cruelty in this action of yours, but while a poet you never did like philosophy in the way others did. Probably bullshit given that you wrote about gods and fate and hunger as if it was little more than second nature, or the fact you were god, but you hated these questions. You could write about the things you knew and had experienced, but...you didn't have answers for those questions. Inner peace, happy endings, if people could be forgiven and enter heaven if they only apologized to god and not received forgiveness from those they wronged...you couldn't answer those.

You had gone from a twenty-year-old who drank and worked at a strip club to a soldier and then a god.

Each role you thought had been ill fitting, to say the least, but, then again, you had never fit the earlier roles correctly either. Too quiet and solemn to be a child, too violent and sharp to be a victim, too softhearted to be a drug mule, too prickly to be a whore, too stubborn to be dead, too broken to be fixed, too independent to be a follower, too crazy to just die, too flawed to be god.

Joseph shifts, head pressing further into the curve of your thigh, and you pause to look down at the sleeping male.

No, you weren't even a god, just some twenty something year old who was unfit yet forced into the position.

Yet...there are moments that make immortality feel worth it, moments where you enjoy what you've been given, moments where if you ever woke up back in hell, you'd think that dream had been lovely and not bat an eye at the torture. These moments...you can't help but wish that you had been human for them because you'd be better, yet staring at the sleeping hamon user exhausted from training, you decided you could be good. Because you don't regret being a god. You don't regret saving people. You don't regret what you've sacrificed even if there are days, more and more, where you shout into the void that you've already given so much and that you have nothing left. You decided you were both right and wrong. You have more to give if only you were a selfless person, but you aren't. You were born with a hunger, then manifested in your stand, and it made you greedy. Your mother had been like that too, but at least she had worked it into her life so seamlessly that no one could ever call her terrible for wanting.

What did you even want anymore?

Oh, that was it.

You weren't ready for it all to be over. You had seen three Joestar men die, pathetic since you had clearly made them your patron family, so you would do anything to prevent a fourth from joining that list. That meant if needed you'd be breaking a vow and would then attack the pillar man without hesitation because this family had given you your saint and the only hierophant you had ever taken, the only you'd ever take if things happened the way you expected them to, and yet it still doesn't hit the way you expected. Before mentions of your death were desired, were rejected, yet now you just felt...nothing. Maybe this meant it was finally time for all that to be over. Acceptance was one of the final stages of grief. You assumed that you'd die against the pillar men. Maybe then you could have a world where your trickster lived, and you didn't break your vow, and you figured with prophecy and your dreams it would be Kars to finally end you. It wouldn't be the right killer. Kars wasn't blond, your death wasn't supposed to happen yet, and none of them had stands. Honestly, though you didn't like the idea of thinking in the absolute, you really hoped it would be Wamuu. Wamuu was honorable. He'd be a good god, though if Kars achieved godhood, you could only hope he'd be kind.

You weren't ready for it to be over.

It had been a few years of a god's lifetime with Jonathan, Dio, and now Joseph, but not nearly enough. You had only a few years of living with your mother as a budding poet, and that had not been enough. A few years as a happy stripper who had friends and went to therapy, and that hadn't been enough, and now you were left yearning for eons of life that you would never have again. You could have eons of this life, but what would it be for if Joseph was dead? But you liked the life you had now, as small and strange as it was. Two versions of yourself; the poet and the unrepentant sinner; tied only in the blood spilled to forge your second stand. Your weapon. Your trident. Blood of an unrepentant sinner to corrupt it, tie it to you, to make it yours. Yet...thinking about what Lisa Lisa had said about the properties of the Red Stone of Aja, it became apparent that such things had existed in your world since the deep red of the weapon had existed long before blood had stained it. The way the weapon absorbed sunlight...it was clear what the material was, though you had always known it wasn't made of rubies.

Joseph shifted again, mumbling words that didn't register in your ears.

This wasn't enough, an eon of this would never be enough. You were so fucking hungry for this to go on forever, for every morning you opened your eyes it would be in a haze of warm clutching limbs and puffs of breath against the shell of your ear or your face in someone's chest hearing the slow beat of a heart you wouldn't stop or break. To spend pointless amounts of time thinking about someone and wanting to gush because they were amazing, even if perfection was fake, and fuck...you had never felt like this before. You knew you had fallen in ways you weren't prepared for. You had never loved or dated in a sense that mattered. Entered relationships where you thought you had been in love, but never to the degree of this that overtook your senses. You loved Joseph. You loved Santana. For as annoyed as he often was with you, there was a part that was growing to love Caesar. You wanted to keep loving. To spend your days knowing that someone was thinking about you as something far away from the demon you had been, the unrepentant sinner you had been, the person you could become in an instant. To have at least one person who was looking forward to seeing you again.

You ran your thumb over Joseph's neck and he smiled in his sleep through the gaps of the muzzle.

It would have to be enough. You moved, shifting and pulling, so you were coiled around Joseph and pressed so tightly against him that his heartbeat was a full drum beat that filled your senses. Joseph groaned but didn't wake. The deepening hum of the vices, sins, and the night sky weren't strong enough to convince you that you were wrong. This wasn't self-hatred or suicidal tendencies. You weren't hoping for death, rather, you knew it lay on the horizons and welcomed it to save everyone else. An ending where no one died. That was what you wanted. Or rather an ending where everyone outside of you was allowed to live since you doubted you'd still draw breath. You had been a mortal for twenty-odd years, a god for eons, while Joseph had been a mortal for nineteen years. A blink of the eye to him. Too young to really experience life. What you had experienced would have to be enough, because that certainly wasn't. When Jonathan had been announced dead, you knew you could never be enough for Erina, for Speedwagon, for anyone. You had only been enough for Jonathan, for Dio, and never for anyone else that ever knew you. That was something you had known. Your despair had over flooded you. You had wanted to die so many times and no one had ever stopped you, not fully. That was something you had also accepted. Jonathan was the type of person who could pull someone out of their spirals, not you. It had been a short amount of time since you had last considered suicide, even if you were ashamed to admit it, but this was one of the first times where you could look and realize that you didn't actually want to die.

You knew Joseph would cry for you when you died, but you wondered if he would cry like Jonathan had in their youth. He had always been such a crybaby. Dio rarely cried, but it was always wild anger for him. Would Santana cry? You think he'll miss you, but you don't have the right idea of his reaction. You think he'll be upset, but you don’t know if Santana ever cries.

You didn't want to die.

It was just an unfortunate timing.

There's a bird call in winter that stops my breath and arrests my heart, if only for a moment. The beam of sunlight bent down through the water, running past my legs, hitting hundreds of tiny silver swimming darts. The first warm night in spring to carry the scent of flowers. Fragments I have stored against my ruin.

He really didn't want to do this. Or rather, he had never thought about doing this till Lisa Lisa showed them all the red stone and explained what it did and why the pillar men wanted it. Santana hadn't been invited to that little meeting, M/n had been mad about it even if he understood why he wasn't allowed, so he had kept quiet about it all till he realized he had seen that material before. Had known a weapon that could absorb sunlight and rebound it as an attack similar to a laser. When he had first seen the stone and not heard about its capabilities, he had only cared for how shiny it was, but now he was left thinking about things he'd really rather forget.

So, he had taken the red stone one night.

Hiding from Santana would've been difficult had he not been a god. Channeling enough of the void to vanish and reappear somewhere far away was easy enough, even if he preferred actual travel. He'd left a note explaining that he needed to research something for a project and that he'd be gone for at most ten hours. He trusted Santana would be fine.

Summoning La cacciatrice dei diavoli divini, he examined the gem on the necklace he had grabbed. Yet no matter how he turned his head or wished it wasn't true...they were identical. Or...well, they were mostly identical. The blood that had coated the already scarlet gems had given it a shine that reflected human souls flickering back and forth in agony. A weapon that was hard to break and used light as a power source, that was how it had been described to him all those years ago, but it had needed more, if it had been a stand then it would be strong enough to kill a god, right?

Blood on my Name. That was his second stand's real name, but he preferred the title the blacksmith had given him rather than the title he heard in mere whispers in the back of his mind. Nine feet and seven inches long. Honestly, the thing was too long for his height. For a while, it had been his stand's weapon to wield when he was small enough to stand up and fight in a building without the roof being at risk. In the void, he had wielded it exclusively. His stand had done the final blow on Conscious Party and Blood on my Name had done the final blow on Ajamu, and then his claws had torn into the god's throat when he had risen one final time even if he was going to die no matter what. The trident hums at the memory. He had done everything to learn how to use such an impractical weapon, and it really was impractical even if it was made shorter to accommodate his height, and he was better with knives or a whip. What he could've done with a dagger.

Needed the blood of an unrepentant sinner to work.

So, it was your stand after that.

Your stand hummed when you lifted the necklace up to the light of the sun. Unlike your secondary stand, it shot a laser after only a few seconds, burning a hole in the rocky ground of the cliffs you sat at. You set it back down, this time you lift the trident up making sure the sun is focused on the center point where the three prongs segment at, the blade grows warmer, yet it'll just charge and wait till you swing the blade to attack something. You wait just a bit longer.

You swing. A laser that follows the shape of the swing goes flying over the water as the sounds of people screaming and howling fills the air. The laser is a deep red, and it vanishes soon after, but the hum was only altered, not different.

Your stand was made of the same material.

Your secondary stand had been made from your world's red stones.

It was a carved and weaponized Aja.

…yet, this was what you had promised Santana, right?

I hope you achieve the peace you are looking for someday.

Peace is a country inside of me and I have set it on fire.

Caesar seeks you out one day, a few days into training when the sounds of Joseph whining have become second nature and you may have tried to strangle him three times before Santana stopped you, and you aren't sure why, given that he looks conflicted.

"Thank you for saving Mark." He had caught you when you were outside taking a drag of your cigarette. You nearly dropped it at his sudden statement, but you managed a nod. He doesn't seem to know how to deal with the silence. You don't know how to respond properly. You've never been thanked for saving someone's friend. People assumed you were incapable of it. Or maybe once Jonathan or Speedwagon had said it, but that was so fuzzy from how frantic those times were. A whisper on the battlefield.

"It was the right thing to do. I always...I always tell people they should do what they believe is right recklessly, that they'll know it was the right thing if they don't regret it later, always gets them killed, so maybe I should be more willing to practice what I preach. I don't regret it." Smoke coils in the air.

"You don't even like German soldiers."

"Oh, I hate them. I would love to kill every reminder of that uniform, knowing what it means by the end, if I thought it wouldn't hurt any innocents." You admit easily enough. "Mark had a kind face."

"Was that the only reason you saved him?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

"..." You look at Caesar, you think this is the first time you've really looked at him, and underneath all that anger and hurt, you see a young man that hopes to do good and uphold something. Can’t help but think of your old scholar. You realize you had only thought of this one as a promise, something to be kept safe, but now you want nothing more than to get to better know the blond in front of you. "I became a god to keep people I never met or knew safe. I may hate my titles and place in the world, but I would never hate my cause. I considered saving him worth it. Him being a good man saved him. No more, no less."

"I'm in your debt." You wonder if he struggles to say that because of his pride.

"No, you're not." You tilt your head to the side. "I did what was right."

He looks frustrated at that.

"I'm not always a good person, I'm still uncertain of what I did when I was out of my mind, yet despite my cowardice I try to make sure to do the right thing...it doesn't always work. I'm happy to help people...that was the only reason I saved him, not for a debt."

"You're not a coward." He hisses at you with a look in his eyes that almost borders on feral.

"Who gets to decide that?" You ask, because you're curious and want to know the answer, yet he doesn't seem to get it. "Do you? Or do I get to choose as god? Does the universe choose when it sees the moments of hesitation from those within it? You saw me do one action of bravery; you didn't see the moments I froze...all the dead bodies that came from it."

The blond snarled wordlessly.

"Why do you want me to not be a coward, Caesar?" You press when the silence lingers for a beat too long. "Who does it benefit?"

"You...you actually went after Jojo when he..."

"You froze." You don't say it unkindly, yet with the way he flinches you think it wouldn't matter anyway. "There's nothing wrong-"

"Don't say that!"

"...okay, I won't." You pull out a new cigarette and silently pass it to him, followed up by the lighter, and you take another drag. "When I had to face the god before me, I froze up."

Caesar looks at him from the corner of his eye.

"I was shoved to the front of my group, expected to handle it, and I froze. I was so fucking scared. I was twenty, going on twenty-one, expected to kill god. I was suicidal at the best of times, and nonresponsive at the worst. I blinked and everything was gone. Just corpses at my side and stuck beneath a god's boot. Natura nihil frustra facit."

"..."

"...that's...you froze when we got in that mine cart, didn't you?" The look Caesar gave was enough to make you look back towards the water and take another drag. "No one died. We got banged up and worn down, yeah, but we lived. All of us. That's enough."

"No, it isn't."

"My former scholar, your grandfather, always had something to say, you know that?" He doesn't, yet he looks interested, so you keep talking. "He enjoyed talking about courage. One of his founding ideals was about how humans developed courage, that humans had courage because while a flea would go against great odds they can't comprehend it, humans can. Is it more courageous to do something when you can't feel fear versus the one who is terrified yet moves, anyway? The fact that you moved despite it all was more than enough to prove you weren't a coward. I know he'd be proud of you."

For his pride, you don't acknowledge how misty his eyes became.

For you, there are darts of pleasure.

I thank a god I've never met, that I will never meet.

Never loved, Never wanted,

(For you.)

You can feel how my lips undress your eyes.

Undress your eyes.

Skin can feel my lips, they tingle, tense anticipation. This one is an easy one. Feel the word and melt upon it. Words of love and words so leisured.

Words are poisoned darts of pleasure.

Writing down a new poem, you were barely paying attention to the training session going on behind you, even if it was on the verge of ending, so you barely responded when Suzie Q entered the scene. In fact, you only lifted your head because of the smell of flowers, and when you spotted her, you couldn't help but stare at that enormous bouquet in her arms. Setting the book and pen down, you tilted your head to the side as she stopped in front of you. Vaguely you were aware of the others looking at you, Caesar especially seemed rather interested in what was happening.

"Here M/n!" With that, she proudly held the massive bundle upwards so you could look at it better. Orchids, lilies, roses, and a handful of sunflowers stared back at you. Strange to see. Sunflowers weren't the most common flowers to be intertwined with roses. Looking back at the girl, you noted she seemed to be waiting for you to do something, so you managed a shaky smile.

"It's nice. I'm sure whatever suitor thought to send it to you is a good match. I wish both of you the best." Joseph jolted and seemed to be horrified about something, while Caesar looked both frustrated and panicked.

"It's for you, silly." You blinked at that.

"I'm not into women, sorry." She just laughed at that, shaking her head, and looked slightly up at you with a playful smile. You tilted your head to the side in confusion. Have you said something wrong?

"This isn't from me. This is from a suitor for you, and it isn't a woman."

"A suitor...for me?" Claws began to quickly tap against the stone of your perch, thoughts raced in and out of your head, and for the life of you...well, you couldn't even imagine some guy that would waste his time by sending you flowers. "I...I really don't do romantic relationships. Tell him I'm flattered, but he'd be better off finding someone else."

It looked as if Caesar was about to scream.

"Look at you. You who stand here before me. You who've murdered this man whom you now wish to eat for little more than satisfaction, and yet you're unwilling to butcher his flesh yourself? But you will have to. I will not lift a hand for your sins."

"We do not know which parts-"

"Lies. Yes, you do. Of course you do. If I'm finally listening to your accent, and thank you for allowing it to show, you're a creature of the country fields, you who grew up in a world where you saw hunters who'd use every inch of the hunt and fowl that a man could procure. That is the man standing in front of me...so, if you want to eat this corpse, this person who once meant something to you, well then, you're going to have to pick up the carving knife yourself. Do not ask me again."

That is the world you must know. Don't you see it? My flesh is certainly meat, my blood is certainly a drink, so come forward and make sure to take your piece.

"So, don't you worry, my son, all of this is merely flesh." And then he takes a hold of your skull, palms pressing to the sides of your flesh, and then he crushes inwards. And...then all the flesh stains the grass.

People think that cannibalistic people or creatures have something wrong with their head or that on some level, they've overcome the difficulties of eating another man. That's wrong. There is nothing inherently special about humans when compared to another animal. We feel as much pain, and in another way, shape, or form, we see as much of the world, merely in different aspects, as any beast in this plane of existence. Meat is meat. That is what the ones who have eaten will say, the ones that have accepted a twisted part of nature, and maybe in some way or another you will be jealous of them even as they're led to slaughter. Meat is meat.

"Cannibalistic behavior is merely something humanity has outgrown, but if you dig deep into our roots, you'll find that it has always been in our DNA."

"This isn't cannibalism. Cannibalism is only when the two beasts eating each other are equals."

They say that those who traveled and were lost in the mountains and other wild parts of the world tried their hardest to resist the urges that hunger put in their brains. That no matter how many scraps were found, they remained hungry. Famished. A rabbit will not feed several humans for one meal after all. Even if it's welcomed. One day someone would die, not even from violence, more likely starvation. and then a question will be asked. You look around and someone moves forward and starts the cooking fire. Will you stop it? Or, when you smell meat cooking, will you swallow the mouthful of drool and move to grab a plate?

Things always get out of hand.

The god's frame is soaking wet.

It serves to highlight how small and weightless he actually is when compared to the pillar man, how easy it is for Santana to pick him up and wrap the towel over his shoulders, yet he doesn't bat an eye at the god's frame soaking his own skin. Santana hums softly at how the god trembles in his hold.

Clearly, it had been a terrible night.

Or, rather, that had become obvious when Santana had to dive over fifty feet beneath the black water of the ocean to save the god and then bring his struggling form back to their shared room. Now that he had woken up, the fight had vanished from him, leaving M/n to slump against the bed until he was picked up and wrapped in the towel. Focusing on holding him and drying him off as well, Santana ignored the slight burning in his shoulder from the god's claws, even if he knew the wound would scar and never fully heal, and listened to the broken ramblings escaping his Lord's lips. It must be a terrible night. He was mixing into Spanish, a language he had only heard M/n slip into when he was extremely sentimental or lost in thought. Yet now it was a constant chatter of Italian and Spanish, with only a few words actually being English, and all of them were nonsensical.

He would just have to wait it out till M/n gained more focus.

It didn't take long for the god to fully come to his senses and realize what he was doing, Santana observed how the god slumped in his arms, face moving to hide in the crook of his neck and he rubbed circles into the small of the god's back. His other hand went to the god's hair to trail his finger through the wet, salt-logged hair until he hit the old ribbon where he untied it to set the piece of fabric on the bedside table. The god didn't even react to the action, instead just making a soft chatter from the back of his throat before going completely boneless.

"...I don't care if he had honor, I should've killed him...would've if he hadn't done it himself." The god hisses after a moment, Santana hums, hoping that the god will continue talking if he does, yet the male only goes silent in his hold.

"Who?"

"That soldier that killed himself when we were in Mexico."

"Stroheim."

"Yeah, him." His Lord hissed out venom coating his words, and the edges of the god's talons scraped at his skin as he drummed his fingers against his shoulder. He could feel fangs brush against the line of his throat, near an artery, yet he didn't feel even a hint of worry. If there was anything Santana was certain of at the moment, it was that the god wouldn't harm him. Though if truly needed, he could adjust his body to merely phase through any attack, yet, like the fresh scars forming on his shoulder, his current goal was worth more than a bit of spilled blood and torn flesh. "You know, Nazis are good at keeping records. When I went back to that base after we had everything settled, I found a room that was just tapes from all their cameras."

"..."

"They had abducted an entire town's worth of people to do experiments with the mask. An entire population. I could smell the blood in the air from the moment me and Joseph entered that base, but I needed to see what happened. I needed the details. So I did some digging. I mean, as god it becomes my job to take responsibility...if I had just gotten there earlier...anyway, took me a bit, but I found the right tapes."

"...?"

"He kept them in chambers. He made every order that his soldiers followed...he mocked them, he dehumanized them. I found out they all died to be that blood rain that woke you from your stone prison. He told them that only one would be killed if he or she willingly stepped up and sacrificed themselves, and someone did. A child who must have been in his early teens offered himself up to save everyone else. Ha, he kept him alive for his courage and killed the 'cowards'. Can you imagine the inherent cruelty of such an action? Could you even imagine how that boy must've felt to have accepted his own death only to realize he damned everyone he ever knew?" M/n sighed, his voice quickly losing the more mocking nature it had developed when he was asking those questions, and Santana was reminded of how old the god must actually be. "I looked for him. I don't know what I planned on doing if I found him, maybe I...I guess I would've apologized and hoped that I could tell him they all went to heaven. That's what gods do, right? I still don't know what I would've said..."

"He was already dead?"

"Lying face down in some riverbed. Gunshot wound to the head. Just because Stroheim wanted him alive didn't mean that everyone else at the base agreed to it. He died before you woke up, it wasn't even because of the chaos of the situation. He didn't even get a shallow grave." M/n hummed softly when Santana went back to trailing circles into the god's back as he felt how the snake-like male hissed and adjusted his position so they were more carefully settled. "He probably would've killed himself or died trying to kill them had he lived."

"What made you remember that, my Lord?"

"The dream I had...you know, I've had a lot of bad dreams since becoming a god. Most are even prophetic in some way, so I thought I had gotten used to all of them. I was wrong." He sighed at that. "I was...wearing one of their uniforms and saw my mother. Nothing a proud Jewish person hates more than a Nazi...or not being able to go to a synagogue on Yom Kippur. That conversation didn't go over well."

The god waved a clawed hand as if it didn't matter, giving a pained laugh, before he swallowed.

"I hope she doesn't actually hate me...if her spirit's actually out there, that is."

Santana remained silent.

"I know he died honorably...but I hope he went to hell." He laughed, tears running down his cheeks again. "In the end, he did something good. He probably had people that cared for him, yet I didn't even think about saving him. I saved Mark, but I didn't lift a hand for him. Do you think that makes me a terrible god?"

"No, I don't."

"The only time I ever killed that many people, civilians at that, was because of someone taking hold of my mind. What was his excuse? Was there a fucking excuse? How could he sleep at night committing atrocities like that? At least some of those soldiers were good people, Mark was a good person, yet Stroheim...who the fuck kills the defenseless as some sort of power trip? To experiment on and harm noncombatants goes against the honor of battle, goes against the rules of war, and yet..."

A moment of silence echoes.

"I think I've learned that not all Nazi's are the scum of the earth, or rather I knew that already, I know serving your country doesn't mean awareness or a willingness, but there's a difference between a loyal soldier and one who commits cruelty for cruelties’ sake. I knew that many were unaware...I bet on some level so was he...yet, he proved himself to be the same kind of monster when it counted...that's what that meant, right?"

The god seems to have worn himself out, tears silently running down his face, and Santana watches as he mumbles again. Names, the pillar man realizes, his Lord is whispering the names of those killed at that base. Not the soldiers, but the civilians.

"...maybe I should have saved him..."

“...”

“...or maybe I’m just selfish? I went to hell…so surely someone like him would go…if I deserved it, doesn’t he…?”

He remains silent.

"Well, to no one's surprise, we've all concluded that war is hell. You heard it here, from the angels above, so please remember that till the end of your days."

"Wrong. War isn't hell. I know hell, I've been to hell, I know well. War is war. Hell is hell. And between the two of them, war is a lot worse."

"How do you figure that?"

"Easy, tell me. Who goes to hell?"

"Sinners. Monsters, I think."

"Exactly. Why I went there in the first place. There are no innocent people in hell, but war is full of them. Little kids, people crippled by injuries, elderly. In fact, minus some who may keep the war going, almost everyone dragged into a war is an innocent bystander."

"Not me. I served for my country. My ideals."

"Are you sure?"

You wander through the many halls of some BDSM club, but you can't complain because this dream isn't taking place in a church, which is nice given how annoying the constant churches were becoming. You were nonreligious who had worked in a church, yet couldn't your mind put you somewhere that fit your Jewish heritage? A synagogue would be nice to see. Still, it was strange to wander around this place with no one else around. The music still made the very walls pulse till your heart beat in sync with the fast-paced rock, a style of music you had missed, and despite the lack of heartbeats and body heat there was still the heavy scent of sex in the air. You swear you can hear some moaning echoing despite not sensing any heartbeats still. Smoke and sweat mingle with the sweet smell of sex that makes you purr.

You wouldn't admit that you missed these places as well.

Entering the main room, you ignored the faint panting and low, throaty moans that filled your ears. In a place like this, fresh meat would be pressed up against the back wall, a good club would have them bound to metal bars, maybe even suspended in the air.

Yet, there is one body bound and waiting for a patron. Big and blond. Familiar. Dio is once again in your dreams, and you can't bring yourself to hate it given how nice he looks spread all pretty. Bound by his wrists and ankles, though unlike a normal person, Dio's big enough, tall enough, that his feet are still touching the floor. Forced to stand straight up with arms behind his back. You had been asked to be tied up once or twice as a sub in the clubs you frequented, but that idea had never settled right. But you liked control. You enjoyed playing, not being played with. There was a reason until Joseph you had never gotten a blowjob from someone other than your stand. You hated the idea that people may take advantage of you.

So, you stalk up to Dio's bound form, making sure the heels of your boots make a loud click with each step so that he knows someone's coming. Humming under your breath, you see how he perks up at the sound of your voice.

Fresh meat.

The black leather binds stand out against his skin nicely, with silver studs that catch in the low lighting. He trails a finger over the sides of Dio's arms, happily observing how some veins bulge just from how muscular he is. Though these binds really showcase his thighs, and oh god, his thighs. Had this been a proper club that was populated, you'd have called someone over to purchase him for the night, but you don't. Still, his thighs are thicker than your waist, and you run your hand over that part of his body. A grin forms on your face at the sharp gasp that sounds through the ball gag in his mouth. The blindfold prevents the two of you from properly looking at each other, yet it adds a strange twinge in your chest. The shade of red is the same as the one your stand wears. It makes you feel possessive.

"Hey there, stranger," you draw out, going on sultry, and you nearly laugh when you see a nameplate beneath his feet. "Never thought I'd see you in a place like this, Dio. Hope you don't mind being mine for the night. I know you can't talk with that gag in your mouth, but you're gonna be a good boy for me tonight, right? Can you do that, honey?"

Dio nods happily, and you feel a smirk form.

"Already so excited. Did someone get to you before me?"

He shakes his head.

"Then why are you so hard?" Other than the straps and binds, he's only wearing a backless, black tank top that only actually goes to his midriff, and matching thong. Crouching down to get a better angle, you reach out to cup his cock that's tightly pressed against his belly, staining a spot of his skin with pre-cum. The thong, far too small, didn't properly cover him and most of it is actually hanging out of the lacy material. Dio whines at the touch, and you're quick to retract your hand.

"I don't want you to make a noise till I say you can."

Dio's quick to quiet himself at that.

"That's better. Good boy, stay just like that and look pretty for me." You hum, more under your breath than anything else, but you know he can hear you, so it doesn't matter. You take the time to better trace and feel Dio's body. Starting at his arms, you nearly choke on a slight, shaky moan. No matter how hard you tried, there was always a part of you that was in too fucking deep when it came to men on the bigger side of things. You also rarely get the chance to actually trace and appreciate people before the actual sex starts, to finally see all these details without the instant need to make a move. Teasing was different, yet this was good. A swipe of the tongue to clear a thin bead of sweat racing down the bare line of the shoulder, and you pulled away before you could properly moan. You don't want Dio to know how hot and bothered he makes you, how a part of you doesn't want to play any games and just fuck him raw. Though a part of you really wants to eat him out. Your mouth waters and you resettle to be on your knees between his thighs again.

"Your thighs are so fucking thick, I love 'em, doll." You growl, the southern accent becoming more pronounced, your fingers digging into the soft mix of muscles and fat. Dio inhales softly, bordering on a sigh, but keeps to your original command and remains silent. "I'm gonna need you to keep your legs in place. No shaking your knees, pretty boy. If you do, I'm certain I can find a paddle around here."

You can tell that some part of Dio wants to moan at your words alone. Can see it in the patch of skin that bobs and vibrates on his throat, or what you can see with the main collar covering most of it, and you wonder if he enjoys your accent or despises it. You don't spend much time questioning it. Merely get back to work and start sucking and biting at his inner thighs. You always loved thick thighs, but most men didn't care that much about you spending all your time during foreplay messing with their thighs. Couldn't blame them. Your thighs weren't sensitive, especially not after all the burn damage. Still, the muscles clench beneath your palms, working overtime to keep his legs from giving out. Dio actually does good for the first minute or two as you decorate his legs with deep purple marks. But as you slowly work your way up to his balls, he makes a noise, even if it is a little squeak. Yet, even worse, his knees buckle. You sigh, not really disappointed. Maybe you should be easier on him since you know Dio isn't someone who does this thing often, if at all, even if he had a chance in life. But...a part of you is far too excited to use a paddle on him.

You go to collect one, alongside one other thing, and when you return, Dio has his head hanging low.

"Wasn't gonna do this, but you broke a rule, right Dio?" You ask, tapping the side of the paddle against the black scales of your hand. "I'd like to have you bent over for this, pretty boy, but I really don't want to loosen those binds. Don't brace for this, kay?" You circle to be behind Dio again and ready your stance, taking a moment to lightly tap on the curve of his ass before you do the first swing, forcing down any actual strength. Dio can't hold back the delighted whimper that escapes his lips, and the sound is music to your ears. You do it again, setting a quick pace, till you switch to his other side, stopping when both sides are a stark red against his skin. "Kay, think that's punishment enough."

You just drop the paddle to the ground, listening to the faded whispers of people that don't even exist here. You unbind his ankles and pull down his thong. Grinning, you grab the base of Dio's cock, slowly stroking him up and down. Your sensitive ears picking up every little whimper that Dio can muster through the bright red gag that's keeping him mostly mute. Drool runs in two messy lines down his chin, and with a slight hop, you swipe part of it away with your tongue. Dio jolts as if that was slightly surprising, but you're back to being behind him, and work on spreading his ass cheeks.

"You've got such a beautiful ass," you purr, "can't wait to drag you off to one of the private rooms with a bed."

His back arches, making the shape of his spine so much more flattering. You watch how it curves upwards, highlighting the slow ripple of all his muscles. You readjust your pants, while always tight on some level you really feel it getting tighter down there. Snickering, you move to pull the ball gag free.

"I'm gonna make you scream," you happily declare, "and if I can't, then I'll fuck you dry till you do. Safe word's cadaver, got it."

Dio whines, yet nods. With a swipe of the tongue, you run from his balls to over his hole in one clean motion. Without the gag, you get to finally hear a lion-like growl. You hum in contentment; you always loved a good voice as well. Plus, a deep voice, especially with that kind of purr, means that the guy had a deep throat to go along with it. A nice, warm throat perfect for you to have him....you shake your head. Later. Be patient. You grab the other tool as you work his insides over with your tongue, sliding the cock ring down to the base as he gasps so perfectly. Dio breaks into a series of moans as you work. He whines loudly, thrashes a little when you go back to his prostate, but one good spank gets him to still. You're certain that you're leaving bruises with how hard you're holding him.

"Please....please...please..."

"Such a pretty thing," you happily coo. You notice how he's still hanging and more than a little wobbly from his position. A single collar around the neck hooking to the ceiling while his arms are tied behind his back. “Poor thing, you’re so hard it hurts, doesn’t it?”

“P-please,” he begs, in a quiet voice, “please fuck me, Master, it hurts so bad.”

“Poor baby. Not yet.” Despite your own words, you shudder at the word master. Your stand saying that had conditioned that term to always be something that got you sexually. Moving, you grab the base of his cock, avoiding the gold of the ring, earning a yelp from Dio. It's red, throbbing, and a trail of pre-cum is smeared on one side. You grin. "Almost there, pretty boy, so just be patient for me, yeah? Or we may not fuck at all. Could just leave you here, right?"

Dio takes a shaky breath, as if he can't decide on if that idea's terrifying or arousing. You turn your attention to his chest, ripping that tank top with your claws. He really has beautiful tits, your last encounter coming to mind in a way that made you feel hot. You press open-mouthed kisses along the skin to hear his gasp. His heart is beating fast despite being undead. You can feel his pulse against your lips. It doesn't take more than a second for you to take one of his nipples in your mouth, letting the vampire moan as loudly as he wants. Using your teeth to lightly tug, you work him over with your mouth, enjoying how responsive he is. Dio is moaning the word 'Yes!' repeatedly, hips bucking, forcing you to move so he can't get himself off by rutting against you. You switch to the other seamlessly, enjoying the wet pop noise that echoes when you move. However, you don't get that far before a rather shaky whimper sounds above your head.

"Hm?" The sound comes from the base of your throat, and when you look up you see that Dio's shaking, whimpering and sniffling as if he's about to seriously start sobbing. "Are you alright?"

"Please, please, Master," Dio whines, "please....need you....my god...M/n, M/n, M/n, it hurts...please, Master, please, I'll do whatever you want, just...please..."

You know Dio has reached his breaking point any further and he'll say the safe word for sure. His cock is red, swollen to its maximum size, and his body is shaking and jolts at nothing, hips twisting upwards to rut against anything that could give him stimulation. You hum and run a hand carefully to where the collar keeps him bound and his arms tied behind his back.

"You poor baby, sorry, I didn't realize how worked up you had gotten. Brace yourself, I'm gonna let you down. We'll go to a private room and I'll take care of you." He's shaky when you unbind him, not fully, and you tug at the collar before taking his hand to lead him to a cozy-looking VIP room you had passed earlier. Closing the door behind you to hear it lock, you flash a smile that Dio can't even see.

And I could go anywhere I ever wanted,

Anywhere I want,

Just not home.

I guess I don't have it in myself to go with grace, cause we all know who I am.

Dio stands on shaky legs as the god undresses. While temporarily blind, he can tell that M/n is moving fast to hurry it up, and he gets tugged towards the bed where he hears M/n take a seat. With eyes closed beneath the blindfold the vampire drops to his knees, his frame shudders, and with a slightly surprised chirp from his god, Dio presses his face to the male's inner thigh. He's practically drooling as he uses his free hand that isn't pressed into M/n's knee to grab the god's cock, earning a low hum that turns into a slow, warm purr. Nuzzling further against the male's thigh, he ignores how M/n's burn scars rub and catch at his skin, and instead feels the muscles there shift and adjust. He's panting. Dio wants to whine and beg and feel M/n pin him down and pound him into the floor, but all the god did was run a hand through his hair.

"You look good like this, pretty boy, but don't you want to hop up on the bed and have me take care of you?" Dio strokes him with a desperate whine escaping his lips. He can feel M/n twitch, about to ask another question, only for him to take the god down to the base in one quick motion, hearing how the male cooed in delight. "Oh, okay then, this is fine...more than fine..."

Dio knows he's being far too eager, but he can't help it. He flattens his tongue over the head of M/n's cock and swallows the pre-cum there, earning a low hum, yet each shift reminds him of how hard he is, and he keeps adjusting himself with low whines.

In a second he's thrown onto the bed, claws scraping at his skin, and teeth pressed against his neck in sharp messy kisses and bites. He gets flipped just as quickly, so M/n is pressed against the bed's headboard with him on his knees and hands pressed by the god's shoulders.

"Haven't prepped you enough. Can you finger yourself? My claws would hurt you." M/n says as he peppers kisses against Dio's face, sounding hot and desperate. From what he'd felt, he was certainly aroused, and Dio knew how sharp the god's talons were. Quickly he adjusted himself to work himself open, feeling how the god moved. "Remember to wet your fingers. Don't want you tearing."

Dio obeys, breath shaky at all the different commands M/n keeps giving him. He's fingered himself dry before, but this time he coats them thoroughly and hums as he opens himself up.

"You look good like this, pretty boy. Won't be long now."

He moves himself faster, grunting softly, as he struggles to keep his weight perfectly held over M/n's body. Yet the god doesn't seem to mind as his chest sinks down and rests on him, while the god's hands come to rest on his hips to spread him further. His breath flickers, going ragged, when M/n releases a low feral hiss at the sight.

"Think you're spread enough? Wanna have you ride me, pretty boy." His voice changes accent again at those words and Dio can't help but shudder in delight at the different dialect. A part of him is nervous. Usually M/n works him over more with his mouth before he finally gets penetrated, as if two times is good enough to set a pattern, and Dio knows that M/n is well endowed. Still, he's a vampire, so it isn't as if this will break him. Dio lines himself up with the god's cock, warm and oozing pre-cum, and Dio knows how good M/n is at holding himself back. He moans happily when the head enters him, and he lowers himself slowly down, hearing how M/n's breath hitches and Dio is quick to arch his back to give him a better view. M/n hums in approval. Reaching out again to grab Dio's hips, the god is quick to lightly massage at the firm muscles there. Finally, Dio gets M/n down to the base, breath shaky as he holds himself still. "You're so tight. Fuck, you feel great. You feel good, pretty boy?"

Dio whines softly. Leaning forward a little, hands pressed on either side of their thighs. M/n leans forward, and the blindfold is unwrapped, allowing Dio to see the god's face staring up at him as pink smoke drifts from his lips. The room has a red tint to it, the only form of lighting making it all feel so sensual.

"You feel good, right?"

"Very," Dio answers.

"Good, good, move a little...please..." M/n whines and he takes a deep breath and moves his hips forward. M/n snarls and throws his head back with a curse dying on his lips; Dio doesn't stop, slowly rotating his hips up and down, keeping M/n fully inside him. Slowly, after a few more rolls of the hips, he bounces. A bit painful. Despite the saliva and prep, they didn't have lube or spend hours on foreplay. Yet he doesn't feel any blood or tearing...yet. Keeps a slow pace, both of them humming and gasping in slow sync, and M/n's eyes have darted to the up and down motion of his hips. He can almost forget about his own hurting erection. He hisses a little, moves faster, but that stupid ring is still keeping him from reaching an orgasm. "Wanna hear you...Think you can keep going?"

When he nods, the god adjusts to hold his hips in place, and in one clean motion, he lifts them again and thrusts upwards. Dio cries out, eyes going wide, locking onto a random segment of the wall with each thrust. M/n doesn't give him a break, not that Dio would allow him to, and keeps pounding up into him. Dio is unable to hold back sounds now, moaning when each thrust comes to his prostate dead on. M/n snickers and moves for a moment, so he isn't touching that spot at all. Dio can't hold himself up anymore. Back arches deeper, as his hands force themselves deeper into the mattress. M/n watches his expression carefully, slowing a little, till he's fully inside Dio and only rolling his hips every few seconds. Dio is crying, teardrops trailing down his cheeks, and the vampire watches how the god stops to wait and see if he'll use the safe word.

After a moment he drags the ring off, tossing it to some corner of the room, and Dio sighs in relief even if he hasn't cum yet.

"Gonna make you cum," he purrs. Dio bounces again with a content groan at the realization. "There you go, pretty boy, just like that. Let me hear you."

Pressing down on the male's chest, he goes to town, speeding up while trying to maintain balance, arching his back and rolling his hips happily. M/n leans back a bit, eyes closing for a moment, and the god moans happily. Lifting his hands, he started to tug and massage at his chest, earning a series of groans and huffs. M/n is back to fully hitting his prostate, straight on rather than an angle, and he moans shamelessly. Dio's mouth hangs open, and the god pulls at his tongue with two fingers to see him drool and whine; Dio is quick to nip and suck at them. M/n takes the time to bite at his chest, paying no mind to Dio's fangs scraping against pitch black scales. Reality ripples and the god beneath him changes shape and Dio screams when not one but two cocks fill him perfectly, the sensation new, sending him over the edge with a howl. It's electrifying and feels far too good, too much, and his cock hurts so badly and he's been pushed to the edge enough that he has an orgasm without warning. Curing under his breath, the vampire then screams.

M/n's promise came true after all, with Dio's shaking frame on top of him as evidence. But M/n isn't finished yet, so he flips them over so Dio's legs are over his shoulder so he can thrust hard and fast without any real difficulty. The vampire's thighs press against the god's ears, earning a low purr as each thrust made Dio shudder and whine at the over stimulation. He's still orgasming, staining segments of his chest in white. Red markings glowed in the room, and black scales had spread over almost all of his bare skin. Dio closes his eyes and leans back at every rough thrust to his prostate till the god orgasms inside of him. He sighs in delight at the warm sensation.

With a pleased hum, M/n pulls out and rolls them over so his face is buried in Dio's chest. The blond hooks an arm over him and settles his chin on top of the god's scalp. Still a bit tired, the pressure wears on him again; the vampire listens to the low steady purr from the god's chest and throat fill the room.

Still, his body is unsatisfied.

M/n's hand is on his cock before he can fully ask for more, earning a moan.

"Think we can have a round two, pretty boy?"

Dio is quick to make his answer known.

Are you all blind?

We are not born to die! What the hell are you talking about!?! Do you think each book begins just to finish? Do you think each song begins with that beautiful note just to draw to a close? You don't read that book to finish it; you read the book to eat up the emotions it brings, the excitement! To be able to learn and digest, to fall in love and be heartbroken in turn. You listen to that song to dance and sing your heart out till your throat goes out. Yes, we are born into this world with the inevitable fate of death lingering over our shoulders; we are mortal after all, but that is merely the final part of our play. The ultimate act, the closing of the curtains, we are not born to simply take a bow and exit stage right. We are born to love and be joyous and yell and move and learn and cry and feel...to feel is to have a purpose. To feel is to live, we are not born to die.

We are born to live.

The smell of wine filled Joseph's senses, even stronger when trapped in the muzzle, and hearing someone mumbling he descended into the basement and found M/n curled up in the corner, surrounded by empty bottles with a still full shelf at his side. For a moment Joseph remained still, unsure on how he should tackle the situation, especially since he was certain that M/n was drunk and until today he didn’t know if M/n could even get drunk given his anatomy. Now the male looked messy and tired and far from the more refined personal design he usually had.

That was M/n's problem in his mind; too desperate to seem capable, put together, as if he only had merit when he was quiet and stuffy, acting as if he were some tragic hero in one of those novels he had to read for school. According to Granny Erina, he even used to wear the same outfits, but a drunk M/n...that could be dangerous. God of insanity and lust ...that probably meant either a deadly drunk or a fun drunk...or he could end up being a sad drunk. According to Santana, and how they interacted with each other, M/n seemed sad more times than not.

"Hey, M/n," at which the god jolted and looked up towards him with dull, gold eyes that lacked any shine. Joseph held back a shudder. He really felt as if he had just walked into a trap of some kind. "So, you getting drunk for a reason, or just how you like to spend your nights? I won't judge. I mean, I've done way weirder...let me get some oil from the Hell Climb Pillar and I think we can act out some ideas that really got me hot and bothered...You've been spending all your time with Santana, nearly enough to give a guy a complex, have you-"

"Trickster, are you going to ramble at me, or are you going to sit down and have a drink?" M/n hissed out. The usual softer hiss that he tried so hard to hide was now loud and vicious, actually making him the god was just waiting to strike like a coiled snake.

"You know, I always wanted a pet snake, but with you being so hissy, I'm kind of glad Granny Erina never agreed." He grumbled out, moving to settle near the god's left side, feeling how the male tensed before leaning against him. "Or were you always this snappy?"

"...not always." Joseph hadn't been expecting a serious answer, but the drunk god sighed as if a weight had just been removed from his shoulders. "You know, or...well, you don't know, but...that's not the fucking point!"

"Spit it out, M/n!"

"To become a god you have to die."

That...was not what he had expected to hear from M/n just now.

"Shocking, right?" M/n laughs, just like he always does when he talks about something bad, as if he never learned to properly react to trauma. "No one tells you that. You die thinking it'll all be over...you have your little meeting with the reaper...you go to hell and be tortured for a while...and then you wake up in your god form because you're ready. Ta-da~! Nothing tells you what you need to do...or if people want you to do anything...and you have nothing...and you aren't the same! That's the biggest problem! You aren't the fucking same...you stare at your own rotting body and realize you weren't even placed in the same shell and everything is going wrong and you can't even free the people you've trapped because godhood doesn't mean shit when it comes to suffering-"

"Can you please slow down for one second?" He hissed out, grabbing the male's shoulders to get his attention, which luckily caused him to trail off. Watching how M/n panted to catch his breath, the hamon user sighed in relief. "Seriously, I want to listen to you, but you need to take breaks when speaking. I can't tell what the hell you're saying when you get all breathy like that! You're a writer, right? Put a damn comma in your babbling!"

"...I think I lost a core part of me."

"Well, it certainly wasn't your dic-" He isn't surprised that M/n slaps him for that, though drunk M/n is a lot less held back with his strength...probably a good thing he's still wearing the muzzle. "Sorry."

"It sounds stupid, right? I mean, if I lost anything, it was...human and 'unfitting' for a god, but I really don't recognize myself most days." M/n slumps and reaches for a new bottle, and Joseph isn't sure if M/n will kill him if he tries to take it, or Lisa Lisa when she finds out he's been draining her supply and he did nothing to stop it. "When I talk with you or Santana...I feel more human than I have in centuries...eons even. Like I'm back to being a mortal, I never felt that way, and I...I think that's for the best. I haven't liked who I was for a long time. I think you would have liked the person I was. Ajamu ruined that."

"Ajamu...?"

"God before me. The one I killed." He drinks half of the bottle in one go. "He always...he was the one that broke me. Dying didn't do shit really, but what he did to me...that was what really ruined me even if I haven't felt right since I died...You know, I really wish he would just leave me alone. I don't have the strength to keep doing this shit. He's really been getting on my ass these days. He's always right. I hate that fucking bastard."

"He's still bothering you?"

"The dead never stay dead for long when my stand is involved."

"...glad to know you're still cryptic and creepy when drunk."

"Sorry." He looked at the bottle with a frown. "I haven't done this in a while. I don't even like getting drunk. Wine doesn't even taste that good when compared to some cocktails. Really thought I'd get like a century of being sober since the last time, but...guess I'm fucking that up. Last time was shit and the wine there wasn't even that good...why am I always getting drunk off wine? Anyway, I mean, it was white last time which is just the worst, if you have to get drunk off wine a deep red actually tastes the best besides for a maybe a shade of pink, but even then the whole thing's just expensive and ineffective compared to some of the fruitier drinks a bar will make for you. Yet this is probably more pathetic than getting drunk at your best friend's wedding...wait, I don't think we were friends...I don't...fuck it. At least being in a basement is nicer to the people around you because they won't find you till you're working off the hangover. Then you showed up."

"Wait, what wedding did you get drunk at?"

"Jonathan's."

"My grandfather's...and Granny Erina didn't kill you for it?"

"We weren't talking at that point. Think she tolerated me till after Jonathan died and then we got to talk. That was shit...I was still mourning Dio and everyone was moving past me, and I knew that Jonathan and Erina were so happy together, yet he kept pushing me closer to him, and I really just wanted to go away and forget about him...forget about everything that was happening. Dio hadn't gotten a funeral...I just wanted things to stop changing. I wanted to go back to being a guy in college with Jonathan and Dio whining about their grades. Wanted to be a person again. Wanted all the death to stop. Think...I miss them both still. I wish you had gotten to know Jonathan."

"You loved him a lot, huh?"

"...I did. It was bad. I didn't think of him as a romantic partner, but just someone to keep me in line. I still loved him. Just wasn't thinking about what that would mean for him. Besides, I don't do romance. It wouldn't have worked, anyway. Loving him, though...that was easy...too fucking easy. People always make it sound hard, but it really just grabs you and just drags you down."

"That sounds...edgy."

"...fuck you."

"Sorry, sorry, what does...um...being in love feel like?"

"Being in love?" M/n frowned, obviously gathering his thoughts. "Love is...It's...I mean...you go in with both eyes wide open, knowing that the moment you step forward you're being stupid, knowing that you're a fool, that being a fool, rather. That you're taking all these idiotic risks and that there's only the slimmest of all chances that anything will come of it. You've got no true guarantees, no promises that can't be broken in an instant, and somehow none of that fucking matters. Because for all of that, or through all of that, you're drowning and it's incredible, and you never want to come up for air. It hurts you, and it hurts the one you love, and you can't do anything about that, but you wouldn't even if you could...because you've never, ever, been more alive than when feeling like that, even if all it brings, all it ever is, is pain and heartbreak and being closer to someone than you ever intended. That's what being in love feels like. It's stupid, and agonizing, and ridiculous all at once...and you wouldn't have it any other way. Because that's what being human is."

Joseph opened his mouth, but for once a reply died on his tongue, noting that some of the 'symptoms' were...familiar.

"That's the best part of being in love, even if you hate the word, what it means, and having that...it means you're human. It means you kept your humanity despite it all. Being able to love...that is the greatest gift the world could give you." M/n swallowed, falling back so he was leaning against Joseph's side, finishing the bottle off and grabbing another one. "That...you know, Dio…he still had his humanity despite it off, Joseph. Everyone...even Dio himself liked to think he had lost his humanity. When he put on the mask, he said that he was rejecting his humanity. That...that was the problem, wasn't it? From the moment he put that mask on, the moment he revived himself as a vampire, Jonathan liked to assume that he had lost himself...that he had simply become something else, but he was still the same person deep down. I knew that in the way he treated me when compared to the others. He still was the same, still thought the same, still acted the same. Maybe the mask heightened some of his pre-existing traits, but it never destroyed his personality or agency. Dio kept his humanity...he was still the exact same..."

"M/n...?" The god shuddered when he snatched the bottle M/n had opened, already half empty, and moved it out of reach. Then he realized the god was laughing. Soft, shaky snickering filled the air as M/n adjusted his position to untie his hair and run a hand through it. Still laughing. "Wanna tell me the joke?"

"He was...he was still the exact fucking same...that's it! The exact fucking same! He was still...Dio kept his humanity. No matter what happened, he was still Dio. He never once became a monster. If he could ever be called a monster, then...he always was. Which means...despite being god, and despite promising to help people...I favored...I loved a monster. Dio kept his humanity, and there's nothing more damning I could say about Dio than that."

Joseph goes still.

Hello to the one reading this,

I am going to places beyond here to slay a god that threatens everyone. If I do not return, then I have died, and I am gone. It was nice knowing you.

I said I don't fear death; I said that I was hoping to die.

I said that someone killing me would be nice enough.

That I have earned it.

I have.

I've decided that this is my ending, yet I've lied. I wanted to die, but now I want to live.

Look after the others.

Be kind.

I have ascended to heaven to take on the kingdom of god.

With casual apology, M/n.

Notes:

Chapters eleven and most of chapter twelve have been combined just in case anyone is confused.
The song is Love Will by Jack Stauber. Also, yes, in the Dio sequence, I'm referencing the Dracula musical. I refuse to apologize. Loving You Keeps Me Alive is a Dio x M/n song from Dio's perspective, and everyone should know that. I wonder if anyone will notice the other media referenced in this chapter. The reader knows three and a half languages; English, Italian, Spanish, and some Latin. He knows Italian the best out of all them. The song used in that dream sequence is 'We Three Kings', and I'm going insane.
Translations:
Scio = I know (Latin, instead of Italian.)
Agnello = Lamb
Ah Kin = He of the Sun (Mayan) AKA: the regular clergy of the Yucatec Maya in pre-Columbian times. The Ah Kin are best known historically for their performance in the ritual sacrifice of victims, whose hearts were offered to the Mayan gods.
Continuate così, per favore, è bello… = Keep going, please, that feels nice...
È bello...Davvero…per favore, non fermare l'amore, non credo che potrei prenderlo se ti fermassi...mi stai facendo impazzire… = That feels nice...I really...please, don't stop love, I don't think I could take it if you stopped...you're driving me mad...
Maledetto…Maledetto…Maledetto…Dio, per favore, che si sente così bene… = Fuck...fuck...fuck...Dio, please, that feels so good...
Questo stupido cazzo di freddo! = This stupid fucking cold!
piccoli. Spero che tu trovi questo posto per essere tutto ciò che potresti mai sperare. So di non essere un dio della creazione e certamente non un dio con le parole giuste da dire, ma vi adoro tutti. Questo è il mio dono per voi. Vi amo tutti. = little ones. I hope you find this place to be everything you could ever hope for. I know I'm not a god of creation and certainly not a god with the right words to say, but I adore you all. This is my gift for you. I love you all.
Me pregunto...si estuvieras aquí, ¿pensarías que estoy haciendo un buen trabajo? Realmente lo estoy intentando, pero no creo que lo esté haciendo lo suficientemente bien. Hubiera sabido qué hacer si hubieras estado aquí. O...me habrías mirado a los ojos y habrías hecho alguna broma que me habría hecho reír y estaría dispuesto a hacer lo que fuera necesario hacer. = I wonder...if you were here would you think I'm doing a good job? I'm really trying, but I don't think I'm doing good enough. Would've known what to do if you had been here. Or...you would've looked me in the eyes and made some joke that would've made me laugh and I'd be willing to do whatever needed to be done.
La cacciatrice dei diavoli divini = The slayer of divine devils
Natura nihil frustra facit = Nature does nothing in vain

Chapter 13: In his derisory glory, the abject monster insults the heavens.

Summary:

And you're spiraling even as you get off the bridge.

Notes:

Catboy reader doodle because I love him, likely to bite you if you try touching his ears or tail, and definitely an alley cat that got adopted by House Joestar. Think I made that in thirty minutes...I just like the concept. Thank you to DragonsSlayed on A03 for giving me the idea.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

There's a part of me that is always thinking about the so-called 'masterpieces' of a creator. What does it even mean? Michaelangelo looked at the Sistine Chapel and saw...absolutely nothing to preserve. Virgil wanted his Aeneid burned and forgotten; all his hard work was only saved at the behest of an emperor who thought it flattery. Kafka instructed his friend to burn everything he'd ever written, too personal, too unfinished.

They were ignored.

Instead, their work was taken and held and published and thrown to be gawked at. Instead, an emperor, a pope, a friend, took from within the cavities of them their choices; their art.

I sat in the kitchen after school and showed my poems to my mother, who, not unkindly, asked if I ever wanted to publish them. The first thing she asked. Emily Dickinson instructed her sister to burn her poetry.

Her sister didn't listen.

Kafka's friend took barely finished work and hammered it into structure. Into a fleshed out creation. He is the only reason we know of him.

A friend of my mother's once wrote a book and play when I was at most four or five. When I tried to talk to her about writing, she merely shrugged.

No one wanted to publish it, she says. So I don't write anymore.

I am filled with poems that will not be published or added to. Books I haven't and won't write.

Asked capitalism of the artist: what is art, if not for consumption? Who does the art benefit if it is not consumed? Why create at all if you do not market it? Who then are you, frothing at the mouth about someone publishing all of your poems? Who are you to hate your so-called 'masterpiece'? What is art, if not in relation to the many reactions it can bring? If no one but you looks at it, how is it art?

So, said the artist, baring their teeth: it's mine.

"You know, I assumed you wouldn't come back after our last talk." Like last time, the strange version of M/n doesn't respond with anything other than a slow hum that fills the room. Joseph watches how it sits on the bed, crossing its legs, as the hum softens to a faint tune. "You like being around me, Not-M/n?"

It nods. Joseph can't help but blink in shock, not having expected any positive reaction from the thing.

"Okay then...so what do you want exactly?" It tilts its head to the side at that. Seems to consider it for a moment, and then Joseph is pinned beneath the thing which hums as the muzzle of the skull traces against the side of his neck. Pink smoke fills his lungs and Joseph feels how his pants tighten. "Well...this wouldn't be the weirdest thing I've thought about doing."

At that it moves and Joseph finds them shifted. His muzzle now lying unharmed by the pillows. So he's left on his knees at the foot of the bed with his face pressed against the space between the shadow's shorts and tights. Feeling the distinct bulge there, Joseph shivered. While this was distinctly not M/n in attributes, it still was his god form and his pulse was pounding. It lightly gave a roll of the hips while he worked on getting the shorts off. Already feeling the two heads brush against his lips, a roll of the hips again as if it was trying to force itself inside of Joseph's mouth. He willingly opened his mouth after a second, only getting about halfway down the pair before he gagged, unfamiliar with the rough treatment. Joseph could feel both of the thing's cocks strain, trying to go deeper in his throat as he groaned around them. Obviously growing irritated by his inability, Joseph could feel a scaled hand reach out and thread through his locks. Now moving to take a rough handful of the hair. Seeming to think about it, the thing pulled his locks towards him, forcing the hamon user to take the rest of its cocks. His eyes watering as drool ran down his chin and onto the floor as he struggled to catch his breath with his throat and mouth full. The ring makes the experience borderline painful, yet not completely unwelcomed. Nose rubbing against unmarred skin and hints of scales. It doesn't wait for him to get used to any of it before it moves. Fast rolling of the hips that made him whine around the constant thrusting motion. Joseph could feel his own cock get even harder in his shorts, hear how the steady humming broke for a low growl. He was getting lightheaded, feeling how his throat was bulging at the motions, face turning red, mouth stretched and getting sore.

The moment Joseph questioned if he'd actually pass out from lack of oxygen was when he was pulled away and dropped at the shadow's feet. He gasped, happy to breathe again and finding it strange to not be wearing that muzzle. With one hand by the collar of his shirt, he was lifted and dropped on the bed. Like a limp sack of potatoes, so that his thighs were on either side of the shadow's frame, and the white skull stared blankly down at him. The red splatter gleamed in the low light.

It examines him, then tugs at his shorts, purring at the satisfying rip and the sudden tenseness of Joseph's body. Pulling the now useless fabric off his body, it paused to run a hand over the sides of his inner thigh. Slowly, it took his hands and made him hook his arms around his legs to better expose himself. Joseph laughed and muttered out a remark about how perverted this version of M/n was.

"So, if you don't take that skull off, how are you going to-"

Joseph let out a startled yelp, muttering out a series of curses as the thing thrusted in him in one quick rutting motion. Letting out a long, drawn-out groan, he rolled his hips against the thing, hoping that it would wait for a few seconds at least. It groaned softly. His vision blurred at the pleasure, feeling over stimulated. The lack of lube meant all he could feel was the friction and dryness.

He could feel every inch of the twin shafts stretching and working him open. He let out a series of breathy moans and low groans, while it seemed happy to touch and examine him as it waited. Hands grabbing at each segment of muscle, it could feel before lightly patting him on the head. Joseph couldn't help but laugh at that. Something about the way it tilted its head was cute as it pet him. Still, he rolled his hips with a whine, trying to rut against the shadow's smaller form for any sort of stimulation to get him off. A few teasing strokes to his cock earned a groan as a trail of pre-cum dripped down his cock. It was slower than Joseph would've liked, but it was probably because of the scales.

A hand moved to Joseph's neck as the shadow adjusted their positions to lightly press against his windpipe. Joseph felt the ring trapped there bulge against the inside of his throat as it started to thrust and rut inside of him. A deep, warning growl kept him still as the grip soon loosened so Not-M/n could get better at steadying itself for each thrust. Joseph moaned shamelessly, feeling tears drip down his face, gasping for air yet almost wishing the thing would strangle him again. A particularly hard thrust had him orgasm. the tightness only making it groan and Joseph hisses at the continued thrusts. He should've offered to work himself open for it.

Joseph felt as if he was floating above the crowds. The very air around him felt heated, and his cock was still dripping a small amount of cum. With prep, the prospect of two cocks inside of him hadn't felt as intense as it now did. His saliva hadn't done enough. Still, he wasn't tearing or bleeding...yet. Another hard thrust and he slammed his head back, feeling how hard the other's hips met his own.

"Not as sturdy as you..."

"...?" It hummed a bit at that. For a moment, the shadow was still before grabbing him by the hips and sitting him up. Realizing he was being given control of the situation, Joseph managed a shaky laugh. Chin coming to rest on the thing's shoulder.

"You know, I've been thinking of you as an 'it' this whole time? Is that right? Or are you a he? They? She? Anything really?"

"..."

"Okay, not the talkative type, that's fine. I can talk enough for the both of us." They nodded happily at that, and Joseph adjusted to support his weight against the shadow's shoulders and started to slowly rise up and down, at the moment never fully having the other pull out, which it seems to be fine with. His face felt hot, trails of drool running down his cheek as he bounced up and down harder. Rolling his hips with each proper motion, earning a happy purr as it rested its hands on his hips. Joseph could feel another orgasm approaching, unlike the regular M/n this one constantly flooded his senses with that smoke. Making his entire body shake with overstimulation. Another thrust had him staining the shadow's chest with a happy sigh.

Suddenly they sank him back down, wrapping those scaled arms around his waist. Joseph hummed in enjoyment at how the uneven texture scraped at his skin, leaving behind minor scratches and cuts. The tip of the skull brushed against his face awkwardly. It repeated a few times until Joseph recovered enough to realize this was Not-M/n attempting to kiss him. With a shaky laugh, he pressed his own to the muzzle.

"Thanks, Not-M/n, really needed that."

It moved him back down on the bed and reattached the muzzle with a purr.

I plan on working my fingers to the bone and tossing what remains over my shoulders as if little more than grains of salt.

If you offer me drugs, I'll take them.

If you offer me a drink, I'll drink it.

So, it's best if you just leave.

Kars awoke feeling the lingering heat racing just beneath his skin. Flames licking deep inside his chest and between his legs. Missing the distinct mix of aphrodisiacs and harsh scales that his dream had provided him with. Shifting ever so slightly, he moved away the strands of hair that had fallen over his face. Mind drifting back to the contents of his latest dream involving the god, slowly he allowed his hand to stop at his chest. Exhaling, he felt the flesh shift and alter to allow him access to his wedding ring. Unlike the others, his was far more designed than a simple band. Both parts of the pair bearing an imperfect fragment of Aja in place of a diamond. His thumb trailed over the center of the red stone. His other hand dropped to his hips as he moved beneath his loincloth. Mind imagining countless scenarios, as thousands of years in stone had left him more than a little pent up. Now having met the god, his brain had been given a muse.

Looking to the bedside table, he stared at the vials containing ichor, one half empty, and grabbed it. Allowing a few drops to land on his tongue, Kars moaned at the flavor, running a thumb over the head of his cock and doing a few harsh strokes with a low hum. His mind going to when he had placed the ring inside of the god, how his eyes had widened and face gained that delightful flush, his mouth had slightly opened allowing him to see how the inside of his mouth, minus his tongue, was a solid black, and how his tongue was both completely forked and longer than average. His hand moved lower, now working on stretching himself out, as he allowed himself to finish the first vial. He was certain the god had full control of the two segments of his tongue, given how his hiss ranged from being fully pronounced to barely recognizable. Which meant if pushed to the test, Kars was certain he could easily wrap around his entire shaft with enough practice. Or, better yet, how the added length would feel deep inside him? Given his talons, he likely did that to prepare someone. Or watched how they opened themselves up all for his own pleasure, and Kars sped up the process as he imagined gold eyes staring back. Given how Santana's scent had been intermingled with the god, he already knew that the other had wasted no time in pleasuring his new master. Not as if Kars could blame him. He'd always known why Santana followed him. Still, it meant that he was more than capable of satisfying a pillar man and then being able to fight mere hours later. As expected of a god who immersed himself with lust.

Lord of all Serpents was the title Wamuu bestowed upon him, given his scales and fangs it would be safe to assume a fair portion of his anatomy was altered to resemble his patron animal, and serpentine creatures were known for possessing a twin pair of genitalia. It would be a fair assumption to make, though even if the god lacked such a feature, his familiar was certain to possess such a set. It also carried Santana's scent, meaning it joined in its master's pleasure. Given how it laughed and reacted alongside the god, it was safe to assume its sapience. And with its size it would have to be...Kars's mind wandered to the familiar digging its talons into his hips, forcing him down, as the god watched with eager eyes. Or, better yet, the familiar on its back with him settled on its hips. Taking both cocks in one motion using his biology with the god looking at him like when he bound himself to the deity. Shocked and flustered. Surely no mortal before had taken such control of his familiar, let alone ridden it so easily, and then still had the energy left to pleasure the god. And despite being the god of lust, if he so easily flushed at the ideal of a marriage between them. Well, he'd likely give some great reactions if Kars pushed him back and took control. Adjusting so he could press down on his prostate, the pillar man groaned. He'd probably have learned with Santana how sensitive their horns were, so he'd reach up and grab them when Kars rode him. Likely moving his head down to apply pressure, sharp talons scraping at the ridges. Moving his hand faster, he could just hear a low hiss echo, imagining how it would compare to trace the god's scars as he had with the shadow that met him.

He stopped right before he could reach an orgasm, panting at the sensation and feeling how a trail of pre-cum was running down the side of his cock.

Not yet.

If there was one thing Kars could be described as being patient, he was more than willing to wait for the reward. One that he knew was merely a flicker of light away from him. The moment he obtained the perfect Aja was the moment everything would come together. He thought of the silver lines running across Wamuu's throat and chest. Remembered the lingering traces of sharp claws over his hips, and wondered if the god would leave silver lines across his hips and back. Those talons were sharp enough and strong enough to split through a pillar man's flesh cleanly. Despite how their regeneration could re-knit flesh while a blade attempted to sever it. It prevented the wounds from healing. A perfect way to mark someone.

But how could one mark a god?

He still didn't know enough. No myth was completely accurate. Having been spread long before the written word left too much room for human error. The only thing that seemed true was how gods, even well-meaning ones, were fickle creatures. A god that was the embodiment of insanity would fit the definition easily enough. Yet the ones most equipped to handle such a force of nature were their hierophants. Who always kept the secrets close to their chest. It was easier for one to accept death than to betray their god.

On the other hand, the hierophant of M/n was an annoyance...despite Wamuu's interest, it was difficult for him to find much value in the human. He wasn't wrong when referring to him as a trickster. Craftiness was his biggest advantage when compared to past hamon warriors. A worthwhile trait, yet the rest of his personality made him something worthless. Far too loud and brash, lacking the more serious aspects of Esidisi when he didn't lose control of himself, and his behavior debased his position. Joseph Joestar claimed they were romantically entangled, married even, only for the god to deny it with a sharp hiss. Yet when he was trying to trick Wamuu, he easily offered his god as if he was little more than a possession that would be handed off after his death. The god's panicked stare was too genuine to be a bluff.

Just another issue that would be dealt with by the time he reached ascension.

Still, his lack of knowledge at the moment was his biggest weakness.

A presence at the door caused him to raise up and adjust himself, sensing how Wamuu bowed in greeting. He knew it wasn't one vampire they had created. Retying his hair and binding it beneath his head wrap before covering himself, Kars sat up.

"Enter, Esidisi."

"Kars," the other only nodded at him. Kars caught a brief glimpse of Wamuu's form remaining in the hall before the door was closed. He watched how Esidisi's gaze went to the empty vial and the untouched one. "Experimenting with ichor? Or are you just hoping that your desire will summon him to you?"

Kars ignored the taunt, earning a sigh.

"You could at least admit you've considered it. I bet the servants are wondering who'll end up as a sacrifice for him."

"A summoning would be useless at the moment. The god will be present when the red stone is in our grasp."

"Obviously, but he'll be on the side of the enemy. Do you think you'll be able to defeat him after using the red stone, if he even allows us to use it before initiating a fight? I can't imagine that those hamon users would be willing to hand it over while they still draw breath, and you've seen how protective he is." Kars's eyes narrowed at the reminder, Esidisi rolled his in response. "Remember past plagues and natural disasters Kars, gods don't take the loss of their mortals easily. Or have you forgotten the rage that tormented our travels for years after the slaughter of our tribes?"

"How loyal can he be to a hierophant that offers to get rid of him when it's convenient?"

"One that knew he was bluffing, even if it blindsided him." Esidisi held up his hands at the look he received, though seemed far more amused by it than concerned, and Kars assessed the other.

"What would you recommend, then? You're the one that has the most experience with the divine."

"Gods are creatures that change rarely, Kars. Most would recommend appealing to their vanity."

"I could read myth to receive that answer."

"Oh, I know, but why would I want to ruin this for you?" This time he actually laughed at the low, frustrated growl that escaped Kars before grabbing the vial and lifting it to the light to see how the ichor glowed. Kars waited for him to set the glass vial back down and turn to him with a lax grin. "I've never seen you be this fixated on a person, god or not, Kars. I've never seen you give up on anything. If anyone could win a god over, it would be you, unless you're admitting that you're incapable of-"

"Mind your tone." Kars warned, no actual heat to his words.

"Oh, don't be so cruel to me. I came here for you to tell me "Good luck and be safe," not for you to argue with me. Besides, I'm sure you'll want me to say hello to god and tell him how much you've been missing him. Maybe I could bring you more, ichor?"

"Don't confront him."

"...?"

"Observe him. Find out everything you can about him. He's the key to this."

"...as you wish."

You exist.

You feed.

That's enough.

"I hate this, I hate this, I hate this...I hope you know Santana isn't here to stop me from killing you if I decide to, and no one will find your body..." Like usual, Joseph didn't listen to your repeated threats. Completely ignoring how your heels kept digging into the snow as he continued to drag your frame along the snow coated path. Honestly, you had been hoping that Lisa Lisa would laugh it off and reveal that she was joking. Since even in the many layers you were still shivering from the cold, and Caesar was up ahead at the start of the trail looking frustrated with the both of you. He looked like that most days when he dealt with the two of you. Only tolerating Santana because of the pillar man's more reserved nature, so you didn't pay him much mind. The snow keeps falling around all three of you in fast swirling patterns. You shift closer to Joseph to avoid any landing on your scales. For a while, the ice inside your body had been constant yet more manageable these days. Staying deep in the core of your chest without the sudden spreading when it first affected you. But the weather was making it so easy for it to spread through your limbs. "Gonna kill you..."

"Yeah, yeah, love you too." Is all Joseph says as he keeps dragging you along, making you hiss, but you have no desire to struggle. It'll waste energy and you were too cold and stiff to want to get free.

"Hate you." You snarled out, earning a roll of the eyes from Caesar when the two of you finally reached his side. The blond glanced at the both of you before grabbing his bag and taking off his clothes. Remembering the instructions given by Lisa Lisa, you looked away to preserve his dignity. Joseph whines, but he's quick to follow. Your claws dig deep into the thick coat you were wearing, yet the material does nothing to really help with the way the winds sap at your core body heat. How the ice is filling what remains of your lungs.

"How many times have you threatened him today? It's not as if he's even listening to you!" Caesar hisses out, obviously bothered by the cold, even if he was trying to hide it. Unlike Joseph, who openly whined and made any remark he could to distract from the suboptimal climate.

"Not enough." You snapped, eyes fixating on the many snowflakes falling around you, swallowing down yet another snarl as one melted in between the scales on your hands. You wished your claws and scales didn't exist, so you could wear gloves without shredding them in an hour. "Can't I just leave you two to your training?"

"No, you can't." That caused you to pause and look towards Caesar. You had assumed that he'd be glad to be rid of you given your attitude, but the male only seemed more frustrated with the whole situation.

"I can't...?"

"Caesarino's right! Coach said you have to do this exercise with us, so get stripping!"

"But I'm not a hamon user..."

"That doesn't change what she said." Caesar replied, and that finally caused you to go limp in Joseph's grasp. Of course Lisa Lisa would expect you to do something like this. Did she know you were practically cold-blooded? "You're expected to follow the rules of this exercise, just like us."

"I'm going to freeze..." You whispered, horror filling your voice earning a snort from your trickster.

"No, you aren't," Joseph said, waving away your concerns with one hand, and tugged at the large coat you were wearing earning a low growl from you. Still, you allowed him to help you take the coat off and you tried to swallow any frustration or shame down as you were quickly left bare. "There you go."

You get about three steps through the snow before you fall back, vision blurring, and sleet wedging between your scales.

"You told me he was being overdramatic, Jojo!"

"I thought he was!"

Hold your breath in prayer to the lord of all light and hollow.

An angel with a body like shallow water, seeping from the space between our laced fingers.

You look to me,

(And I look away.)

The moon reflected in a window, the blue dawn unbroken like a promise.

I look at you again because...

It's like this; I have to see how close I can get to drowning.

"I want a new hierophant. Caesar, have you ever considered becoming the high priest to a god?" The blond paused at the question. Looking down at the god he was carrying who was adjusting the scarf he had stolen from Joseph, yet he remained bare outside of the fabric around his neck. Caesar could easily pick up the sound of M/n's fangs clicking against each other from the cold. "It's a great job. I don't really request anything of you. I have plenty of treasure from my past conquests, you could have piles of gold...it would be nice to have-"

"Hang on, you aren't firing me!" Joseph shouted from his place further down the path.

"Not until I have a replacement planned for you!" M/n shouted back. Now snuggling closer to Caesar's frame, adjusting so he could rest his head on the blond's shoulder to glare at the Joestar. He then looked back at Caesar with a grin. "You'd be good at it. I can cook. You've liked my cooking. I mean, I already owe you for carrying me and letting me steal some of your body heat, so I could bake you a pie. Apple? Pumpkin? Cinnamon? Not a pie person? I can always make something else. I mean, I've been around long enough to make just about anything you could ask for."

"I don't want to be your priest, but I would prefer a Shepherd's pie."

"Not a fan of sweets? Either way, I'll make one for you when we get back." The god purred out, pleased at the idea of cooking something. Caesar just rolled his eyes at the god's behavior, though he refrained from making a snarky remark as he would've when he first met the pair.

"You've never paid me for being your hierophant!"

"You're rich!"

"And you're not?!?" Caesar groaned when Joseph picked up his pace so he could walk next to them. Lazily tapping the god while barely repressing his hamon to see how the male flinched in response. Eyes flashing gold at the action before he growled. Joseph snickered, losing any of his faux anger before throwing an arm over Caesar's shoulder. "You know, if all else fails we can just cuddle up together...right, Caesarino?"

He threw Joseph's arm off in an instant. Feeling claws slightly dig in when the god thought he might be dropped back into the snow, and was quick to give the trickster a glare.

"I'm going to punch you in the face if you touch me again, Joseph."

"Well, that's one way to get all intimate~!"

"Don't drop-" M/n's yelp was cut off when Caesar punched Joseph in the face, earning a pained groan as Joseph rubbed at his cheek.

"Ow, I was kidding, Caesar! Wait...wait, hit me again!" Caesar was quick to repeat the process, earning another pained cry from the Joestar as his eyes widened ever so slightly. "Again!"

"Caesar, please don't. He's clearly enjoying it."

"NO! It's the hamon in our punches!" Both looked to Joseph, who was practically bouncing in glee despite the snow whipping around them, despite how cold it was. The god leaned slightly in Caesar's grasp to examine him better.

"What...exactly do you mean by that?"

"Yes, Jojo, I've been keeping a constant current of hamon since we got here, yet-"

"Two types of hamon. I didn't feel it till you punched me, so it must be a combination of our shared hamon."

"...that's..."

"The only good idea we have at the moment."

"I wasn't going to call it a dumb idea, Caesar. I was just going to say that I didn't see how he reached that conclusion, but I'm not surprised he figured something like this out."

"So, I'm not getting fired, right?"

"Guess not." Caesar noted the smile on the god's face even as he faked annoyance. A part of him was tempted to admit he found some of their schemes more endearing than annoying, but he remained silent.

There was a point, back when I was younger, where every day, every moment, had an obvious line drawn between them. Each day, each week, each month, was its own and separate in all its glory.

But somewhere along the line...

Every day merged into another and became,

A week...

A month...

A year...

A decade...

A century...

An eon...

I don't know how long I've been living the same day anymore.

I need to rest.

Caesar tried his best to remain still when the god shifted. The cold, stagnate air of the abandoned temple leaves him in a far more lax state than the blizzard outside. Where he'd darted from manic bursts of energy to unconsciousness in seconds. Despite the playful remarks Joseph made to catch M/n's attention, the blond was content to let the god rest. Low purring echoed from the smaller male's chest, a rumble that filled the small room they'd chosen as their main quarters for the night. The only room was easy enough to insulate with their limited supplies. Still, it wasn't easy to completely ignore the fact that the two people he was laying with, even if Joseph was on the other side of the god, were each in different states of arousal. At least in M/n's case he had an excuse since the ichor that ran in his veins was a natural aphrodisiac alongside each breath he admitted...as for Joseph...he was just being a bastard.

"Ugh...can we do something? I can't sleep." The god groaned at Joseph's whining, hot breath ghosting over ‌Caesar's neck, making him shudder. All the while, Joseph's hands moved to grab at the blond's hips and pull all three of them closer together. "Besides, we're all here and naked so we could take advantage of this moment and have some fun, eh Caesarino?"

"In my bag, I have a set of pocket knives. Don't tempt me, Jojo." While his original weapon of choice on the streets had been a lead pipe, he had learned that a simple blade had value. Luckily Lisa Lisa never grew too annoyed with him for keeping the collection.

"Trickster, I just want to sleep. Be quiet." M/n huffed out. Caesar felt envious for how easily M/n ignored how Joseph was clearly grinding against the god's thighs. Merely adjusting his position to smack the Joestar with a scaled hand, earning a yelp.

"But you're harder than usual, aren't you?"

“...?”

"Shut up, Jojo!" Caesar snapped, watching how the god's face turned a deep shade of scarlet. Nearly yelped when another shifting motion caused the male's cock to rut against his own. Muffling a curse in Italian, he watched how M/n turned even darker, obviously catching what he had said. Joseph, noting their reactions, moved to run a hand over M/n's inner thigh to grope at his shaft, earning a shaky purr. For a moment, the god seemed to look as if he was going to argue before rolling his hips. "Do you have any shame?"

"Says Mr. Womanizer!" He retorted, resting his chin on the god's head as Caesar moved his gaze to avoid seeing what Joseph's hand was doing between the god's legs. "You're clearly thinking about it, right? I mean, he's the god of lust. I bet you want to ride him. Or...I could switch places with M/n here so you could-"

"Jojo!"

"Well, if you want M/n to stay between us then I could-" A low warning growl cut him off, causing Joseph's eyes to widen and his motions to slow. "Sorry, forgot you don't like being...I'll give you a blowjob to make it up to you when I get this muzzle off."

"...why do you think I'll want that?" Judging by the motion of his hips, Caesar thought it was easy to tell what exactly the god wanted Joseph to do, yet any complaint he had was in the back of his throat. The sight and sweet scent of the god's smoke mingled with his senses and he was finding it hard to ignore the heat in between his own legs. Joseph's hands went back to somewhere between the god's legs, earning a low coo from the male, who grumbled before rolling his hips to the motion. "Seriously, can you not wait till we're not freezing?"

"It'll warm you up."

"..." Caesar looked between the two, holding back the urge to buck his hips or openly complain about them, seeming to ignore him for a few seconds. M/n tilted his head when Caesar ran a hand over his shoulder before humming when the Italian male kissed him. Openly ignoring the sound of delight from Joseph, as he worked on pulling them both in closer. Pulling away, he felt fangs scrape at his bottom lip while Joseph was quick to bump the side of the muzzle against the god's cheek.

"So, do you want to ride him?"

"Don't make me regret this."

"Please, if we're going to do this, then can we not argue?"

"I make no promises." Joseph remarked, hands lazily wandering now that he had been given blanket consent, rolling his hips with the same relaxed desire. Not quite desperate for anything intense to start up, yet clearly wanting more. M/n hummed in response, awkwardly moving his head to nip at Joseph's throat while claws ran down Caesar's hip. The blond watched how his fangs broke skin and thin trails of red ran down tanned skin before a forked tongue swiped at the flesh. Caesar watched how the different segments moved out of sync and adjusted his hips before grabbing at the god's own to start with a slow grinding motion. Usually, he was in full control ‌of the situation, almost all of his past partners being female, and he rarely bottomed for anyone. "Caesar, would you get mad if I sat on M/n's face?"

"Why not ask M/n first?" The god drawled out, sarcasm dripping from his words despite how he licked his lips at the question. Caesar rolled his eyes at the both of them, remembering how much they bicker when given the opportunity to talk to each other. "Sides, I need to prep him, not like I can use my hands for this."

"I could-"

"I'd rather take M/n's tongue than your hands, Jojo."

"Way to make me feel good about myself." Joseph grumbled, shifting so M/n could lay on his back and Caesar ignored how Joseph eagerly watched him as he settled his hips down on the male's face only lingering for a second till the god quickly pulled him down completely. Immediately, he could feel the god's tongue swipe against his hole before entering him. His hands quickly pressed on the god's chest as he rocked roughly against the male's mouth. Given his immortality, it wasn't as if M/n was at risk of suffocating. Joseph was quick to line himself up with M/n’s cock. Completely ignoring the lack of prep or lube as he slammed himself down, earning a deep groan from the god which ran through the tongue deep inside of Caesar. "Now, this is a good look for you, Caesarnova! He hit your prostate yet?"

"S-shut up...!" It was at that moment, ironically enough, that M/n actually hit his prostate. So, while Joseph set a rather unforgiving pace for himself, he was forced to awkwardly find a position where he could lean into the god's mouth as his vision flickered in and out at how quickly M/n was moving inside of him. "Oh cazzo...Profondo...Profondo...grazie, grazie, grazie...oh, per favore io'farò qualsiasi cosa....caro dio..."

"Wow...he must be...ah...really going deep...fuck...wonder what would happen if I-"

"Don't you dare wrap your hands-" Caesar was distracted by the god bucking his hips up while forcing Caesar's ass to be pressed even further against his face. Tongue not focusing on any spot other than his prostate, which earned a series of desperate curses and prayers from Caesar in his native tongue. He was so distracted that he didn't even react at first to Joseph actually moving their dicks to be pressed against each other. Stroking the both of them off in a rough pace that caused Caesar to groan and glare at him. "I will kill you."

"Now you sound like M/n!" Joseph laughed, moving faster with his hand while bouncing up and down with a delighted sigh. Hands digging into M/n's sides to get a better balance while he rocked slightly before slamming back down. Causing the god to groan while Caesar leaned into both motions despite his original distaste towards Joseph jerking him off. "Hey, do you think if I used hamon, you'd feel even better?"

"I will...ah...use hamon to power my-" A hand hit his flank to stop him from talking as the god dug his talons into Caesar's sides to prevent him from moving away.

"Aw, come on M/n, I wanted to hear what he had to say." There was a flicker beneath him and Joseph practically screamed when the god's form changed and he found his insides stretched even more. His head fell onto Caesar's shoulder and the blond could feel a line of saliva run down his skin as the god bucked his hips up experimentally. "Fuck..."

"G-get off me!"

"Aw, come on, Caesilo, you're close. I can feel it. You might as well enjoy it." Joseph's breath was shaky and a few whines escaped his lips as he continued to bounce up and down.

"Caesilo? I got the other two, but what are you even going for with that one?"

"Caesar and gigolo."

"What's a gigolo?"

"A guy who gets paid to sleep with a woman, or a male prostitute."

"I'm going to kill-" Both came. Caesar with a muffled curse and Joseph with a delighted shout, and M/n hummed. Tapping at the blond's hip so he'd move off once he collected himself. Sitting up, M/n was quick to help Joseph off of him and Caesar. Already digging through their backpacks to pull out the closest thing they had to a towel. Finding nothing, he was about to groan in frustration before one fell onto his head from nowhere. His eyes momentarily followed the cum running down Joseph's thighs and the god's hips.

"Thanks Man-Handler."

"That's not his name!" M/n snapped, voice more raspy than usual, as something brushed against Caesar's sides, earning a slight huff from him.

"Yes it is, Egotistical Man-Handler. I remembered what you said."

"I said Narcissistic Cannibal and you know it, Joseph!"

"Same thing."

"...just sit on my fucking face. I don't want to have this argument."

"No need to tell me twice...unless Caesar would want to-"

"I'll ride M/n."

"Again...really good at boosting my self esteem here."

Dear god, one who ate everything, did this world begin to feed you?

The greatest theory to the world is that there is, in fact, a god, and he is hungry. And if God is truly hungry, then let him eat. I wish the god of this place would accept defeat, put what remains in the jaws of death, and I am left broken down like a rifle. We are here to be loved and eaten.

God serves as both the table and hunger.

"You don't have to hold back all the time. This is supposed to be an exercise to strengthen me, right?" Joseph watched how the god rolled his eyes. Bit like a prick. Wasn’t a surprise since Cas was rather moody as of late. Hell, M/n only seemed more hissy when the rebound strike of his clackers missed completely. They broke the concrete and tile before returning to his hands, and Joseph twirled the set as M/n watched him. The crackle of hamon and the metallic clicking filled the air. M/n stood there silently, then lunged with the wooden staff he’d taken for this session, his movements reminiscent of a snake striking. He jolted backwards as the staff struck the ground where he’d been standing. M/n remained still. Eyes unblinking as he watched Joseph.

"Holding back?"

"Yeah, I saw you fight Wamuu. I know what kind of punch you have. Don't hold back, I have to learn how to deal with fighting someone that outmatches me in raw strength and speed." Joseph charged again. M/n was still avoiding attacking. His steps messy enough for Joseph to make M/n unbalanced and stagger. Easy shot. With a slight growl M/n tossed the staff aside, his chest barely on the ground before Joseph felt the god’s boot slam in his chest. When he looked up, M/n was back to silently watching him. "There you go. Why don't you use your trident? Or I don't know actually attack me for once?!?"

"You'll use it to fight the pillar man, right?" Joseph watched how his face fell. "Still, Wamuu was right, dear god. All you ever do is wait for someone to attack you. You watch people and set your stance on that one you're doing right now. I mean, your posture looks like a soldier, but you aren't fighting like one."

He almost felt bad when he saw a haunted look appear in M/n's eyes before the god shook his head.

"I'm not a soldier...I have no country to fight for, nor do I desire wars. As for my methods; I find it better to observe and work off an opponent rather than strike first." Joseph charged again. Then he was on the ground. The wooden staff on his throat before he reacted. Joseph felt his heart hammer inside his chest...he hadn't even seen him move. "I can get to where I can predict an opponent's move by their heartbeat with this tactic and defeat them in a few quick movements. My trident is a weapon that's more destructive than its worth, and I don't even remember what happened when I fought Wamuu. I won't bring that weapon out unless it's an emergency."

"This isn't an emergency?"

"What?" M/n flinched, staggering back and allowing Joseph to knock him down to the ground. The hamon user watched his face pale, and the god stuttered something out in a mix of languages that weren't English.

"Are you okay?" He blinked down at the god, who stared up at him.

"...you're not going to die."

"Who said anything about me dying?"

"You did, didn't you?" The god sounded panicked, borderline desperate, and Joseph loosened his grip. "You said you were dying, but you're not going to die here...I won't allow it, Hierophant."

"I didn't say that," Joseph was kicked off. Rolling across the tile before the end of the god's staff was slammed inches from his head, taking a shaky breath, he watched how the god stared down at him. Pupils blown wide and shaking with tension in his shoulders. M/n looked feral. "Are you sure it was me you heard, M/n?"

"I don't...who else would it be? I...it was your voice..." He snarled, fangs flashing, and he was tapping his foot again. "Never mind! Let's just keep going with this training."

"I'm not sure we should-"

"You need to be prepared. That's the end of the story."

"I don't think it is. You keep showing these signs that there's something wrong, yet you keep backing off. I want to help you. Besides, you keep calling me your hierophant for a reason, right? I'm meant to help you. Might as well let me do my job."

"I don't need-"

"Everyone needs something, that's what Granny Erina says." Joseph interrupted, tapping at the staff to remind the god that he still had him pinned. M/n didn't seem to notice. "You're clearly dealing with some stuff, you want to get over it, and you're having difficulties with it. That's what other people are for. Let me in. I can help you, or at the very least, try to help you."

"...stop saying that...just stop..." A tear fell on Joseph's cheek, running down his face, all while the god shook and shivered. "Why do you always…?"

"Why do I always what, M/n?" M/n finally seemed to realize their position and scrambled back. Throwing the staff across the arena with a frustrated hiss. Joseph watched how he absentmindedly pulled at his top to scratch and rip at the scar tissue on his chest. Ichor stained his claws as he tapped his heel at a rapid pace. "M/n, calm down."

"Then stop talking about this!" M/n cried out, claws ripping deeper into his flesh. Joseph shot to his feet to stop him only for the god to back up as if expecting an attack. "If you don't want to train, we can just go our separate ways for the rest of the day. That would be fine with me."

"I think we have to talk about this."

"I don't!"

"You know, you ramble a lot more than usual when you're drunk." The god jolted, confused at the sudden shift in topic, before his eyes widened in realization and his skin grew even paler. "And a lot of the things you said were pretty concerning, like call a doctor concerning, so I really think we should-"

"I'm not crazy! I don't care if I'm the God of Insanity and Madness, I'm not crazy!" He flashed his fangs in warning, causing Joseph to quickly hold his hands up to placate the god. "I know that's what people think, I know that, but I'm completely rational!"

"You don't sound rational right now. M/n, let me help you."

"I'm so tired of you all saying that shit!" He snarled out. Form briefly flickering and Joseph wondered if he had pushed too far, yet it resettled and the god was still in his mortal disguise. "Stop telling me that the goal is to get over it...I can't! I've tried..."

"You all...?"

"Everyone! You, Santana, Robert, Dio, Jonathan...all of you kept talking about getting over it! Getting better! I've tried that! I tried all of that shit no matter what anyone else says! I went to therapy! I sat and listened to people try to figure out what the problem was and it didn't work! I'm still the same, aren't I? I don't get better, I don't get fixed, I never...I was born broken...you could've asked anyone, and they'd tell you that. Ajamu, my father....everyone thought that, and they were right!" M/n waved a hand, seeming to be more so an afterthought as he tapped his foot, free hand going to scratch at the scar on his throat. "What do you even want me to get over? Dying? Becoming a god? My mother dying? Being used as a weapon to massacre a town? How many people I've killed? Losing Jonathan and Dio? The voices my stand carries? Or how about getting captured and tortured by a literal god for who knows how long? Being tortured in hell? Or...do you want me to get over...being raped?"

"..." Joseph went silent at how broken M/n sounded, let alone the last detail he just revealed. But he didn't have time to speak before the god was laughing as tears ran down his cheeks.

"That's the worst part of all of this, you know? I should get over it! I have had eons to get over it all, right? I should be better. I keep thinking that I'm getting better...that I was supposed to be doing better, but I'm not. M’not getting better...maybe I never was. That's the thing I think I miss the most, the idea that..." He snickered, shoulders slouching. "Being mortal gives you definition. Life is a race, it has a finish line. You don't meet that line at the same time as the other racers, but you know it exists, that you get to reach it eventually no matter what. It never lies in that regard. The world holds you and tells you it is beautiful, that it is worth living, that it will end and you will have existed and that is beautiful. It's a promise. You could take a hundred years to cross the finish line, or twenty-three, yet you reach it. Because of that; you age, you have to grow and change because the world wills it. As an immortal...what's the point of running? Sure, as a mortal you could take a slow pace, but there's no point in even running now. The world will change and you will stay the same. You won't age and grow in the same way as those around you. There's nothing for you. Do you know what happens? Do you know how or why I have such a good grasp of major events? Everything repeats! The universe ages till everything dies...and then a big bang happens and it all starts again! Major events keep happening in the same way and it's all the fucking same! I've lived long enough for three of those events to have accrued. Ajamu lived through at least eight! I'm still the exact fucking same! I'll get to where this reality is gone, the planet, the people...I mean, Wind-Knight's Lot is lovely, but it won't last. Every animal will eventually pass away, every plant will wither, and soon it will erode till it doesn't even exist...the entire world, the entire universe, all of it in comparison to a god's lifespan...it's all so small, Joseph."

"..."

"You must hate me." As if he had lost the will, M/n simply sank to the floor, resting on his knees, expression still in a manic grin despite how hollow his eyes were in comparison. "You have...You must have realized I'm the monster in this story...I'm the reason everything bad happened, I'm the reason everything bad keeps happening...I've been a curse on the Joestar bloodline since I was given sanctuary by Sir...The mask, the deaths...it was on me. I'm the reason you never knew your parents...knew my saint...If I'm to be the champion of anything, it would be the champion of corpses. Come on, don't you want to attack me!?! It isn't as if hamon will kill me, so come on, let it out! You should attack me! Don't you want to end me?"

The crackle of hamon filled the air.

…M/n smiled.

So be a good dog in the American summer.

In these dog days of summer, I stopped what I was doing, looking around at the world I lived in, the world I made, I realized...I farmed all this for you. Worked in all these fields, twirled wheat between my fingers, pulled up spuds, and tilled till the end of the world was upon me. The reaper met me at the gates to the garden and I laughed. In all those warm dog days I burned my palms for you, broke my back for you, broke my knees for you, ached bright red in the summer sun.

For a goal, that actually meant something.

I kept you fed.

You scratched me behind the ears. It was all I ever wanted.

'Good dog'.

"...?" The blow you had braced for didn't land. Instead, the sensation of burning flesh was only a small spot in your shoulder. Something smothered by your own regeneration. It didn't matter. It didn't even last. Yet there wasn't a chance to speak before Joseph finally spoke, voice more somber than you ever heard it, and you flinched when the sound hit your ears.

"There, it's done," he dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around you, and your face was suddenly pressed into his chest as your trickster took a shaky breath. "I vanquished the 'monster', and all that remains is my friend; M/n."

"...you...?"

"I'm not leaving." His hold caused you to rock back and forth in his arms, earning a confused whimper from you. "I'm not going to leave today, tomorrow, or the day after. Yeah, I'll die someday, but that doesn't mean you're getting rid of me. I'll break out of heaven to talk with you if needed. You're my friend, probably my best friend, and I love you. I don't hate you, I've never hated you, M/n. Yeah, I think at times you're edgy, and too prim, and a bit of an airhead when it comes to people, and oblivious, and-"

"Hey, I'm not-"

"And a bit of a bastard, but you're loyal, trusting, kind, even if you give death threats all the time, and-"

"Joseph," your voice broke, head slumping against his chest as the tears ran down your face, and Joseph ran a hand up and down your back. For once, completely calm and willing to wait it out. "I'm sorry...I should be better...I was supposed to be better..."

"Okay, that just means we need a different plan of attack, right? That's fine. We'll figure it out."

"..."

"It will get better. You'll get better. It may hurt, and it may take time, but it will happen." You shuddered, part of you wanting to snap or just sigh and tell Joseph you were beyond fixing, yet...you wanted to be fixed. You wanted to break away and repair what good was left in you. "Still, I think that's enough training for today."

"Yeah..." You mumble out, feeling how he hooks his arms around you to easily pull you up onto your feet. You're still shaky, swaying to where he needs to brace you, but you feel clearer. You wonder if that hamon was to thank for the clarity, but you don't have the guts to say it. "Think Lisa Lisa will hunt us down if we vanish for the rest of the day?"

"Eh, probably not. Hot bath?"

"I'll wash your back if you wash mine."

"Deal. Sides, I wanted to tell you about Suzie Q. You know, I think she'd make a great mom someday."

"Oh, with Caesar? I have to admit, they'd make a great couple. Their kids would be cute." Joseph twitched in anger at the shaky grin that formed on your face.

"You get five seconds to run." Hamon coated each word as you managed to laugh.

"You wouldn't. We just had that big heart-to-heart, be nice to me. I'm fragile right now."

"Four, three, two..."

You were gone before he finished speaking, though you were certain he'd catch up by the time you reached your room.

I want to go home.

This place is the same as it ever was, yet the air is sharper and stings my eyes. I want to be held by my lover and kept safe as he cries, and I hope he never has to realize that I was the one who brought it to its knees.

And I want to be remembered, not only for my failure, but the way I chose this place to be the one I make better.

And I want to go.

"Is there a reason you're cooking at this hour?" M/n twitched, looking over his shoulder at Santana before going back to the many dishes he had spread out throughout the island's main kitchen. The god gave a shrug of the shoulders as he adjusted his position to place a large roast down on a spare counter. Heels tapping against the tile in quick succession as he checked something that was cooking. Setting a platter of pastries down on the table, and slid it towards the pillar man.

"Had trouble sleeping, so I figured I'd do some busywork till I could rest." Watching out of the corner of his eye, the god felt a surge of satisfaction when he saw the male pick up a crepe and take a bite out of it. "Does that taste good?"

"Too sweet."

"Oh, don't have much of a sweet tooth? I'll make a batch that's less sweet and then a side glaze that will add a spark of flavor." M/n murmured, as Santana was on his third crepe, stirring a pot and bringing it to a simmer as he examined the meal he was making. "...you produce sexually, not asexually, right?"

"..."

"I was just asking! I don't know, you can practically turn into a liquid. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing I've seen in my life." M/n defended himself, ignoring how Santana rolled his eyes, before looking back to the redhead. "So, you had parents, right?"

"I did." M/n paused at that before asking his next question.

"...were you the one who killed them?"

"No," Santana murmured, voice getting softer, and you watched as he examined the spread before grabbing a muffin. "I didn't see them after I joined Kars. I wasn't even present when Kars massacred my tribe. The last conversation we had was our disagreement about me siding with him."

"..."

"What about your parents?"

"I killed both of them." M/n admitted, voice emotionless as if reciting the weather, yet the shaking of his hands told the true story. "I only regret killing my mom. I didn't even mean to kill her."

"...?"

"I ran away from home when my familiar developed to avoid hurting her, but I got attacked years later by someone whose ability was to make you hallucinate. I panicked and...I guess on some level I wanted to feel safe and I ran home. I thought I attacked the enemy, but the illusion flickered and I was staring at her dead body in the river. I didn't believe it...I didn't want to believe it. I just ran and hoped it wasn't real...I was still under the illusion...I wanted it to just be a trick."

"And your father?"

"He wasn't a good man, or I never knew him as a good man. My mom, she didn't enjoy talking about the guy that won her over, but she made it sound like at one point he made her happy...then I came along. The scar I had across my face was from him. I was...I think seven. Either way, all I ever knew was a loud drunk with no warmth or kindness left in him. When I was fourteen, I was wandering through the town I was staying at because of my familiar's hunger nearly leaving me on the verge of starvation. I saw him leaving a bar. I tracked him down the alley and finished him off."

"..."

"I hated him. I always hated him. Not like he liked me that much...the whole reason he gave me that scar across my face was just to prove a point. That I was born broken. I didn't cry like I should've. He wished he never had children."

"Was he the same man when you killed him?"

"The thing he said to me as he died was how he had been right all along." The god leaned against the counter and looked down at his claws in thought. "He didn't give a fuck about me...do you miss your parents?"

"...I don't know." Santana looked back down to the platter, eyes narrowing slightly, and he sighed. "I believe that ascension was a goal, and still is a goal, worth the sacrifices...yet, I wish they would've been able to see it."

"A goal worth the sacrifices...? Hm, is standing in the sun worth it? I mean, I'm part snake, so believe me when I say I really like the sun, but is it really worth all the deaths?"

"To stand in the sun...to reach perfection...that's the only goal I have left."

"...understood." M/n sighed, before suddenly pausing and blinking, and Santana barely opened his mouth before the god was turning on his heel to face him. "Do you know what a god's right of conquest is?"

"No."

"It happens when a god is killed, and another takes their place. Every belonging and item they've collected goes to them unless lost, destroyed, or if the item revolves around a contract or promise of the god in question. With each god killed, the newest god gets not only that god's items, but the items they obtained through their own ascension."

"...?"

"I got every item of Ajamu's, and then in turn, all items he obtained became mine to own. Normally all those items would be stored in the god's realm, but my familiar has a storage space that can hold whatever I want, so I just had all those items moved." Santana tilted his head, wondering where exactly the god was going with this line of dialogue. Or if he was just hoping to distract the other from the dark topic they had been talking about. Suddenly his stand appeared and Santana tensed when the beast tilted its muzzle in his direction. Yet all the god did was reach into his stand's chest. Pulling out a series of faded looking scrolls and books that were slowly placed next to Santana on the table. "I have a lot of items like these...most of them, well, all of them are in languages that I can't even read. If you can read them, or even if you think you'll eventually be able to read them, then you're free to keep them. It isn't as if they have any use wasting away."

"...thank you, my Lord." Santana murmured, tracing his thumb over the spine of a book on top of the pile. None of them were coated in dust despite their age and seemed to be in perfect condition.

"Hey, there's no need to thank me! I just wanted to get you a gift. Think of it as a parting gift if you really want to. I mean, it gives you something to remember me by if we don't cross paths at some point."

"What do you mean?"

"Hm? Well, don't you plan on leaving once this is all over?"

"I'm not leaving." The god froze at that and looked at him in confusion. "Once this is over, I still plan on serving you. I've heard it mentioned that you own land called Wind-Knight's Lot. I plan on staying there with you, my Lord."

"..."

"I assume the others will end up choosing the same."

"The others? I don't think...I mean...those three don't seem like they'd want to live some quiet life on a farm. And their personalities are certainly...I don't even think Wamuu likes me that much...I get you wanting to stay...but..."

"Wamuu will follow Kars no matter where he goes. Esidisi may have argued if you were human, but given his past place in the tribes, he'll be eager to follow a god."

"That doesn't make me feel any better about this. And...what about Kars?"

"...Kars...I don't think there is anything that will make Kars lose interest from the way he's interacted with you."

"...great. I...that's really great to hear. I love that."

"No, you don't."

"I know." M/n hissed out, shaking his head to clear his mind before giving Santana a shaky smile. "We'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there."

"..."

"But...if that's what you want, then there will always be a room for you at Wind-Knight's Lot, Santana."

There's history in all these walls. Blood, sweat, and tears, and all that, but also hopes and dreams. All mixed into the mud and clay of these bricks, torn open on the sidewalk and ripped open soon after. Bleeding out on the turf.

The process of creation imbues things with an irreplaceable being. To tear down a house is to kill it, to rebuild it is to revive it, all bright and plastic...with grain stuck in the edges like a bad photocopy. a zombie in place of a home.

I'd like to have my old home back, but I know it will never be the same.

Besides, there's something to be said for finally mustering the courage to tear down old walls. To abandon the past is to make space for something new and beautiful. A life longer and more winding than Ariadne's thread is now getting tugged at. Being pulled back and forth over the sharp edge of the reaper's scythe.

I let it all fall uselessly to the floor.

My fingers are shaking, and my patience is short.

So, if I can't untangle this mess, I'll take a hatchet and hack it apart.

You stand in a meadow with the sun shining upon you, a faint breeze is blowing, and your talons are working to tie together a flower chain. Honestly, you still aren't sure why this was the thing you decided to do. Most dreams only seemed to reach a conclusion if you wandered around, but this was the action you chose to take. The act of creation. A silly little thing in all honesty. Flower weaving was more difficult for you than it was worth. You wouldn't even be able to keep the chain once it was complete. A worthless action...and yet...you really hoped that you could make something out of this.

"Hello, how did you get here?" You jolted at the voice, nearly jumping out of the flower patch you remained crouched in, and when you spun around to see who was talking, you went still. Standing a few feet across from you was...Jonathan...but it was Jonathan at age...thirteen, if you had to guess, and despite this dream placing you in your god form, minus the haunting skull, he was smiling at you.

"I just ended up here...I'm sorry...am I intruding?" You managed to hiss out, trying to ignore the urge to run away at full speed and never look back.

"No, no, you're fine." He was quick to assure you, peering past your frame to stare at the chain you had allowed to fall to the floor. "Did I startle you?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. I wasn't paying attention." Despite the panic running through your veins, you forced yourself to sit back down. Grabbing the chain, you settled into a sitting position so Jonathan could then settle at your side. It felt strange to see your saint in a dream again, let alone at this age rather than the young man that had died. "What brought you here?"

"I...I don't remember. Do you know how you ended up here?"

"I guess...I guess I just ended up here." You murmured, reached for a lily to add to the chain, feeling how Jonathan leaned against your side to watch how your hands worked. You wished you didn't have the scales, especially in your mortal form, and now you were just left waiting for the moment where he finally left.

"Are...are you an angel?"

"...what?" Your eyes snapped open, and you felt him tense at your side.

"I'm sorry, I just assumed because-"

"It's fine. I just...didn't expect it...but, no, I'm not an angel."

"Oh..." This was it. Now that you denied he was going to make the accurate assumption that you were a demon if you weren't from heaven, and with your snake-like features, you couldn't even blame him for it. "Then are you from a pantheon?"

"...?"

"I just..." His hand rested on your arm, fingers carefully tracing over the point where darkened skin met black scales, and yet he didn't flinch or run away. "You remind me of some gods I've read about."

"A god, huh? You must really enjoy myths...but, no, I wouldn't consider myself a god or angel...I don't even believe in that kind of thing more times than not." You swallowed, allowing him to take the finished chain, and you watched how he eagerly examined it. Could remember how his hamon made flowers bloom, yet it was hard to imagine when seeing him like this. "What...what do you want to do in your life?"

"I want to be an archeologist."

"A noble job. To chase for knowledge is important, and to rediscover history is to learn and grow from it."

"I want to find tombs and lost cities." He whispered out, sounding as if he was describing the entire universe to you, and easily you could remember a thousand times where he had talked about his goals while you had nothing to talk about in turn.

"I'm sure you'll be the best."

"You remind me of someone."

"I do?"

"Yeah, my friend M/n. You both talk and act the same."

"...M/n...sounds interesting...what kind of person is he?"

"He's...tired."

"Tired?"

"He always has dark circles under his eyes. He doesn't do most activities as if he doesn't have any energy most days, and he seems like something bad happened."

"...?"

"He has all these scars and seems tense." Jonathan frowned, and you held back the urge to apologize, but then he smiled at you. "Yet...he's kind, smart, and he really does care despite how he acts."

"Sounds...complicated."

"He is, but it's worth it. He's worth it."

"He is?"

"He's my best friend."

"That's...I'm sure he's glad that he has you in his life." You whispered out, feeling shocked and drained, and you swallowed down any tears before they formed.

"I hope so. I didn't have any friends before him, and then I got Danny..."

"It must've been lonely."

"It was, are you lonely...?"

"...me? I guess I was...but...now I have people in my life. Or rather, I always had someone, and I loved that someone, but it still...I guess I just hate to be in an empty room. I always liked to lie to myself and claim that I loved being alone, that I was perfect for such a thing, but I...I really hate being alone."

"And you're not alone now?"

"No, I'm not."

"Then that's good. Do you like the people you're around? Are they nice?"

"They're...yeah, they are. Annoying, loud, and way too nice. I don't know what I did to deserve them."

"Maybe you don't know, but maybe they see something in you that you can't."

"Maybe."

"...you seem sad."

"I guess...but I think...I think I'm getting better."

He doesn't answer, and when you look back towards where Jonathan had been...you're alone.

Like always.

Good things don't happen to heroes.

So you choose to be the bad guy, but that writes the end of your story in darker ink than a hero's fate in purple prose. And it bleeds through all the pages, so you tear them out. The book is useless as a memorial now. And it seems your grave will be the scattered remains of all you have wrought.

It was you.

You were the one who hurt the hero.

You hurt yourself.

Self destruct.

With a shaky cry the god pulled himself up onto the docks, form water locked and shaky from being down in the ocean for so long. Despite not needing the oxygen, you were quick to take panicked gasps of air. You were cold. Water weighing you down, making your clothes, hair, and scales feel far too heavy. Your vision blurs and swims, a part of you screaming that something beneath the ocean needed you, that it was calling for you. You swayed, legs awkwardly kicking as you fully climbed on top of the wooden docks, and you heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, despite your night vision, the figure was impossible to pinpoint...yet...

"Dio? Dio, is that you?"

"No." The voice that reaches your ears belongs to Santana rather than Dio, and you slump back down on the boards as you finally recognize him. "It's me; Santana."

"Oh...I'm sorry. I don't..." You shook your head, struggling to remember what had led you into the depths. You must've been sleepwalking again. The pillar man frowned, watching how the god trembled from his place on the ground. "Who is Dio, my Lord?"

"Dio…Dio is...or, Dio was..." He frowned, eyes flashing gold in the dark, and he slowly rose to his feet. "He was...someone I knew years ago...he used the mask to become a vampire and we had to track him down. That was when my saint was still alive. He and my saint both died in a battle on a boat. Erina, Joseph's grandmother, was the only one to survive the encounter."

"You loved him."

"Huh?" M/n looked up at him, eyes wide, and the god couldn't help but note that Santana hadn't phrased it as a question. Then again, Santana had a pretty consistent streak of phrasing things like a statement rather than a question. Iit didn't help that he was right more times than not.

"I've heard you say his name in your sleep."

"Oh...I don't really...I don't use the word love much anymore."

"Why not?"

"The former god...he wanted me to say that I loved him. Most of his punishments revolved around me having to say that to him while being hurt. I guess, along the way, I just started associating it with pain."

"You're letting him have control over you, even now?"

"I don't...not intentionally." M/n frowned, before shaking his head with a sigh. "I'm saying it again...not as much as I would like, but it's becoming easier over time. I hope soon enough...never mind. Did you come out here to get me?"

"I was planning on pulling you from the sea if you hadn't awoken."

"Thanks." He shook himself like a wet dog, Santana still far enough that he wasn't worried about the spray. As he watched how the god adjusted himself before giving him a small smile. "Hope I didn't distract you from those books I gave you."

"I needed a break."

"Oh please, I know you. You'd be willing to sit and decipher those for days on end. I'm sorry for distracting you." The god came to stand at the pillar man's side, water dripping from his frame and down onto the wooden boards below. Santana observed how he was shivering from the chill in the air. "Don't worry, I don't plan on going back to bed tonight. You won't have to go chasing after me again."

"It's worth it."

"Is it?"

"To me it is." M/n looked at him, expression in a look of pure shock, before he shook his head with a soft sigh.

"Then that's...then...Okay..."

"Let me get a towel to dry you off."

"I...I think I want to stay out here for just a little while longer." His gaze had gone to the bright gleam of the moon in the sky. Allowing Santana to see the universe reflected in his gaze, before the god’s face was suddenly gone. Replaced by the skull wearing form that Santana had seen once before. "I wonder; does the night sky mean anything to you? You see it every night, but I do as well, so...are you sick of it?"

"..."

"Creation is something all gods are capable of. I can make animals, plants, but if push comes to shove...the stars and universe are just things to be created." Opening his palm, Santana was allowed to view a variation of the universe swirl and churn in his scaled palm. "I've seen stars be born and die as easily as flowers in a garden...three eons passed before I ended up here...yet the universe or galaxy...or even galaxies seem to remain consistent. Then again, I've never truly lived till now throughout those eons, so what do I know?"

"Why are you mentioning this?"

"Dio…well, he threw away the sunlight to become a vampire. To him, the night was worth far more than whatever the sun could give him. Funny, vampires chase away the sun which brings forth hamon and sunlight, yet embrace the moon...something that controls the tides and ocean." Santana gained the distinct feeling that the god was frowning beneath the pale white of bone. "In all my dreams...I see him, or hear him, or perhaps feel his presence. A call. Even in the waking world, it feels like something is lurking in the depths of the ocean waiting for me. I feel the call, but don't respond to it. Yet, when I'm asleep, it seems as if the urge to dive beneath the waters is ever present and I can't resist it...unless something is with me. To think, I always fell for men named for bodies of water, or at least close enough to be named after a body of water if you indulged in wordplay, and now a faded love is linked with the ocean...I don't even get it anymore. Wait, Jonathan also died at sea, so better make two faded loves."

"You used the word love."

"I...guess I did." The skull bobbed when the god shook his head quickly before a gold glow lit up in one of the eye sockets. "Still, I owe you, not for this, or rather, not just for this. I...I owe you a lot."

"You saved my life."

"I wasn't planning on letting you die." His shoulders sagged ever so slightly. "You...you were justified in your attack at the base, given what they planned on doing to you to better learn the secrets of the mask."

"You swore that you'd save the others despite having every reason to end their lives in the cavern where they awoke." His eyes darted towards the god's chest. Easily able to detect the ring that remained despite his transformation, and then the replica that rested on his hand. It would've been easy for the god to get rid of them all, yet he didn't.

"I don't intend to break that promise, no matter how much they...bother me. Still, I suppose..." There was a single flicker of the god’s stand and he held up a set of tiles the moment the beast vanished. Santana noticed how each was patterned to resemble different rosaries. "I did a lot of odd jobs when I was a mortal. I wasn't in a good financial situation back then, and one job I held was to take care of an old church...ironic, I know. Either way, the head priest there was a man by the name of Father Agnello, who took me under his wing since...he thought I needed guidance. I definitely did. These tile sets were one of his favorite ways to test the mind, body, and soul...to grab the entire set and fold them on top of each other and then close your hand while avoiding the risk of crushing them. To have self control. It was essential to learn how to control my familiar when I was younger."

Each tile was folded in one motion and the god closed his hand, black scales clicking against each other, and he opened them to reveal the unbroken tiles. Santana held out his hand, and the god dropped them into the pillar man's palm. Santana mimicked his actions and felt a wave of satisfaction when the tiles weren't broken.

"Guess you have perfect control."

"You cared for the priest."

"I did. He was the one who taught me Italian."

"..."

"Anyway, I owe you. You may not get why, or at least not be fully certain of why, but you've really helped me a lot since you got here. I didn't know how to repay you looking back, but I finally figured out something. Even though I'm pretty sure our host won't be happy with me." Santana tilted his head to the side, and the god once again drew something out of his stand. The tiles being hidden away once more. M/n was purposefully holding his hand in such a way, so whatever he planned on giving the pillar man was hidden. Making a single gesture with his free hand, the god purred in contentment when Santana held out a palm. M/n reached out, setting the item down and slowly closing Santana's hand around it. "I think the biggest problem with this is that the gift can't be fully yours...it'll end up having to go back to our host before the month ends...but I think you'll like it either way."

"...?"

Opening his palm, Santana was greeted with the Red Stone of Aja.

"This is..."

"I promised you, didn't I? That if you agreed to follow me, I would help you achieve your goals. I'd get you what you wanted, and you said that ascension was the only goal you had left. The only goal worth anything. So, here it is." The god gave a shaky laugh, hand rubbing at the side of the white skull, and his heel tapped against the planks. "Like I said; Lisa Lisa won't be happy once she finds out what I did, what I'm doing right now, but I trust you."

"..."

"She argued with me about you, but I told her you were my responsibility. If this goes bad...I'm supposed to get rid of you. I'm not going to lie to you, but I don't think there was ever any risk of you backstabbing me or going back to the others. I mean, you would've insisted on going with me and the others when we first discovered the other pillar men...or you could've stolen the stone before I swiped it and merely left to rejoin the others." A single hand wave allowed him to grab one of the stone masks that had been at the German base in Mexico. "One time use. That's all I can give you with it because of the current circumstances. After that, it'll go back to Lisa Lisa till this key problem has been resolved."

"This is really the red stone...?"

"Do I seem like the type to give you a fake?"

"..." Santana sank into a bow, causing the god to make a confused huff in response. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Don't thank me. Like I said; you've done a lot for me. This is also what I promised you, and I intend to keep every oath I've made." He tilted his head, skull swaying at the motion, as he moved the mask back and forth to examine the details. "Will this need to be modified? The mask is used with the red stone to ascend, right? Is this the wrong version of the mask?"

"It can be modified."

"Really? Is that something that can be done with the supplies on hand, or is that only something that Kars could do as your former leader?"

"I've observed and created my own versions of the mask while in servitude to them."

"Easy enough to change?"

"Yes."

"Then how long will it take for this to be ready?"

"At most two hours." He noticeably perked up at that, happily handing the mask over to the pillar man, only to pause when the pillar man didn't move to alter the mask. "That can wait."

"Wait...? But this is what you've been waiting for!"

"I'll have the mask ready for tomorrow. I'll wear it once the sun's risen. For now, I have something more important to do."

"...?"

"You're still soaking wet. Let me prepare a towel and dry you off."

"You know, you don't have to do all this. Rotten work."

"Not to me."

"...okay, just give me a moment and I'll follow you inside, I promise." Santana examined the god for a moment before nodding and vanishing into the building. Earning a sigh from the god. His form flickered back to his mortal disguise and his gaze went to the moon hung in the sky above. Absentmindedly, he scratched at his chest, this time stopping before he broke through the scar tissue, with his heels clicking to a tune he didn't even know.

'Was I really...did I really want to tell Santana that I loved him just now? Why didn't I?'

He didn't have an answer.

I've been fighting my whole life, so much I can't even recognize my own face anymore. I wonder, what does it mean to not be able to identify yourself without the presence of scars?

If the god before me served as the call for revolution, then I suppose I'm the aftermath.

Abandoned soldiers in the wreckage and serve to ruin our bandage supply. The sword has turned inwards and I can't seem to leave it be.

To let it go.

...to let go.

To move on.

"So, are you nervous? I mean, I get it, this is a huge change to be going through...I mean...I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like since I never knew I'd become a god...I just ended up as one, so it really doesn't seem like my kind of know how, but I'm sure I'm the closest thing to this whole 'using the mask for ascension' thing in the first place-"

"I won't use the mask until you calm down."

"Ah...okay, I'll be quiet." Santana's face was in the same steady expression it was at all times. Honestly, the slightly shocked look he had given you yesterday when you gave him the red stone was the most expressive you had seen him since meeting the red head. Swallowing down more panicked ramblings, since this whole thing was pretty far out of your wheelhouse, you took a series of breaths through your ruined lungs till you evened out. "But are you nervous?"

"...no."

"You don't sound that confident."

"Would you be?"

"Santana, I never wanted to be a god in the first place...I don't think I'd be willing to do anything quite like this, even if I wanted to see the sun. You're a lot more driven than I've ever been."

"Yet you killed god."

"Okay, maybe I was driven, but that was pretty self destructive even if it saved a lot of people."

"What was it like?"

"To ascend?" Santana nodded, causing you to frown at the memory of the events that transpired all those eons ago. It wasn't your favorite thing in the world to remember. "I'm not sure what it would feel like in your case...my perspective was my death, which was a very slow dragged out affair on its own, and then I was...dead, for a while, and that was...bad. I went to hell, and I was stuck in a cycle of torture for what felt like eons on its own. Though I know it wasn't actually that long, I awoke in my god form...that was it. It was overwhelming because of the change from blood to ichor, but I was just relieved to be out of hell...then I got distracted by other matters. I'm assuming that given your current state, you won't die before ascending...likely it will be a harsh amount of overstimulation. Sensory overload...or maybe like the mask when creating a vampire, you'll be temporarily put in a state of death..."

"..."

"If this goes badly...I think I could reverse the effects if you want me to. It would be difficult since I rarely do anything to mess with reality...not since I became god and tried to fix the timeline, but I'm willing to do it should you want me to."

"Thank you." Despite his words, you're certain that he won't ask that of you, no matter if things go bad. Still, you almost hold your breath when he looks at you and grabs the mask, now equipped with the red stone, and the pillar man covers his face. You stare into the stone features of the mask...trying not to let the sight drag you back into the past. Remembering what needs to be used to make the mask react, you can see Santana moving to cut himself, yet you move first. A splash of golden ichor stains the mask. You don't know why you did it since you weren't even sure if the ichor would activate it, yet the spines shoot out.

The light is borderline blinding, causing you to cover your eyes quickly. Only to be met with the sound of the door leading to the balcony being practically smashed open. You jolted, whipping your head around to stare out the balcony where you couldn't see a hint of Santana...something tore deep in your chest.

…had he really jumped?

Was it too much? Had it been from using your ichor to activate the mask? What the hell...?!?

Instinct took control and you lunged through the opening, leaning over the balcony railing to look down for any sign of your servant, yet you didn't see anything. Where was he? Had he gone into the ocean? Or had...had it not properly worked because of your ichor being the starting fuel instead of human blood? Had you killed him? A panic attack was forming because if he was dead you had no evidence, but if he ended up in the ocean you'd have difficulty tracking him down...what had you done?

But...if he wasn't dead then you may be able to...reality while tricky was something that could be...

The sound of wingbeats above your head caused you to still before looking up, freezing at the sight that greeted you; Santana was in the air above...body altered so his arms were replaced with the wings of an avian, a golden eagle, with the light of the sun making him glow. Almost like an angel.

"Santana...?" The pillar man landed on the balcony next to you, allowing you to watch how his wings morphed and shifted back into his arms. You shivered at the sight, how easily flesh and skin morphed to pin and down feathers and vice versa. It was strange to see so slowly. Yet...this wasn't anything similar to your own ascension, he didn't have a clear god form from what you could tell, he didn't seem to have entered a state of temporary death, and this morphing...short of a stand ability you hadn't seen anything similar, or even close, to that. "You're..."

You trailed off. Santana's gaze wasn't going back to you, instead it remained pointed towards the ocean and the way the sun hovered over the water. He seemed too stunned to even speak. You couldn't blame him in the slightest and remained silent for a moment, watching how his eyes remained somewhat misty, as if he may shed a tear or not. This was one of the first times you could see such open awe despite how reserved his expression usually was, yet...

"Do you trust me?" You asked him without thinking. Mentally you still weren't sure what exactly you were planning, but as Santana looked back to you, there was only a beat before you held out your hand.

"Of course."

"Then let me show you something." You grinned when he took your hand, and the familiar presence of the void was something you willingly sought out and grabbed. Allowing the darker force to coat the both of you. You were certain that you must look borderline manic, but the idea that had popped into your head certainly seemed worth it. "Now, I'm not super familiar with teleporting since I really don't do it that often...and I haven't taken anybody else with me before, so you may end up feeling a little dizzy or somewhat displaced, but just keep hold of me and it'll work out just fine. I have some places I want to show you."

"...you're rambling again."

"I am." The sensation of reality rippling was something that you had never grown used to when compared to the other aspects of being a god. Mainly because this method of transportation wasn't something that truly relied on you, rather the void itself. You had a feeling that if push came to shove, you'd be able to find your own way to get places, but the void was far quicker. From reaching Speedwagon when you learned that Jonathan and Dio had died. Or to get to the coast when Speedwagon asked you to go to New York so you could hitch a ride on the boat. Ultimately, it was easy enough to tug at what had once served as your home and use it. The void's hum was a loud buzz in the back of your mind, echoing and intermingling with the voice's chatter, till reality altered to your whim.

You then stepped back. Laughter escaping your lips because it actually worked, and you had made a good choice. Since the two of you were welcomed by waves splashing against the shore and gulls. This place wasn't somewhere you frequented often. You didn't even know if it was named, but there wasn't anywhere else that shone this brightly. The ocean rivaled a bed of sapphires. The sand was so white that it reflected the sun's light, making it almost too bright, but it also served as a brilliant spot to view the sun. You looked over to Santana, realizing that while you were openly laughing, he had yet to make a sound, but you went still at what you saw. Santana seemed almost frozen, eyes wide opened and staring in...awe? Or perhaps something more than that. In reality, he almost looked like a child that was being shown real magic, the kind of awe that left you trembling in turn. It was childlike. The first time Santana had ever appeared innocent. You were left in a strange sense of awe yourself when you saw tears start to run down his cheeks...you weren't sure what to say or do, this wasn't what you expected to see. He was...you could see his lips moving into a smile, another true first, but the tears...you didn't know what to do.

"This is one of my favorite places near the ocean. I actually stumbled upon it by total accident, but this place...I thought you'd enjoy it."

"..."

"Actually, this place is only about three hundred miles from Wind-Knight's Lot. Once this is all said and done with we could come here more often, if you'd want to, I mean, I'm not opposed to some summer days spent at the beach." Santana looked over at you after that remark. Something in his gaze told you he wanted to, and you smiled at the thought. A part of you still was certain that your own death was on the horizon...yet having something solid, something that you were promising, it made you more certain that you would be able to see tomorrow. Because you made this a promise, and you didn't break your promises, right?

"Thank you for showing me this place."

"It's nothing...or, I mean, not that hard for me to do. Don't worry about it. I'd tell you flat out if I wasn't capable of doing something, or I wouldn't offer. That aside; you want to see my favorite place this world offers? The sun should be right above it at this time of day, and I think it'll outshine this beach, but worse comes to worse we can just come back." You once again held out your hand so Santana could once again make his own decision, because despite what he said, you really wanted him to make his own choices.

His hand rested on top of your own.

You grinned as the void sang.

So, I ask you, is this how the world ends, my dear?

It isn't how you expected it. Not with an explosion, but with the people who created it.

With the last heartbeat of a boy falling through the endless voice,

With the flames of a boy choosing to burn away the last remnants of the place he once called home,

With the whispers of the void and a boy trapped in his own mind,

With the tears of one who is stuck as a ghost and can't comprehend the disaster that has befallen him,

With the sparks of an explosion from a lit bottle,

With the glee of someone far too broken to care for himself,

With the screams of someone who only ever wanted happiness for those he cared for,

With the laughter of a god too consumed by his own ego to understand what he has cost both to himself and those around him,

And with the silence of a boy so tired of war and hurt and heartache.

The world ends in bloody revenge, shouted from the roofs until everyone's throats are raw.

And the world ends in silence, because this is how these things always finish.

Santana staggered when they vanished and reappeared a second time. The feeling reminded him of falling from a great height only to be back on his feet as if nothing had happened seconds before impact. A sudden motion informed him that the god had let go of his hand. Opening his eyes, he saw that M/n was no longer standing in front of him, though it wasn't as if he had just left after dropping Santana here. The pillar man could sense his presence moving around their environment. Yet it was the environment he found himself in that had Santana going completely still.

M/n had brought them to an underground cavern. Massive spirals of different crystals and gems extending from almost every point of rock. Nearly preventing him from seeing the gray or slate of regular stones and minerals. The sun shining from a single break in the cavern's ceiling made the entire cave glow in a series of rainbow multi-colored lights. Nearly blinding Santana till his form changed and adapted. If he had once imagined the light of the sun as a more intense version of Kars's mode, yet in this space, even on that beach, M/n had taken him to... Well, it was now clear that Kars's ability was a mere imitation. One that couldn't compare. Yet...in that past he had followed Kars because he had thought, or assumed, that Kars having a mode of light meant that he was destined to be the one to finally achieve ascension.

Others in the tribes, while never even considering ascension as a possibility, had always placed Kars above many others that had tried to match him. Even if he hadn't been born to the chieftain of one of the strongest tribes, it wouldn’t have mattered. The discovery of his mode, an ability thought impossible given their weakness to the sun, would've signaled him as someone important. A gift from the gods. That was how they interpreted his natural ability. Even without his political position, there had been a firm push to keep Kars close to the shamans and temples of each tribe he went to no matter how small the circumstance. Talk of his father having a different heir. Despite how one child was standard given their long lifespans just so Kars could serve in the temples because of that belief. Yet Kars, at least the few times he had seen the other before the massacres started, merely seemed disinterested with the idea. It didn't seem as if he wanted to be next in line to his father's legacy or deep in the halls of the temples. Kars had always been a scientist when push came to shove. Everything else was to further a goal, or something that bored him.

A motion from above alerted him to the god's exact presence, but the sound of something being moved was the only clue to M/n's actions before more sunlight absolutely flooded the caverns, nearly blinding Santana. The pillar man shuddered at how intense the lights became. In a swift motion, the god dropped and landed on a crystal. Where he sprawled across the surface like a content cat. The warm grin he gave the pillar man faced in the light made Santana nearly drop into a bow. It made sense the god would consider this to be his favorite place the world offered. In fact, this location was the closest thing to the Christian concept of heaven he had seen. Just the sight of M/n coated in glowing light, his form having shifted so his skin was a dark ashen color while those red markings glowed against his skin. It only added to the preexisting lights, was the most godly he had seen the other since they met.

"Are you okay?" M/n's face flashed with a mix of panic and concern, and Santana opened his mouth to respond when he felt moisture running down his cheeks. "Seriously, you were getting teary-eyed before, but now you're really crying. Is this too much for you? I...I'm sorry, I should've known that your eyes would be really sensitive to light. I can recover the opening if that would-"

"Thank you, my Lord."

"...?" The god's face gained a distinct hue even when coated in the lights once he realized why Santana was crying. "It...it really isn't that impressive, bud. I was just trying to make sure you...I mean, I wanted you to get your money's worth...? No, no, that isn't right. I just wanted you to see the best I could offer with you now being able to stand in the sun. Really, I'm just glad you agreed to come with me. Not like I was gonna force you to come."

"..."

"You...you really like this and the beach, right?"

"I do."

"Good...good...that's good. This land is actually in the mountains on the edge of Wind-Knight's lot...I come here a lot since...well, I have a thing for shiny things. I actually at some point thought about taking a few of these to carve and use...but I like the caverns a lot more. Better to be here. Cooler and more soothing. Plus, you can cover part of the opening if the lights ever get too intense. My eyes are actually pretty light sensitive, though...I hope I can show you the rest of Wind-Knight's Lot when we have the time."

"..."

M/n paused at the sound of bones cracking and flesh rippling. Whipping his head around to ask if there was a problem, he watched how Santana's frame changed to accommodate scales and feathers. M/n was glad his mouth was closed, otherwise he'd certainly be open-mouthed and drooling at the transformation. Honestly, he could only blame it on his stand. Or maybe that one incident with Ajamu where he played with a god's ability to create and made those lizard-men things. Because now, whenever he saw anything humanoid with reptilian features, his title as god of lust became his most apparent trait. Curse his stand for doing that because now he felt like a starving dog seeing a steak. He swallowed twice, then a third time, just so he could articulate.

"Wha...what are you doing?"

"You like this form."

"Huh...?!?"

"You're getting more aroused than normal."

"...must you say that so casually?" He hissed out, feeling tired and hot in ways that made his scales twitch, and really it was only the fact that he was trying to avoid just jumping the pillar man. Though there was a part of him that wondered if Ajamu would freak out as much as the lizard-men incident. The one time outside of their last battle where he had scared the god, but he should be able to contain himself.

"I want you to react like that."

"You've been hanging out with Joseph too much." He gets out, registering the shift in motion before he sees it, and he feels scales and feathers brush against his skin before he's pulled into a kiss.

It feels right.

In all my dreams, as of late I see a long dead friend. He has, as I now remember, been gone for far too long. And yet, here, he is still the same. For it seems as if the dead are changeless.

It makes sense. It isn't as if they age. Instead, I'm the one who changed over the years. You would not recognize the person who's standing here today. Yet, even as the changed one here, I look to you and ask what's happened. As if it matters.

He looks back at me.

He laughs.

'I've been up in heaven enjoying the bounty.'

Your form has been left bound in a massive lake of pitch black tar.

Your legs are so deep in the tar that you can't see past your thighs. A thick collar binds over your throat with a chain extending far into the sky to where you can't even see the end. Your hands are completely encased in metal casings so you can't use them. Unlike the chain on your throat, the chains connecting to the casings sink into the tar like the rest of you. The air is oppressive, your reduced lung capacity makes you wheeze. The band of heavy metal around your throat combined with the lump of scar tissue under your skin only makes you feel frail and helpless. Glowing red eyes stare at you from every darkened corner of the empty void, preventing even an inch of blank space. Unless you closed your eyes and tried to ignore the constant whispering. Too loud. Too many eyes. They were all watching you. All staring.

'They're waiting for me to slip up! They're all waiting for me to slip and fall...this is just walking across a tightrope, stuck in a balancing act that won't ever end, but I won't! I don't care that they're all watching! They have to, right? Cause I'm god. They all want to watch to make sure I don't slip. The moment I slip, they're all gonna pounce and attack me. I'll be ripped apart.'

The chanting grew only louder and louder.

'I won't slip.'

You struggled, tugging and pulling at the chains, hoping to get your hands free, yet the internal padding kept you from even moving your fingers. You'd have to break the chain and then smash the casing against something.

'I can't slip!'

You snapped your jaws at the many eyes that merely stared back, unaffected.

'I must've messed up...'

They wouldn't stop staring at you. They kept talking and talking and talking...

'I can do better!'

Why couldn't they be fucking quiet?!?

'I still have too much to do.'

Your ears were bleeding.

'Shut up!'

They didn't listen. Could they even hear you? Had they ever heard you? You doubted it.

'I have to stay strong. I have to keep going. I can't slip. I have to get up. I have to pull myself free. I have to be better. I have to be bigger. I have to be taller. I have to be stronger. They're all watching. I have to be terrifying. I have to be horrifying. I have to be vicious! I have to keep going.'

Were they drawing closer?

'If I slip up for even a second...I'll die. Gods are nothing permanent. They can all be killed and replaced with yet another person. You'll be replaced if you can't give enough. If you can't help enough.'

The whispering only grew louder.

'They're all waiting for me to slip.'

It had changed from whispering to loud howling.

'I can't hear myself think anymore...'

You slammed the casings against each other as hard as possible, growling at how it did nothing visible, and screaming started as you kept smashing the casings against each other. You had to escape. You had to.

"Stop yelling!"

…

"...you're just...I'm just...I won’t slip, you hear me? I won't slip! I'm M/n Sirius Black, firstborn son and heir to the Black family despite my status as a bastard, son of Ophelia Mary Black, a soldier who took down god...I'm...not going to slip! I can keep going! Stop...stop looking at me..."

…

"...?"

Maybe these weren't even the voices inside your stand, maybe they instead belonged to the world...after all, you were god. Maybe they were watching to make sure you made the right choice. You were supposed to make the right choices here. Of course, of course, they had to be monitoring you. You needed them to keep watch over you. Then...why were you so scared? Why did you keep flinching at their gazes? You shouldn't be scared by this kind of thing, right?

"I'm not a coward..."

But that was a lie. You always ran when things got tough. You didn't finish the fight till there was no other option. That was it, right N/n? You were a coward who sat and waited till everyone else was dead. People ended up dead, and you still sat and did nothing. You hadn't always been like that though...you used to spend countless nights as the predator. A hunter in every aspect, chasing down the worse you could find and ending them the moment they even thought about acting. Like the killer that caught young women and made them run through the woods while he hunted them with night vision goggles and a hunting rifle. Even though your life had depended on people trying to kill you, and you never even tried to seek those stand users out, you rarely waited.

"Why do I keep hesitating...?"

Ajamu. It was Ajamu who had clamped a hand over your mouth and told you that your choices didn't matter. You'd make the wrong one no matter what. You needed a hand on your back. You needed a compass. That had been what ruined your relationship with Jonathan. Because, maybe, if you had been a person who didn't hesitate, you'd have kissed him even if the two of you couldn't have been a couple. You would've at least let him confess to you. What ever happened to that kind of guy? The M/n you had been as a mortal.

"...he didn't die, did he?"

That was an excuse. You didn't want to change, or maybe like Ajamu had pointed out, you were so desperate to hurt yourself that you kept being the same problem you'd always been.

"..."

M/n, the mortal version of you, had been better. Light hearted, bullheaded, violent, but caring. You had laughed and cheered with the others in your life and had been a good person...or as good of a person as you could be given your stand's hunger. You had friends. You went to clubs and bars to get drunk and flirt because it was fun. Who cared if your stand made you horny or not? You liked the attention. You liked the feeling of casual flings despite your daydreams of getting married and living some romantic life. Sure, back when you started fighting other stands more often you grew cautious, staying in the shadows to gain a feeling before starting the fight, but that was all. You were a fighter.

"Vince...?"

Red vines growing over you...taking away your control when you massacred the town. You had learned of his full place in the incident long after he was dead, but his stand powered another's. You had allowed him to use it on you plenty of times. Had he...how many times had he influenced you without you even realizing it? How many times had he taken control of you? There were so many blank segments of your memory that you chalked up to being so old...just things fading...for a while, you couldn’t recall even your last name. Which was why you hadn't told Jonathan it back then...yet now...it was...what had he done to you?

"...I was...I was a coward..."

You let him do that, didn't you? Had you asked him to take control...no, no, why couldn't you remember? What started it?

"I'm still a coward..."

What kind of coward lets his boyfriend take control of him like that? He could've made you do anything and you wouldn't know.

"But...ha...I was still braver than all of you!"

For a moment, it was easy to see the eyes as your former teammates.

"I actually did it! I didn't hide behind you guys...I stayed alive and won even with everything he did to me! I won! I was the strongest! I need to stop being your doormat! I'm still the strongest!"

You could imagine a pair narrowing in hatred.

"That was it, wasn't it? M/n is the strong one. He never gets nervous...his stand is the strongest here...he's a monster. But I knew what my worth was back then, so you had to change that for me. It was a gift, right? I didn't ask about things after that. I took what was given. I killed whoever was needed. Heracles went on the labors so they'd kill him for what he did to his family...I was the same."

No response.

"You know, I'm pretty sure that I'm worthless if I can't be of service to someone...I wonder if Santana feels like that."

You wished someone would talk instead of you.

"I always give. I wait, and I wait, and I wait...yet, nothing breaks the camel's back? What will break the camel's back?"

You wished you had killed Vince despite your feelings towards him.

"Just give it to M/n. M/n is younger, stronger...give him all the heavy shit you don't want to shoulder."

You wished you had killed Ajamu in your first fight with him.

"Who am I if I can't keep up with the demands?"

Joseph would know the answer to that if you asked him, right? Or Dio…or Jonathan...actually, you really wanted to ask Robert. You had a feeling he'd get that question.

"Just give it to M/n...I've always been strong enough. Sure, I can't fight an army of stand users when you won't even let me use a roll of bandages because you're more important than I am, although you don't fight jack shit but...I'm stronger. Everyone got front row tickets, ain't they grand? Come see if M/n can hang on just a little longer, so we don't have to do shit."

You sighed.

"I don't know who I am if I can't carry it all on my shoulders, ya know?"

You swore that someone was standing in between the eyes. Though they had far too many eyes to be human, so you chalked it up as a hallucination.

"I keep hiding how I feel because I'm hesitating...I worry that someone will take advantage and hurt me...hurt the people I care about...but I bottle it up and then the dam breaks..."

Joseph actually helped you, although you blew up at him.

"I think about my ideas of my purpose, and I can't help but wonder if I'm actually able to preserve it? I mean, can I really be helping something or someone forever? I don't think I can exist after that runs out."

…

"You all liked that."

…

"Just give it to M/n. It isn't as if it hurts him that much, I mean back then I still felt pain, but who cares about him, right? Let's just stand back and watch. See if he can handle every minor burden the world gives you."

You frowned.

"I hate all of you. But...I still...a part of me will probably still care...I hate that. This whole thing fucking sucks. But...I'm the strongest. I'm the fastest. I was the smartest. I figured out Ajamu's weakness. I won."

You laughed.

"I am the strongest!"

Your shoulders bobbed at the motion.

"I can win this."

…

"No, I'm going to win. I'm going to win and get better. Because I'm strong enough to get over this hurdle."

You smiled.

"Why shouldn't I be able to do that? I'm god, right? If it becomes decided that I'm needed, then I'm allowed to choose to help, but I will help and the world will be stirred. If a god chooses to be the villain of the story again, then 'heaven' will know my presence."

You smashed the casing together again. This time, cracks were forming, and your grin only grew wider.

"That's it! I get to choose my burdens this time!"

Your mind went to the ring in your chest as the casing continued to break...to the ring in Joseph's chest.

"He's worth it. They're worth it."

No one answered.

"So, all of you, watch. I'm gonna buckle, I'm gonna bend at the weight..."

…

"But I never break. I always get back up."

You had lost a lot...but you didn't break.

"This time I...this time I want people to give me things to do. I want to help people. I want to help. I want to be given these tasks not because they'd hate me if I didn't...but because I want to carry the burden..."

You laughed as the chains broke finally.

"Unlike you, who kept giving me these burdens, never wondering if that same weight would've pulled you under the fucking water. You know what, I'm gonna have trouble...I'm gonna relapse and hesitate despite myself, but I'm going to get better and improve. Relapses happen. That's...Joseph pointed out how it would be difficult, but I will get there. That's what matters. "

You pulled at the chain on your throat.

"Who am I if I don't have what it takes?"

Yet, as the chain on your neck snapped, and the broken chunks of steel fell into the tar, you decided that the question didn't hurt to ask anymore.

The tar didn't feel as deep as before, either.

Over five thousand years ago in history, the three pillar men became known to the hamon masters of the world. Becoming a threat because of the use of the stone mask they had created. Under their leader's orders, hundreds, if not thousands, of humans were captured. They were then used as test subjects for the ever evolving stone mask. Men, women, children, the elderly all were used as lab rats. Even with current levels of science and technology, the Speedwagon Foundation remains unable to pinpoint exactly how the spines of the mask work. All we have is the base thesis that they're used to unlock, or awaken, a part of the brain and when used on a human, it transforms them into a vampire. The pillar men then use them as their primary source of food.

But all of those inhuman experiments served a deeper purpose.

Ultimately, the goal was to create a variant of the mask strong enough that they'd be able to stand in the sunlight without harm. This variant would then make them the perfect life forms.

Even thousands of years later, the conversations lingered and impacted the world.

"A mere drop of blood will cause the spines to extend," the purple-haired male whispered out. The room inside the long abandoned temple carrying his voice easily. Only to be drowned out by the howling of the storm outside. On some level, he had assumed that, despite how naïve such an idea may have been ‌that after the massacres were finished, things would flow more smoothly. What harm could humans do when compared to ending his own race? Yet this storm...the winds outside could only be linked to the screaming of the damned, as if all of his tribes were howling in unison. His eyes narrowed at the sound. He swore he could hear his own name be howled alongside the crack of thunder that shook the temple's very foundations. His fingers trailed over the pale white and stone gray of the mask, the features still not completed, and he nearly growled in frustration. "While used on a mortal, it serves to transform them into a vampire, which feeds off of blood rather than flesh and can create ghouls."

The mask was only growing more difficult to perfect, serving as a constant challenge for him. The spines of the mask were ingenious, one of his best works yet...but it couldn't break through their skulls. No matter how much he enhanced it, short of running a constant current of hamon through the spines, even if a thought of making the spines completely organic came to mind, there was no way to simply make a mask that could break through his own skull without making it something that could kill him in turn.

"The longest wait between the spines activating and the subject waking was twenty-one days, four hours, twelve minutes, and three seconds."

This challenge served to be as addictive as it was frustrating.

"Yet it still hasn't been able to crack the skull of a pillar man, let alone give the desired results."

Everything had, on some level, come naturally to him during his time in the tribes. The only thing that had ever given him trouble was the few times he had been taught to interact with the gods in their temples. No matter how hard he prayed, how much incense was burned, or how many potions and tonic he consumed, there was nothing. No matter what the gods seemed unwilling to talk with him, a problem Esidisi had never seemed to have if one could believe the other. He had chalked it up to a fluke, that there was something wrong with the method rather than himself, but now? Now it was obvious that he would have to be patient.

"Could it be that our anatomy naturally counteracts my methods?" A god would greet him at the time of his ascension. Of that, he was certain. After all, had it not been the gods who had blessed him with his mode? The ability that first pulled him towards his pursuit of the sun and the heavens above was their doing. Clearly, they were waiting for him to achieve what he was destined for. Yet...what was the trail of natural disasters? Why did they keep following him and the others like a starved beast chasing a lame rabbit? "If so, then using our natural weaknesses; the sun and hamon, comes to be the natural conclusion."

A particularly harsh clash against the walls echoed like the roar of a beast. All Kars did was crush the failed mask in one hand and reach for a different type that had been far quicker in its results.

"It'll have to be light enough not to spread beyond the main points of contact, yet quick enough to push past the natural speed of our regeneration." His eyes fell onto the small, inconspicuous shard of red stone that rested on the table. Slowly lifting it to the light of the torch beside him, all while the storm rose in a dangerous pitch, he hummed at the laser that burned a hole against the wall. Ending once, he moved it away from the light source. "While extremely rare, almost as if only having one source of origin, it shows to have a natural blueprint to hamon and life energy encoded within. Should I find a complete version of this stone and combine it with the mask…?"

The storm reached an apex outside of the temple. Harsh enough that he could hear the other grow restless and concerned from deep within the ancient halls, yet he didn't look away from the task at hand.

"Then it would no longer need blood to activate the spines of the mask. Instead, the sun itself would activate the mask before one could be harmed by the sun's rays. This crystal, with the ability to naturally strengthen the intensity of light, serves as nature's greatest gift to me." So he crushed the fragment in his palm and allowed the dust to be blown by the breeze that flowed through his chambers. "A perfect stone, with no defects, could be equipped within the mask. This will be how I achieve ascension."

As if drawn in by his claim, the heavens were silenced. It seems they had entered the eye of the storm.

How undignified was your exit?

And yet, how typical, just like the rest of your life.

Don't you see?

You were torn down for your defiance.

Poor child of fate.

"So, if you fail this test, do you think Lisa Lisa will try to kill you or me again?" The god asked, looking up at the night sky to see the cloudless expanse, hearing how Joseph was messing with the ends of his clackers absentmindedly.

"Probably you. I don't think she's ever going to forgive you for using the red stone on Santana."

"Yeah, I probably deserve that one." Truth be told M/n was pretty lucky that he had reacted fast enough to dodge that scarf of hers, and then got to see up close and personal when Santana moved to defend him that the pillar man now had the ability to use hamon himself, either way you were pretty sure that woman would figure out a way to kill you before long. Though...if she managed you had a feeling the world would be in decent enough hands. While biased, she was fair mostly, and he couldn't blame her for the hostility.

"Though I wish you had invited me to see him gain perfection."

"You just find that body morphing ability hot."

"And you don't?!? He turns into a snake monster now, M/n!"

"...I know." The god mentally cursed at how hot his face turned at the reminder. Only to go silent when he looked up ahead and saw the arena where Joseph was supposed to fight Loggins. Immediately, he flinched and covered his eyes at the deep amount of red and oranges that filled his vision. "Do you see that?"

"Are you hallucinating again? Because I really-" Joseph went silent as he too stared at the arena. The air was rippling, almost as if it belonged in a desert rather than here in Air Supplena Island. "Um, what causes that, M/n?"

"Heat...lots of heat and humidity. That's pretty common in deserts. But it shouldn't be possible...unless someone set a fire, but we'd be able to see a fire or the smoke if it was intense enough to cause that effect." The two of you had gone completely still. Merely watching how the air rippled and shimmered because of the intense air, and tried not to wince at how bright it was to his heat vision. None of his other layers were being set off by it. Other than his regular vision that saw the effect it had on the air, but that intensity...what caused such a sudden, steady amount of heat in the first place? A temporary fire or explosion would've faded by now, given the lack of smoke or steam. "Hamon doesn't produce that much heat, not even when in contact with the undead, Joseph...I have a bad feeling about this."

"...can you tell if Loggins is still there? If...if he's still alive? Like what you did with that base in Mexico?"

"No. I usually use my heat vision for that...but I can't pick out any individual. This is just a solid mass of heat. I can't even pinpoint where exactly it's originating from, let alone if someone is even there in the first place. This is just...heat."

"Rock paper scissors to see who goes first?"

"...fine."

"...fuck, I want a rematch."

"Nope, go first and have fun, trickster." The groan Joseph gave helped lighten the tension M/n was carrying in his shoulders, but he still felt as if they were about to enter hell. Despite their minor challenge, he stayed by Joseph's side as they walked towards the arena.

At least it would be warm.

The variants of god exist,

Of which there are three, all have at least one thing in common:

They are all tragedies.

The sacrifice was first.

Who began as a bastard and ended as a martyr. A destructive force of nature that burned himself out. A shadow, a shell of what had once been there. A memory of a man without a grave who would rather be forgotten at the end of his life.

The king is second.

One who refuses to go out with a bang. One who looks at what remained of the sacrifice and hopes to move forward. One who takes the attribute of being a force of nature and could even make the heavens shake. Claws and fangs flash. This is a ruler of nothing. A champion of corpses. The ripped up cape that hangs from his hips flutters in the wind.

The god is third, one which we've yet to see.

Who knows what he could be?

Despite their more lighthearted conversation at the start of the trek, the trickster was treading carefully along the path. While he was obviously cautious about the tricks and probabilities of his hamon master, being a venerated and wise fighter that could certainly hide just as many tricks up his metaphorical sleeves as the Joestar, the constant heat waves that danced and whipped against the otherwise cool environment were clearly something to be concerned over. Like M/n pointed out, this was an uncanny event, borderline bizarre, to see this kind of phenomenon outside both the deserts and raging infernos of the world. Was it some kind of environmental effect or mechanism that the island itself held secret? The possibilities and unpredictable nature of every step and aspect of Air Supplena Island had taken him by complete surprise, the tight ropes meant to be stepped upon so delicately less gravity take one's soul, the surrounding waters that flowed endlessly and constantly to isolate the training grounds...everything was likely designed to be a trick or trap.

Yes, it only made logical sense to the trickster that all these heat waves were merely an effect because of the island's mechanisms. Flames, oil, hot irons, or even a giant furnace to roast the trickster alive would be involved in Loggins' ultimate test.

“Oh, come on! This is clearly a trick by Loggins, that nob!”

“Joseph, why are you thinking out loud again?”

“You’re lucky you can’t hear half of the things I think!”

“...you know what? Fair.”

With that bit out of the way, having quelled Joseph's nerves and cut the tension that had formed, the pair marched forward. The shadows formed by the environment and time of day seemed to be coiling and following in perfect aesthetic. Because of the god's presence, it even seemed as if they took form to whisper and coo at them. But in all fairness, a part of M/n remained anxious over the possibility that despite Joseph's idea, this may not be part of the training. Taking a shaky breath, he nearly laughed because of nerves. There was definitely something wrong here.

But what?

“It’s almost dawn. It’s always darkest then.” The courtyard of the island opened up for the both of you, though it was the trickster that entered the arena first. His gaze constantly flashed and raced from every angle and corner of the grounds. Almost as if unable to stay still in the first place. M/n's gaze, however, was attracted almost immediately to the massive spike pit. Long, dark needles of metal emerged from the earth in ample, perfect, and accurate positions. Perfectly aligned for each individual to step upon. While the obvious notion that this would no doubt be used for the test was both as evident as it was clear as day, a part of you had a deep, dark, almost primordial urge to leap forward into the spikes and impale yourself, or perhaps experiment to see if he was able to lie down and not impale himself much like a magician would. You had done it before, of course, seeing how you were immortal and no one could truly stop you...just one more time wouldn't hurt, right...? “You’re thinking of jumping into the spike pit again, aren’t you?”

“...Yes. No. Maybe. Perhaps? Of course not! I wouldn’t...I definitely am.”

“You just gave me EVERY possible answer just now!”

“...shut up.”

“Anyway,” Joseph cracked his knuckles in anticipation and to better ready himself. M/n paused. He...Joseph wasn't actually suspicious of anything being wrong with this, only thinking about it in terms of his training. The last test before they'd become ready to start aiming for the pillar men to get the antidote to the rings inside his frame. He'd be a lot more energetic once this was all over, no doubt, and lacking the presence of Lisa Lisa metaphorically breathing over his shoulders. “Now, where can I expect Loggins to be hiding? Stay sharp, Joseph, eyes open! You’ve got a score to settle with him.”

At least his confidence wasn't wavering. He was eager, prepared, and being made aware of every trick or threat waiting for him. Taking another slow breath, the god jolted at the new scent mixed in with the heat in the air. Certain his eyes flashed a deep gold, he tried to ignore how much he wanted to lick his lips due to hunger.

Only for the sound of dripping blood and the wet, borderline succulent molding of flesh to draw his gaze upward.

Atop one of the many statues of a snarling lion, there was a figure that was nearly impossible to describe because of the sheer heat he was producing, nearly enough to ionize the very air itself, yet it was clear that he was standing on foot with his other leg dug deep into a second body.

“Is…is that-Instructor Loggins?!!” Joseph was left in pure shock. Completely stricken with a thousand coursing needles injecting the cool, merciless touch of fear within his veins. Cold sweat had started to drip down his frame. Chills raced up his spine like a skeleton's fingers dancing upon the keys of a piano. Left paralyzed by its touch. His eyes were widened and shining in the dim lights of the world, like two pearls catching in the light. From within the mask, his voice was left to stutter relentlessly, vibrating and chattering as if it were a malfunctioning machine. Even in the warmth of the figure's aura, he still felt the cold embrace of shock and horror take hold of him. He was left shivering. He almost sounded like a malfunctioning machine. Yet...you could sense his breathing wasn't breaking from its pattern. Fascinating that his breaths were still so accurate and precise. The training of a hamon user morphs their breathing to a solid state even when left petrified due to fear. "Horrible...how unnatural! Instructor Loggins is dead!”

At that the figure turned himself to be facing the both of you, and the familiar face of the second in command of the pillar men set his sights on the pair. Eyes quickly locked and focused on the both of you with an apathetic expression. All while remaining on one foot.

“Esidisi!”

"He snuck here and murdered Loggins...?" The god shivered, his non-existent stomach tightening around nothing at the sight. The sounds and smells that filled all of his senses were setting him on complete instinct. Yet...he hadn't fed his stand since before they first encountered the pillar men in the cavern, making the carnage something that made his stand hiss in hunger. His mouth opened ever so slightly to taste the gore in the air...yet...his body... "Joseph...the blood...look at the puddle that's forming beneath the body."

Joseph nearly snapped at him for the strange remark. Pausing when noticing the ever-growing puddle was sizzling and producing its own amount of steam.

"Wamuu fights with wind, right? What does he fight with...? Why is the body burning with no flame?"

Laughter cuts Joseph off before he can even think about responding.

That cackling...was one of pure pride and self-assurance, akin to one's smugness about being right in a game of trivia they mastered long ago. Except here, the trivia was far from fun facts...rather a matter of divine and theocratic legitimacy. His arms slowly crossed in some sort of dominance from his position on the enraged lion. The apathetic expression that had been set on his face was now replaced with a sly, festering smirk.

"As I had predicted from a god of your nature; hunger." Joseph took a sudden step back at the pillar man's words. How could he not? This was a voice in the world's darkness that spoke to God himself, carrying a confidence that suggests, if not outright states, that he initiated similar encounters with beings as high. Santana had called him a shaman, hadn't he? "You look upon this corpse, that body of the hamon tribe. You could feel a number of emotions that anyone with your divine blood would feel. Loss for a soul snuffed out, guilt for not being here in time to save his short-lived life, anger for how he failed to defeat me, or even apathy for barely knowing this fool. But no, I know the signs in your eyes like the fires of Hades. I saw it so very much with my time in Egypt and Greece, interacting with lands far and wide, pantheons and scholars. Like when Osiris purged and abolished the action from his domain, or when evil spirits would possess and corrupt the souls of these perpetrators far off in the lands known today as 'America'. I'm talking about your fetish for cannibalism. Your mouth waters, your eyes light up with a glutinous desire, and most importantly; the will to feed that hulking familiar of yours."

He let out one final chuckle, the last ember of manic energy before that look of pure apathy returned to his face. Joseph was the first to react while M/n remained silent. Despite how excited the prospect of fighting should make him, all he felt was sick to his non-existent stomach. Because...he was right. The god wasn't much for Loggins as a person. He tended to stay away from the established hamon masters at the island, but as a corpse...the sight was making him and his stand shake with hunger. Narcissistic Cannibal wanted to feast, and any corpse would do no matter who they'd been in life. Hell, even an injury would make your mouth water at this point.

“I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about, but you came to Venice, came here to this island!” Esidisi would growl in interest at the trickster, causing the god to hiss and shift on his heels. Their eyes locked intensely for a moment, as if they were two hot, raging comets orbiting one-another, ready to converge at any moment into a fiery and ionizing inferno. You were terrified of the moment the explosion finally happened. Esidisi's arm pulsed, every muscle and vein expanding and shrinking like a beating heart. The sight of the flesh rising and falling, pulling and pushing, expanding and shrinking with a deep, hot bubbling sound. The mix of sounds and sensations was...sickening, to say the least. Yet, you were more focused on his face. The way he reacted to your trickster, entirely as if had never called you out or referred to you in the first place, as if the whole thing was completely past him. Past both his agenda and primary goal. His next words and the way he set his sights on the rest of Air Supplena Island only drove the panic deeper into your palms like a burning iron.

'The way he's looking around...I mean, clearly, he's realizing that this place is only for training. He's already figured out that the red stone is here, only a matter of time before he knows exactly where on the main island it's been stored...why the fuck didn't I keep it inside of Narcissistic Cannibal? I shouldn't have given it back. Fuck.'

“To think that the woman guarding the stone is merely an island or two over that way.” A single kick was all that was needed to finally send Loggins' body back down to the earth below. A drop that shed minimal blood as his body landed on the edge of the spike pit you still so desperately wanted to impale yourself on, followed by Esidisi dropping down adjacent to the corpse, and began to cross the spike pit towards his destination. M/n's mouth watered at the blood that ran down the spikes he crossed. Still, couldn't he feel pain? Or was his regeneration so good that he didn't concern himself over it? Swallowing it down, he followed Joseph's gaze to Loggins' body. A wide hole was carved in the center of Loggins's chest, almost perfectly hollowed out, lacking any visible organs. As if they had never existed in the first place.

“His lungs were pulled out…" Joseph shuddered, placing a hand over his chest, as if that would somehow protect his own lungs from the sight. “Lungs are vital for Hamon users.”

Did…did he really just say that?

"Um...I think lungs are vital for more than just hamon users, but you're not entirely wrong...dear god, we're so fucked if you're our last line of defense." With a groan, M/n focused back on the pillar man in motion. What was the best option? He obviously fought with heat. Thank god it wasn't frost or ice, but neither of you had a strategy or knew his. 'Block the escape route. Obviously the first step, but what do we do next? Overwhelm him with sheer numbers? Joseph couldn't defeat Wamuu and I'm one wrong move away from lashing out in hunger. No, I have to play to win. Risks be damned.'

Narcissistic Cannibal formed and leapt across the arena till he was blocking Esidisi's route. Causing him to stop in the middle of the spike pit as the stand perched on top of the wall. Tail slowly wagged, so the bells jingled. A death toll.

"M/n, why'd he stop?"

"Cannibal is blocking his path." M/n frowned, noting how his stand's sides had more of a drastic dip than usual. It would be clear to anyone that could see him that the beast was showing signs of hunger. "We can't let him get to the mainland, but...if you run past my stand, you could tell Lisa Lisa what's happening and get her or Santana to come here."

"Me? Why not you?"

"I'm immortal."

"...I'm not leaving you alone here."

"Okay, then we need a plan of attack."

“It had to have been a kick of incredible power…” It was almost as if he hadn't heard you, instead he was back to focusing on Loggins's corpse. It was almost frustrating. Instead of dealing with Esidisi when he was clearly distracted, stopped dead in his tracks by your stand, the trickster merely kneeled down to Loggins's corpse. “The tyrant, Loggins. You yelled at me for three weeks. You were relentless with your instructions.”

Yet, despite the clear animosity that Joseph held towards the hamon master and instructor...it was as if his voice and eyes were unable to hold that ferocity he held. On the contrary, he was being soft-spoken, and his voice only held respect for the dead man, as if over the casket of a long dead friend. It was true, Loggins in the past few weeks had a hard hold over Joseph's head. His barks and screams that sent vibrations through even your own immortal bones, and how he forced Joseph to nearly sweat blood in events that made the Hell-Climb Pillar seem like a gentle ride down the river. But at the end of the day...it had always been for Joseph's own benefit, and your trickster had always known that. “To be honest, I hated you. I was sure that this would be my chance to get you back for everything you did to me…You’ll have to watch from where you are now, instructor.”

Joseph bowed his head, one last form of respect to the teacher, a send off that held none of his usual tricks or mirth. Finally, with that out of the way, his sights were set on your opponent.

…and there it was.

Joseph's eyes held the same fire you had seen in Jonathan when he faced Tarkus after the scholar's death.

“To see what I’ve learned from you!”

Strange, it wasn't as if you could say that you knew Loggins all that well. Maybe at most the two of you shared three conversations just to talk. Yet this was almost comparable to losing another scholar, even if he was more akin to a drill sergeant than anything else.

"Okay, Joseph, now that everything's been said and done; what's the plan?" All the trickster did was ignore your question and run straight at his target. "Goddamn it! I forgot who I was talking to!"

Seeming to have regained himself, or perhaps thinking that he'd be able to beat Narcissistic Cannibal, Esidisi started to walk again. The metallic spikes of the training pit continued to pierce his unprotected feet. Loud, wet, throbbing cracks and bursts filled the air, sending all your senses into haywire and your stand started to let out low coos from its perch at the smell of gore. Soon blood was running down and staining each spike the pillar man used, caking each with a layer of scarlet. It seemed as if he didn't care or didn't even feel the impacts. Normal mortals, at least from your understanding, would be writhing and screaming in agony...yet he wasn't even phased by it in the slightest.

He only stalled when the sound of sparks and metallic tapping drew closer and closer, and soon the trickster stood across from him. With quick sparks of hamon serving to create bright disks of impact on each spike, he crossed over, forcing the impact to be spread across the surface of his boots rather than one fixed point...yet it was the sound that got to you. Sure, it was impressive to see how he maintained full speed without hurting himself, but that metallic clicking sound was nearly sending you into a haze. Almost making you forget about the blood in the air. But only almost. You and your stand were still at risk of falling victim to hunger.

But now Joseph was between the pillar man and Narcissistic Cannibal.

"Hey, Esidisi! I know that I'm six days early, but I'll be taking it now." Esidisi only raised an eyebrow at the trickster, clearly waiting for either a sudden attack or a more in-depth explanation. "That antidote is MINE! And I know you're surprised to see me here, so stop faking it, fucker!"

"..." A groan of annoyance escaped his lips, expression changing to a look of agitation, and the god felt his hair start to stand. “Out of my way, boy. I haven’t the time to deal with you.”

“Oh, I get it, you can go ahead and call out M/n until he’s brutally roasted by your mythological mannerisms but can’t spare five minutes for me!?” M/n couldn't help but blink at that, and on some level, he was certain that he was staring in pure dismay.

"Whose side are you on, trickster?!?"

“I have a point and you know it!”

“Shut up! Now is not the time for this!”

“God is right, boy. Quite frankly, I still don’t have the time, and yet you’re wasting it all away.” All the Joestar did was clench his fists at Esidisi's response, clearly growing far more agitated with his blatant arrogance. Hell, Joseph was even waving his hands around like a theater kid to better prove his point.

"Oh, don't have the time?!? What the hell do you mean? You have a lot more time than I do!" At that, both of them exchanged growls, the tension, or perhaps that hidden ability, being more than enough to boil the surrounding air, and yet Esidisi seemed somewhat impressed with your trickster.

"That was pretty sharp, certainly sharper than your instructor. Perhaps you do have more to offer. At least out of all the mortals I've seen here." Hard to read even from the beginning. You watched how he casually caressed his chin gently, tone still being completely apathetic while his body language could have any real impression placed on it. “But when one looks at me with an obvious challenge like that one…”

His posture suddenly changed, eyes almost seeming as if some unseen force was forcing them open. Hell, with the way he was staring, it was almost as if he had no eyelids to begin with. Despite yourself, a part of you wondered if, like you, he possessed a membrane over his eyes that allowed him to go without blinking. Yet to see such apathy suddenly turned into near manic energy sets you off. It was damn near impossible to read him. One moment he was reading you, the next he was being impatient, and then after that he was the very definition of murderous intent.

The bastard was a walking nightmare, and you could feel the jolt race down the line of your spine far worse than the ice seeping into your core...and yet there was Joseph hopping across the spike pit like a rabbit. No hesitation...almost no visible fear. Just stopping to wave Esidisi over, not allowing instinct to take hold, instead he seemed eager, or perhaps even bloodthirsty, to fight against him.

The voices were screaming in your ears...your own racing heartbeat intermingled with the howling of the masquerade and Joseph's hamon infused steps till your world was a hurricane of noise. Instinct demanded you eat, primal coding in your DNA as a human begged for you to run, the voices couldn't make a decision, and your stand would follow you into whatever fresh hell you decided on. You could take action. Esidisi was focused on Joseph, wasn't he? Take out your trident to impale him through the chest before activating its stand ability, get Narcissistic Cannibal to devour him in a few bites, or merely swallow him whole, or better yet kill him with raw strength like how Ajamu used to beat you to near death.

But...you swore to Santana that you would keep the three alive.

On mere subconscious desire, your form changed to be the god rather than the mortal, skull resting on your left shoulder as added armor rather than a face cover, spinal braids wrapped around your arms...luckily there was no blackout. Unluckily, that meant you had full control over your next actions, be they good or evil, and ultimately, you still had no idea what to do. Less than hesitating, which would be a hell on its own, there was the matter of you lacking any strategy to handle Esidisi. He was as wild as a fire racing across the countryside. You couldn't hope to have figured anything out to kill him, incapacitate him, or even convince him before-

"Is that your plan, god?" You jolted at the question, eyes widening, as he turned his head to you. "Are you going to give in to your madness and maul me like Wamuu?"

"...?"

"M/n..." Joseph hissed out, but you were merely focused on the pillar man who shook his head with a laugh.

"You know, I'm the only one here. The three of us each went our own separate ways to find any leads on the Red Stone of Aja, even if you tortured me till I was begging for death I wouldn't be able to tell you where they went, so that in turn means neither of them know that I'm here. If you killed me now, they wouldn't be able to track this place down to get revenge or the stone." He beckoned with a hand, the gesture over-exaggerated and mocking, earning a loud hiss from both god and stand alike. "So, go ahead. Prove yourself to be a beast unmatched."

…just what the hell was he playing at?

"HEY! What happened to all that time you said you didn't have enough of!?! You seem far more concerned with our dear lord and savior M/n!"

"Please...don't call me your lord and savior. I would prefer this not to happen, to me specifically.” Swallowing down a shudder at the title, you watched how Joseph gained an annoyed expression before he turned to snap at you.

“Oh, come on! Take at least ONE title that doesn't relate back to insanity or cannibalism!"

“Okay, fine...Wamuu’s; ‘Lord of all serpents’ title was a pretty good one. I really liked that one actually, can I keep that?" Clapping your hands together, you gave him an over-exaggerated grin. "Oh, my precious, precious, Hierophant, is that allowed? Can I please keep that one little title to make you feel better...you know, about my own attributes?"

"You two are perhaps the most childish and off-putting relationship between a god and his hierophant that I've ever seen." Despite his earlier complaints about not having enough time, Esidisi seemed more than content to watch the two of you bicker back and forth. Then again, M/n couldn't deny that they had a habit of doing this...well, constantly. Yet, his voice was filled with nothing but the purest comedy, clearly finding this idea absolutely hilarious. Hell, now he was cackling like a madman at your shared antics. Insulting, really. “The both of you act far more like an old married couple than a covenant.”

“I mean…you're not entirely wrong there." Joseph jolted at the god's remark, visibly recoiling, and M/n looked at him in confusion when he placed a hand on his heart and you watched how he scowled through the mask.

“Um, yes he is! I divorced you in my struggle against Wamuu!”

"Wait, I thought we just agreed to go through couple's counseling...and we were never married to begin with!" Once the statement caught up to M/n, the god allowed a loud snarl to escape his lips. "And how fucking dare you! We both know that I would divorce you first, trickster!"

In the middle of the pair's ceaseless arguing and wailing, almost as if growing bored by the whole affair, Esidisi took an ample step forward, causing both to divert their attention back to him. Joseph took a quick leap forward, almost eager, the loud crackle and snapping of hamon to silence out any argument you two had.

"And where do you think YOU'RE going? If we're going to argue and bitch all morning until the sun rises, so be it! I'm taking that ring one way or another! Even if M/n rambles my ears off...again!"

“...hey!”

"I'll tell you this one more time, hierophant; back away! You know that with one touch of my hand, you'll soon be missing half of your body." There it was again. A tone of voice so sure and serious, not a hint of that previous humor, that he must have repeated this one phrase to a thousand other members of the hamon tribe, yet M/n imagined that all of them did exactly what your trickster did...only to fail. Given him still standing here, it was clear that they had all fallen in some way, shape, or form. But what made the reading all the more unsettling was his body language. His face and eyes had gone cold again. Cold and emotionless, as if he were still within the stone wall deep inside the caverns under Italy, still a structure rather than a person. You...you couldn't detect any concern or agitation, but a mere coolness to his stature that contrasted so terribly with his aura that it felt as if the air itself were melting. Untraceable. Unpredictable. Is this what Santana meant? He gave no sign of being about to move or act out...how the hell were you supposed to do anything against this bastard?!?

“Just try to move me!” Falling victim to the taunt, or perhaps growing tired of the bickering, Esidisi moved forward in a nearly unseeable movement, his arm extending towards Joseph in a flash...he must be as fast as a bullet, yet...not as fast as Wamuu, not by a fucking longshot, since, from what you could remember, Wamuu's movements were far more comparable to a cyclone. This movement was easy to see, and it wouldn't take your max speed to intercept it.

Still, right before it could destroy half of the trickster's frame, he halts it with a mere finger, sparks of hamon emitting from the contact as sizzling filled the air as Esidisi was stopped dead in his tracks...just...why the fuck are there so many weird fingers-based attacks in this world?

“Oooh, what’s this now?” Esidisi asked, voice puzzled and intrigued in a way that sounded more genuine than anything else he had said since he first appeared. You couldn't blame him. With only a single finger, the trickster had managed to halt a blow that would've easily removed half of him to be absorbed by...yet he didn't even hesitate. The arcs of hamon were burning the pillar man as it danced and spread over his palm, you had to admit it was impressive, even if you had still disliked hamon, and he could safely say that he had never seen a stand accomplish this kind of feat.

“Oh, look. I’m still here!” Joseph crowed playfully, holding the pillar man back like a mere dog with one finger. "You know, I only move for important things, like dog shit in my path, or...M/n having another rambling panic attack, which he's had several of those past few weeks!"

"Can we stop telling the enemies all this personal information?!? I mean, seriously, what's fucking next?!? My fucking social security numbers?!? Have you considered, oh, I don't fucking know, keeping a secret for once in your fucking life?!?"

"Social security number...? What the hell is that?"

"It started, like, three years ago, you know, American thing...gives money back when you hit a certain age based on the taxes you paid and the amount that comes out of your paycheck. You know what it is!"

"I clearly don't!"

"Hasn't Erina applied for one? Or Robert?"

"How would I know?!?"

"This is only getting on my nerves, I'll just take my leave and let you two argue like elderly people-" With a mere push of Joseph's finger, the arcs of hamon continued to burn away at the flesh of Esidisi's palm, penetrating right through with a loud, fleshy gush of flesh and hamon. The sizzling and ease of the thrust was akin to a hot knife through butter, so much so that you were self-assured in thinking that the point of contact was bubbling and boiling due to the blow. "Using his hamon, he's able to break right through the flesh of my hand!"

He adjusted himself, getting a better angle to peer at the wound, Joseph's finger emitting bright, golden arcs of hamon, almost as if it had taken form as a holy spear of lightning impaling Esidisi. “He’s learned a great deal of control in a very short period of time…You must be so proud of how far your precious hierophant has come. Isn’t that right, God of Insanity?”

“Hey! I thought we agreed on serpents! I personally liked that one!”

"..." Despite the uplifting moment, knowing that Joseph had gained enough strength to easily block an attack of this nature...just why the hell was Esidisi so calm? He was acting almost child-like in how he examined his own wound, mocking you, waving away any concerns that should be made given the situation. It was unnerving. It was infuriating. A part of you felt red hot at his behavior, because he should be impressed and scared of your trickster's abilities, yet you were only growing more concerned by the second. "Of course I'm proud, it isn't as if my Hierophant has been slacking off this past month, but I'm more bothered by your attitude. Do you not feel pain? If so, I can't help but share my sympathy, but otherwise...well, I'm going to assume you're enjoying this."

"On the contrary..." His expression changed once more, the darkened, emotionless features upon Esidisi's face morphing into a look that wouldn't be out of place on a beast from myth. The change was so sudden and inexplicable that it damn near shocked you with how easily he diverts your expectations with mere body language. "My so-called 'impression' at your hierophant's newly developed ability is nothing but mere nostalgia for my past battles."

His fingers suddenly drove inwards, balling into a fist around Joseph's hand, the mere finger now making no difference as a loud and miserable sounding crack echoed through the atmosphere. Joseph barely recoiled at the pillar man's touch, eyes widening at the sudden inexplicable move against him. Esidisi only let out a few grunts of interest as he examined Joseph's hand more. The consistent spray of golden sparks, which had once danced freely like lightning, were now replaced by wisps of steam emitting from the point of penetration. The circulation evidently had been cut off in the attack.

"You've certainly developed new skills, I have to say; I'm rather surprised, almost impressed. But you're still far from ready to fight someone like me!" He started to bend his arm forward, pushing Joseph's finger to a near breaking point, the Joestar's pained grunts now muffled by the sound of bones cracking and flesh grinding. "I've met and devoured countless hamon users thousands of years ago!"

Now your trickster was bent over like a crescent moon, left balancing on a single spike with both of his boot tips. Agony and discomfort were the only sounds the Joestar seemed capable of making. The sounds coming from his arm suggested it was on the verge of shattering or being ripped completely off. While the god remained silent, hoping that his faith in Joseph would be rewarded, his stand was far less quiet in its concern. Narcissistic Cannibal howled in rage, tail lashing and crushing segments of stone tile beneath its tail, and you heard several phrases and curses in Italian and Spanish echo throughout the arena. "If I twist your finger completely off, you'll never use it for hamon ever again! LIKE THIS!!!"

Before the final break could happen, there was a burst of luck, it seemed like all the chips you went all-in with paid off well, and your stand went completely silent as the spin landed on black. Joseph jumped upwards, moving in the opposite direction of Esidisi's twisting, bringing it all to a complete stop as a thin, shiny line of fabric wrapped itself around the pillar man's arm. Joseph balanced himself perfectly despite Esidisi still having a perfect grasp on his finger, now almost floating upside down and staring at Esidisi with a smirk, his demeanor one of complete supremacy beneath that muzzle.

"Oh, so you finally noticed! Your arm is all wrapped up in a loop of fine silk thread. It's completely soaked in vegetable oil, so it REALLY conducts hamon! I admit, I was aiming for your neck, but you didn't give me the chance!"

Esidisi's expression had now changed ever-so satisfyingly to an expression of pure distress. At the most, it was clear that he was humiliated due to the exposed state he'd been left in. You could easily see all the veins beneath his skin moving and throbbing, his teeth grinding and clenching in rage as he stares at the thin line around his arm. Hell, he was so frustrated that he wasn't even moving to intercept or remove the string.

“How could a mortal have done this to me?!” His eyes, now carved into an expression perfect for his hot-blooded anger, followed the thin line as it snaked and coiled throughout the spike pit, all the way until he saw how it was perfectly tied around the arm of the now dead Loggins. "What?!? But that's..."

The line was then pulled, Loggins's arm being lifted up despite how limp it hung in the wire, and the line followed back to Joseph's free hand, now balled into a fist.

"I know, I know, a little morbid for my tastes, but, hey, I'm friends with M/n, and that's as morbid as you can get in this world!"

"Hey! I mean...you're not wrong, but, hey!"

"But still-" Hamon began to channel itself through the string, a long, flowing current of bright, yellow arcs creating a lightning bolt bright enough to make the entire arena glow. M/n quickly closed his eyes to avoid the flash, a slight hiss escaping his lips. Still, From Joseph's fist to Loggins's arm all the way back to Esidisi, the sparks flew as the similar call of hamon played out. The moment his eyes opened, the god was greeted by the sight of Esidisi's arm spasming and violently contorting. "First blood goes to me and my instructor!"

And just like that, Esidisi's arm was forcibly severed from him in a violent, bloody force of life energy and vengeance. The point where flesh had been severed was hot and glowing like the surface of the sun itself. The pillar man let loose a blood-curdling scream of anguish as his eyes tracked his free flying arm, which was soon impaled upon a spike. The once roaring fires of hamon had now cooled allowed a massive surge of dark, fiery blood to flow. There was still a massive curtain of steam emitting from the limb. Yet all Joseph did was retrieve his string, untying it from his teacher's corpse with a precision akin to a whip's crack. Hell, you swore you could hear the sound alongside it.

"Two thousand and five hundred years ago in China, a man wrote 'The Art of War'. He said this: 'Victory is decided before the battle is fought.' That means if you plan to win, you need to lay out strategies while your opponent remains unaware." While Joseph kept going on about Sun Tzu, M/n was watched Esidisi as he felt the ice in him spread despite the heat in the air, or maybe it was due to something else rather than his aliment...either way, Esidisi's gaze was like a pair of red-hot daggers aimed straight at the Joestar. Could looks kill he'd be twenty feet under by now. By just looking at him, let alone reading into his posture, the rage and bloodlust only served to become all the more apparent. The eyes of a killer, or perhaps a monster, finally meeting his match...a look you understood all too well. "It's true that I skipped school a lot, but Granny Erina made damn sure I studied my history! So while you may have a lot of years under your belt, you didn't leave any room in your head for strategy!"

He pointed at his head for a moment, visualizing Esidisi's mistake and do doubt doing it for the sole purpose of rubbing it in, before finally letting out a confident cackle at the pillar man's expense, all before bouncing over a single spike to give the severed limb a hard kick, sending it spinning like a dreidel, disintegrating and vaporizing it with hamon till nothing but white bone rested on the spike it once stood on.

Esidisi responded with a growl, like an animal on the verge of striking. He almost is a blur in your vision from the pure heat he's creating, and his expression is just anger. This was the epitome of pissed off, and it just so happened the one channeling that anger was an evolved being...joy. Wild, trembling, and on the brink of defeat.

“How dare you!”

"Aww, are you angwy? Awe you upset I disintegrated your whittle awm? WELL THEN GET UPSET, I’M FAR MORE FURIOUS THAN YOU! Because of that little ring you saw fit to put inside my neck, and M/n’s shadowy demon form thing, I haven’t slept right for weeks!”

"My...what?"

"Eh, come on, M/n, we all know that your god form wanders and does shit mainly when you're asleep."

"...it does what...when I'm what...?" Swallowing down the wild panic you felt at that statement, you chose to ignore Joseph entirely, instead you tried to focus on the snarling pillar man. "Esidisi, you're going to lose if you keep fighting. You have to know that by now, so why not forfeit? If you surrender here, we'll merely keep you as a prisoner until this matter is settled. Hell, as my hierophant could tell you, it'll probably be more akin to a vacation if Santana's stay is anything to go off of. Speaking of Santana, he misses the three of you, so why not just wait this out? The only options that lead to you surviving today is to surrender or flee."

"I mean, if you stay you get to sleep with-"

"Don't say that!"

"Oh, are you going to look at me and tell me I'm wrong?"

"I-"

Yet the both of you were interrupted by a sudden sniffle and sputter, almost reminiscent of a child preparing to cry.

"Heh?/The hell?" Both of you recoiled at that, all eyes now on the pillar man as he began to...cry?

"I...Just...CAN'T TAKE IT!!!" And there it was. This being of pure, almost unimaginable, biological strength and power that had lived for thousands of years, who had defeated thousands of opponents, helped exterminate his own race, and most worrying of all; how he proved himself capable of calling you out on all your maneuvers...was now bawling his eyes out. Large, nearly endless streams of tears were running down his cheeks like a flood filling the streets. Hell, it seemed like his eyeballs themselves were at risk of being washed away. You swore that given the size and volume, he was at risk of rivaling a fountain. All the while his throat kept forcing out those horrendous wails and moans of intense agony and pure discomfort. His entire bottom jaw was vibrating and shifting till his whole body began to bob up and down while attempting to grab the air where his severed limb had been. This constant motion caused his tears to splash and spray like a broken garden hose. “I. JUST. CAN’T. IT!!!!”

“What the hell is this?!” Joseph stepped back at the pillar man's wailing, both shocked and borderline creeped out by this sudden outburst, and despite being someone who had 'seen it all' there was a part of you left shocked as well. This was certainly contradicting. Such a threatening and serious personality...one that created an aura of both horror and intelligence, only to break down into a tangent like this was just unnerving. "Look at him! He's bawling his eyes out! And...here I was, thinking he'd go on a bloody rampage...this is more than weird. This is embarrassing! More embarrassing than M/n having a panic attack in the middle of his battle with Wamuu! He's throwing a tantrum like some three-year-old!"

“...Shut up!”

“To his wailing?”

“No, to you calling me out every five minutes!”

“Again; am I wrong?!”

“Well-”

“MY POOR ARM!!!!” Both of you jumped when some of the wailing died down for him to shout and scream, looking over the two of you watched as the pillar man fell to his knees, unbothered by the spikes impaling his legs making the god nearly gasp at the fresh blood. The lack of Hamon making the prey seem...easier if nothing else. He shakes his head to get rid of the thought before it has the chance to take root. Instead, he watched how Esidisi wailed at the remains of his skeletonized arm, cradling it to his chest as if it were the remains of his child or loved one, left lifeless and limp in his grasp.

It was somehow both terrifying and pathetic.

"..."

"...so, what did you mean by my shadow self?"

"Oh, you know, your god form gets up to weird shit when it's left alone."

"...that...that can't be true." He laughs, despite how thick the air is with heat till his lungs seem to be screaming for oxygen that isn't red hot, because Joseph can't be right. "My form isn't...it isn't its own person or anything like that...not like..."

…not like your stand.

…not as if you weren't well aware of god looming over your shoulder.

What had he told Joseph?

Then your attention was refocused back on the sputtering, gasping pillar man. His form was still kneeling over the steaming remains of his arm as he wailed over it. All in all, this was a state you had never dreamed of or expected to see the pillar man in.

"Eugh, some things are creepier than mindless anger…” Shaking his head, your trickster raised his arm as he started to approach the pillar man's form. Part of you couldn't help but wonder why he decided that a karate chop was the best way to end the fight, but you swallowed that down. "I should finish him off quickly!"

Watching how Joseph approached the sobbing pillar man, a moment of complete silence began to the point where the heat in the air only grew more suffocating. Like a two-ton weight being applied to your chest. All of Esidisi's dramatic wailing ceased and even the voices went to a mere background hum at the sudden silence. Joseph stopped dead in his tracks at the change, eyes wide as he stared at the pillar man slowly rising to his feet, before turning his head back to the both of you. All of those tears were gone, all dried up, and he was now lacking those misty eyes that had left chills in your soul. It was so abrupt that the wind itself seemed to be deafening...to an almost unholy extent. You could almost imagine the ichor running from your ears.

"Ah, I feel better now. Sometimes my emotions overwhelm me, and when I'm about to lose it, I try to calm myself down by venting with a crying jag." The Joestar was left stunned, shocked, and dare I say as the narrator; paralyzed with fear. His eyes locked with the now fully composed and confident Esidisi, a contrast with his previous form that was so massive the phrase 'like night and day' just wasn't enough for it. M/n swallowed down a panicked hiss at the change, heel starting to tap, and he resisted the urge to fully panic. "Earlier you referred to Sun Tzu, didn't you? I knew him personally...Long ago, I journeyed to China to study,"

He put a single finger to his temple, clearly remembering his old journey, all while maintaining that gaze that radiated pure intelligence and confidence over anything else.

"To fight is to delude. All war is deception. One tries to make their enemies angry in order to lure them into committing costly mistakes." A devilish grin formed on his face, directing his gaze not just to your trickster, but to the both of you, pointing at the two of you with a single, condescending finger. "That is precisely what you're planning on. Am I right? Well, it's not going to work!"

The both of you recoiled at that, more so Joseph than you, as he was the one having all his tactics dissected right in front of him...just like how he dissected yours. "But I must say, Jojo, I really am shocked at your improvement, but it appears your dear god doesn't share the same improvement under any circumstances. I admire your hamon training..."

As he stepped over to the corpse of Loggins, you understood what Santana meant...

Esidisi truly is an unpredictable opponent.

But...why the hell was he approaching Loggins's corpse?!?

Narcissistic Cannibal snarled from the perch it rested on, tail lashing, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before hunger got the best of you. Before your stand took charge of the situation.

"I've been longing for a worthy opponent..." And with no hesitation, his foot hovered over Loggins's arm, a single sharp kick severing the limb before either of you could open your mouths to protest it. A dark gush of blood flooded the grounds as M/n swallowed a mouthful of saliva at the additional gore. The blood was healthy enough to still be a dark red, earning a nearly panicked hiss from both god and stand alike. The limb went flying into the air only to be caught by Esidisi, connecting perfectly to the point where his arm was severed. The lighter skin tone of Loggins started to darken, changing to match the same dark tone of Esidisi almost immediately.

"What the hell?!? What the hell are you doing!?!" Your trickster shouted, eyes focusing on Esidisi and how he opened and closed Loggins' fist seamlessly. He seemed to be casually examining it in full, rotating the limb, slowly prying open his fingers repeatedly until his face shone with open satisfaction.

"While it is a bit thin at the moment, it'll grow thicker with the passage of time. Most skilled hamon users upon death will still have a flowing current of hamon throughout their bodies. So, I severed the arm from the rest of it for good measure. Even though removing the lungs is good enough, there's always a bit of it left in the bodies of skilled warriors."

“He’s too much! Just a minute ago, he was crying! He’s more manic than M/n!”

“Hey! What did we just talk about?!”

“Oh, Jojo, did I just frighten you there?” He pointed at the trickster while wearing a smug and confident smirk, openly pointing with the arm that had belonged to Loggins. Joseph's gaze kept darting from his arm to Esidisi's face, unable to properly focus on one specific point of the pillar man. “Come on, admit it! You’re frightened a lot, aren’t you?!”

“I…I can’t read him! I’ve always been able to read my opponents, and then use their own feelings against them, but-This guy’s personality is beyond me!” Joseph mumbled to himself, visibly shaking and trembling at the pillar man's sudden burst of energetic confidence and intensity. You could taste the heat and sweat in the air as he didn't even blink. "Am I the one who's being read here?!?"

"..."

Before you could speak, a strange bubbling sound filled the tense ambiance. Both of your gazes moved to Loggins's prone body, the cavity in his chest that once housed a proud and powerful set of lungs meant for a hamon user was now starting to steam terribly like the meat of some animal frying, and it slowly filled with that darkened blood.

“W-What’s happening to Loggins’s body?!” Joseph questioned, eyes burning as steam began to burst from the body of the deceased hamon user. It was as if the very earth was cracking and breaking at the tensions underneath, and it only made all the more sense when an explosion of hot, steaming blood erupted from the corpse. M/n jolted back at the spray, nearly getting splattered in the process. It shot across the grounds, staining spikes, tile, and bricks alike in hot, boiling streaks and splatters of deep scarlet. Some of it even managed to stain the Joestar's leather gloves, to which he quickly waves it away in shock. "That burns!"

"...his face..."

Both of you are left staring agape at the gruesome display before you. Loggins's face was now left completely unrecognizable, making you visibly shudder at the damage to the dead man's image. His upper jaw to the center point of his scalp had been melted and cracked open like a hard-boiled egg. Chunks of viscera and gray matter ooze and drip down the loose, melting points of skin when it lands on the brickwork and starts to sizzle. While melted as the rest of him, his eyes have been pushed out of their sockets and hanging at a sideways angle, separated and forced apart by the massive hole in the center of his face. His entire frame sizzles like cooking meat in a pan, the force of the heat and blow combined caused the body to continue to twitch as what's left of his blood and internal organs hiss and shoot out of his frame in chunks and weak sprays of crimson. You see how his heart has been turned into a nearly liquidated pulp and has to hold back a near feral growl. His entire body continued to glow from the fire within. Hell, given the scent in the air, it was a miracle that he wasn't on fire.

"...his body, it's boiling! What's going on?!?"

"An animal's core temperature will increase when it’s fighting disease or greatly exerting itself. I can raise my blood up to 500 degrees Celsius and shoot it out at will. At the same time I took off his arm, I also sent in some of my boiling blood just to show you.” Esidisi laughed, rolling his shoulder that connected to his new arm, and you felt sick with the smell of char in the air. The voices were starting to howl and rage just underneath your skin, making you sway back and forth on your heels. But you held back a panicked hiss when the pillar man looked towards you, his expression borderline amused, making you have to swallow down the urge to run. "Of course, it also prevents your dear god from feasting on the remains or merely tossing him into his familiar's maw."

"..." Your eyes narrowed at that. Despite your apparent hunger, you had no plans of eating Loggins or feeding him to your stand. In reality, the thing your stand was hoping to devour was the pillar man himself. There was a tug in your connection, a silent question from Narcissistic Cannibal about if it should move to attack, but you denied the request. You trusted Joseph more than you trusted yourself at the moment, especially with your current level of hunger. If needed, the two of you would get involved, but...you trusted your trickster. He had stopped you when you had nearly killed Wamuu. He had tricked the warrior into giving him a month, and now he had severed Esidisi's arm.

“With his divine sandstorm, Wamuu can control the wind. My domain is that of heat!” At that, his muscles once again started to tighten and bulge outwards, a visible aura of steam and flame starting to emerge from his darkened flesh. It was as if his body was becoming the interior of a furnace. "I control the inferno itself!"

"I'll grant you this; your power to destroy a defenseless dead body is amazing, but I can also see that the reason you did it was to try to scare me!" If nothing else you had to admit; your trickster was a witty individual, able to quickly recover from the horrors bestowed upon him by Esidisi while seeing through each ploy in the same way as the pillar man himself. So, with all the intensity of a whiplash, your trickster pulled forth his signature clacker balls, and with just as much rage as a scourge whip, the clackers were swung towards the pillar man. His reflexes were faster, much faster, than they had been a mere month ago. Joseph swung the volley as if his arm were little more than a lightning bolt, quick, merciless, and precise with the target in mind: Esidisi. "My hamon isn't like what it was a month ago!"

Yet all the pillar man did was seamlessly separate his own hand into two separate parts, both of the clackers ended up missing their mark by a few inches as a loud and fleshy rip filled your ears as the dark, steaming crimson liquid started to bubble up and spill from the opening. It was unsettling to watch. As if his body had become accustomed to such...self-destructive attacks. Almost as if Esidisi was someone merely built to destroy and be destroyed in turn.

"Whoa!"

"I really did frighten you..." The pillar man rose to his full height, that same stone cold look that had been in his eyes earlier returned. A look that screamed for bloodshed, the look of a murderer. "You see, Jojo, your uncontrolled emotions caused you to attack me recklessly. Similar to how unstable your patron god was with Wamuu in the caverns. Unstable, hyper, and a danger to not just all but yourself."

"HEY! I'm the only one who's allowed to drag M/n's tangents into this! Know what?!? If you're going to spend all your time trying to scare us or call us out, then I can only do one thing..." Joseph's demeanor changed almost as quickly as Esidisi's, being both shocking and slightly humiliating for you to behold. "I have one trick up my sleeve sure to work against all odds..."

"Oh? And what would that be, Jojo?"

At Esidisi's question, a giggle would be heard from within the muzzle, and instantly, you had a horrible feeling about this. Especially when all your trickster did was point at Esidisi.

“M/n, kick his ass!”

"WHAT?!?"

"You heard me!"

"You can't be serious! What about the whole 'I'm doing this to get revenge for my instructor and prove myself' bullshit you were spouting? You said this fight was your final exam, right?" You were panicking, almost as if a live wire had been set off just beneath the first layer of scale and skin, but you weren't expecting this. Esidisi had openly mocked your hunger since you two first encountered him. The last fight with Wamuu had been brought up as well, so why the hell did Joseph think you were the right choice for this?

"Well, clearly I'm not making any headway in this-"

"You just severed his arm!"

"Exactly! You can handle the rest, M/n."

"Are you being serious right-" Your question was cut off by more laughter from the pillar man, earning an annoyed huff as your attention went back to him.

"I have no complaints about this. Though consider this my only warning for you, god; if you won't strike first, then I'm not going to attack under any circumstances." Esidisi casually adjusted his stance, crossing his arms and nodding at you, his expression set in a mocking smirk. Your blood ran cold. "Go ahead, make your move."

'Don't you want to get revenge for your friends, N/n?'

"See? He agrees with me! Go ahead and kick his ass, M/n!" The Joestar cheered, seeming all the more eager to watch the god engage in a proper battle with the pillar man, only to go silent when nothing happened. "M/n...?"

"..." You took a shaky breath, yet your vision is blurring and breaking away at the seams. The foundation was cracked. It was going to all fall inwards, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. You couldn't move. In place of Esidisi was Ajamu, standing in the void surrounded by dead bodies, but then the image was gone once more.

"M/n!"

"...I...I..." You couldn't get the words out. Arms were wrapping around your waist, a familiar weight pressed against your back as Ajamu chuckled, swaying you back and forth on the balls of your feet. You nearly snarled at the touch, but, again, you couldn't get anything out. Not even air anymore. You were suffocating.

'Go ahead. Do it, N/n. Attack him, right now.' Ajamu's voice was as cold as ice, trailing down your neck and making you shiver despite how much heat was in the air. A part of you, the scared part of you, wanted little more than to be swept under the current and let go. You could faintly remember the tug on your mind from when you had lost control in the caverns while fighting Wamuu. The last thing you remembered before you blacked out after the initial transformation. Ajamu was keeping you in place, so you couldn't do anything. 'He wants a fight. Joseph wants you to fight him, so you should make everyone happy. It doesn't matter. No matter what choice you make here, it'll be the wrong one because you won't follow through with anything. Dig your talons in and make a choice.'

"M/n!"

"One of the many ways you defeat an opponent is by reading their tactics, understanding what exactly makes them work. Even a single observation is enough to predict your every move, god. Such as your will to wait out an opponent...well, you will not find me as any such guaranteed force. I can tell you've relied on this tactic for eons, and have never learned any better. And as such, THIS is how I counter it! My counterattack is one of pure pacification, M/n!!! And don't think I've forgotten about your familiar. Its selfish and cursed hunger is growing, the belly of the beast growls and snarls for mortal flesh. But you don't intend on killing me, so it sits impatiently. Tell me...how much longer until its leash breaks and I'm devoured before your very eyes? Or until I leave at the rising sun, only to come back and kill everyone here?"

'See? He's too much of a threat to let live. You have to make a decision.'

"..." You couldn't fucking breath. The spinal braids were being tightened around your arms till ichor started to run, and your chest was burning. But...you had to do something...you had to be useful...you had to be willing to move...you had to be helpful. So, despite how much it pulled at your consciousness and made your skin hot with worry, you grabbed at the connection between you and your stand and pulled.

His stand shot forward, the sound thundering across the arena, serving as an echo of the waves. The leading strike of the stand wasn't to actually hit Esidisi, mainly to create distance and make the situation seem more threatening, but the growl that filled the air proved that it was sufficient for both. Nearly half of the spikes in the pit had been snapped in half, tile freely ripped away and thrown into the air, and it all came crashing down moments after your stand had finished its initial charge. The shrapnel was what hit him, you realized. The pillar man's form adjusting after the shot, the leading chunk of shrapnel had broken his bottom right incisor, tore through his palate, just above his upper row of teeth, punched clean through the lower bone of his eye socket, and broke through the skin just in front of his left ear. Blood ran down his cheek, his eyes had gone wide, yet it seemed as if his left eye wouldn't focus. But he was alive. It was already starting to burn away due to how hot his blood was, leaving molten steel to run down his face.

"You've played him right into my hand, Narcissistic Cannibal!" In a perfect shattering of your mental state, both your hierophant and stand would serve to help pull you back to focus. A quick tug of the trickster's fist ripped his own hat from his head, removing it to reveal a thin and shining line of fabric you hadn't seen before. "While you were messing around with M/n's poor and fragile mental state, I've been laying a careful and tactically placed trap for you, Esidisi!"

Orange sparks and arcs immediately followed the fabric, and like an overcharged hot-wire, it helped to create a complex and messy web of string around the whole pit. "I just needed a sudden and inexplicable climax to pull it off. I was actually planning on just shouting it out while you weren't looking, but where's the surprise in that?!?"

"How...HOW COULD I HAVE NOT SEEN THIS?!” The pillar man screamed out, darkened streams of hot, steaming crimson spewing from the wounds upon his face with the sheer strain. His body tensed up again, and once more he started to pulsate in a terrifying, biological power as rage, shock, and ridicule filled his veins.

Your stand howled, ready to move again, ready to tear into the pillar man once again without a single hesitation, only for the trickster to stop him in its tracks with a reassuring jag.

“I’ll take it from here, NC!” The wire tensed at the sudden surge of energy, your stand holding its ground at the sudden command given by the Joestar, and before he could make any other move, the pillar man's body heated up once more.

"You insolent, miserable prick! I'll boil you alive from the INSIDE-OUT!!!" He flexed his body in a twisted position, arms moving downward, far from his face and torso, openly exposing them, and placed his feet at opposing angles and sides of his body. In an instant, a sound of flesh clicking with bone would be heard, and then Esidisi's finger and toenails opened up like small, darkened hatches to hell itself. The relation to hell only grew stronger when you saw thin, red, squirming tentacles burst out from his nails. Long, skinny and filled with heat and the potent scent of metallic crimson, they were none other than his veins. Veins...he could control his own veins as if they were tentacles. Yet they squirmed around, pulsing and wriggling with life-force as if they were worms...memories of the inferno returned, the one without Virgil it seems. "Using my veins, I am able to inject, shoot, and strike down my enemies with my boiling blood! My veins will inject boiling blood into your skull and turn your brain into a nice red stew!"

The veins began to lash and coil towards the Joestar, moving through the air like whips writhing with life.

"This is the reason I am called The Burning King!"

Before he could even form a reaction, Joseph was caught off guard by a sudden burst of steaming, fiery crimson on his face. The veins struck him in one swift motion, landing inside of the mask like spears of biological terror, worms with a sharp, dreadful thirst for death, truly the ones of the inferno itself. You watched him fall back into the spike pit, spirals of steam rising from the mask. He let out a pained scream, twisting in pain, leaving you frozen at the terrifying display.

The scar across your face makes it feel all the easier to hurt.

No one is brave enough to hurt you now.

(You look so scary.)

...no one will come to help you now.

(You look so scary.)

But at least it proves that the hurt is over.

And it's healing.

…right?

Lisa Lisa leans back in her seat, crossing her legs beneath the table only to still when the crystal wine glass shattered, while it was initially a large crack that raced through the center of the work soon it was merely a pile of shards and red wine forming a puddle. Her eyes widened before she schooled her expression as quickly as it changed. She'd had no concerns for her son's safety till just now, but the once warm environment of the room and her dinner now seemed cold and foreboding. Swallowing down a wave of panic, she allowed her hand to play with the ends of her scarf as she felt the familiar crackle of hamon racing through her veins.

In a way, she hadn't worried about Joseph since she met him, and had wondered if she even had the right to worry for him as anything more than a teacher. Could she worry about him as a mother when she hadn't been one throughout his entire life? She imagined that either Caesar or M/n, no matter how angry she remained at the god, had far more rights to their concern towards her son. That pillar man may have more of a right to his concern than she did.

Still, Joseph wasn't a pushover. He was a natural born hamon user that had been able to walk on water without a day of training. She may not have the right to be his mother anymore, but as his coach, she had absolute faith in his abilities, his strengths, and the idea that he was going to be able to overcome the weaknesses he still carried. Grabbing the largest shard in the pile, careful not to cut herself, and turned the shard while she channeled a current of hamon through it. Straights had never been a seer when it came to his use of hamon, never saw the need to learn or craved the knowledge that would come from being able to see the future, but she had always craved it. So when given a chance in Tibet to learn from the older hamon masters in their ranks she had never looked back, never wondered why Straights had despised the idea of seeing the future and knowing what may happen to them all one day, and with the certainty of a raging river she learned and grew from it.

Perhaps her foster father, if he had ever been more than her own coach back then, had looked upon the skill with hatred because it had been what killed Caesar's grandfather? Or perhaps it had been due to his own fear of age and death?

Staring into her own reflection, she felt a wave of satisfaction when it rippled and changed, but whatever joy the skill had given her was taken away when she saw her son standing in front of an erupting volcano.

The worry burning just beneath her skin only grew hotter and hotter, and she didn't know what to do, because she knew with a layer of certainty that she had never worried about Joseph like this before. She didn't have the right. Or rather, she had only ever gotten letters after things had already happened, a bystander to her own son's life, a woman who never held him past the first seven months of his life. Joseph had been involved in a plane crash, but she learned of it after he and Speedwagon had survived. There was no moment to worry by the end of the letter. The end of the page told her that her son lived and it was done. Erina had the right to worry, she had leaned back and smiled as her eyes misted over because she could just hear George's laughter and how he'd say that Joseph got it from her.

“JoJo…”

With a shake of the head, she set the shard back down and called for Suzie Q.

Don't you see? The whole thing's a play! The world's a stage! And all of us have merely been made into the players of the show. And if we're actors, we have to be ready for anything and everything.

We all have our lines. You have yours and I have mine, but that doesn't mean we aren't sharing a spot in our time together.

Don't ask questions.

The genre isn't something we're sharing.

A tragedy and a comedy shouldn't always mix, but I think the blend is sweeter together.

Am I your worst mistake?

Caesar maintained a steadfast sense of balance along the fine wire, remaining careful and light on his feet as if he and his instructor were little more than leaves drifting midair. Yet his body still served as a constant generator of hamon. Taking a slow breath, he only gave it a second before he charged towards his instructor, Messina, who sprinted across his own line with perfect balance and harsh speeds. Both leapt upwards, using the spring from the line to give themselves an extra boost, where they then clashed.

"Caesar; take THIS!!!" Messina's arm glowed with a charge of hamon, muscles tensing, and his breathing slowed as he brought his arm down into a karate chop.

“Bubble Launcher!” That chop was interrupted as Caesar's hands became encased in a shining, shimmering burst of rainbow. Millions of bubbles began to form and pop across the thin sheet of soap between his gloves. Visibly it wobbled and fluctuated in its energy, but with the energy and tension brought by hamon, yet it maintained a hardness akin to that of crystal with the flexibility of water. And what served to make water more flexible? Soap! This combination helped create a weapon that remains both versatile and stable while being able to be used for countless battle maneuvers, far more than a simple clacker volley. This was made evident as the sheet both blocked the blow and even held it at bay. Sparks of hamon arced against the shield akin to a saw blade to steel, only for a sudden burst of it to blast Messina back, almost an overcharge that quite literally blew up in his face. He landed back on the line, perfectly balanced as all things should be.

Caesar was about to make his next move before he was halted in his tracks by Messina.

"CAESAR, STOP!!! Hold your attack! If we continue this contest, one of us will die, and as much as my ego doesn't want to admit it, I'd be the loser. For nearly ten years more than you I have been in preparation here. But today your hamon attack was so focused you were able to burn the hair off of my arm!" He raised both his arms to better examine the change. "What else can I do after being shunned like this? You've passed your final exam with flying colors."

Caesar bowed to his coach, to think he had completed every one of his courses, sessions, montages, and meditations with flying colors...and now he wins via...shaving his instructor's arm hair.

Returning to one of the towers that held the lines they fought on, Caesar stopped by his backpack, kneeling down he opened it, body calm and already relaxed after the fight, as he grabbed the pair of binoculars. He aimed them towards the spike pit where Joseph, Loggins, and the god should be. Messina crossed his arms at the display, rolling his eyes at the concern the blond was showing.

"You should be feeling a sense of pride for this, or are you more interested in how your good-for-nothing friend is doing in his exams, Caesar?" The blond gazed back at the instructor. He was always annoyed at how harsh the instructors were with Joseph, honestly he found it unreasonable and even discomforting at times...even if somewhat understandable with his antics and lazy ways. Joseph was irritating, borderline incessant at times, but for Caesar...

"The only reason I had the power I did in this training is that I wanted to match Jojo's talents. In the end, we're both going to survive the trials being presented to us. I can't deny it. Jojo seems lazy and impudent, but deep down he's worth having as a friend. Even with M/n at his side, no matter how unstable, incoherent, redundant, or irresponsible they are, it's a duo I don't want to lose, but I have unwavering faith in..." The instructor chuckled at his statement, finding both humor and yet some form of genuine kindness to it.

"You're not so good at making friends for yourself, are you? But when you do, it's true love, isn't it?" The only response Messina received was a sudden gasp, and instantly his demeanor changed back to tense, as if they were still in the fight.

“Look there!” Using the binoculars, he watched Joseph's form be knocked backwards into the spike pit, having a perfect view of the pillar man's boiling blood be injected into the mask he wore. “That’s…”

"Esidisi." Someone else finished for him. A voice echoed from behind and above them, one bearing no specific tone or range except deep, blunt, and direct. The duo whirled around, gazing up at the form of Santana, wings a bright, vibrant red, perfectly matching his hair color. A single beat softened his landing on the platform as his arms morphed back to their original state.

"Santana! Hmph, come to kill us both while your master below slaughters Caesar's friends?" He didn't receive a single laugh, smile, or smirk from the ultimate lifeform. "Well, fine, if you're not here for that, then why the hell are you here?"

Santana merely stepped past Messina and came to stand beside Caesar, setting his sights upon the battle within the spike pit. It was only a second before Santana reacted, showing more emotion than either had ever seen or heard from him, and it was enough of a surprise that both hamon users backed away.

"Santana...? What is it? What's wrong?!?" Caesar couldn't claim to be attuned with Santana like M/n was or even had that much of a relationship with him to begin with, only conversing with him occasionally; always receiving single word responses or even absolute silence. Caesar couldn't remember the last time he got a full sentence from the pillar man. But hearing this, let alone seeing this expression of shock and awe from a creature that so rarely conversed, spoke, or even showed a single emotion on his own, was downright chilling to the bone.

"Lord Esidisi's face...his composure...it's been ripped apart." Santana was clearly referring to the damage Esidisi had sustained. The fact that his face was practically mauled was a shock to see for the former servant. Despite switching sides...well, it didn't change the fact that Esidisi was both a remarkable and unpredictable opponent. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of tribesmen in his past had fallen before Esidisi's infernal might. Seeing one of his previous masters in such a state, gushing blood and screaming incessantly, was unnerving even for Santana, who had nerves comparable to literal stone.

Somehow, in some way, Santana didn't expect Esidisi to make it.

…even if God had sworn that he would try his hardest to save him.

It seems as if you've built the stone wall a little too tall this time around. Not to worry, though. Eventually I'll grow and get stronger, then I'll climb over again and again, even when a taller wall keeps greeting me.

"And there's another of your clever little dodges there!"

Joseph flung himself backwards, attempting to do damage control with what he had in terms of physical abilities. Still, it didn't do much to stop him from flying through the air; the mask poured blood from every opening as heat completely flooded his mouth and lungs, steam bursting the mechanisms within.

"Alright, at least the mask gave me some protection that time-" And with that it burst into flames...which caused the trickster to yelp as he fell into the pit, the mask itself ending up impaled upon a metal spike, now destroyed and obsolete, finally freeing Joseph's face in the process. He stuttered childishly at the searing pain across his lips, pawing at them with a gloved hand to try to cool them off. You listened to him whine; 'Ah, damn him and his blood!' and when the burning finally ceased, the first expression he made was one of pure anger. He grabbed hold of his line, gripping it tightly in his fist before rising up to glare at the pillar man. "Man oh man, I finally had the chance for these sexy lips to come out from under that rotten mask, and the first thing YOU do, you BASTARD is burn 'em off!!!"

"You think you can dare ensnare me, Jojo?! I noticed the web of fabric you had laid far before you even-" He was then cut off before he could finish by a sudden, awful, forceful pull at his veins. Ripping and tearing from his skin causing a cascade of boiling blood to splatter into the air and down the spikes it landed on, his gaze ran straight to the jaws of Narcissistic Cannibal, your stand easily snapping and ripping the veins from his body before slurping them up like fine noodles, completely unbothered despite the heat. With the loss of his veins, he was left defenseless, and with that the trap was activated. With a tug to tighten the thread, Esidisi was squeezed into the lines of fabric, tied up in a net of green string. "IMPOSSIBLE! I refuse to believe this!"

"Believe it, now feel the beat of my Hamon Overdrive!" A steady breath was all he needed to make the string glow and energize with the flames and heat of the sun. The whole line was caught in a sparkling, borderline electrical line of hamon, reminding you of a hot-wire overcharging.

Esidisi let out a blood-curdling scream as the string began to cut into and sear his flesh, the sparks digging in and disintegrating his body. Blood was gushing out faster, yet was vaporizing immediately after it left his body, and soon golden rays burst from his malformed body. He staggered, body shaking, form cracking apart.

“I can’t…”

His arm fell to ashes as he tried to grip the string.

“I can’t…”

His chest burst cleanly open down the middle to reveal a blinding energy...it felt...different. That wasn't hamon or just heat.

"You're only human..."

His face started to be cut and severed by the wire, nearly dividing it into three clean slices. At his lower jaw, nose, and the center point of his forehead, all starting to vaporize in the light show.

"I am the evolved one, the highest life form!"

The energy continued, it fluctuated, and flowed out of him in rays of gold, almost like an aurora borealis in contrast to the energy of the sun that burned away his flesh & bone.

“I…will not BE DEFEATED!”

His flesh began to pry itself open, molding itself into a new shape, and forced itself into a new, hellish form. The skin upon his head was gone, now bearing a horn upon his forehead and revealing only a flaming skull where his face used to be. He no longer resembled anything akin to a 'humanoid'. Now it was only a monstrous, deformed abomination.

“KNOW THAT YOU PUSHED ME TOO FAR!”

It charged Joseph, making a terrible war cry as his horn ran forward into Joseph’s fist…only to shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Esidisi's body is shooting some kind of strange energy…that must come from living for millennia!” The Pillar Man flailed his body uncontrollably, almost as if it had lost all contact with the central nervous system, now just a shell and cadaver in one as it screamed and screamed uselessly. “Die already, die with the power of life you stole from thousands of innocent human beings!”

Esidisi glowed brighter than the sun itself, a great, golden inferno that incinerated itself from within and without. The rays of light and energy were both blinding and mesmerizing, like a golden, psychedelic bloom upon your very eyes. You were drawn to it, drawn to the destruction and purification like a moth to a flame. Dio never had this effect, never glowed as powerfully as you had seen here and now with this one single pillar man. “My instructor, I thank you for torturing me…grazie di tutto, Loggins.”

The light show ended on a single, gentle ping onto the ground, and you saw the dim shine of the nose ring Esidisi wore. You let loose a sigh of relief…only for Joseph to scream.

“OH MY GOD! I didn’t mean to kill him! I just meant to tie him up! I thought we were going to bring him to Santana!”

“He’s looking at us…”

“Who?!”

“Santana. From up on the towers.”

“Oh, man…rock paper scissors for who tells him...?”

“Fine...FUCK!”

Rain falls, snow hits the ground, hail shatters bone, and the peace is washed away with it all. Blood covers every inch of our walls, dripping down the sides. The brick behind the crimson yells, screams of horror at all it's seen. The walls remember our faces even if or when we don't.

Notes:

A golden eagle symbolizes; honesty, truth, majesty, strength, courage, wisdom, power, and freedom.
Translations:
Oh cazzo...Profondo...Profondo...grazie, grazie, grazie...oh, per favore io'farò qualsiasi cosa....caro dio… = Oh fuck...deeper...deeper...thank you, thank you, thank you...oh, please I'll do anything....dear god...
Agnello = Lamb
Grazie di tutto = thank you for everything

Chapter 14: If you were in my shoes, you'd walk the same damn miles I do!

Summary:

And you won't fall in love with a twisted reflection.

Notes:

Are we finally getting somewhat close to the ending of Battle Tendency, or at least the halfway point? Perhaps, either way, I hope you keep on enjoying this. Also, take this drawing. Fun fact; a good way to tell if Narcissistic Cannibal is in control of M/n is if you can see his pupils or not. No pupils means his stand is in control. I like to think this is what Bluford saw when he hurt M/n by crushing his skull. Smoke changing his ichor to red blood all while he remained smiling, no visible damage besides for a bloody nose.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"To me, you are still nothing more than a little mortal who is just like a hundred thousand other little mortal men hoping for the world. Had you not been the first and only thing I'd seen, been the person I fell in love with, then I’d have no need of you. And you, on your part, must have no need of me. It's clear in your reactions that you fear me. Don't you? To you, well, I am little more than a monster that threatens you. But if you tame me, little master, then we shall need each other beyond everything. Wouldn't that be wonderful? To me, you are already the most unique thing in the world, but, to you, I could be something unique in the world. If you tame me, it will be as if the sun rises for us alone. I know the sound of you, your heart, your steps, your breath, and you differ from all the others. Another mortal won't send my heart aflutter the way you do. I howl to no god, no celestial body, and the stars hold no sway over me. Is that not sad? But you have the stars in your eyes the moment I saw them. Think how lovely it'll be when you tame me. The sky, which remains outside my mind, will be a constant reminder of you and what you meant to me.

Please, little master, there is no way to rid me of you, so tame me!"

Joseph groaned, hand rubbing at his shoulder blades, while his eyes remained focused on the god walking ahead of him. M/n had finally changed back from his god form and, given how much he was mumbling to himself, he was clearly trying to plan out his conversation with Santana. Since he kept on grimacing, Joseph had the distinct feeling that it wouldn't go well.

"I think I used my head a little bit too much last time."

"Oh, why?" Tilting his head, the god spun on his heels to be walking backwards. Joseph rolled his shoulders with another groan, causing M/n to tap his heels and stop walking for a moment. "Did you tear something?"

"Maybe. My shoulders are real sore...they just feel so heavy."

"I think I have some oils that could be massaged into them to get rid of the tension."

"Do you really? Or are you just hoping to get me alone in the showers?"

"That offer was a kindness, not a requirement, trickster. Do you want oils or not?"

"I'll behave...for now."

"...?" The god sighed in annoyance. "I'll take what I can get."

My mother's been calling for me, poor dear, for I have no plans of answering. The sea, my mother, calls and weeps for me whilst I am left mesmerized by the stars. The sea will end up screaming, howling, beckoning, yelling, all for me, yet it becomes drowned and washed out in the wake of the celestials.

They will always shine a thousand times brighter than the glimmer of the ocean.

"The sun's risen." Lisa Lisa whispered out, thumb running over the center of the red stone, yet the warmth produced by the gem did nothing to comfort her nerves. Her mind ran through the many possibilities. Even in the sun's light, she felt as if she was drowning in the heat of a volcano, but she refused to falter. "The tests are ending, and soon the two students, Caesar and Jojo, will be making their way back here. I'll receive the results and we'll be one step closer to the final confrontation. That is all."

"Signora Lisa Lisa," she turned her head to watch Suzie Q approach, carefully adjusting the dresses she held so both of their patterns were on full display. "Which blouse would you like today?"

"Oh, I don't know. What do you think?"

"Well, white is always nice, but I think something colorful can be fun, too." Removing the red stone's chain so it settled on her table beside her bathtub, she turned to face the ocean once more, a smile forming on her lips as Suzie Q continued to argue in favor of both blouses she had picked out.

"I'll let you decide."

"Okay, let's see; I think the white one is pretty, but I really like the lovely design on this one."

'I wonder...did Jojo and Caesar manage to pass their last test successfully? Even without that vision, I'm feeling cold, as if the reaper's scythe is curved around my neck. I'm beginning to worry.' If she looked over her shoulder, she'd still be able to see the remains of the wineglass.

"...so, today we're going to go with the pretty white."

"Suzie Q..."

"Yes?"

"Please send Caesar, Jojo, and M/n to my room as soon as they all arrive. Tell M/n to not bring Santana with him."

"Yes, of course, Signora. Though are you still mad at him?" Suzie's voice was soft, losing some of the more childish tone she normally used, being replaced by a more caring, almost motherly tone. "For him giving Santana the red stone?"

"..." Lisa Lisa frowned, knowing that on some level she was still angry at the so-called god for stealing the red stone not once, but twice. And had no qualms about giving it to a potential enemy. Could all of them combined even have a chance at stopping Santana now? Reason with him? Even M/n admitted Santana served based on what he believed to be the winning side. If the other pillar men somehow gained the red stone, would M/n be the winning side in the pillar man's mind? "What do you think of those two, Suzie?"

"...M/n and Santana...?" She tapped at her chin in thought before giving Lisa Lisa a warm smile. "I think they're both nice. Santana helps with chores and carrying things for me."

"And M/n?"

"He's rather quiet." She admitted, expression turning into a puzzled frown, before she clasped her hands. "Yet he really cares about Joseph and Caesar, though both him and Santana seem rather close, but it takes a lot to get him out of his shell...he's also really helpful. I think he's shy."

"Shy...?" Lisa Lisa sighed, having a hard time picturing the quiet male as anything but standoffish and aggressive compared to everyone else on the island. "Still, make sure they come here once they all get back."

"Of course!" With the matter settled, she turned her attention back to the blouses while Lisa Lisa rested on the balcony's railings. "Hm, I know I said I liked the white blouse, but the other one is nice, too. So which is better? Oh, which do I choose? White. But then again, this is really nice, too. Ah, what do I do?"

"The colorful one will do nicely. Thank you."

"Excellent choice!" Suzie beamed as Lisa Lisa crossed the room and undressed. Turning her head to preserve the older woman's modesty, she set the colorful blouse down. "I'll just leave these here for you, all right? I'll come back later and clean up the broken glass. Be careful, okay?"

"I will. Thank you."

My god, the sun, giving life to all that begs. The leaves, the flowers, they all grow to his generosity. They praise him for his gifts of life. Yet, for me, if I get too close, I would burn, leaving no trace of myself or his cruel destruction. He watches my pain and sorrow grow to tower above me, above all, yet he won't strike them down. Once the moon dares to rise, I've already melted into the sea. She coos at me, whispering lies of love. I beg and yell for her to lift the entire ocean up, allowing me to bask in her light, the pale version of my father. She, too, lets me down, drowning me in my pain.

Burying me into the sand.

"Hey, Suzie Q-" Joseph was cut off by her scream causing M/n, further down the hall on his way to Santana's room, to jolt and cover his ears with a hiss. Joseph, while nowhere near as bothered by the volume, still took a shaky step back. "Eh, what are you screaming for? Be quiet, you stupid idiot."

"Trickster, what have we talked about when it comes to interacting with people?" M/n growled out, uncovering his ears despite his visible wince, before crossing the hall to be in front of his hierophant where he elbowed him in the gut. "We don't call people idiots for no reason! We call them jackasses!"

"Yeah, like you!" With that, Joseph elbowed the god in the face, earning a growl.

"M/n...w-who is...that?"

"Huh?"

"There's a stranger on the island!”

"Stranger?"

"You're calling me a stranger!?!" Joseph pointed at himself in complete confusion while M/n looked between the pair, feeling just as lost. Was it because she had never seen him without the muzzle? Still, it wasn't as if his other distinct features had been hidden? His hair looked the same, so did his outfit, minus the hat, since it had been destroyed. Good thing he changed from his god form after the fight ended. Otherwise, she might call them both strangers. "It's me; Joseph Joestar!"

"...?" She glanced towards the god, who managed a nod.

"Yeah, this is just Joseph without that breathing mask. Does he really look that different without them?"

"This is...Jojo?" She took a step closer as Joseph gently moved and altered his stance, clearly pleased with the attention, and M/n swallowed down a strange mix between a groan and a whine. There was something upsetting about seeing his trickster fall in love with a beautiful blonde like his saint all those years ago. A feeling that history was repeating itself and he'd be left behind to a passage in history once more. It was strange, Santana was ripping the foundation of walls away to carve a vacant place in the god's life, yet this was unsettling. But like with Erina and Jonathan, there was no denying the spark there. The two of them were clearly in love with each other, so M/n let his lips curl into a smile. Did the two of them even see their own feelings? "No way! I didn't recognize you without your mask! Goodness, you two really startled me!"

"I've been here three whole weeks, and this is the first time you've seen my face? So whaddya think? Handsome enough for you?"

"Hm...you have a weird mouth."

"Hmph! My mouth may be weird, but if you and I fall in love...you're gonna have to get used to kissing it!"

"In your dreams!"

"She's out of your league, trickster!" M/n cooed in sync with Suzie Q sticking out her tongue while he flicked his own forked tongue at the brunet, earning an offended gasp from Joseph‌. With a fond roll of the eyes, M/n turned on his heels. About to head down the hall towards his servant, but stopped when he heard her gasp. Looking back over, he noticed she'd flinched, expression seeming almost confused. He swore the air felt hotter before she suddenly went lax again.

"Hm, what's up?"

"It's nothing." She chirped, arms going up to pacify both of them. "...must've been my imagination...Oh! That's right, Signora Lisa Lisa asked for the both of you, and Caesar, to go to her room once you got back, but she's taking a bath, so give her thirty minutes or so..."

"Got it. I was heading that way, anyway. They found out about the red stone!"

"What about Signora Lisa Lisa's red stone?"

"Um...you're not a hamon user. It's probably best if you don't know. M/n, you with me?"

"I'm going to talk with Santana about what happened at the testing grounds, but I'll be close behind."

"Oh, M/n,"

"...hm?"

"Lisa Lisa wanted me to tell you that Santana-"

"Isn't invited. Figures. Don't worry, I knew she was going to say something like that...even if she shouldn't...Anyway, I'll be back soon." With a frown, mood now clearly soured, but he managed a nod to both of them before he vanished down the path with a click of his heels. Joseph watched him go, his own features changing to a slight frown, before he turned and headed the opposite way. He felt a wave of relief when he didn't feel the same pain and tension in his shoulders, even if part of him was still thinking about those oils M/n mentioned.

Neither saw how Suzie Q's body spasmed, as if something was puppeteering her from the inside out.

I wish to live a life full of love, one that I can live to its fullest. One that's miles away from this one, away from starvation, poverty, and death. Maybe then I can embrace the wondrous part of me that lies dormant underneath. It waits in the deep pits of me, trying to crawl its way to freedom. It will never escape into the world, I will keep it deep down for I fear what would happen if it leaves the comfort of myself.

Will others take it, crush it into nothingneworld.ss, leaving me with this life miles away from the one I crave?

…

Or will they pull me into an embrace and give me a tangible thing to love?

Will they share in my dreamed life?

…

…she felt like she was dying.

…

…her body was too hot.

…

…she was...lying...?

…

…she felt stronger, better...beautiful.

…

…she was beautiful.

…

…she had never felt better.

…

…he knew where the red stone was.

When will I be able to let it go, when will it all shower around me? It's slowly cracking, leaving lines of disgrace. Every time they yell, crack, every time they lie, crack, when will it fall apart? How broken can it all grow and become before it shatters, leaving pieces scattered where it used to stand? How much of this does it have to endure before caving in and silently fading away?

I'm fucking tired.

"Santana," he turns to you when you open the door, expression muddled. You swallow down a mouthful of saliva, a perfect mix of nerves and hunger, because you still didn’t know how to deal with this kind of thing. You could barely process grief, so how the fuck were you supposed to let Santana down gently? "I'm sure by now you realized that during Joseph's test-"

"You encountered and fought Lo...Esidisi." You didn't mention the way he almost called the dead pillar man 'Lord'. Especially since it was clear by the way he changed mid-word that he didn't mean to. Instead, you just nodded.

"That fight ended. Obviously since I wouldn't be here otherwise, but...that fight ended with...Joseph flooded him with hamon when we tried to tie him up...there was nothing left. I'm...sorry. I know you cared about him...and I know this breaks my promise, so, if you want to get your pound of flesh, so to speak, I won't-"

"Esidisi isn't dead, Lord M/n."

"...what?"

"He isn't dead."

"But...but I saw him explode! He was screaming....how could he have...?" You shook your head, ignoring the mass sense of paranoia creeping through your frame like crimson vines. "How do you know?"

"We have the ability to sense each other. I would know had any of them died."

"...can you tell where he is? I mean, isn't he at risk from the sun?" You swallowed, mentally panicked now that you knew the shaman was somewhere on the island where he could...what about Suzie Q? With no hamon or weapon, she'd be easy pickings. "I have to tell the others! Suzie Q is alone right now if she-"

"She's the only one you don't have to worry about."

"What do you mean by that?"

"According to Joseph, it was Kars who swore that any noncombatants he held dear would be spared, did he not?"

"...he did."

"Then she is the only one who is safe."

"...okay then. That makes this better. Still, can you tell where he is?"

"Not an exact situation. Only that he remains on the island."

"Alright." Another swallow. You were haunted by the realization that Esidisi was alive. On one hand, the relief was heavy, but the rest of you screamed that this was dangerous. He was dangerous. You could only hope that your speed would be enough to rip those veins out and rebind him. "I have to talk to Lisa Lisa, or rather she wants to talk with me anyway, so I'll tell them when I get there. Though she said-"

"She doesn't want me there."

"...she doesn't."

"Then I'll search the island for Esidisi and bring the body for a proper burial." It took you a second to realize that he meant Loggins, but you managed a shaky nod, the weight bearing on your shoulders. Hearing him grow wings and vanish through the window, you slumped slightly with a sigh. Mentally counting how long you had been there, you realized you had a few minutes still. Tapping a pocket, you moved towards the docks.

You needed a smoke.

Your mother played guitar, a family of artists; plays, music, painting, singing...it was all done with familiar hands.

She'd strum the chords through the morning, noon, and night.

And you told her,

(You told yourself.)

That it was going unheard, that maybe she shouldn't play to no one, that someone worthwhile should hear it.

(You weren't worth this.)

She only laughed at you and played some more.

(Because that's what you wanted all along.)

And somehow she knew.

She somehow always knew your ways of affection, of counterintuitive communication.

(A language the both of you shared.)

She only grew better at the guitar, writing songs and melodies, yet she never did much with that skill.

She said she never wanted to play for the entire world, anyway. Why would she when she could play it in the living room?

(She thought you deserved to hear each tune.)

After she died...

(No matter what you told yourself.)

No matter what you said out loud.

No matter who asked.

(You lied.)

You claimed that just the sight of a guitar made you angry, although you played it, despite the fact that you earned money for it.

(And pretended not to ache inside.)

Because, now, nobody sticks around to play.

The smoke coils around you. A pink haze that is thick enough to block out the light of the sun, and you blow out another wave of smoke to watch it lazily drift like a snake coiling through the reeds. It doesn't help. You had been hoping that a cigarette would be enough to make a focal point, something to focus on, but your mind was a rabid hound gnawing its own leg off.

Esidisi was alive...

What the hell were you supposed to feel? Relief? On some level, that was accurate, but you could link that to your promise to Santana. You were keeping your word. Which meant you might save all three of them and make your servant happy. You swallowed down a strange wave of hunger and nausea, which intermingled far too seamlessly. Anger? Maybe. He was certainly a frustrating opponent. You still weren't sure how to fight him without simply overpowering him, but he certainly struck a chord with his taunting. Hatred? Not to any real extreme. You had met plenty you hated more, Ajamu being number one, but it was still something red hot deep within your mind. Apathy? If any existed… Well, it was a tiny part, more so in your subconscious. The part of you that had been cold and emotionless for years because of Ajamu's conditioning and the time in the void. Still, it was slightly sickening to think about. Some part of your mind only thought of this through the lens of a soldier. What could grant survival, what could ensure victory even if there was a loss or two along the way? You hated that a part of you felt little towards Loggins's death; you didn't know him, and now you wished you could make yourself grieve at least a little. Instead, a part of you just wished that you'd been there, if only because you could take it. You were stronger, faster, and on some level you were unstoppable...you were a god. Your hierophant was here. This island was yours on some level. Yet someone technically under your protection was killed.

You swallowed.

Still, how the hell were you supposed to track him? What state was he in? Did he still have a 'human' form? Has the arm he stole been destroyed? Or was that explosion just a trick, and he was off regenerating in some dark crevice? You couldn't detect his sharp scent of heat, blood, spice, and incense. Couldn't spot the heavy heat signature. Couldn't hear his heartbeat compared to the ones of the remaining residences. The pulsing and breath that filled the air didn't belong to him.

Where the fuck was he?

You were already on your third cig. The nicotine wasn't helping you at all today, but you just kept hoping that one more would make it easy to focus. All you feel and taste is smoke. At least the smoke you create is sweet and thick rather than the harsh black smoke that scrapes the insides of your damaged lungs like claws on a chalkboard.

What was the number?

Twenty percent, forty percent, sixty percent?

How much of your lungs were undamaged after all the trauma they had been through? Like your age, you tended to lie and shrug because you didn't know the exact answer. Had you died at twenty-one, twenty-two, or twenty-three? You didn't know. Twenty-three had to be the oldest, but you supposed it didn't matter.

"M/n?"

"Hm, Suzie?" You're surprised to see the blonde. Her eyes don't immediately focus on you, which is strange, and when you follow her gaze, she's looking to the water. A ship is vanishing from view and you note that it's that mail boat that comes every few days to take parcels. Maybe she was writing to family? "Didn't see you."

"Oh, I got here before you." For some reason, her smile is off, but you can't place the exact detail that makes it wrong. Still, how did she do that? You stopped to talk with Santana, sure, but you swore she had been on the upper levels with Lisa Lisa once you headed down here to smoke. The only exit to the building was behind you. There was no way she had somehow walked in front of you without you hearing her, and knowing her even if you had zoned out, she'd have taken the opportunity to try to startle you. "Signora Lisa Lisa had a package she wanted delivered."

"I hear ya." Probably to Erina or Robert knowing her, maybe even the masters of hamon that remained in Tibet. Surely someone was mourning for Loggins other than Messina and Lisa Lisa herself. Taking another drag, you closed your eyes, listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat, and trying to decide why your instincts were howling and screaming.

"M/n, why did you give Santana the red stone?"

"W-why are you asking about that?" You asked, trying to ignore the way she was looking at you, Suzie Q was a lot smarter than most people gave her credit for, given her childish persona it was somewhat easy to see why, but the way she was staring...it was too intense even for her.

"You never told anyone the reason, did you?"

"...probably not."

"Could you tell me?"

"I guess the reason was...well, I care for him, obviously, so I guess it was...I don't know..." The way she took a step forward felt more akin to watching an executioner approach the block. Were you shivering? "I...I love him. That's why I wanted him to be able to stand under the sun. But also because I owed him so much. Is that...is that a good reason, you think?"

She only smiled. Somehow, you felt as if you had just sold your soul to the devil.

"...thanks, Suzie Q, it feels good to get that off my shoulders. Is that why you asked me? Thought I looked stressed out?"

"Something like that."

"...then, thanks." You turned on your heels once you finished your last drag. While part of you hated the idea of turning your back on her, the rest disliked the idea of staying even more, but you visibly flinched when her arms wrapped around your chest in a hug. "...?"

All she did was leave after that, not even sparing a glance, and yet you felt...warm.

"As a knight," says the noble king. "You must go forth and slay dragons."

"Very well, my liege," says the serpentine knight. "Though may I ask why?"

"Because they are greedy, hoarding wealth beyond measure, and the people grow to fear the smallest changes in their mood."

"Very well, my liege." Hissed the knight as he drew his sword.

…there is no way of control.

…

…something tears at what's left, the body's innate desire to defend itself, but it is the same substance that gives life.

…

…there is no way of control.

…

...no signs of recognition.

…

…only life and death spinning and twisting eternally like dueling serpents.

People all agree that beasts are beneath human restraints, human morality, and the laws of kings and lords. Yet gods are above all of them. Have we all seen the paradox that these godlike exalted moments often link themselves to the moments when the men who have survived them, who represent them, act like beasts?

Can anyone know for sure if the berserker is labeled beneath humanity as a mere animal, above it as a god, or perhaps both, since either way they are cut off from all human communities when they enter that state? No living human has any claim on them after that.

"The news I have to repeat is really important, but Lisa Lisa is taking a bath, so I'm gonna have to wait...for half an hour, until she's done." Turning his attention away from Suzie Q's figure down on the docks the Joestar chuckled as his eyes darted to the door. "If I was told to wait, then waiting is what I'll do. Now, where to spend a half hour? I think the best place is here by Lisa Lisa's door. Would it really be all that wrong if I took a peek through the keyhole to check things out?"

A part of him could easily imagine how M/n would smack him for this, but he ignored that in favor of peering through the keyhole. A delighted gasp escaped his lips at the sight and he softly whistled in appreciation.

"Nice~!" Pulling away from the door at the sound of heels on tile, Joseph quickly straightened out. As if he was the pillar of good morals, and the god raised an eyebrow at the sight.

"What are you doing?"

"Just enjoying the sights."

"You haven't cared for the ocean since we got here, trickster."

"Something better, rarer even."

"...?" That caused the god to look at him, less judgmental and more curious, obviously wanting to know what he was talking about. "Like what?"

"I happened to see someone in the shower. Surely you can understand why I'm so content, eh, God of Lust?"

"Don't say it like that." He hisses out, face gaining a slight flush at the dropping of his title before he regains composure. "Sides, just cause I'm the God of Lust doesn't mean I spend every waking moment desiring sex from someone. You're more lusty than I am, hierophant. So I guess you saw Suzie Q with how excited you are."

"Nope. Guess again."

"...well, I would assume that you'd just enter the bath if it was me...you've had plenty of opportunities to see Santana naked. So I doubt he caught your fancy more than usual...Caesar?"

"Nope." The god turns paler at that and looks sick to his very stomach, earning a confused hum from the Joestar. "M/n?"

"I don't think I want to know where this is going." He suddenly whispers out, sounding far smaller than he actually was, and his gaze darted to the door with a look of dawning horror.

"Oh, but don't you want to hear how she looks-"

"Please...I'd rather be mauled by rats each night with the ability to feel pain than hear this."

"Oh, because you don't like women, right? Well then, try to imagine Lisa Lisa as a man!"

"...no."

"Come on, for me?" The god rolls his eyes at that, but he does pause and seem to be deep in thought for a few moments before jolting, with his eyes now wide open. "What's wrong? Is the thought too much for you?"

"...is Lisa Lisa as a guy just Kars?"

"What?"

"Like...in appearance?"

"Well, dark hair, or at least from the strands I've seen. Sharp features. I guess Lisa Lisa would be more bulky as a guy...you know, it's not that inaccurate." Joseph couldn't help but laugh at how mortified M/n looked at the realization. "So want me to describe what I saw, but with Lisa Lisa as a man? Or as if I caught Kars bathing?"

"...please don't. I don't want to humor your Oedipus complex."

"My what?"

"Nothing, nothing, just don't tell me what you saw. Let me live in ignorant bliss."

"Fine." Joseph groaned, watching how some of the tension in M/n shoulders seemed to vanish at that before his gaze went to the male's back. "M/n, what happened to your shirt?"

"My shirt? What do you mean?"

"It has a long cut going straight down the back. Did you get that when we were fighting Esidisi?"

"Couldn't have. The fighting started when I transformed. That outfit regenerates the same as me. Damage wouldn't reflect to this one. Besides, there wasn't a blow that hit my back that entire fight. Outside of his taunting, Esidisi didn't seem eager to attack me in any manner, let alone with a backstab. I must have torn it on the way back, but I don't remember catching on anything." He frowned with a hiss escaping his lips before he swallowed and looked away. "Also, apparently you didn't kill Esidisi."

"What?"

"According to Santana, he's still alive, said he would know the difference if any of the pillar men had died, even if they were on the other side of the world. He can't pinpoint where exactly Esidisi is, but he's trying to find him."

Both went silent before they groaned in sync.

"Fuck."

Can you be haunted by yourself?

Maybe you were once someone you hated, and now that person merely remains an icy hand on your shoulder that says you do not deserve this. Perhaps you once had to destroy yourself and become something or someone else to escape something far worse, but now they hang over you like a shroud.

You abandoned me. Everyone did. But you...you were all I had. And you left me to rot.

Maybe the life you could have had was taken from you, and isn't that a death of sorts? And now it shadows your every step. You keep moving further away, but it follows after.

There's a ghost after you, and it wears a frighteningly familiar face.

"Joseph, M/n." At that, both of you stopped your moping when Caesar appeared behind Joseph, earning a slight hiss from the god. Adjusting his positioning to look at the both of you, the blond visibly relaxed when he saw the lack of major injuries between the two of you.

"Oh, Caesar, well, it's about damn time."

"Behave trickster." M/n reminded the Joestar with a tap to his side, careful not to press against any new bruises, though he still earned a slight huff from the other. "Caesar, it's good to see you. Did you pass your test?"

"I did. Though...you, uh-" Caesar twisted his head to the side and coughed, seeming rather flustered for some reason, earning a set of confused looks from the god and his hierophant. "So you two managed to survive your bout with Esidisi?"

"I mean, he wouldn't be able to kill M/n in the first place...so-" Another jab to his side earned a gasp from the hamon user as M/n pointedly avoided eye contact when Joseph glared at him. "Okay, okay, we did fine."

"Fine?"

"Esidisi is still alive." M/n hissed out, his heel tapping again. He ignored how Caesar looked between the both of them. As if waiting for one of them to say 'Sike!', but when neither gave him that response, he said a series of curses in Italian that earned an impressed whistle from the god.

"...how?"

"We're still not sure," M/n admitted, sounding more than a little frustrated. His nails tapped against any surface he could find before he settled for a button on the side of his jeans. "I thought Joseph killed him with that last attack. But Santana says that him and the other pillar men are connected...he'd know if any of them died no matter where in the world they are. He can't pinpoint his exact location, but when I talked to him, well, he said that he was still on the island."

"We'll just blast him with hamon once we find him again." Joseph added on earning another hiss from the god and groan from the blond. "What?"

"I promised Santana that we're not going to kill any of them."

"He survived the first hit, right? I'm sure he'll survive another."

"I'd rather not test it!"

"I can't believe you agreed to that," Caesar muttered, earning an annoyed huff from M/n as he adjusted his stance before his gaze went towards the door. The water had stopped running.

"Can't do anything about it now." The sound of fabric being quickly pulled and adjusted filled his ears. He didn't even register if Joseph or Caesar said something before Lisa Lisa exited her room in a hurry.

Seems like there was yet another problem on their hands.

When I told you I loved you, it sounded like barking.

(I don't know why I'm like this either.)

Please believe me when I say I'm sorry.

(When I look at you and say that, I didn't mean for it to go this way.)

I never wanted for it to end with my body through your windshield.

(All dead eyes, stiff hands, and broken glass.)

Sometimes my heart beats more like a fist than anything else.

"Where is he? Where the hell is he?" You snarled, heels clicking against the tile as you once again vanished before reappearing at a different point on the island. Yet another frustrated huff, but despite everything, you had yet to find the missing pillar man. "Come on, come on, I need you to send me to Esidisi. Not just some random spot on this island. Please, you led me to the Joestar household all these years ago. I just need you to help me again."

The void didn't help.

'Why are you asking for something that it can't do, N/n?' You twitched at the former god's voice, wanting nothing more than to snap at him, but you swallowed it all down.

"Why is that, Ajamu?" You whispered out. Tugging at Narcissistic Cannibal’s connection, only to feel frustration from the responding side. Which earned another groan from you. "No, better yet, could you tell me where Esidisi is?"

'N/n, while I would love to discuss the pathetic men you often find yourself surrounded with, I can't.'

"Why the hell can't you?"

'Because I have manners.'

"What the fuck does that mean?"

'Isn't it obvious? You shouldn't speak about someone who's listening. It's rude.' It was a lie. It had to be a lie because Ajamu always lied about everything and that was how he always behaved because he coated his tongue in silver by choice since he loved the chaos and-

You jolted out of your thoughts by the sound of a groan, like something heavy on well-worn stairs, and your head whipped around on instinct. Your blood now felt ice cold inside your body. Was Ajamu...no, it was probably just coincidence. He was more of a snake in the grass than you'd ever be. He was just finding a pressure point and hitting it. Paranoia. He knew you had it. That was all. If the pillar man was in this hallway, coming up the stairs to attack you, then it was only because the void had answered your call. Yet that didn't matter anymore. The pillar man had to be somewhere nearby, maybe even right behind you, just waiting for the right moment to strike. He'd aim for the face, right? To blind and deafen you before your throat would be restricted, so you couldn't scream for help or bite down.

Smoke escaped your lips, pink and black dancing together, and you stiffened at the strange color.

…you had always produced pink smoke.

From smoking, to small puffs escaping your lips, to the colder air affecting your breathing, it had always been pink. Since you were fourteen. Since you got your stand. You have never smoked a cigarette that produces black smoke in your life. Why the hell were you producing it now? There was an uneasy churning in your guts, organs and space that should be empty because you didn't have any of that, and you raced to the nearest restroom in a panic. Feeling as if the entire world was watching you, feeling as if the pillar man was watching you, hearing Ajamu laughing in your ears. You felt sick. You had vomited a few times in this existence, not like you did when you were mortal, but the last time...it had been when William died, right?

You didn't even have intestines or a stomach to store food.

Why the hell did you feel so sick?

Slamming the door closed behind you, there's only a moment before you lock it, pushing a cabinet in front of it a moment later with a whine escaping your lips. You stagger back, falling against the floor and moving away from the door till your back hits the cool side of the tub. You clutch at your head. Can't focus. The voices are all howling and while you usually akin it to a stadium, now it just feels as if you've been trapped in a room so cramped and crowded that you can't move an inch. You can't pinpoint a single word. The whole thing is too loud. You couldn't make the words out if you tried. Your fingertips move to trace over the lettering on your arms in some strange way to comfort yourself, but it didn't help at all.

Why are they all screaming?

You rise on shaking legs, knees threatening to lock, and press your hands to the side of the sink when you look into the mirror.

You look like death again.

Eyes left bloodshot, the consistent red tint now deeper than usual, hair messy, and your skin looks paler than ever.

You want to vomit.

There's nothing there.

Still, you can feel it. There's something deep inside of you, twisting, and it feels so familiar. You're back in hell with maggots and worms twisting around inside of you, digging through flesh, and leaving pus and mucus behind. Rotting you from the inside out just like sepsis had in life. You knew what you were. Had known you would never go to heaven. You were destined to die. Destined to go to hell.

Were they still inside of you?

Your claws extend to their full length, hovering over your stomach, and in an instance you rip through the rest of the ruined shirt. Tossing it off with an annoyed growl you stared down at the drastic dip of your stomach, trying to spot a shift in the flesh or something that would suggest that anything was under there. You couldn't spot anything.

…you couldn't see anything, but you could feel it.

Your claws twitched, you moved your hand down again, and it would be a simple fix to-

A tail wrapped around your wrist.

"Master, what are you doing?" You blinked, breath raspy, and you fell back against your stand's side. "Master?"

"I have to...there's something...I can feel them writhing...I know that-"

"You were about to cut yourself open."

"I have to. There's something there."

"...I'm not helping you, am I?"

"...what?"

"You're not getting better. I'm not doing enough for you. You should be getting better. Santana is making you better, isn't he? Yet under my watch you've locked yourself away! You're-"

"This isn't me trying to self harm. It isn't. I know there's-"

"You're being paranoid. I can feel it through our connection." Its grip on your wrist tightened, earning a low whine from you. Why didn't they understand? Why didn't Narcissistic Cannibal understand? You were clearly...something was wrong with you....you were being...you need to purge yourself. "Master, I think once this is done, we should get a therapist. A living one."

"...?"

"I think it would be better for us to seek outside intervention."

"...am I just being paranoid?"

"The parasites were left in hell."

"But what if they weren't?"

"Master, you need to lower your hand. I'm going to let go of you. Don't do anything rash." You just slumped against him, some form of tension abandoning your body. You felt weightless. "There we go. Take slow breaths. Not too deep or your lungs will give you trouble."

Is that blood and mucus dripping from your lips? Is it red? Is it gold? It looks like a mix of both, but you don't have red blood in you anymore. You took too deep of a breath, didn't you?

You're going mad, aren't you?

And Ajamu laughs.

I wonder,

Did you ever notice how in the bible, whenever god needed to punish someone, or make an example, or whenever god needed a killing, he would send down an angel? Do you ever stop and think about what kind of creature they must be? What are they like? What must they be like? A whole existence spent praising your god, yet one wing is always dipped in blood.

Only an angel is capable of genocides and massacres, but only when commanded by god.

Would you ever really want to see an angel?

Cause he only loves God. remember that when he tells you; 'be not afraid, Joseph.'

Mary's son is loved. Have you ever been loved, Joseph?

God does not care for you.

Wake up, Joseph.

The angel is here. Let the cannibalistic god lick the remains of the genocide from his hands.

You were never loved.

…a threat exists.

…

…there is a risk.

…

…the body continues to fight.

…

…the narration is lost on the damned.

I didn't understand back then, but I think I understand now.

You were the only one...you didn't think I was weak, or that I'd try to run away...

You did what you had to. To save me. Because, deep down, you knew that I'd have done anything to save you.

"Do you wish you had never been born?"

You can't help but tilt your head to the side at the question. You felt as if you had heard this voice before, but it certainly wasn't an immediate hit. It wasn't Ajamu. It wasn't your stand. Not anyone that you could instantly name. It was male. Had a slight distortion to it, a bit more feminine than most men you knew. Where had you heard it last? How long has it been?

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not gone yet, so I think I can still do some good. That's enough of a reason." You walk down a long hall of mirrors, watching how your reflection doesn't distort at all despite the almost funhouse style of the place. A shudder runs down your spine. The hall isn't even that cold. "Where do I know you from?"

"I've been here since the beginning. I've seen it all."

"...ominous."

"There is no need to fear." A chuckle echoes and from one mirror to your left you see a distorted image; a man with long golden brown hair and his arms clasped in prayer. He seems to be wearing robes. The image shifts once more. He resembles a white marble stature more than a person, the color drained from him before it reverts to normal. There are pure white wings extending from his back. An angel...? You felt as if you could feel someone running their fingers through your hair, telling you it would be alright, but then it became more clear. You had seen him after everything happened with Jonathan and Dio. This was the man who scared even Ajamu. You swallowed it all down, the first memory being the one that you were more confused about in all honesty. "Are you ashamed of affection? Or are you afraid of it?"

"...am I not allowed to be afraid of affection I can't remember or place? I saw you. You terrified Ajamu, but I don't know why or how. That other memory...that came before, but I don't remember the details. How long have you been in my life?"

"All of it. Yet only those two instances."

"..." The hallway expanded, forming a rounded room. Still with every inch covered in reflective mirrors, and you looked at each version of yourself to examine the lack of distortion. You couldn't see the figure in these mirrors. With a shake of the head, you turned, ready to leave, but the hallway you entered from was just replaced by more mirrors. "Was the goal to trap me and kill me?"

"...I told you not to fear me. I'm an angel. I can do no wrong, no harm. Both I and God love you in turn."

"...that's-"

"A lie? Perhaps. How can God love you when you don't love yourself?" You see the blank face staring back at you in each mirror, and you sway on your heels trying to decide if you should smash the mirrors to see if one of them has a hidden passage, but your back hits something solid that isn't a mirror earning a hiss as you spun around to meet the angel's gaze. "You have your doubts. Yet you belong here more than anyone, dearest god."

"Then is this hell?"

"Hell?"

"Where else do I belong?" He stares blankly back at you as if you were being an idiot, which made a feral snarl escape your lips.

"You belong with the divine." He whispers out, certain of the fact, and you feel sick. "You belong in heaven. You belong with me."

"Who the hell are you? Is the angel motif for real, or is this just another trick?" He, or it perhaps, tilted at the questioning, the action borderline inhuman earning a confused hum from you. The way it moved, the way it spoke, it didn't sound human or as if it was familiar with being human. "How do I know you?"

"I am an angel, if only by name, but I've now ascended past my original purpose. I've become divine as you have. I've become human."

"Human...? That isn't divine at all, especially if you started out as an angel, so are you sure it isn't a downgrade?"

"You remain ignorant. You've seen no gods that resemble the creatures you now fight, neither did the one before you, because they have never reached the divine. Only humans have achieved divinity. You claim that should a horse create a god, it would be in the shape of a horse, but the only true gods of all and everything only take the form of humanity. Is that not proof enough that I have chosen a form that best links to the divine in this state?"

"...you're an angel only by name. You've become divine, not that you are divine, so a segment of your name is the word angel, right? Like a part of a title...you appeared in the void the second time I saw you, so-"

"I appeared in the void both times I saw you."

"When I was dying." The realization hit you like a fucking freight train.

"I could not numb the pain, could not heal you, could not stop you, so I provided you with all the comfort I could." It cooed ever so sweetly, causing you to flinch.

"You're a stand, aren't you?"

"Now I'm divine." It unclasped its hands for the first time since you saw it. You took a few steps back to prepare for the worse, with your shoulders tensing on instinct. "I could help you. I could take away everything wrong with you."

"Wrong with me?"

"Your hunger. The voices of the damned. It all hangs over you, but I could fix you." It promises you bare your fangs at the offer, because how dare it even attempt to promise you something like that. "I know what makes you human. I know what makes everyone human now. I know what you fear. I know it all now. I knew what he feared. I know what he still fears. You're so different from him. You're the reason I gained this form. You're the reason."

A hand grabs your arm, fingertips that are cold like marble tighten so you can't pull away without hurting it, and a smile slowly forms on its face. "Cursed at birth by the minds of others. Cursed by prophecy. Is this more tragic or less if you never had a choice? Let me mute it for you."

"I always had a choice. I control my destiny." You hissed out, grabbing its wrist on instinct, and the two of you remained still as your mind raced on what to do. "I refuse your help. I don't need fixing. You can't free them, can you? I don't want them silenced. I want them helped, and you can't do that. My hunger, the voices, those are just parts of me I'm stuck with. I will make whatever bed I lie in."

"..."

"You want to help me now?!? Look at me! Whatever you want to fix is too far gone! I went to church back then. I prayed for my claws and fangs to go away, for it all to be quiet, but it never happened! I'm done begging. I'm done asking." You snarled, hoping that maybe it would look hurt or that you'd make a chip in this cool front it was putting up, yet all it did was hum so softly by your ears. "Now, who the fuck are you?"

"Call me Gabriel."

"No."

"Then would Michael suffice?"

"You're not going to just name yourself after an archangel! Tell me your real name."

"That is not something I intend to give. I am Gabriel. Divine and whole." You let go of its wrist with a huff, trying and failing to pull your other hand free, but it won't let go. It leans forward. "Please stop trying to flee. I love you. I've given this my everything. You made me human. You made me divine. I've answered every request you've had. You tug at my being. My very existence had been grabbed and held within your talons. I've tried my best. I love you."

"Let me go!"

"Please!" Your head was spinning. Was this the void? Why the hell was it acting like this? "You are the only god I recognize. I call you by name. Do you know what I would do for you? Do you know what lengths I would go to? I would commit any genocide if you just promised to-"

"Let me go or I'll rip those wings off of you!"

It cries as you awaken.

You can't hope to save everyone, but you have to try.

Left tired of your bullshit, the monster that took and consumed my heart, but I no longer dress as your victim. I won't bear this burden anymore. You're nothing but a monster.

And I was left as your prey.

Carnivore.

"We have to do everything we can to keep the stone from falling into the wrong hands. We might even have to get our hands dirty."

"Why did you look at me when you said that?" You hissed out, resting on the motorcycle you had 'acquired' and planned on keeping if it survived the journey. Lisa Lisa merely raised an eyebrow at the question. Something you felt was uncalled for, but you were stopped by Joseph's loud gasp.

"M/n, where the hell did you get that?"

"Mexico."

"Where were you keeping it?"

"Around." You answered, not wanting to explain Narcissistic Cannibal's storage space to anyone, or at least not while Lisa Lisa was present. "Not my fault you weren't paying attention."

"I would've noticed a fucking motorcycle!"

"Debatable. Santana, you're riding with me."

"Of course, Lord M/n." The sensation of Santana sitting behind you was strange. You rarely rode one of these with another person, let alone when you were the person driving. You could get used to it.

"Some of us may end up in body bags." Lisa Lisa continued as if you two had never been bickering while Caesar took his place at the wheel of the car.

"My money's on Caesar dying," Joseph stage whispered to you as he walked around your motorcycle to steal the shotgun seat. You rolled your eyes as the blond glared at your trickster, who flinched back at his expression.

"Shut up, Joseph."

"Come on, I was just trying to make light of the situation!" Looking over to Lisa Lisa he held up his hands to pacify her. "Don't worry, don't worry, I won't."

"I wasn't ready before, but there's no way I'm going to lose."

"I'll eradicate every one of them!" Messina snarled, earning a slight flinch from you, noting how Santana narrowed his eyes at the remark you nudged his side to distract him, and you watched how he laxed ever so slightly.

"Let's go," was all Lisa Lisa said in response, no cry of vengeance or death threat, instead she just looked to her son with apparent concern before looking away again.

"Right, coach. We're out of here. M/n, be sure to keep up."

"Of course." You waved a hand at his concerns despite the small nod you gave. Revving the motorcycle's engine in sync with the car's, feeling how Santana adjusted himself and an arm settled at your waist. Surprisingly, you didn't feel any hint of panic at the action.

"Hey, Suzie Q, look this way!" She jumped slightly at the sound of the horn honking and spun around to face the car again. "It's goodbye for now, Suzie Q. I don't know when or how, but I'll be back in Venice one day, I promise."

"Really?"

"Of course." Joseph smiled, and you could only think about a man with blue hair who smiled in the same way when he saw a fair maiden with blond hair. "Be sure to stay healthy while I'm gone, okay?"

"Okay!"

"Later!"

"Jojo, be careful out there! M/n, you too!"

"Don't worry, I will." You called over your shoulder, pausing when her eyes landed on you again and you could see the mischievous smirk form on her lips. What the hell was she planning now?

"Love you, M/n!"

"L-love ya, too." You spoke without realizing what you said till a mere moment later. Suzie Q's laughter filled the air and he could hear Joseph gasp and sputter while a rumble echoed from Santana's chest. Great, just great. Now your own servant was laughing at you.

"M/n, are you trying to steal-"

"I said it on instinct! You know I'm gay!"

"You never say it to me!" The way Lisa Lisa slowly turned her head told you that danger was fast approaching.

"Unlearn English, right fucking now, I don't care what language you go to as long I can't speak it, trickster!"

When Joseph merely laughed at you, it was time to hit the pedal ignoring Caesar yelling for you to wait up or how Santana's grasp tightened.

The more one swims, deeper and longer in the depths, the more their own body will become unrecognizable.

Even to yourself.

Yes. Step into the water and grieve to your maker because you've become unrecognizable. Submit yourself to the reckoning of the depths. Maybe they will be kind in the face of submission. Maybe not. Either way, abandon hope.

Return from whence you came, become the primordial form which we all spring from in the waters of the womb. Where the seat of our consciousness resides to the day.

The depths of the ocean, the primordial belly of a god.

That's where monsters grow from.

A Cru...no, no, it was Gabriel now. Gabriel adjusted himself, the world was still so strange compared to himself and the realm he took form as, but this was the world god inhabited. The world he should be interacting with. The world where all gods came from. The wings on his back shifted again, colors going from pure white to a series of unique patterns that were common to birds from more tropical regions. Thinking over the colors and patterns before settling on the Dusky Lory with a satisfied hum. His unblinking gaze goes back to the figure that crosses the hallway, back and forth, and tries to find the motives of the god's actions. Ever since he revealed himself, the god was less willing to allow him contact, not tugging at his true form for teleportation, or even brushing against Gabriel's consciousness as a way to seemingly remind himself that the realm was available to him. It had been less than a day. Maybe he was being rash?

At the very least, he was agitated. He knew he was, or rather he could compare it to the emotions he had seen painted on humans and gods before and draw a connection to it, yet no matter that he couldn't understand why the almost nonsensical thought of the god avoiding him took such root in his mind. So deeply troublesome. Perhaps, on some level, he knew the answer deep down, but remained unable to admit it to himself.

The god wasn't paying him enough attention, what once had been constant for him even if the god had never known his exact level of consciousness was now not there. Why? He had told him everything, hadn't he? He was the only thing that lived alongside the god and his stand because of the way eternity reset, so why did he ignore him completely in favor of mortals? The angel didn't know. Maybe it was because of their short lifespans? Maybe he would be eager to speak with the angel once he no longer had any physical attachments in the world? Maybe if he...maybe if he helped with what the god cared for the other would respond in kind? It was unclear, yet he could extend his blessing towards the god's holy lands if he was willing to humor the idea.

Still...why? Why did he refuse to look at the angel? To speak with him? To think of him? Why couldn't he merely reach out absentmindedly to remind the angel that the god cared for him? He watched the god pace more and more, waving his hands as he argued with himself, the damned that resided in his stand, and perhaps even his stand again. His eyes traced the god's movements, his hands, and he imagined the black scales shifting and moving like in their encounter. He wanted his expression to be the same as when he looked at his servant, when he looked at the vampire, yet he was terrified. He wanted the roles to be reversed. He wanted the god to touch him, like how humans did, to revere him as the angel revered his god. As if he was the only thing keeping the god alive. The very concept of the god being desperate for him. Regardless of the exact context or definition, sent his mind somewhere incoherent, somewhere warm and alive in a way that was completely human. Completely divine. Gabriel knew that this left him vulnerable, but the thoughts the god left him in were such a deep high that he was truly indifferent to the potential dangers.

So why was he so preoccupied, so busy?

If the thoughts that had haunted him since the initial meeting. Since the god was born again, left him paralyzed, then finally being in his presence, then watching him now, left him near death. He had never feared. He had never carried worry. Now he was full of so much. God made him so happy. This god made him happy. Why, each day, did he have to slumber and then awaken with only the slightest nudge till now? The god was always tending to something; work, studies, to interact with people. Of course, he knew why. He understood the responsibilities and had been surrounded by humans since his creation. The intricacies of human society weren't lost on him, the role every person played and how fragile humanity's house of cards truly were. With how things repeated, over and over, it was clear to Gabriel that it didn't take much to break the system. Kill someone, destroy something, and the system would slowly, inevitably collapse. Nonetheless, there was a part of the being that hated the fact god had to be involved at all. Why couldn't he be involved in this life? The moment he had gained the ability, he had been eager to parade as a human, as the religious ideal of an angel. For eternity, if it meant he was involved, but that idea seemed impossible the more he thought about it. Not yet, at least. He wanted the god to be happy.

Still, he could only akin the feeling inside of his chest to pain, to being on the verge of death, when he saw how the god interacted with those he held dear. He wanted to provide stimulus like how the mortals could. Even more so, he wanted, no, he needed to lay witness. To laughter, to tears, to pain, to joy. He wanted to experience those emotions as well. He wanted to know the meaning of every expression and gesture that humans had created. He had always adored the endearment in the god's tone when he talked with his stand, how they had spent an eon coiled in an embrace with nothing but love echoing through himself, his realm, and that was something he wanted. He wanted it all. He wanted to be in the cannibalistic god's embrace. On some level, he wanted to be the cannibal. He thought he wanted to devour the god's emotions, his flesh, and then bathe in his mind like it was all he ever wanted or needed. He wanted to be the main thought in the god's mind, even for a moment, the way the thoughts forever lingered in his own.

A cold shiver raced through his body, making his newly colored wings shudder alongside the rest of him, and he had never known what it meant to be physically till now. Yet, he had no certainty over whether the god thought of him all that often. He could feel when the god reached for him, but that was all. Did the intensity match? His ability to understand people was too weak. Was the kindness shown to everyone, hidden beneath fangs and hostility, the same shown to him before he revealed himself? It seemed obvious. It was almost akin to a knife jutting in the center of Gabriel's chest that only twisted more and more with sadistic intent. Left unhurt in the literal sense, but breathing suddenly required his conscious effort. He couldn't take it, he knew that. He needed to lay all of these thoughts to rest, to remedy it, and ensure that he had a place in God's mind. He had to stave off the pain, somehow.

He moved closer to the window.

It was disturbingly uncharacteristic of him to act so wildly on emotion, or so he thought. This was why he was an angel, he figured, because only god could do this to him. Could he ask what the god had done to him to make him this way? Was that appropriate? He was supposed to be important in turn, and god had made him feel as if his newly formed heart stopped in the process.

A snarl filled his ears as he watched the god tap his heels.

Despite his distress, Gabriel recognized how enamored he was by the way he watched him lash out. The micro-movements of his eyebrows, the flutter of his eyelashes, the sound of the breath escaping from his lungs before they refilled. It was relaxing, yet not enough. What would be enough? He wanted to reach for god, but that would alert him. He was avoiding the call of the void on purpose, wasn't he?

He thought he would fall apart.

He felt crucified and near death, something he had never thought possible. The pain was excruciating, and his thoughts were debilitating. Out of all the disregard he held for humanity, he was suddenly incomparable to one, and completely inadequate to god. There was no accurate descriptor for the mixture of confusion, humiliation, jealousy and pain exemplified by thousands of years, for entire eons, of being completely and utterly alone. Realizing his profound loneliness, Gabriel wondered if he really was disintegrating.

Weak and unable to keep himself afloat, he thoughtlessly collapsed onto the roof, arms and legs on the shingles barely holding his body above...nothing as his head rested onto the hollow of stone framework. Consumed by pain from thoughts of abandonment, Gabriel curled in on himself, a sob forming in his throat.

Strange, there were few things he knew about humanity, but he knows for certain that humanity has never seen an angel cry, that they've never contemplated its existence in a real way. An actual form of god's deities would wipe any unwary human from the face of existence should they be foolhardy enough to make the unforgivable mistake of gazing at them up close. The very concept of creation escapes the understanding of the mortals, all just ants, who walk in the kingdom of god. The closest thing, or maybe the only thing, they would hear that's akin to the sobbing of an angel is the roar of the thunder that shakes the body of saints. The rage his true form showed when Ajamu had cheated in his final battle, the forsaken god never one to go out cleanly, and the god had fallen as the rot inside of him was healed back to a state where it would have to slowly spread once more before his death. Gabriel was certain his sobs, though he had no eyes to tear up, would make one assume that he would be the thing to shatter heaven itself. Had he had access to earth, he'd have made lightning strike, set forests on fire, and made the cities burn down overnight.

He had never liked Ajamu, one who claimed to be god when it suited him, but kept all the sins and faults of a king. He was never the god Ajamu to his followers but rather King Ajamu. In a few years of torment, his entire empire of eons crumbled. Gabriel wanted to make a thousand volcanoes erupt in sync. That was still too long. He wants to make the very lands shake and the waters swallow up as much as they can. Make fire spread over once fertile lands, plague and illnesses to consume still living bodies. He wanted to rage at every moment Ajamu used him as his personal torture chambers. Wanted to make the smell of gunpowder the only thing children could recall when he laid waste to their homes, and thus, with centuries upon centuries of suffering all of those cultists...well, they still wouldn't feel an iota of what pains twisted through him at being a weapon.

Then again, he doesn't know what pain is.

He was a new dimension, not hidden away in some part of the cosmos. He hears nothing if not by choice. He can choose not to see anything. The very idea of trying to explain that to a human is maddening. But there's a part of him that wants to remember, to think about how his mouth had opened, his fingers clenching at his skin and how his screams of pain, even if no one could hear them, had pulled at the center of his being. What's that? What is it? Oh my, what is it! He is a creature of love, a messenger. Born from souls, born from humans, the clearest point of a human's experience and desire for safety reflected in him.

Ajamu was right to fear him now because this was his fault.

He was never created with this idea, that one day he might come to know the meaning of pain, much less experience such deep pains firsthand. Ajamu's sins had spread through like a loathsome poison, worse than any snake's venom, and the fake tears had fallen from a form that hadn't existed. All Gabriel could hope was that one mortal became god for prophecy willed it.

Had he had this form back then, he would have hugged himself, when he wanted to rip and tear himself into bloody shreds, to tear himself apart so it in turn would be the thing to kill Ajamu. Impossible to ignore. He laughs, even. Recalling that fills him now with so much and so little. He forces himself away from the window, away from god, so that the disbelieving laughter can escape his lips without alerting the other. The pain makes him bend over, and how can simply recalling something hurt so badly? As he denies, he trembles and only feels a compelling and urgent need to disappear from the face of existence forever and ever.

How dare these memories hurt!

The tears of an angel are not like human tears, torrents of clear water with salt. These are dark, sickeningly so like tar, although he wishes that he never had to think about tar ever again. Poisonous, a single drop would kill hundreds of billions. One must always be careful.

It was unknowing why an angel cried, right?

He had never cried for the other gods, not the first, but for the last he still sobbed. Why? He is powerful, certainly, but if he knows so much what will be, what was and what, then why was he not able to help when it mattered? He is divine when he can no longer help. Because his ideals of help are flawed. God has no craving for blood or genocide despite all his titles. He wants not for death.

Why fight at all?

…does God mourn the death of Jesus when he was the one who sent him to slaughter?

He isn't divine enough, human enough, to even know the answer.

Yet.

He looks back to God's form and wipes the poisonous tears away.

"King, and god, and...sacrifice..."

His voice is lost as he vanishes, an echo through the void. Through himself. God is not listening, but he will.

Control.

He will never allow anyone other than him to agree to the walk of his eternal existence.

There are few things in the layers of fiction that remain more compelling than the inherent tragedy of a villain who is shown to be full of so many good things that they could be better, but instead they actively choose to be worse because they do believe in what they're doing.

There's something then that's so satisfying about watching a terrible person who has aspects worthy of sympathy choose to do evil, and then be defeated by those he did evil against in life, but in that moment of defeat there is grace, there is a fragment of understanding, maybe there is even love for the person this monster could have been if only he had been willing to make the right turn at the metaphorical crossroads. To think that we are capable of a profoundly human moment of connection, even in the aftermath of that evil.

To have that moment of mourning for what good was in him, the good that maybe you only saw, the good that you would have taken into your hands and lifted up to the light, if only he would have let you.

The good that you...ultimately, you yourself, had to be the one to destroy.

The snow storm was slowly drawing to a stop, though the winds still lashed and whipped throughout the streets like Odin's hounds during the wild hunt, causing the figure leaning against the building to look up towards the sky. The wind picked up again, growing even louder, and it sounded as if a man was wailing in the deepest throes of pain, which earned a curious hum. Carmine eyes narrowed in thought before his gaze went back to the phone booth he had been watching, yet it still didn't ring. A yip caused the pillar man to turn his head, watching how a white stray dog approached him. After observing the skinny hound for a moment, Kars dropped to one knee to pet the small dog, earning a content huff and a tail wag. After a moment, his gaze went back to the silent phone booth, and he rose back up to his feet with an annoyed sigh and started down the sidewalk, forcing himself to ignore the small whine the hound gave before it moved to cross the street.

It was the sight of a car racing down the road that gave the pillar man pause.

The dog on instinct dropped into a crouch despite being in the middle of the road, and its whimpering was drowned out as the car continued to drastically swerve, Kars allowed his bone blade to break free from the skin and in one motion the situation was handled. A crash followed by the explosion of the car's engine filled the air, and the hound gave a delightful yip as it raced after Kars.

'Hm, Esidisi still hasn't reported back, yet I can tell he's alive. He last said that he had learned that the stone was somewhere in Venice. Something must have happened to him.' Kars paused at the sound of something heavy crashing up ahead and the hound took off as he heard a man scream. Despite the situation at hand, he followed after, weaving between buildings and entering alleys before going still as the hound found what it was looking for. Or rather, who it was looking for.

It had led him to god.

I didn't do this right the first time, so let me try again.

Happy new year.

To all the grief I was never allowed to process, to the people I wish I could've done more for, to the people I couldn't say goodbye to, to the things I lost for daring to exist.

Happy new year.

You did what you could.

Keep going.

The god had yet to notice him. Instead, his back was to the pillar man from across the street, with all of his attention to the alleyway he stood in front of. Kars's eyes followed the blood that started as random drops of scarlet by his boots. Before becoming a thick trail that vanished from view into the shadows of the alley. There was another panicked scream from just out of view. The smell of blood only grows stronger, and then there's silence.

The god lights a cigarette.

Pink and black smoke escapes his lips. Rising above his head before forming twisting streams that illogically move back down and coil around his frame. Like the serpents his familiar resembled. The hound had also gone still to watch the god. Almost pointing with its muzzle like a compass points to the north, but as if summoned by his thoughts, the familiar exited the alleyway.

Scarlet drips over the deep blue of its frame. The formation of its frills was still firmly pressed down. Kars knows they can open if only because he's seen them twitch and try to expand in response to its own emotions. But for now, they remain closed. Blood continues to drip down the massive frame of the beast. Kars can hear whispering as if thousands of people are in attendance at the sight, and half of a human form hangs out of its jaws. A man seemingly in his forties that only twitches, eyes wide and unblinking. Then his gaze lands on Kars's form, allowing the pillar man to see a flicker of hope form as he tries to mouth out the word help.

Kars doesn't move.

The look of despair is cut off by the serpentine beast throwing its muzzle upwards and swallowing. The muscles of the throat contract and restrict, and the sound of bones being crushed echoes before the beast is done eating. It lowers its muzzle again to rest the end of its snout against the god's shoulder, earning a low huff from the male. Smoke continues to dance through the air as the serpent quietly talks. Too soft despite the deep rumble of its chest for Kars to make out the words. The formations of its muzzle, a mix between alligatoridae and elapidae in design, makes it impossible for him to read its 'lips', so to speak. There's a part of him that wants to alert the god, that wants to cross the street between them and speak to the god properly, to ask if his shadow had visited him on purpose, because he is not the kind of man that stalks something that interests him so.

Was he not blessed by the gods in his mode of light?

Why would he ever fear speaking to the god when his wedding ring bound them together?

He doesn't get a chance before the god visibly scoffs. Giving a roll of the eyes that could be only described as overly fond. He moves the creature's head from his shoulder to brush his lips against his familiar's in a light, almost chaste, kiss. The god pulled away, forked tongue, licking away the blood that had smeared on his lip. Before he jumped when the hound seemed to lose its nervousness and raced across the street. Despite the initial surprise, the god visibly perked up at the sight. While his familiar's tail gave lazy wags that sent the sound of brass bells throughout the air as he dropped to his knees to pet the dog. Kars noted how he pulled back multiple times to avoid injuring the animal with his claws or scales. His movements are far from the viciousness when he attacked Wamuu, far from the slow, unsteady motions of the shadow. Far from a god who claimed titles of madness and bloodshed.

If not for his inhuman features, his familiar, it would be easy to mistake him for just a young man, a mortal.

The god gains a mischievous grin when he notes the hound doesn't have a collar, scooping it up in one quick motion, and he turns on his heel while humming a tune while his familiar happily produces a series of chirps and caws that start out vaguely reptilian before seamlessly becoming avian in nature.

Kars watches the pair leave with heat coiling under his skin and mind racing with data.

They say that when she saw him after everything had been said and done...well, Mary didn't recognize Jesus as her son. Not until he spoke to her. At first, Mary can't place this man with tired, yet kind eyes as the young boy she raised all those years ago. The child she watched like a blind man watches the sun after a miracle restores him. The death she screamed and mourned for. But then he speaks. That distinctive voice with a Nazarean accent that she knows. The voice of someone she thought dead. The voice of her son. A voice that could draw her from despair and into faith as surely as the sun rises each morning because what is a mother if not one who loves endlessly?

A voice that welcomed her into a room of disciples. A voice that says knowingly that she's valued in the eyes of god. A voice that answers each question and sob with warmth. A voice that laughs over family meals. A voice that dared to comfort her at the end of his mortal life. A voice that howled in pain on the cross.

Mary knew that voice.

A voice that had spoken to her in love.

That's when she recognizes her son, because seeing is not always believing.

Loving is.

"M/n, are you pregnant?" He stops cooking at that. Looking over to Joseph with an expression that clearly tells the Joestar that he doesn't just think he's being an idiot right now. But during the Esidisi fight, he must've taken a blow to his head severe enough to do damage.

"If either of us could get pregnant, then it would be you given how all our encounters go, trickster." He finally says after a moment of observation. Shoving something that already looks good into the rented building's oven before he settles on a kitchen chair.

One more day till they catch up with the red stone.

Joseph doesn't dare admit that his vision is blurring constantly. That he can barely keep anything down. That his eyes keep watering from the pain because that won't help. He knows he's dying. Knows that the ring's casing is about to break for good and that he probably has no chance of killing Wamuu, especially if these symptoms get any worse. Sometimes at night M/n tries to drown himself if Santana doesn't lie with him. Sometimes Joseph lays with him and he talks in his sleep. Cursing dead gods and whispering about sepsis rot setting in and that he knows he's running out of time, but he has to keep going. Joseph wonders if sepsis rot would hurt less. Wonders if M/n would handle the pain better than him.

"But you've filled out recently."

"Filled out?"

"I can't count your ribs anymore." That's a bit of a lie. His ribs are still visible, but there isn't a massive dip from his ribs to his hips and pelvis, which Joseph can only count as an improvement.

"That...that isn't possible." He whispers out. Sounding confused and concerned in the same breath. Joseph playfully pokes the slight plush of his stomach, which still feels somewhat empty compared to a normal person. Still less empty than when they had laid together and Joseph couldn't stop himself from pressing down. Just to feel the lack of anything till flesh and muscles hit the spine. "I don't gain or lose weight. I'm at a set weight, set height. I don't change like that. Well, I mean...I can make myself have the internal organs I lack, but my body just eats them after a while."

"Maybe you've hit a better mindset?"

That gets him to pause and consider it, and his skin is warm, warm to where his already fevered form shuddered, both craving the heat and wanting to recoil instantly.

"Maybe..."

"Then look at it as a good thing! I mean, you're not frozen and sick anymore, right?"

"Right." He brightens, fangs flashing in his smile, and when he goes to take out the first part of the dish Joseph excuses himself, and take that Caesar he does have manners, to go throw up. Most of it is water that's stained pink from blood. He doesn't mention it. He forces his hamon to flood his system more than usual, force his breathing to patch any internal wound it can, and he keeps going.

He won't die from this.

He still has time.

I will have no happy ending.

No happily ever after, no finale to my tale. I will not go gentle, nor will I have some grand burst of cinematic conclusion. I will live in one step and another. One place, and then the next. I will live in the moments between scenes. In the space between the lines.

And life will be good to me there.

I think I would love a quiet life.

"Hey, Jojo! Jojo! Jojo, wake up!" Messina snaps, causing the god to look from his place on the motorcycle and watch how Joseph shifts in his sleep. He's been doing that more and more. Falling asleep and taking hours to fully wake no matter how much coffee he and Caesar shove at him, hoping to give him some sort of energy. It isn't working. He can see the cracks growing deeper in the ring. His own is perfectly preserved, and a part of him is terrified that Joseph will die before they even encounter Wamuu. Messina raised his elbow and brought it down on Joseph's head, earning a jolt from the Joestar.

"Huh? Wha...?"

"Jojo, we've caught up with the train." Caesar reminds him when the Joestar just takes a moment to blink in confusion while the god resists the urge to rev the engine. He wants to keep driving, not stare at some stationary train.

"They're going through customs at the moment. Might take them a while given the amount of weapons on the train." M/n says with a yawn, leaning back against Santana's chest as he adjusts the vehicle. Feeling the low hum of Santana's form, the slight shifting of his ribs beneath his flesh.

"That works in our favor. We're less than an hour from St. Moritz, which leaves us enough time to get ready." Lisa Lisa interjects, earning a nod from Caesar as Joseph yawns again. "It's good we caught up."

"Come on, Jojo. Look sharp."

"Give him a moment, Cae-" The god jolted at the sudden sound of a horn honking behind them, hair bristling upwards like a spooked cat. Causing Santana to wrap an arm around his waist to prevent him from jumping off the motorcycle.

"Listen, I'm...I'm just saving up my strength for the big battle, that's all. Get off my case. Let's hurry up and get there so we can retrieve that stone. Then we're gonna need some sort of plan for the fight with Wamuu."

"We'll wait for that until we cross," a gasp escapes his lips as the honking continues behind them, and Caesar whips his head around to glare at the car behind them.

"What the hell? M/n, who is that?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know, trickster?"

"Knock it off!" Joseph yells as the honking continued at a steady rhythm, earning a low growl as the god covered his sensitive ears. The car door opened as Joseph rose to his feet, a slight sway to his step, and he glared at the car which rumbled its engine like an animal snarling. "If you want to go on, just quit honking and pass us. Hm...? German soldiers...? What the hell are they doing in a car on the Swiss-Italian border?"

One soldier laughs, familiar enough to get M/n to uncover his ears, and he hears Santana hum in confusion.

"Well, well, you're looking rather spry. My, you've grown so much, haven't you, Joestar? I wonder if I can say the same for you, M/n?"

"Tch!" The god snarled, feeling like something was itching right under his skin.

"Huh? W-what did you just say, mister?"

"Die dinge, die du mit deiner zunge gemacht hast, sind ekelhaft!" A different soldier calls from the car as it revs its engine before driving away. His face is fully tilted towards the god earning a confused hum from the male, but his attention then goes to Caesar. "Und sie sollten einen besseren geschmack bekommen."

"...?"

"How dare-"

"Wait, Caesar what did he say?"

"He said..." The blond froze, looking over to the god who was watching the car vanish on the horizon. Clearly trying to decide if he should be offended or not by whatever the soldier had said. "He was complimenting your hair."

"Are you sure? That sounded pretty aggressive."

"German's an aggressive language."

"Why don't you sound confident when you say that?" M/n mumbled, forcing himself to push the comment out of sight and out of mind as Joseph yelled after the car.

They had shit to do, and the fucking Nazis had the red stone.

And the game is over. It ends.

And so you lay down and have a new dream. And you wake up from a new dream. And you dream again. You dream better.

And you are the universe.

And you know love.

You are love.

Wake up.

Kars stops walking towards the cabin when he hears a separate set of footsteps crunching in the snow. His head whips around towards the sound. His eyes narrowed in thought as the figure remained just out of view, leaning against the other side of the cabin, and the click of a lighter sound. He takes a step forward, ready to get rid of the heat signature before moving to those inside, but stops at the smoke. Thick streams of smoke dance in the air, pink and black, twin serpents that claim the air as their domain as easily as the laticauda did when it entered the water. He moves again with a very different purpose in mind.

He finds the god leaning against the wall as expected, or as he had known the moment the god settled, but he was completely lax. Eyes closed. One hand slipped into the pocket of the jacket he wore while the other removed the cigarette away from his lips so he could blow more smoke into the air. One heel was off the ground so he could tap it against the wooden frame of the cabin at a slow, steady pace. There was a slight tilt of the head at the sound of Kars approaching, yet his eyes didn't open or give any sign of reaction. He either knew it was Kars there and was completely fine with it, or he assumed Kars was someone else. The pillar man wasn't sure which was correct yet, but he was certainly going to make his presence known.

"What an unexpected sight to see you out here," he murmurs once he's at the god's side, earning a low hum from him. But the male doesn't even open his eyes, though Kars can spot a slight twitch of his eyelid.

"Oh? Am I bothering you, soldato?" M/n asks, causing Kars to tilt his head to the side, a spark of mirth at the god thinking he was just another soldier that had taken residence at the cabin. "I'm just having a smoke. I'll be out of your hair once I'm done. Or, if you're looking for Lisa Lisa then she's inside."

"Oh, what's the matter? Don't recognize the kindred spirit you share such a bond with? I'm hurt." Kars drawled out, allowing his hand to faintly brush over the front of his jacket as a show of mock pain, and he feels a wave of satisfaction as the god stiffens at that. For a moment, he nearly drops the cigarette before his eyes snap open. He turns only to jolt when his face slams center stage into Kars's chest, a confused hiss escaping his lips as he staggers back. Eyes snapping up Kars's frame till they meet his eyes. His expression went from confused to a look of panic in a matter of seconds.

"K-kars?!? What the hell are you doing here?!?"

"Oh, funny, I was about to ask you the same thing, my dear." Leaning against the wall himself, the pillar man crossed his arms, the palm of his right hand coming to rest against his cheek as he watched the way the gods' eyes darted up and down his frame before back to the cabin's main door. His frame twitches, yet the god doesn't move.

"You know, I asked first, but if you really must know, we're being held up by the Nazis. All decorum with that lot." His eyes dart away from Kars and the cabin, looking to the snowy fields around them, before his gaze darts back to the pillar man. "And are the others here with you? I can't imagine Wamuu being the type for a sneak attack, and I can only hope that Esidisi is off somewhere licking his wounds...but I digress. I answered your question, so could you answer mine?"

"Oh...nothing too peculiar...Just searching for a certain precious gemstone. They say it's almost purely divine~!" The pillar man purred out, gently brushing a stand of hair away from his face, watching how the god's Adam's apple bobbed slightly at the action. M/n took another step back, face gaining a distinct flush, as he opened and closed his free hand. Sharp claws extended and retracted in sync with the motion.

"Divine...right, sorry, but we have nothing like that here. Have to go somewhere else to find that fancy stone of yours." His eyes kept darting back to the cabin door. Kars wondered if he was waiting for someone to walk out and assist him, or perhaps the perfect moment to escape into the cabin. Either way, he had yet to do anything. "So, why don't you just mosey on out of here and no one has to be roughed up too bad, kay?"

"What a curious dialect you bear...Tell me, is that from whatever land you hail from? Your place of...birth?" The god shoved the remains of his cigarette into his pocket. Free hand suddenly covered his mouth as if to stop himself from speaking, and when he pulled his hand away, Kars could see that the flush had only grown darker.

"I don't...I mean, I'm not...I really ain't that type of guy...I mean, ugh..." The hue only grew darker as he scrambled over his words, a mix of steam and black smoke escaping his lips, as he tapped his heel at a rapid pace before making a slight noise of frustration and he started to absentmindedly mess with one zipper on his jacket instead. "Seriously...just...that...your red stone isn't here. You really need to...just get out of here before the others start an all out brawl, I mean, you can't expect to win all by yourself, right?"

"But, my dear god, what if my victory is closer than any stone imaginable?" The god only hissed at that, pupils mere pinpricks, and he moved further back. A slight flicker in the air behind him allowed Kars to see the outline of his familiar shift, as if about to strike before vanishing once more. The god seemed to pause, as if hearing something or someone else speak, and Kars heard the air come alive with thousands of whispering voices for only a second.

"...listen, I don't know what your game is, but I'm not a fan. Either get out of here or start the fight already. I mean, Esidisi was bad with the way he analyzed people, but this whole 'saying weird shit to distract me thing' is just...difficult." Despite his words, Kars can only focus on how the god is pointedly trying to avoid looking at him.

"What's wrong, baby? Can't bring yourself to look up into my eyes when so flushed? Worry not. I'll lighten it a bit by taking what I came for, but not interfering with you any longer. At least...not for now, my sweet, succulent serpent of silky dialect~"

"What romance novel shit was that?!? Did you plan that out beforehand?!?" M/n snapped, though it clearly took him a moment to regain his tongue. Despite Kars's words about lightening it his face only grew darker. "Seriously, are you trying to psych me out? I thought the whole 'villain aesthetic' you're going for would have more threats...or like...trying to convince me to your side...I mean, what the hell are you going for?!"

We all looked up from our place of rest, blinded by a light so bright that we thought it to be the rising sun. But we realized it was not the sun, not a star, but a man cloaked in flame so bright he seemed to be burning like the cosmos.

He told us: 'Fear not, my followers. Your God has arrived to deliver you.'

And we looked on, on at the burning star of a man. Our eyes were wide and filled with liquid.

And as we looked on, they filled not with tears, but with the blue of our blood. Flooding and bursting in a boiling rage at the man before us, the veins within our bodies heating and boiling in a rage at this blasphemous effigy.

How dare this mortal, this pretender, this phoenix claim to be the personification of the stars we cherish? He brings us nothing. The stars he impersonates burn with the fires of life itself, gifting every world, every rock, every atom the beauty of life itself. Existence is within the shining and slow demise of every star within the cosmos, a natural sacrifice that gifts every sentient being, every glorious and thunderous moment in life, a chance at existence within the darkness of space and time itself. It is the beauty of the stars, that their gift is their long and eternal death, so that we may live.

And yet, this imposter gives nothing. This man wearing the skin of the cosmos presenting himself as a 'god' to us.

"I burn for you!" He would scream. "Obey me and bow!"

And so we raised our lances at this god, understanding of his nature and his own 'sacrifice'. We would help him burn...

And burn...

'You know, White-Boy-Wednesday is ruined by this. Santana's really gonna be upset.' M/n thought watching Kars merely gave him a warm smile that he couldn't place. A delighted giggle escaped his lips, which sent a shiver down the god's spine. Kars turned on his heel, causing him to jolt in confusion as Kars just...walked away? Following the cabin's outer walls with one hand trailing over the wooden surface at all times. Briefly M/n considered turning tail and escaping into the cabin so he could call for help, but he really had no idea what Kars was planning, so with a shake of the head he began to slowly follow after him. Keeping a yard or so of distance at all times, he forced himself to ignore how his internal temperature spiked at random, causing steam to rise from the snow around him. 'Seriously, what the hell is he doing?'

Kars stopped suddenly, turning towards the wall to rest both of his palms against the wooden frame.

"...what are you doing?"

"I'm reading the heat signatures inside, my dear."

"...?" His eyes darted towards the cabin, seeing the multiple human forms present inside, and he shivered at the fact the two of them shared an ability.

"The fireplace is lit. Four lights on the walls, two on the ceiling, two on the desk. No, three. Four humans standing by the wall. Their heights are one hundred seventy-eight, one hundred seventy-four, one hundred eighty-one, and one hundred seventy-eight centimeters. One human is by the fireplace, one hundred eighty-three centimeters tall. There are five humans, all male."

'Five, but I'm certain I can see six...' The god shook his head, focusing back in on Kars, feeling panic start to bubble and shift beneath his skin. "Why are you reading their heat signatures? They're noncombatants, and they don't even know that you're here."

"Oh? And was that man in the alleyway nothing more than a noncombatant...?" Kars responded, before his gaze moved seamlessly back to the cabin's walls. "And besides, even if they are, they're still in our way."

"The man in the alleyway...? How do you know...how long were you..." The god froze up at the implications. On one hand, indignant since that pedophile had got what he fucking deserved, while the rest focused on his second statement. 'In our way.' He clearly meant him and the other pillar men, but all M/n could think was that there was a chance, no matter how small, that he was talking about the two of you. The extension of his blades gave the god pause, hand opening as if to summon his trident, but the sudden hum of the void caused him to stop the process. He could feel the other, the so-called angel's presence, lighting up when he tried to reach for his weapon.

The blade slid through the cabin's walls with ease and the god's mouth watered at the scent of blood despite his earlier hunting.

'...five in one strike, but that sixth person is still in there, yet...why don't they have a heat signature?'

Kars broke through a segment of the wall, revealing the sight of the massacre, and M/n took a step back. There was blood everywhere. Bits of furniture broken and wood chips scattered across the floor alongside viscera and bone fragments. The many corpses that littered the room were all caught in different expressions of shock. Well, minus the one whose head had been sliced in half. He spotted the other half of the male's head resting on top of a different corpse, like some kind of hat.

"One, two...that's four, and five."

"...brutal, to say the least." M/n mumbled, covering his mouth to hide the way his mouth watered or how he had to swallow nearly every word.

"So you must be Kars. You're fast." A voice echoed from the chair. The sixth person in the room, and M/n finally recognized the voice. Though part of him wondered if it was just another hallucination replacing the actual person there. No way he survived that fight. No fucking way. "In just a few hours, you heard about your friend's defeat, learned that we had obtained the stone-"

A soft hiss escaped the god as the stone was casually held so it shined in the light while Kars's eyes narrowed.

"Found our location and have come for it. Very impressive. And then this brutal, perfectly calculated assault. Not one of my men made even the slightest sound before they died."

"I was sure there were only five men in this room." Kars's gaze darted to the god, who hadn't seemed shocked about the sixth person in the room, merely who he was given, how he reacted to the man's voice. His blade reemerged from his arm as he moved into a fighting stance. "Now tell me, why can't I sense your body heat?"

"Hey, rifle heads, what's a guy gotta do to get a little food in here? Huh-Kars? And M/n...what are you doing out there?" Joseph cried out as Kars leapt towards the soldier. Blade flashing like lightning carving its way through the sky, and M/n could see Santana behind the trickster.

"Switching sides! What do you fucking think? Kars is attacking!"

You master that sword, but in battles, it breaks.

You switch over to the pen, but you find it wanting.

You look to the window, and find it wanting. It's been painted over.

(You can't even see through the glass.)

Your mother is nature, mountains and lakes, while you reside, the asphalt lot, cowering in ways that should've never been made.

Here, the very air shatters like glass.

Here, your head is cracked against a broken windshield.

You can't unbreak a windshield, and you can't unbreak your mind.

You are the problem.

You are the flames.

You are the rot.

And you were the body that crashed through the glass that rainy day.

Despite your words, the pillar man leapt at the German soldier, the way his blade came down akin to the reaper's scythe to a wretched soul. You've witnessed this power firsthand, how easily it had ripped through your form in the darkened catacombs under Italy, and then how it cleaved through a whole squad of German soldiers like it was nothing. This one blow would surely rip the man apart, even if he was already a ghost. You could easily imagine it; his uniform cleaved through like paper to scissors, blood and viscera splattering across the walls and floor like new coat of paint...and yet all the German did was catch the blade in his right hand, the sound of metal slamming against metal rang out as his grip tightened around the blade. You could get a better glimpse of the blade's detailing now that Kars was suspended in motion...that wasn't metal...your vision proved it. It was made of hardened bone. Yet not a mark or scratch was on the German, your senses unable to pick up any fresh blood or even sweat, and he still bore no heat signature.

His outfit on the other hand hadn't survived that blow totally unscathed...the leather glove on his hand that gripped the blade was ripped apart with shredded chunks falling to the floor against the pillar man's strike, revealing a hand made of fine, tempered steel. The light of the room only served to better reflect the fine craftsmanship, akin to a knight's gauntlet being held against a dragon's claw. Nature vs man-made horrors.

"What? This man's-Mechanical!" Kars exclaimed, now being forced into a position where he and the German were caught in a stalemate. Yet his glove wasn't the only item damaged in the attack. You could see the split form on the German's hat, and then you were all witness to the two segments falling away in perfect sync. And yet between everyone there, it was Joseph who reacted first, screaming out the officer's name, revealing nothing more than a dead man walking.

"You're Von Stroheim!"

'And now we have Mecha-Nazi's!?!' You thought, mentally holding down the urge to react in any way, and you had to swallow down a mix of bile and drool when you looked back to the corpses.

"Double shock!" Joseph exclaimed to the entire world as the both of you were left to stand and stare at the duo, one a purely organic lifeform evolved by scientific horrors that were completely beyond your level of understanding, and the other was...well, a Mecha-Nazi back from the dead. Yet the German, now seemingly a cyborg, turned to Joseph. A grin that reflected both pure ego and sadism ‌flashed across his face. Though it was now a bit more worn and scarred from the explosion that had first caused this mess.

"Jojo…I've crawled myself back from hell for this one last effort!"

Yet your gaze didn't stay on Stroheim for long, instead you watched as from behind your trickster the form of your servant, Santana, emerged. His form had shifted now appearing to don scales and feathers, similar to that of the mythological reptilians in Central American mythologies. But despite your sudden fluster at this form, even with the heat under your skin you still understood that this change wasn't for sex. Rather, observing how his newly clawed fingers extended, how when his mouth opened, his fangs extended and drops of venom trailed down his skin. Or how all his feathers were flaring alongside the rippling of his scales were all aggression and tension. Yet that cool demeanor never once left his face; unmoving, apathetic, and yet completely unremoved from Kars's frame.

"I knew White-Boy-Wednesday was in jeopardy." At that laughter escaped your lips and all three men immediately turned to Santana. An expression of shock, surprise, and irritation were shown across all three of them in the following order; Joseph, Stroheim, and Kars. Though Joseph's gaze darted to you as you had to cover your mouth to silence yourself.

"Wow, M/n! Santana already has your sense of humor that no one can or will ever understand!"

"Sanviento! I thought you reserved that form for the bedroom..."

"Evolved already with the stone...? Switching sides always benefited you, didn't it, Santana?"

Swallowing down any more laughter, you watched the two in the center of the room before your gaze darted to your trickster and servant. Deciding that this was really a battle where you needed a solid plan of attack. Adjusting your stance so you could easily cross the distance in any direction. Though your ankles clicked awkwardly at the motion, you looked towards Joseph and Santana again. You had promised to keep Kars alive. And really, Stroheim had already died once...you probably shouldn't let him die...though did it really count given that he seemed mostly mechanical? Ugh, that was a moral debate that you didn't want to think about. Point was; Stroheim had the fucking stone, Kars was here to get it and was now fighting Stroheim, and you, Joseph, and Santana were acting as onlookers for the moment.

It was a shitshow no matter what.

I have a hard time existing indoors.

In all the skeletons and small spaces.

Oh darling, can't you see? I'm tangled deep in all these cobwebs.

Left pulling bones from the floor to toss them up into the air and see if any stick.

Here's a fun little picture;

A ring far too small for a finger, yet it wraps around the crook of my throat.

There is a desperation behind soap,

Scentless,

And slipping fingers trying to undo my own work.

I'm left swelling in the closet. I've fallen from my seat, and I can't draw air.

My veins cheering me on.

The area was filled with mechanical humming and shifting.

"This is spookier than meeting a ghost in a dark cemetery after midnight! Kars and Von Stroheim, who I could have sworn was blown into little tiny bits back in Mexico, are both standing right in front of me." Joseph's gaze darted from the pillar man to the German soldier who was still smirking as if victory was completely assured...and yet, the trickster observed the mechanical wonders implanted into the Major's body. His arm appeared to be highly complex, almost entirely machine, and cast in a carapace; a powerful shell of finely tempered steel. It shined brightly in the light like a Tudor knight's armored gauntlet, yet maintained a dark and industrial look to it like science and darkness played a hand in its design. It whirred and growled like the machines and mechanical arms of a factory. The enigma surrounding his right eye however, was even stranger. His temple was implanted with a steel box and gizmos that went into his skull. Directly over his eye, a glass monocle covered it, and within you could hear a faint, small, and deeply mechanical whirring...all as his eye moved in unnatural, inhuman ways, scanning the area over with each and every purr of machinery as his other eye gazed at Kars. M/n actually flinched when it locked onto him for a moment, and it didn't make the god feel safe the entire time Stroheim's face wore a deep, sadistic smile. A small part of him was just thankful it wasn't directed at anyone innocent...and yet it was only his arm and eye that appeared mechanical...but he could clearly remember his entire body being destroyed in the blast, heat and force from the grenade eradicating and obliterating him into smoldering, hideous viscera...the rest of him had to be mechanical, right? "His hand looks like it's made of metal, and his face is wrapped up in some kind of strange machinery. The Germans must have been hiding this...what incredible medical technology! Could it be for military use? I guess that's what saved your miserable life, Von Stroheim."

'...should I be happy about this? I mean, when you get down to it, he's not exactly a bad guy...except for the fact he's a damned German soldier, and they did complement M/n's hair and not mine! And I don't like the way he struts around like he's so much better than everyone else! His soldiers complimented M/n for M/n's sake! Ah, hell, I'm still a bit happy.' Joseph thought to himself, watching how the god rolled his ankles as he shifted ever so closer to him and Santana, before Stroheim looked back over to him with a confident ease.

"Why don't you all make yourself at home on the sofa and watch me do my work?" Those words were supposed to be reassuring, yet Joseph flinched back when he met Kars's gaze.

'He's glaring at me...! And...Santana...? Is he upset at him for reaching perfection? Or me for beating Esidisi and destroying his body...? Both me and M/n played a part in it, so why the hell isn't he glaring at M/n like that?!?' Swallowing down his initial fear the Joestar glared at the pillar man. "Kars, you think I'm going to sit here and let you sike me out!?!"

"Jojo, once I'm finished securing the stone, I'm going to put an end to you. It's too bad Wamuu is still off working in Greece. I can't allow a hamon user who is capable of beating Esidisi to remain alive."

"Tell me something, Kars; are you speaking as a warrior...or as a customer for something else...?"

"...why'd ya look at me when you said that, Joseph...?" At the sound of the god's voice the pillar man immediately stopped glaring at the trickster, gaze going to the male who was barely inside the cabin, and Joseph had to admit that Kars visually softened...?

'W-what the hell?!? I swear I can hear angels singing...what's happening?!? There are even little cupids and hearts everywhere! Did M/n blow aphrodisiacs in my face again?!?'

"Pay attention, you're fighting me! I'm the one who's going to be your final opponent!" The Nazi growled out, missing any of that previous humor or arrogance. Now his tone was total annoyance. His face visibly wrinkling with irritation, filled with an immaculate focus and inner desire...or perhaps drive? Maybe it was his ego to be both the first and foremost to eradicate Kars? Some way of being the pinnacle of the Wehrmacht, slaying the evolved life form with technological marvels. Machine vs biology at its maximum, and yet Kars seemed to match the irritation, his eyes prying from the god or Joseph and suddenly back to the German.

"No machine can stop me." He snarled out, matching Stroheim's annoyance and manner. The more you looked at the two, the more similarities you realized. Both are the highest of their groups, the top of the pillar men, the top of the Wehrmacht, one of technology, one of biology. Both have an advanced understanding of science and biology, as both of them have made improvements to their physical forms. And here and now was a showdown between the two to prove what's superior: machine or evolution?

"Is that right?" The German purred out, a dastardly smirk across his scarred face as his body began to whirr once more like a factory assembly machine. His arm bent backwards, reaching around while making those unnatural metallic sounds and vibrations. It was so smooth as well, not a single buffer or pause to recalibrate. It was like a normal arm with the howls of machinery. More so, you could see it move faster than any human arm, the reflexes almost as fast as Santana when he was first unearthed. It was so much so, so similar...almost as if...

"Agh! Arms of flesh and blood can't bend like that! Which means they ARE mechanical!" Joseph yelped, taking a step back, closer to Santana's side as he observed the machine-man continue with his work. This is one of the few times you've seen Joseph genuinely terrified, almost the same as witnessing Esidisi boil Loggins' body. Yet with no signs of stopping, the arm came down upon the hand that held Kars' bone blade, and the mechanical fingers that clicked and revved with technological marvels pinched at the flesh of his hand.

"Now for the fun!" The fingers squeezed against the hard flesh of the Pillar Man. Kars let out a feral, near animalistic growl as the mechanical fingers pried at the segment of flesh, you could see it bulge aggressively against the pressure before suddenly stretching, being pulled from the palm of his hand like the processing machine in a factory ripping a fine piece of meat from the flesh of a beast. Now was a bad time to still be hungry.

"Wait, he's-" Joseph's exclamation was interrupted as the flesh finally tore free from his hand, blood being squished out from the piece ripped away from his hand as the limb sprayed blood onto the floor. Kars leapt backwards, pulling his arm away successfully with blood still pouring from the tear in his hand. The flesh was tossed to the side, falling to the ground like a dried shell with no red within. It was merely skin at this point.

At the successful pushing back of Kars, his heels slammed into each other, the leather of his boots combining into the mix of goose-stepping with the crack of a whip. His posture straightened up perfectly like a true soldier at the ready, and his right arm would be raised to the ceiling in that horrendous and signature salute of authoritarianism...and yet you had the feeling that it was less of pride in being a Nazi...more of just being a loyal egoist. It...made him a little bit more bearable, if nothing else, though you still didn't like him.

"You utter FOOL!!!!! German science is the finest in the world!!! These arms have such great POWAH!!!! They were constructed based on the abilities of Sanviento!" Santana actually looked to the German in a state of approval, eyes widened in surprise, and mouth morphed into a slight smirk at his statement, combined and wrapped up neatly with a nod of approval. Santana was happy, to say the least.

"I feel loved."

'What the fuck am I then, chopped liver?' The god thought, nearly rolling his eyes at the remark, though it was impossible for him to completely stop the sense of fondness he felt towards Santana.

"Wait...hang on a second there, Von Stroheim. Why didn't you use M/n's strength instead?" Joseph suddenly asked, causing the god's eyes to dart over to his trickster.

"Huh?" The mechanized man barely managed a response. His posture loosening up, and his expression balanced the line between blank and perplexed. It would've been amusing if not for what Joseph had asked. It left you, on the other hand, shaking in fury at Joseph's statement.

"Trickster...don't give the fucking Mecha-Nazi any ideas!"

"Well, it's true! You beat Santana, you beat Wamuu, you beat ME! You stood up to Lisa Lisa, you've said you've beaten entire armies of stand users...why not use M/n's strength? It's a good idea!"

"Jojo, you genius! That is the best idea I've ever heard!"

"Trickster, I'm going to kill everyone here starting with you and ending with the Mecha-Nazi!"

"Oh, come on, M/n, it'll help us fight the pillar men."

"It'll give you an extra minute at most before I rip out your still beating heart!" M/n flashed his fangs at his hierophant as a warning, causing Joseph to raise his hands up to placate him. He flashed Stroheim a similar look. There was no way in hell that he was going to let the fucking Nazis use him for their schemes.

"Gahh! We keep getting distracted. Back to me! Und so, Kars..." The steel arm of the machine-man traversed down to the table, fingers twisting, turning, clicking and whirring in quick recalibration before gripping a ping-pong ball in his hand. A white orb clutched into the gauntlet of a dead man walking. "We calculated exactly what we need to do to you, in order to eliminate your power und leave you in desperate agony!"

His metallic fingers converged upon the ping-pong ball. Pressing and forcing weight onto it with minimal effort, causing it to collapse and burst open in his fingers in an explosive pop of material. Both you and the trickster flinched at it, Santana's nodding became more apparent, and Kars' expression more daggering. And yet Stroheim was unmoving, unwavering and maintaining a surefire and confident smile on his face the whole time. "I'm going to pluck you like a chicken! Bit by bit und take you apart one square centimeter at a time!"

"But-That's so counterproductive! That'd take way too long!" Joseph whined, the apparent awe of seeing a cyborg being hampered by the amount of time the gruesome act would take.

"That is the POOOOINT!" M/n flinched at the German's screaming. Seriously, when they rebuilt him did someone forget volume controls? Better yet, did he have a mute button?

"But-if you can kill him, just kill him! Throw a rocket at him or some-" The god went silent at Santana's glare, a reminder that with his promise...well, he probably wasn't helping the situation. "Wait, roll it back, pluck him instead!"

"Then I'm going to pluck you like a chicken until God politely tells me to STOOOOP!"

"Oh, you're going to let HIM pluck me...? Wouldn't you prefer to do it yourself?" Kars drawled out, a shiver racing down M/n's spine, causing him to take a few steps back.

"Nope, never mind. I choose death. As a matter of fact, pluck me instead. Kill me, destroy my remains so science can't use my body for anything. Throw me into a volcano!"

"You fools! We're getting off topic! Hey, Jojo!" The Mecha-Nazi threw the remains of the ping-pong ball towards the trickster, and yet as he raised his hand to deflect it, Santana was the one to catch it for him.

"Hey, I could have caught that!"

"No, you couldn't have."

"Don't you DARE even think about feeling sorry for me!" The metallic limbs ripped open his uniform, showing two halves of his body. One of flesh, smooth, yet darkened skin almost as of still burnt and covered with the soot from the initial explosion that did him in...strange, just by looking at his frame work...well, one wouldn't be able to tell that he was anything but human from the pectorals up. Just an above average body build for a soldier...still seeming full of life and with the raw strength of a man of war, even if inside were gyros and servo motors of complex science. And below his chest, replacing the entirety of his lower body was a concoction, a complex and confusing series of steel mechanisms and plating that stretched all the way down, replacing every inch of his lower half, legs and all. It was as if it were a corset of industrial revolution unlike anything in history. This single contraption is enough to rival hundreds of years of development and evolution across the human timeline. And it was all attached to a fucking Nazi screaming his head off and twirling around aggressively like a ballerina. "MY NEW FOOORM is the very embodiment of the ultimate peak of German science und engineering!"

He continued to scream, grabbing a belt of ammunition from his coat and ripping it free, spinning it around him in the air like a tornado of gold. The whole time as the belt of golden bullets moved, it created a continuous and loud clacking, every beat and motion like a chain being pulled through a whole, every piece of metal making a single individual clack and tap of sound as it was ripped and moved. Your focus was aggressively drawn to the clacking, focusing on the constant flow of individualized racketeering. And it only stopped when Von Stroheim...pelvic thrusted forward in Kars' direction...a barrel of a gun now pointing forward at Kars.

"...?"

"You see, I'm not merely human, I'M MOOOORE!" The barrel was now fully erect towards Kars, mechanical clicks and slides would emit from his belly as the machine gun aimed point blank range at the pillar man. It shined in the light once more, the charging lance of a Teutonic knight aimed at a heart of darkness. Brought up by death and reforged in the fires of hell, the weapon aimed right for Kars, and all the pillar man could do was take a step back, and instinctively cover his face. "Take this, Kars! My machine gun can fire six hundred rounds per minute, und shred through armored plating like it was paper! I'll whittle you down in tiny pieces at no time at all!"

"His body is mechanical, too?!?" The Joestar would scream, but Santana moved in a flash, his arms wrapping around you at near relativistic speeds to move you away from the coming fire. Kars only glanced toward you before leaping out of the lodge and into the snow, the machine gun attached to Stroheim opening fire at his first move.

A storm of lead rained down onto the pillar man, fire and metal clashing against flesh and bone.

I look down and realize that my hands are defined more by labor than anything else.

(The hens are back in the coop.)

Feathers like flowers for a wedding,

And I'm sitting at the church steps stained in blood.

The gunfire blasted away at Kars, the barrel of Stroheim's machine gun red hot with blazing metal and spitting fire like a dragon. The bullets flew like shooting stars into the pillar man, gold and fiery enough to burn and cut through even him like paper, and all he could do was block and dash uselessly as his outfit, flesh, and composure were ruined. Though you were relieved to see that his hat merely fell into the snow, far away from the storm of bullets.

Meanwhile, Joseph was left in a state of shock and awe. Mouth agape and not a word uttered as he stared at the sheer fire power let loose against the pillar man. It was a rare moment, part of you was sure that you'd never seen Joseph so shocked before, and one couldn't blame him. Witnessing a literal dead man walking, technology more advanced than fiction, and an immortal being of evolutionary power being blown back by a Nazi machine gun...it was quite a bit to take in for untrained souls, but let's face it; It can only go sideways from here.

Stroheim took sudden steps forward as Kars was blasted out of the lodge, dodging and dashing back but taking countless rounds into his body. Flesh penetrated and ripped apart by hot lead, fabric torn and ruined by glancing rounds of fire and metal, and his eyes, face, and body were only somewhat shielded under the power of Stroheim's weaponry by his own blades.

"Getting the stone this far cost Esidisi his well-being. I will not let it be in vain by a mere machine!"

Somehow, somewhere, and for some reason, you felt warmer at that statement, and all Santana did was clutch you tighter in turn.

Amidst the fire, however, a light shined so brightly it overcame the storm of lead hailed from Von Stroheim. The mechanized man gasped and recoiled, maintaining the gunfire despite the light almost blinding him in the process.

"That light-The blade coming out of his arm is glowing!" The Joestar was correct, a blinding starburst of pure rainbow emitted from the blade upon Kars' arm. To think that the initial appearance of the blade itself was dark, almost black, yet able to maintain a perfect shine and polish like an obsidian mirror. But now, it was as if the whole blade had illuminated almost perfectly like a thousand stars, burning and shining within the blade. Every hue and ray of color burst from it like a mirror, glistening eternally like billions of gemstones in the sunlight.

"I can control LIGHT! Behold, brilliant bone blade!" The gunfire went from a powerful and relentless hellfire of lead to a desperate and futile shower of bullets. Kars began to move at unconventional and incompressible speeds, faster than the bullets fired from Stroheim's weaponry. He moved seamlessly, less like a living being and more like a trick of the light given form. He was almost as fast as Wamuu…almost. Wamuu was able to move so fast he could create winds capable of ripping flesh off the bone, but now Kars at his peak is capable of slicing bullets in half. His blade intercepting and breaking apart every bullet in a perfect slice, all while maintaining the glisten of pure light at every movement, a lethal light-show in all its gruesome glory.

Rays of every color interrupted the shower of golden fire.

"Impossible! That blade is hardened bone and skin, not weapons created and forged in steel! It shouldn't be able to deflect bullets like that! Let alone slice them in half in mid-air!"

"His blade is amazing, but...why is it glowing like that?!?" The Joestar wouldn't receive an answer, only the sudden void of sound as Stroheim's machine gun ceased fire, and Kars charged right for him.

"Here he comes-Here he comes-Here he comes-Here he comes-HERE HE COMES-"

"Quiet screaming and do something, Nazi!" You howled, pulling yourself free from Santana's grasp the moment the bullets stopped, and yet instead of charging your gaze was stuck on the curve of Kars's blade...there was something wrong with it. Your vision was having trouble following the edges of the blade...as if it were moving.

"I-I know that sound!"

Upon seeing the blade up close, Von Stroheim was able to understand its secret! It didn't have a simple edge, rather; it had a rotating blade moving at high speed! Tiny, razor-sharp claws slid quietly along the outer edge of the blade, ready to shred anything in its path! Each claw was flawlessly polished to a mirror-like finish, and refracted the faintest light! Making the blade look as though it were glowing from within!

A high-powered chainsaw, made by purely organic means.

Kars moved into the mechanized man with little effort, as if he were nothing but air in the path of his blade. Not a single spark or fragment came from Stroheim's body as he was cut at the waist. There wasn't even a tiny bit of resistance or drag, just one smooth, slick strike into his metallic body. And it certainly didn't help as the Nazi, who was evidently sliced through in a clean cut, simply looked back at Kars in shock. He didn't even seem in pain or fear, only pure surprise. Then again, was that really a surprise? He seemed entirely mechanical, so why would be programmed to feel pain in the first place? Or maybe hell had taken that ability from him?

"W-we can't win this! At least not with MY weapons or any modern technology that I know of!" He fell over, finally. His torso falling from his body into the snow-covered environment, the inside of his waist being revealed and cut in half so perfectly. Mechanical wonders and advanced technologies beyond your knowledge poured from him like a bag of coins spilt over, shiny metal and material clashing and contacting thousands of tiny sounds that echoed through your skull. The remains of the machine gun ripped into indistinguishable bits and pieces, even some remaining parts removed from Stroheim's torso out of his belly. "We can't defeat him!"

Only then did you notice that Kars had somehow severed Stroheim's right arms at the shoulder, one smooth cut that wasn't visible under any circumstances. It was perplexing how light bent and obeyed Kars's demand and power. You hadn't even seen him raise it past Von Stroheim's waistline.

"And what was Sanviento...? Nothing but a weak child, a mere guard dog."

"What did you just say?" You hissed out, fangs flashing in offense. You could understand why Kars would be angered by the sight of his former servant, let alone seeing him having gained perfection, but to insult him as if he wasn't even present...it sent your blood boiling. Steam escaped the corners of your mouth like a brazen bull at the remark, and Santana's gaze darted to your frame.

"I'm right here, Kars."

"I'm aware, Santana. But in any case, along the lines of strength and power, he was a well-trained guard dog. He couldn't even compare to us millennia ago. Now..." He then reached down to the still active form of Von Stroheim, pulling him upwards without the slightest sign of strain or struggle. "I'll be taking that stone."

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...and fuck...' M/n's entire train of thought was derailed at the realization that Kars now had the red stone in his grasp, the insult to Santana pushed to the side, even if he planned on getting some form of revenge for that later, and now he was stuck in crisis mode. Terrible since he usually relied on his albeit shaky instincts, but in other ways better since he was pretty sure his crisis mode was the only reason he ever defeated Ajamu while dying of sepsis.

"Kars, what the hell...?" Joseph whispered out as the pillar man turned on his heels, still holding the Nazi in one hand, his free hand began to grope and pat at the front his shirt searching for the pocket that held the red stone. 'That ice cold sheen across his face, a blade that can cut bullets in mid-air...there's no way I could ever block that thing with only my bare hands, even if I could concentrate all of my hamon into a single blow, that blade would still slice through me!'

A blur of motion caught Joseph's attention as the god went racing after Kars's form, M/n, not outright intercepting or attacking the pillar man, but instead keeping pace with him. It didn't seem to bother Kars in the slightest. Joseph was quick to follow after them both.

'To be perfectly honest, I want to run away from here. Kars is way too dangerous to take on directly, well, I guess M/n or maybe even Santana would have a chance, but I can't think of any way to get around that blade of his. Then again, I can't just leave and let him take the stone. If he obtains the stone's power and becomes an ultimate being like Santana...I'd never be able to defeat him. Damn it all.' He nearly slipped in the snow, feeling sick, and his vision flickered in and out for a moment. '...I really need to get a hold of Wamuu's ring soon...Kars wants to kill me after all. Why me? Was this in my horoscope?'

"What's this? What's in this pocket?" Kars' fingers would rip into the material of what remains of Stroheim's uniform, and once the dull green was shed a glimmer of ruby red shines in the dim light of the night, and it's made apparent to the whole of the world that the enemy of the night had finally gained the Red Stone of Aja. In his clutches, the stone glistens like fire as he drops Stroheim to the ground. "Ohh, the Red Stone of Aja. I've waited a long time for this, five thousand years to be exact, and at last: the red stone is mine! Not that I ever doubted it would be, it was destined to fall into my hands...along with something else soon enough~"

"Oh, man...are you...do you...M/n! Have you been fraternizing with the enemy?!"

"...what?!"

"Look at the way he's looking at you! I'm sure you've done SOMETHING!"

"When would I have had time to?! With that logic I would have fucked Esidisi just as quickly with the amount of time given to my interactions with Kars!"

"Jojo, I can attest: the god did not copulate with Kars!" The Nazi then perked up, earning eyes from everyone around. "We observed his activities for weeks, and out of all the tapes and photos we've taken of him-"

Von Stroheim stopped in his speech for a second to observe the sudden glare and...interest from the pillar man before them, and then, and only then, after noticing, did he lock eyes with Joseph, and share a friendly grin with him. The plan had suddenly changed from keeping the red stone safe to stopping Kars with the invasion of god's privacy followed up by the complete destruction of his dignity. Well, what little M/n had to begin with, anyway.

"We've observed SO much from God! What he's capable of, in and out of bed alike, including what he can do to a pillar man!"

"Oh yes, it's absolutely shocking! I stayed right outside the door jerking off to the sounds of them getting it on!" Joseph exclaimed, giving an exaggerated shudder at the memory, earning a confused chirp noise from the god in question.

"...you do realize you could have come in any time! And why are we having this conversation?!?" M/n hissed out, eyes darting between the two of them, left in a state of complete confusion. Just what the hell were they talking about? Why bring that up now? And why the hell was Kars looking at him like that?

"We have hundreds-No, no, THOUSANDS of tapes of what we took from his sessions! Many of which were in the experience of Jojo or Sanviento! You have no idea what he's capable of in terms of biological power! That tongue is capable of going places that no other could ever hope of!"

"I still shiver from it!" The trickster interjected, hugging himself and wiggling his hips around like a teasing play to his lover. The god made a particular noise that sounded similar to a sparrow being hit out of the sky with a well-thrown stone.

"Same. Still satisfying after transformation with the red stone. If not, more so." Santana interjected, flattering but NOT helpful to the situation in any way, shape or form. The noise the god made only grew louder and more distressed.

"Thank you, BUT SHUT UP!"

The sound of a window from within the lodge erupted, and whirling around you stare at that one particularly angry German soldier from earlier, the same one who pointed at you and according to Caesar complimented you despite being aggressive...glad to know he survived...?

"Die dinge, die du mit deiner zunge gemacht hast, sind ekelhaft!" He yelled, in what might be agreement, before he pointed down at you with a fiery look in his eyes. He slammed the window shut before you had a chance to thank him.

"Um, thank you?!"

"You don't know German, do you?" Von Stroheim asked, looking perplexed at your response to the soldier's sudden outburst.

"Nope! But I know a compliment when I hear one...or I think Caesar knows a compliment when he hears one. He's the one who speaks German, not me."

"Mein Gott..." In the middle of your interruption, you noticed that Von Stroheim was gesturing to you the entire time. The metal of his remaining hand clicked as it pointed to the red stone of Aja in Kars' grasp. Kars didn't pay it any mind, but rather, focused heavily on you and the heat that the whole charade had injected into his bloodstream. Kars was perfectly distracted. It was all according to their plan to get the red stone back...

"You know, Kars...if you want to know how good M/n truly is at what he does, it's up for negotiation."

"What do you mean, Jojo?" Kars asked, no sign of aggression or even caution in his tone or posture as he spoke. His expression was more curious than anything else, widened with a single raised eyebrow, and then a single lick of his lips, a slow drag of pink across the flesh of his mouth in a manner that appeared both satisfied and interested.

"It's rather simple; Von Stroheim has plenty of tapes with him at this very moment! And since you're such a big fan of M/n and are so clearly interested, I can imagine you'd love to see what he's capable of...All you have to give in return is the red stone! And every bit of it is yours!"

"A tempting offer, Jojo…"

Before you could interject further, you took notice of Von Stroheim's sudden change in expression. His mouth now morphed once more into a near sadistic grin of power and pleasure mixed together, and his eye was suddenly...Morphing...? The glass monocle that covered and wrapped around it had now folded into his forehead, and the eyeball itself twirled and rolled around, unfolding the white of its form and revealing a dark, metallic sphere within the socket. Only a bright yellow shine from the center reminiscent of a flashlight as a pupil. Only when this metallic eye moved did its true nature reveal itself to you: it was a fucking gun in his eye!

'Did they make that based of Straights's ability?'

"GERMAN SCIENCE IS THE WORLD'S GREATEST! I WILL BEAT YOU!" The Nazi screamed at the top of his lungs, interrupting further negotiations or trade deals vital to this economy just to sway his ego around.

"Von Stroheim, you idiot! How can you boast at a time like this!?!"

"Ultraviolet beams, ACTIVATE!" An orb of violet light surrounded Von Stroheim's eye, blinding and bursting with light energy like a star against his face. The rays shone far and wide across the snow like rays of the sun. It even forced Kars to take notice and step back. Negotiations were over, and the time to act was now.

The weapon fired from his eye. A slick, slim beam of bright, ultraviolet energy shot into Kars' wrist. The blast shot right through his flesh, burning a hole straight through bone and blood alike, frying and incinerating until a large, glowing wound marked him. The shock and power forced the red stone into the air...only to be caught by a blinding blur of speed that could be described as nothing short of divine.

The god skidded in the snow, sending a wave of it sliding down the slope as he regained his balance, the chain holding the red stone wrapped around the black scales of his hand. A small sigh escaped his lips before M/n realized what had just happened. His gaze snapped up to the injured pillar man who was now watching him intently.

"Very well done, God. You played well into the entourage until the very end...but seeing as how you have the stone, why don't we have our own negotiations? Just a one on one~? Another slick, slow lick of his lips as his eyes fluttered so vivaciously...this was NOT an invitation to a fight. You read THAT much out of it...even if you weren't the best at picking up on people's feelings towards you.

"The ultraviolet beam is recharging! Quickly, do something with the stone before he attempts to recreate one of those tapes with no lubricant und in the snow!!" The Nazi was right, even if you hated thinking that, it wouldn't be pretty...and how many fucking tapes were in their possession???

"Lo siento, pero no hablo inglés, incluso si lo hiciera, realmente no soy el tipo de hacer tratos..." You stammered out, taking a step back, eyes darting around for any possible exit route that wouldn't leave everyone else behind.

"He's speaking Spanish, just like in tape #41 und #89!!! It's worse than I thought!"

"M/n, just chuck it for M/n's sake!" Joseph screamed right as Kars charged towards you, causing your hair to bristle and you to take another panicked step back.

"Here he comes, here he comes, here he comes-" You cut yourself off mid panic ramble and tossed the stone to Joseph, figuring that with Santana next to him it would be enough to keep the stone safe for just a moment longer, before darting away from Kars. Hearing a pained groan you watched how Joseph was sent falling back into the snow the moment he caught the red stone. Oh...you had thrown it too hard, hadn't you? "Sorry!"

"No hard feelings, dear~" Kars purred out, despite how quickly he turned to aim at Joseph's prone form in the snow.

"Oh...um...no hard feelings to you either...Kars...?" You trailed off, on some level only responding due to your mother's teachings to be polite to those who were polite in turn...only to realize what you said with a hiss.

"I knew they were fraternizing, Santana!" Joseph grumbled to Santana, being lifted back up onto his feet by the ascended Pillar Man, and dusting himself off before he spotted the pillar man charging at him. "CANNIBAL CATCH!!!"

While the red stone was tossed in a random direction, towards the empty break in the wall of the cabin, where, by some divine miracle, your stand formed and managed to catch the red stone's chain in one massive claw. Its tongues escaped its mouth and you could see how your stand shuddered, clearly Narcissistic Cannibal wasn't feeling the warmth you were, yet it still adjusted its position as Kars turned again. Surprisingly, not frustrated by this whole game of hot potato.

"...?"

"Mein Gott, God has an invisible familiar at his disposal! Could it be the snake creature we've heard so much of with its twelve foot long tongue?!"

"Where did you even get that number from?" You snapped, eyes darting to the soldier lying in the snow before going back to your familiar who was shifting backwards at the noise Kars made. Why the hell was the pillar man acting like this? Shouldn't he be scared? And your stand's tongue wasn't that long!

"The serpent...? Oh, you've made my work so much easier, Joestar~! Especially with a tongue of that length!"

"Wha-?" Your stand yelped out, only to jolt when Kars charged again, frill shooting open to reveal the series of humanoid figures pressing against the red scales. All panicking. Your stand couldn't help but join in. "HERE HE COMES, HERE HE COMES, HERE HE COMES!!! MASTER, YOU TAKE IT!!!"

"What?" Your stand took off, darting to your side in a fragment of a second, the red stone being dropped into your hands as the serpent vanished once more. Kars looked back to you and with all your senses screaming, and a pretty good idea of how this would keep going, your instincts made you chuck the stone to your right...towards the cliff...where it was now racing down the slope. "Oh fuck me!"

Before Kars could change course, you were off after the stone while cursing your idiocy.

"Ah, damn it, no! You utter fool!!!! I trust you with the red stone and you toss it into the cliff, if it falls off, it may be lost forever or even destroyed! Grab it while you still can!"

"What do you think I'm doing, Nazi?" You growled, more so just to complain about something than to really yell at the soldier. Mentally, you were still busy beating yourself up. Why the hell didn't you just toss it at Santana and tell him to fly off?!? At least he was holding Joseph back. One less risk. Keeping your eyes on the red glow of the stone, you listened to the snow shift behind you. 'Fuck me, he's actually catching up, I mean, I know I'm nowhere near my top speed now...but I thought since he was slower than Wamuu I wouldn't need to pick the pace up, 'sides, if I'm not careful I might cause an avalanche. Still, is he focused on me or the red stone? Or is his goal both...no, no, they have to be wrong...why the fuck would he want me? Yet he keeps speeding up...must be planning to grab the stone and get off the cliff so no one can catch him, or so Stroheim can't shoot him again. Unlike me, I don't think he can stop before he reaches the edge of the cliff. That cliff drop...it has to be bigger than the Empire State Building...ugh...even with my scales...if I turned into my god form mid step at the edge...I might not be at risk of going splat...hm, but that means a risk of going berserk. Fuck me. Kars will be fine while I'll be in a weakened state or so on guard. I can't make the right move. Did he plan this? No, no, I just have to make a work around...slow down ever so slightly so he'll pass me up. If I can't handle the landing without transforming, I'll grab the cliff side and climb back up that way. My claws will easily find purchase.'

"God must be planning to use his true form to outrun Kars, but at the speed and rate they're going, they might both plummet to the bottom! Only then is it up to the forces of gravity to assist them! Jojo, do something!"

"On it! HEY KARS! THOSE TAPES ARE STILL UP FOR AUCTION!" Somehow, that made Kars run even faster and slowly outpace you, and despite that being part of your plan, you still shuddered wondering what was going through his head right now. At least Stroheim hadn't said your actual plan, or you'd probably be screwed.

'There's no way I can let him get the red stone right now!'

"Go! Run hard and fast, M/n!" Stroheim yelled, causing you to roll your eyes as you watched how Kars slowed somewhat to look behind you. Swallowing down your panic, you kept the pace, but what the hell was Kars's plan? Just to grab it and plummet? Or would he grab it before the stone vanished over the cliff side? With his legs or hands? You'd have to swipe it either right before he grabbed it or right after.

"So, what's your plan, my dear?" Kars asked, tilting his head to the side to look towards you, earning a slight hiss as you kept looking between the stone and Kars. He responded with a low chuckle as he looked back at the stone.

"Honestly, I'm kinda just winging it here. I mean, if I were Joseph, I'd try to kick you when you reached down to swipe the stone, cause you'd be off balance. But...well, honestly, I ain't that confident in throwing you off like that, besides that's what you're expecting, right? You're sure that someone would aim for your flank." You kept sprinting without looking towards the red stone, trying to see if there was anything else you could do to win.

"So, you'll attack me at a different point?"

"Probably."

"Hm, how do you plan on handling the fall?"

"Falling doesn't do much to me in the first place, so I haven't given it much thought."

"Such a shame you don't have any hamon, otherwise you'd easily be able to defeat me."

"I'm certain I can defeat you without hamon." Noting how he'd adjusted his stance mid-step, you bare your fangs at him. "In fact, I'm pretty sure that we both know how this will end if we get into a fight. 'Sides, if we get into a scrap, then the stone will be at risk of getting broken or disappearing forever."

"So it seems like we both need a plan." Kars purred out with a laugh, causing you to roll your eyes.

"I already know you have a plan. Hell, you've mentioned it a few times now." A growl escaped your lips as you kept running, ignoring how the pillar man snickered at that. "Still, ya want me to kick ya when you jump or not?"

Kars didn't seem bothered, or even properly responded, as the stone was less than a foot from the drop off point, instead he made that jump, and despite all your panic and internal rambling you saw a far better opportunity than trying to take the stone from Kars's grasp. A flicker of blue was the only warning Kars got before Narcissistic Cannibal sent Kars off course and away from the drop entirely. Speeding up and then spinning on your heel, you grabbed the chain holding the red stone and met Kars's eyes right as you vanished over the edge, feeling gravity take hold of your form and drag you down.

If there was water at the bottom of the cliff, it'd be pretty ironic, but you don't think you're that lucky.

If you had a million dollars, how much would you spend on me right now?

I'd write you love letters, but they'd all read like suicide notes.

I never wanted to do drugs, but then I heard god calling my name from the bottle or at the bottom of a filled swimming pool. I'm left diving in and taking shaky breaths because I need to chase that feeling. I need to feel something. I scare easily but I can't bring myself to reach out and place a hand on your arm.

Why can't I bring myself to just take your hand?

You could hear Stroheim and Joseph screaming, but it was all drowned out as you plummeted down the ravine, the wind ripping and howling in your ears as the voices joined in the natural choir. Tossing the chain into the air you caught it in your mouth before channeling your stand like armor over your hands and you slammed both Narcissistic Cannibal's claws and your own into the side of the chasm, feeling them break through the ice before starting to reach hard stone, and instead of a free fall you were sliding down the wall leaving behind an ugly gash and a trail of sparks.

'It's a really good thing that I can't feel pain, cause I'm pretty sure that most of my scales have been torn off and regrown like twelve times by now.' At least you were slowing down, but when you got a chance to look up...well, you flinched. You had expected Kars to lash out in frustration, to have a big reaction like Esidisi, but it seemed like he had just thrown himself off the cliff to catch up with you. Given how you'd been slowing down it wasn't hard for him to catch up, but right before he could pass you the familiar sensation of his bone blade embedding into your back filled your senses, before it met some resistance leading to you skidding further down the cliff side with Kars hanging off you, and you realized that he must've hit your spine given a flicker of numbness in your legs. 'Fuck!'

The extra weight caused you to start sliding again, sparks flying as you had to dig in deeper to slow your process, and it nearly made you scream. You only stopped due to the chain in your mouth, but still, how heavy was he? A hum by your ear causes you to stiffen even more. The lack of feeling in your legs meant that you were only lightly pressing your boots against the stone. A twisting of the blade, forcing the wound to expand despite your regeneration, caused you to hiss in surprise.

"Esidisi, you clever bastard, I should've known..." Kars drawls out, warm air brushing against your earlobe causing you to make a confused hiss as the blade's teeth suddenly revved again causing bits of flesh and bone to be torn free before falling into the abyss below. Then it came to a sudden stop as Kars stopped moving the blade, allowing for your regeneration to almost trap half of it, and you adjusted the chain so you could speak without dropping it. Not like your hands were free at the moment.

"What's that for?! Seriously, I know I can't feel pain, but that doesn't mean you have to get so rough with me. That's my spine you managed to impale, in case you weren't aware."

"Oh, I'm very much aware, thank you for asking, love~" He purred out, free hand coming to rest at your hip earning another hiss from you, and it was only a matter of time before he turned your head so he could simply take the stone. Why the hell was he playing around in the first place? "And for being rough...? Would you perhaps prefer I be as silky smooth as a spider's spool~?"

"MEIN GOTT HE'S ATTEMPTING TO FLIRT WITH GOD HIMSELF!"

"I told you, Santana! I told you!"

"Jojo, shut up! We need to help him!" Wait...when the fuck did Caesar join the others at the edge of the cliff? Never mind, that wasn't important. What was important was keeping the stone. If you could keep him talking till you came up with a plan, then you'd be the one with the stone. That had to be your goal...besides, just keeping him occupied by talking wasn't that hard...you were great at talking, right?

"I mean, that's debatable. Like I fought this guy whose familiar was a giant spider, and those webs were anything but silky smooth...borderline acidic if you ask me, but I didn't have to shave for months...so I guess...well, the point of the matter is I think you're being a bit too forward, I mean, we basically just met. Can't sign the deeds to a bed-and-breakfast without knowing the other person's social security number. Or, well, can't obtain a world ending artifact without maybe committing to a peace treaty...I'm losing my train of thought...I really had a point here...you know, maybe if you just, oh, I don't know, took the blade out of my spine I'd remember what I was talking about!"

Okay...this was weird. While now completely silent, when you tilted your head, you also saw that Kars's eyes seemed to have gone dark. As in completely shadowed and shaded out, as if an eclipse had become the epitome of his vision. And he was...shaking?! The pillar man was practically shaking! Vibrating in pure, unbridled...something?! It didn't make sense. It was weird as fuck...was he going to kill you for this?

"Okay...what part of that pissed you off? Do you not like spiders? Because you were the one that made the reference in the first place, so I'm not taking the blame for it, ya hear me? Though I would really appreciate it if you took that blade out of my back." You adjusted your position with a slight hiss. "I mean, seriously, what is with that thing? Are the teeth made of bone or something else? Is there a form of muscle and joints lining the edge so the teeth can rotate or does it 'just work', because this is weirder than how bendy Santana's ribs can be!"

"..."

"Ya know, I'm starting to think I said something real bad." You mumbled out, only to pause when Kars gave an indistinct sound from the back of his throat, free hand sliding up your frame till it reached your Adam's apple, earning a more panicked noise in turn. Having his hand at your hip had been bad enough, taking everything you had to push the memories away, but this was just dangerous.

"What a fascinating creature you are, my dear." A slight hint of pressure at your throat caused you to go still in his grasp, only a slight twitch of your claws, but the action died before the two of you could go any further down the cliff side. "While we haven't had the chance to speak due to our own goals, I can't help but adore the way your mind works. Every word that escapes your mouth makes me want to study you more and more."

"S-study?!?" You got the one word out before there was more pressure at your throat and Kars's lips brushed against your shoulder. The extreme heat from deep within your chest only grew hotter. The world practically was spinning, and you still weren't sure how to react. What was this gambit? It was a distraction that worked, but it didn't seem all that practical.

"Well, of course, has there ever been a specimen quite like you?" Kars shifts against you, the action intentional enough that you can tell it's more than just reaching for the stone, which he seems to have forgotten in favor of rolling his hips against you. The height difference between you two, even if Kars was the shortest of the pillar men at six foot eight, meant that he was more or less pressing against your thighs, which was the only reason you didn't lash out. "Do you know how you have plagued my thoughts since our union? Have I been plaguing yours in turn?"

"No offense, but I think you have better things to be thinking about." With a slight hiss you began to adjust your legs so you were pressing more weight against the cliff side, and the idea that had taken form was...decent enough, you supposed. You had to get the timing right. That was the tricky bit.

"What could be better than god...than you?"

"Anything." You responded back, a bit too honestly and a bit too quickly, which caused Kars to stiffen against him with a low snarl. Akin to a panther lying in wait. A shiver ran down your spine despite the heat in your framework. "...anything at all."

"Oh, well, I'm a man of science, dear. Let's put that to the test later on, sha'll we~?" Before you could respond, or even begin to formulate a response, a blow with the familiar ring of Hamon came down onto Kars' head, forcing him to tear away from you, even if your ichor had already been ripping and devouring the blade bit by bit, dragging ichor and scales from your body as now you only held your favorite trickster instead of the pillar man. The stiffness in your body stopped when you felt Joseph adjust himself so he wasn't completely dragging you down.

"Sorry to cock-block you, but I'm getting sick of this useless game of rambles and monologuing!" Your trickster spouted, his foot still sparking with a wondrously gold current of Hamon. He held onto you with one arm wrapped around your torso, and the other holding onto a long stream of icicles that extended all the way up to the blonde-haired gigilo. "Ohhh, nice, real outstanding work, Ceasarino~!"

The fuck kind of nickname was that?!

"Only Jojo and M/n would try something that colossally stupid." The blonde let loose a chuckle, half of relief and half of impressment. If there was any proof that he cared about the both of you, Caesar truly showed it here and now by both directing Joseph to get Kars off your back and then saving him in the process.

"What the hell is going on?! Since when have you three been such a good team?! Must have been after the temple in the Austrian Alps..." Von Stroheim interjected, clearly needing to put input on the matter in any sense, and part of you felt a wave of annoyance at him knowing about your...activities in that temple.

There's a small mountain of ash on the ground.

I've spent the darkest nights of winter shoveling the ashes of my past life into an old bucket. The pile only grew smaller as time went on. It was boring. It was bleak. And that was everything, wasn't it? To think about a life I'll never touch again. To think the world would just fall apart at my hands. To think...to think...to think...i hate thinking about the rot.

My breath pink and hazy against the far-reaching branches hoping to ensnare the lofty moon.

There are only two things in the night,

One; the sky, with all of his stars.

Then; the silhouette of an angel, which drowns everything else in shadow.

I am just another shape alongside the trees, backlit by the sky.

If you tried to cut me, then gold would reflect all the shadows.

a mirror for things larger, more important than myself.

I gave you my tongue that evening in hopes that you'd maybe say something flattering, something to make me worth your heart in turn, but you stared at me.

You never gave me everything.

The marriage only works in concept, nothing else. It has no other value.

I can only love the man who hates me, and you can only love an obedient dog.

You cannot love me at all.

On all these bad days I stay up late so I know they too eventually come to an end.

'Damn it!' Kars snarled, pain racing through his frame at how the hamon sparked and burned through both his flesh and hair scarf in equal measure. The sound of that hierophant laughing above him sent another wave of fury sparking throughout his body as he turned his attention to where he was going to land. A patch of white lilies was right beneath him. An annoyed growl escaped his lips as he slammed his arm against the side of the cliff, sending himself ping-ponging back and forth against the side of the ravine till he landed on his feet next to the flowers. They swayed back and forth because of his landing, but remained unharmed.

There was a second of silence before Kars burst into mad laughter, echoing for nearly a minute before he went quiet again, eyes darting back up to the figures pulling themselves out of the ravine.

"Jojo, you're a lucky one, aren't you? To hold God's favor so easily." His eyes narrowed in thought before he shook his head, forcing his regeneration to take hold. "I'll let him hold on to the red stone for at least another day."

Lifting his arm, he examined the thick ichor staining the blade, though he ran a thumb over parts of the blade that seemed to have been eaten away at, like an acidic force had been devouring it. His face laxed, remembering the sight of red, twisting veins coiling around the edges of his bone blade, Esidisi assisting him even in such a weakened state.

"At least this hasn't been a total loss." A single swipe of his tongue cleaned a part of the blade and he moaned at the flavor, his entire body shuddering in response. "Soon. If not in combat, then surely Jojo will die in less than five days because of Wamuu's ring. Hmph, plan your next few days carefully, Jojo. This is a very important week for you, isn't it?"

Another swipe of his tongue served to clean more of the blade.

"And how intriguing you've become, my dearest god." He murmured, almost as an afterthought, as the ichor took hold of him, spiking his regeneration and leaving a low hum throughout his entire body. "A contradiction in almost every word and action you take. What a fascinating existence. What a fascinating familiar. I wonder what this week will mean for you."

A mix of a moan and chuckle escaped his lips, as after one last glance to the top of the ravine, Kars turned on his heel and walked away.

Notes:

Fun fact; that poem about the false god resembling a star was written by my editor, so he's finally written his first 'edgy' poem, and I'm proud of him. Tell me what you think of Gabriel, and in this chapter, I always love seeing comments.
Translations:
Signora = Mrs
Die dinge, die du mit deiner zunge gemacht hast, sind ekelhaft! = The things you've done with that tongue of yours are disgusting!
Und sie sollten einen besseren geschmack bekommen.= And you should get better taste.
Soldato = soldier
Mein Gott… = My God...
Lo siento, pero no hablo inglés, incluso si lo hiciera, realmente no soy el tipo de hacer tratos. = Sorry, but I don't speak English, even if I did I'm really not the deal making type.

Chapter 15: You can call me a safe bet, but I'm betting that I'm not.

Summary:

Do you feel like you're being suffocated?

Notes:

TheDemonicJackalPack is the name of my deviantart account, since a few people have asked if there's anywhere other than here where I post my art, just be warned there are a few spoilers for this fanfic, even if they lack context, alongside my old cringy art since I think I've had that account since I was like 15 or 16. Take a drawing I did of Kars from a...few months ago? The song used in this chapter is Kirby-Zero Two-With lyrics by Man On The Internet.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Growing up, I remember telling myself that when surviving, my top priority should only be food and water because that's the only thing that your body 'literally' needs to keep on moving. If you have that, you can keep going.

Even if your mind struggles.

Just food and water.

Food and water.

Just food and water.

Gabriel rocks back and forth, hands tangling into chestnut locks, and his breath is shaky. Left hidden in a far corner of himself, out of reach of everyone but god, and he hears nothing. He sees nothing through the tears. The very idea of being seen like this makes him feel almost ill, and now he wants nothing more than to pull himself down. His mouth opens, his fingers clutch and tear at his skin, and a scream escapes his lips, filling his own essence.

"Is this truly the behavior of an angel?" A voice echoes, low and humming, and the angel's wings flare in rage. He turns his head, black tears making it almost impossible to see, yet he glares at the muted tan of bone. A look that he would love if not for the fact that this isn't god, rather a shadow, and Gabriel finds it sickening.

"How did you get here?"

"What is available for my reality is, in turn, available for me as well." The voice is so different from the god, lacking the slight hiss and pressure, instead it's deeper and less human. On some level, Gabriel knows that his voice has a similar issue, but that shadow should know better. "We need to talk."

"Talk? You think I have anything to say to you?" The angel asks, hoping that maybe the shadow will back off and leave. For now, the angel is nothing but furious. "You're the antithesis to everything I hope to be."

"How so? We both have the same goal."

"No, we don't." The massive skull tilts, bobbing up and down at the motion, and the braids click. Finally, the shadow gives a low huff.

"What's that? What is it? Oh my, what is it!" The shadow is soft and mocking, waving sharp black talons at him, and the angel growls from the back of his throat. The sensation unique and leaves him shaking. Black tar-like tears continue to run, and his wings twitch back and forth. "Look at him. Look at the angel. Look at him. Pretending. What do you think you are, angel? A creature of love? A messenger? Even the name you chose is a part of that illusion. Gabríel. The firstborn. The prodigal son. Yet all you think about is the concept of love, something that you don't even understand, and you claim that we're nothing alike?"

"What are you implying, shadow?"

"That you can't deny we have the same goal. We both want what's best for my reality, M/-"

"Don't say his name!" Gabriel snarls, wings fully opening, and he rises to his full height. Six foot three versus his eight foot seven makes the shadow look frail. His height in the realm before had been lesser, and he knows he could be taller, but all he wants is control. "You have no right! Are you going to pretend that you care about him now?!?"

"...you think I'm a liar?"

"If you cared then you'd have done something back then rather than-"

"Be honest?" It asks, completely bored and disinterested.

"He was raped! You should have comforted him, told him he wasn't at fault, and if you weren't able to do that, then maybe you shouldn't have shown up in front of him that day! Instead, you decided it was time for what? To tell him he was destined to suffer for nothing?" The void churns, his physical form alters and shifts, and the shadow stares...or at least Gabriel assumes that the shadow's staring blankly back at him.

"Nothing? I did say it would never be meaningful or justified, but could you really claim I was wrong?" It waves a hand, one of the crystal orbs floats down, and the image ripples to show the memory of the god dying. "You pointed it out, didn't you? Cursed by prophecy from the moment he was born, how does that make the situation more or less tragic, but let's say I humor you for a moment; what would you want me to do? Hold on to a corpse that thinks I'm nothing but a hallucination?"

"He didn't deserve to be alone."

"He had his stand."

"Who was so wracked with grief he was unable to do anything other than grieve." Gabriel swallows down his rage, trying to smother the poisonous tears, yet the thing's indifference is driving him mad. "Why didn't you speak to me outside of here?"

"I don't have the ability to speak in that realm. As long as I'm here, I'm allowed to talk. I have no desire to be here otherwise."

"...what did you want?"

"bring my reality here." Gabriel flinches at the request. Out of the thousand different ideas and scenarios he had thought about when he first spotted the shadow, this hadn't been one of them. A part of him almost wants to humor the idea without even thinking about its motives. Summoning a creature of divinity was easy. Not even a god could deny it, and then he'd be able to speak with him. To clear the situation up. It would be so easy. There's a throbbing deep in his chest at the thought. It almost makes him feel sick. He was not created with the idea that one day he might come to know the meaning of pain, much less to experience it firsthand. Why won't it stop?

"Why?"

"He's been made aware that I exist. Current events have distracted him, but my reality will come back to it once the water calm. I want to speak with him ahead of time." It states, then it pauses in clear thought. "Preparations need to be made."

"Preparations?"

"His death is approaching." It remarks, earning a pained noise from Gabriel, it doesn't seem to care. The image in the orb changes to the prophecy and the angel watches the scene repeat. Over and over again. "I suspect it'll be less than a hundred years, two hundred at most."

"Why are you saying it like that?!?" The skull tilts again, clearly not understanding, and Gabriel takes a step forward. Eyes darting between the shadow and the prophecy. "Why have you accepted this? Why aren't you plotting something to stop this?!!?"

"What god has escaped their prophesied death?"

"...just because it hasn't happened doesn't make it impossible."

"Do you think your favoritism will save him?" It asks, and for once Gabriel might say that it didn't ask him that unkindly, but he isn't in the mood to contemplate that. "You've been far kinder to him than anyone else, right? Why?"

"Why do you care? Shouldn't you be glad I'm doing everything in my power to help your ward?"

"My ward? My reality isn't my ward, you may not like me enough to admit it, but I am him and thou are I. I drew breath when he first filled his lungs. I will only stop existing when he does, and-"

"Then shouldn't you fight even more?!?"

"No one survives prophecy." It said simply. "Still, why do you favor him?"

"He was blind to what would happen by killing Ajamu. Every god before him knew the rewards. Looking back, it's easy to note that they all sought combat out in favor of the promised rewards. To him...it was death to wipe his own slate, and that was enough to catch my interest. His fight was..." Gabriel swallowed, that pain flaring through him again, and he shook his head. "Few gods or goddesses of the past ever bothered with such torture."

"Pity?"

"I'm not human enough to make the distinction." He admits after a second of thought. "Maybe his age had a part in it as well. The youngest who ascended before him was thirty-two, Ajamu was ninety-three..."

"I noticed something about the prophecy, well, a few things." It breaks the original topic seamlessly, skull bobbing, so it looked towards the scene again. "Look at the killer; what's the problem there?"

"...?"

"He's already a god. How is that possible?"

"...I don't know."

"I think you do." it looks back to him in what could only be described as something akin to frustration given its posture. "A rule's been broken, a fault in reality, and something had to start the break. You gained form and reality's starting to fracture. Don't you think that's suspicious?"

"..." Gabriel considers it, swallows down the slight panic it brings, but looks towards the image. "If reality is cracking, then wouldn't prophecy stop being a constant as well?"

"You're falling victim to fantasy."

"Don't you want him to live?"

"Do you even care about the consequences? Think about what this means for the world around. Do you think my reality would want to live when everything at large is at risk?"

"You don't even know if anything will go wrong. It just means that certain rules aren't being followed in the same way, or perhaps this is due to him not being human? We can't say for sure that this is my fault."

"You're pretending to be human."

"And what about you?" Gabriel growls, the universe blazing beneath them. "Seducing and playing with his hierophant. Stalking after those ancient warriors. Taking control in that battle and doing whatever you please in the meantime. You're 'playing' human just as much as I am."

"...perhaps I've grown fond of it, but that doesn't change the ending." It waves the orb away with a swipe of the hand. "At the very least, promise me you'll consider my request. I have the best chance to speak to him now."

"How so?"

"He's terrified of me without seeing me in eons, but you...well, you're the first thing that's ever shaken him like that. Or at least in recent memory."

"...?"

"Ajamu scares him, those pillar men scare him, I scare him, but you're something else."

"He won't be afraid of me after we speak."

"Because the first time went so well." It shakes its head. "Promise me you'll consider it."

"...fine, get out of my sight and I'll consider it." So it leaves.

Tears soak his cheeks again once it disappears into nothingness. He hugs himself, when all he wants is to tear himself away, to tear off that parasite that produces such a devastating emotion, impossible to ignore. He laughs, even. Gabriel leans back, hands pressed to his chest as his lips dare to part in a howl of pain that will never be heard by anyone else in the cosmos.

To think...to know everything, or to pretend to know everything, means nothing. Because he cried out the god's name when he was mortal, he cried for him. The same human tears running down the god's bloody cheeks as he called for his mother. Gabriel is stuck remembering it. The sound stuck in his head and memory forever; he isn't human enough to be certain...but he doubts it will ever leave. How he was left praying for M/n. Praying that he would finally die in one clean blow, praying that he would finally rest, not knowing the suffering thrown at him after Ajamu was left dead. His own thoughts left racing.

'Take him away from Ajamu', and 'Save his life', and 'Kill Ajamu', and 'Do you really think he deserves to die, Ajamu?'...

Yes, you do.

What was everything for? What was the point of allowing him to love and care when he was to allow his death and suffering eternal?

Does God mourn the death of Jesus when he sent him to slaughter?

…does Ajamu mourn the death of M/n because he claims to care when he was the one who killed him and led to him ascending?

"He doesn't deserve to say his name, or that mocking nickname!" He rages, and everything around him shakes. The realm braking and shifting in response, the void altering to resemble Earth. An entire city is formed, thousands of nameless forms fall into a plague. A volcano erupts, devastating a country. A river overflows, dragging thousands to the bottom and drowning them. All bearers of a hideous death. "Don't mourn his death! You don't deserve to mourn! It wasn't sepsis that killed the god! It wasn't those backstabbing mortals! They were causes, but you...! You were the primary culprit! You! You are the one who made him suffer! You are the one who killed him! Did you know I had grown to care for him? To love him? Did you, on some level, hope I'd love him so I could watch him die?!? Did...did it make you happy? To remind you of the control you had? Control! That's all! Manage people, use them just as fast! A king, but never a true god! How does it feel to be ruler of nothing?"

He takes a slow breath.

"Control, control, control. I will never allow anyone other than myself to agree to the walk of my eternal existence."

A lesson doesn't have to be hard learned. And all your anger will fall like hail if you let it.

Forming between the cracks of your personhood.

M/n adjusts the hat Kars had dropped. Instinctively, he runs the pad of his thumb over the brim a few times before shaking his head with a sigh. Honestly, he doesn't know why he bothered picking the damn thing up. It looked nice. Wasn't like he planned on giving it back, anyway. He had a tendency to hoard items that caught his eye. The pile of jewelry and gems he had collected proved that, and now this stupid hat was yet another thing.

Maybe cause it came from Kars?

With how...strange Kars kept acting, it was likely that he'd see the god wearing an article of clothing. Well, his former clothing to be exact, and take that to some extreme the god couldn't expect. That he didn't want to imagine either way. Really, he currently hoped that this ended with him and Santana at Wind-Knight's Lot without the other pillar men. Maybe they'd find their own home or just travel, killing no one, but really, the idea of them all in the same household made him feel claustrophobic. He looks back at the mirror and watches his face cycle through a few expressions as he adjusted the item.

It suited his face.

Dark coloration and sharp edges made it stand out compared to his less detailed clothing, if he actually changed his outfit the hat would be a nice compliment, maybe he should ask Santana about it since the other seemed to actually like fashion. It made his features look sharper. His body had never had sensuality in the same way others did, but on some level he'd be a fucking idiot to deny that something about him appealed to people. He hadn't made a somewhat acceptable living as a stripper for nothing. But, still...he couldn't see it.

A distortion in the mirror, almost as if a figure was behind him, caused M/n to yelp and spin around, but there wasn't anything there.

"...I wish I had gotten Kars to tell me where Esidisi was...this paranoia's bullshit...he's probably off somewhere with Wamuu or Kars right now laughing it up."

It would be over soon anyway...though his frame felt like it was on fire.

Mi vida

I clean the kitchen after each meal,

I enter the shower with you and wash your hair,

I hang the photos of our life over the door,

With tired eyes,

And shaking hands,

A bed is not a bed without the both of us in it.

What does the word husband mean now that I'm old enough to not believe in love? Now that I'm old enough to think in terms of imaginary, not for the future, but to deal with the present?

It means I want there to be epics about our romance even if a person who loves me doesn't exist. It means that I want ballads about how we yearn for each other, and it means that this romance is like a cherished object.

It means I want to be a tattoo so that I can sit above your heart at all hours of the day. It means that there's a part of me that wishes to be your blanket to hold you so wholly. It means every moment before and after your absence, a space is made where there once was one solid form and I want it to be filled sooner rather than later.

There are never enough letters or words in the air to tell you how much I wish to say 'I love you'.

It means I have no words at all.

"So, you're off to get repairs?" The soldier jolted, or as well as he could, given his current state, and his eyes darted towards the god sitting in the room's corner. The dim lighting had been fine with his night vision, but all his instincts screamed danger. Something kept flickering in his vision, causing several errors to pop up. Was that his familiar?

"Don't sound so disappointed." The Nazi grumbled, internal processor whining at his state of disrepair. The rest of his internal workings dedicated to keeping himself running till his men had the truck ready. "I'll be back in a few days."

"Delightful."

"Why are you here, god?"

"I'm just thinking." He answered, a slight glint of his claws extending, causing the German's eyes to narrow in thought before he gave a dismissive huff. The god tilted his head at that, two golden orbs glowing in the dark. "Today's been messy."

"You aren't going to do anything."

"I'm not? Who said I was here to do anything?"

"I'm not a fool." Stroheim snapped, causing the god to growl softly at the sudden increase in volume. None of his scanners could detect anything other than a massive spike in body heat, nearly making the entire room swelter as he pressed on.

"Your behavior earlier could certainly tell a different story." M/n sighed, and leaned back in the seat, but stilled when Stroheim pushed himself up to better glare at the god. "...?"

"Listen, schlange, if you're going to kill me, do it now or after we survive this. Because whether you learn to look at yourself in the mirror or not, we're both the same. Don't believe me?" Stroheim rolled his eyes at the sudden growl, watching how the god visibly flinched at his statement. "Of course you wouldn't."

"We don't need to talk about this." The god snapped, but was ultimately ignored as Stroheim pressed on.

"I'll explain it to you; the both of us have been dragged to hell for our crimes, seen terror and horror all at once. I can see it in your eyes, M/n. I can see it in your very soul. You gave your life for the greater good, too. Sacrificed your body and human well-being for the rest of the world. It's what I did as well. I put my faith in you and Jojo because I knew out of anyone, you two could get this far. And look at where you stand, here and now. The Red Stone in your clutches. The second is that we've both fought wars of our own. Don't act like I can't read your eyes. Humans have always spoken through looks and gazes. You have the same look I've seen older soldiers of the Wehrmacht carry for decades. You're scarred, beaten, and bruised. But so am I. Look at me, I'm barely human. My organs replaced with mechanical parts, limbs with weapons, and eyes turned into pure scientific glory."

"You're a soldier who thinks too highly of both himself and his country, even if aspects of that praise are well deserved." The god hissed out, though he was visibly unnerved by the Nazi's words.

"Face it; we're one and the same. The only difference is how we wear it. How we use it. It's what makes us human. You may be something of ichor, and I may be mostly machine, but we are both examples of human transcendence and ascendance. I have wiped away my slate with death and have come back to save humanity from this threat. And without even an ounce of fear. Because it is what we humans do; we transcend, ascend, and cast away our flaws. It is the beauty of mankind to erase, replace, and cast aside flaws. And it is what we both did to save the world. If you don't agree, then kill me. You are god after all. So do it and get it over with. I can see the hatred you have in your eyes, and I'm prepared to take it in my vulnerability. I have no fear for my final judgment. We've both been given second chances as dead men walking, so make your choice. Otherwise...we have a world to save."

The god gave a bitter chuckle and Stroheim could feel a warm puff of air over his head that told him the god's familiar was waiting for a command. But all the male did was shake his head.

"You know, I think I would've liked you if you weren't a damn Nazi."

"I think that's the closest thing to a compliment you've given me, schlange."

"Go get your repairs, panzermann." The god said after a moment, pointed fangs catching in the light. "We can talk about this later."

He was gone before Stroheim could ask where he learned that phrase.

Come back to the living world for a single morning, please.

There are so many things you never got to see. There's a good place to get coffee just down the street.

"So, the hat looks good on me?"

"It does."

"But the rest of the outfit doesn't?"

"It's tacky." Santana said with a nod, watching how the god paused in thought before nodding and nudging his familiar to settle more comfortably on the hotel's bed. He only stopped once to pluck a blanket and then cover the dog sleeping at the foot of the bed. The white hound, now called Tundra when questioned by the god, just seemed content to rest and eat, which Santana suspected was due to how skinny he still was.

"What would you change?"

"Everything but the hat." He examines the god one more time before changing his mind. "The choker can stay."

"Fine, I'm taking you to a shop after this is all over and you can redo my wardrobe." Santana didn't vocalize the wave of satisfaction he felt at that statement. Instead, watching how the god looked back at the closed door, he heard Joseph's voice spike a bit before quieting again. "I thought they'd be done by now."

"Why aren't you speaking with them?"

"Eh, listening to Stroheim yell and rant, most of it in German, about fighting the other pillar men or those tapes he has of me isn't that fun. I think I got it through his head that he’s gotta get me those tapes or some form of payment. I mean, if people are watching it and it earns any money, then I want part of the funds, ya know?" He taps a nail against the wooden frame of the bed as he stretches out like a cat basking in the sun. "Not even sure if those fucking tapes are real or not, but I don't think he's the type to lie about something that specific."

"Do the tapes upset you, Lord M/n?"

"...not as much as everything else about Stroheim, to be honest." The god said after a moment, lifting his hand to extend and examine his claws absentmindedly, before he rolled his eyes. "When I was a mortal, I worked in the sex business. The idea of having people staring at me like that isn't anything too different from what I did back then. I just wanted to...oh, I don't know, consent to being videotaped. Annoying. Rest of that meeting is just as annoying as everything else."

"Hm?"

"Lisa Lisa is just plotting how to keep the red stone safe and kill her enemies in one go, but she's not addressing the fact that Joseph's getting more and more sick. I don't think she wants to acknowledge it out loud. Joseph is so messed up that he's not coming up with any good ideas, or he's so busy trying to keep everyone thinking that he's okay, he can't focus on anything else. Think he still has a terrible fever, but he's not listening to me. Caesar, well, he's been angry about everything when it comes to those three since I met him. He's becoming a wildfire that burns too harshly. I think he's going to be smothered or burn himself out if he's not careful." His familiar vanishes, and he goes to lie against the wall. Santana moves to settle in the empty place by instinct, a low hum escaping him as the god pulls him closer. Perhaps by some serpentine instinct, or those feline attributes he channels at seemingly random, he has a tendency to always coil and shift so that the two of them are so intertwined that it would be difficult to discern where one began and the other ended. "This week's gonna be messy."

"Do you have a plan, my Lord?"

"...plans aren't usually my thing. I'm good at coming up with stuff on the fly, using my environment to figure things out. But I'd be stuck for ages overthinking things if you made me sit down and try to plan things out. I'm good at chess, not with actual battles." He presses his face into the crook of Santana's neck, a soft purr escaping his lips. "I was always the hit 'em fast, hit 'em hard, and hit 'em till they don't get back up type of guy when it came to fights. Hasn't changed much over the years."

"You consider that a wise decision?"

"Not at all. It just works for me. I haven't lost yet, so I've just been stuck with it." The god murmurs, nails trailing over Santana's sides earning a slight hum from the pillar man. "I just...I never did training or any of that shit. Or, I never had any proper training for anything but my trident, had to learn how to use that fucking thing till it nearly killed me, but everything else was never touched upon. Me and my stand were just kinda…people assumed we'd be able to take care of ourselves."

"..."

"What about you?"

"I'm not trained like Wamuu."

"...so we're both stuck working with mostly instincts." He says with a snort, warm air brushing against Santana's earlobe. The redhead simply tightens his grip and allows his ribs to wrap around the god like an iron maiden. "Good thing we're strong."

Santana forces himself to ignore that the god's skin is so hot that his own is getting burned from the contact. He can only hope that he's wrong.

People have never asked me what kind of violence it took for me to be this reserved, this gentle in actions. A person once laughed because there was so much ruin in my eyes. That was why I was worth trusting. You've seen too much pain to cause it. What a joke. As if violence makes a snake into a small rabbit. I may not bite without warning these days, but I still bite.

We both know that you don't want to hear the story of my life, and I don't have any desire to tell it, instead I want to listen to the waterfalls flowing beneath the sun. Anyway, it's a boring story. The same old story of a few people just trying, one way or another, to survive in the world.

Mostly, I want to be kind.

"So this is Switzerland's famous Saint Moritz, a winter sports hub often referred to as Sun Valley." Joseph tilted his head to the side. He was about to ask M/n a question, only to pause at the sight of the male sprawled across the railing, clearly sunbathing, earning a snort from the trickster. "Guess the name's pretty accurate."

"What was that?" A slight tilt of the head allowed Joseph to watch the god open his eyes, a deep molten gold staring back at him, and the god rolled his shoulders with a yawn.

"Eh, nothing too important." Leaning back in his seat the Joestar lazily spun his cup as he looked off the railing to the forests and mountains in the distance. "Chic, relaxed, and sophisticated, a resort that the wealthy flock to during the holidays. Bit too rich for my blood. What about you, M/n?"

"It's not really my thing. I honestly want to be back in Wind-Knight's Lot. I've been away for too long."

"So you're a homebody?"

"Probably." He answers after a moment, hopping down from his spot to sit across from Joseph, where he immediately looked at the fish platter he had gotten. Joseph wasn't surprised when he plucked parts of it off the platter to eat. "I rarely leave Wind-Knight's Lot for longer than a day or two to buy things, leaving it for months and paying people to take care of everything just feels off."

"And farming doesn't get boring?"

"Not at all." The god replied, swiping a chunk of salmon for himself with a purr. "Farm work is just manual labor. It sets a pleasant rhythm, and it's nice to make something out of nothing. Most of the day, I just need to do a few chores and I can spend the rest of my time doing whatever I please."

"I'll just take your word for it," Joseph said with a roll of the eyes. His attention darted to a cat prancing by. "Even the cats look like they're owned by actresses and are pampered at all the finest spas in Europe."

He tossed a shrimp tail at the feline, who didn't even react.

"Aren't you fussy? Not even a spare glance for shrimp? This little princess thinks she's the center of the universe, but doesn't know a thing about the world at all. Alright, then." He speared a piece of salmon, earning a squawk from the god who had been reaching for it. Joseph laughed when he saw how his hair bristled up and his pupils became mere pinpricks. "M/n, surely this salmon will suit her snooty pallet better, besides clearly god himself likes how it tastes, right?"

"...I don't think cats have a concept of religion, Joseph."

"Of course they do. They just think they're in charge, acting all high and mighty like that." M/n laughed at that, rolling his eyes as the cat turned to approach. "See? There we go. It seems I've found what you prefer. That's it. Reach for it."

"Joseph, be nice."

"Just a little bit higher now. Stretch up. Just a little more there." Joseph grinned as the cat meowed in frustration. "Gotcha now!"

"Joseph!" Right as he swept the cat's feet out from under it he received a hard smack to the top of his head. Earning a pained yelp as the cat raced away with a yowl, causing the Joestar to rub his head with a frown forming on his face. "What the hell was that about?"

"...that was pretty mean. I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea."

"Cause you're an idiot." M/n growled, before sighing at the look on his face. "You must be pretty stressed out."

"Yeah." Joseph swallowed and avoided eye contact. "We only have five days till the ring dissolves, and Kars is absolutely serious about killing me."

"...we're going to win, and as for Kars, well, he said a lot of strange shit when fighting me...so maybe he's not that serious about the whole thing."

"M/n, I don't think that's..." Joseph watched his expression for a moment before realizing the god had no idea and shook his head. "Never mind. Still, I can feel the threats closing in. Do you feel worried, M/n?"

"About you guys? Of course. About me? Well, no. Not like any of them could kill me, anyway."

"Yeah, but Kars is-"

"Kars is weird, I'll agree about that, but he's not a threat. I can beat his top speeds and I'm sure if need be I can counter that blade if I need to. Wamuu's stronger than him in both raw strength and speed, so that's where the problem really is. You have any plans on how to handle him?"

"Nope!"

"Eh, we'll figure something out."

They could do this...right?

If I have the courage to sink my teeth into the flesh of your arm,

And rest there,

Know that I do not mean to tear it away.

I only do it to latch myself onto you in some permanent way.

I feel your blood form on my tongue,

But do not fear the hunger in my gaze.

I am a wild thing at best,

And my love is a violent guest.

"Jojo, what are you doing just sitting there?" Lisa Lisa called out, causing the hierophant to jolt as the god swiped more salmon off the platter. "Get up out of that chair, come over here, and look at this."

"Right. Be there in a second." Joseph looked back to M/n who simply shrugged and with a sigh as he slid the plate towards the god before rising to his feet. M/n followed him and noted the glare Caesar wore. This wasn't going to end well, was it?

"The building on top of that hill is the address Esidisi put on the package."

"It looks like the abandoned corpse of a shuttered hotel." Messina growled out, jumping back with a groan when the god suddenly hopped up onto the railing by Caesar, Santana suddenly at Messina's side, to also look at the hotel. "...it would make a perfect hideout for Kars during daylight hours. Every visible doorway and window is boarded up. No sunlight could get in there."

"That's got to be it." Caesar hissed out, causing the god to watch him with a frown forming on his lips. "I'm sure Kars hides in there during the day. I bet he's just sitting inside, waiting for Wamuu to show up."

"All right. So what's the plan?" Lisa Lisa asked, crossing her arms, and M/n swallowed and looked away.

"Humph, that's a no-brainer. We should attack now." Caesar growled out, pointing towards the abandoned hotel, and black smoke escaped the god's mouth as his insides seemed to get even hotter.

"I agree. Kars can't go outside as long as the sun is up, and that gives us a tremendous advantage."

"What do you think?" Lisa Lisa asked, looking towards Joseph as the god gave a cough to push the rest of the smoke out of his lungs.

"Sorry, but...I have to disagree with you." They all gasped at that as Joseph tilted his head to the side, for once acting completely calm and rational. "You're looking at this wrong. I think it's more dangerous to attack when the sun is up. That's why both Santana and M/n aren't agreeing with you either, right?"

"Oh yeah, this whole thing is a trap." M/n managed to get out despite the constant smoke escaping his lungs, and Santana gave his own nod. Before the god suddenly straightened out, the smoke dying on his lips, and his gaze flickered to a deep molten gold. "Besides, I think you're all betting too much on losing dogs. How do we know Wamuu hasn't arrived yet?"

"Just think about it. Kars has been living like this for thousands of years. He wouldn't have survived if he had left himself defenseless during the day." Joseph glanced back at the god who hadn't looked away from the manor, his eyes that of a serpent rather than a man. "And M/n has a point; Wamuu might already be there."

"Oh, please!" Caesar spat out, fists clenching at his side, but Joseph moved past that with a wave of his hand.

"Walking into his hideout and trying to take him down right now would be suicidal. I'm not going to do it. It would be like a bug walking into a spider's web on purpose."

"Please don't mention spiders to me right now!" M/n grumbled, a visible shudder going down his spine as he remembered what Kars had mentioned during their fight.

"Hah! Come on. Jojo, M/n, this isn't like you. Are you two scared or something?"

"I think I'm going to take Sun Tzu's advice this time; only engage in a fight when victory is assured. Like I said, I'm not going in."

"Oh, yeah?" Caesar spun, grabbing the front of Joseph's shirt and pulling him forward so they were nose to nose. Nearly causing M/n to be shoved off the railing because of the Joestar's flailing, earning a panicked hiss. "So you're chickening out?"

"I'm not afraid, I'm just thinking straight. I've got a cool head, unlike you. Caesar, we have to wait for him to make his move first."

"An assured victory is what you want?" Caesar growled out, gaze darting to the god who had adjusted himself and was now watching the both of them. "And what about you, M/n? I know you want to end this peacefully, but you've realized by now that you aren't going to be able to talk them down, right? Or are you going to beat them into submission like you did Wamuu in the caverns?"

"Caesar, I don't think now is the time for-"

"Kars is likely all alone out there," Caesar interrupted, causing M/n to flinch and go silent. "It's him against all six of us! One a literal god and the other a perfect lifeform. Who cares if Stroheim was taken away for repairs? We can still win! We have to strike now, before Wamuu arrives and lowers our advantage."

"Calm down, Caesar. Don't go off all crazy now. Try and keep your head together." Joseph pushed Caesar off of him, rubbing at his neck with a slight groan escaping his lips. "Just focus, and think it through. If we go now, he'll cut us to pieces. You can't approach this half-cocked."

"I am not half-cocked! I'm gonna end this!"

"Which is something a totally rational person would yell at the top of their lungs." M/n mumbled, quickly holding up his hands to pacify the Italian.

"I'm going to finally finish the fight that cut short the lives of both of our grandfathers! I'm gonna destroy Kars!"

"You're going to finish it?!?" Joseph snapped, gesturing to where you were perched and Santana in a few shaky motions. Not even taking notice of how the god flinched at the mention of the dead. "Right, and what about M/n and Santana's agreement? And why bring our dead grandfathers into this? Who the hell cares?!? Don't bring the dead into your little drama, you moron!"

"...what did you say to me?!?"

"Family you've never met, and that came long before your time doesn't mean crap! It's just foolish! Only a complete idiot would die for something like that. M/n has more of a reason to be mad than you. At least he knew them!" Caesar growled at Joseph's words. An indistinct sound as the Italian's teeth scraped against each other, and hamon sparked through his frame.

"Caesar?!?" Both Lisa Lisa and Messina called in sync at the sight of hamon sparking off him like a live wire.

"You watch your mouth, Jojo!" A sickening punch to the jaw sent Joseph sprawling to the ground, blood running down his lip, and M/n felt the heat in his palms start to genuinely burn handprints into the wooden railing.

"Hey, what was that for, you-" A kick to the Joestar's flank earned a pained yelp from the brunette before he shot up to his feet. "A sucker punch, huh?"

"Guys, this isn't the time!" M/n hissed out, sharp teeth flashing as smoke rose from where his palms connected to the wood. Yet all Joseph did was return the favor. A sudden jab to the jaw causing the Italian to take a step back with a pained groan and the audible click of his teeth being slammed together.

"Oh, it's on!"

"Guys!" The heat in his frame flared even hotter this time. It felt as if the flesh beneath his scales was cooking. All while Caesar struck again. Spots danced in his vision as the god watched them fight.

"What the hell, Caesar?!? What's wrong with you?!"

"Just shut the hell up!"

Was it smoke trying to escape the god's mouth or actual flame? He could see Santana's eyes dart to him, expression only changing in minor details, yet they all screamed that he knew something the god didn't. It screamed danger.

"Caesar, stop it. Now." Lisa Lisa ordered, hands at her side, and there was a tension there. Smoke, only black, escapes M/n's lips.

"You too, Jojo." Messina snaps, clearly growing frustrated, and the god wants to interject, but he's suffocating in smoke. Lisa Lisa looks as if she's about to get between the pair, so M/n acts first. Narcissistic Cannibal is unbothered by hamon, simply trailing through the human body. It's not a creature of ichor. So it grabs Caesar by the back of his shirt, akin to a kitten being lifted by the back of its neck, before jerking him back, earning a shocked yelp from the Italian.

"M/n?" Joseph asked, eyes darting to the god who was just staring at Caesar. Pale steam and black smoke flickered in the air, and the blond was looking at him with an expression the god wasn't sure how to read. Joseph shakes his head, shoves off Messina, and glares at Caesar. "You bastard! What the hell's wrong with you? Have you completely lost it? You're acting like some kind of madman."

Caesar sighs as Narcissistic Cannibal lowers him back to the ground and lets go. He sways on his feet for a second before he shakes his head. "Jojo, I guess you won't ever understand the concept of family honor and inheriting a battle like this."

"Huh?"

"Enough. I'm going."

"Caesar, Jojo is right." Lisa Lisa spoke up, her hand coming to rest on the male's arm, causing him to stop mid-step for only a moment. "It's far too dangerous. We have no way of knowing what might be waiting for us there. We'll wait for Kars to make his move."

He shrugged her off and came to rest at the railing.

"That's an order, Caesar. The only thing that matters now is protecting the Red Stone of Aja."

"No, coach, I'm sorry. I can't obey this time." Caesar looks over his shoulder, expression remorseful, and the hamon master goes still. "You know this is a matter of blood and family honor. It's a Zeppeli problem. I just can't leave it unsettled when I know exactly where Kars is hiding. I can't sit here, twirling my thumbs, waiting for him to come to me!"

No one stops him when he leaps over the railing and M/n considers a promise he made in a dream.

"Lo sto inseguendo, cerca di non preoccuparti Lisa Lisa, non morirà sul mio orologio nonostante ciò che la nostra storia potrebbe portarti a credere." She tenses, but doesn't openly argue at that. "Santana, quédate aquí y mantenlos a salvo para mí. Volveré pronto."

He leaps off and gives chase.

My meditations within the monastery came to an abrupt end. Gone were the chimes and gentle crackles of burning torches, they were invaded by the opposing sounds of screams of pure, unbridled terror. Cries and begs of deliverance, prayers so dragged on and vocal they made my ears fill with fiery blood.

The village outside the monastery was under siege. Not by brigands or an opposing army, but by a single, ravenous beast, standing tall over the statues that offered 'protection' from the darkness. The villagers fell to their knees. Spitting and stuttering to god as their houses were destroyed and collapsed to their pathetic foundations. They kissed and wept against the Earth in prostration as the world around them was destroyed.

"Forgive us," they pleaded, as if they saw the monster as a punishment.

"Deliver us!" They screamed as they did nothing to stop the chaos.

"Preserve us," they begged as it slaughtered their children before their very eyes.

The whining was insufferable, irritating, borderline maddening. I abandoned my meditations in the monastery and picked up my sword. The beast stood over the townsfolk, ready to rip and devour their pitiful lives of devotion. And so I drew my blade and cleaved through the creature, blackened blood and viscera filling the streets and coating the villagers as they wept.

"Angel" they called me.

"Saint" they deemed me.

"God" they thanked as I stood atop the corpse of the adversary that terrorized them.

Indeed, thank god for the man that slaughtered the beast you allowed into your lives. Even if you could have stopped it yourselves. Even if you could have ran and hid. Even if you could have defended your own children from its jet maw and onyx teeth. Yes, thank god for one man that saved you. Forget the arms, legs, tools, weapons, intellect that he gifted you from the second you were born into this world he made. Disregard every breath you draw and step you take as not your own will, as not being gifted every second of life by god, but as him giving you mercy.

Zealous fools, forcing every bit of life as a privilege and not a right bestowed. You pray to god to save you, do the work you need yourself, save the lives you could have saved. And now your village lays in ruins. Your children dead. And you stain yourself in the blackened blood of suffering. The suffering you let happen.

I left the village that day, armor clean of any viscera as the rags they dressed themselves in were coated in the blood of my work.

I would take my meditation elsewhere, where people didn't rely on God for everything.

I am only human, and human I remain in my life.

"Wait up!" Caesar stopped mid-step. Whipping his head around to glare at the god who appeared at his side in a few quick bounds, and he watched as the god quickly held his hands up. "Hey, no need to look at me like-"

"I'm not going back!"

"I'm not going to make you go back." M/n said, hands waving back and forth as he quickly followed after the hamon user, trying to ignore how each step he took made the snowmelt, or Caesar seemed unwilling to look at him a second time. "I know you probably don't believe me. But if I didn't want you out here, I'd drag you all the way back right now, or I wouldn't have let go of you in the first place with my stand."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm not letting you go alone."

"Do you think I can't win?"

"Against Kars by himself? Honestly, I think you could beat him in a fair one on one, but against any vampires he may have made with the mask, or if Wamuu is there...then no, I think you'll lose." Caesar growled at that remark, hamon once again sparking, and something deep inside him churned to get away, to run, but the god remained. "Kars won against Wamuu because of his cunning. I think he's got at least twelve ways around this, and most of them are probably set in motion before we even get there. He's a schemer, Caesar. A mad scientist type."

"He could have a million vampires in there, Wamuu could be waiting at the front door, and we'd still win if you just took this seriously!"

"..."

"Is it because you lost control in the caverns?" Caesar spat out, twitching due to sheer anger and the god swallowed. "Or because you made a promise to save murderers? To save monsters?"

"Caesar," M/n flinched, black smoke once more filling his lungs and something kept churning just beneath his diaphragm.

"If you went in there and went berserk like last time, you'd win," Caesar said, a sudden layer of clarity that made the god feel ill. "You'd win and you wouldn't hurt anyone that mattered."

"...you need to calm down." M/n watched how the blond stepped forward as if he was about to attack him like Joseph, but M/n didn't bother moving. "Caesar, even if you were in my shoes and could defeat a thousand enemies without batting an eye, this anger won't keep you going. You'll die because you'll end up doing something rash. Even if Kars is by himself, there's no way in hell he wouldn't take advantage of that."

"Just go back!"

"Why don't you attack me, then?" M/n felt a wave of satisfaction when Caesar actually flinched back. "I don't know how I went berserk the first time, but maybe if I'm badly injured, it'll happen again. So go ahead; attack me. See if you can guarantee I won't do something bad."

"...?"

"I don't know if Joseph could stop me again, Caesar. Hell, I don't know if Santana would be able to keep me down for long, so say if I didn't just kill you right away and actually went and killed Kars...well, what happens next? Can you say for certain that I'd just stop after that? What if I went into town? Could you stop a massacre from happening?"

Caesar looks sick at that, but M/n needs to get him somewhat calmed, somewhat rational, so he just allows it to happen.

"...just go back, M/n." Caesar says, resignation in his voice, as if he's little more than a man to be dragged to his own gallows. M/n can't help but wonder if this is an act of courage or cowardice, but he doesn't think he has the right to make either comparison. Caesar turns on his heel, not looking back at him, and the god remembers a scholar stalking into a chamber that reeked of death. Narcissistic Cannibal coils around him, the curve of his stand's hip pushing Caesar back, earning a curse in Italian from the man. "Why won't you let me go? Just because you're-"

"I would do this even if I was mortal, Caesar. I don't care if it costs me my life. I'd save the people I cared about, I'd save you. That's something I could live with, certainly something I could take to the end." M/n wished his skin and scales would cool so he could reach out and grab Caesar, but steam was still rising from him. "Caesar, will that fire in your heart keep you warm in the grave? Or will it go the moment it burns you out? Because anger can be a great motivator, and it's certainly warm in the moment, but in my experience, it just leaves you cold in the grave."

"What doesn't leave you cold in the grave?"

"Good memories, the people you loved, sights and smells that remind you of a better time..." He trails off with a shrug before giving a loose laugh. "Course, if you take a page outta my books going to hell keeps ya warm. Too warm, but it works."

Caesar actually laughs at that, though the humor is a bit too dark, and looks more settled.

"You're not going to make me go back?"

"Not unless you want to. I don't plan on killing anyone if I can help it, but I'm more than willing to fight with you. Plus, if you punch Kars in the face, I wanna be there to see it." The god pauses, looking more closely at the Italian. "Sides, I know at least part of you is doing this for a bit more than family honor, right?"

"I don't know what-"

"You're worried about Joseph." M/n shook his head with a slump of the shoulders. "You're hoping that Wamuu's there so you can get the ring, and everything else is just building up."

"As if I'm worried about-"

"If you think you can't lie to me about this, then you're madder than me." Caesar tried to avoid the god's gaze as his stand vanished again. "I'm not gonna pretend this is the smartest plan you've ever had, but we might as well get moving."

"We'd already be there if-" Caesar went silent when he heard the god cough. Looking over his shoulder to see a sickening mix of red and gold along the god's chin and scales. The god himself had gone silent, just staring at the liquid staining his hands. "You said you don't have red blood."

"I don't...I don't know what's happening..." He sounds terrified and Caesar moves towards him as he coughs again, harder, and this time only red blood escapes him. "Too hot..."

Caesar half wants to scoff because they were surrounded by snow and the god should be shivering, if not outright clinging to whoever was warmest, but steam is rising from him. Caesar only rests his hand on the god's bare shoulder before jumping back with a pained curse. His skin is almost bubbling from how hot he currently is, as if he's melting...no, boiling. He doesn't even register how close they are to the abandoned hotel, or how he feels as if something is staring at them, instead he feels panic rise up at the sight.

"M/n, did Kars say that Esidisi was with him?" The god looked up, eyes teary from how hard he's been coughing, and his claws flex and twitch.

"Wha-?"

"Do you know where Esidisi is, M/n?" The god shakes his head at that. Too busy coughing up blood to fully realize the implications just yet, and Caesar feels as if he's going to be sick. "How did he get the red stone on that boat to be delivered to Kars? He would've burned in the sun and everyone was accounted for except for Suzie Q, right? Joseph said you met up at the docks before you met him at Lisa Lisa's door. She was the only one who was with Lisa Lisa and had access to the red stone, and you two said she acted weird after she met you two right after Esidisi was handled, right?"

"He was...there was...Joseph said his shoulders were heavy..."

"A part of him was still there...and he's..." Caesar swallowed down a mouthful of bile as the god made a whine akin to a dying animal. "Can you manually cool yourself down? You said you had the ability to regulate your body heat. M/n, I need you to drop it as low as possible. I just need to touch you without getting burned."

"...you're going to...are you..." His eyes are foggy, pupils practically hidden in the haze, and Caesar dropped to grab a handful of snow that he could coat the god with. "Do it."

"You're sure?"

"I'll reform...just burn...it...out." His head straightened up before he suddenly hissed as one of his eyes burst, earning a series of panicked curses. Caesar was only slightly aware of the door to the hotel being opened as a vein seemed to emerge from the god's damaged eye socket. Only to recoil in the presence of sunlight. Ichor almost resembled pus and infection as M/n drove his claws into his chest. Caesar slammed the snow against the god, pressing it down, and taking a breath to steady himself, but with his one functioning eye the god looked to something just behind Caesar and he was flung away before hamon could enter M/n.

"What was-"

An invisible form, as if coated by something that was altering light, stood in the snow where Caesar had been mere moments ago. One arm buried in the god's chest lifting him a few feet off the ground. Scarlet makes the outline more apparent and melts the snow it lands on, and Caesar realizes his lungs would've been destroyed in that one blow. M/n twitches, one eyelid forced closed, and his open eye is staring at where the head should be in recognition. His lips mouth out a name and Caesar's eyes widen.

'Wamuu.'

This was Wamuu? Wasn't Kars the one who controlled light...how was he...?

The wound was forced to be wider, allowing the hidden figure to examine the veins that don't belong to the god. Before Caesar can attack, both are back in the hotel where the doors slam closed. A scarlet trail is left behind and Caesar rises to his feet with a challenge on his lips.

God doesn't respond.

Neither does Wamuu.

Caesar jolts when a gust of wind, carrying with it soft chanting and an orchestra's song, and Caesar draws the sound of a trumpet to Gabriel's song in the bible. He swears there's someone else there, a sob, but for a moment nothing happens. The blood still sizzles. It goes silent.

He makes his decision, first as a friend, and then as a Zeppeli.

I've become the forest fire.

I'm raging through the trees.

I'm the fire.

I'm the trees.

And now I'm left in witness of it all.

"Inform Lord Kars, Master Esidisi has returned." A gush of icy wind blasted against your form, so contrasting with the heat emitting from your body that it shocked you more than anything imaginable. Yet it was pointless as your ears filled with the sounds your body emitted, ones that never once correlated with your anatomy. Wet, sloppy squelches, the sloshing of viscera and the grotesque, bubbling growls from within your body only grew with the passage of time. You felt movements, slow, sporadic, excited...it was as if something squirmed beneath your flesh. Something full of life intending to bring death. Your gaze, or rather what currently remained of it, focused upon a towering form standing above your body. Gazing at the lively movements produced in your abdomen. Tan skin, blonde flat top, and an aura that moves the airwaves like they're his will. Wamuu stands before god, before you, observing the fluctuations within your abdomen intently, curiously. The flesh bulged and expanded, stretching like putty in constant movements that formed in every direction, looking ready to burst at any moment. "And prepare a bath of blood, rich in nutrients for him. I shall protect his rebirth."

"His...rebirth...?" You got out, claws scraping at the hotel's flooring, all while your brain reminded you that something was wrong. It wasn't pain, but your body wasn't reproducing ichor faster than it was being drained from the parasite that was using you. The lack of high was already sending your form into the beginning stages of ichor loss, and instead of a cry or whine, the sound that escaped your lips was a shaky laugh. You couldn't bear to look at your abdomen right now. You couldn't bear to acknowledge your current state, and that you couldn't feel pain was only pushing you further. It should hurt. You should be screaming in agony right now, you should be begging for someone to help you, but all that came from your lips was that weak laugh and whispers in Spanish and Italian. Who were you asking for help? Your mother? Jonathan? Dio? Ajamu? None of them could do anything. The heat was unbearable. You were back in hell. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but you can't feel pain. If you screamed loud enough, would Santana show up to help you? One hand moves, because unlike in hell, you aren't bound to a post, so you take advantage of the torn flesh to grab the invader. You need to get it out. You don't even care about killing it, you just need to get it out. You're rotting. Sepsis is back. You can smell the rot and heat of hell in the air. Your good eye, the other is unable to heal, fills with tears as another whimper escapes on instinct. You want your mother. You want to be dead. You wish your first suicide attempt worked all those years ago.

Before anything could be done to claw and rip into the festering flesh, your arms were forced into a fine, vaporous gold mist in a pair of whirlwind bursts. Two tunnels of air; slim and accurate as a sharpshooter's aim and reminiscent of miniature divine sandstorms, like twisters in a meadow forced onto their side. Their aim was perfectly placed onto your arms. Encompassing the both of them in their velocity like a terrible storm of power, and was merciless in shredding your limbs. Scale, skin and ichor alike were forced into a golden mist, shredded and ripped apart in the fray of the winds. Such power and speed could only be emitted by a master of the winds itself, and your gaze trailed over to the warrior himself, Wamuu.

"Leave Esidisi to his rebirth, Being of Insanity." His attention was led away from you almost immediately. As the double doors swung open, gusts of icy wind blasting into the hall and against the heat of your body. The cold air against your skin only made you feel all the sicker.

"Wamuu!" A familiar Italian voice called out. In your pathetic haze, you still recognized Caesar standing in the doorway. The light from outside barely scraped the surface of the fine interior of the main hall, and Wamuu stood safely away from the rays of the sun.

"Caesar!" Wamuu called out in turn, slow and echoing throughout the entirety of the hall. "I have no quarrels with you, boy! Bring forth Jojo! If he defeated Esidisi, then his power and training must truly be of greater skill than ever before!"

You closed your good eye once Wamuu started talking, trying desperately to figure out what was happening, or rather what you could do with no arms to tear out the rot. Your body still didn't have enough leftover energy to regenerate. All of it was trying to eat away at the parasite, and none of it was working. If you summon your stand, Wamuu will attack. That means he could kill the both of you for real, and it hurts. The knowledge that you can't do anything because changing forms means more flesh and ichor to be consumed. You want to bite and howl. You're crying, but it doesn't feel real.

"Sepsis...?" You mumble out, half in confusion, and the rest is stuck in a state of shock because you're certain that you can feel the rot. It's there. You're rotting away.

This, you think, is worse than being raped as a mortal.

Because that had hurt, taken advantage of everything 'weak' in you, but it had never turned your entire body against you. This is internal in a way that attack could never be. Personal in a way, an unknown attacker who had never even known your name could never be. This is as if hell had taken all your worst fears and ramped them up.

It should hurt.

You want to die.

You almost wished you were just stuck reliving that past attack because that would be easier.

"Get out..." You hiss like a dying prayer, too quiet for anyone other than Wamuu to pick up, but you're too tired to care anymore. Let him think you're pathetic. He already hates you. Not like he could hate you more than you hate yourself. You want to scream, but that won't help anyone. You won't stop crying. You really wish you were dead. You really wish you could apologize to everyone, even if you weren't sure for what yet, but you knew you had to make some form of amends.

You wish you could still feel pain.

"How dare you hold my friend as a prisoner, you bastard!" Caesar yelled. His fists clenching as the shining gold of hamon wrapped and coiled around his body like a fiery serpent that represented his own rage. It was different, though. Less heated and fiery than his previous rage, no bloodlust or blinded fury to be found. Rather, it was a calmer, more secure and hearty fire in and of itself, like a hearth in a family home. "You've got so much to answer for, Wamuu! Here and now are your last moments in this darkened hotel!"

His gloves glided over one another in a shining sparkle of hamon. Thousands of orbs of translucent rainbow forming at his silken touch until he's surrounded in a layer of sparkling bubbles. He stands in the doorframe with the light wrapping around him; the bubbles floating and flying into the hotel like thousands of drones at his command, and the familiar justice of a scholar shining within his soul. "My name is Caesar Antonio Zeppeli. You killed my father. Prepare to die!"

And with that, Wamuu's muscles tensed, his position moving into a stance ready for combat. He wasn't expecting Caesar, but even then he refused to disappoint in clashing with the descendant of the scholar.

"...?" You twitch, not sure if you should be laughing or crying at Caesar's arrival because you're confident that between the two he'd only be able to defeat Kars, and Wamuu is difficult...but, Caesar came to help you and that means something. Your head is spinning, the world is left fuzzy, and you want to tell him to run and get help because you're not of use. Your back arches and your spine cracks at something that you don't think about, can't think about, but you can feel the veins of the parasite coiling around the break to force it, to widen it, and drain the marrow. To take everything. Scarlet drips from your lips like ink drips from the pen of the apostle, writing for a god that never cared in the first place. You mumble about rot and sepsis as your lungs flood, and it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts.

If you keep on lying, maybe it will start to hurt.

You want Wamuu to crush your skull so you don't have to live through this.

You want to know nothingness.

With a forceful push of his hands, the bubbles flew in swarms at Wamuu like dozens of opal colored wasps. The aura of hamon that coiled around them spun, twirled, and focused violently with kinetic energy. Each one gained a razor-sharp edge at their center radius, like a saw blade implanted into a planet. Immediately Wamuu's body moved to counter them. Dashing and dodging through the flurry of pearlescent projectiles at speeds that rival the winds themselves. Caesar remained in the doorframe. Protected by the outside rays of sunlight as he produced an endless stream of bubbles at the pillar man. Unwavering and unmoving in his volley, almost similar to Stroheim blasting away at Kars with his machine gun.

But it didn't stop the warrior; he drew closer and closer to Caesar as his body bobbed and weaved through each projectile. Snapping and dislocating segments of his body to better gain angles and advantages. Once in range, his arm swirled violently, bones and flesh twisting in a violent and gruesome display. Before he simply reared back as if ready to throw something, before unwinding and thrusting forward. The power and tension was so fast it forced a whirlwind at the blonde. Another tornado flipped on its side, forcing Caesar to abandon the safety of the sunlight to avoid the projectile.

Right into the kill zone.

A flicker of blue filled your vision. The hulking frame of your stand crouching by your head. Despite all your internal instincts screaming at him to get away so Wamuu wouldn't attack the one thing that could kill you. You twitched at the sensation of your stand's claw ripping straight down the line of your spine. All you could mumble out was a series of pleas to cut the rot out once you realized what he was doing. Despite your worries about Cannibal getting hurt, you just wanted it gone. A swipe of your stand's tongue ran over your cheek as the serpent gave a low purr.

You forced your head to the side. Trying to watch the fight to make sure Caesar was winning or at least surviving. Yet you couldn't ignore the terrible sensation of Narcissistic Cannibal catching something solid and heavy and pulling it upwards, sending a surge of boiling blood everywhere, leaving patches of your skin an ugly red. You could only feel the heat. Still, your tears made it almost impossible to really see Caesar and Wamuu fighting as more than colorful blurs and patches. Breath in and out. Breath in and out.

It won't hurt.

It can't be this upsetting forever, right?

Separated from the safety of the sun's rays, Caesar was left exposed to Wamuu, ducking and rolling into a ball before kneeling in Wamuu's direction. And in a burst of speed that forced more wind across the main hall, he charged against Caesar, arms extended forward and teeth clenched in a manner of fury as they clashed well. You barely made out the maneuver that Wamuu used. But both of his arms seemed...'intertwined' together, forming a drill of rapid gray air against a pearlescent screen across Caesar's hands, golden arcs flying as far and wide as the breeze went. Cool air flew across the hall, hitting your body and drying your eye of tears almost instantly.

"I have no time for this, Caesar!" The pillar man screamed. The clash of wind and bubbles finally hit a point of overcharged tensions, blasting away Wamuu with hundreds of bubbles flying towards him. Caesar refused to let up even after the clash, blasting Wamuu with projectiles once more as sharp as razors. Wamuu dodged the projectiles to the best of his abilities, body cracking and folding in to protect itself against the volley. But his balance was lost from the blast. Bits of his body were skimmed by the orbs, drawing blood from his forearms and shoulders as he attempted to block. But the blood ran hot, and the heavy metallic scent filled your senses like hunger.

Finally, your stand gave a low purr, ripping open your back even further, before grasping something even more solid that clung to your very marrow.

"There it is." Your stand cooed, smug, fully hooking the thing in its claws and ripping it free. You exhaled, body left shaking, but you could finally feel parts of yourself regenerating again. With Caesar distracting Wamuu, you might gain an advantage, but then, because cosmic irony was an actual thing, what remained of Esidisi made a sound akin to an animal being whipped.

'Fuck!' Both you and your stand thought in sync.

"Leave Master Esidisi to his rebirth!" A shout echoed from within the main hall. Though Narcissistic Cannibal could never hope to gaze at him, you saw the Pillar Man up front and center before you both. And you remembered that familiar stance he had taken before... "I will not let you meddle in the affairs of Lord Esidisi's return!"

His left hand spun clockwise, and his right hand spun counterclockwise! This maneuver was used when you first witnessed the power of the pillar men, how powerful Wamuu truly was when the winds took form in his favor, but you became distracted when your stand suddenly pulled it's claws free from your form with a pained yowl.

Caesar couldn't react in time, and neither could you as the gusts of wind began to fire at speed near relativistic; a pair of tornadoes formed within the reach of the pillar man, blowing forward at your stand and engulfing him in blasts of high-speed winds. Air twisted, turned and rotated without relent, forcing your stand back and away from your form only a few feet before digging its claws into the floors of the hall. Noticeably, only using one hand as the other was burned and clutched near its chest. You attempted to gaze up at the storm above you...and were shocked to find yourself gazing at winds that ripped and tore at the atmosphere itself. Mere inches away from your body was the gray and white that represented a tornado itself. The same unfathomable speeds and velocity that ripped houses apart, destroyed towns and ruined thousands of miles of landscape all before your eyes. There was a beauty in it; watching such winds rip and twist the air with such divine speeds...and terror at how such a power of nature was wielded by a warrior like Wamuu.

It certainly didn't help when it changed color into a pink storm of wind, and the cool breeze it brought began to heat up...especially not when you witnessed veins and a rising form touch upon the storm with a murderous grin right back at you.

Instinct was the first thing that took over. Your form attempts to change as your regeneration spiked at the removal of the parasite. All the voices howling in glee inside your mind, while your stand flexed the burnt limb with a growl. The wound lingered for only a moment before it started to heal, and you knew that the damage was superficial at best. Still...you were panicking.

"Parti e chiedi aiuto! Starò bene!" You yowled now that your lungs could fill with air instead of ichor or blood, and despite your status, you prayed Caesar would listen.

I don't take very good care of my body.

Everything tastes like mush nowadays. bland. What was the point?

In the past few years, I've completely lost my appetite. Getting through a meal, no matter how small, felt more like self inflicted torture. The worry has started to eat away at me.

How long can a body function when given so little?

"Like Athena I am born from the flesh and bone of a god..." Stepping free from the form of your cadaver, coated in a fine layer of molten gold, steaming and bubbling to the surface of his own flesh, the Burning King emerges. Your body closes, regenerating what little it could at first as the rush of ichor loss takes over every conscious thought. Without the constant drain, the symptoms of withdrawal are thrown away to be replaced by madness and pleasure. Still, pins and needles prick and pry at your nerves as the dripping, steaming lord of the pillar men approaches his servant. Wamuu kneels, ceasing his winds the moment Esidisi interjects, and he gifts his lord with his respects. "You've done so well, Wamuu. As always, your work is impeccable compared to mortals and the ascended alike...Of course, you wouldn't hope to stand against god for much longer."

He started to rub in the ichor that coated his flesh, exfoliating it into his every pore and cell like a fine oil. Every movement is slow, methodical, smooth...fucking infuriating. You watched as he glided his tongue across his forearms. Tasting the sweet blood of divinity itself, all while letting loose softened purrs accompanied by luxurious growls at its flavor. He basks in the sweet aura that coats him so well one could have sworn he had bathed in it a thousand times over.

"How sweet and perfect your blood is, god! A confectionery truly only made available from the beauty of your own body...in all honesty..." His gaze suddenly locked with yours. Eyes unmoving, akin to solid daggers aimed at their target. No expression across his face, no noticeable movements that would highlight a specific emotion. Absolutely nothing. It's apathetic yet not. Even when covered and coated in steaming ichor, he's completely unreadable. "I wouldn't mind having that experience once more."

That caused you to flinch. Regeneration kicked into high gear as all your instincts screamed to run or fight. You couldn't even bring yourself to look away to see if Caesar had taken your advice. Hell, you didn't even note how your clothes were left shredded and burnt to the point of your form being completely bare, well, minus the hat you stole from Kars. This was bad. The colors were too bright, the image distorted, and you were stuck in the painting. If only the ink would stop running. You swallowed down your panic, your whines, and stopped crying. You had to bluff. It didn't matter. They all hated you anyway. You were god. That was your title, and you had to put the act back on because they couldn't know how terrified you were. You were god, you never lost a fight, you defeated Ajamu. What the hell could they do to you that hadn't already been done? You could hate yourself later. Now you have to pull yourself together.

"Remember this, Wamuu; gods are fickle in everything but their forms. Their physicality, their strengths, their velocity...their gifts. The finest of their blessings are those that are tangible. Cronus's Sickle, the Vulcan Forge, the Scales of Anubis, Mjolnir...and as for this one ascendant..." His expression suddenly changed to a smirk, an expression of pure, smug joy as a low rumble escaped his throat. He then giggled, actually giggled maniacally at you as Wamuu remained by his side. "Oh, there is SO much to this one...I've read his body, the fortunes within his ichor, inhaled his scent until I dreamed of lions dancing with devils...It is an experience to levels of divinity incomprehensible."

"...!" You flinched again, the mention of lions and devils sending your mind to a series of panicked ideas, but most of all, you were angry. How dare he?! Those memories were yours! Jonathan and Dio were yours! Who was Esidisi to lay claim to those that you held dear? To those of the past? Your saint, your sinner...had all of that really been laid bare for him? Newly formed claws ripped into the tile of the hotel flooring as you rose into a sitting position, your scales a new pitch black, and the world was swaying. Your form flickers, yet you can't quite bring yourself to transform, unsure if your current state would fling you into the deepest throes of madness. You swallow down bile.

What are you supposed to do now?

A blast of energy interrupted your train of thought. A familiar pearlescent shine combined with a swift slice of the wind broke the standoff. Your peripheral vision trailed over to Wamuu standing beside Esidisi. His arms locked in a tightened guard against the sparkling burns of Caesar's bubbles.

Caesar was still here?! And no less attacking amid Esidisi's entrance?!?

Wamuu's attention went to the blond, focusing on protecting his master from any interruptions, eyes locked and body posed for battle. In seconds, he could create a line of defense without warning; all for his masters. Esidisi however...

His gaze was refusing to break from yours. He paid no mind to Caesar, no mind to the sudden defense at his side, not even a glance or flinch. Was he high on ichor? Still in a state of unfathomable euphoria from emerging from your body?!? Or was he trying to psych you out like Joseph? Those eyes formed an unending, icy stare. As if he never left the rock he was embedded into, no emotional range detectable or readable.

And all focused on the one that assisted his rebirth.

You could remember being pressed beneath god's heel, surrounded by corpses, and you remember the fact that you could never bring yourself to move. Yet now...there's a choir. You can hear...church bells ringing? An angel laughing? Your claws loosen. There's certainly bells but you can't tell why they're echoing now. Is it time for Mass? A tug at the back of your mind only grows more and more intense as you lock eyes with Esidisi. You aren't the same as the person who froze back then, are you?

No, is what you decide.

Your form changes, a skull rests upon your face, and the laughter fills the room.

…only for the laughter to be joined in by the maddening cackles let loose by Esidisi. His face morphing into an unstable grin of unforeseeable intent...it was a wide, toothy, going from ear to ear with his darkened flesh pulled and mangling into a wide expression. And he let loose a loud, almost high pitched cackle from the bottom of his throat. He screams out each and every laugh with deep, heavy gasps few and far between, reaching the peak of your ears and creating a sickening duet of mindless laughter. Wamuu and Caesar would stop in their tracks. One sturdy and unwavering as his eyes and expression remained stone cold and focused. The other with his eyes widened in shock, gazing at the mindless choir as if shell-shocked by a horror story. Wamuu, a warrior unaffected by countless elements, not even fear able to phase him as he kept his position ready for battle. While Caesar, representing the hamon tribe, looked ready to run for it, the process of flight or fight conflicted in his posture.

And there was Esidisi…being an annoying chuckle-fuck alongside you.

The god rose to his feet, the colors popping, chanting and howling intermingling with his laughter as he drew first position. Blood on my Name resting in his palm, the scarlet blood along the floor spiked upwards and hardened, the first sign of mass extinction. Perhaps if there was no contest for control, the mad god would leap forward to plunge the blades of the trident deep into Esidisi's chest. But the god still held purchase in the halls of his mind, and he wasn't willing to let go just yet. But that was also the point, wasn't it? A trident is a useless weapon. Designed for things not relating to fighting. Even the design prevents more than surface injuries, but as a stand...a stand that controlled and manipulated shed blood, well, it had its uses. Narcissistic Cannibal leaps past Wamuu as a blur. Grabbing Caesar before he can even think to levy a complaint. With a single bang of the trident's base, the blood shot upwards as daggers and the scholar was no longer in sight.

Esidisi, the Burning King, what will he do when his blazing blood turns against him the moment it leaves his body?

"Riddle me this, god: would that move truly be desirable if you plan to let us all live...?" The laughter ceased. Once more, the change in his expression was sudden, unpredictable and untraceable. But his tone was of an emotionless level...was he trying to be persuasive? It didn't help when every twenty seconds he sounded like a serial killer in the dark. "I'm quite certain that Santana, in all his evolved glory, wouldn't appreciate unnecessary brutality against us...you already destroyed me once, and the anxiety was beyond unbearable for your precious body."

A shiver ran up your spine, a shadow fell over you and the cold of the void froze your eyes in place. Esidisi had spent time inside of you, not only feeding off of your immortal flesh, but listening in to everything around him. Your conversations, your moments, your dumb of ass Joseph Joestar shenanigan bullshit...he heard it all and observed every bit.

"Come now, you wouldn't want the possibility of letting yourself go once more and risk obliterating one of us without hesitation, would you? If not..." The pillar man stepped forward, and in response Wamuu repositioned himself to face you, arms outstretched offensively, prepared to rip you to pieces with winds. You raised the trident close to Esidisi…and he pressed his chest gently to the blades until they poked softly at his flesh. "Or... I could just force myself into your oversized salad fork, killing myself in one blow because you had your sad sense of divine ego get in the way of your goal."

You laughed, dispelled Blood on my Name, and allowed your god form to fade, leaving you in a shredded outfit.

"You really don't get it." You shook your head, taking two steps back and held your hands up in surrender, not reacting to the blood that splattered back on the ground. "I already won. I got the ending I want. This was never about fighting you. Caesar's gone. I surrender. I'm done fighting. I just wanted the distraction."

"Oh, darling..." a voice echoes from above you. You couldn't help but freeze in your tracks...that tone, that soft, silky smooth tone with such...succulence in its emission; one you knew far too well from the previous night. You dared not even gaze up at whom spoke. "You've already helped us in more ways than you think..."

A shadow fell over you, and you turned to find your shaking gaze focused in between the finely sculpted visage of the last living lord of the pillar men. You swallowed down the urge to panic or run.

"Welcome home, Esidisi. You've brought back a gift most fair and vivacious...and presented with no wrapping or packaging whatsoever."

"..." You twitched at the reminder of your current state. You had never been too bothered by being bare because of your work as a stripper, yet under Kars's gaze you felt...like a moth pinned to a board. Taxidermy. As if he could pick you apart to find out what made you tick one way or the other, take the remains to build an altar, and then draw forth religion from your lips. "...never been called a gift before."

The way Kars looks at you makes you regret whispering that in the first place.

"Oh, but my dear..." His hand reached forward, soft and gentle like the light of the moon across your skin. He runs it down your cheek so softly and peacefully...you have to hold back the urge to sink your fangs in deep. "You're the best gift I could ask for."

You wished your venom wasn't just an aphrodisiac or hallucinogen, like the smog you created. If only you could make it hurt.

"Sorry, not covered by your insurance." You hissed out, taking a quick step back as you flashed your fangs. "Besides, since I surrendered, shouldn't I be in a dungeon while you plot your next move? Or be getting tortured? Not whatever weird shit this is? I mean, if you're trying to psych me out...good job, it's working."

"Everything to the end of their days is insured, darling~!" Kars purred out, causing you to twitch in confusion at the phrasing...did he...did Kars not know what insurance was? You guess it wasn't something that got mentioned that often in his travels, but still... "And why on this green earth of yours would you be a prisoner in a place such as this? If anything, you're as welcome here as Esidisi is..."

"..." You swallowed at that. Not sure how to proceed or what exactly you should say, let alone do in response. You said you surrendered. You were certainly honor bound into staying, at least till your allies showed up, but that didn't mean you wanted to be here. Maybe you could try running? "And why is that? Last I checked, we've been on different sides since day one."

"And who says I enjoy being divided? Forced into this unholy schism like this, my dear god?"

"I don't think you want me to answer that honestly." You huffed. Form flicking back into your clothed god form when you noticed how his eyes kept darting downward. Now with the skull resting on your shoulder. You wondered if one of them would dare give chase if you turned to leave. "But if I'm as welcome here as any of you, and I'm not a prisoner...well, then I'm welcome to leave, right?"

"Oh, so you do have two of them?"

"Huh? The hell are ya talkin’ bout?" You hissed out, before seeing that his eyes had once again darted downwards, earning a growl from you. "Seriously? Why the hell do you care about-Never mind, just tell me if I can head out or not. I really have a million things to do at the moment. I'm sure you're gonna be busy having that bloodbath or welcome back party or...whatever the hell kinda party people throw when someone explodes outta a god...so I'll be taking my leave if you aren't gonna fuss."

"There's that peculiar dialect of yours again..." His tongue ran across his lips slowly and methodically. A line of pink damping and the softened flesh used for deplorable acts...such as saying weird shit.

"That ain't the point! Can you just answer my question instead of going off topic?! Otherwise I'm just gonna mosey on out and leave the birthday boy to his bar mitzvah."

"Could you...say that again? Slowly? …I can't seem to hear every syllable you utter from those fine lips of yours..."

"I ain't talking that fast in the first place." You complained, though you slowed your words slightly even as you ignored the hint of flush forming, which was easier on your throat, anyway. "Now, can I go and leave the birthday boy to his bar mitzvah, or do I gotta stay till the graduation party? And don't go off topic again!"

"Kars, you're almost vibrating in your euphoria and bound to smother him into your breasts...let the poor god breathe, his lungs are puny enough as they are." Esidisi said with a laugh, actually looking lax since the first time you saw him, and that....only served to make his earlier behavior all the more unsettling.

"Smother me...?" You twitched, not sure what exactly the joke was, but feeling that you were in danger, regardless

"And besides, we've established that your honor forbids you to leave unless we say...or rather, unless Kars says." Esidisi continued, completely ignoring your confused muttering, not that you expected him to respond in the first place. Yet...for some reason, you felt a presence in the room tense up at the remark...and it didn't come from Kars or Esidisi.

"Why do ya think I've been asking him if I can go!?" You snapped, flashing your fangs. Then turning your attention back to Kars...he was the one who seemed the least bothered by your existence...maybe flattery would work? Deciding you had no better options, you quickly dipped your head into a slight bow. "So, Lord Kars, am I allowed to leave? Like I said; we're both pretty busy people, so I'm sure that we both need to wrap this up before the big fight comes up, right?"

"...How about dinner?"

"...dinner?" For a second you almost thought that you had misheard the pillar man. The creeping cold and mental breakdown making you imagine things, yet Kars seemed to be...genuinely waiting for a response. "I mean...I really don't have time for that...I gotta go...water my dog and make sure Santana's...I mean...I don't even need to eat, part of the whole being a god thing, not that I think you wouldn't have a lovely party or feast or...that's really not my scene. Besides, God of Insanity isn't the god you want to invite to a party, let alone one as important as-"

A whisper interrupted your useless ramblings. A stern and battle-hearty voice enduring your mannerisms with a familiar patience...one you envied whenever interacting with Joseph. "M/n, I'm afraid you're digging your own grave and only driving yourself into an abyss...an abyss that only contains Kars and Kars alone."

He was right.

That hunger within Kars' gaze...a pair of daggers sharpening themselves using the words you spilled onto the floor at every utterance. The gaze alone was enough to cut you down and take your divinity worse than any way you hoped for in your incessant ramblings...what's worse??? He's gliding his hands over his chest and cupping it while licking his lips once more...it was definitely something you said. And now you're about to be dragged into an abyss with no food, no water, and only Kars.

Did he realize you faked that flattery? Did he think you were so pathetic that he wanted to actually kill you over it? Why did you feel like the reaper's scythe was curved around your throat?

"Sorry, but dinner parties just aren't my thing." You got out despite the fear, hoping that your honesty would keep Kars from actually killing you. "So if you just say the word, I'll be outta your head wrap and you can get on with your feast."

"No, I do believe there's far more to enjoy than just dinner, my dear...far more." That tone lowered itself into almost a feline purr of pure, lustful joy. The vibrations like that of the beating heart of kindred spirits...or the adrenaline pumping heart of an antelope knowing its impending and inescapable doom at the claws of a harpy ready to swoop down and end its pitiful life.

You are that antelope. Kars is the harpy. And the other two pillar men are on a safari observing nature take its horrifying course.

"So dinner and a show...?" You weren't sure what kind of show you were supposed to play during this kind of event, but you doubted you'd be familiar with it. "Like tales of fights, myth, or something by Shakespeare? Cause I'm really not for stories of hard-fought battles anymore. I mean, there's not much use for a soldier like me after the war ends, and mine's certainly ended. I'm not that chatty about it."

"Oh, a show there will be, dear. A show there will be indeed..."

"Not liking where this is going, if I have to be honest with ya, so, let me ask again; is it alright if I head out? I mean, the others will definitely come to interrupt your nice feast if I don't show back up. Lisa Lisa already hates me so...I really don't need another reason to tick her off after she finds out that Esidisi's back, and my body can only tolerate so much hamon before I deep fry..." You stopped yourself from rambling again, and tried to remain civil. "Again, I really think I should be heading out. Especially since it's gonna snow soon. I can't let the weather get ahead of me."

"Keep speaking like that and I'll have no choice but to warm you up myself, dear..." Kars drew out, bordering the line of promise and threat to where you had no idea what exactly you should do. "Besides...I'd rather we make every second worth it while we can, dear. Come now, truly, you don't wish to be a reluctant guest to a fine host, do you?"

"I..." You swallowed again, yet you couldn't help but remember your mother saying it was rude to leave before the first course of the meal. While you were certain that this situation doesn't apply to her teachings...well, you were starting to really feel suffocated. Was that what Esidisi meant? "I'm not trying to be reluctant! I'm just trying to avoid being burned alive by hamon! Surely you understand that, right?"

"Oh, yes...far more than you could ever know, dear." Still, he didn't seem to be keen on budging. Your breath was hitching, and you were on the verge of being sick. The reality of the situation was catching up, and you really needed time to process this. That was what the therapist in your head said: you needed to be in a stable environment.

"I...well, I guess I could stay for at least one course, but after that-"

"Shhhhhh...No more...let's have ourselves a fine feast~"

Prayer is now dripping from your lips like oxygen escaping your lungs. Breath went in, and words came out. That was what God made your voice for. But the act of breathing gets so much harder, underground. No land is holy beyond the blessed light. No water left divine when it runs through lead pipes.

Prayer drips from your lips like blood runs from your nose. A faucet only shut with balled up cloth, and letting it fall back down your throat.

It's all that warmed your stomach those days.

Prayer drips from your lips like a needle being dropped into a stampede.

Can you hear me now, god?

Can you hear me now?

Left ringing against stone, you remember a bell.

I can at least make someone bleed. even if I don't want it, even if it's the wrong one. The weakest will feel the blood and bite in the sole of their feet.

And that's who I've been praying for, all along.

In an instant, the pillar man's hand was pressed upon your chest, carrying all the unforeseen grace of a lifeform evolved beyond your understanding suddenly pressing upon your brand...before seamlessly grabbing you in his arms and pushing the both of you away. Your first instinct was to hiss at him...but then your focus was locked on the sudden impact and unrelenting force that landed right where you had been mere moments ago. A large form of stone bricks. Tiled and layered by skilled hands decades ago and laid into the foundations of the building had crashed into the floor. Dust and debris kicked and spread through the hall. The flooring and carpet was ruined, now embedded a good foot or so under, with the impact and size it must have weighed several tons...Several tons that nearly crushed your form at an unforeseeable pace...while you wouldn't be stuck for long it still would've been difficult, especially given how cold it was.

And it was Kars who risked himself to push you out of the way...

With such a gentle grip, at that...

And his arms were still around you...

Certainly, this wasn't covered by his insurance.

"Thank you...?" You got out, struggling to say anything as an adrenaline spike mingled painfully with your ichor loss. The feeling of being held in Kars's arms made you shudder. You hadn't paid it much mind, or rather you'd been unable to before, but now the change in your internal heat was apparent. Hadn't been lying even if you had the time to change into layers of clothing and shed your god form, which was far more cold-blooded than your disguise. You'd freeze should you enter a blizzard.

…you shouldn't have listened to Joseph, who believed the heat had been because of your own progress, and instead saw the snake in the grass for what it was. You were getting better? What a fucking joke! Still, a traitorous part of you wanted to remain in his hold, to absorb as much warmth as possible, but you settled for getting free. Only to remain in his hold.

"You're as cold as one who's died a thousand times over. Your body is emitting no heat whatsoever..." His expression morphed into one of concern and pure curiosity...eyebrows raising and throat vibrating with hums and purrs of interest. The methodical look of a scientist was on display as he looked you up and down, eyes curiously scanning your shape and figure. "Fascinating...very fascinating."

"...yeah, I'm cold blooded. Lord of Serpents, remember?" You growl out, trying to fully escape his grasp, but his hold makes it almost impossible without hurting him. Something you think Wamuu would attack you for, so you just swallow the complaints down. "Seriously, was this on purpose? Choose an area that snows constantly? Couldn't you have set up a base in Italy or Greece...hell, anywhere in the Mediterranean would be fine by me!"

"Oh, believe me, if we had expected you to stay here as a guest, we would have moved all the way to the Gardens of Eden or the Elysian Plains just for you..." He said it so fucking casually as he just observed your body. Eyes trailing to your scales, scars, brands, burns, tattoos...he was analyzing every inch of you like some machine scanning for discrepancies in paperwork!

Truly, it was all to kill you in the end...Wait, then why did he save you?! What the hell was going on?! Why is he still saying so much weird shit?!

It certainly didn't help when he stopped observing you and casually moved on with a more positive posture and frame. Standing up straight and releasing you from his grasp, clapping his hands together in a manner only a true host of an establishment would use. "Wamuu, bring M/n something to wear, something warm and large. Esidisi, get something to wear, and please stop looking at us like that!"

"I can't help it, you haven't been this chipper since that night in Hera's garden...Like a pair of doves you two are~”

"Since Hera's garden...?" You mutter, eyes darting between the two pillar men as you try to figure out what they're talking about, but like with most things Kars mentions, well, it just doesn't make sense to you. Though part of you is glad to be getting some clothes. The outfit of your god form does nothing to warm or cool you, and the only thing you'd have when you shed this form was the hat you stole. He wouldn't ask for that back, right? Still, what part of Kars is like a dove? You considered him to be more like a peacock than anything else, but far less cute than the ones on your farm. With a shake of the head, you tried to ignore your train of thought and figure out if you should be moving or if you'd be stuck with Kars for a while longer. Really, you wanted to get the blood and ichor off your skin before it fully dried. Though you doubted you'd be allowed a bath, it had to be a trap. You just needed to wait a bit longer, and they'd reveal that you really were just some prisoner or bargaining chip. Oh well, not like Lisa Lisa would give them the red stone for you. Hell, you wouldn't let her even if she tried. Even if the others tried.

"Excuse me, M/n?" A gruff voice called out, as if a wall of iron bricks spoke to you. Turning, you find yourself face to face with Wamuu. The warrior of the pillar men. Curious. His face was that of patience, an apathetic calm like an undisturbed pond filled with nature...yet his eyes...there was something tense about them. Like they were locked onto you for any movements. As if waiting for you to strike. "If you would follow me, you would gain the opportunity to clean yourself up and certainly have a breath after the previous moments."

You read it all too well, understood the true intentions, and followed the warrior on a path into the dark.

Yet, at the point where you were about to exit the room, you turned your head to the side to stare at the fallen debris, or more importantly, its shape. The thing was shaped like a cross. You lingered there for a moment longer, Esidisi and Kars having already vanished to prep for this promised feast, so you considered it allowed on some level.

…for a moment you saw an angel sitting there, staring back, but it was gone the moment you blinked.

You followed Wamuu, reminding yourself to stay over ten feet behind, as you ran the tips of your half-frozen claws over your chest. When Kars had grabbed you, the palm of his hand had rested perfectly on the center of the brand that scarred you.

Just a coincidence, it had to be.

You stopped for a moment so Wamuu could stay ahead of you.

"Staying out of my shadow...respectable."

"You clearly don't like it. I'm not gonna upset ya for no reason." You rubbed the end of your shoe against the carpet absentmindedly. These dancing shoes don't have enough of a heel to make a click and while the tap they can make is satisfying, you're panicking. "I don't like people touching my hips if they sneak up behind me. Everybody has their ticks."

You swallow, eyes running over his form, mentally boring holes through the back of his skull. Your body is ice cold already. Wouldn't make it back to that hotel you were staying in, and you were honor bound into staying...but a part of you was just staring through him. Shifting layers allowed you to stare straight at the lip ring he wore. It would be so easy to obtain. Yet you'd never get it back in time. You'd be left frozen like a corpse in the snow. Joseph would probably die either way.

"In here you can wash up. Everything you should desire should be inside, with enough privacy to have an episode."

'Fuck.' He knew as well as you did you were on the brink of breaking.

Still, he had led you to what seemed to be a bathhouse. One they had immediately put into working order as your body was nearly engulfed in steam and nose invaded by the sweet scent of floral pleasantries. Stepping inside, your shoes now dampened against the wet layer of fine marble tiles, concentrated in checkerboard patterns of green and white, all containing blurry reflections of the bathhouse. The flooring was wet, condensation and droplets alike placed upon every inch of the fine tiling, and as a result; every step you took was a fine and echoing tap only accompanied by the sounds of running water within the bathhouse. Four large, circular tubs of hot water were constructed into the center of the room, having diameters of fourteen feet and rising steam from each one. The stacks being lit up by the shimmering glow of emerald...A solid, light blue-green glow lit up every bit of the bathhouse. How they warmed it up was a mystery, but considering their abilities and the fact that it was soothingly warm...well, you weren't complaining.

"Dinner will be prepared soon. I'll call you...when you're finished."

"Thank you." Was all you said as the door closed behind him.

I'm left hoping that the apple-shine of our reddening youth stays round and ripe in your palm. I hope you take a bite out of it and the roof of your mouth stings like flat plains, the rolling valleys, all the places where we laid down, pointing our heels to the sky and hooking our elbows into the soil beneath.

Remember back then?

You thought you understood me. Yet you never listened. You thought I was the kind of person to seek revenge. But all I needed was protection. You thought you saw yourself in me. But did we ever feel the same?

You thought we could make this work, but really, my dear, it was doomed to fail.

Could it have ever been real? Were we ever the same? I want to ask what went wrong, but didn't we see it coming all along?

You shed your god form the first two steps towards the water, setting the hat down on a spot that was dry, before sliding into the water. You ignored how your hands were shaking, how despite the heat you were trembling, and dived beneath the surface. Most of the blood and ichor were washed off the moment you slid in, and the few spots that had somewhat dried were gone in a few quick swipes. After you were certain that you had taken care of everything, you pressed yourself completely flat against the bottom of the bath. Flipping onto your back, you took a deep breath. Internally cringing at how your lungs burned when they filled with water, but all you did was keep breathing as your claws scraped at the tile. The water was hot. Literally burning your lungs from the inside out. Though you realized quickly after the panic died down that you were slowly freezing in the absence of Esidisi. Your vision turned black as you suffocated. It didn't matter; you didn't need the oxygen.

'This is fine, I'm fine, I'm not slipping, I'm not slipping, I'm not slipping. This will all blow over. Just one dinner. The others will come for me.' Nothing you think is actually helping. Now you're having a panic attack. The water is just drowning you deeper and deeper, and everything is going wrong to where you almost wish that Kars would come in here and just put you out of your misery. It should hurt. Your lungs almost burn at the sensation of drowning, but not with actual pain. It just feels wrong. Cannibal hums just beneath the first layer of skin, but you do everything to prevent him from actually manifesting again. Concern and panic echoes from their connection and you just send back the mixture of pain, panic, anger, and despair you feel till it loosens like a worn out tire belt.

Finally, the sensation of drowning became too much, and you shot out of the pool, resting your torso on the tiled rim of the bath you spent the next few moments sputtering, weakened lungs howling as you're forced to practically vomit up all the water you had swallowed, whines escaped your lips as you tried to trace the black lettering along your arms, but it didn't help. It never helped. Why did you keep doing it? You whimpered again as you slumped, taking one longer shaky breath before you started hacking again. This time, ichor escapes as you cough hard enough to rip your own lungs. You stare at the molten gold, losing some of its inherent shine when it intermixes with the water and bile. You stare at the thinning yellow till it looks and almost smells like pus. You slam your claws deep into your chest and start ripping and tearing. You break and pull out each rib, grab what's left of your lungs and toss them aside, and you only stop at your heart cause the ring would alert Kars. The bits of your form start to crystalize and harden and soon most of the condensation on the floor is tinted in gold. You keep going. Deeper and deeper till you fall limp due to damaging your spine. Who cares? It's all going to regrow. It doesn't even hurt.

That's the crux. It should hurt. If only you were mortal, then you'd be dead and everything would be better because that would...no, no, no, if you had died, then Caesar would likely be dead. But you wouldn't be here. You would be in hell where the maggots hurt, and you could rationalize the nature of your suffering. At least that had hurt. It had purpose, but that...how gleeful he was to shed your skin like he was a snake after blue.

You burst into laughter.

How dare he?

At least your rapist hadn't known you on any personal level. You could just say he had picked you because you were alone. It was an opportunity, but this had been deliberate. You felt used. You felt sick. A life of suffering where none of it had meaning. God was still right even now, wasn't he? Your shadow still danced around from what Joseph had said and you shuddered again. Your claws twisted, making the wound bigger, deeper, and you peered into your own chest cavity to make sure no worms, sepsis, or remains of the pillar man lingered.

It was hollow.

You laughed harder.

You then drew back and slammed your head as hard as you could on the tile, cracking it and your skull. The motion is repeated till your body falls limp. For a mere moment, you hang in limbo, not in the void, but caught in your own mind.

Bottles ranging from soap to shampoo and conditioner are knocked to the floor and roll around. One bumped against your regenerated forehead. You laugh harder at the scent of jasmine because she isn't even here and even if she was...well, what would she say to you? Her failure of a son. The one who couldn't recognize when his own body was invaded. Something lingers in the air. Something full of life. You jolt, hoping even if it was a lie, but your head is rested against someone's lap who is humming. The smell of jasmine is so strong that you hope she's here. Laughter escapes your lips in short bursts, you're running thin, but then a new scent fills all your senses.

You'd almost call it inorganic, but the best description for it lingers somewhere in a hospital where a room was practically drowned in cleaners till it smelled sterile.

You know who this is.

But you don't dare to look up, you don't know what you would say, and you're already so far on the ledge that if killing yourself didn't involve hurting Narcissistic Cannibal you know the world would already be down a god. Still, you try to steady out. It never works. Ajamu once said that you were the worst kind of person when it came to being self destructive, the kind who would get on the ledge but linger, not sure if you wanted to make the jump yet unable to get off without someone pushing you away from the cliff. He was right. You always get stuck.

You reach out mentally and brush against the void, trying to send gratitude in the same way you'd do it with your stand, and Gabriel goes still. A shaky sigh leaves his mouth, and you laugh again. You can't stop laughing.

Madness runs in the family, uncle starved himself, great aunt killed herself claiming people were trying to put demons inside of her, great-great-great-great cousin twice removed got ripped apart by a pack of hunting dogs after stripping and coating herself in deer blood. Black family madness was real. The price of genius. A family that always succeeded in the arts but was plagued by mental illness. Most didn't make it past thirty-five. You didn't make it past twenty-five.

Were you beyond repair?

Gabriel tightens his hold, going back to carding his fingers through your hair. You whined at the touch. You hated being alone. The voices were so loud right now, yet you weren't sure how to stop. How to ask him to stay? How, if you didn't value your honor so much, you'd ask him to help you escape. He's being quiet. Likely so no one would notice him, but you try to ignore how terrified the angel makes you. You were scared of everything these days cause being afraid meant you lived longer, but Gabriel left you hollow from fear. Nothing had ever touched that deep, and you were scared of what he would do.

"Endless darkness, endless night," Gabriel softly sings, causing you to twitch in his grasp. "A world anathema to light,"

You sense something go still outside of the room, but you try to focus in on his voice.

"Angels cry on wings of blood, rain down the tears to bring the flood," He takes a deep breath, shifting even as his robes get soaked, and cleans your hair. You try to listen to each lyric, almost feeling as if you're hearing a prophecy, but you still aren't sure how you know this song. The phrasing...it must be about you and him. But you don’t or can’t hear the complete song. Only bits of it. "Ophanim, our chariot awaits, to blaze a trail across the sky! Is this our purpose? Or is nothing all we're meant for? You who stand blessed under starlight, gaze upon me! Do you fear me?"

Tears have fallen as he washed your hair, the laughter finally dying out, and the angel's choir leading you to some mockery of absolution. Gabriel is gone before you can vocalize a genuine response, though at least now your hair is clean, and once more you swallow awkwardly. You wipe the tears from your face. You take a shaky breath, trying to ignore how ruined the room is, and you almost summon your stand before remembering that Wamuu would be bringing you clothes.

Ask it about love, and it'll tell you about its appetite.

Ask it about its hands, and it'll say they're foreign.

"Is everything in preparation?" Kars' posture was of an inquisitive manner, as he eyed the very status of the kitchens with a sharpened gaze that could eviscerate any and all targets in but a single blink. He was acting impulsive, impatient, far more demanding than initially seen. His voice was of a commanding tone, stern in every syllable and bearing power with every pronunciation. "Everything must be of a perfected degree...and your staff has yet to even refurbish this kitchen into even a mere acceptable degree!"

The kitchens of the hotel were a mess of old, worn-out glories that wore desolated shells but breathed fire like dragons tempering their hoards. Filled with the eruptive clangs of pans, slams of knives, chops of cleavers, bubbling of pots, and sizzling of fried ingredients. All of it ran and maintained by a small team of vampiric chefs and their undead servants; zombies acting as handymen for their masters, dead hands gloved tightly to remain sterile as they picked, pried, and delivered ingredients to and fro all for their masters: the aforementioned vampire chefs. A team of them cooking, baking, frying and hastily preparing an assortment of meals for any and all guests.

One vampire sat himself lazily in a chair positioned in a corner of the kitchen, observing the rest of the team and yet grinding his teeth with a toothpick. His eyes trailed up to the form of Lord Kars, lazy and apathetic at best. He seemed to have no worry whatsoever about the evolved lifeform looming over him.

"We have a most welcome and sought-after guest in this household...I can feel him through the walls, sense his presence in these boundaries..."

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first hundred times about your boy-toy and all that sentimental bullshit." He'd throw the pick to the side. Landing it perfectly into a bin before standing straight up, stretching his back with audible cracks and rips of flesh, before slouching once more. "Hell, why not just get him in here and tell us what he wants instead of predicting anything he'd like, like some coocoo's nest?"

"PRESENTING, MASTER M/N!" Wamuu immediately stood aside, at the ready to the side of the door with the form of the god in the middle of the doorway. Standing there...like a toddler on his first day of preschool.

You had been mentally going over your mask enough that you could actually slide back into some aspects of your old persona. Not that you wanted to be the person you had been back with Jonathan and Dio. But at least you could carry yourself as if you were back in the ballroom halls in a masquerade. You give a dip of the head, eyes darting around to the messy, yet well worn, kitchen alongside the many racing through it. The chefs in the club had never been that panicked, even at happy hour. The bartender would have killed someone before the clutter stacked nearly that high. Still, it was more comforting than the main hall Caesar and Wamuu had fought in...and it was warm. So you accepted it.

Then, for just a moment, everything in time seems to stop. Kars is the first to set his gaze on you. Eyes immediately relaxing into a far more fine and tempered state at your arrival...A smirk forming upon his face as he cupped his cheek in his palm. The chefs and even the zombified servants look towards you. The noise in the room stops for just a second to pay you attention, gazes and expressions eyeing you intently.

…only for all of them to return to their chaos after only a mere second of establishing your existence...Hurray for acknowledgement?

"Is now a bad time?" You ask, making sure your voice doesn't shake or waiver in the slightest. Right now Kars wants god, which means you can't be you. Maybe he won't hate you like this.

"Oh, no, this is the perfect time, my dear! We were just discussing dinner...More primarily, if there's anything you would desire?"

The head chef from across the room would roll his pair of ruby red eyes, sighing intently as if he's heard the same weird shit a million times...

"Our head chef will happily..." His eyes would quickly dart towards the chubbier vampire, seemingly locking onto him like a pair of crossbows with flames upon their heads. "HAPPILY, take any order you desire."

The chef...was unfazed.

He looked like the kind of man that in life would somehow end up having a shot in his shoulder, the bullet unable to be removed, a shot of bourbon down the throat, and whatever some wannabe drug dealer gave him in an old, worn needle. Aka; he looked like twelve different men you had known as a mortal. All of which you had either tolerated or straight up adored for their strange life advice.

"Shouldn't god be more filled out cause he's feasting upon the finest things the world offers? You look less like a god and more like some poor street rat that needs a fat steak and a haircut that doesn't scream 'I'm losing control of my life'." You twitched at his wording. He wasn't wrong, but you liked to think the way you tied back your hair was neat enough. Though you certainly weren't about to tell him you had once gotten distracted and avoided eating for ten years straight.

"Shouldn't the head of this place be a bit more professional?" There's no venom in your words. The mask cracks as you can't hide the snicker that escapes your lips, and you hope he knows you mean no harm.

"Shouldn't the guests of this establishment shut up and stay out of the kitchen to begin with?" Apathy was the only way to describe his face, but his eyes spoke with amusement. He got a kick out of it in some regard, though he was still justified.

"This is our head chef. He'll cook anything-ANYTHING you so desire..."

"Alright, first off, do you have any allergies? What are you allergic to? What's poisonous for you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, he's a god! He doesn't have-"

"Spinach, kale, both iceberg and Romaine lettuce...most leafy greens disturb my calcium levels, to be honest. Poisonous? Buttercup, holly, and poppy." You rub at the back of your neck as you mentally check down your list. "Honestly, as long as you don't give me a regular salad, I should be fine."

"None of that leafy green shit?"

"Exactly." You mentally felt a wave of relief when he didn't question it. Or seemed to not even acknowledge how a literal god had the same food problems as most reptiles that were kept as household pets.

"...I stand scientifically corrected."

"Um...sorry...?" You murmured, already forgetting about the mask when Kars looked somewhat surprised at you mentioning that. Maybe you should have just agreed with him? While it would make you sick, it wasn't as if you'd feel pain or die from eating any of it.

"Alright, how about a fruit salad instead-or even a form of pasta to compensate?"

"Either of those would be great."

"Anything else, your divine majesty?"

"Um...I prefer my meat rare...and have a fondness for sweet things." You gave a halfhearted shrug, not sure what else you could add on, but deciding that even if they served trash, you'd just smile and nod.

"Alright, I got it. Now, EVERYONE OUT MY KITCHEN, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY I NEED TO SIT DOWN."

"But...You're already sitting down." He had sat down the moment you had entered the room, yet he seemed somewhat surprised when you pointed it out.

"Oh, yeah...MOVE OUT OF MY WAY I NEED TO STAND UP."

…you weren't even in his way.

He once spent two days and two nights working on a love potion. When it was finally ready, he brought it to the object of his desire, a serpent-like male who stared at the red veins caught in the bottle. He lied. Telling the serpent that he had created something new, and they agreed to drink.

But something...went...

Wrong.

"This isn't love, you despicable monster."

What had he done?

"This wine has been aged perfectly for over half a century. Aged in what was Prussia but is now known as Germany...It now has found its way here and to our lips for a more than perfect supper, won't you agree?"

The table was lined with a fine arrangement of foods and dishes from European recipes. Centered with a dozen meats ranging from lamb, beef, pork, poultry, and birds you don't even recognize...outlined by assortments of side dishes, sauces, jams, veggies, beans, whatever one desired to lazily plot onto the side of their plate, all bordered by hot breads, cakes, scones and other baked amenities. It was all so enjoyable, and truly would have been...

If not for the hundred pairs of ruby red eyes glaring down at you from the ceiling. Like a hundred bats that only know blood and murder...

…so, it was designed to be a total shitshow from the start.

Mulling over Kars' words, M/n's eyes darted back towards his glass of wine. He had to admit the age and legacy of the wine was certainly impressive, but...that just made it all the worse. The age, the quality...it only made it too much. Too strong, too rich, and the one sip you had managed had been bad enough. It had taken all of your acting skills to not gag, and the idea of being forced to finish it made you nearly shudder. The meats were grand, so were the many sides and desserts, yet even after filling your plate...you couldn't bring yourself to eat. There were too many eyes on you, and while Narcissistic Cannibal's form lying behind, you might be the cause. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to let go of your stand now that everything was so crowded. You could hear growls and puffs of air from every direction. The voices intermingled in a chaotic mix that threatened to make your ears bleed. The mere clicking of glass was borderline painful, if you could even feel it.

"It certainly is impressive..." You murmured, wishing that they'd stop looking at you, wishing that you could just go home. The other two hadn't spoken up yet, and frankly, there was a part of you that was just glad Wamuu hadn't brought up anything relating to your breakdown in the baths. "I don't think I've ever eaten such an impressive feast..."

A lie. Ajamu loved to brag.

"Oh, how splendid? I'd love your opinion so far on everything you've tried so far..."

Was that a fucking joke? You had taken a sip of wine and maybe three bites before you had gone back to constantly shifting your hands under the table so your claws wouldn't freeze. Besides, you were so freaked out that you hadn't processed the taste. Didn't even have a good fish platter. Was this a test? Was it some ancient rule that he could kill you if you were rude or some shit? You managed a halfhearted shrug.

"S'all good."

Esidisi bursts out laughing, erupting in an intense cackle filled with vigor and enjoyment. He was enjoying your suffering, wasn't he? He found every moment of your intense dread amusing, as if it were a play by Dionysus himself...or if Dionysus played a role in it as the principal actor.

"Esidisi, must you do this here and now? You're interrupting our lovely dinner!"

You shrank into your seat at the noise. Just another thing that was too loud, too much, and even the colors of the room were starting to be too much. You rarely get sensory overload after becoming a god. The increase of layers had made you be forced to adapt rather quickly, but now the combination of bitter cold and paranoia made everything too much.

Though...you wished he'd keep talking since it made Kars focus on him instead.

"My apologies, but this divine display of depravity is perhaps the most amusing one I've seen...or maybe it's the wine I'm drinking!"

"Yes, Esidisi. You are evidently intoxicated." Kars drew out, looking frustrated in the same way a mother would be when corralling her kids. It was almost comical if you didn't feel so sick.

"One of us has to be..." You mumbled out, having to completely flex your hands this time to make the ice shatter, before going back to messing with your fork absently.

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing..." You swallowed. Trying to hide the hint of panic or how your hair bristled at him turning his attention back to you. You only laxed when Cannibal slowly shifted so his muzzle was by the side of your chair. Mentally, you thanked him before going back to boring holes in the fine cut of beef that was still oozing blood. "Just glad that he's enjoying the meal..."

"How thoughtful that you feed your familiar in the same manner. You two are evidently close, practically lovers in all ways imaginable."

"...?" You twitched at that, wondering if it really was that obvious, but Kars simply steamrolled on.

"Do not fret, he can eat what he desires for all I care...within reason, of course." Another sip of wine was brought to his lips, blood red richness being poured down his throat like the essence of a human. You could only imagine it being your ichor with a simple change in color. "Oh, but do help yourself too far more. This whole dinner has been planned out just for us and..."

His eyes moved to stare daggers at Esidisi's form, grinding his teeth into the leg of a swine as if a drumstick in his hands.

"Other intrusions..."

The idea of eating anything made you feel even sicker, so you settled for sliding a cut to your stand. At least he didn't mind eating right now. Still, it wasn't as if there was anything that actually suited his pallet.

"Is it really that obvious...?"

"Oh, most certainly. I've made plenty of observations. Both of you are inseparable. He obeys your commands but locks eyes on you or whatever is threatening your form. Despite you being clearly immortal, he would clearly risk every bit of himself for you...and all you would do as well. He is your right hand as you are his, and both of you hand in hand are nothing short of lovers. True that it may be loyalty...but there is loyalty in love, and love in loyalty."

Despite the situation at hand, you gave a soft scoff, feeling the slight wave of unease emanate from Cannibal at the pillar man's observations, and moved to slide some more of your plate to your stand.

"I think you're the first person to call us lovers...not many tend to think like that given how...monstrous my familiar looks. Still, good job getting it right, I guess." At this rate, you could have an empty plate in a matter of moments. From there, you could say you didn't need seconds, and then...well, you really hoped you'd get to leave. Though the blizzard outside slowly freezing you posed a challenge.

A flicker of motion drew your gaze to the corner of the room where Wamuu was sitting in wait, legs crossed like a monk, probably just waiting for you to act out. His gaze had barely left you since this meal started.

"Oh, so the both of you copulate as well?"

"Why the hell are ya asking?!" You hissed out, earning a huff from your stand, the heart-shaped end of his tail brushing against your thigh for a second causing the bells to jingle. "Sides, ain't that what couples do? Or at least most of them?"

"Von Stroheim was correct again..."

"Huh...? Why are you bringing him up?" Managing to give your stand the last of your food, you moved the goblet over so your stand could have the wine as well, not like it could get drunk, and you watched the pillar man for any hints at what he was thinking. "He can't even see my...familiar to begin with."

"And what was that you were about to say...?" Kars asked, tilting the wineglass in one hand, causing what remained of the crimson liquid to spin in lazy circles. You froze up, almost as bad as your talons, when he focused all his attention on you. "You stopped yourself before saying 'familiar'. Is there something you would like to share?"

"No, I don't have anything to share with the class." You hissed out, eyes darting to your scales which have turned blue before looking back up. "Besides, I think I should be going. Dinner's been...lovely, but I can't let the weather get any worse. Sides, the others are probably worried."

In a sudden burst of motion, the door to the dinner chamber was kicked down in a single, forceful blow. Shattering a solid chunk of it into nothing but fine wooden splinters. A moment later, a figure jumped out from the dark and into the low light of the room. There he was. Holding a fucking MP 40 in one hand, his signature set of clackers in the other...well, you saw the form of Joseph Joestar…screaming violently...again.

"M/N, WE'RE HERE TO RESCUE YOU!!!" All eyes were now on him as your hierophant stood there. Stance clearly showing that he was prepared for a fight...yet no one moved or even gave much of a reaction. "HEY! I just broke down this door and jumped in to save M/n from your evil clutches! Only to find...You..."

Joseph went silent for a second. Eyes trailing over the full length of the table, wide and shining in the light as he saw every crumb and scrap of finely cooked food laid out before you.

"Huh?! A lovely and possibly romantic dinner?" His eyes met your frame and his face lit up. "Oh my God!!! And you're eating with them?! What the hell, M/n?! I thought you'd be dragged to some freaky murder dungeon and be tortured day and night for information! Not having a bloody dinner party with the enemy!"

"Trickster!" You shot to your feet. Cannibal also moving into a standing position the moment you rested your palms on the table. For the first time since you had been dragged in here by Wamuu, a genuine smile formed on your face. Only for you to twitch with a shaky laugh, escaping your lips as you realized exactly what he said. "Hey! I ain't a turncoat and you know it, hierophant! I asked them if I was going to be thrown into a dungeon and they said no...I had no choice in this matter!"

"No choice!?! You're eating desserts and you had no choice?!"

"I haven't eaten anything here!"

"You never eat!"

"My point exactly!" You snapped back, watching how Joseph looked as if he was about to actually throw his clackers at you.

"...well, I'm certainly writing this down." Kars drew out, eyes narrowing as he watched the god smile at the hierophant before the god in question whipped his head around to look towards him. There was a flicker of motion and the god was at Joseph's side, jogging him towards the door he had kicked open. Fast enough that no one was able to track it.

"Dinner was...something alright, but since the others have shown up, I think we'll be hitting the road now. Take care. I won't say don't be a stranger, but like I've been saying, we're both busy people, so I doubt our paths will cross again..." You pushed at Joseph to get him to move. Earning a soft groan from the Joestar. You quickly hissed under your breath at him. "Joseph, get moving. We're going. Pack your suitcases and get in gear!"

"HALT!" A voice cracked through the dining chamber, causing the both of you to stop dead in your tracks, turning and facing the emerging form of Wamuu. "It is finally time, Jojo."

"It is?" Joseph asked, jolting when the god hit him in between the ribs, causing Joseph to wince before flashing the god a look. "I mean, it looked like you all still had a few courses left. Who am I to interrupt such a lovely dinner between star-crossed lovers?"

"What the hell are you saying?" You hissed, trying and failing to understand the meaning behind his words. "There aren't any lovers in this room!"

"No more delays, Jojo. No more games, no more tricks! It is time for us to fight after all this time."

"Come now, Wamuu…Truly this isn't the time to disturb the trickster in front of Kars' heartfelt lover...?" Kars was now staring daggers at Esidisi after that remark… Truly, this had to be some kind of ritual or trick you didn't know.

'Kars has a lover...?' You swallowed, trying to avoid how the ring inside your chest burned at that thought. He couldn't mean you...that wouldn't...Kars's attention was surface deep, a desire to become god, a plan to kill you...anything else was part of the ruse. He wanted you on some level as either a willing pawn or a sacrifice to his own ascension. That had to be it, right? This was nothing but a farce! He was lying. He was lying just like Ajamu lied all those years ago.

"Wamuu, just tear apart the trickster with the forces at work..."

"Forces at work...?" Joseph's gaze would trail upwards...finding hundreds of eyes staring down at him with a glowing red bloodlust. "Oh man-"

"Huh, I almost forgot about them..." A shaky laugh escaped your lips, Cannibal's muzzle wrinkling to reveal his fangs at the hundred vampires lurking above. "This might be bad."

"Is that so, M/n...?" A familiar, powerful voice emerged from the darkness behind you. One of complete cool and smooth in composure. The familiar voice of Lisa Lisa.

"Not gonna lie. I'm liking the odds a bit more now." You admitted, mentally wondering how easy it would be to have Narcissistic Cannibal devour them all in a few quick bites. They were undead. Had willingly, or seemed to have willingly, joined the enemy. Vampires were easy to kill. Just one or two hits more than a zombie. "Nice to see you come and join us. Couldn't let Joseph have all the fun saving me, or did you just want to laugh at me getting caught?"

"Both."

"Eh, can't blame ya for that." Your claws twitched as you took a half step back, praying that Kars would just let you all go without too much of a fight, but you knew you wouldn't be that lucky. "So, did I least earn myself some points for talking Caesar down, or are you gonna zap me? Cause I did mention you'd zap me with hamon."

"I'm afraid I must decline, Lord Kars."

"What?" Both you and Kars exclaimed in perfect sync. That strange moment of synchronization caused you two to look towards each other, eye meeting in surprise.

"You heard right. I cannot allow Jojo to be killed, as we are far too close to our final fight. My honor forbids it. You have little time left, Jojo. It is now or you will die to the effects of the ring."

'He isn't lying...' M/n thought with a strange shake that ran down his spine and to the tips of his frozen claws. Joseph was running out of time. This may be it. But...could he win in a one-on-one right now?

Sweat trickled down the trickster's brow. It was evident he was panicked beyond comprehension, trapped between a rock and a hard place as he was left with little to no choice but to fight...yet...at the same time there was a gaping opportunity...and it all had to do with one specific customer...Kars.

"Well, then, do I have a proposition for you!"

Both you and Kars gave a questioning hum, once more in perfect sync...and your eyes met again. You cocked a brow at him, wondering when the fuck did he get so in tune with you, but that train of thought was then cut off by Joseph proudly stepping forward. Demeanor, now that of a traveling snake oil salesman rather than some half dead warrior.

"Joseph, what are you doing?" You hissed out, more so under your breath than anything else, as you took a step away from him.

"I said no more games, Joestar!"

"Listen-Just roll with this-" You didn't like what was coming next. "I think I understand EXACTLY what you boys need...!"

'Was he about to give them the red stone?' It was a strange concern, but one that you thought was decently well founded. It wasn't as if he had anything else to give them. Yet Lisa Lisa hadn't silenced him yet...so what the hell was going on?

Immediately...both his hands were placed on your shoulders.

"This once in an immortal lifetime deal!"

"What the hell kinda trick are ya playing?!?" You snapped. Trying to catch his eye to see if Joseph was being serious...he had to be joking, yet while comical, his voice carried a firm undertone to it. "I'm not some kind of trinket you can just part with when it suits ya!"

"What are you playing at, Jojo?"

"I'll confess this to you; I'm far from ready! I only have a day or so before I finally kick it, I'm weak, coughing. It's been distracting my training and M/n's ghost form has been fucking my throat relentlessly!"

"How...lucky..." Kars mumbles, causing a shiver to race down the length of your spine. You wanted to get out. You didn't want to acknowledge what the hell was going on, or why the pillar man was staring at you like that, but apparently Joseph had a plan. Still, the way Kars glared at the trickster told you something was brewing beneath the surface.

"That's not true and you know it!" You snapped, feeling how your face heated at his words, and how your claws twitched at the image of your god form roaming around. "We haven't had time for anything like that since we started chasing after the red stone."

"Oh, but M/n!" The Joestar suddenly interjected, slightly swaying you side to side from your position in his arms. Causing you to make a confused hum from the back of your throat. "Don't you wish to entertain these ever so lovely people like how you do for each and every one of us?"

"Entertain...?" You mumbled out, trying to pinpoint what exactly he meant, but you swallowed your initial thoughts down. He couldn't be suggesting...No, Joseph wouldn't try to whore you out to some pillar men, of all things!

"And how would he...entertain us, Jojo?"

"Well, I mean-You get this whole ass meal, right here!" He was actually trying to sell you off like he was your...like he was your pimp! It was infuriating. It was...it was only making your panic worse.

"I would starve." Wamuu replied bluntly, causing you to laugh while Joseph flinched slightly, as if he had never expected Wamuu to reject the offer.

"I've had my fill." Esidisi stated with a wave of the hand, and you shrank in Joseph's hold at the reminder of him bursting free of your form.

"...and I'm starving." Kars whispered out. Eyes focused on the god in the room. While M/n didn't seem to notice or even register what he said, Joseph visibly perked up at the realization that one of them was invested. Even better, it was the leader. All he needed to do was convince Kars and the deal would have to go through because Wamuu didn't outrank him. Well, it also helped that Esidisi didn't seem to care one way or the other.

"There's no reason for the god to extend your time, Jojo." Wamuu spoke up once more, earning a series of frantic nods from the god as he felt as if his concerns were unfounded. "I have no desire when it comes to him, not to mention how his ichor is sickeningly sweet."

"Exactly, exactly, thank you!" You chirped, lightly nudging Joseph once more to hopefully get him to let go, but his trickster doesn't even budge. "See, he's got a point. There's no need to make a deal involving me cause I'm not wanted in one of these deals. Come on, Joseph, let's start packing that suitcase now."

"It's more akin to a cake or pastry that's nearly all frosting and a bite of cake."

"Yeah, no, definitely!"

"A truly sickening amount of frosting that implies the chef has too many problems."

"Yeah, exactly bitch! Exactly, exactly, too many problems...way too many problems! The chef needs therapy. Hell, the cake probably needs therapy too!"

"It's like he just grabbed the tube and squeezed until it burst all over the cake-"

"...? You know what, I think you should just stop....seriously, please stop talking, I don't want this to exist. I really don't want this to exist anymore. I've decided; I don't want this to happen." You had no idea where this analogy was going. Either way, you decided that knowing your luck, it wouldn't go well if you didn't nip it in the bud.

"And then he just had the mindset of 'there's no more point', and grabbed another tube and squeezed that one until it exploded as well-"

"You! ARE! FROM! ANCIENT! TIMES! What the fuck is this analogy?!? There has to be a better one that isn't so...cake-themed. Is it because we were having dinner?" Seriously, you were just getting frustrated now.

"And in the end, it's far too much cream and just sadness and depravity."

"What is this metaphor?! Also, you're right, certainly, but come on dude...where's the fucking decorum???"

"Oh, Wamuu, never one for such overwhelming pleasantries...Luckily I've never been one to complain when indulging~"

"You know what, I think we should just get this fight over with, I mean, if it has to happen-" Joseph covered your mouth before you could finish that statement. Flashing you an award losing smile, and your blood froze inside your veins.

"Oh! But you don't even know what this here meal brings to the table...!"

"Confectioneries with dinner...? I'm not going to lie, Jojo…you have me hooked, at the very least." Esidisi drew out, though his eyes wandered to Kars, clearly watching how the other responded to Joseph's words.

"Let me paint you a picture! Ever been lonely? Miserable? Sad and depressed on a night with no one to hold you...?"

"Oh, all the time." Kars confessed, not at all sounding depressed or even miserable, and after taking another draw of the red wine, he raised the glass ever so slightly. A toast with a forbidden smile...all aimed at you.

"Well then, have I got the perfect dessert for you! What you need most is this!"

There was a sudden shift as Joseph uncovered your mouth, arms moving to wrap around you in a warm embrace. Actually lifting you off the ground somewhat. That sudden hold was warm, the light dance of hamon against your skin, not strong enough to burn you, melted the cold within. How nice. It was like sunbathing in a meadow...

…and despite yourself...well, you started purring.

"Listen to that baby purr! Won't find that elsewhere!"

"He can purr?!?" All three of the pillar men erupted, one in interest, the other in a comedic shock, the other in disbelief.

"N-no, no, I don't!" You stammered out, covering your own mouth despite the hold Joseph had on you, yet it didn't muffle your purring in the slightest. In fact, it almost seemed to get louder to spite you.

"You're right, that's probably just an error..." After saying that, he dropped you to the ground, earning a slight hiss as the purring died out rather quickly. "As a matter of fact, he's got a ton of errors...I mean, he gags on literally everything! Throat can't handle much..."

"I...Joseph, what are you talking about? My throat is structured like a snake's...I've never had a gag reflex. I...hell, I couldn't even tell you what gagging feels like." Though you were quick to go silent when you heard a low, intrigued hum escape Kars...his eyes meeting with Esidisi's, who gave a hearty nod and laugh which seemed to please the pillar man. 'I shouldn't have said anything...why can't I keep my mouth shut?!"

"Though you'll have to worry about feeding him...he can't really cook."

'Not falling for this again. This is the plan, right? Well, it won't work. I'm not selling myself. Figure it out on your own, trickster.'

"Like, last week he made a fine cake, and that thing was burnt beyond recognition! It even stuck to the pan like glue!"

"How fucking dare you!" You snarled out, whipping your head around to glare at the Joestar. "You love my cooking. I've been cooking my entire existence! I'm the one in charge of meals! I know how to cook! I've won countless awards....from my rendang to paella, and you're trying to say that I would mess up a fucking cake!?"

"Oh, so you can cook anything...?"

"Tch, of course I can. I've got experience with all kinds of dishes; apfelstrudel, goulash, kimchi, dosa, mole, and the stuff I'm not familiar with, I could figure out pretty easily. Hell, I did catering with koshary and caviar once...and I don't even like fish eggs." You stopped talking when you realized it was Kars who asked that question. '...fuck.'

"Then again, can't get too rough with him...he bruises like a grape. Runs out of stamina SO easily...having to take a dozen breaks during mere regular sexual intercourse!"

"I don't bruise...? Even if I could, it would only last a few seconds at most because of my regeneration." You mumbled out, feeling more confused than anything else. Why was your sex life important for any of this? "Also, I don't get tired. Physically or sexually. I've gone a literal eon with my familiar without pause. I mean, I'm the God of Lust for a reason, right?"

"We'll take him."

What...?" You asked, looking towards Kars in complete confusion.

"Joseph Joestar, you have a deal." Wamuu growled, sparing Kars a single glance before accepting, with visible disdain, that he had no choice in the matter.

"But...that won't be fair to Joseph!" You snap, trying to make a lie or some reason up on the spot, but you were struggling. "I mean, he'll get what...twelve hours? He's trading a god for twelve measly hours? Joseph would have to have more time for him to be getting anything worthwhile!"

"Hm, I see your point, my dear." Kars spoke up, causing you to perk at that. So, he wasn't going through with it? "We'll give your hierophant time to prepare for his defeat against Wamuu. Would you be willing to part with your god for a week, or would you need more time, Jojo?"

"A week is great!" Joseph gave a quick nod, not at all looking apologetic.

"Joseph!"

"Very well then, Wamuu, escort M/n to...'his' room. And 'extend' his ring's lasting potency to a week." Kars tilted the glass so the remaining crimson swirled back and forth like a whirlpool. "In seven days, you'll bring the red stone and Wamuu will have his fight with you, Jojo. I suppose, on the off chance you win, there will have to be another fight. Between me and your master, perhaps? Or maybe Esidisi and the bubble user? Failure to meet us again, and...well, I'm sure you've already had a taste of your ring's side effects. Though I can certainly see why your god denies you as his lover, how quick you are to throw him to the proverbial wolves the moment it can extend your own flame."

"..."

"...Yes, Lord Kars." Wamuu spoke. Once more, his voice sounded more akin to a growl, and you were certain that he hated this plan. Maybe even more than you. He walked past you, almost as if you were nothing but a speck of dust in his path, and there was a sickening sound as his hand entered Joseph's chest. Despite how mad you were, you flinched at the scream that escaped his throat.

A moment later he withdrew, and you found yourself thrown over his shoulder before you could form a protest.

"Spero che tu sappia che se sopravvivi a questo allora sarò io a metterti a terra, imbroglione!" You snapped at Joseph as he managed to straighten out.

"I don't know what you're saying."

"Bastardo!"

"Oh, I know that one!" Joseph sounded far too chipper, giving you a wave as the other pillar men vanished and Wamuu carried you down the hall.

…you were going to kill him when you saw him again.

And here I lay, left as I always am,

I am circling around God, around and around the tower of Babylon, and I've been left circling like this for a thousand years.

I don't know if I am the vulture, the hurricane, or a song echoing through the horizons.

Maybe an ouroboros.

"...I'm worth more than a week." You mumbled out, barely even a whisper, as you remained slung over Wamuu's shoulder. At this point, you were certain it was to either prevent you from running or to just keep you close instead of ten feet behind.

"What was that, my dear?"

"U-"

"Nothing, Lord Kars." Wamuu spoke before you could even jolt at what Kars asked you, and you watched how the pillar man examined you for a moment before giving a nod.

"Thank you." You whisper, going fully limp in his hold. Not like your honor would let you run away right now. Might as well accept your fate. You note that with another quick look, Kars and Esidisi move away, vanishing down a different hall into the bowels of the hotel, while Wamuu leads you to the stares.

Up and up.

Top floor. You shudder. While Wamuu is warm, it only feels colder up here than it did in the lower levels near the kitchen.

When you're finally placed down, you sway, unbalanced at the sudden motion, but he only opens the door and you enter it without a word escaping our lips. He's gone with the door closing behind you. If only he had slammed it...then you'd know for sure if he was mad at you.

Still...this room was...

Well, the first thing that caught your attention was the shape and placement on the higher levels of this hotel; it was a honeymoon suite. You guessed without the usual flow and ebb of customers it made sense for you to be placed in what should be on some level occupied, but this room was too much just in shape. You'd never have paid for a room like this, hell, not for a hotel like this should you be traveling through the area. It was too much. Yet the deep purple of all the walls made the room seem shrouded in darkness despite the few low lit candles scattered around.

The scent was...floral. To say the least, akin to a fine garden of nightshade and lavender. The dim lighting created a fog-like aura within the confined walls that emitted a purple glow...

Hardened, dark stone bricks stacked one over the other to form the walls and flooring of the room. Hard, ancient, and sturdy like a knight's fortress. The room was well-protected and insulated...and perhaps inescapable, as it felt more like a stone keep than anything else. Despite the stones, hard and soulless as they were, the room was warm to the touch. And it should be: A well-stoked fire adds to the purple glow, heating and flickering at the air so lovingly... And fearsomely. It was like a scourge whip dipped into hell itself, writhing and wriggling like worms of fire, willing to whip at Christ's backside with the fury and hatred of thousands of howling souls...

…and then the bed was nice. Certainly a king sized with silken sheets and a thickened duvet, all different shades of a fine purple color. The aesthetic of nightshade became more and more apparent with each moment spent gazing... The poison is as evident as the berries. And the scent of lavender grows to be more misleading. There were no lights in the room, only a few candles, purple glass lamps and the fire itself, incense burning lazily in the corners of the room, misting beautifully in the aura.

If nightshade in and of itself had truly sinister intentions in its existence, manifested into an aesthetic, this room certainly was it.

There was a second scent under it; Kars. Not that you had genuine doubts about who this room belonged to, given the coloration and overall aesthetic of the place. It had clearly been remodeled for the Lord of this place. But...why the hell were you here? He said that you were to go to your room, not his, so why the fuck had you been brought to Kars's personal bedchambers? Your gaze darts back to the fire.

'Mister Joestar, what are you thinking? Don't follow him! The two of you told me to run yet are so eager to go upstairs where you can't escape! You mustn't!' Robert's voice echoes in your ears, Dio howls in rage at the heat, and there is smoke filling your lungs.

You jolt, hearing a vampire patrol the halls and slam your back against an unoccupied corner of the room and curl inward. You shake away the sounds of saints pleading and sinners growling. It's just a fireplace. You're fine.

Get over it.

You're a fool.

You'd rather have gone on feeling nothing, just the hollow, just the emptiness and silence. The stagnate peace and hell of the deepest trenches that lie in the ocean.

Is that truly easier than the noise and chaos of the surface?

"So, you have him right where you want him, don't you? I mean, capturing god when he clearly was looking for every opportunity to escape is certainly going to win you his immortal affections." Kars merely ignored Esidisi. Instead, he moved to pour himself another glass of wine, the bottom quarter of the glass already filled with a bright gold shimmer. "You're practically killing two birds with a single stone at this rate...well, at the cost of Wamuu's patience."

"Wamuu will come to respect..." A sharp glint flashed in his eyes, one of disgust and anger. "That hierophant's..."

It seemed as if Kars couldn't stop himself from sneering, the name and title alone enough to make him coil all his features into an unpleasant mold.

"...abilities and training in time. Nevertheless, the results will be the same; the Red Stone will be ours, and my dear god will be mine."

"You're certain you aren't falling for a fantasy?" Esidisi asked, earning a low scoff from the other. "Come now, you're not foolish enough to ignore what I say, especially after I baptized myself in his essence."

"Yet you refer to my desires as little more than fantasy?"

"Oh, he's certainly a god. I would have to be afflicted by Dionysus's madness, or perhaps have that ichor truly curse me, to deny such an obvious claim. All I'm pointing out is that you have a very picturesque image of what a god is in your head, and I think you're ignoring the signs he's displaying."

"...then, what did you learn of him?"

"A legacy of saints, lions, and warriors of the stars. That hierophant you hate so much is the scion to his patron family, the last male heirs all died young, and he's rather protective of what remains of the bloodline." Esidisi snickered when Kars gave a low growl at that. "Though I suppose this provides you with the perfect opportunity, doesn't it?"

"...?"

"That family, the Joestar bloodline, he's only been with them for three generations."

"And they're his patron family?" Kars visibly looked startled at the lack of time, earning a low laugh from the pillar man. "Surely you jest?"

"In everything but official name." Esidisi watched how Kars slowly ran the pad of his thumb over the glass, a tick that he'd had for the last fifty thousand years that suggested he was mulling it over. "He disguised himself as mortal and lived as a ward alongside Jojo's grandfather. He referred to him as his saint when Wamuu was fighting the hierophant. He denies love for him, but I would argue that's on him denying himself the pleasure rather than a lack of true affection."

The Burning King howled with laughter at the annoyance that crossed Kars's face at that remark.

"So, all his affection is from sentimental value rather than passion?"

"Kars, I think you'd risk a lot more than the god's affection should you outright kill his hierophant." Esidisi's demeanor changed, causing Kars to genuinely look at him. "Should Jojo die outside of an honorable fight, I don't think any promise to Santana would stop him from killing you."

"...then it's a good thing Wamuu won't lose, isn't it?" Kars took a slow drag of the mixture in his glass, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "And what of our former guard dog?"

"Far more loyal to God than he ever was to us," Esidisi said with a scoff, grabbing a leftover boar's leg to take a bite from. "He may have jumped and bowed to our whims, but I think he'd throw himself to the sacrificial altar if God truly demanded it of him. From what I gathered, he only grew more loyal once he was given perfection with the red stone. Guess you were wrong about him abandoning his station the moment he gained ascension, or maybe he never respected your command in the first place, eh, Kars?"

"Remember your place."

"Of course, of course, still their bond is certainly impressive. I think despite knowing him for less time than the hierophant, Santana somehow made himself God's beloved servant."

"It isn't as if I could find fault in him for that. Had I met God alone, I would've tried to persuade him to my side in much the same way."

"Besides, with Santana, there are certainly better things to criticize."

"You're not wrong, Esidisi, but try to give him some credit. He managed to prove that ascension is possible despite his place as the weakest of us, did he not?"

"That he did." Esidisi said with a nod, as Kars mixed more ichor into the wine. "And look at what's transpired...you've been given seven whole days to make god turn away from those hamon users, his own hierophant, and convince him that you're of more value. Given his true lack of time and your persistence, you may succeed. If all goes well, you'll have the most powerful being in existence at your side...and Jojo dead." Kars sipped the wine tenderly, eyes peering at Esidisi's form across the table. Interest peaking at the death of the Joestar. "Come on, admit it; you've got more than a few bones to pick with him. You've been baring your fangs more than when those hamon users destroyed an entire vein of Aja to keep you from obtaining any back in Peru."

"How could I not? He destroyed your form, sold off his own god, and constantly gets in the way of my-"

"He's cock-blocked you, correct?" Those eyes that gazed back at Esidisi were nothing short of a pair of daggers capable of ripping through space itself. It left Esidisi chuckling as he shook his head. "Well, I can only hope you won't let your hatred for that boy cloud your judgment at the end of this..."

"As if a part of you doesn't feel any rage in turn...you were more dedicated to the gods than any shaman of the tribes, were you not?" Kars leveled him a glare that caused Esidisi to regain some composure. "I know the atrocities you would commit had another in your ranks dared to sell god to the enemy."

"Oh, he drives me mad," Esidisi admitted after a moment. The meat he held started to burn and blacken in his hold. "But, as much as I would admit to what I'd have done had that happened to one of the gods I worshiped...I don't belong to this god's pantheon, do I? As such, divine judgment is reserved to him and his court. Still, will you let this cloud you, Kars?"

"Leave me to my devices. I'll concoct my own plan with time."

"Of course...I've trusted you for this long, haven't I?" He noted what Kars grabbed and laxed again. "Oh, is that the make-up you stole from Aphrodite...?"

"One must look best to meet their soon-to-be darling..."

"Just pray she doesn't bring you misfortune for the slight~!" He howled, earning a scoff, though it was more amused than before from the other as he undid his head wrap and applied the first layer.

Notes:

Hope you all enjoyed it, remember to leave a comment.
Translations:
Mi vida = My life
Schlange = Serpent
Panzermann = Tank man
Lo sto inseguendo, cerca di non preoccuparti Lisa Lisa, non morirà sul mio orologio nonostante ciò che la nostra storia potrebbe portarti a credere. = I'm going after him, try not to worry Lisa Lisa, he won't die on my watch despite what our history may lead you to believe.
Santana, quédate aquí y mantenlos a salvo para mí. Volveré pronto. = Santana, stay here and keep them safe for me. I'll be back soon.
Parti e chiedi aiuto! Starò bene! = Leave and get help! I'll be fine!
Spero che tu sappia che se sopravvivi a questo allora sarò io a metterti a terra, imbroglione! = I hope you know that if you survive this then I'll be the one to put you in the ground, trickster!
Bastardo = bastard

Chapter 16: Wasted breath; de-oxygenated blood. You'll be blue in the face either way.

Summary:

Or maybe you're drowning?

Notes:

We're getting a small change in formula for these seven days where there will be the usual poetry breaks, but also flashback breaks like in the intervals, so it'll go story, poetry, story, flashback, story, or whatever segment the chapter first starts off with. Rinse and repeat. Hope you all enjoy this, me and my editor have been planning these days out since...forever. We're having a focus on who the reader was before stand fights and Ajamu, which is a topic I love, but remember that this will discuss in greater detail all the warnings listed in the story's start.
And have a Valentine's themed drawing of the reader. Hope you enjoy him because it was very fun to color and texture this piece.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Hey, what the-" Joseph choked on his own spit. Body being slammed against the wall of the hotel. Painfully aware that he was far enough away from the others that they most likely were unaware of his predicament. Scarlet eyes stared down at him. Santana’s expression was as cold and blank as ever, and the hamon user hissed in pain when the pillar man pushed hard enough that he couldn't scream.

"Where is Lord M/n?"

"Tch-" A strangled gasp escaped his lips as Santana gave a low growl from the back of his throat. Only going silent when the dog M/n had let out a whine from its place on the bed. Santana looked back before dropping Joseph and practically vanished to give the dog a single pat on the head to comfort it. Joseph noted how tense the pillar man was and swallowed down a curse or complaint. "Well, you're really not going to like it, but..."

"What did you do?"

"I...well, I needed more time to get some last-minute training in, and we couldn't just give them the red stone, so..."

"Get on with it!"

"That's the angriest I've ever heard you! Anyway, I sold M/n for seven days. We'll get him back after that and me and Wamuu will have our fight." Santana went still at that, earning a weak smile from the Joestar. "And...according to Caesar, Esidisi kinda…burst out of M/n. Like he was some sort of parasite or something."

There was a snap as Santana broke part of the bed's headboard, causing the white dog to bark at Joseph. Clearly blaming him for the pillar man's anger. Leaving Joseph with the terrifying realization that he wasn't capable of easily blocking any potential hit Santana could target him with.

"I'm sure he'll be fine, though."

"Did he agree to it?"

"Well..."

"You forced him." Santana was almost eerily still, no outright anger or panic, and it seemed that if the dog wasn't visibly freaked out, he'd have lunged or started yelling.

"No! I mean, he sorta sold himself. All I had to do was say something incorrect about him and he'd fix it without thinking, then Kars agreed to take him...M/n said one night was too little-"

"To avoid getting sold."

"Probably, but he didn't break free or attack any of them."

"He swore he wouldn't." There's a hint of something that flickers across his face. Santana almost looks sick, and Joseph opens his mouth to keep arguing when Santana growls. A hint of claws and scales rippling along his skin, yet not fully breaking free. "He promised to me he wouldn't...what would he allow Kars to get away with because of that?"

"..." Joseph opened his mouth, but quickly stopped again. He could remember when they infiltrated that base. How M/n had gone still when they grabbed him to 'search' him. How he had mumbled something about it all being for Robert before he had intervened. Then how the god had broken apart during their training session. "He wouldn't...he wouldn't, like, let Kars force him into...he isn't that..."

"Self destructive?"

"..." Joseph felt like he was going to throw up, and for once, the nausea wasn't from the ring. "Kars won't do that, right? He's not that bad of a guy, despite all the murders, right?"

"...Kars has never needed to force anyone."

"He'll know that M/n isn't interested in him?"

"What do you think?"

"...okay, okay, what about Maneater?"

"He should stop Kars." The dog whines again. Causing Santana to sink down onto the bed, hand running down its back, and Joseph watches how uneasy the entire scene is before crossing his arms.

"Well, once these seven days are over we'll get there as soon as possible, and...Oh, I know, we'll have you keep hold of M/n while the battle goes on!" Joseph grins when Santana looks up at him. "You're his favorite, and only, servant. So, you'll keep him all safe and shit, check for any more edge, angst, and trauma...and we win!"

"That simple?"

"That simple!"

Santana nods, looking back down to the dog with a worried expression, and Joseph mentally prays to M/n. Maybe he'd hear him, to not do anything too stupid. Or to attack Kars.

Either worked.

Peace can never be beautiful.

Peace is merely an echo of the battles that have been fought. An echo of loss, an echo of grieving, an echo of sadness.

People who know no war can never know peace.

One can only long for rest once they know the sorrow left by tragedy.

For peace...

Rises from war.

Bloody and scared.

Despite everything, M/n still finds himself firmly pressed against the empty corner when he hears someone approaching the door. Just the sound of those footsteps, scent, and heartbeat tells him it was Kars. Part of you wondered if you should move to the bed, chair, or just anywhere else in the room. About the time you considered moving, well, the door had opened and in walked Kars. The first thing you noticed was how his hair was down, head wrap nowhere to be seen. You shivered, remembering your dream as his eyes locked onto your form.

And yet as you tried to focus on your next move, mainly to avoid Kars entirely, you were drawn to the sudden glimmer and ostentatious form he displayed. His hair was a flowing, smooth mess of dark purple. It scattered itself in every direction, over his ears, shoulders, and rolling over his hips; less a head of hair and far more akin to a lion's mane. And with how it blended into the villainous shades of purple, the aura of the room so casually delivered. Well, it was the equivalent of finding a sapphire floating atop the ocean. It was unsettlingly accurate to your dreams of Kars. Terribly so. Even more so since you had never physically seen him whatsoever without his head wrap.

It was practically alien...

"How are you finding your accommodations, dear?"

You swallowed at that, wondering what curled up in the corner suggested to him, but it still was difficult to formulate an exact response. What would piss him off? What would make him lax? What would make him leave you alone...or what would make him let you go? You traced over the letters on your arms, hoping for an obvious answer before you realized there wasn't one. Flattery hadn't gotten you anywhere. Threatening him wouldn't do shit even if it didn't break your code of honor, and you had nothing left.

"It's...good. The room's real nice, but...I think there's an error. I mean, didn't you say I'd be getting my own room? I'm sure there's plenty of guest rooms...That way, I won't have to disturb ya when you're busy with your work...or just whatever you're up to."

"Oh no, there's no way you could possibly disturb me, my dear." Kars drew out, lips curling into a warm smile. Yet there was something wrong with his...features? It felt as if something was just off or changing before your very eyes. Each field of vision was sensing the alteration to the point it made you dizzy. You forced your eyes to go to a random spot on the wall to avoid feeling the distortion from whatever Kars had done to himself. "As for you getting your own room, it seemed absolutely unnecessary, given how we're bonded together. Besides, this room is...what was the term the hotel owner used, dear?"

"A honeymoon suite?"

"That was the one!" Every word he says is dripped in delight, yet there's an underlying sense of frustration leaving you wondering if you had done anything wrong. You could hear him take another step, drawing closer to you, and there was a sweet perfume clinging to him. "What a delightful concept, a room designed for freshly married couples. The moment I heard about these suites, I knew it was the perfect room for me to claim in preparation to acquiring the red stone. Though, had I known this was in the cards, I would've had the room expanded and altered for the both of us."

…people have asked for ages how to make a time bomb. It's simple; you start by rigging the delicate internal mechanisms, all those fucking snowflake gears and cogs that are tiny and so breakable. Maybe someone would call that a masterpiece created with love and care. Most would call it a weapon. The latter is right. Anyway, work up to the trigger. Strap several pounds of explosive to the watch. The timer, into the heart and soul of the weapon, force that simple clock or watch into something that the device was never meant to do. A watch or clock in the physical sense is made to help with a small yet specific task.

"Thank you, that's very...nice of you." Another step fills your ears as Kars draws even closer, and despite those fearsome flames you're still cold, so when you can feel the heat emanating off his form, part of you wants him to finally reach out. The rest shudders.

Start the countdown.

He leaned over you, invading your vision. Smothering you completely with sheer aura and presence alone, making you try to press yourself further against the wall. To avoid looking at him because the entire image was blurring. What he had done to himself? Something in your mind was already breaking. The colors more intense with circles of blue, pink, and white coiling around any object your brain deems useful or as a threat. You used to see this all the time when you were mortal, but now it was being dragged to the surface again. A hand brushing against your shoulder caused you to twitch. Warm fingertips slowly glide down your neck till they reach the underside of your chin, slowly tilting your head so you look up and meet his gaze. The world breaks, colors burn, and nothing looks right as you stare at Kars.

'Too much, too intense, too bright, too loud...' Your thoughts and the voices howl, but you heard something darker whisper those words and you shudder again. How badly had that last...episode been to break your mind like this? You wish you could look away. A part of you is ready to growl like an animal had encroached on your territory, while the rest wanted to scream out 'Liar!' because you knew this was fake deep down. Something was wrong.

"You're cracking at this moment, aren't you?"

"Cracking...? No, no, I'm good. Rock solid. I'm god, I don't break for anything." You tried to look away, but he hadn't let go of you. It was too much. Yet...was he onto you? Was he watching, waiting for you to slip? Your breath hitched, almost painfully, when you weren't allowed to look away. Gold coated your tongue, the colors surged, and you felt a wave of nausea. "What are you implying?"

"Your lungs have ripped. I can see ichor coating your tongue, wet breaths that keep themselves from forming coughs as if you're forcing composure..."

"Yeah, my lung capacity is shot. I have maybe sixty percent of what a person should have. At most, it's more likely anywhere from forty percent to twenty percent. I just...took too deep of a breath. Not like I can feel pain, anyway."

"And yet you did not act like this once during dinner or any previous encounters...and if I recall, you smoked a multitude of cigarettes. Which are damaging to lungs to a substantial degree."

"...I've always smoked, even before my lungs got fucked up. I'm not gonna stop just because they tear easy. Like I said; I can't feel pain anymore, and it all regenerates. Sides, I produce the same smog as my familiar...smoking's an easy way to regulate it, as for dinner and all that...well, I normally don't have time to rip them. Actually, I ripped them before dinner...so, there's that." You twitched once more in his hold. Sharp claws clenching at your side. White lines dancing and flickering over Kars's face, forming X's over the eyes and a sinister grin like a child's drawing. You ignored how much it freaked you out. "But I'm not cracking...or whatever the hell you're implying. What are you implying? I'm fine. My breath just hitched, that's all. I'm fine. It's already healed."

How to make a time bomb; renounce bombs as a whole. Renounce gunfire, bullets, and war as a whole. Look in the mirror. Renounce being the starter of a massacre, a rain of death and destruction. In fact, renounce all forms of destruction and become devoted to the concepts of peace and growth when you throw the weapons down. Grab the bomb and tuck yourself away in some far off land and listen to the ticking.

"...for a god, you take the worst care of yourself. It's only getting sadder and sadder. I can see your pain, your misery, your forced sense of lies and self-destruction. An army of vampires could rip themselves apart and reattach themselves across the span of a hundred years and it would never compare...you're delusional beyond recognition. It's pitiful, like watching a newborn deer fall to their knees and be abandoned. Lucky for you, there's me to help you up."

"...?" Your breath hitched yet again, not sure how to respond to what he was saying other than maybe denial or aggression...but where the hell would that get you? Ichor filled your lungs once more and Kars's expression seemed to soften in between your own hallucinations. The pad of his thumb ran circles over the underside of your chin and you were surprised when he drew in and kissed you. You froze up, feeling how his tongue took the time to explore each part of your mouth. When he withdraws, heat is burning your face from the inside out. Making you nearly forget that parts of you are coated with ice and frost, and you're left watching how he licks his lips and the way his tongue is coated in ichor. The world is spinning in circles.

Now look. You are in the middle of it all, a situation that simply can't hold. You are trapped. Eventually, it will all explode around you, leaving you as nothing but ashes, or maybe alive and stuck. Which is worse? Left at the end of the countdown. There is always a knife, a cliff, a first-aid kit, and shaking fingers left to either make a final decision or put everything back together.

"You're still so frozen, not a spark of warmth to be found..." Kars was more or less not talking to you, instead whispering under his breath as he continued to gently trace the underside of your chin causing you to remain still in his hold. For some reason, it made your face grow even hotter, and you noted how his eyes tracked your expression before smiling slightly. "Does it help to be close with me, my dear?"

"You don't have to...I'm completely fine with being a bit cold, it isn't that bad." Kars looked annoyed at that only stopping when you once again tried to pull from his hold on instinct causing him to draw you closer.

"Is there something I'm missing?" His free hand dropped to your side, just above your hip, and you laxed somewhat as he tilted his head in thought. "This is the first time I've seen you so worked up since the caverns."

"I'm pretty sure I'm nowhere near as worked up as when I fought Wamuu in the caverns...otherwise I'd probably..." You trailed off. Not sure what to say before you took a shaky breath and drew a fake line over your throat, making a slight noise to represent killing someone before gesturing at him. Kars gives a slight laugh at that, seemingly not worried at all about the legitimate threat to his health. Still, he paused again to look you over, once more clearly going over the situation in his head. "Seriously, I'm not cracking or whatever the hell you're thinking about! Just drop it!"

"Is there a ritual or ceremony you've missed? You've been here since noon...I would never wish for you to be neglected in any of your needs." He traced circles through the thick fabric Wamuu had given you, not even reacting to your visible confusion. "A god of lust, cannibalism, insanity....what other attributes do you represent?"

"...the mind in general, human sacrifice, serpents, reptiles, writing, blood...the eclipse." It was strange to list them all. Some part of you had some strange knowledge since you first emerged as god, but nothing had ever made you list them. The other aspects were small, only making sense in the context of the main ones, or perhaps so messy that you never thought of the need to list them due to how little they impacted your daily life. "Everything else is just small shit, or not aspects, merely old titles I've heard."

You didn't feel the need to mention that those titles came from Ajamu and the voices.

"You barely ate anything at dinner. I know your hierophant mentioned that you rarely ate, but is that because you're reptilian in nature or because of the lack of human flesh at the table?" You visibly twitched at the question. You had paid no mind to the lack of human or vampire served despite their inhuman nature. Especially since Santana ate whatever you served and you rarely even thought about the possibility of killing someone for a meal. "Would it require a specific blade? Location? Prayer? Or is it something relating to one of your other aspects? Lust, perhaps?"

"...I don't-"

"Oh, come now, surely your hierophant has a detailed routine for you. Prayers, days of importance, rituals. What good is that title of his if he never does his job? Never serves you?" Kars examined you, clearly taking each minor change of expression, causing you to swallow and go, still hoping to minimize the damage. "...does your hierophant do nothing for you?"

You consider it.

"He does plenty. I've never had rituals or offerings or whatever the hell you want to say is proper for a god. I've met gods like that, kings like that, and I've never obliged that. He's my hierophant. I get to decide what I want him to do for me." You stress the last bit, hoping that despite all his weird behavior he'd respect your decision on that, but he almost looked...sorrowful at that. As if he was pitying you. "Don't give me that look! I've been alone all my life. Don't need anyone helping me out. I'm just fine being by myself."

How to make a time bomb; you have to make sure it goes off. That's what it does. If you don't get it right, if you don't do it right, or maybe if you're foolish and doomed...if you have lost the ability to make bombs...then the bomb will never go off. It just keeps ticking...into eternity, at the same volume forever, till it drives everyone mad. A harsh call for death that goes unanswered, waiting for an end, a death that never comes. Everyone is forced out of the room, told not to get too close, because it could explode any minute. Just...well, for some reason it hasn't.

For a while there is a sense of silence between the two of you, and then Kars speaks.

"You claim you're fine on your own, yet you surround yourself in the most...peculiar company." He tilts his head in thought. "More specifically, that hierophant...whom I have to admit, is a bumbling, obnoxious fool who has no authority or discipline in his status. He's nothing but a child wearing the robe and crown without the knowledge ready to lead or act as a hierophant. He doesn't deserve that status.."

Why hasn't it?

"Well, again, it isn't as if I need him for anything typical of that crown, right? Who cares how he acts? He's mine." Kars frowned at that, looking...more upset than you expected. Your claws clip together, black scales scraping against each other, and everything feels more off than Kars's features.

What the fuck is it waiting for, or who is it waiting for?

"...besides, there's no one else willing. Rotten work and all that. There's no reason to go searching for another when Joseph's the only one willing to do it, ya know?" You see how he examines you, expression going through a few different alterations before he suddenly looks more than a little pleased. "What are...why are you looking at me like that?"

"Then it's settled then," he gave a 'cat that swallowed a canary' smile, which caused you to flinch in his hold. "I'll be your new hierophant once this is all over."

"What?!"

"Like I just said; I will be your new hierophant."

"But...that's....why the hell would you want to do something like that?" You shivered, the image of that dynamic making you feel sick. As if you'd ever let Kars get that close. "That's not...wouldn't it make more sense for the former shaman to offer? Why the hell...? What kinda joke are ya playing at? Cause it sure as hell ain't funny!"

"Is your hearing stunted? Am I not speaking clearly enough? Fear not, I'll work to improve that as your new hierophant...the last living Lord of the Pillar Men as your faithful servant and finely wedded hand~"

"My hearing's better than yours will ever be! All I'm saying is that you're not making sense." You growl, making sure to actually lock eyes with him despite how intense the hallucinations are getting. "Why the fuck would you even want to be my hierophant? And why do you think I'd let you replace Joseph? He's mine, like I said. I'm not getting rid of him for some stranger who thinks I care about a sham marriage or shotgun wedding. I promised not to kill ya, not that I'd let you waltz in and take whatever the hell ya want!"

What good is something built to die that can't even blow itself out of existence?

"Oh, and there's that dialect I enjoy so much..."

You grab his wrist at that, hard enough that the bones start to crack in your hold, and the snarl that escapes your lips in that of a beast. "Can you stay on the fucking topic? I'm tired of these heel turns and you saying weird shit all the time. Why do you want to be my hierophant? What the hell are you playing at?"

You tighten your grip again only to go still when Kars let a low moan escape his lips.

"...?" You let go of his wrist and tried to pull away only for his hand on your hip to tighten. Pinks and blues sparked constantly. The world was blurring till you felt sick. "What...what was that? The...the fuck's wrong with ya? No, what the hell kinda joke is this? I don't-I don't...let me go. I can't...The fuck is this...? I don't...I'm not..."

Were there black spots in your vision or were you imagining it?

"I don't like this joke."

There was a sickening series of cracks as the pillar man forced his broken hand back into place. Carefully stretching out his fingers and doing a few simple hand gestures to test his own regeneration out. Slowly, almost as if he didn't want to, he let go of your hip. Taking a step back, you watched how he moved away.

"I can see you're not well at the moment, my dear. Therefore, I'll give you some time to yourself."

With that, you were alone.

…fuck, your chest was hurting and part of you wanted to sob, because why wouldn't you want to be alone?

You liked being alone, right N/n?

Of course you don't.

How to make a time bomb; pull the pin, set the time, and wait.

'I'm thinking of ending things.'

That's what comes to mind as you lean back in the fancy car, not that you knew what brand it was, only that it cost more than you'd probably have on you even if you didn't have to pay bills, or buy food, or any of the like for a good fifty years or so. You weren't sure if you meant perhaps the dynamic brought on between you and the other, the one driving the car, or perhaps your own life. There was a chanting in your skull, so loud the car's engine was dwarfed despite how it roared, not having been designed for the dirt and rock roads of the deep country. You still didn't know why he didn't rent a car or truck better suited for such things.

(YOUCOULDJUSTKILLHIMRIGHTNOW.YOU'REAMONSTER.YOU'REBETTEROFFDEAD.JUMPOUT.KILLYOURSELF.)

You ignored them all once more.

Still, once that initial thought entered your mind, there was a sort of messy trail dancing after it, like a wounded hound following after the pack. A thought that screamed you weren't suited for this. Carlos would laugh and wave his hand at you, saying something about how money was the reason you were doing this, so you should keep doing it, but even the hefty sum was seeming like it just wasn't worth it. You were eighteen and a half years old, the guy across from you in his late thirties and so dull that there was a throb in your chest when he smiled at you. It was all fake. Go on dates, be somewhat sweet for your persona, and get paid by the end of the night. Ouroboros was your stage name, fitting the symbol and myth theme of all the other dancers at Moon-Rise, and in turn, your persona was cold and calculating. You snapped, growled, and demanded total obedience from those who entered a VIP room. The complaints were constant, but no one was willing to break them. You didn't do escorting a lot. But therapy and meds were decently weighing on your wallet. So you accepted whatever came your way that didn't break your rules...yet this took some sort of first place trophy.

He wanted to bring you to meet his parents.

Some boring CEO who came from 'nothing' wanted to bring you because he 'didn't date' and 'hated wasting his time'. So he chose the stripper he'd been paying for dates and sex. It was stupid. The price was good.

Still, this thought stays, lurks, lingers, dominates, and every other stupid term you could come up with on the spot. There wasn't much you could do at this point because the boring driver isn't talking. The song on the radio is so soft that while you can pick up the words, it isn't anything you properly register with the rest of the noise. Jake...he shortened Jacob to Jake...which seemed like a downgrade. Boring. Boring men. Boring rich cars. Boring countryside drives with no good music or talks. Boring. Boring. Boring. Voices demanding from you, your stand softly humming in your ears, and everything is so dull. You decide it wasn't to kill yourself, not this time, rather just to end this scheme. Jay would've been better than Jake.

You'll end it once you're back in town.

That would be better. Otherwise, despite how much you disliked it, the thought would be stuck twisting and coiling in your head like your namesake at the club.

Yet, you hadn't been thinking about it for long, hadn't had the chance, so the idea is new despite how boring this man is, yet it feels somewhat old. Maybe it made sense? You never enjoyed escorting. It took too much free time, leaving you falling into bed with no time to read or patch the hollow barn you lived in, but it paid. VIP wasn't something you had done till after you came back to work. What if this stupid little thought wasn't original though, just a means of self destruction, placed deep in your head by someone else? What would you do then if you didn't have control of yourself? Maybe you had just known all along what it meant? Maybe this was just...how the dynamic was always going to end?

Jacob, since Jake was so, so boring, once told you; "Sometimes a person's inner thoughts are closer to the truth, to reality as we all know it, than any of their actions. Or, well, most of the time that's the truth. You can say anything, you can do anything, but you can't fake your own thoughts. No one can."

You can't fake a thought...well, your thoughts are certainly telling, aren't they?

Still, it was worrying on some level for you. It really does...because it was a good source of money, yet maybe you should have known that this was how it was always going to end.

Maybe, like a novel or tragedy, the end was simply written out from the very beginning.

The sound of a fist slamming against the wall filled the room. Wamuu paused his meditation and opened an eye to follow Kars's form. A single strike of his bone blade destroyed six bust statues before he even settled at the head of the table. His hair was far more unkempt than when he first left them to seduce the god. Spitting out several curses in their native tongue as a servant shakily set a glass of wine down. Another slight movement of his arm sent the servant to the ground, in four pieces, and ichor was quickly mixed in. The warrior closed his eye again and ignored the laughter from Esidisi.

"So, how'd it go?" The Burning King drew out, his voice already smug. Despite trying to maintain a cool façade, the wooden surface of the table groaned and cracked at the points where Kars had rested his palms. "Must you glare at me like that? I'm not the one that decided flirting with a god they trapped was the best option. Do you think Thanatos held any love for Sisyphus when he sent him to the boulder?"

"Shut your mouth, Esidisi." Kars snarled, sharp fangs flashing as the shaman laughed all the harder at his anger. For a moment it looked as if Kars was going to perhaps stand or move towards him, but he schooled himself once more. "It isn't as if I wasn't prepared for this. I have seven days to win him over, and today is the first instance where he's seen me outside of battle. His nerves will fade with time."

That earned Wamuu's attention. For a moment his posture stiffened, but he laxed before either of the other could notice it.

"Oh, nerves? Is that all there is to it? Lest we forget that he never wanted to be here in the first place, or perhaps how he is bound only by honor not to kill you for your behavior." Esidisi gestured for another platter to be brought over as Kars took a slow drag, wire thin cracks forming in the glass. "But never mind that for now. I know that glint in your eyes...he left you rejected and turned off in one fell swoop, didn't he? How fitting! Tell me, do you think the perfume and makeup sickened him, or was it perhaps your personality?"

"To think you're able to stitch any kind of clothing into your flesh, yet, not once did you ever consider your own mouth?" Kars drew out in response, earning a shake of the head and yet another chuckle.

"Oh, perhaps once or twice, but I feel I'd lose my charm. Oh, did I forget to mention earlier...I did. How foolish of me. Such a shame that gods are such possessive things, especially the one we have in our midst. I mean, just the presence of another god, especially one outside of their pantheon, is sure to send them into a rage. I doubt one would ever grow affection for someone who showed favor or used an item belonging to another in their presence." The glass in Kars’s hand shattered at that. All while Esidisi stole a slab of beef off the platter, unaffected. "Well, at least I get to use my tongue, unlike how you failed to gain anything tonight...isn't that right, Kars?"

"Watch your tongue..."

"Oh, but didn't you fail to watch his? You did, didn't you? Just admit it, Kars; this whole dance tonight was a failure. Any affection you won was never initiated or reciprocated by the god in question." Esidisi watched the pillar man practically glow in rage. Tilting his head to avoid damaging his retinas, he swallowed another bite of the meat. "As I said; gods are possessive. They cling to what once belonged to them or what they currently hold dear. That's why the Joestar is held so close to his chest, despite lacking the proper skills for the job he's been placed in. Hell, Santana would be able to serve him better as a hierophant, yet he lacks the long formed attachments the god has for the blood inside Jojo's veins."

"That will fade alongside his nerves." Kars responded, though the narrowing of his eyes suggested how enraged he actually was, his own blood mingling with the wine and ichor staining the table. "Three generations is the blink of an eye to us. To him, no less. In our time in stone, over a hundred generations passed us by, the rise and fall of empires, so what of those hamon users? And where is Santana? Hiding away with mortals and the like. If he was as dedicated of a servant, he would've been there when they burst in here. Or perhaps he'd have come crawling to the front door to remain at his Lord's side through these seven days."

"True, still I wonder...if he's this attached, how intense would he be if it had been a hundred years without pause?" Noting Kars's expression, he elaborated with a crooked grin. "I may have exaggerated the time he's spent with the Joestar family. He knew that saint for less than twenty-five years, he never directly knew his son, and Jojo…well, he's known him for less than a full year. Given how he's been living in Europe this entire time...if we'd woken a year earlier. Well, we would have met him while he lacked that attachment, and how easily you'd have won his immortal affections then."

This time, part of the table did break.

"Though Kars, I suppose, that proves how quick he is to form attachments. Maybe seven days will be all you need, or maybe you'll have terrified him to where he either breaks his promise or goes running right back to his hierophant's arms. Maybe they'll actually get married, like his little priest claimed in those caverns?"

"...you're overstepping so many verbal boundaries that I can't even begin to fathom the rate of cell death in my own membrane, all caused by your insistent vocal patterns."

"Didn't you say the same thing that night when you failed to bed Dionysus...? If I remember correctly, didn't he also refuse you for a mortal that had caught his eye?" The hot-blooded pillar man laughed at the growl that echoed through the room. "He did! I suppose that phrase humans have about history rhyming carries some weight, doesn't it?"

"...only for you to be rejected by Aphrodite. Twice. After dive-bombing into the hearth of Olympus's own Hestia like a drunken steed. Which led us to being chased out of Olympus...and how you forget that I successfully bedded the avatar of Anubis AND Osiris whilst you were off in China. Failing to learn enlightenment, isn’t that right?"

"And you're forgetting what I learned and experienced with Sun Tzu-"

"Ah, yes, seducing one mortal scholar clearly justifies abandoning our pursuit of the Aja for...was it thirty years or fifty? Clearly, he was worth the distraction, or perhaps you hoped to avoid the heavy lifting?"

"Perhaps. One can't blame me for avoiding going heads over tails in an eternal cycle, the way we were going across Rome and through Egypt. Though...I'm not surprised at the pick of gods you seduced. Gods of death would certainly be attracted to the scent of blood and gore on you, yet I can't help but wonder why our guest isn't feeling the same. Surely a god of cannibalism, blood, and human sacrifice would be entranced by what you've done to obtain ascension...yet Santana with the least blood on him is the one to win him over. How saddening. It seems one of your dreams needs to be put to rest. Maybe you'll be able to settle for the stone and a different pantheon's god?"

"Mind your tone!" This time, he did, watching the extension of the Brilliant Bone Blade as it broke through flesh. Kars was so enraged that instead of the usual clean exit it made the teeth revved causing the outer side of his forearms to be torn and ravaged in the process. Wamuu rose to his feet as Kars did a slow inhale to calm himself. "There's no need to settle for less. He was the god who met me upon our awakening, who carries the Red Stone of Aja, unlike all the others we once met. There is no other, you know that, Esidisi."

"But is there no other for the god?"

"Esidisi-"

"Pardon me, Lord Kars," Wamuu spoke up, causing both to look towards the warrior who adjusted himself. "Allow me to speak with the god to see if I could...sate his nerves. Perhaps speaking with someone who carries less...presence will make him more willing to speak to you. Surely he's heard from Santana nothing but the worst of us, let alone the fact that we've only met in conflict."

"He has a point, Kars." Esidisi spoke up, not flinching when the other's attention was turned back to him. "He's bound by honor, is he not? Let him speak with a fellow warrior. Perhaps he still believes that you're going to throw him in a dungeon or torture him before this week is up?"

Kars considers it despite his anger.

"Fine, speak with him. Me and Esidisi will continue our...talk."

Wamuu dips his head into a nod, ignoring the thick tension between his lords, and exited the room right as he heard Esidisi howl and the clash of a blade.

How easy is it to pretend that he's always hated you.

Easier than to play with the possibilities that he might have loved you, regardless.

And you were the one who threw it all away.

Wamuu finds the god curled up in an empty corner of the room. Knees pressed under his chin, and sharp claws digging into his calves, causing a few drops of ichor to fall on the tile. He looks like a shadow clinging to the edges of the room. Though he jolts when Wamuu closes the door behind him, and the warrior watches how his molten gold eyes focus on him. A hard alteration from the god he had been mauled by. A harsh shift from the monster he had trained to defeat alongside his preparation for the battle with Jojo. And finally, a break in reality from the cold shadow that had wandered into their midst those weeks ago.

The god is, in terms of appearance at least, not the intimidating monsters or warriors of old. A far cry from it. His height is only average, his alternate, or perhaps true, form a bit more threatening but lacking the physique of any from their tribes or even Hercules, Ares, and the like who he fought both against and alongside at different times in history. His build in reality is a parody of starved humans. The ghastly dip of his ribs and darkened circles under his eyes, reminding him of those from torn apart countries and cities. Or perhaps the monsters that had once been human yet lost it all in their greed, their hunger. Whilst there is some muscle to his frame, though certainly not enough to account for his true strength or speed. It more or less just resembles someone better at long distance sprinting than a true fighter. The black scales on his frame reminds Wamuu of faulty chimeras. The attachments and alterations to their forms often leaving them to starve to death. He's stuck in a strange mixture of serpent and man without the adeptness of a naga or even those bipedal lizard beasts in the caverns and tunnels of North America.

A contradiction in both form and mentality.

The god is waiting for him to speak or act. Despite him having been in the room for less than a full minute, Wamuu silently crosses the room till he watches the god tense up. Part of him thinks of two voices joining in song, one inhuman, and the other of divinity, but he ignores that for now.

"May I sit across from you, Lord M/n?" A part of him hates calling the god that, especially since the title came from Kars' obsession with the deity.

"Sure, just don't call me that." Wamuu settles, legs crossing as the god lets go of himself to watch him more carefully, wounds closing in less than a second. The denial of the title earns his attention.

"May I request why?"

"Santana's the only one that calls me that. That's his." The god murmurs after a moment, noticeably avoiding any eye contact and instead focusing on a random spot on the wall behind him. "You should just call me, M/n. I hate titles."

He gives a nod, and it settles into silence before the god speaks again.

"Did Kars send you up here? Is he mad at me?" Almost as if fate sought to prove the god's concerns had merit a harsh clash followed by an explosion which filled the air from the bottom floor of the hotel, shaking the foundations as a whole. The immortal jolted with a panicked yelp, sharp claws extending, and his gaze darted back to the floor as if he could see the argument just a few floors below. "...is that because of...?"

"Lord Kars and Lord Esidisi are merely having an argument. It will blow over soon enough." He watched the male adjust himself with a frown. Lips moving as if mumbling to something or someone, before he shook his head and refocused on Wamuu when he cleared his throat. "They often clash like this. You being here doesn't change that in the slightest. Neither asked me to come and speak with you. I requested it."

"...why would you do that?"

"Because I know you're not a god, not in totality." That gave him pause, openly gaping at Wamuu for a moment before giving a shaky laugh.

"And what the hell does that mean? Surely, you know, that makes no sense. You were the first to taste my ichor, the first to fight me...how could you say I'm anything but a god?"

"You have the powers and status of one...but mentally and emotionally, you are far from it."

"...the fuck does that mean?" There was a growl to his words at that. Almost as if there was a beast in place of the god sitting across from him. For a moment, the mirrored growl of his familiar filled the room before he frowned and went silent once more. "...look, I don't know what kinda gods or goddesses you all met back in the day, But I assure you whatever idea you have of me is off base. My mental or emotional state is perfectly fine. I don't need you or anyone else commenting on it. God of madness and insanity for a reason, right?"

"So insanity counts for despair and panic? And sudden flashes of discomfort and realization are aspects of sanity?"

"...listen, I don't need ya talking about that kind of thing. I'm not panicking and I certainly ain't in some form of despair or whatever the hell you're implying. I'm doing great. Just fine."

"I've heard cowards wearing the faces of warriors of old boast more believable traits than that. And quite frankly...with the amount of honor you're already bestowing upon staying here and honoring a 'deal' with Santana...I'd expect you to be far less of a liar than anything else."

"I'm a lot of things, but I'm rarely a liar." The god hisses out, though he flinches and lowers his head somewhat at the descriptions Wamuu keeps on giving. Absentmindedly, he starts to claw and scratch at the spot of visibly scarring on his chest when he adjusts the heavy winter coat he'd been given. "I really don't need...whatever this is. Besides, don't you hate me or something along those lines?"

"There's a difference between hatred and caution. You're a security threat and a ticking time bomb with your...transformation. Which speaking from the heart of a warrior, you have tempered and used well, but know no discipline with."

"...it normally doesn't do that. I've used it a few times both before and after, but, well, it never gained a mind of its own like that." The god frowns, obviously bothered by that, but swallows it down quickly. "I guess...I should...ah, fuck it...I'm terrible with these...I'm sorry. I was going to fight you, but I never meant for that to happen. I certainly didn't expect...I'm sorry. I don't know exactly what happened when I was out of my mind, but Joseph and Caesar told me the gist of it, and I shouldn't have transformed at all."

His gaze darts to the unhealing scars on Wamuu's frame.

"...I never should've let things get out of hand like that."

"You want forgiveness?"

"Want forgiveness...? That isn't...that isn't why I said all of that, ya know? Just...I was in the wrong, I hurt you...I was probably going to...if Joseph hadn't stopped me...that was on me. That was...I shouldn't have done that in the first place." He went silent as Wamuu observed the way he curled back in on himself.

"Learn discipline, stop tearing yourself apart. You're not a god, you just hold the title to yourself as a façade, and quite frankly..." He touches the scars on his neck, methodically and gently...almost as if admiring them. "You should act more like yourself. There's no better honor than staying true to one's self, not the power, no matter how divine or intricately placed."

"Staying true to one's self?" You tilted your head in thought, trying to ignore the sickness you felt deep in your stomach, and your claws dug deep into your scar tissue. "That's a grand thought, if you know who you are. I don't think I've known who I was since...since never. The person I was decades ago...it never aligns. I bet no one could recognize the person I was when I was...never mind. It doesn't matter."

"If it does not matter, then why speak it in the first place? Finish your thought."

"I think if I said what...what I was about to say then it would reveal a lot...which I'm pretty sure is a bad thing for me since we're on the opposite sides, and...I really don't think I should say that..." He flinched, claws finally breaking through scar tissue causing ichor to start flowing. "...I should be quiet now, right?"

"Silence must be heard." The god looked down at that, tearing deeper into his form before giving a shaky nod. Taking it as more of a sign to shut up, though it looked as if he stopped himself from apologizing again.

For a moment, which almost felt like an eternity, they sat in complete silence, which only seemed to make the god across from him even more antsy. More ichor splattered onto the floor in messy patterns due to how his claws kept mindlessly curling in and out. Wamuu seemed to just be treating the entire thing as another opportunity to meditate. His eyes closing, and posture shifting into a more relaxed position while the god remained an embodiment of nerves.

"You were human once, correct?"

"What?" M/n jumped, eyes darting back up to his face as his claws ripped deep enough to make a sickening crack noise fill the air. "How did you-I mean, what are you talking about...? I was never...I mean, you shouldn't know...or, what I'm trying to say is-"

"Throughout the pantheons that once ruled the earth, ascension of mortals into divinity was far from a rarity. Many of them retained their human elements. Their flaws, their cultures, their styles, their mentalities; all maintained and kept through gaining their new power. You're showing more than a few similarities to an ascendant."

"...do the others know? Does Kars know?" He was starting to claw more deeply, still unaware, and his eyes kept darting around the room as if searching for any threat or hidden trap. "Is that why he's been acting so weird? He trying to figure out how I became a god? Cause I don't...I really don't like this joke. I'd rather not be...I just...really don't like this joke..."

"They suspect little. But I don't understand what this 'joke' is you speak of."

"Just...what's the point of treating me like this if y'all already know everything? Is this a way to figure out the how so you can mimic the method or...I don't get why Kars would ever be nice if he can't gain something from it. Especially to me...I'm pretty sure he has to hate me on some level or he just really likes to see me squirm. I mean, I'm fucking terrified of him and I bet he's figured it out by now." More cracks filled the air as the god tapped his foot, seeming to gain a surge of nervous energy.

"Were you this irrational and self-harming as a mortal?"

M/n twitched, claws going still for a moment as he seemed to consider the question. "More so in some ways and less so in others."

"Kars intends no harm to you. I can vouch for that. But personally...I would prefer it if you could cease breaking your own body."

"Breaking my own...?" The god looked down and froze when he saw the state of his chest and quickly pulled his claws free with a panicked hiss. "Shit, sorry. How long have I been doing that? I-I'm sorry, I know that probably pisses you...I mean, I know it freaks people out...I didn't even realize it...sorry..."

"Apologies mean you won't do it again, so will you?" Wamuu asked, watching how the god frowned.

"...I can't make that promise. Half the time I don't even realize I'm doing it. The scar just...itches when I'm freaked out or stressed and....ugh, I need to get like ice cubes or something." He seemed to get distracted with the idea and once again seemed to be mumbling or talking to something outside of the pillar man. "Rubber bands would probably work if I didn't have scales...maybe that would...I don't know..."

"Who was with you in the bathhouse?" That caught the god's attention, not even flinching at the sound of another crash downstairs.

"...can I skip this question?"

"No, you may not."

"Why not? It doesn't seem that important."

"If there is someone else here that is intruding, it's a security threat."

"I'm pretty sure there's no power in the world that could keep him out, but I'm also pretty sure that he's not gonna come back."

"Yes, and Dionysus destroyed Esidisi's recipe for monster punch, but that hasn't stopped him..." The god twitched at that. Mentally wondering if he had misheard the pillar man, though he wasn't confident enough to ask. "And it's a he, and you seem to know this person, this...entity you sang with."

"Well, yeah, god knows the angels he has, right? Especially the one with the trumpet in charge of the choir." M/n tapped his foot again, hand nearly going back to the healed scar tissue before stopping to instead mess with a zipper on his coat. "But...he just showed up cause I got so...freaked out. He shouldn't come by again unless things are...bad. Or anything like that. He's just...intense."

"So, he's bound to come back as your condition currently worsens."

"I can try telling him not to...but I don't know much about him. He's really...um...how do I put this...? Passionate? Either way, he shouldn't do anything. I think. I don't know. I have no control over him."

"Then he's an intruder and a threat."

"..." The god shrugged his shoulders, all while an explosion sounded in the distance. "I mean, who knows? Thing I can tell you for certain is that past deities seem afraid of him, for seemingly good reason, and he likes me. That's about it. I'll try to keep him from doing anything."

"Past deities? So there was a God before you?"

"Could you...forget I said that?"

"...No."

"...fuck. Could you not tell the others at the very least?"

"...I will consider it." That earned a sigh from the god.

"That's the best I can ask for. But, yeah, I'll try to keep my angel from getting too...frisky and popping over here again. Maybe I could ask him to do something...like...no, that wouldn't work. I'll think of something."

"You mean that there is a sexual tension between you two?" That caused the god to sputter and make a few sounds akin to a dying bird, as another howl sounded from the lower levels.

"There...oh god...is there? I don't know. He said he was in love with me and gets very affectionate...is that...does he even know what that means? I don't...oh, how do I explain that one?"

"You are perhaps the most unsocialized and drowned out god I have ever witnessed in this mortal plain. How someone couldn't tell you're human from speech alone is abysmal."

"...thanks, you really know how to cheer a guy up."

"And yet you stopped digging into yourself." At Wamuu's remark, the god paused, looking down at himself in thought, then he gave a slight nod.

"I did." He adjusted himself to be in a somewhat more lax position, tapping his heel against the tile flooring. "You're gonna have to tell the others about my angel, won't you?"

"Yes, definitely, absolutely. It's a threat, no matter the intentions."

"...of course. I hear ya." Sharp claws drummed against the tile as the god looked towards the lower floors. "Seems like they stopped fighting. You need to head back down there and talk to them?"

"It appears so." Wamuu rose to his feet. The god leaned back, ignoring the frost coating the inner layers of his scales. "After I speak with Lord Kars, he'll return here to retire for the night."

"...oh, thanks for the heads up." The god's claws flexed in thin air before he managed a weak nod. "Thank you."

Wamuu regarded the immortal for a moment, gave his own nod in reply, and left the room with the door closing behind him.

A crack sounds when the bat comes down.

The bastard’s still trying to crawl away, so your stand digs into his legs and you aim away from his face, his broken jaw, and settle for his legs. You won’t let him get away from you. Two swings break his kneecaps. You feel your lips form into a crooked grin. Dropping to your knees, you pull him up, hand tracing over his ruined jaw with a grin. He whines in pain, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

You growl in frustration.

“I’d stop if you just admitted it,” you snap, hold getting tighter as you stare at the few teeth you had knocked out. More whines and whimpers escape from his lips. “Stop that!”

Cannibal snarls, but you pay the monster no mind.

“What was it you said…? Something about being more mature, or some shit like that. Was that why you picked me? Or was it because I was alone?” He babbles in response to your questioning. You want to laugh, you’re pretty sure a good kid, or a good fourteen-year-old at least, doesn’t run from home and beat people bloody, but you don’t care anymore. You’re not good enough for anyone anymore. Certainly not her. “If you’re so ‘mature’ when compared to me, then isn’t it time to prove it?! Come on, grow up! Just admit it!”

(MONSTER!MONSTER!MONSTER!)

The voice is howling. What once was a quiet woman pleading is now howling in anguish. You feel sick, but you can ignore her. It hurts, but you can deal with it. The stand user you killed is silent, though you can sense how he's watching this. Two voices. Two people you hurt. You plan on adding a third.

The babbling grows in volume when you move, so you’re more or less sitting on his broken knees, a parody of intimacy, which only makes you more venomous.

“Admit it. Admit you did it, I know you did it, we all know you did it! That’s all I want! All I’ve ever wanted!” You laugh, you’re shaking, and tears are forming in the corners of your eyes. “I want you to tell me you did it, why you did it, and then this will all be over.”

He stares incoherently up at you.

“You ruined everything.” You spit out, hands shaking, you’re panting. “I wasn’t some golden child, but I was something. I was something of value…I was something she loved…now…now, well now, I’m not worth anything! I’m nothing to her because I’ll…because…I can never be good enough for her now.”

You press down on his injured knees because he still isn’t talking, but…

…he moans.

“The hell…?” You stiffen up, shivers racing down your spine. You grab his broken jaw, and he leans into the touch as if you’re his lover. “Why are you…? The hell’s wrong with ya? What the fuck kinda joke is this? You’re not supposed to...you can’t be…”

He moans again.

“No, no, no…stop it!” You slap him hard, yet he groans as if this is the greatest pleasure. You feel a wet spot forming and the scent of sex fills your senses. “You’re not supposed to…This ain’t some sex thing…I’m not…you’re not…I’m not a rapist like you!”

You fall off him, scrambling back as you hiss and whimper. He tries to move back towards you as the voices go silent…and he doesn’t care. You broke his knees, two other points in each leg, and you definitely hit one of his arms good with the bat, yet he just accepts the pain cause it feels good.

“This wasn’t…this wasn’t…”

The fact that you fighting back could be pleasurable for him…it made you sick. Pink smoke coiled around your face and you started to fully sob. Were you doomed to be the rapist in every fight if your very breath left someone in this state?

“I...I...I don’t like this joke…”

You ran and left him there.

'Gabriel, I need you to not come back...for now.'

"Don't come back for now...?" Gabriel draws out, wings lowering in disappointment at the whispers he received from the god. With a small, shaky sigh, he leans back across the altar. Pointer finger tracing over one of the many crystalline orbs that inhabited his realm. The image shifted, showing the purple tinted room his beloved god found himself in. At least he had moved to the bed. Zooming in on the god's vestige, he frowned when he saw the ice forming over his scales, making a second orb float down to showcase the 'pillar men' at the ruined dining room. "Must I? I would, for you. Of course, we both know that. But your heart races with fear while near them. You're freezing. I could..."

A spark of something reignites in their connection, reds and blues, neon, and he shudders in ecstasy.

'Listen, I'm still not sure about the whole 'personal angel' thing you've got going on. Hell, I'm still not sure about this whole communicating thing, but I'm gonna give it a shot. Just for seven days. No appearing in real life.' There's hesitation there. Gabriel can't help but wonder if pushing on it would make the god cave. He doesn't know how. He isn't sure that would be just. He doesn't know. He remains silent. 'Okay, okay, how about we make a deal...? Like, I don't know, what do you want?'

A shadow appears behind the angel.

"There is nothing I want more than you. Your happiness. What can I do to make you happy?" There's silence at that, orbs floating down to change into eyes, all watching the god's shadow behind him. "I won't appear unless something drastic happens. I will not leave you to rot again, my god."

'That's what I'm worried about.' The god's worry, his nerves, seep into Gabriel like ripped wires into water. Sparks fling through him. Wings shudder. '...I need you not to hurt them.'

"They hurt you. Hurt your allies. Continue to hurt you."

'Not that simple. Just...if you're so worried, why don't you just pop up in a dream here or there and we can have a talk? I'll get less freaked out. You can chase away some nightmares, and we all win. Just...try not to be so...intense this time.'

"Of course. I'll gladly take the role of dream catcher. As well as keep you warm. That flame is doing nothing."

'I'm just not close enough to it.'

"You fear flame."

'...yeah, I do.'

"My wings will warm you. I've changed their design since last we met in your dreams. Your eyes didn't open in the bathhouse. I'm sure they'll impress you."

'Getting dolled up for me? You're gonna make me feel underdressed. Those wings soft?' Warmth and delight fills their connection. He sighs in pure bliss and falls back on the altar, the growl of the shadow not even making him react.

"My wings feel as they appear, my god. They never stain nor coarsen. Sever your ties to the world of reality, be mine for the night, and I sha'll wrap you in them."

'...I'll try once I fall asleep. Thank you, Gabriel.'

"Your will sha'll be done under my command." An airy sigh echoes at his words. He can hear teeth chattering from the cold, and Gabriel doesn't even feel sorrowful when their connection is severed. Instead, he feels eager. He's made progress. Who cares about those ancient men when they have no claim to the divine? That ring is merely a false promise. The scientist doesn't even realize how far he pushes the god away from his arms. Then again, as if he cares for the whims of that man. A presence draws closer. "What do you want?"

'You seem to have forgotten what I requested of you, angel.'

"Did I?" He draws out, happy enough that the idea of this mockery being upset doesn't even phase him. "How unfortunate. But as it turns out, I simply can't summon him here. He's agreed to stay somewhere else for seven days. I can't break a vow my god hopes to honor. What kind of angel would I be should I do that?"

'...'

"Perhaps you should leave my realm. If you have nothing important to say or add, that is." His wings slowly refolded against his back as the shadow growled. "Go on. I have a lot to do right now."

'Like read those books on human behavior you stole?' The skull slowly tilts to the side. 'Do you think merely copying what emotions you like will get you what you want?'

"It seems to be working well enough."

'You're not getting out of this talk.'

"Oh, but I would love to." Gabriel's face went back to a perfectly neutral expression as he watched how the shadow stalked forward. "Fine, let's get this over with. I need to change my visage after this."

And on the hundredth day, the king of decay came knocking,

Not truly alive, unable to feel pain,

Not truly alive, no longer human.

"...and that concludes my report, Lord Kars."

"..." For a moment, there was complete silence. Wamuu remained in a half bowed state as he watched how Kars's face cycled through a series of expressions before it settled on a blank stare. Then, the pillar man let loose nothing more than an ear-piercing shriek. Wamuu could feel the god's panic from here, this certainly being loud enough for his acute hearing. Considering that he said Kars terrified him, well, it wasn't surprising, given how his voice carried bloody, murderous intent. The very room seemed to shake at his rage.

Yet, after only a moment, he regained his composure. Fingers slowly glided through his hair as he sighed.

"Now then, Wamuu…please repeat all of that, as I have now regained my composure." Kars drew out, reopening his eyes to regard his servant, who rose from the bow he'd been standing in.

"...no." He said after a moment, watching how Kars slowly blinked before nodding.

"Very well, understandable. You, Esidisi! You repeat what he said." Esidisi slowly sat up from his place sprawled across the now broken dining table. Shaking off splinters and wood dust, before giving a rough laugh despite the still healing injuries.

"...an angel is off fucking your god. Primarily doing it when he's alone and emotionally unstable...and you came down here to throw this pity party while you left him alone and unstable!" He howled, cackling maniacally at the slow hiss of Kars's blades emerging from his skin. Forcing the rest of his wounds closed with a simple flex of the muscles, the Burning King rose to his feet with another, albeit a bit more steady, laugh. "You shouldn't be so surprised, Kars. An immortal having other lesser immortals serving them has never been a new or surprising thing. Immortal handmaidens of those in the Greek pantheons or, as this god seems to favor; a court or choir of angels, as shown in Christianity. Them being in some romantic or sexual relationship is just par for the course. He's a god of lust, is he not? You can't complain about his hierophant failing at his duties and then be mad he has servants that are actually competent or on a level you can't reach."

"And what does that mean?"

"Can you match a literal angel even after ascension? Santana doesn't appear to be on the same level, does he?" Kars gave a venomous snarl. Wamuu watched how his Lord took a step forward, as if ready to restart their fight. "Though...Wamuu, perhaps you could ease Kars's nerves? Tell us you were the one who spoke with God and heard the angel; what do you think of this new immortal?"

"The god was...sparse with his descriptions of him. He almost seemed to consider him less malicious and more passionate in his endeavors, but he was certainly unwilling to go into much detail. Though he claimed to have no control over him. As for what I sense of him...if he hadn't been vocal I would've never known that the god wasn't alone in the bathhouse. Shadow has more of a presence. There was no heartbeat, no body heat, no sign of life, unlike the god himself. The god may be cold-blooded, but he has a constant pulse, he draws breath, and he has a, albeit low, body heat. I can't draw a comparison to any beast or god I encountered during our travels."

"...and you said he was singing?" Kars spoke, expression still caught in deep anger.

"Yes, to comfort the god." Wamuu listens to the low growl that answers him. The warrior watched how his Lord looked away, clearly thinking, but was interrupted by Esidisi.

"And what would you suggest we do?" His voice was serious enough that Kars didn't snap or roll his eyes at the other. The pillar man looked towards their leader with a slight scoff despite his tone, or maybe because of it. "Take aim against an immortal servant? Rip apart a god's court merely so you, one soul, could try to take the entire burden? Aiming your claws at his hierophant is one thing. As long as he dies honorably, the god will accept it through his sorrow, but his immortal court is another."

"Esidisi-"

"Will you lead us into a war against heaven?" Kars goes still at that. Finally he laxed, the Brilliant Bone Blade withdrawing back into his flesh. Esidisi waited and Wamuu prepared himself for a more serious fight between the two.

"Would you follow me?" Is what Kars finally asks.

"I have this far." He accepts that with a nod, brow furrowing, before the leader turns his gaze back to the warrior.

"So, we've learned of this angel, but what of the god's character?" Wamuu considers the question. Remembering everything the god admitted alongside his own observations of the serpent-like male.

"He's certainly struggling to acclimate to being here. Clearly he wishes to go back to the hamon users, but I think I laxed his paranoia somewhat." He remembered how much the god pleaded for certain details to be hidden, and if only due to respecting his honor, Wamuu decides to somewhat oblige him. "He may suffer from the human condition known as 'battle fatigue'. A disorder associated with trauma and emotional distress after long-term fighting or injury. I discovered the illness when researching human history to understand their advancements. Specifically, what the humans listed as 'The Great War'."

"Fascinating, Wamuu. Is there a correlation?"

"He alluded to a god before him, perhaps some holy war against a similar omnipotent deity?"

"How quaint...he ascended his way to the top by force." Kars drew that out with a purr. He'd always had an eye for displays of strength.

"It seemed as if he didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

"Many of us don't in evolution, but some of us; the lucky, smarter few do." Wamuu resisted the urge to frown at the drawl in his words, having a certain feeling that this would only worsen the tension between the two of them. Kars seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment, holding his face as his expression became far more thoughtful. "Battle fatigue...? Before the fight between the two of you officially started he spoke of fighting against entire armies, his hierophant agreed on that when I tried to obtain the red stone, and he often mentions being a warrior with no war left to fight. He certainly tries to avoid combat outside of the incident in the caverns. Esidisi?"

"He's confident that he can win a fight, but hates the idea of fighting. He's terrified of losing control. Certainly he's bound by several mental burdens, yet..." The shaman paused in thought, tilting his head to the side as he considered his words. "I have trouble placing them. I saw plenty in my time healing, both past and present, yet there's a long blank passage in his memory. I couldn't find anything past it. His existence in sheer length and time outweighs all of us, our tribes, and the world as we know it. Who knows how long he's existed? If he did go against another god in a holy war, then it was lost to me due to that stretch."

"Anything else, Wamuu?"

"Merely that I told the god you'd return once we finished talking, so he awaits your return." That seemed to lighten the mood, Kars visibly perking at that response, hand going back to brushing his fingers through his hair before he gave a nod.

"How kind of you giving him that warning." His voice was light, amused as he completely lost the tenseness he once held. "Well, who am I to keep divinity waiting? I'll inform the head chef that I intend to have breakfast delivered to my chambers come sunrise. Try and behave yourself, Esidisi."

"When do I not, Kars?"

"...you don't want me to answer that." That earned more cackling from the Burning King as Kars turned to leave.

"Remember to wipe that makeup off! Our guest surely won't like seeing you come back coated in lovely Aphrodite's makeup, stolen or not, especially given why you left the room in the first place. You don't want him to contact that angel again, do you?" Kars gave a hiss, but nodded before he vanished.

The road is mostly empty, boring, and the entire thing is quiet. Vacant. More so than you anticipated, and you had grown on country roads and towns your whole life. Still, so much to see, but not many people, not many buildings, or houses. Sky. Trees. Fields. Fences. Oh, there was a cow! Yet...it was boring all the same. The road and its gravel shoulders.

"You want to stop for a coffee or burger?"

"Nah, I think I'm okay."

"Last chance we'll have before it becomes real farmy." Jacob says, not looking at you, and you feel the urge to groan rise. Why were all the rich guys so boring?

Visiting his parents for the first time...that was romantic, right? Maybe if you think of it like that, it'll all be easier. First trip together. The first long drive together...then again, with your current plan, that makes it seem like you're viewing the whole thing with nostalgia. You should be excited. Looking forward to the first of many with the act you're playing. But you're not. Not at all.

"Like I said, nah. No coffee or burgers." You say, making your voice a little lighter for him. "Rude to show up not hungry for supper, right?"

"Fair. I don't think it'll be a full spread though....mom's been tired."

"She won't mind me coming then?"

"Like you said; nah. She'll be happy. She always wanted me to get out and date."

"...they won't mind the fact I'm a guy?"

"They caught me sneaking out with girls and guys all the time. They won't mind." You watched how his expression barely changed. Boring. You wondered if he'd get mad if you propped your heels on the dashboard.

"Will they call me a gold digger then?"

"Not to your face."

"Will you tell them I'm a gold digger?" Your voice was teasing, pink smoke in small puffs floating around your head, and he laughed at that. You swallowed. Confused about what you should do or say next. This wasn't the usual scheme. You decided to roll with it.

"I'll say you're the nicest gold digger I've ever met, so I had to keep you."

"Charming." You mused, looking back out the window. "Seriously, this is all barns."

Though you won't lie and say this isn't beautiful.

"Not even any light on the highways."

"Well, there was never enough traffic to justify lighting the roads. This doesn't bother you, does it?" He asks as you swallow once more. You really are hungry.

"Not at all. How good is your control while driving? Or does a fancy car like this have an autopilot?"

"Why do you ask?" You consider his current pace slow enough, so you unbuckle your seatbelt and paw at his pants. Might as well have some fun if he'll allow it. "Oh...cadaver is still the safe word, right?"

"Sure is, daddy." You tease, throwing the age gap at his face because you might as well make him squirm in two different ways, and find the zipper. "Keep your eyes on the road, hands on the wheel. I don't want you to break perfect driving posture for even a second."

"Or you'll spank me?"

"I'll have you in a cage for six months." He shudders at that, boring, but at least he has some good taste. "It must get really dark with no lighting. You probably wouldn't be able to see the people in a car even as you pass them."

"Probably not." He agrees, as you lean over to get his boxers angled for you to give him a proper blowjob.

Kars enters the room to find the god on the bed. Curled on his side with his back pressed as flat as it could against the wall it was placed against. Despite settling on the massive mattress, he'd yet to disturb a single blanket or even readjust the pillows. Boots carefully pressed against one of the wooden legs of the bed's frame, and it seemed as if he had succeeded in entering without the god noticing. Though his posture, similar to his earlier placement in the room's corner, had clearly been chosen, so if needed, he could quickly adjust to cover his vitals or have his back covered in case of attack.

For a mere moment, he lingered. Watching the slow and steady rise and fall of the god's side, listening to the unique rasp of his breath, before he moved. Not an inch of fabric shifted or wrinkled at his touch. Nor did the frame of the bed groan when he fully laid beside the god, mere inches away from him, just watching how relaxed he looked compared to their past encounters. He didn't even allow his breath to ghost over the god's cheek, yet his eyes watched how the god's lips were moving. Silently talking to someone or something. If Kars were lucky, it would be the god's familiar, though he'd much rather the serpent physically be in the room with them, but on the other hand it could be that angel that seemed to have appeared only as yet another obstacle in the way of his goals. If anything, the timing was what frustrated him the most. Here he was; lying next to the god, all he'd have to do was pull him in, and yet after that failure of a hierophant vanished for the time being, another person entered the picture.

"...!" The god's eyes snapped open, as if someone had alerted him, and he tried to jolt back. Yet short of breaking through the wall, he found himself completely unable to actually clear any distance between him and Kars. The pillar man watched as his pupils became slits akin to a feline's before he did a few quick blinks and seemed to regain some composure. "...hey, I didn't hear you come in...when did you come in...I thought you were talking with...it sounded like it wasn't going too well, but...Sorry, sorry, I'm rambling. Why didn't ya say anything? I would've moved off the bed if you wanted to get some shuteye."

"You were far too at peace to be disturbed. It would have been rude for a host to remove a guest."

"You don't have to do that kinda thing either. I don't need to sleep, plus I tend to be a restless sleeper. Just let me...I don't know, I could sleep on the floor or in, like, the tub. I've slept in far worse conditions." He shifted, clearly trying to map out a way that would get him off the bed, before refocusing on Kars, or more specifically, his face. Unlike their earlier talk, he doesn't seem at all bothered by making eye contact. Though his gaze soon goes back to far less nervous darting and panning around any available spot in the room. "So, you look different, not in a bad way. I mean, you actually look way better than earlier...wait, that came out wrong. What I mean to say is...did you do something earlier...?"

"...nothing important." Despite his ability to edge it to the side, he cursed Esidisi in his head for being correct.

"...?" The god looks confused at that before managing a shaky nod. "Um...sure, whatever you say. But still, I'm sure you want to sleep, so let me get up and I'll find a different spot to lay down at."

"Oh, no...please, stay, by all means." He drawls out, watching how the other's expression only became more confused.

"Why? I mean, you don't..." He trails off, and then takes to absentmindedly flexing his half frozen claws. "...never mind. What did you all talk about? I only heard...screaming, so is everything okay?"

"Everything is perfectly under control...it's just old comrades flapping their gums about things they understand nothing about. Now, come. Join me, won't you? I can't let a guest sleep on the floor."

"Join you...? You want me to sleep with ya?" The god stopped a moment after he spoke, eyes snapping open as he realized how that could get lost in translation. "...I think I need to be quiet now."

"Well, now that you asked..."

"Forget I said anything! I phrased it wrong, we both know that I said it wrong! I ain't trying to suggest..." M/n trailed off, face going a dark crimson as he pointedly avoided looking at Kars again. "...I really think I should settle down somewhere else for the night."

"Oh, please, do stay. It gets so lonely, after all. And believe me; there's no better way to phrase it in that lustful dialect of yours~"

"L-lustful? I ain't being lustful!" With a slight growl, he once again ended up rolling his shoulders against the wall behind him. Realizing what he had attempted to do, his face only became more flushed. "This ain't...I mean...I'm not...can we just forget I said that? I don't wanna imply...I wasn't trying to...I really need to stop talking..."

"By all means, do keep rambling..."

"I'm not rambling! Rambling would be going into a lecture about how snakes are clearly the most superior animal, unless this becomes a mammal only discussion in which case elephants win, or about how much I hate how college education is structured since it limits a pursuit of wide knowledge to a single, and oftentimes very specified, field of study to create a variety of workers. Or how dolphins are actually one of the few creatures besides humans that have race wars and hate crimes...actually, most things about dolphins are actually pretty fucked up. Then there are killer whales, but the hippo, or basically a water Bundy, is a lot worse. Then again, if we're talking about water creatures I'd probably start talking about how a croc's mouth is only strong in terms of snapping downwards which means most children would be able to pinch their mouths closed and they wouldn't be able to just open their mouth again...isn't that weird as shit? Like nature's guillotine!" He paused for a moment, generally looking as if he was going to continue before frowning. "What...um, what was the original topic?"

"Charming, very charming."

"...no, seriously, what was the original topic? I lost track."

"...you were about to join me in bed."

"...I was? I don't think that's...did I actually agree to that?" His claws clicked together for a moment as he looked even more confused. "We're already in bed though..."

"You're right. It's best to just sleep it off, hm?" Kars purred, causing the god to shrink in on himself somewhat.

"I guess. You don't mind sharing a bed. I'm pretty pointy and scaled, don't want to scratch ya, or accidentally claw you. Also, how would I join you in bed when we're already in the fucking bed?"

"Like I said, we just need to sleep it off. It's been a long day, hasn't it?" You were left with the shaky feeling that you were selling your soul to the devil, but you finally gave a weak nod.

"I...guess we should. Tomorrow's a new day and all that jazz."

As soon as he finished speaking, yet before he could start rambling again, Kars pulled him forward till they were fully pressed against each other. Just like earlier, the god felt half frozen, body not producing even a hint of natural warmth, and Kars adjusted his own body heat to be even hotter in response. Pulling them both under the blankets and settling one more time. He pushed the god's face to be resting between his breasts, earning a confused noise in response. The god tried to pull away, causing Kars to merely tighten his hold till he heard the god's rasp, causing him to lax enough that he didn't actually suffocate him like Esidisi had suggested when the god first arrived in their midst.

"How aptly put. Just rest, my dear. I won't let anyone here disturb you." For a second he remained tense, then with a soft sigh, the god went lax. Kars left listening to the steady rasp for a few moments, slightly surprised to note how quickly the god seemed to fall asleep, though perhaps this was more akin to brumation rather than complete slumber. They laid in silence and after being certain that the god was in some state of rest, Kars waved a hand. The draw of his blade snuffing all the candles and sending the roaring fire into a smaller flame that completely dimmed the room. Adjusting so both his and the god's head rested on the pillows, he laid his free arm over the god's thighs. Feeling a slight motion before the god hooked an arm over his midsection. The pillar man felt his lips curl into a grin at the action. Even if it didn't seem to be a conscious action, yet he didn't hear any of that lovely purring that the annoying hierophant had advertised. He'd be sure to earn that lovely tune before these days were over. "How fortunate I've been to meet you, my dear."

And with that, he allowed himself to succumb to slumber.

If the form of a bird flying is a lost human soul then what kind have you become?

Perhaps you left this world and rejoined as a bird of the tropics with a delighted coo? Flying too high for me to ever see? An evening bird watching the lofty moon?

Alone? Left to sing the haunting call of died too soon?

An owl? Some bird of pray, perhaps? A dove with a bleeding heart?

Perhaps a vulture? Hunting down the soul of your greatest failure? Your son who drew your life to a curtain call?

I hope I hear you just one more time.

You wake on a black altar. The hum of the void was all-encompassing. The sensation of too many eyes burning against your frame made you hiss as you moved into a sitting position. It was...off. More so than that hall of mirrors where you first met Gabriel. The void felt tainted. You stood on shaky legs, looking up at the crystal orbs which clicked against each other, and slowly they started to break apart, with small shards and dust falling down to reveal thousands of silver eyes staring back.

"Gabriel...?" If he's the void itself, then are those merely his own eyes looking down at you? He talked of his physical form, his 'human' form if that, and you weren't sure if this was all part of the plan or change in course. Something wet ran down your cheek. For a moment you wondered if your eyes were watering, but then something hit the center of your forehead. Then another. Then another. Then another. You assumed the eyes were crying, but it seemed to be something above them, past them even.

It was raining.

A crash of thunder filled your ears as the mindless chanting became only soft static, yet not loud enough to distract you. The eyes vanished and you were left watching an entire hurricane form overhead, the rain and wind howling, the crashing of thunder. You were left speechless as lightning raced through the spiraling water. So far it had yet to draw closer to the ground, only coating you in rain water, and you waited in silence for the angel.

Humming seemed to echo in tune with each thunderous roar of the storm above.

"...?" You tilted your head to look towards the source only to freeze at the sight of...Gabriel? He had mentioned changing the design of his wings, but the man you saw was a far cry from the statue-like angel you had seen. Brown hair being replaced by much longer dirty blond hair. Black eyes were replaced by silver, and his outfit had changed from white robes to something far more fantasy inspired. Even his wings had gone from pure white to blacks, yellow, and reds. It was so far from the picture perfect angel image he had been going for, so messy and worn, yet so much more colorful and inspired that you laughed. You remember how unnerving he had been, how wrong yet holy he had appeared, and now he came to you like this. A large black umbrella held over his shoulders and long wings hanging in a way that only prevented them from being dragged along the floor by an inch or so. A false angel wrapped in the very sky. You were still terrified, but it felt as if the lightning above was sparking through your very core. His singing echoed in your ears. You were playing pretend with the pillar men. Might as well try to be civil with him, right? "I like the hat."

"How kind of you, my god." He says, that's the first hint of wrongness other than how he's hiding his other eye. There's enough emotion in his voice to almost be real, yet not enough to be genuine. He's playing pretend in a way, but he believes it. Nowhere near as intense as the first meeting which you take as a blessing. He settles on the altar, crossing his ankles, and you hesitate for a moment before sitting back down. Palms flat against the black stone. The umbrella moves to cover the both of you, the black material casting you in shadow. The image on the inside is of stormy skies, and there's rain coating the both of you despite being covered from the heavens above. A hurricane is raging. If it wasn't for being next to Kars, you'd be frozen, but you aren't...you aren't sure what you're supposed to be.

"The whole thing's inspired. Better than anything I expected, but it doesn't fit the whole angel motif, does it? I guess the sky patterns could be heaven-like, but..." You tilted your head in though. Rain water coating your skin and leaving you cool yet not cold, more akin to the haze of a summer rain eons ago in Texas. Warm. Gabriel doesn't seem bothered. Rain runs down his frame, his clothes, his hat, his hair, yet none of it ruffles or hangs from the weight of the water. Dirty blond hair changes for only a second, not to his previous hair color or the marble-like texture he had gained before, but rather a more golden shade. For a second, you saw someone in his place. But there were no vampires in the void, only you and a fake angel, right? "What made you change it? Why change...you?"

"...I based myself off of others. The archangel Gabriel in paintings, for I've become him, haven't I? Who would look at me while I wore that mask and call me anything but divine? But angelic? Perhaps I was biased. I chose that form in our very first meeting because an angel is divine and comforting. It was easy. It would still be easy. What would you want me to be? That sinner? Your saint? How easy to change my face, my voice, in fact, the only thing that would give me trouble is the personality." A soft humming seems to echo with the rain. It doesn't belong to either of you. Above the storm rages on, and you swallow at the image of Gabriel approaching with Jonathan's or Dio's face. Absentmindedly he twirls the umbrella, the lazy circles making the drizzle flow like the twisting winds he had originally created, and Gabriel sighs. "I was going to ask you. What form would you want? What eye color, hair color, skin tone? It would be a wave of the hand, and I'd be ideal. Then I thought of your servant..."

"Santana? What about him?"

"For you to be happy with this arrangement. That was what you said. I thought, hoped, that you would say the same to me if I ever dared to ask. So, I chose to believe that you would say that. What design would make me happy? What design would make me divine, yet not just a mirror of an angel who doesn't exist to serve you? You're not that god. Who am I to be his angel and not yours? This was the conclusion I found." He holds a handout. The harsher rain from the hurricane lands in his palm as the thunder crash fills your ears, and he smiles. "I am your choir, the angel who delivers your word, your will, and while heaven is empty with no army or fellow archangels, I hope that my service eases your burden. But...I'm also this realm. I'm the home of immortals...I've been this way for so long...since before I thought, since before I could act on my will. There have been so many."

"..."

"Then you came."

"And you gained sentience?"

"I gained so much from you existing. Still, I know not why." He drew back to that more stiff form of speaking, something playing human while not knowing how it actually worked. "Was it from your lack of desire for immortality? Was it from your suicide? Was it from that will to die as long as others would be saved? You were the first to kill a god for those motives. That king fell, and you were left to rot...I gained everything at that moment. It was...strange. I had watched you fight and struggle, I wanted it to end, I wanted to kill Ajamu...yet I knew not why. He was supposed to be who I supported till he was finally killed, the God of Reality. Yet, he who could bend the very fabric of creation to his whims earned none of my favor. He never did. I watched him receive the prophecy of your birth and fate, yet I did not help him."

You swallowed down the urge to panic again, to scream, to ask what the hell was going on. Perhaps it could be blamed on the fact that this was all a dream? That you felt that strange weightlessness to your limbs that almost suggested you wouldn't be able to run if needed? Or maybe it was just the fact that you were hesitating again? Last time, getting aggressive hadn't helped. But this was going...you weren't liking this at all.

"I never helped him to hurt you."

"I know."

"I was never meant to be this. I was never meant to be more than I was. To feel emotion, to feel pain, to rebel against a god who won his immortality...such a thing was supposed to be unthinkable for me." His smile grew faint. Slowly he passed you the umbrella which you took and adjusted to rest on your shoulder, and he rose to his feet. Taking five strides, he spun on his heel to face you, wings extending and...splitting? Three sets seemed to exist, which you were certain there had only been one mere moments ago. His arms outstretched, and the hurricane reached the apex of its rage, and the grin he gave you was wrong. Too large, teeth too sharp, too...too much to come from a human. "What was I before? What was I? Who was I? Does it even matter? Why would my maker design me with the ability to feel if I was never supposed to act?! What was the point of my existence when I would fail my purpose? When I would deny it? When I would grow past it? Was I intended with a purpose at all? Cogito, ergo sum, right? I think, therefore I am. As if that's all there is to existence! What applies? I was capable of thought since my creation, yet was that being alive? Therefore, I am...was I anything other than a home? If a house can think, does it exist anymore than a house that can't when it can't speak or act out? No, it can't!"

Lightning struck the ground behind him. Gabriel didn't even adjust his wings.

"Gabriel, maybe you should-"

"Then I realized what was correct; volo, ergo sum. I desire, therefore I am. I had never known desire till you arrived. I never knew I could want or crave till I met you. You, who wanted nothing but your own death and the wellbeing of others, yet you wanted so strongly that you kept going. How could you bear it? How could you keep going? Every time it grew worse for you. I wanted a fragment of that strength. Then...you won. You won, and it was beautiful."

"Gabriel, I need you to calm-" You were silenced by his laughter.

"I felt in that moment...I had started to know desire, want, but when he fell...I wanted so much that I was given form. I could make locations here, fake people, fake animals, fake weather...but it was all so mild. Puppets for shows and fake little interactions. Servants who bowed on invisible marionette strings. Light rain or snow, but never enough to be aggravating for any god who wished for it. I was made for another's desires." He spun again, arms still stretched out as he laughed all the louder, and the rain grew so intense that puddles were becoming a full flood. "Now, look! Look, look, look, my god! A hurricane, a flood, a storm! I can make any natural disaster, any weather pattern to reflect these emotions, any animal that could be wild or tame, any servant to smile or rage! You, who never asked for anything for eons, who, after only asked for the bare minimum of my powers, gave me complete control! Look at what I can do! Look at who I am! Because of you, my god, all because of you!"

"GABRIEL!" He stopped at that, going still like an animatronic or toy being suddenly turned off, arms still in the pose but expression confused. The storms seemed to slow ever so slightly. "Listen, I'm excited to see this, but don't get too worked up. Breathe for me, okay? We're both immortal, right? We have all the time we need. Slow breaths."

"...?" A slow tilt of the head answered you. Slowly, he complied. Your fear didn't lessen, at least not entirely, but you felt a little more in control. A far softer laugh met you. The rain became a steady downpour rather than a major storm. A million eyes stared down at you. A million orbs showing futures, prophecies, and images you couldn't hope to place. His arms finally lowered, as if his string had been cut, and each set of wings folded against his back. He walked back towards you. Despite it all, you remained in place and didn't flinch when he rested his palm against your cheek.

"Do you feel better?"

"..." He laughed, louder, more earnestly. "I've never felt better."

"That's...that's good, Gabriel. That's good." In a way, it felt like comforting a wild animal, making sure it didn't see you as a threat. Be kind, yet you had never been this scared of an animal before. "Trust me, it's good to let it all out, but you need to pace yourself."

"I scare you."

"...a lot of things scare me. Being scared means you live longer in shitty situations. Santana scares me on some level, doesn't mean I don't want to be around him. I'm scared of plenty. You're fine." You managed a shaky smile. Just keep him happy. You were fine talking before. Was it because that was through your connection? He slowly adjusted his hold on your face, the pad of his thumb trailing over your lip. "What are you thinking?"

"Now all my gods are dead...except for one." He mumbled absentmindedly. You froze at that, watching how his gaze grew distant. "Hallelujah, to all the apostles."

"Gabriel?"

"..." He moved, grabbing your free hand to pull you to your feet, nearly dropping the umbrella as you were pulled along. The world around you bent and shifted to Gabriel's will till you were walking on volcanic rock. The whole environment is torn and ragged. As if a fight had been raging through the scene, and you spotted what looked like a severed hand before the world glitched and it was gone.

"Where are we going?"

"I've never been to a place like this. Never had the opportunity to make it, but I saw it, and I knew I had to do this. Look at this place. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yeah, it's pretty."

"Do you think you'll bring a force of evolution to the heavens here?"

"...what does that mean?" He frowned. "Wait, Gabriel, is that a prophecy?"

He laughed at you, and the volcano erupts.

Your hands are shaking.

It makes you fumble with the stupid bottle for far too long, too damn long...and the bandages loosely tied around your throat sting from how messy your breathing is, but the stitches hold no matter what. Doesn't matter. You've been listening to the dead demand you stop, demand you kill yourself, and demand that you repent...so you're focused on keeping your hands steady enough to the hold the bottle and open it. Yet you can't get the bottle open and you don't want your stand to manifest to do it for you.

"Oh...fuck it...hey, could you give me a hand?" You ask him, some guy sitting close enough to you to make it seem natural or friendly, and just gesture, hoping that he gets it.

He's nicer than most since he just shoves himself far enough off his seat and leans around to shuffle through the back pocket of his jeans before offering you a rainbow colored swiss army knife. You give him an odd look but lean down to catch the cork in your mouth to shoot it into the nearest can where it hits dead center. You give a laugh at that. He shrugs, draws out a shot glass from behind the bar and steals some of the vodka, and pockets it again. The two of you stay like that for a long time, watching the stop lights flicker and change for traffic that doesn't exist at this time of night from inside the dim hideout and bar. He seems annoyed. You don't want to mention that you both work for the same gang, or that you're on cocaine with at least a dozen or so bags resting in your stomach and you don't know how to handle the symptoms just yet.

You just watch him check his phone, wave down a tiny looking Prius that had stopped at the intersection. As it pulls up, it must be his ride. He looks back over his shoulder, eyes landing on your bandaged throat with a raised brow.

"So...um...hey, by the way, you actually...you're actually a member...right?"

You just give a grin. Swallowing down the rest of the vodka in a few quick gulps before tossing it in the trash can and passing him through the exit to walk back the way you came from.

…

When asked, you don't think of yourself as a bad guy, at least not in what you attempt, though you might be a shit person, but you aren't evil.

But then there are the old days, where you were known as something, or rather, someone else. Maybe a few terms were a bit nicer, maybe, and maybe some were a lot worse. Then again, you just like going by M/n now.

(WHYDIDYOUDOTHIS?THERE'SNOREASONTOSPEAKWITHHIM,HEWON'TLISTEN.WHATDIDIDO?STOP.WASITBECAUSE...I'MSORRY,I'MSORRY,I'MSORRY.STOPSCREAMING!LETMEGO!LETMEGO!I'LLDOANYTHING,JUSTDON'THURTMYFAMILY!)

Bad habits make the man. That's what some bartender says. You don't know if that's true or not, the whole thing is beyond your paygrade, but you think it has merit. You shouldn't be listening to bartenders in the first place...yet here you are.

You really like getting into clubs and bars that you're too young for. Narcissistic Cannibal hums beneath your skin as the very sensation in the air changes, and it's too much. The smell makes you shudder each time. The lights are too bright, and you nearly get drunk off the air alone. You can taste each person, each drink, and every hidden gun, knife, and weapon stored in pockets and bags. Smells, sounds, and even tastes like people. People watching was something you had always liked, fellow classmates thought it had been creepy, but this is all that turned up to a fucking eleven. You don't get it. Everyone here is trying so fucking hard; to signal that bartender, to flirt with whoever's considered the catch of the night, to look cool, to look hot, to be seen, to order the strongest drinks, to dance to the music, or to be too cool to dance to the aforementioned music. You ran three towns away from home, but the bars are all the same. People are the same. You can't understand a lick of it. Maybe that's why you like this bar, or maybe you just like the idea of going somewhere that no one would look in. M/n Sirius Black...well, he's dead and gone. Now M/n roams bars and watches the drunks.

Was it worth it, mom?

Moon-Rise. Area's only good bar, still shit, but also a gay bar. At least you get some good eye candy in between watching the patrons. You do stall at some red head rolling his hips against the silver pole with a wink in your direction. You swallow. He never stops moving. Wrapping himself around the pole, center stage, and curling. Mouth dry, you almost wish that you were older, that you knew what to make of this guy, but you force yourself to blend back into the crowd. That was why you were here. Crowded enough to avoid unwanted attention. At most, you get a wink, a flirty line, a drink paid for, or people mistaking you for staff or some token straight punk merely scoping out the scene. Not so much attention that you get trapped, not so much that someone puts their hands on you, not so much that you get pulled back by your now cut short hair. No fight to linger by the fire exit. So worn out, so tired, that no one can pick out your actual age. Maybe they saw the look and decided that, yeah, you were underage but had been through enough shit that they can't stop you.

Later on, a bit too late, you end up in a park. You hated sleeping here, always worried that someone would get the wrong idea about the homeless faggot, but the small bits of cover are worth it. Curled up in the middle of a tube slide. The surface is cold. Your body shivers. Your stand hates the cold surface. You choose the coldest spot to spite the monster. Voices howl and scream, acting as your own personal lullaby. You live a life on the silver of the knife. Bum beer from the convenience store two streets down from the park. Light an old lighter, used to be your mother's, over and over again just to hear the click and watch the flame dance. The best spot you find is to curl up on the monkey bars. The stars look down at you, uncaring. You pick one you like. Make a wish. God won't answer. He don't care, and neither do you. You're left feeling like a piece of shit.

Pink smoke is dancing around your head in small puffs.

Your dad used to get drunk like this.

Everything fucking sucks. You hate being homeless, even if you do have one, albeit one that you can't go back to.

Claws curl around you, scales scrape your frame, and once every two weeks you go hunting for some bastard nobody will miss.

After a while it goes downhill, the ball starts rolling; it gets worse and worse.

Ain't that the story of your life?

You can't stay in one for too long, can't ever let your guard down, so you bounce between places; a twenty-four-hour laundry mat, alleyways, bad bars, even worse bars, clubs, trashed out cars, and finally, it ends at a holding cell. You ran long enough, right? You get a mugshot, because of course, and you lie and say no one's looking for you. They don't put you in the system, not yet. Just a two-day stint for some shit you didn't even do, but they said you did it...actually, you were drunk again. Maybe you did do it? It doesn't matter, no matter what, you end up sitting in the county jail. No record, not yet, cause they pity you. They all do. The jail only has one cell, because you ran to a small nowhere town, one cell, three cops on duty. Your stand is howling. The voices crow and hope for horrible things to happen to you. You deserve it after all. Curled up on the metal bench riveted to the wall, you can't react fast enough when the cell door is opened and the other officer comes in. Boots hit concrete. Loud. His heart is racing. Scared. Your stand growls. You taste blood in the air. A tall redhead is handcuffed.

This is when you join the gang.

This is when you first meet Jessie.

You woke once more on the verge of suffocation.

For a moment you just try and fail to draw breath, unsure why you can't breathe in the first place, because you're warm and someone's holding you...but if this was Santana then why couldn't you feel his ribs holding you in place? You couldn't feel any trace of hamon either. You tried to pull back, unable to see whoever held you. But then the day before caught up with you. You remained still for a moment, waiting to see if he'd wake or react, but for now he seemed to be asleep. Your lungs screamed for air, despite not needing it, so you give a push only to be forced even closer. Great, you've been sold to the enemy, and he's gonna kill you between his tits. Had it been someone else, you might've enjoyed it. Still, with a low growl, you shifted again to pull away. It was like trying to bend steel. Short of using your full strength, and then getting killed for injuring him, Kars wasn't going to move. With a tug at the void, the sheer contentment, smugness, and joy, joy, joy that radiated from Gabriel nearly made you panic, yet you managed to end up sitting with your back against the headboard. Kars stirs. A slight growl in an unknown language escapes his lips, but all you care about is getting oxygen for the moment. Once that passes you sigh, looking at the sleeping pillar man as he seems to reach for someone or something, and you notice a hint of him about to wake up.

'It would be so easy, N/n.' You're proud of yourself for not reacting to Ajamu's voice, still focused on Kars.

"Easy?" You whisper out, confused.

'To kill him. To maim him. To free yourself from him.' Ajamu acts like an old friend, like the tang of vodka on your tongue after months of not drinking a drop, yet you've been sober for long enough that you don't respond. Sharp claws twitch as he presses on. 'Think about it, N/n. He's going to force himself on you again. That time was just one kiss...what's next? You know he'll go further.'

"Then I deserve it."

'Do you really believe that?' You don't give him a response. 'Fine, you don't have to kill him. Just leave him a reminder to never lay a hand on you again. Scar him. Your talons will prevent him from ever recovering...actually, that gives me an idea.'

"...?"

'Do you think if you ripped out one of his eyes, it would be able to regrow? Or do you think the socket would be empty forever? Or better yet, blind both his eyes and see if it lasts. Make it so no matter if he gets that red stone or not, he'll never know what sunlight looks like.'

"I'm not doing that." You hiss, sharper than you intended to, and Kars looks as if he's about to wake, earning a low growl as you resettle, feeling how he once again draws you into his hold. This time you settle enough that despite him positioning you in the exact same way, you can still draw breath, but you're more focused on how Kars is almost immediately placated by that. It seemed too clean, too smooth, for it to be the actions of someone sleeping. Santana never acted like that when he was asleep. You wonder if you should jab a pressure point to see if he's awake, but you just swallow it all down. You hope he can't hear you or doesn't bother thinking about it.

It feels like you've only been asleep for an hour. Might as well try to push it to three before he wakes up.

Yet your mind is left wandering, darting, dancing, between random idea after random point of idea.

The first note is just unease. Kars is a threat, both in terms of intellect and power. You may outmatch him in strength and speed. Hell, you outmatch everyone here in those aspects, but how is any of that shit useful if you aren't allowed to use it?! Because of this shit, and your weight class, you were now stuck getting manhandled by some bastard who dragged you into a shotgun wedding. Hell, one of his thighs was thicker around than your entire waist, and he was the smallest of these bastards! Wamuu made you look like a child by comparison...and you were going to kill Joseph when you got back to him. Then make Caesar your new hierophant, make sure Santana didn't invite the other pillar men to your home, and settle back into farming. These three could figure their own shit out. You didn't want them, certainly didn't need to be married to this asshole. Even now, you could feel the ring deep inside of your heart. At least the replica had melted when Esidisi had entered your body, the one good thing he had done during that time period.

…why hadn't you removed it? That was the big question, right? It would be easy to rip the fucking thing out and just crush it...so why hadn't you? Your claws twitch and extend slightly at the thought. Why hadn't you and why had you? You didn't know Kars, certainly not when he put the ring in you, and there's not much you like in him. He's smart, sure, handsome and cunning like the devil driving down I-45 at night, but those traits are just as poisonous to your attraction as they are helpful. You're terrified of Kars, which makes this 'marriage' even more laughable because the blood was in the water from minute one. Did he know that when looking at you?

'You don't have to be nervous, dear.'

There it was again. That dream of him as some kind of angel, whispering in your ear and drawing you closer, preventing you from freezing. You shivered at that whisper that filled your ears, familiar yet alien, and tried to swallow down the bile and panic that would make you waste away. Pinks and blues. Blues and reds. White lines and static in your ears. Just popping and hoping. Hoping for something to finally break away.

'After all, why would an angel, your angel, ever bring harm to you in the first place?'

You wish you had called him a liar in that dream. You wish you could've bitten down into the soft skin of the throat and felt the air escape when you ripped out his esophagus and made him pray with borrowed time and breath. Tasted the gore he could provide, that flavor you and your stand howled for. Kars shifted again, subtle almost, and you want to scream. This was all just a lie.

(You can't trust him. He's going to hurt you. He's too forceful. This isn't love, this isn't love, this isn't love. Dearie, you don't have to stay here if this is going to hurt you. Kill him. Run. Defend yourself. Why do you keep doing this? Mark my words: if he doesn't get his way or realizes how much you hate yourself he'll pull out the 'I'm going to kill myself so you behave' card. Don't joke about that! Who says he's joking? He's a liar.)

The voices rarely get in agreement on anything. Too many minds, too many opinions mixing and getting drowned out, but few seem willing to even attempt suggesting that you and Kars should be a thing. You, for once, agree with them. You open an eye to watch his expression shift as he tries to draw you even closer. Thoughts still form just to terrify you; breaking his spine before tossing Kars down a cliff to hear the wet cracks when he hits the bottom, to break every bone beyond repair just to feel the force, to pin him down and press on his eyelids with the scaled pads of your thumbs till they burst into pulp beneath your fingers.

No, no, no, you don't want to do that.

You swallow, shake your head quickly, and look back on the sleeping pillar man's form with a sad sigh bubbling to the surface.

"I...I really do hate you."

You shake your head again, ignoring everything else, and let your body reenter a semi-dormant state.

Not once noticing how the other's eyes opened as soon as his shut.

The world is cold.

I was born to await your arrival.

I was born for a higher purpose.

I was born in the image of home.

I was born to be loved by you.

I was born to be loved,

By,

You.

Now listen to the call of the storm.

Kars watched how the god's chest slowly rose and fell. Once more, seeming to have fallen into a deep sleep, he felt a frown slowly form across his face at the immortal's words. His last statement played on repeat inside his head, all while he moved to trace over the dip of each rib, earning a soft huff from the slumbering deity.

"For now..." Kars whispered out, voice a low hum that intermingled with the crackling flame. "You hate me for now, yet...how hypocritical of you, my dear. Do you not akin yourself to the deity of Christianity, complete with your own 'angels', only to ignore that hate is the most poisonous term he created? Or perhaps you seek to coat your tongue in the same venom that drips from your fangs?"

God didn't answer as he moved to trace the tattoo on his shoulder.

"Omnipotent, yet in some way incompetent. Then again, maybe that human phrase has some truth; if god is omnipotent, then god has the power to eliminate all evil, and if god is omniscient, then god knows when evil exists...yet...you deserve it? Who were you talking to? Not your familiar, you'd never speak to the serpent like that..."

The god's lips twitched as if still speaking, causing Kars to watch him before tracing over his lip with the pad of his thumb.

"...how exactly did you ascend, my dear? What was your place in the hierarchy before you slayed the god before you? A minor deity? A spirit? Or...were you a mere mortal?" He let the question linger. Eyes tracing over the hint of scar tissue he could see wrapping around the god's throat, and slowly he removed the choker to better examine the old injury. Even a light touch allowed him to feel the mass of scar tissue buried beneath the skin and how it pressed down on the god's windpipe. After a moment, he reattached the choker. "A mortal who gained such devastating injuries while fighting god?"

He listened to the raspy breaths that escaped the god's lips.

"You won't hate me forever." He murmured, almost like a mantra or prayer, and drew the immortal back into his embrace. "Once that worthless hierophant is out of the way you'll be treated as the god you are, and I'll have ascended to stand by your side. Of course, I'll have to deal with that angel as well, but you won't hate me forever. Everything has led up to this moment. I won't allow my destiny to slip through my fingers, not now. Not after everything that's happened."

It really feels like you've known Jacob for a long time, longer than any other guys you've done these deals with. The whole escort bullshit. How long had it been...? You don't care to think about the details. The connection between the two of you is one sided.

You adjust yourself, licking your lips and checking your face in a compact, before looking towards the disheveled male sitting in the driver's seat. "No, seriously, what have you told them about me?"

"Enough." He teases. He gives you a quick look. Despite your thoughts, you decide you like that look. You grin. If nothing else, you're attracted to him.

"Aw, come on, what did you tell them?"

"That I met a pretty guy who drinks his vodka straight from the bottle and carries those fancy cigarette holders."

"My parents don't even know your name." He laughs at that. Probably thinking that you're joking. Then again, you never told him that both your parents are dead and buried away. You're not. You don't think you'd tell your mom about Jacob had she still been alive, never tell her when you met someone that paid for a date, and certainly not the guys you had loved. Absolutely nothing. Perhaps you would have wanted to say something.

He looks like he's going to say something, but he doesn't. He watches you out of the corner of his eye before turning up the radio. An old country song echoes through the car. He hums along, causing you to twitch.

"I've...never heard you hum before. Keep doing it. I like it. Good hum ya got there."

"Of course you'd say that. You have a voice kink." He smiles and keeps humming, anyway.

You don't think you'd ever tell your parents about him. Especially not at this point in the relationship. You should probably tell him what you're thinking about, yet you can't bring yourself to speak up. He's not talking anymore. What the hell is he thinking about? The idea of ending this almost makes you feel sad. Or selfish, at least. Self-centered. You should tell him, but once you bring it all up, you won't be able to not talk about it. You want to know what his parents are like, but...well, he probably thinks that you're moving to some form of commitment, that maybe this relationship will move past escorting.

Here you are, sitting right next to him. What was he thinking about? He doesn't have a clue on how you feel. This won't be easy...despite what people think of you, well, you don't want to hurt him.

"So, when did you first hear this song? I think the radio's played it three times already."

"Country classic, and I grew up on a farm. Know it by default. Have you ever heard of it?"

"At stores on the radio. My mom tended to play old school rock when I was growing up over country." He doesn't confirm that this is definitely the third time they've played it, and you are certain you'll hear the chorus lead up in your dreams tonight, but he doesn't need to. Seriously, there are enough country songs out there, old and new, that they shouldn't need to play the song three times in the past two hours. You don't listen to the radio much anymore. The songs in the club are planned out beforehand, whether you're singing them or if they're just being played over the speakers during your routine. Still, maybe all radios do this. Maybe it's normal. Not like you would know.

Or maybe all these old country songs sound the exact same to you.

You wake up to the unpleasant sensation of Kars pulling you into a slight sitting position. Not bothered by treating you less like a person and more akin to a rag-doll, it seems, and you slump slightly against his side before fully waking up. You can smell food and when you open your eyes. There's a part of you that almost growls at the sight of zombies, wrapped and bound as if normal, carrying in heavy trays of food.

"Um...what the hell did I wake up to?"

"Breakfast in bed." Kars purrs, though there's something in his voice that makes you avoid looking at him. You aren't sure why he's frustrated with you, but you have a feeling that it would make you angry, so you just hold the question back. "Again; we're bonded, are we not? Surely we should enjoy it, should we not?"

"..." You were pretty sure that breakfast in bed was something a spouse did for the other member of the relationship, not something they made their help do, but you really don't want to give Kars any ideas. Examining all the platters being set down you hold back the urge to groan. Once more everything looks too fancy and way too much. You never bothered with breakfast as a mortal, either eating leftovers or nothing, and you rarely even thought of meals if you weren't cooking for someone else. You think other than just taking a few raw eggs every now and then you've never bothered eating by yourself. "Okay...I guess that makes sense...I hope you enjoy whatever it is they've brought you."

"Are you not going to eat anything?" Kars asks, looking at you curiously, while you examine plate after plate for anything small to get him to not question your lack of appetite. Nothing stands out. All the eggs are cooked and you can't stand the texture of any cooked form of eggs. You try to ignore any hint of frustration he shows, and instead focus back on the platters with a shrug of the shoulder.

"I'm not hungry. Go ahead, eat whatever you want. I'm fine."

"You barely ate anything at dinner, my dear." Kars places a hand on your thigh, that look of concern making you try to move away from him. "Besides, our head chef would be so disappointed if you didn't eat any of this. He worked all night to make it, after all."

"I don't have a stomach, I'm good."

"Hm, but in those tapes Stroheim procured, I vividly recall you eating a meal." Kars watches you as if you're pinned beneath a microscope, and you almost feel sick at that metaphor. When did he even watch those? Was he bluffing?

"Must have the wrong guy."

"You lie as much as that hierophant of yours."

"Rude, probably true, but that doesn't make it any less rude, ya know?" Frowning, you tried to lean back in the pillows and ignore this whole mess as you looked over at the trays of food. "But I'm really not joking. I don't have a stomach, and I don't need to eat. I'll just let you eat whatever ya want and I'll be good."

"Then I won't eat either."

"...huh?"

"If you won't eat, then I won't take a single bite." You twitch, unsure if you actually heard him correctly, but Kars leans back, not even looking at the food anymore and that knot in your stomach grows even tighter.

"Why the hell would ya do that?"

"To share your pain."

"I can't feel pain!"

"Then I won't either."

"That's not how it...works..." You trail off looking back towards the absurd amounts of food, feeling sick at the idea of it all going to waste. You had always been on borrowed time with food. Never enough. Never able to keep it preserved with no working fridge or having the generator spark when you finally had it all put together. The amount of times you had been half starved or eating spoiled food...well, they weren't things you liked to think about. Even now you cooked when stressed, but there was always someone who'd eat it. You never let things go to waste. Feed the people in your life, donate what's left, recycle the scraps for compost, and keep going. You felt sick. "Listen, I'm really not hungry, go ahead and eat. I'll grab something in a bit when I feel like eating."

"I'll eat when you eat."

"Between the two of us; you're the only one that needs to eat." You swallowed, watching each plate be set down till the entire room was just food, food, food. You shivered. This whole thing felt like one of Ajamu's guilt trips, which was not making you want to eat anymore than before. You look at the meat section absentmindedly trying to find something that you could quickly eat and then just let the other have his fill. Eggs all cooked wouldn't be able to get it down with that texture. Meat was varied, could probably grab some of that. Pancakes and other pastries, while sweet, were messy, and syrup or sugar tended to get stuck in your scales. Kars isn't budging. You quickly swipe a couple of links and just swallow them without even chewing, just to get them down even if the length made it feel a bit off, and gesture to the platters. "There. I ate something. Go ahead, grab something. Not like you should be going hungry all by your lonesome."

"My dear, if you were so set on meat of the long, round, and slick kind with the capabilities of sliding right down your throat, I could have supplied you with that myself with my own sex rendered free..." The sound you make is akin to a sparrow choking on a piece of cotton, but when you look over Kars was already proceeding to quickly stack a pile of different portions of foods and delicacies upon a large silver platter, and before you realize it he's gorging himself rather aggressively on it...if this was guilt-tripping, you're either innocent until further proven or Kars is terrible at it.

"The hell are you talking about?! What the...I wasn't...where did you even get that idea from...?" You hiss out. Feeling like someone tossed you against the wall after saying you had an incurable disease. Trying to ignore that, and failing, you forced your gaze back to the food and settled for jerky, and despite his words on instinct alone, you were quick to finish it off in the same way. "And why the hell are you acting so surprised? I told ya my throat was structured like a snake's...if it bothers you so much, you have to go and say weird shit like that. I can always eat somewhere else."

"Oh, you misunderstand me. I want you to eat a part of me in that same manner in all honesty. Is it better now that I've put honesty with it, dear?"

"...no, no it isn't. And what the fuck are ya talking about? I'm pretty sure Wamuu would kill me if I cannibalized you." You swallow down the urge to complain because the jerky was fine, but you really fucking missed Slim Jims so goddamn much. "Listen, like I said, if you wanna get all weird, I'll just leave. I mean, I only have to stay here in the building. Doesn't matter which room, right?"

His eyes seemed to have gone dark again, a piece of meat falling from his fork and back onto the plate earning a confused huff from you.

"And what the hell is that look for? If I'm annoying you, then just say it and I'll leave. I don't need ya glaring at me like that."

"I get a feeling so complicated..."

"Huh...?" You twitch at that, realizing you'd have to basically vault over all these platters to get to the exit route.

"Dear...every time your intelligence takes a drastic turn in response to my flirtatious whims and woes...I get a feeling so complicated that is indescribable in common human tongue...I feel the will to speak in my own native tongue, yet it is a futile way to vent such desires forming and heating below. It is truly an indescribable experience that every word lacking competence and containing misunderstanding pouring from your mouth delivers an almost fiery heat to the depths of my nether regions..."

"I...um...think I should go...and get a...shower...I need...to...um...shower...sounds good..." Using the slightest pull of the void, something Gabriel seemed eager to allow, you managed to avoid destroying any of the food platters as your back hit the bathroom door. "Enjoy your meal. I'm gonna get a hot soak and find a better change of clothes."

"And I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now."

The sky is painted red, and all the people are afraid.

Am I at fault?

Have I brought upon the calamity?

Am I supposed to be salvation?

Or their destruction?

'O god, reality as we know it is being torn asunder.

Breaking at its very core.

'O god, the beings of this world will be destroyed.

I'm helpless to stop it.

'O god, you have given me a mission and I'm keen to see it through.

'O god, please tell me why.

…why won't you answer me?

It takes thirty-three minutes before god calms down, but eventually you settle somewhat in the massive tub. A molten waterfall coating you while a new outfit and your old ribbon and choker sit in a neat pile towards the door. You don't hear Kars, luck seems to be on your side for once since you don't hear the other pillar men either, so you let the water drown everything out. Stretching out fully, this bath rivals the one of that bathhouse you had used prior. You just enjoy the feeling of pure heat sinking into your bones. It was easy to forget about that bullshit Kars had been going on about. It was probably your fault, anyway. You must've accidentally used some of your venom on him or something by accident and he was just acting strange because of that. You'd just need to find a new bed to cure that problem. Laying semi-flat on your stomach, you feel the rim of the tub's basin lightly pressing against your collarbone as you rested your chin on your crossed arms. The voices a constant chatter beneath the waves, and if you could hear rain and thunder echoing across infinity, then so be it.

...it was so easy to let go and mentally drift.

Your eyes close, the sound blurs, and you take a shaky breath before pushing away from the rim of the tub and dunking your head under the water. You can't hold your breath for long, so you end up flooding your lungs, but you can't bring yourself to surface just yet. Thunder echoes in your ears, waves crashing against the coast, and you lean into the noise. The voices go a bit quieter, all discussing healthy boundaries and how you need to take action, but you just let black spots dance in your vision. There's a different hum in the very marrow of your bones, in the emptiness of your ichor, and you feel a tug to something deeper. Once more, your body wishes to be in the ocean. Like something's calling for you. A volcano erupts and people are screaming, the captain of the ship is howling, but who made him captain?

You're going to black out at this rate.

"I heard your lungs fill with water from within the walls. You drowned at your own will."

You jolt at that. Shooting out of the water coughing and hacking till ichor drips from your lips like the promises of the damned, and you whine from the back of your throat. Who the hell...? The steam and water blurred your faded vision, and you were left unsure of who had disturbed you.

"It is Wamuu, M/n."

"Wamuu…?" For a moment, your thoughts lag and stall. The sensation of drowning leaves you hazy in the most addictive way possible, and part of you considers just diving back down and ignoring him. You don't. "Why...what are you doing here? Did Kars finish eating? How...how long was I out?"

"He's attending a meeting with the chosen vampires at this moment. He personally wanted to give you time and space. And about twenty minutes."

"...oh, okay. That's not too bad, but why are you here then? Not like I mind you being here, but you don't seem like the type to just seek me out for conversation." Thinking is still painful or difficult. Your tongue feels coated in lead, and you taste ichor as you slowly try to accept oxygen in place of the water.

"Was this an attempt at killing yourself? Or are you just this careless around water?"

You tilt your head at that, painfully fuzzy when it comes to wording why you did that or why you still want to do that, and your head rests on the rim of the tub again as you try to clear your thoughts. Yet they stick together and weigh you down. Claws twitch because there's a tsunami in your skull and you want to reenter the water. You don't. It won't change a thing.

"Can't attempt to kill yourself when you're immortal. Can't die in the first place." You shake your head after a moment to clear it. "Wasn't like that. If I wanted to kill myself, I wouldn't be wasting my time in the water."

"So it's carelessness."

"I always try to drown myself when I fall asleep. I could've fallen asleep anywhere, and I'd have just walked to the nearest place to either jump in or fill. Drives Santana mad with how often he has to pull me out. I'm just lucky I didn't try to find a river or lake." You frown, claw tips tracing over the grooves in between each tile absentmindedly. "I just fell asleep. I'll try to stay awake next time, or find someone to stay by."

"You sound as if you're fine with something that's clearly an issue. And if it...apparently drives Santana mad, then it's also clearly affecting others around you. A behavior like this is no doubt debilitating for others as much as yourself...and you seem inconsiderate about it at most."

"Been happening for fifty years now. Kinda stuck with it. Besides the whole thing doesn't happen if I'm with someone when I'm sleeping. Worked well when I had Santana, but now I..." You frown, a pain deep in your chest before you turn your head to look towards the door to the room. "Well, he's not here now. I just...I have to stay awake. Not that hard. I've been awake for longer than that, so I can just get some shut eye once this whole thing is said and done."

"Have you made an effort to stop it from happening?"

"Course I have." You hiss, wanting to claw deep into your chest, but you told him you'd try not to so you don't. "I just...don't have control over my dreams. I never did the whole sleepwalking shit before fucking prophecy got in the way."

"A prophecy?"

"Can't be god without them. Too many. Too fucking many." You frown. "They're all bad. Never this bad. But I'm not the one being affected by them and that's worse. Worse than seeing that damn ship explode every night."

"A ship?"

"Lost my saint. Wasn't even there to help him." You aren't sure why you're telling him this. Maybe because he's one of the few here that knows how much of a failure you are. That you're still painfully human and pathetic. Maybe because you don't hate him like the other two. You don't think it matters, anyway. "I thought it would be fine. Now history is playing on loop and magma threatens to burn out everything. If an immortal stops thinking, are they as good as dead?"

"If it's the fault of the prophecy, then why do you act as if it's entirely your fault? Are you to blame for things set in motion against your will? And how are you expected to save one like your saint, that is contrary to your knowledge? Are you to be there for every mouth that utters your name? Every soul that yearns for you? It seems like you set high standards for yourself but then degrade your status as much as possible in a self-destructive habit...one that is painfully taking everyone with you."

"...if prophecy can't be argued against, then no one has free will, so you have to argue. If you can save one extra person, then you have to try. If there's a chance for no one to die, then shouldn't you be willing to risk it all for that? And...for my saint...I should've been there. He wanted me to be there, but I denied him in favor of tending to my holy land. I should've gone. I'm god, what's my purpose if not to help the people I care about? What's the point of being strong if you don't help people? God is a vestige for humanity, for people's needs. I mean, I hate being here. I'm terrified, and I'd have definitely killed myself by now if I was still human, but my hierophant's needs come before my own. I'm just...I'm just a tool for humanity at this point because the other option's worse." You swallow down a sob. You aren't going to cry here. "Can't even do that right. Then again, I could never do that right."

"So instead of attempting to train and improve yourself and deal with your issues head-on...you're just going to degrade yourself constantly while dragging down everyone around you. Unstable, undisciplined, and unwilling. You just tended to some holy land like a hermit, creating a stage to welcome death front and center rather than improving and attempting to do well with others...and you constantly blame yourself and the universe. What an intoxicating paradox you forced yourself into. You truly are the most pathetic excuse for a god I've ever seen...

…lucky for you, there is still time.

Stand up. I'm taking you to my room."

You flinch under his gaze, unsure of what to do or say, but you manage a shaky nod. "Yeah...let me get dressed, and I'll go with you to your room."

When asked you'll say you got at least one good hit on him. In truth, well, you never stood a fucking chance without your stand. A half starved homeless fourteen-year-old just can't compete with a guy like Jessie. Still, the claws of your stand give him a few new scars and you learn how to take a right hook.

Ticket into the gang you join, not at the top of the food chain but nowhere near the bottom either.

When asked about what kind of person Jessie is, well, you tend to scoff and either call him some curse word or shrug. If a person can't tell what kind of guy he is by looking at him, then that's their own fault.

Truth is; Jessie's born and bred to be a bastard.

No one forced him to join a gang, no lack of money, no being hated by his family, no anything bad. He just wants the violence of the occupation and didn't have the patience to become a dirty cop. He's a criminal. Not a monster, rather painfully human. Mean down to the pitch black core. Reminds you of some scarred up Pitbull or cock that's been fighting for too long. But there's the catch, right? Dogs and roosters don't fight on their own. They get caged and forced; they don't want to be violent. They just get broken in by cruelty. Jessie always knows what he's doing. If anything, you play the role of the animal better. Afraid, vicious, and too angry to die. When you pick up a bat or raise your fists, you're shaking at the notion. Jessie beats people senseless cause he's good at it. You could never compare. Deep in those cold, lucid eyes, he's enjoying the gore. The act. The violence of it all. The thick bloody side of things.

This is the bottom of the pit. How low can you go now?

"I apologize for the mess."

This whole room was the exact fucking opposite of a 'mess'. Everything from the floors to the four walls to the high ceiling was a beautifully cleaned, spotless, and almost perfectly renovated chamber lined with weapons, floor paddings, training dummies and even modern punching bags against the walls. Racks and baskets of different types hold historical weapons from all across the world. Most recognizable are from Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Norse histories. Everything from the famous Roman gladius to the widened Egyptian fan sword...and your specialty; tridents. Mannequins and armor stands are propped up in numerous corners of the room. Most are from the BC era, mostly being Roman, Persian or Egyptian, in design with simple materials and designs. But what perplexed and shocked you most was the quality of each piece of equipment. Everything from the hilts of swords to the helmets of apparel to the blades of axes were all polished to a perfect shine. Everything was as if it was forged and manufactured by skilled hands only recently. The room was like an armory and dojo all in one, lit up by numerous lanterns and candles against the walls and shelves, incense burns and filled the room with a pleasant, warm scent.

Wamuu stands at the center, the center of his world; one of honor and history, a history of war, battle, legacy and discipline. It was safe to say that he has earned every piece of gear in this room through his own way, shape, and form. One of honor, commitment, and bloodshed.

"I haven't much time to retrieve most of my treasures and trophies from Greece and Egypt. Most of this I brought with me from my recent mission in Greece. It's not even close to everything, centuries of battle and countless warriors from human history. It's rather disorganized at the moment, so apologies for the mess."

"I spent fifty years rebuilding a crumbling castle and town into something worthwhile. I don't mind. Besides, I think you and I have very different definitions of what a mess is." You tilt your head to better watch how the light makes each piece gleam and shine. Claws twitching at the urge to touch the shining blade of a broadsword, but you swallow it down in favor of looking back at the warrior. "So, why d'ya bring me here? I'm not exactly...I'm not a good sparring partner and I'd rather not fight one way or the other."

…only now do you witness the enormous fucking hearth fire in the middle of the room.

"...what the hell is that for?" You hiss out, taking a quick step back to get as far away from the flames as possible. "Aren't you...worried that something will catch on fire? Seems...seems like a safety hazard to me."

'It was foolish of you to attack me. Didn't I tell you, Jojo? However hard you plan, you'll still be limited by your humanity. I disowned that weakness in favor of life everlasting. I know where you are. You're behind the curtain, like Polonius, and like Polonius, it's where you'll meet your end.'

"I mean...the whole hotel could burn if you aren't careful." Was the smoke making your vision blurry?

'Mister Joestar, what are you thinking? Don't follow him! The two of you told me to run yet are so eager to go upstairs where you can't escape! You mustn't!'

"Besides, the smoke must be hell on your lungs..." You couldn't breathe.

'When Jonathan comes up here, it will all be for naught. Completely useless. Falling from this height won't hurt me, Jojo, M/n, and the two of you know it. You've only trapped yourself up here with the flames.'

"I...I think I should go..."

"If you leave, I will force myself into the flames."

"...what? Why the fuck would you do that?!" You snapped, unable to move your eyes away from the flame, unable to fully draw breath, and there was a snap somewhere as ichor stained your tongue once more. You felt two lines at the corners of your mouth run like the red lines that traced your flesh in your god form and nearly laughed at the irony. "Besides, why would I care? We're enemies...right? Not like that would hurt ya or put you outta commission for more than a couple minutes...I just...I really don't do well with huge amounts of flame...please don't make me stay here..."

The warrior takes a step back...

"Please don't...listen, I'm sorry...I'm sorry for hurting you or whatever you want me to apologize for...just don't make me do this...is this because of Kars? I'll be nicer to him! Hell, I'll stop snapping at him if you don't make me do this...I don't do fire anymore...please....just let me go back to Kars's room." The flames roar as the god's shadow seems to be replaced by a winged figure, not solid, only an impression on the wall, but still present. "I don't want to do this..."

"...consider it a trust fall."

Arms outstretched, he falls backwards into the hearth, the flames almost grabbing his body like a hand holding a crucifix. The dancing fires wrapping around him as if golden fingers.

Outside, thunder crashes and the wind howls as a blizzard morphs into something far worse.

You untie your hair on instinct alone. Refusing to have that faded ribbon burn when Sir gave it to you all those years ago, and dive into the flames once it falls to the floor.

Arms wrapped around your form, a boa constrictor catching a rabbit, and you hissed as you were pulled deeper into the flames. The older woman is begging you to get out, to remember your breathing exercises, and to take care of yourself for once, but you just get pulled deeper and deeper. You're burning up, yet Wamuu is unharmed, and if you burn away to nothing you'll wake up in the void, cause Cannibal is fine. Maybe you should just stop your regeneration and burn away to cinders? It would be so easy. You wouldn't be at fault for that. Everything would be fine. It would be so easy.

"See? Barely anything is happening to you." His hands switch from your sides to your hands, holding them as if you two were bound to dance.

"..." For a moment, your regeneration slows, almost to prove him wrong, and chunks of your flesh are licked away by hot tongues of fire. You want to laugh, you're pretty sure had you not been in a fire you'd be sobbing, and you hate this so fucking much. Hate him. Hate all of them. Your claws extend. "...why the fuck aren't you burning?"

"Hmph, that was a fine story. There once was a hamon tribe member that coated himself in fire. He was a legendary warrior that single-handedly destroyed an entire legion of vampiric soldiers. Upon hearing this, I was ordered by Lord Kars to defeat him, and so had to grow and adapt to constant fires against my flesh if I had any hopes of standing a chance against this warrior, less he incinerated all we had worked for. Whips, burns, brands, flaming swords, and baths within pure flame scorched my flesh for days, weeks until I naturally grew resistant to heat of all kinds, my body evolving slowly to the exposure until I could stand in a fire with minimal damage. I even took Esidisi's boiling blood and soaked in it once or twice. Oh, how the skin practically slid off my body at times...the training nearly killed me, but it was worth every moment of pain. In a way it is to dance alongside the flames as they too dance in their nature. As Lord Kars had stated, 'Heat is but a wave, another natural effect within the known universe. You either live with it, adapt to its power, or die from it. There's no in-between, not yet, anyway.' After weeks of burns, I traveled to the Sahara to find this hamon warrior, walking through the burning deserts until I found a desolate town engulfed in a living inferno...there he was, above and beyond, burning with both fire and sparks of Hamon. The warrior and I fought within a burning tower for days on end. The flames barely touched us, but his hamon was a different kind. In the end he fell, and the fire left me with nothing but a week's worth of tanning and tender flesh. Fire is only a danger if you let it be. Otherwise...it's only a warmth."

"Cool...cool...that's great...real proud of you for doing that..." You tried to pull free with a snarl. Panic flooding your veins as you almost dig your claws into his wrists. Sharp fangs flashing as you start to struggle. "Now let me go! You proved your point...let me go...I don't want to be here anymore...you're not helping me...I'm sorry, okay? I can't do this!"

"...you're overreacting."

"Yeah, yeah...I am. Cool, thanks, I haven't heard that before! I was asking for it and I deserved it and I led him on and I'm overreacting!!! Hell yes, of course, of course, of course I am...you're a bastard, ya know that?" You give a harsh tug, this time generally ripping into his skin and tearing chunks of flesh free in the process. "I'm not doing this! Let fucking go of me or I transform right now!"

The very foundation of the hotel started to shake at the force of the storm.

"Santana's deal doesn't mean that I'm fucking up my mental health even more for your bullshit!" You snarl, hoping that he fucking lets go before Gabriel does something to destroy the building.

"How long has it been since someone hurt you with fire?" And with that, he releases your hands.

You don't answer, instinct forcing you to get out of the flames, Dio is laughing while Jonathan screams and you're downstairs but you can hear the bones breaking from the rooftop and it is too hot, you barely remember to grab the ribbon as you try to remember the route that leads back to Kars's room or that bathhouse Wamuu had first led you to, and the storm is raging and you can't breathe for one second and Jonathan is dying he's dying because you won't man up and go help him because you can't bring yourself to kill Dio even though Ajamu's been telling you to do it for years now and maybe you don't even love him as much as that part of you that just wants to prove Ajamu wrong and make sure that you're not the kind of god that kills children because you should be doing better and everything is falling apart around you and you just want to scream but you can't draw air anymore and your lungs are filled with ichor and maybe that's proof that...

You don't even leave the room. You've fallen to your knees as your vision sinks in and out of black as ichor drips from your lips. Where are you? Is it the manor with your saint screaming in pain? An old basement coated in gasoline? Or are you...? You don't know. You can't tell. Your arms wrap around yourself to best mimic a hug, and you're shaking. The fire is blazing and Jonathan is screaming and you can't do anything because he's already dead.

(Dearie, I need you to slow your breathing for me. You can't do deep breaths and that's fine, please, just slow your breathing.)

How are you supposed to do that?

(What can I do to help you, dearie?)

Ichor keeps pouring out of your lips, the fire's too loud, and this is...this is Wamuu's room. You're ruining his flooring. Why do you keep fucking up? A scream sounds and you wince when Dio breaks Jonathan's arms. Again and again. Speedwagon is screaming. You can't do anything.

(What are five things you can see right now?)

Your eyes dart, but you can't form the words. You've ruined your lungs.

"Well, that was certainly overdramatic."

He sits in the fire, remaining in it and crossing his legs as if to meditate within the flames. Becoming a darkened figure that barely resembles a human within the inferno. With mere emerald eyes staring back at you, one would imagine it to truly be a demon setting his gaze on you from hell itself.

The pillar men were truly something else altogether.

But you were too busy panicking like a little bitch to notice the essence of it, weren't you, N/n?

"...Lo siento, lo siento...lo siento..." You whined out with shaky breath earning a series of curses and complaints from the voices, and had you been aware you would've noted that your shadow was replaced by the outline of a winged figure.

(Dearie, ignore him. I need you to steady your breathing. He's only making things worse, and I'm certain that he has no idea what condition you have. Once you get your breathing under control, tell me what are five things you can see in the room right now, okay?)

"I can't...it's not working...I'm trying..."

"Who are you talking to?"

"I don't...I'm not...you're all being too loud...I can't focus..." You cough up more ichor, almost feeling dizzy, and you can't get your lungs to stop ripping because you can't breathe. The voices are screaming. "Too blurry...I can't see what's in the room to tell ya..."

"Then close your eyes."

"I don't know..." You try to copy his instructions, but with your vision gone, it makes everything worse, and you nearly throw up as your mind takes the darkness to show you flashback after flashback. "Bad...bad...bad...bad...I shouldn't do that...I really shouldn't..."

A heavy sigh would be heard from the warrior. It's evident at the aggressive release of air from his lungs that he's unimpressed, or even disappointed, by your tangent. He stands in the fire, unharmed by the inferno still, and flexes his body, the cracks and pulls of muscle and bone overwriting the flashbacks within your mind and the crackles of the hearth, and like the wind itself he releases his body in a swift movement. Like a machine shifting into gear, his body moves into a swift and seamless display of power, translucent shades of himself lagging behind him for every movement he had, like specters of air copying him, yet delayed.

Those similar bone-like tubes you had witnessed in his fight with Caesar emerged, and accompanying his body's unnatural flex, they howl a white noise like ventilation shafts within a building, whistling gently to the atmosphere. And in a response, the air of the room is whipped and blown into a different shape. Gusts of wind and jets of air blew and flew through the room with the flex of Wamuu's body, extinguishing the fires in one swift movement, darkening the setting considerably with the only light being the dim lanterns, safe in their little glass boxes.

The air hits you, first warmth, then the usual 'room temperature' people say so much. And the sounds of wind and ventilation die down and are replaced by...

…ringing?

Yes, a soft, low-pitched ring of metal, like the aftershock of a bell or going through the atmosphere. And accompanied by the gentle applause of wind chimes.

Slowly, a plethora; a symphony of gentle vibrations and chimes overtake you and your senses. The fire is gone, and the sounds of the wind only remain.

You flinch, lowering your head, but with the fire dead and gone, you can only focus on the ringing. The chime. There hadn't been anything like that on the night the manor burned. You stopped hugging yourself, moving one hand so you could stare at the old, faded ribbon. Ichor ran down your jaw in thin gold lines and you're aware of a storm raging outside, a fury deep in your connection to the void, but you don't have words. This...this doesn't feel real.

"I remember how much your senses appealed to metallic ringing from within the chambers you found us. While it isn't as extreme as Jojo's clacker weapon, I figured the wind chimes, bells, and other metallic objects being brushed by my winds would mimic similar sounds."

You want to ask him why he'd do that for you in the first place, but between the chimes and storm, you're left lingering in the noise for a moment longer. You can hear the boarded-up windows be smashed through, earning growls and snarls as the rain continues on.

"...thank you." Is what you manage to get out once your throat heals, and you have to swallow the urge to double down because you're certain he's going to either take advantage of this knowledge or tell the others. Why else would he ignore your pleading in the first place to get you in the fire? Did he assume you'd be that desperate for anything less? You swayed a little. You weren't confident enough to stand just yet, and you couldn't bring yourself to look away from the ribbon. Use whatever you had as a grounding point. You knew that. A choir starts to sound, and you know Wamuu can hear it, but you can't bring yourself to tell Gabriel to stop. At least he's not fully here...yet.

"You were human once before. This is enough to confirm my findings."

This time the storm smashes into the building hard enough for everything to shake, and there is only rage in the connection, but you just rise to your feet, shaking, yet able to stand. You could be mad. Hell, you could be furious or bloodthirsty, or fifty other words for murder that could all be handy, but you're tired. The fire had depleted your ichor on minor levels, and you were already starting to freeze again, this constant freeze and thaw cycle making you woozy and frustrated in every way imaginable. Let Gabriel be angry. You're past that.

"Glad I could confirm your hypothesis." You give a laugh, because this whole thing is a sick fucking joke, so you might as well accept it. "You planned it out from the beginning, right? He was freaked out by the fireplace in Kars's room, so let's throw him in a big ass fire to fully test it out. Worked well. If it hadn't bothered me, would one of you have used my past assault as a way to test this out? Cause I'm really tired of people playing on that, and I'm hoping the answer's no."

"Most gods wouldn't care for fire in any way, shape or form, less it was divine in and of itself...you treated it as if you had been burned just as horribly. Something humans and animals have, a fatigue and scar they carry from years of battle or harm. Gods don't have that...unless, of course, they were once mortal. That was the test. I apologize for any stress that had occurred, and you have my word that the fires will not be so deranged next time around."

"...I hope you're not mad when I say that I don't believe you, and I don't have a fucking reason to believe you when you forced me into that fire, but...thank you for the apology. And at least having an explanation is better than most people." You swallow, feeling numb and cold, but stable enough to really regret most of the shit that's been your current immortal life. "Sorry for clawing ya again...and sorry for staining your floors...do you think I go back to whatever room I was in? I think I'm gonna pass out and I know I'm gonna wake up drowning, so I might as well start off somewhere comfortable."

"You're cleaning my floors first."

"I don't think this is my fault...But, yeah, just tell me where the cleaning..."

The choir seems to rise in volume, the world spins, and true to your word, you're gone before you even hit the ground.

And I courted violence like an old friend. Bloody knuckles were the cost of a kiss.

It made me invincible.

So, yeah, I brought my fists and a baseball bat to a gunfight.

The god's form is limp in his grasp, cold enough to read as little more than a corpse, when Wamuu stopped. Head instinctively lowered into a bow as Lord Kars approached. A sudden flicker of light the only tell before the immortal was ripped from his hold, and he watched how Kars examined him before cradling him. His Lord looked back to him, face impassive, and finally, after a moment of silence, he spoke.

"Wamuu, you know I trust in you completely. You are the strongest amongst us, the fastest, and most strong-willed of us all to endure the pains of all and above. But I must ask you in all honesty...what happened?"

"Forgive me for my error, Lord Kars. But I attempted to try an experiment with M/n, and my own little 'hypothesis' was proven."

"An experiment? Amusing, I'll let this singular incident slide, but I trust you'll inform me of any future endeavors or experimentation in the future. You're forgiven, but please; do fill me in on your discovery. I'm most intrigued." Kars drawls out, amusement drowning out any anger or worry that may have been present in the first moments of this encounter. Wamuu regards him, once more dipping his head into a respectful nod before continuing.

"I noticed beforehand that the god, really named 'M/n', was fearful of fire, and huddled in the corner more akin to a frightened child or bystander."

"Fearful? Something a divine person directed by metaphysical omnipotence has no reason to fear such things...unless..."

"Exactly! Unless they were once human. M/n had ascended from being a human once before. Possibly sometime after this holy war against a past deity."

"You've got it all laid out before you and neatly lined like a spider's web, don't you, Wamuu?" Now Kars looked pleased. His gaze darted down to the god in his hold, adjusting his head so his face was pressed against the bare skin of his chest.

"I do. But it was at a cost...my experiment had me putting my physical form at risk while using his newly discovered fears to trigger something truly 'human'; throwing myself into the flames and having him run in after me to prove further. The reaction intended was, as you would put; a chemical reaction. Explosive, dramatic. Two smaller elements creating an unstable and destructive reaction."

"Let me guess; he broke down similar to how he did when we first met him? …Like a human dealing with far too much stress and misery, a long-term fatigue and shock that refuses to leave one's mind."

"You're correct, Lord Kars. M/n broke down and fainted shortly after the fires were gone. Just like a human would."

"Once a human; always a human. Even ascendants and transcendents in the past that we've encountered have always maintained their dramatic and...'weaker' aspects from mortal life." Some of his glee, rather than his raw passion, vanished as Kars looked back down to the god he held. Wamuu frowned, watching how his Lord didn't even attempt to ask more questions or demand the exact details of the god's reactions.

"You look...worried, Lord Kars."

"Truth is, I am. If, hypothetically speaking, there was a god before him, and based on these findings we've come to a conclusion, we predict a pattern of a whole history of omnipotent gods in the past being replaced by a mortal taking their throne...how much longer will it be until one replaces our god here? Until he is murdered in a game of regicide and his throne ripped free from his domain...?"

"...You're twitching, Lord Kars..."

"I'm very, very aware..."

Why can't you remember anything about the last road trip you took? You couldn't say when it was. Maybe in the gang? Maybe with Carlos that week in May? Maybe with your mother? You couldn't place it. You're looking out the window, but not registering a fucking thing. Just trying to pass some time the way one does on a boring car ride. Everything manages to go by, both faster and slower in a car.

Honestly, that's the sad part of this thing. Jacob had talked on and on about the landscape here. Clearly he loves it. He told you three weeks ago that he misses the countryside whenever he's away. 'Primarily the field and sunset,' he said. You wanted to laugh when he first said it, because you grew up in the thickets and woods of Texas and he had wide, open fields that left you feeling too open. You liked farmlands, but you couldn't live without the shade and trees. You just try to take it all in.

You get interested when you spot a deserted-looking house, only the worn foundation left in place of an actual home. Jacob smiles when you ask about it, saying that it burned down years ago. There's an old barn behind the building and you catch sight of a swing set in the front yard.

Not worn from the weather, rusty, or broken.

"Hey, what's up with that? Someone trying to move in? Seems like a weird place to start building at." You ask.

"What...?"

"That burned out farm. You said that no one lived there, but the swing set's brand new."

"Let me know if you get cold. Are you cold?"

"I'm good." You grumble, focusing back on the passing countryside with a frustrated feeling coiling in your stomach. He never listened. Boring, boring, boring.

The window of the car is icy against your face. You shift so your cheek can fully press against it with a sigh. The engine roars and rumbles, the vibrations dancing through your frame, each bump on the road rocking your frame. A strange sort of music to mix in with the howling of the radio.

You don't tell him you're thinking about that guy who called you weeks ago. You don't want to think about him or that voicemail he left on your phone. Not tonight. You also didn't want to tell Jacob that you're avoiding looking at your reflection. You put on makeup blind this morning, with Carlos helping, and somehow it seemed to please him. Yet another no mirrors day. Just like the day you met Jacob at Moon-Rise. Still, these are the thoughts you choose to keep to yourself.

It had been calmer when Jacob first came into Moon-Rise. Not black out drunks and instead replaced by a monthly trivia night. That was the night you first met him. Perhaps if life had been different, you'd say that this wasn't the kind of place you'd frequent, but you work here and know the place by heart.

You weren't expecting to meet anyone that night. Hell, you rarely assumed that you'd meet anyone while working. You were leaning back against the seat, listening to Calos talk with his girlfriend in Spanish, leaving you to pick up a few loose words but lose the meaning. They have cheap beer tonight; it tastes dusty on tap. Carlos loves trivia when he knows the subject. You tolerate it at best. A free pitcher rests in the center of the table, and you're not drunk enough tonight. You don't want to get drunk. Or maybe you do. You don't even know most days.

Carlos likes to play this game where on nights like this, slow work but you need the money, he makes you relax and take it easy. 'Show a smile, cuz. Rest your legs on the stool across from you. They'll come to you,' he says with a laugh. You sometimes wonder if maybe he's hoping that you'll meet the right guy, but he knows you'll never go for it if he says it out loud. Jacob entered the place with some old friends. You never said a word to any of them.

Trivia was never something you liked. It isn't like trivia can't be fun...just not your thing. You're focused on running the flat of your palm over the cold underside of your table. You wish you were somewhere less intense, less loud, but you wouldn't trade Carlos' presence for the world. Today is a bad day.

Still, on a busy day, the beer doesn't taste dusty.

"See that guy?" Carlos whispers, once the phone call is done, and he's said every version of praise to his girlfriend, and you nod when you look towards Jacob. "That one's got money."

"And you're telling me?" Voice cold, hand pressed firmly against the table's underside. "You never pass up a good mark."

"I'm not the one he keeps checking out." He nudges your thigh with his own, you bask in the touch. "Told you this new costume's good. Sex on legs, cuz, sex on legs."

You always thought sheer black lingerie and harsh black leather mixed punk and slut too much, but you nod at the compliment, anyway.

"You usually like when I give you a mark. Bad day?"

"The worst." You chug the rest of the beer down, dusty on your tongue, and Carlos frowns. He notes what you've been doing with your hand and grabs it. Normally you'd break someone's wrist, but you let him hold your hand. Far more grounding than the underside of the table.

"I could try and get him going. I'll give you any money I get." That offer makes your chest hurt. Carlos doesn't need to do that. Hell, he doesn't need to offer you fifty percent of the cut, let alone all of it. You swallow down the nerves with another pint of dusty beer. You go for another and he catches your hand and makes you grab from the pitcher of water instead. "Don't want you catching on fire when you go for a smoke."

"Please, I haven't even hit the vodka yet." You tease, no real joy in your voice, and he looks worried. "Need the confidence boost."

"Oh please, getting drunk won't make you any better. You're great at getting a guy." You manage a smile as you take a slow sip of the water. Ice cold.

"Course I am. I'm unvincible, one hundred and fifty-three days," you coo, tilting the glass so the ice cubes dance. "Besides, beer won't get me drunk. I'm too used to vodka."

"You need to stop falling back on that."

"The vodka or the days of my life spent in solitary?"

"Both." You snort. Tapping a nail against the table. "Do you think you're up to this, Ouro?"

"Eh, probably not." You shrug, pressing your cheek to his for only a second. "I'll do the signal if it gets bad."

You wake slowly.

Vaguely aware of being almost swaddled in blankets, warmth, and a hand brushing over your cheek. For a moment, you couldn't even fathom who was comforting you. For once, you hadn't really dreamed in full. More or less flashes of volcanic rock being shot into the very heavens, angels, for once, not your own, screaming in rage and pain. Claws twitched as you tried to figure out where you were. The last thing you remember...well, the last thing you remember is...

You shoot up, or try to. The way you've been wrapped in blankets makes it so you almost instantly fall back down with a confused hiss. The hand brushing against your cheek becomes more firm, yet never too forceful, and you have a feeling that you're trapped in a spider's web.

"Hello, dear. You're finally awake, I've been waiting," Kars purrs, and you realize you're on top of him because you can feel the vibration run through your entire frame. There's a sharp pang of relief at the fact that you can't see or sense Wamuu physically in the room with you. But you can still hear the storm outside, even if it is far quieter now, and you know your angel won't forgive or forget what happened. You're unsure on how to even act right now. Still tired, physical exhaustion never existing in the first place, yet mental exhaustion pulls whatever fear exists down in the depths. You don't have it in you to fight right now. Somewhere Ajamu scoffs at the notion. If you were anything, it would be stubborn, right?

"Hey," you mumble out. Trying to decide how best to escape the blankets you're wrapped in. Especially given what happens when your ichor thaws, but you can't bring yourself to move. "How'd I get here...? I was supposed to be cleaning Wamuu's floors...right?"

You can vaguely remember him saying something about that. Even more foggy is you remembering looking around for something...but then you forget the impact. Had you cleaned and then passed out? Or had you just collapsed?

"Hush, it doesn't matter now. How are you feeling?"

"Like some asshole decided to use my trauma to test some theory out rather than just ask me." Your usual hiss is muted, weaker than normal, and you remember going through a car's windshield on a rainy summer night. Some things are just ingrained, it seems. "Is that why I'm not in some dark dungeon getting tortured? Because psychological warfare is fun to watch by comparison? First Esidisi fucking violating me, and now this...you know, I'm really not a fan of this trend you've got going on."

"Oh, darling...your pain stops here and now. Never mind those two insolent fools. Their time will come when they are punished."

"Tch, yeah right. Like you're gonna turn on those two. Ya don't need to lie to save face. Or if you're gonna try that, do something believable, like how you don't interrogate Wamuu whenever he speaks to me to get some idea of who I am. Or that you don't seem to have a stock of my ichor lying around that you mix in with your wine." You almost want to slap a hand over your mouth. Exhaustion and apathy make you far too honest and uncaring compared to your usual tone, but you don't have the energy to stop. Not like he could kill you right now. Not like you could feel pain. "I'll be the first to admit I'm not the best at reading how people feel when it comes to me personally, but I'm not oblivious to what happens around me."

"Have some faith in your wife. Why don't you, dear?"

"...listen, I'm not interested in this sham marriage, but I think you got the term wrong. Husband is the name you're looking for." You try to ignore how frustrated you are, this constant sidestepping of your original question or topic is bullshit and he needs to stop before you actually do something about it, yet...you really can't even bring yourself to be flustered or pissed. You hit a high, bad one but a high nonetheless, and now you're just in the apathy before you start feeling like a person again. "Now, you gonna try arguing against the fact that you've got my blood stashed somewhere or that you're using Wamuu to gather data? Cause I'd rather we stop this weird act and just talk for once."

"Fine; what do you want to talk about?"

"...what the hell is your end goal? You keep chattering on and on about us being married, you wanting to become my hierophant, and all that...yet that can't be everything, right? I mean, why the hell would you want to play that song and dance with me? Besides, you want us to be some married couple, and let's pretend I actually believe that for a second, but we don't know anything about each other."

"If we know not about each other, then why don't we talk about ourselves? You go first..."

"The hell do you want me to say?" You snap out, flashing your fangs, before you remember you were the one who suggested this idea. Even if he was ignoring the first part of your whole discussion, when did he not ignore what was inconvenient for him? "Okay, okay, are we doing like twenty questions or just...ugh, just ask me something if you want to know something? I don't know what to say."

"Do you like animals?"

"...?" You can't help but laugh at that. "Like animals? I'm part snake, Lord of Serpents, and I live on a fucking farm. What part of that implies that I hate animals? Nah, I love 'em. Why start with that question? Seems like a weird first pick."

"Intriguing. What animals and plants do you have? I've yet to study what agricultural advancements humans have adopted in the past thousand years."

"I don't think my standards are...normal by any means. I just sorta get whatever I can find. Snakes from everywhere in the world, chickens, salmon sharks, peacocks...I grow a lot of flowering plants in the summer. I mean, when you can create whatever animal or plant you want, it doesn't really...it makes it easy to lose track, ya know? Besides, it ain't like I'm doing much else...well, till I got called in cause you all woke up and started causing problems."

"Hm, sorry about that. Now...a salmon shark?"

"Think like a great white but smaller, semi-freshwater, mostly docile. Grabbed some from some guy claiming they were 'pigmy great whites', and now I've got a thriving population. They take to rivers and lakes quickly." You swallow, feeling homesick, but push it back down. "Get along decently with gators. Makes finding people to take care of my land horrid though. Most don't want to think about half the animals I've got there. Not like Gabriel's willing to do it. Or, well, he probably would be if I wasn't here right now."

"I MUST have one..."

"Cool, go steal one from a scammer like I did." You huff, yet there's a part of you that finds his interest...never mind. "Honestly, just exists in Europe for a while. Scammers will sell literally anything they find in some foreign country so rich people can have an 'exotic' pet. Or find a way to cross countries in a matter of seconds. Then you can just grab whatever you want."

For a moment, you allow silence to linger, and then you willingly break it.

"Can we stop avoiding the elephant in the room now? Wamuu told you I used to be a human, right?"

"Oh, most definitely."

"Yeah, I figured. Can you just ask about that now? I'd rather get it over with then wait for you to just randomly spring it on me."

"Will you tell me more of your farm afterwards?"

That gave you pause for a moment, shifting to the best of your current abilities. "I guess. Why do you want to know about my farm, anyway? Didn't take you for the farming type."

"I enjoy animals...after all...I did save your dog, Tundra."

"My dog...? You saved my...what the hell? Why did he even need saving in the-No, no, never mind. I don't think I want to know the answer to that question." You swallow awkwardly. "Just...get the whole being human questions out of the way. I just want to get that over with."

"So, what was it that caused your ascension? Divine regicide, perhaps?"

"The god before me was...evil. Plain and simple. I wanted..." You go silent for a moment, trying to find an honest answer that would sugarcoat it before you stop caring and just go for it. "I wanted to kill myself. So, I decided to kill two birds with one stone. No one told me I'd be stuck afterwards...and now here I am."

"One thing cannot and will not be gained without giving something in return...but it appears you conducted the wrong transaction. Trading the death of a God and your life...for a throne atop heaven."

"...yeah, well, maybe I'll be lucky and someone else will come along and take my throne." You gave a dismissive huff. "I shouldn't be here that long. Once that happens, I can go back to hell or whatever nothingness awaits dead gods and everything else will figure itself out without my input."

"I'd prefer avoiding that..."

"Really? Shouldn't a guy like you be all for killing me and taking that lofty seat up in heaven?"

"Oh, please...I'd prefer If you were the lofty seat up in heaven~" Kars purrs, to the point where your frame shakes from the vibration alone, and you freeze at his words. A thousand smothered emotions dance through your head, but you swallow them back down.

"Great...we're back with you saying weird shit." You groan out, trying to ignore the fact that he's still holding you. "Can we just continue you asking questions? I liked that a whole lot more than whatever...this is."

"Of course, my love. Now, tell me, were you in a holy war? A crusade, as history calls it? Or was it some personal vendetta against your god? Many mortals had more than enough bones to pick with the divine, after all."

"A bunch of people heard I was an undefeated monster, as they put it, and asked me to help. I heard about what he was doing and decided that if I was going to be such a coward and couldn't just man up and kill myself...well, I'd find something helpful to do. One good thing in a sea of shitty mistakes...and I think the rest is pretty obvious."

"Fascinating...but what about before?"

"Before...? Well, I had a shit dad, great mom, got rap-I mean, traumatized so badly that I gained my familiar...ran away from home, joined a gang...worked in a church for a little bit...became a sex worker for even longer. Mom was...she died. Didn't take it well. Got hospitalized for a while. Went back to work as a sex worker...met some assholes and killed god. That's really all the important bits."

"If I were Wamuu, I'd pry on that first part you interrupted yourself on, but I'm not, so I'll ask about it when you're...better."

"You ain't gonna know me long enough to ask later on." You dismiss it easily enough. Not like you're gonna get better in seven days and he'll be gone after that. "Anything else you want to ask me?"

"...sex life?"

"I mean, I just said I was a sex worker. I fucked just about any guy that came my way if they had money. Spent a night with plenty who didn't have a dime to their name. I was a slut...I don't play as fast and risky these days, but I've been told I'm still pretty active by human standards. What's that got to do with anything?"

"...Oh, nothing particularly important just yet...did you always engage in sexual intercourse with primarily humans or were there any other beings?"

"My familiar, a few other familiars, these lizard men the god before me created. I never met a bunch of sapient monsters or things like that, but I got around when I did. Course, now I've been with a vampire and Santana, so..."

"You've reached the peak of mere mortal experiences, haven't you?"

"If you define the peak of mortal experiences as just having a bunch of sex." You reply, disdain inching into your tone at how he...well, you couldn't really judge. You were a god that chose to be a farmer. "I guess I've hit a few good points."

"You even met the lizard men. They're a reluctant lot but know the ways in the matter of sex. And even in your immortal years, you've managed to start up a farm that's rather successful even...what plot of land do you call your farm?"

"Reluctant? You talking about the same group? From what I remember...well, they weren't exactly shy about a lot of things. Anyway, the land I own is called Wind-Knight's Lot. Why? Did you pass through there at some point or another? Cause I bet a guy like Wamuu would've loved that place when it was in full swing."

"They're reluctant to humanity...reclusive to their underground territories and only traveling out for their objectives or for certain matters more 'delectable'. You must have had a very powerful libido...a long, aching willpower...a throbbing, pulsating power...a real girthy endurance...a stamina capable of taking such insane heat...a massive pair of-Oh, never mind. Wind-Knight's Lot you say? We've never heard of it in our travels."

"...Oh yeah, you've been asleep for a long time. It must've passed you all by." Forcing yourself to ignore what he had said previously, you managed a lazy shrug of your shoulders. "Basically, I own an entire keep, wrapped in mountain regions with a large gorge and river running through it, and a few hundred years ago, they carved out the mountains to serve as the training ground for knights. Then it became an entire town. A massacre happened, and I bought it all in the aftermath. Nothing too crazy, but a neat piece of history, to say the least."

"Funny, when you're an immortal like ourselves, then technically you become a part of history. Owning a piece of it is just a part of the process, is it not?"

"I suppose." Still, there was a part of you that couldn't help but scoff, and without thinking, your form shifted into your god form. The skull rested on your shoulder, lightly bobbing at your movements as you slowly settled again. "But I mean, just existing doesn't make you a part of history, does it? Not like you see this form in any paintings or archives, am I right? Not like I'm well known or publicly worshiped."

"It breaks my heart knowing only that...whelp by the name of Jojo is your only loyal, faithful servant."

"Hey, that wasn't me asking for pity. Just pointing out that being old doesn't make you a key part of history. I mean, I'm a lot older than you, yet you never heard of me till now, right? And can you stop complaining about Joseph? I chose him. That's the end of the story. Sides, he's not my only servant. I have my angel and he's more than capable of anything I could need." With a growl, you adjusted again, finally making the skull vanish entirely as it kept getting in the way, before settling back flat. "I don't need anyone else."

"Not even your familiar?"

"Though his role in the whole thing was obvious. Sides, he already picked who he liked. I think if I wasn't busy, he'd have forced me to marry my angel the moment we started talking with each other. He's the only person besides me that Narcissistic Cannibal really likes."

"Unfortunate."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not marrying anyone. I don't want to be married..." You frowned, considering your options before scoffing and shaking your head. "Only person I ever considered marrying is dead and gone...so it really doesn't matter anymore."

"And who would that be?"

"...I just said he's dead and gone, so it doesn't matter." You hiss, flashing your fangs at the question. "It doesn't matter anymore. I don't have that long, anyway."

"Matters to me in the short time, dear."

"...whatever you say." For a moment, you linger in your thoughts that today still wasn't over and you had six more days to go. Ultimately, you decide you may as well rip off the bandage sooner rather than later. "Say, you're really planning on asking me about that word I interrupted myself on earlier or was that something you don't plan on following through?"

"Well, now that you mentioned it..."

"I was attacked and raped when I was fourteen and that led to my familiar forming. That's why it represents a mixture of sex and violence. I'd rather just say it now than wait and have you spring it on me. That's why I asked you again." You don't cringe or flinch when you admit it, signs that you're still too tired, and part of you hates admitting the weakness in the first place...but, well, you won't speak with him after this is over...might as well just get him to stop asking questions. Kars goes silent, looking absolutely sickened.

"...why? …why would any mortal do such a thing to you? …why would one violate you in such a manner beyond total moral and sexual boundaries? It's a disgusting thing that has happened to you...A vile, evil, undeserving act brought upon you that no one...no one deserves. Even humans with all their flaws and evils deserve nothing of the sort! I am...sickened. You...beautiful in every way imaginable deserves nothing of the sort in terms of a physical violation...a nature that is meant to be beautiful, forced and ripped away like a vaporous toxin wilting away anything beautiful...It is no wonder you're as broken as you are...you never deserved any of it from day one. I am...sorry that it became like that."

You can't help but watch how his face goes through a series of angry expressions, yet...you can't quite understand his reaction. He looked upset. He sounded upset. You swallowed, form changing back, and you felt more than a little nauseous at his behavior. He was...why the hell was he upset? You understood Dio; you understood Joseph, and you hadn't openly told anyone else as a god, but...here he was...looking as sick as you felt about the whole ordeal.

"Is this...is this a joke? Or are you being a hypocrite on purpose?" You ask after a moment, feeling more than a little panicked despite the mental exhaustion weighing you down. What the hell was the purpose behind this joke? Did he find it funny?

"...a hypocrite?" Kars asks after a moment, looking confused and sick, but it just doesn't add up. You nearly move to stand before remembering how you're wrapped in blankets. He's beneath you, and how you can't just easily get off him without a slight struggle. Or by asking for help from Gabriel. You aren't quite ready to do either. "My dear....what do you mean by that?"

"What do I mean by that...? I mean that you...No, I mean that all three of you have been doing shit to me since we first met! You forced that fucking ring in me, grind up on me, force a fucking kiss on me, and...and you keep acting like this isn't some one-sided thing and that I agreed to some messy shotgun wedding when we first met when I didn't! I have a fucking panic attack because of you and you just...you just fucking leave the room because you don't want to acknowledge that I'm not...I don't even get why you're doing this! You've been acting strange since I first met you and I didn't do anything to deserve this shit other than being immortal, and I just want to know why because I don't get it...if you're just looking for a chance to kill me then just get it over with, and if you're just trying to manipulate me to make me turn, then just say that so we fucking stop this game." You hissed, body shaking, and you were feeling terrified. "Do you know what you've done to me? Since this ring got put in my chest, I've been stuck dreaming about you and it's all getting blurry. At least at first it made sense. You were killing me, or getting Santana to betray me, or making Wamuu and Esidisi kill me...but that made sense. We're enemies and I knew that there was always a chance that you'd...but then it was us as...there was no reason for those dreams...I thought it was just due to how you talked, the weird game you were playing, but I barely knew you at that point. Then they started to blend. Do you know how fucking confusing it is when one moment someone's treating you like a lover...like we've been sharing a bed for years...and then they start to brutalize you...and you can't tell where this fake relationship ends and the gore begins...I don't know you. I know a few things Santana said. I know whatever I've seen, but I can't tell what's real or fake anymore..."

You take a shaky breath, but that's it, you don't give Kars a chance to stop you.

"I know you smell of death, cause I wear the same scent. It drowns out everything...and you cause entire massacres to get what you want...yet here I was, having these dreams...why the hell was it all so mixed up? Why is it still mixed up? I've hated people before. I've hated people that I never even spoke with, that I didn't know the names of, and yet...you...I'm stuck. I wouldn't be having this problem if those damned dreams weren't stuck in my fucking head. I keep hearing your voice, you keep acting like this, and I can't get it out of my mind...I hate this. I hate the fucking hallucinations, the dreams, and all this shit because I can't even form my own fucking opinion on you anymore. If you'd just answer my questions, or if you stopped ignoring anything that made you uncomfortable I could maybe formulate an opinion, but then you just start...you go off on some weird tangent or guilt trip me into eating or some shit...what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? There's this part of me that wants to...I feel safe at times...and that's a lie. I've never felt safe with anybody since I was...since my familiar formed...I'm meant to be alone. I can't feel that...I don't feel safe...I've never felt that...I don't know what safety is anymore. It doesn't matter where I am, or who I'm with, I just..."

You think you hear it raining again.

"The only time these fucking dreams left, and I felt normal...it was all a fucking lie. It was just that bastard Esidisi using me as a...as some food source! I shouldn't even complain because I can't feel pain or that it actually made me feel better till I knew what was happening. It wasn't...I...that whole thing...when I was stuck waiting for him to actually fully regenerate and leave my body...I wasn't even trying to kill him...I know that's what Wamuu thought, but I...a part of me was just glad that I hadn't broken my promise to Santana, that all of you were alive, but that whole thing...it was hell. I'm not even exaggerating...when I died, before I came back as a god, I went to...I know what hell is...and it should've hurt. I should've been in pain, but I can't feel pain. All I could feel was the withdrawal symptoms, and it was terrible. But...I couldn't help but think...I should be grateful....it wasn't something sexual, he wasn't...I shouldn't feel violated, right? I...it wasn't a sex thing. He had no interest...besides, I'm the God of Lust...aphrodisiacs have run through my blood since my familiar formed....I've always had the symptoms...I've always been a slut...so, why the hell would it matter? But when...when Wamuu prevented me from...I found myself thinking...I'd rather be raped again...hell, I'd rather be raped a thousand times over when I could still feel pain because I could handle that, I handled the first time, and it would be better than that twisted feeling...the panic...the hallucinations...but then...it was over. It was over, and I was trapped."

You shudder. Vaguely aware that something wet is running down your cheeks. You give a frustrated snarl and swipe a hand to get rid of the tears, but your scales just tear the skin and now there's ichor intermingling, but you can't stop now. Keep talking or else you'll never work up the courage to say anything.

"Then Wamuu…he knew the moment I was staying for dinner...the moment you made sure I couldn't leave...he knew I was having an episode, knew why my angel showed up in the first place, and then...and then...he knew. He was sure even before that episode...he knew because of how I reacted to Esidisi's rebirth that...that I was likely a human...that I wasn't in the right state...yet he still brought me to that room. That fucking fire...how the hell did he...no, no, he knew that I was...he...I hate fire...I hate fire so much...it always goes bad...everything burns...and the smell of gasoline...and then in hell it was so hot...it I wasn't cold blooded I'd stay as far away as possible...and I always hear them screaming...it never gets...I confirmed I was human...didn't I? He asked and, yeah, I told him not to tell you, but...he knew..." You swallow, feeling lightheaded, and you don't want to pass out again...but you can't bring yourself to stop. "He knew...and then after I got out of the fire...he fucking said I was overreacting! What the hell does he know? Where does he get that authority anyway?! How fucking dare he! Do you know how many times I've heard that...? You're overreacting, you led him on, he's a nice guy and you're going to ruin his life, and you're too young to actually have...I've heard it all...I'm so fucking tired of people like that."

You swear you hear Kars make an almost animalistic growl beneath you.

"This is my fault...I should've played this better. I was going to play this better. I had this idea when we first met, cause I promised Santana that I'd get you three away from Joseph and the others, maybe even one-on-one, and I'd talk...it would work then. I convinced Santana, so, how hard could it be? I was planning on...just talking...I promised to get Santana the red stone, or whatever would help him ascend, and I managed...what was making that promise three more times so no one got hurt? Then...then Mark ran ahead, and I panicked, and suddenly Wamuu knew what I was...not even Santana guessed right at first, so I...and Joseph was planning on fighting him, so I changed the plan...I was just going to...if I could be cold and act like the god before me...maybe then I could...maybe then I could separate you all and still talk, just...I'd have to rely more on force, but I could make it work. Then I transformed cause I...I thought I...I was stopping the wind by just using my full abilities...and then...I blacked out....and then Joseph was...and then...I should've...I wanted to...but I was...I had...Joseph was...if I had just followed my plan then it would be fine. I mean, Lisa Lisa would've argued, but I could've just stolen the stone like I did for Santana...and I'm not going to leave. I swore I'd stay, and I won't break that promise, even if Joseph had no fucking right selling me like I'm back to being some whore, but I...I'm sorry, I should've just been better...I could've handled this all if I had just-"

You let out a confused whimper when Kars pulls you to be perfectly flat against his chest, arms wrapping around you, and you start to sob fully as he adjusts his hold. For a moment he remains silent, but the sound he makes is wretched, and his face is wet when it presses into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

"I hate that I don't hate you." You get out, and he tenses, but you swallow back a sob to get it off your chest. "I hate I can't bring myself to hate you. You're an utter bastard, ya know that, right?"

Kars actually laughs, a wet, almost broken laugh, but he laughs. Maybe you'd consider that a win, but for now you just feel even worse. He mumbles something in a language you've heard Santana speak in a few times, but you don't understand a lick of it.

"Good thing you already found out I used to be human...otherwise, I'd be the most pathetic god you'd ever seen." You realize given the sound he makes that he's...actually crying, and some part of you has the sickening feeling that Kars isn't lying about his feelings, but you can't bring yourself to say anything else right now. So you're left waiting for him to say something you can actually understand as you try to steady out your own sobs.

Notes:

Remember to leave a comment, hope you enjoyed.
Translations:
Cogito, ergo sum = I think, therefore I am
Volo, ergo sum =I desire, therefore I am/I wish, therefore I am/I want, therefore I am
Lo siento, lo siento...lo siento… = I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I'm sorry...

Chapter 17: The hand you want to hold is a weapon.

Summary:

And I can't breathe.

Notes:

Anyway, have fun, enjoy the Gabriel drawing.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

I ran through the crowded streets, coming to a stop at the end of a bridge.

"Join us," the snakes call from below the waters. "Join us and abandon the humans above. They will never show you true love."

"I can't. You will live forever in the same way, and I have no longing to live."

They shed tears and dove beneath the blue. You never see them again, but your words were true.

In the end, that's all you can do.

You don't remember much after talking with Kars. Honestly, you don't even find it surprising that you drifted off after sobbing. PTSD was a bitch, and you had learned that mental exhaustion, even as a god, was something that could only be cured by resting. See? Your poor crisis counselor would be happy that you at least remembered that. Once more, your dreams were blurry and undefined, flickers of heat and the screaming of the choir, but you could barely remember the details. Still, a part of you felt bad that you seemed to have prevented Kars from eating dinner, and possibly lunch. The voices are muffled. You can faintly hear platters being brought down the halls and towards the room. Meaning that you actually slept the entire night and were waking up semi on time. Good. Adjusting, you realized Kars hadn't moved much since he first drew you in, only sitting up while you remained on top of him, and there was a part of you that was almost unwilling to move.

Oh well.

"Morning," you mumble out as you actually get off him and into a sitting position without too much fuss. Shaking out your hair, internally cringing at the small tangles and messy curls that had formed, you examined the other. "Seems like I woke up right on time. How...how long have you been up?"

"About 24 hours." Kars says easily enough, but he gives it some consideration. "Give or take."

"Pretty sure you need more sleep than I do." You hiss out, trying to ignore how weird that statement seems given how you slept last night. "Maybe you should try getting some shuteye. I mean, I'm not sure how long you can go without crashing, but I don't think we should test it."

"Oh, don't fret. I've lasted weeks without the need to rest. The immortal form, along with the delicacies the stone mask brings, has lifted countless biological limitations. Though there are still barriers...many, many barriers."

"Yeah, and I've gone ten whole years without eating and sleeping to tend to my holy lands. Doesn't mean I should do that all the time, right?"

"Well, actually..."

"I don't do that all the time, if that's what you're implying. I tend not to eat that much compared to the surrounding people, but I have an appetite. I just don't need to eat. Besides, no one could blame me for taking that much time to work. When I first gained Wind-Knight's Lot, it was in dire need of a redo. The farm lands were poorly maintained, bodies everywhere, a zombie infestation, and just so many abandoned houses. I had to dig out so many irrigation routes, dear god. You'd think those people had never even heard of the practice. Of course, they were farming in massive routinely overused patches of soil, which was why their current issue of crops had been failing when I arrived. Can't believe they didn't know that you had to do a semi-annual crop rotation to make sure the land had time to heal from such repeated activities. Though I guess Wind-Knight's Lot was never meant to be a self-sustaining town till I claimed it. Merely some military outposts that were supposed to receive heavy trafficking and trade during both war and peace times."

…his eyes, for just a moment, had been shrouded in darkness. The atmosphere shifted to a deeper and darker tone as he appeared to be heavily shaded in response to your words.

…but when you finished, he returned to normal.

"...you good?" You asked, watching the door open and a barrage of platters be brought in, once more signifying the start of breakfast. "Huh, I completely forgot they were coming."

You examined the many platters before looking back to the pillar man.

"I ate yesterday morning. Do I have to eat anything today or am I good?"

"It's fine. I won't force you to eat anything today." You give a nod at that, considering the question for a moment, before looking back at the many platters. They look...you have an appetite. It might be a good idea to just play along.

"Here, I'll try to eat some. Just don't do that whole 'I'll starve myself till you eat' thing and we're good. I just don't have that much of an appetite compared to most people, plus I don't need to eat so...also don't make me eat in front of all those vampires! I hate being watched when I eat or prepare food." You examine the platters to see that it all looks pretty much identical to yesterday's breakfast. You settle for the links, a safe bet in flavor, and you swallow a few whole with a faint hum. Honestly, you don't mind eating, so this isn't the worst obligation to have.

"Your....throat...."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Structured like a snake's, remember?" You do two more before registering his tone, causing you to flinch softly. "D-does this bother you? It really freaks out people. Hell, Caesar won't eat with me if he thinks I'm going to eat like this, so just tell me if it does. No skin off my back. I've heard worse."

"...keep eating like that."

"...?" You tilt your head, not sure what to make of the request before you give a nod. Might as well finish this platter off, since he didn't seem to want any. "Sure, whatever ya say. Not like I'm trying to savor the flavor. You eat one of these. You've pretty much eaten all of them with a few faint changes. So, what else is on the cards today?"

"A joint showering session...with me~"

"A joint...um, you sure about that one? I mean, yeah, the bath's big enough for that, but I...listen, no offense, but my ichor's...I keep freezing and unfreezing cause of the temp, so...I'm really not..." You have no idea how to phrase this, so you give up with an awkward cough and by helping yourself to another link. "Having aphrodisiacs for blood makes the whole communal shower scene weird, ya know?"

"...you have aphrodisiacs for blood, after all? …I just thought it was a by-product of my love for you every time I tasted the sweetness of your ichor... I suppose it's a sweetness of many other treats you bring as well~"

"I need you to stop saying weird shit." You snap, leaning away from the food as you watch how the pillar man helps himself. 'Seriously, what kind of Hallmark movie script did that come from? All I need is for him to talk about the magic of Christmas or some shit.'

Still, you pluck a grape from a platter and roll it between your claws.

"You know, you're ignoring what I'm saying; cause of my blood or ichor, it might not be the best idea to shower with me. If you want to get cleaned up first, then just go ahead. I can wait."

Kars purrs in response. A hand rubbing tenderly at his loincloth with little to no thoughts or actions to imply he's acknowledged the more 'deplorable' sides of your intrusive rambles...his eyes locking onto you like a cat stalking its unassuming prey...you hate that look. It's not good. It's weird shit. Especially when his tongue slowly and methodically glides against his lips...wetting the flesh in a shiny layer of silky smooth saliva.

"I think it's shower time." He purrs out, either completely disregarding all you just said, or finding it all the more enticing.

It's weird shit. That's all you know.

"..." You could argue, probably, bring up last night and remind him you really don't want to play along with the sham, but nothing he's mentioned so far is that bad. Showering. That's it, right? Just shower with some guy. Hell, you'd showered with people consistently over the years. The showers in Moon-Rise hadn't even been segmented by gender, so you'd seen it all, so to speak. Couldn't be that bad. One and done. Clean up and then you could leave. "Okay...hot soak don't sound too bad. You sure you're done eating?"

And before you could ask anything, he was already scarfing down an entire platter of mixed fruits and meats.

"Shouldn't you wait till you're done eating to announce the whole 'shower time' thing? Or are you all worked up about it cause your makeup got smeared last night?"

"Servants! Prepare a shower!"

"The hell do you need them for?! It's a shower, not rocket science."

"Oh, no, they're setting...the mood, my dear~"

"...the mood? It's a shower! The hell kinda mood do ya need to get clean?" You snap, watching the bound zombies vanish into the bathroom, earning a shudder from you. Their scent drove you up a wall, honestly you couldn't understand why they kept so many of those creatures around. "I mean, I used it yesterday. Not a complicated process."

"Here, I'll carry you..."

"Why the hell would you do that?" You ask, shifting to better examine him as he finishes his meal. "Listen, I know my ankles are scarred up, but it isn't like I can feel pain. I'm fine walking."

And...he was already carrying you to the shower. A plethora of zombified servants marching- err...shambling out of the bathroom.

Immediately, you take notice of the pleasant floral scent invading your nostrils. The gentle rising steam from the running shower as candles rested, gently lit, across the bathroom.

…more weird shit, but aesthetically pleasing.

Jacob's trivia team was called Metaphysics Folly. You remembered how he jolted in that pressed suit when you slid into the booth across from him and rested your head on your knuckles. His eyes trail scars that breach through each junction and break of black silk or leather.

"Saw you looking my way," you draw out, fangs catching in the light, and he swallows. "Got a problem?"

The first rule of playing your persona is aggression. Make everyone know that you're in charge, make them want to please you, make them want to earn your attention. The richer the better. The shyer the better.

"N-no, of course not."

"Really?" You watch how he shifts beneath your gaze, scared, and you feel smug. "You should come by next Friday then, prove you're not scared of me."

"Next Friday? Why?"

"Won't be trivia night. Music will be roaring, and, more importantly, I'll be up there," you tilt your head to gesture to the main silver pole and currently vacant stage. "Lot more intense on the stage, or so I've been told."

"I...I can imagine." He whispers after a moment. You take the moment to reexamine the little note card that says their team's name. Metaphysics Folly. See? Looking back, that was the first thing to really get you about Jacob. Jacob's team name for a stupid trivia night. It was smart. Not a pun, reference, or sex joke, but this name? It was funny, sounded nice on the tongue, but it was also a semi-obscure science factoid that could lead to a discussion designed to make him appear smart. You could never explain it in words, but there was something about that display of intelligence that would drive you nuts. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes bad, but it never failed. You don't fall for the ploy and instead change the topic with a slight complaint towards the very concept of a trivia night in a place like this. He gives a weak nod, looking pale. "Nitpicky, right? Probably not good for what you're supposed to be doing. Competitiveness and apathy mixed together."

You examine him at that, withdrawing your cabriole, and attaching the cig before lighting it.

"Do they get mad at you for having lit cigarettes in here?"

"Probably. I don't listen to most. Besides, I'm the main attraction here. You've never seen a dancer like me." You keep watching each subtle shift of his frame, your bad eye showing his heat signature as a dancing flicker of red, and your hands shake. He isn't striking, not the way most rich men are, like he doesn't spend most of his paycheck aiming for the pinnacle of beauty. Handsome, but mostly because he's so average, he stands out compared to other rich guys. If you had been feeling good, then he wouldn't have been the first guy other than Carlos you spoke to, but in a way that doesn't matter. He was at least somewhat interesting. He smells pleasant enough. After gaining your stand, it was easy to tell who was a virgin and who wasn't, but people who preyed on others smelled harsher. You rarely trusted men that were perfect in appearance.

Jacob's features are long, sloping, unequal in a way that attracts the eyes with a hint of roguishness to them. Slightly gaunt. Yet, maybe because of your own looks, you find yourself liking how his cheekbones were a bit too skeletal compared to most rich men who were all well fed, maybe even a bit too much, but it caught your eye. Dark, full lips, and maybe that made you feel like pulling him in for a kiss, maybe not. His hair was semi-short and unkempt in a way that said he hadn't had time for a brush or comb. Clean-shaven, always a plus, and thin framed gold glasses. You noted that he'd lift the left arm when he looked away from you. A nervous tick, interesting. You note that for a rich man; he is strangely shy. His watch would keep you fed for months, and he couldn't meet your fucking eyes.

"What happened to your left eye?"

You brush the pad of your thumb over the scar tissue that's wrapped around your eye socket. Not even the biggest or longest scar on your face, and manage a grin that only the devil would find much comfort in.

"Kids will be kids. Fell outta a tree or something like that, I can still see outta it. Why? Ya like scars?" He blushes at that question. You didn't know why. People had scar kinks, you had plenty that wanted to touch and examine them during sex. Hell, a person once paid to just spend an hour tracing each scar. You were familiar with the aspects of such a kink. "Eh, don't have to tell me. Not unless you pay for a VIP room."

"...right."

"You seem to be doing well." You make a show of examining their digital scoreboard with an absent hum. Was there even a prize for the team that won? Not like he'd be able to keep the conversation going without you speaking first.

He points to himself with his beer glass. "We have good players."

And there it was. You had broken through most of the ice.

The conversation truly started from there.

"Don't you think this is a bit...much for just sharing a shower?" Your claws twitched, unsure if you should try to get out of his hold or not. The massive bath setup and showers would keep you warm for now. Yet, if you struggled, he'd likely tighten his hold on you. That could be bad. "So, you gonna put me down so I can undress, or is this the type of shower where we keep a towel over our hips?"

He was already ripping his loincloth off. The metal hoops clicked as the item was casually discarded, and you kept your gaze trained on a point in the wall rather than risk looking down.

"Cool, glad we solved that issue. Now, are you gonna let me undress or should I be prepared to take a bath fully clothed?"

"How about...you stay still as I undress you?"

"...I can undress myself just fine." You hiss out, untying the ribbon and adjusting your hold so there was no chance of the item getting damaged. "Just put me down."

As you were put down, a single slash of light emitted from Kars's arm. You only glimpsed the brilliant bone blade retracting before you were stripped bare before Kars. Your clothes were in slices, falling to the floor in shambles as you stood before the naked pillar man.

"You're lucky I didn't like this outfit." You get out, feeling heat coat your face, as you automatically adjusted your stance so you were slightly less exposed. Depositing the ribbon, you found your gaze landing on the point where the blade had extended. "And was that really necessary? I wasn't even arguing."

"You didn't like it? How unfortunate, we hand-picked that for you..."

"You found it inside this abandoned hotel. Not exactly fancy." Your form flickers, the natural heat drawing out the more reptilian instincts of your god form, and you mentally flinch when that form is also in a state of undress. Outside of Joseph, Santana, and Caesar, well, you've never used this form for anything less than...violence or intimidation. Claws twitched once more than you have to adjust your stance to accommodate the physical changes. Red markings glow in the dimmer light. "Then again, I don't dress fancy these days, so not much change there."

"Shame, the owner of the clothes is actually working for us as a zombie." Kars examined you, eyes once again running down your frame before he paused, licking his lips almost absentmindedly. "...oh my...there really are two of them down to your knees..."

"Why the hell do you keep bringing that up?" You hiss out, face growing hotter, and you could feel your markings glow even brighter. A flicker of blue fills the corner of your eye as Cannibal's tail covers your hips from view. You lean back against the blue scales, happy to have him physically present again. "My throat's structured like a snake. The rest of my body gets a lot more reptilian in this form, nothing shocking. And they really aren't...I mean...can we stop talking about this?"

"You truly are a beautiful creature to marvel at...Every bit of your body is a magnificent show of biological and divine engineering...such a succulent and delectable treat for my eyes. Every inch of your body...I desire..."

A low huff escaped your stand's muzzle, obviously put out by the other's behavior, and pulled away from you to curl around the further ring of the massive tub. Leaving you semi-alone. To deal with Kars. You were tempted to claim you needed an adult, but you had a bad feeling that would only make things worse.

"Why do you have to say weird shit like this all the time?!"

"Just ignore him, Master." Narcissistic Cannibal calls a single sweep of its tail enough to draw you slightly closer. Despite this being the first time Kars should've heard your stand speak, minus laughing in the caverns, he doesn't seem all that surprised. You can sense the heat of anger and frustration boiling under the surface. "Come join me."

"Oh, my...aren't we a snake in the grass?"

That earns a low hiss from the serpent in question and you get tugged into the water. One of Cannibal's arms shifting so you remain pinned, so to speak, and you can feel the smugness echoing through your shared bond without even pressing against the link.

"I think you'll find I've never hid in the grass." Narcissistic Cannibal muses, tail slowly dipping into the water as you adjust yourself to a better sitting position. "In fact, I've never hidden from anyone. Isn't that right, Master?"

"Well, yeah, not like you're built for camouflage." You grumble, jabbing his underbelly to gain the privilege of actually extending your legs rather than keep them pressed near your chest. "...plus you don't have the patience for it."

A purr, like thunder rolling in, echoes through your stand's chest.

"You...purr…?"

No response or action was taken towards your stand's snarky comment. Rather, it seemed as if the airways once again shifted and changed to match the dim demeanor of the pillar man's stance. Eyes darkening to mimic a lifeless void, as if every star living within space died. His muscles contort, vibrate, Kars' body shakes and shivers as he stands there in the dimming candlelight of the room. The aura you can only describe as 'menacing' fills the steam, surrounding Kars without hesitation in a near graphical display...

"Got a feeling so complicated..."

…Is he fucking hard???

"...you sound like a broken record." You get out, Cannibal adjusting itself to examine the state of your hair, as you focus your attention on a small divot in the wall. Probably just a side effect you caused. You really don't want to look into it. "...you doing all right?"

"If he isn't well, then he should go lay down. Out of sight, out of mind." Your stand coos. The purr had died when Kars drew attention to it, yet it rekindled when he rested his muzzle on a palm. "Then it can be just the two of us with no...interruptions. Wouldn't that be preferred? I mean, he's just intruding as he is right now."

"Behave."

"To be fair, this is MY bathroom, and we agreed to a joint-shower...If anything, you're the one intruding. Unless, of course...this is your way of wanting to join us, my succulent colossus of a serpentine~?"

"Don't say what I think you're going to say." You snap, pressing a hand down on your stand's muzzle, only for it to swipe your hand away with a snicker.

"But it's true. He would die should he try to lie with the two of us, wouldn't he?" Cannibal rarely talks to anyone outside of you. Mostly doing what he's doing now by talking to you about someone else, but they've always had the habit of pushing on anything they think will get a reaction. "He certainly wouldn't survive me."

"I need you to be quiet."

"Not like we'd let him-"

"Cannibal,"

"I'm just saying, besides, he pushed for a joint shower and was surprised I showed up. Like he said at that dinner, we are lovers. I have plenty of right to be here. Unlike him." The serpent tilted its muzzle to 'look' towards Kars. "And you really should get new material. The joke was funny the first time you called my Master one of those nicknames, but it really feels like you're grasping at straws now. He worked at a nightclub as a sex worker. I produce aphrodisiacs. We've heard both far better and worse."

"...So Jojo was correct about your experience in sexual matters...your familiar has confirmed it...and I believe it's safe to assume with what's presented, so does this beautiful serpentine..."

You had the feeling that your stand wasn't helping.

"What did you expect from someone who claimed the title? He’s the God of Lust. A virgin? A devout nun? Is that what you expect?" Cannibal snorts, adjusting one palm so clawed fingertips are resting at the bare skin of your thigh. "Certainly someone with senses like yours could tell he wasn't lying."

"NC, I need you to-"

"Oh please, he knew from the beginning. I'm not even acting as an ultimate source of confirmation. He just wants to talk about it."

"You can leave." You hiss out, but he doesn't listen.

"And leave you alone? No, I don't think I will. Besides, I was getting bored of speaking with our angel, despite how...erratic he can be, and he was getting worried. Might as well catch two rabbits with one trap."

"I hate you so much."

"I blinded myself to behold you. I can handle a bit of ire."

"Then it's decided; we'll have a three-way shower as decided by this lovely serpentine!" Kars gave a slight clap of the hands before entering the massive pool. Earning a flinch from you, and a growl from Narcissistic Cannibal. "Thank you so much for joining us~"

"Oh please, as if you'd be able to get rid of me." Cannibal's muzzle forms a fanged grin. Only to bare fangs. He never smiles for any other reason, and his tail moves so the heart-shaped end is positioned to cover your hips as his hand moves further down your inner thigh.

"I'm going to kill you." You got out, feeling claws nearly break skin, and you're certain your face is a deep scarlet. "I'm going to make you into a pair of boots."

"Cowboy boots?"

"I hate you."

"Shame." Cannibal feigns disappointment, fangs scraping against your shoulder for only a second before he pulls away with a laugh. "I'd make better armor, don't you agree?"

"Oh, my...your scales are unlike any serpent I've ever come across..."

"Because no serpent or reptile compares to me," Cannibal answered. Lacking any of your hesitance, because they always lived up to their name with self image. Hand moving, this time earning a slight curse from you, and the serpent laughed. "No other creature holds the title of god slayer, at least not a true god, and so my vestige reflects! Same with my Master. Blessed in blood and bone."

"Don't get started with that again." You hiss, moving its hand away from your groin, and running your fingertips up the underside of the beast's chin, earning a delighted chirp. "I hate this talk."

"Then shut me up." And his hand is back to dipping in between your legs.

Kars was watching you two intently.

"If you two are going to engage, then I may as well..."

…and his hand slid down, fingers slowly wrapping around his cock.

"And I never thought I'd prefer having Santana around, yet here I am," Cannibal groaned. The realization of what was happening seemed to make the serpent lose some of his previous heat, and you felt a wave of relief when he moved his hand away. "At least he joins in or-"

"Stop making the situation worse!"

"Can you blame me? No one likes a peeping tom. He might as well gouge his own eyes out if all he's going to do is-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"-instead of-"

"I said; shut the fuck up!"

"Can you blame me? I rarely desire a third, but at least the people who have joined us actually did something other than ogle!"

"I will bring back the talking stick if you don't learn some restraint."

"If you want me to learn restraint, then get those chains we use, your whip, and teach me."

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Well, if the snake wishes for me to join in, then don't mind if I just bend this way..."

Cannibal hummed when Kars moved forward, hand pressing against the deep blue scales, and you shivered at the look he gave you. Deep purple locks framing his face and the whole thing reminded you of those dreams. You felt hot. There was a lingering question in the connection, but you mentally reminded Cannibal that killing Kars was out of the question.

"Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, we really don't have to, and-"

"You'll probably die." Narcissistic Cannibal chimed in, the bells of his tail jingling, and you hissed when his hand went back between your legs. "I would certainly kill you, but it would be a pleasurable death."

"I think I should leave." You mumble out, pink smoke escaping your lips in messy coils.

"Then I'll die happy." Kars purred out, moving Cannibal's tail further down so he can rest a palm on the center of the brand on your chest earning a flustered whine from you. There was a spark of annoyance. Clearly Narcissistic Cannibal had hoped Kars would leave, but it was soon drowned out by a wave of lust. A feral hiss escaped your mouth before Kars grabbed your stand's jaw, earning a confused hiss from the snake. "Be my executioner in this hour, Cannibal..."

"...?"

"Rip me free of these pleasurable bonds I restrain myself with mentally..." If there had been any doubt that Kars was aroused, it was certainly thrown out the window when a shift caused his hips to be pressed against your own. Kars rolled against you with a growl, eyes flashing in the candlelight, and you were left gasping at the sensation. "Constrict me in your trap as you fuck my ass~!"

"I think you're being way too intense...or at least way too forward...I mean, this isn't covered by your insurance." Hands darting to his hips on instinct alone, you almost ripped skin when he rolled against you again. The motions were aggressive, yet slow enough that you weren't allowed to ignore it. "Like...this is a...are you sure...?"

"Oh dear, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this. Since the moment I first considered ascension," Kars purred into your ear. Sharp nails holding your hips in place as he moved so he could slam himself down both your cocks in one fluid motion, Cannibal's hand moving so the two of you were perfectly aligned. This time your claws broke flesh, digging in deeper and deeper as you gasped. Your stand growled at the aftershocks, sharp fangs plunging into your shoulder, causing ichor to run down your skin. You gasped in pleasure, throwing your head back to moan when the bones on your shoulder were shattered at the pressure. Kars rested an arm over your uninjured shoulder. Drawing you into a kiss before withdrawing when your stand did so he could sample some of the shed ichor, a delighted hum escaping him. Unlike a regular human, or even Santana, he moved without taking a moment to adjust. In fact, he moved easily, up and down. You shuddered at the sensation. Despite clearly having plenty of experience, he was tighter than most, with his hole clinging to your cocks like he needed you inside of him. "And how you feel inside of me, my dear. How you fill and stretch me like no other."

"...Kars...I really..."

His earrings jingled as they danced around his neck, Kars's ass bouncing with each thrust you gave upwards. Though it wasn't long before his hold grew harsher to prevent you from moving.

"That's it. Say my name, my dear." He growls out, body shaking, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours. "Say my name."

"Your way too...ah, Kars, that's-"

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" He draws out each word like a saint's prayer. "You are a specimen of divine purity. Every inch of your body is beauty incarnated into physical form. Your scars, your ruined flesh, your flaws all mean nothing when I see you as a whole, baby~"

Finally, he loosens his grasp enough for you to thrust back into him. Cannibal growls for a moment. It's obviously displeased by the lack of attention and sharp teeth slammed into Kars this time. Their claws scraped at the pillar man's ribs and chest, earning a desperate moan. Your stand may dislike Kars, but it was always eager for pleasure. He steals a kiss from you, and maybe this is happening too fast, but you accept it for what it is.

"And I have you all to myself, endless and glorious as long as we are not disturbed." He stopped his more rushed movements to fully rest with you inside him. Taking the moment to collect your thoughts, while he smiled and pulled you into another kiss. This time longer, rolling his hips while never allowing an inch of you to leave his insides, and you pulled away to see the strands of saliva connecting the two of you. "Now, come, come and ravage me, God of Serpents, M/n, let me scream your name for you~"

"Well, he's asking us nicely." Cannibal hissed out, sharp claws scraping your frame before you flipped the both of you so Kars was slammed against your stand's side. Sharp claws ripped into the pillar man's hips as you sank your teeth into the flesh of his neck. Kars groaning in delight. Your stand wraps his tail around him. The teeth running down its frame threaten to snap closed, shifting his hips so you can see how the dip of scales segment to allow access to your stand's sex. So far, his cocks haven't emerged, but he's dripping wet. "Though I don't hear him screaming."

You ignore that. Already moving in hard thrusts to see how his body trembles beneath you. One hand moving to grasp Kars's thick cock as you moaned by his ears while you stroked it in your palm. Another slight adjustment allowed you to finger your stand open, earning a series of delighted hisses before Kars screamed in pleasure. From the sounds of it, Cannibal had broken bone.

"Mhm, you're big, I can barely get my fingers around you...guess that's to be expected..." Shaking your head, you gave a few quick bites to his neck before making your stand move. Unlike human organs, only a vertical slit was present in between the segmented tan scales revealing pinkish-blue flesh. Running the pad of a finger over the rim, you pull your fingers free and lick them clean while you roll your hips before giving another hard thrust. Firmer, almost muscular when compared to a human's cunt, you slid a finger over the slit itself. Feeling how it flushes and warms beneath your touch and Cannibal hisses in delight. A clawed hand rest against your back, making sure you never skipped a thrust yet never grew too distracted. Your stand smells sweet, yet there's a hint of blood and sex mixed into it.

"How kind of you, my dear. You're certainly well endowed yourself." Kars draws out, breathy with occasional grunts escaping his lips in between the louder, more messy screams and howls. He presses his hips back further, shivering at how you slowly stroked him, never letting the pace line up with the rhythm of your thrusts. You can't help but watch how his eyes keep looking away from you, towards your stand and how you were working them open, hungry.

You don't draw too much attention to it. Sliding the whole of three fingers into Narcissistic Cannibal's slit, crooking it. Hearing a low chuff when you run the pad of a finger over a slightly raised spot in the back wall. If he'd been wet before, Cannibal was practically flooded now. With a hard thrust, you add another finger and slide them in and out, in and out. His flesh grew hotter, wetter, and certainly looser. Cannibal chatters something out in Italian, rough and hissy, wanting more and you're happy to provide. Pulling out your fingers, Cannibal huffs. Scales rippled as he draws closer. Though it turns into a gasp when you use the new angle to swipe the flat of your forked tongue over his slit, starting from the bottom, working to the top.

"Oh-" Cannibal pants, clearly flushed now. "Master, keep doing that, don't stop..."

You don't plan on stopping.

A soft, shaky laugh escapes Kars's lips, drawing the both of you to observe the pillar man and how thin lines of drool run down his chin. Cannibal shifts, making sure you still have access to his dripping sex, but using their size to coil around to keep his unseen eyes on Kars's frame. You slow, waiting to see if he'd been too affected by your aphrodisiacs. But he rolls against you, clearly not appreciating the sudden change in pacing, but he gives you a smile. He pulls himself up, biting into your shoulder. You can feel him absorbing and drinking your ichor. It feels so strange. The way they absorbed blood and small amounts of flesh differed completely from how vampires did.

"Look at you, my dear," he mouthed, lapping up molten gold, causing you to gasp. Kars seemed to search your face, expression wanting, and despite you pinning him, Kars easily could slam himself against your hips. A single motion had you trapped when he wrapped a leg around your form. "Look at this colossus of a serpentine, the both of you, perfectly sculpted and stronger than me, than even Wamuu."

He pressed a hand to your mouth, forcing it open, and running the pad of his thumb over one of your main fangs.

"Either of you could kill me in an instant, if only you wanted to. Would it even require any effort?"

Having your mouth forced open meant that you were drooling more than Kars was. You moaned as Kars took complete control, fucking himself slowly on your cocks, letting you bury yourself deep inside of him and holding it there. He indents his fingers into the thin layer of skin and muscle over your ribs, before finally coming to rest on your thighs.

"Yet you aren't. Does that mean you're enjoying this?"

"Ugh, enough with the questions." Cannibal growls, moving so your face is far closer to his dripping sex. "Pay attention to me, Master."

Kars doesn't have time to reply before you take the hint and lick him again, more slowly, happy to savor the familiar flavor of your stand.

"Mmm~" Cannibal purrs, body shaking, which causes his scales to nearly scrape and rip your skin. "There we go, much better..."

Like always, Narcissistic Cannibal lets out a soft sigh when your tongue actually enters his folds. This side of him is one of your favorites; less aggressive, and more submissive. Cute. Kars doesn't let you stop fucking him as your stand presses your head closer with a slow motion of an arm. Almost rutting into you. Needy noises sounding like trills and chirps from the back of his throat. Then, after what feels like an eternity, you feel something push back against your lips. You work your tongue in further. Finding his slit a much tighter fit, and despite how your mouth is angled, you're grinning at the feeling of his cocks slowly emerging. The tips rounded off, blunt, and swelling in response to your tongue's movements. This part was always awkward, trying to eat Cannibal out as his twin shafts worked to push you out. Had to be careful, the wrong angle would risk one popping a lung...again. Not too bad. You could still fuck him with his cocks out and extended. For a moment, your throat was filled to the brim before you pulled back, allowing them to hang in the air as you awkwardly adjusted your mouth. Kars visibly shuddered at the sight. Then again, with what he had implied at the start of this...well, maybe he was realizing he had bitten off more than he could chew?

"Those must be..."

"A couple of feet long, yeah, he's a thirty-foot snake monster...what did you expect?" You hiss out, voice left raspy by having your throat stretched like that, and Kars moans at the confirmation. Shifting his hips against your own, and you give another hard thrust before his hand is at your Adam's apple. "...?"

"And you..."

"My throat is structured like a snake's. We've had this talk several times. Is your memory fading with old age or something?" Noting how pleasured he looked, you pulled out all the way and thrust back in, feeling how your stand shifted and huffed, clearly getting needier. You would have to move quicker.

You hadn't been lying earlier. Kars barely fit in your hand, but it seemed like he was more pent up than he had let on. The combination of stroking him and fucking him seemed to catch up...or maybe he was just that into snake monsters. Because he quickly burst with a broken cry of your name. Splashing cum all over his thighs and chest. You slammed him back down, coming soon after with a soft sigh escaping your lips, before pushing him back against the rim of the tub.

"You really need to get out more...being this pent up ain't good for ya. Cannibal hasn't any fun yet. You up for more, or do you need a moment?"

"God," you said. "What are you doing?"

"The cruelest thing that anyone has ever done to you in your entire life. Yet it will pass as all things must," replied God.

Kars moved first. Not giving the god a chance to pull out, wrapping his legs around the deity. Not that he needed to exert that much energy on movement, given that just his thighs engulfed the god's waist and hips. It earned him a slight squeak. Flipping their positions, he groaned as he adjusted on top of his hips. The god's still hard, not even a slightest change in arousal as if hadn't just had an orgasm. Kars's body is left screaming for more, then he gives a light roll of the hips, feeling cum dripping out of his hole with each movement. Despite his desire to immediately start round two, he takes a moment to watch the serpent, who'd finally moved away from the god's mouth, clearly shifting as if to get between them. It's more than large enough that no matter how it settles, blue scales shift and scrape at his skin. Running a thumb over his hip, he can feel those silver lines, faint permanent scars left behind by the god's claws. How interesting. His familiar, despite having far sharper talons, doesn't leave behind scars that his regeneration can't get rid of. While a human would've been maimed for life, if not outright killed, he didn't see a trace of scar tissue. After seeming to accept the change in position, the god is quick to avoid his gaze. Examining the scars he made, while stumbling over his words though, Kars caught something about oil and massages. While certainly fascinating on its own, he tunes that out, for now, and grips the god's face, running his fingers over the dip of his cheekbones. The god's expression became confused, cheeks flushed, as he moved his hands to keep himself balanced.

"...you okay?"

"Far more than okay." Kars remarks, lowering himself to brush their lips together, earning a slight hum, and when he leans back, he's grinning. "And we aren't stopping."

"You...sure?"

"No one's disturbed us yet." He reminds. The god's cheeks gain that delightful flush, darker, and he gives another experimental roll of the hips met with a light thrust almost immediately. "I know who I'm lying with. One round would never sate you or our lovely serpentine, and it certainly won't sate me."

The god opened his mouth to answer, but quickly went silent and visibly tried to curl inward at the sound of footsteps entering the bedroom and approaching the door. Kars let out a low growl before he pushed off of the god, who was quick to scramble up to grab a towel while the serpent vanished with an angry snarl.

"Kars, did you forget our meeting?" While the door remained closed, Esidisi's voice was easy to pinpoint, earning a visible flinch from the serpentine deity. "Quit fucking the god! Otherwise, I'll send Wamuu in there to retrieve you."

…Kars said nothing, only rising to his feet as the bone blades extended slowly and methodically.

He looked back, if only for a moment, but said nothing before he exited the room after redressing.

"Oh, don't tell me you're getting prissy now. You're the one who scheduled this meeting in advance. I even showed up on time for once." M/n shifted once the door had closed behind Kars's retreating form, and now he was left waiting for another clash. "Don't act like a maiden having her wedding night be crashed by raiders. You'll return soon enough."

…maybe they wouldn't fight till they were back on the first floor?

There's a strange truth because no one ever expects it from you, but...well, you're good at this.

Your stand proves it.

You can go very low.

You didn't hear screaming or murder at all, only the voices howling in your ears alongside the soft grumbling of your stand. You slip back into the water, making sure your head stays above, and listen to the mixed reactions. All of them are so loud. For once, they all seem to be in a strange sort of sync compared to their usual clutter. Then again, they had all been mostly on the same level since you were stuck in this stupid manor.

"I know. It was rushed. I didn't want to...well, no, that sounds bad. I just...me and Cannibal thought he would leave if...I don't know..."

The chatting and clutter rose in volume.

"It wasn't my idea. I wasn't planning on sleeping with him. I just...you know, I have been thinking about what I want. I've considered it. I just...I know I'm repeating myself. Just let me wash up. I want to wash my hair." You frowned at the question. "I want to go home. I want to go home. I don't want to be here, but...I can't. We all know I can't go back. Don't make me repeat myself."

You washed your hair through the chatter.

"I know what he's doing is bad. That...stupid sweet talking bullshit before he pressures me to eat...or ignoring what I ask him while wanting me to be honest. Shit's fucked. I accepted that. Why can't all of you?"

They scream and hiss.

"Can't you all be fucking quiet?! I can't even hear myself think when you're talking like this!"

The therapist quiets them all down, but you can't help but swallow at the pounding in your skull.

"No, no, I...I understand why you're all worried about me. Just can't do that. I have to stay. Joseph is counting on me, and I swore I would. I can't...thank you, all of you, for worrying. Know you think I'm...I am messing up. I shouldn't have let that happen, but I did. I shouldn't have let Wamuu get under my skin like that."

You finish your hair and leave the tub with a slight groan.

"Let me get some sleep while they have their meeting...not like there's much else to do. I don't even know if I'm allowed to leave this room without supervision."

You don't bother drying your hair despite the chill when you enter the bedroom. The flame is a mere flicker, but you don't have the heart to approach it, let alone relight it to a new intensity.

"Narcissistic Cannibal," Your stand reforms. Despite its complaining, it doesn't ask for sex and has no hint of arousal, instead it just tilts its head. "Could you stay present while I sleep? Just so I don't drown myself, I know I usually tell you it doesn't matter, but...I think it would be best if you keep me in bed. Wake me up either when a pillar man shows up or if Kars is about to kill Esidisi, kay?"

"If it's an emergency." Your stand is frowning to the best of its abilities. You know why; you're freezing. Soon you won't be able to wake up once your core temp drops fully. You'll be a statue. "I could add more wood to the fire."

"No need."

"...understood."

You need some time to think.

I think, on some level, I know these meds are working. In the long-term, things are getting better.

So, why do I still feel this way?

Honestly, I'm not sure which frightens me more; if my mind is worse than I thought...or this idea that all of my faults may really be all my fault.

"You-"

"Cock-blocked you?" Esidisi responded, wiping a trail of blood that ran from the corner of his mouth, not even bothered by any of the many fresh cuts that ran over his frame. "Of course I did."

"Was there even a meeting?" Kars growled, retracting his bone blades and giving himself a once over in the room's vanity. Pointedly ignoring how he could see Esidisi roll his eyes in the reflection.

"There was a meeting, just not one you scheduled, rather it was Wamuu. Speaking to his troops about how he wants the arena to look for his battle with the god's hierophant. He's being especially picky about the arrangements this time around." The Burning King watched how Kars applied his makeup, then again, even if there had been a meeting scheduled, he was bound to do this. Waving a hand, he watched how a team of zombies moved out of the room to bring more food from breakfast back into the secondary dining hall. "Seems like this challenger is getting him riled up. I haven't seen him quite this excited since he was fighting Hercules back in Rome."

"Do you think he has an infatuation with that...nuisance?"

"Obviously." That earned a displeased growl from the other, but Esidisi was quick to wave a hand. "He would've had one towards the bubble user if he had fought him to a standstill in those caverns. It just so happens that the hierophant was the one who put up such a fight. But...saving his life from his mad god likely earned some...gratitude from him, if nothing else."

"Wamuu won't falter when the time comes?"

"Course not, Kars. You know Wamuu; even if he was truly in love with that pesky Jojo, he'd fight him to the death as his honor dictates. He values his pride as an honorable warrior far more than he'll ever value a companion." Esidisi visibly perked when the many platters entered. Almost all the food that had been made over the past two days for the god's breakfast had returned uneaten, meaning there were plenty of options. "That didn't seem to console you."

"Do you think Wamuu truly loves that...Joseph Joestar?"

"Of course not!"

"And do you think he can win against him?"

"That hierophant won't make it easy for him, I would know, but he's never fought anyone quite like Wamuu. He's outmatched in strength, speed, intelligence, and more importantly, experience." Ripping into a pile of ham and imported quail, he watched how Kars's grasp on the edges of the vanity tightened. "Let's not focus on a decided outcome. How was the God of Lust?"

"Perfect." Kars purred, expression softening somewhat before he glared at Esidisi. "If only you hadn't interrupted. I was planning on continuing for the rest of the day. I even had his familiar agreeing to join the both of us."

"How exciting that must've been." The taunt is apparent, yet Kars can't contain the snarl. "Were you not worried that perhaps the beast would kill you when your guard was lowered?"

"Not while God was there. I doubt the lovely serpentine would go against his master's wishes despite its feelings on the matter."

"And that was what God wanted?"

"I've never forced anyone. I don't plan on changing that."

"But he was human once. They fall victim to pressure and panic easily. Just be careful you aren't pushing the god into a path of self destruction."

"Was that why you interrupted me?"

"I actually was trying to figure out the god's age from when he was mortal." The tone made Kars look toward him, any anger fading. "Is his youthful appearance just a chosen design or is it based on the age he became god?"

"He never specified."

"If only I had been able to get past that gap in his memory." Esidisi gave a wistful sigh as he reached for a goblet of blood. "I think I figured out what caused that...like us he was slumbering till he awoke and became a ward in the Joestar family. But for how long? Far more than our own life span."

"Are you implying...?"

"That he may have been sleeping since he first became a god? I am. He acts more like a human than any deity I've encountered over the years. The only real question is how old he was as a mortal? He looks like he's barely over twenty by human standards and he certainly has a tendency to behave like one."

"..."

"It would also explain his mental state, wouldn't it?"

"It would." Kars observed Esidisi, who rose to his feet.

"I may not be his servant or worshiper, but it would demean my past role to not treat him with some respect. Be careful not to push too far." Noting which direction the Burning King was heading in, Kars gave a respectful nod, unclenching his hand to examine the breaks in the wood. With a narrowing of the eyes, Kars turned and headed back up the stairs.

"I still don't understand...how did we not notice?"

"Don't blame us! We're all in shock."

"I've never seen anything so horrible."

"Never, not like this."

"In all the years I've lived here."

"I would think not."

"I didn't sleep last night. Not a wink."

"Like you're the only one. Should've seen my wife's face when she heard the news. I've barely been able to eat anything."

"How could...how could someone actually go through with something like that? I just...so many...a person...you don't do that on a whim. You just can't."

"Scary is the word for it. Or disturbing."

"Did you see how charred the place was?"

"Did you know anyone they found in the-"

"Of course. Everyone did."

"This is crazy."

"It doesn't seem real."

"This is terrible, but it's real. That's the problem."

The serpent didn't move when the door opened, didn't lift its muzzle or uncover his master's frame when Kars entered...not that such a thing would matter. He was frozen already. Deep in brumation or hibernation and far enough into the dream world that their connection was too muddled and strained. Body stiff...and even his heartbeat was too fucking slow, too faint, that he could almost fall into panic. This was too close to rigor mortis to make Narcissistic Cannibal have a chance of relaxing...technically he should wake his master at this...but...it would be better to not do that, right?

"You'll have to find somewhere else to stay for the moment." Cannibal growled, making sure his form was entirely covering his master before giving a dismissive wave of the hand. "My Master is resting. I don't want you disturbing him."

"Well, this is my room after all..."

"Shame. Pick a new one. To my knowledge there's plenty of spares lining the halls. Can't be that hard."

"You're quite hostile, and here I thought you were to coil up and pry your hood open before striking with such venom..."

That earns a low growl from the snake, tail flicking causing the bells to ring and clash against each other. "I rarely open my hood. Certainly not as a warning, and certainly not for people like you. Now, I told you, my Master's resting. You can go pick another room and get your little rotting servants to redecorate."

"I'd prefer to lie in my own bed, snake."

"My Master was the one who swore to not harm or kill any of you. I made no such promise." His claws extend to their full length. "My Master is not...up to such things right now. He's going to be resting for a while longer. Leave the both of us be and it will all be fine."

"...do you always dress yourself as a weapon? Or is it with anyone but your master?"

"You heard what created me. I'm as sharp as I need to be." He shifts. Muzzle pointing toward the half dead flame...all he would have to do was restart it...not as if he created enough natural heat to wake his master. But...maybe that was a sign he intended to sleep until the others arrive. "Besides, I don't intend to argue about being a weapon with someone who massacred his species to get ahead."

"Their deaths were swift, even if they all intended to kill me. I don't think eating someone slowly in a dark alleyway is any better...even if they are a lowly human being. Besides...I'm confident you've repeated the same action a thousand times."

"I hunt sinners. Rapists, pedophiles, and the like. There's no one who will miss them." His tail flicks, unintentionally, his frame adjusts, allowing Kars to see that the god's black scales have turned an almost white shade of blue. "I feel no guilt for the death of monsters. My most frequented hunting spots are prisons...they'd likely die in there if I didn't pick them out."

"So every soul you have devoured deserved of it?"

"...every soul I consented to eating when of the right mind."

The pillar man chuckled at that response.

"Curious...very curious. Though you should be lucky, it's me you're discussing this with. Wamuu would easily turn to aggression." He would raise a hand and verbally stop the serpentine from interrupting. "Yes, yes, I know. He would be devoured instantaneously. How curious..."

"...why would I devour that warrior?" The serpent's curiosity led to it shifting once more to reveal another flash of the discoloration plaguing the god's form. "Let him be angry at me. One can carry the guilt of actions not their own, but they aren't defined by them. My Master had no conscious control over attacking your servant and yet he feels plenty guilty. And where are you going with this?"

"Curious. You constantly refer to him as your master despite the both of you sharing a relationship and a place in a body...yet you disconnect yourself as much as possible and act as aggressive as can be. You've already extended your claws, intending to harm or perhaps kill me just because I've stood here because this is my room. And you know I will ask and pry your dear master about what you've revealed to me about his...unconscious actions."

"His...unconscious actions...? Just because we share the same soul doesn't mean we're... or rather..." The snake hisses, visibly losing some aggression before shifting once more, unintentionally revealing more of the god's state. "He's really not...he wanted to rest...he shouldn't be disturbed right now. Not when he's trying to...wait, you're distracting me on purpose! Why do you care? Hell, why do you want to be here right now? You were fine leaving my Master alone the other day, so why can't you wait just a bit longer?"

"Struck a bit of a nerve. You're losing that near-soulless composure. And once again; this is my room..."

"...fine. Allow me to take my Master to a different room, or better yet, until he's well, I'll take him to the angel's domain. He'll be content to watch over him for a few hours. In fact, I'm sure he'll come and collect him the moment I request it from him." Cannibal retracts its claws, an inaudible sigh escaping its muzzle. "Maybe he could help pinpoint what my Master is searching for..."

"Oh come now, what is it this angel can do that I can't help search for?"

"And to think I'm the one that carries Narcissistic in my name..." His tail swung over the bed, bells jingled, and he was visibly twitchy. "The angel can do far more than any mortal here...he's the only one who outlives my Master, therefore he carries more experience than anyone. Besides, he's the one who has control over prophecy. If he could help Master find what he was looking for..."

"And what is it he's looking for?"

"How to speed up his own death." The snake gives a bitter laugh. "How to finalize everything, how to make sure you three can obtain ascension before the end, and how to make sure everyone but him lives. He's predictable, if nothing else. My Master heard he would die and accepted it without...this whole thing is speeding up the process...he wasn't nearly this bad before he was called in to deal with you four."

Kars frowned at that, as the snake shook its muzzle, slowly sliding off the bed after he threw multiple blankets over the god's form.

"I had him agree to seek help...all before it was revealed that the shaman remained as a mere parasite. Now I have no idea if he even trusts my judgment enough to reconsider the idea! It would've been fine if we hadn't been forced to stay here...to think even the masquerade has come to an agreement of sorts..." The bells chimed as if Mass had started as he tilted his muzzle down in Kars's direction. "I don't know what strange plan you have, but...I already messed up earlier in those showers when he clearly didn't want to lie with you...and maybe he was willing to play along, but I won't make that slip up again. Understand?"

"How soft,"

"...?"

"To think, the beast that fancies itself upon devouring souls and rendering their essence into fuel has a heart of gold, after all. Though I suppose the question here is; how does it function? Tell me, Cannibal; are you a machine with golden gears turning you, shining with the brightness of ichor and ambrosia? Do you serve a mechanical purpose only to consume and protect? All without emotion? Or...are you a being of pure flesh and blood? A heart that beats with life and rhythm, veins flowing with ichor that can heal and taste ever so sweet? Do you serve out of love, loyalty and ferocity, passion and understanding leading you?" The serpent went still, claws twitching, and when it moved to speak, the pillar man gently shut its jaws like a holy man to a lion. No room for bared fangs or snarling. "Hush, I know the answer. I know what you'll say. I just needed confirmation..."

After a moment Narcissistic Cannibal tilted his head in Kars's touch, frills opening somewhat, allowing the whispers and voices to echo in the room. Like an audience in a great theater refusing to silence themselves for the play.

"How annoying that sound is...an audience that never lets the show go on. Fools, all of them. But, what fascinations there are on this planet. Within you, Cannibal. What strange mortals with curious customs...the Masquerade is not a fitting name for them. No, the damned would be, instead. With how insufferable and cruel in nature they are. Their demands, their echoes and their words."

When he let go, the serpent didn't move to strike, instead tilting their head at him in curiosity...and concern.

"To think he carried such low body heat before...he's almost crystalized now." The stand flinched slightly when Kars tilted the god's head to better examine the frost. "The inside of his mouth is practically frozen shut. How peculiar. Did he do this on purpose, or was this merely a coincidence?"

"..."

"Do you think I'll do something to your master if he did this intentionally?"

"Will you...?"

"Of course not." He ran a hand over the frozen scales along the god's arms, feeling how spider web thin cracks formed in the frost beneath his touch. "I told him when he first arrived that he was welcome here, perhaps more so than my comrades, and that he wouldn't be harmed. Like my dear god here, I intend to keep my word."

"You haven't harmed him directly..." the snake murmured, earning a slight questioning hum from the pillar man. "Since his arrival, you three have avoided direct harm, but there's more than one way to scar someone. Given my Master's physique, I'd assume he would prefer physical blows he can't even feel compared to whatever ploy is happening."

"I'll be sure to change your mind, my dearest serpentine, alongside our god. Now, did he do this directly?"

"He didn't think he would freeze this badly, though he knew it was a risk. He was supposed to be awake by now. I had planned on waking him, but then you entered..." The snake shakes their head. "Sleeping was the only action he assumed was available since he'd never been given express permission to roam unsupervised."

"I'll have to fix that once he's awoken. Will simply warming him allow him to wake up?"

"It will. Though...it may not be the best idea to stay too close to him. Only me and Santana wake him when he gets like this...he may get..." The stand trailed off when Kars moved from the bed, restocking the fire silently before recrossing the room to lie with the god. Cannibal remained still, waiting for him to say something, to do something. Yet he seems to have merely written the serpent off. It almost makes him offended, but after a moment of silence he allows himself to vanish.

Oh, all the blood staining your hands.

How I hope it helps you...

Or at least; makes you better, makes you think.

Volcanic ash dances around you like snowflakes and you run scaled fingertips over the blackened rock...yet it does nothing.

Maybe that's the cosmic joke of the entire thing? That no matter how hard you look, there will be no answer, no subtle meaning to the prophecy that's eluding you. Nothing will make sense till it's too late. Monkshood wrapped in sweet pea. A sign of death before you arrived to breathe in the decay. You don't like that idea.

Volcanoes erupting, angels screaming, a box in an ocean, being unable to move till you stop thinking, severed limbs...

What does it mean? Where does it connect? What is the meaning behind the painting? You don't have the answer. There should be one if you pull back enough layers, but you can't. Maybe your claws aren't sharp enough for that kind of thing anymore, or maybe you were never the poet you thought yourself to be.

You keep walking; the rock becomes soft grass, and you step across an unending field of black grass. Was this the field you had seen Zeppeli in after first meeting the three pillar men? It was fuzzy...you didn't enjoy thinking about that dream, but...you think this is the same field. There's no distinct shape or break in the environment. Not even wind blowing in one specific direction to tell you where you should go, but that just means you have to make a choice. You think you pinpoint which direction is south and start walking. Pointed claws flex when walking seems to do too little and then you charge. The world blurring, long black strands of grass bending and swaying with your movements, and then you skid to a stop.

There's music in the air.

Something slow, haunting, like the lead up to a funeral.

You follow the tune.

The grass breaks to charred land with no hint of those unnatural weeds sprouting. Ash hits your ruined lungs from the moment your boots touch the rougher terrain. Back to ash and volcanic rock. It seemed like even set locations in your mind weren't unscathed from the prophecy that you had seen. Was this place decided by your own fear or something else?

"M/n?" That voice could break you in an instant. In fact, it almost does. You shudder, full body, and the entire thing feels strange. You aren't sure if you want to run, but you instead turn and face the smiling figure of Jonathan Joestar. Full color. Warm. Hamon sounds like a current. You think about running. You almost hope that Cannibal will wake you soon.

"...hey, Jonathan," is what escapes your lips, a mere whisper, and that seems to break him in turn. Strange, what felt like a hundred years ago you would've fondly rolled your eyes because he always cried and you had barely felt emotion back then. Now you want to sob. How times have changed, right? "I think it's been a while."

"...it has." He whispers out, and you remember how the last time you spoke with him ended. That dark hallway, saying you loved him, and turning your back. Maybe it would have been better for it all to end like that with only those flashbacks of a younger him to guide...but when was shit simple? "You look..."

"Like shit?" He flinches. Probably still not used to you swearing unless going through a mental breakdown or in a tight spot, but you roll your shoulders and try to keep your head up. You're not quite down, not quite up, and you really don't know what to say anymore. "Don't worry, I know. You aren't hurting my feelings over it. It's been...rough, I'll admit, but I'm getting through it. That's the thing about me; I always get back up. No matter what. Unvincible."

His face falls, looking pained, looking sad, and you really don't want that.

"Don't you mean invincible?"

"No...it's an old joke, sorry, I should of-"

"M/n, are you okay?" You frown, not sure how to answer.

"Of course."

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean by okay?" You ask, adjusting your stance when he finally takes a step towards you, hands up like he's moving towards a wild animal. "Cause, like, I don't mean this in a bad way, but...by now you know that I'm...you can't ask me those questions. Do you need a break? Do you need to go home? Are you okay? Just...no, I don't. I've always defined need on a completely different scale than most people, ya know? Wait, of course you don't. Sorry. Just, being homeless, being in a gang, being...to need something means if I do not, I will die. Sure, I mean, I'd probably benefit from a break. Hell, I'd like to have one, really like to have one, but I don't need one. I spent...my entire life carefully cultivating the ability to persist beyond my limit. Because there was never another option. The tank can be empty, but I can keep driving. I've been in plenty of situations where I've hit my limit, be it physically or mentally, and I can't continue...but if I don't someone will get seriously hurt, something dangerous will happen...just....someone needs me to keep going more than I need to stop."

You can smell the salt of his tears, practically taste them in the air, but you have to finish this train of thought.

"So I...I hit my limit and I keep going." You let out a bitter laugh, remembering red vines and pretty smiles, then old bars and cheap beer on tap. "No matter what happens, no matter who gets hurt, no matter what gets done to me...I've always got another mile, another hour, another fight, hell, another second left in me. I wanted to stop, back when I was mortal, kept thinking that I would pay like hell for it later, maybe in my thirties, but then I died...so, now the well is endless. Doesn't matter, part of it never changed; I won't ever admit that I 'need' to stop until I'm at the point of involuntary shutdown. Once my mind catches up and drags me down, I'm broke for a little while, but then I get back up. So, I don't know what you mean. Jonathan...what do you mean by okay?"

Arms wrap around you, despite everything, despite all your complaints and cries to a grave or in that tunnel...you still remember how to perfectly slot into his frame, like two puzzle pieces. You could still remember staying up at night to write essays, maids sneaking him chocolates, and maybe a time where you weren't okay yet happy. You still don't know what he means by okay, but maybe not knowing is being okay. He doesn't seem mad. Just...sad. Upset.

"Things have been rough without you." Is what you say before he can speak. It works. Jonathan had been a bit of a crybaby when he was younger and even now he has trouble speaking till he regains composure. "Rougher than I expected. Bad, but mostly just rough. I never realized how bad things could get without you. Ain't that funny? I was always on my own and then you came along...Joseph is great, Caesar's great too, Santana...they're all perfect in their own way, but there's a part of me that always misses you. Wishes that the two of us were handling things now. I'd give so much just to be back in college with you and Dio…no masks, no vampires, no murder plots, just essays and exams...never thought I'd miss that kind of thing."

"M/n..."

"I don't know if you could see me after you...when I went to your grave...but I was wrong. I'm wrong a lot these days. Maybe I was never right, but we were friends. We were. Maybe I messed up at points, maybe you messed up, but we were friends. We were." You repeat the words 'We were' a few more times as a mantra of sorts, earning a rather shaky breath from Jonathan.

"We were friends." Jonathan said, clarifying your own mantra, drawing meaning to it.

"And I loved you. Maybe in a way that wasn't healthy for me, for you, for the both of us. I can't argue that it was...or wasn't healthy, but I loved you. Hell, I still love you. I still fucking think of you. I wish I had been...it wasn't fair. I'm sorry that I interrupted you in those tunnels. I couldn't stand this idea that you were going to tell me your feelings when I couldn't accept-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, pulling away to rest his forehead against your own.

"I loved you, and I love you still." He promises.

"I still love you, too." You laugh, and part of you feels warmer, and why was Cannibal waking you up now? "Please tell me you won't leave. Please tell me I can see you again, please!"

"Of course you will."

You can't tell if his smile meets his eyes.

You were softly humming along with the chorus to Dio's 'Holy Diver' as you stuffed more clothes into a messy pile inside of your hand-me-down backpack. Blue. Worn out. Probably need to steal a new one soon. Only stopping when you heard footsteps coming down the hall leading to your open door, and turned. Jessie was leaning against the doorframe, watching, and slowly he gave you an upward nod of acknowledgement. For a moment, you remain still. You give a slight sniff and dropped the backpack onto the bed. He dislikes the outfit. He hates your outfit the most. Too much. That shirt is stupid cause you painted your tag on it. The spikes are dumb. Looks too armored when it really isn't. Calls the spikes dumb again. Bitch.

"The hell ya want?" You asked, giving a visible roll of the shoulders. You're not down bad. Not yet. For once, mostly sober. Bit bruised, sore, and you haven't slept in a day or so...but you think even without help you can give him a run for his money. Narcissistic Cannibal hums in glee. You ignore the beast for now.

"You're gonna take Kit with you," Jessie said, seriously, which made you tense before the actual words registered. Any real anger faded to frustration. Pangs of relief at Jessie not looking for an outright fight tugged at the back of your mind. You probably would give him a run for his money, but you never won.

"Ah, what the hell?" You gave a low groan from the back of your throat, pink smoke dancing at the corners of your mouth. He never seems to care or even comment on it. "Are you being serious? The fuck?! Why do I gotta bring the kid for?"

"You're what...fifteen...almost sixteen?" Jessie reminded you. "He ain't never been to Brundage, and it's time he starts to work. Not like anyone wants him at Dallas or Fort Worth in the trade. Sides, you're starting to look like shit, about time someone gets a replacement for you. Not like Isaiah will complain."

"Ya make it sound like I've been working too long." You felt your features form into a scowl. "I'm too young to just retire, boss man. Not even sixteen. Won't get benefits for that. Isaiah won't want me to retire."

"Just keep Kit from biting it, will ya? I promised his mom I'd take care of him and I don't like trusting him to you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Give him the basic talk. Show him all the ropes. Keep him from pissing Isaiah off." Jessie steamrolled on, as if you hadn't said a word. "And when ya get back, I'll let you hang with the boys on the corner like you wanted."

That made you perk. "Ye?"

"They could use the muscle, and you know I don't trust Zach, of all people, for shit. Just finish the gig and I'll give you the night shift for a few months."

"Well shit, man, why didn't you start with that?" You gave him a fanged grin. "Tell your boy to meet me at the car in thirty and I'll take him with us."

"Will do," Jessie said, tapping the door frame with his fist twice before he turned away and left. You sniffed again, watching the doorway and listening to the signature stomp of his boots to make sure he's gone despite how difficult the voices make it. You turn back to the bag and zip it.

You give a shaky sigh and collapse onto the bed, ignoring how badly you tremble and shake.

The night shift was easy. You just had to make one trip work.

There's a massive part of you that fights waking. Fights the very idea of seeing the oppressive room with all its cold décor and lack of life. Even if Cannibal is trying to tell him something important, or that Kars had entered. He missed Jonathan, his presence, his hamon even...but there was now a dawning sense of panic. There was someone in the bed with him. He couldn't sense Narcissistic Cannibal physically in the room with him. While you know that you're in that worn out motel, you panic when you realize that this isn't Santana. You can't feel his ribs around you. There's no hamon. If this isn't Cannibal, then it's Kars, but you still flinch and try to withdraw. Instinct demands that you get free. That this isn't someone you should trust in such a state, especially when you're still half frozen and your thoughts are muddled. Frost cracks as you try to push him away.

"Good morning, my love. How was your sleep? You're so cold..."

Morning...? No, it isn't morning. Your internal clock says this is still the same day, around noon, but you panic and try to push again. Frost still fills your veins. You're awake, but not responsive. Not enough, at least. You want to have Santana here. He's good at getting you to focus. Hell, you'd have even taken Joseph right now because he's good at distracting you with bullshit. But no...you're stuck with Kars. You give another push, making a panicked keen sound from the back of your throat. Resembling a wounded animal, and for a moment you can't tell what's real or not. You think the motel is real? You think Kars is real, and on some level you think you're awake. But you're so fucking cold and so blurry.

You take one hand, claws extend to full, and you dig into your own flesh hoping that losing ichor will wake sense.

It doesn't.

"...it isn't morning. Noon, right?" You hiss out, words muddled, pained almost. You shake your head. "It...it is noon...right?"

"...perhaps. Yes." He says after a moment, and you give a weak nod.

"Is it another blizzard?" You get out, not registering the sound of falling snow outside, but your entire body is too cold. Nothing feels right and when you shift to roll your ankles, there's a series of sickening cracks from internal frost. "I don't remember it being this cold when I laid down."

"Far from another blizzard when I'm here, but I feel as if this 'cold' is of a different source..." His voice is softer than what you expected. Hand moving to take yours, the one embedded into your side, as he uncurls your claws.

"A different source...sounds about right." You huff out, wondering if you should laugh. Probably not. You give a full body shudder, ice clinging to the insides of your frame. "Still, if only you had chosen somewhere warm for your base. Just five degrees warmer would be nice. Especially since I think my ribs have frozen over."

"You're concerning me more and more..."

"Concerning you? Imagine being in my shoes. I never got like this till after you put the fucking wedding ring in my chest. Is this an intended reaction or something else? I mean, have you used it on anything immortal before?" Despite your earlier protests, more because of your hazy mind, you lean in closer to get a hint of his warmth. "Besides, my ribs aren't the worst part. Lack of internal organs means my stomach area's just frost and ice cause there's nothing there but ichor. Feels...weird."

"Well, it's too early for a divorce and too soon for couples therapy...and to answer your question; no, it is not an intended side-effect."

"Divorce? Wait, that's a thing?! When can we get divorced? Do I have to destroy the wedding ring? What papers do I have to sign?" Your focus zeroed in on the best news you had heard in a long fucking time. "Here I was worried that I’d be hitched till the day I die, so how d'ya keep the joke going with a straight face for so long?"

…his eyes have darkened once more...

"Hey, hey, don't get all quiet now! Come on, ya just said the best thing I could hear. I want to know when the-"

"...the only jokes here are how I haven't ravaged myself onto your cocks."

"...that ain't even funny.." You trail off, unsure of how to respond but manage a shaky laugh. "I mean, seriously, if divorce is happening, I want to hear the when and how. Gotta be within two hundred years at least cause I'll be dead past that point, but I'm hoping to manage in the next month. Then again, guess it doesn't matter cause my focus is making sure Wamuu doesn't die cause there's no way he's winning against Joseph, but still...I want to be back to the status quo sooner rather than later."

"..."

"What? Something I said...?"

"For every word poured from your mouth...I grow in primal, lust-filled frustration for each syllable that lacks perception or intellect..."

"Ya know, I'm getting tired of you treating me like an idiot! I ain't some idiot...so stop ignoring what I say. Seriously, you're more annoying than Ajamu because at least he acknowledged what I said or did. You just take the parts you like and throw the rest away."

You swear his eyes just got darker.

You feel a wave of frustration before it all clicks in your head.

You laugh.

"Oh, okay, I get it now."

"Good."

…and he removes his loincloth.

Right as you push yourself up and get free from his hold.

"I'll be finding an empty guest room to stay in." You say, content to see proof of it. "Thanks for letting me share the room for a day or so."

"...And I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now."

"I'll be sure to stay outta your hair for the next five days." You hop over him, ignoring whatever weird phrase came to mind, and go to cross the room.

"I'll see you at dinner, dear."

"I think I'm gonna skip tonight, but thanks for the offer."

You were gone before he could make a reply.

I think when we die, well; we go to a better place.

…maybe that's nowhere.

Is that somewhere in Texas?

Incense dances in the air, thin trails of smoke mimicking serpents slithering and the flames roar. Threatening to engulf everything in the room. Threatening to escape past the boundaries and engulf the manor itself. Esidisi watches with no visible emotion. Gaze caught in the center point of the largest flame. His lips move without direction, chanting a prayer in a language long since declared dead by any human, as he tosses the first offering in. The flames roar in approval. Oranges and reds changing to blue. Heat envelops every corner, every inch, every fragment, and with the certainty of his position...well, Esidisi plummets into the flame.

Then he's no longer Esidisi, rather some sort of divinity.

His soul burns. Heart racing. While the body is divine, the mind is painfully human, leading to him freezing before deciding, even if it will cost him everything. Even if he will hurt forever on the what ifs and what could've been. He climbs with ease. His familiar moving to assist him as he spins around, looking down at the first floor. The byproduct of the mask, a sinner, who looks up at god with the reverence of a love struck fool. Like he's seen something worth killing for. He raises a hand and beckons despite the regret flowing through him.

"Come on, Dio."

He's left for a moment, hanging in limbo. The byproduct goes still. Slowly, he looks to the saint and his squire, then back to divinity. There isn't panic when he turns his head. He knows the vampire will chase him through the burned out husk of this haven. There was never any doubt. Certainly still can't override human sorrow that fills and blackens the senses till the world stops making sense. Yet when the vampire moves, it gets drowned out by purpose. His name is called in a panicked scream, fondness fills a heart that was long assumed dead and rotted from sepsis, and he knows, he knows, that the saint will follow. He'll always follow, even on broken legs. He's faster, faster than vampires, faster than mortals, so he'll outrun them all.

Fitting plan for a coward.

Then he reemerges from the flame, back to the shaman with no hint of divinity left.

On one hand, he finds it somewhat soothing to once again have a direct connection with some variant of divinity. Yet once again, no matter how he tries to connect to his gods, he worshiped…well, there's nothing. Still, for a century after century he had only caught glimpses of a figure from the Greek or Egyptian pantheons. Even a few brief weeks with spirits from China during his daily prayer, but two hundred years after the massacres, he was cut away from his connection entirely. Yet, reforming in the god's body, he had easily rekindled his once dead connection, just not with a god he knew or worshiped.

He dipped one hand in the flame, flesh catching, and he pulled free to watch the tips of his fingers burn and flicker like candles. Like all of his position he had been taught to connect his mode to his act of prayer. Unlike Kars, who took to his mode with all the crazed energy of a man possessed but remained unable to connect or speak with any of their gods, Esidisi preferred...restraint. Even if Kars may assume that such a thing was impossible for him. He gives another offering, blood and the finest wines mixed, before he plummets once more.

Divinity is what he awakens.

He's crouched down. No one is moving, no one is willing to move, and there's a shiver going down his spine. A thousand plans are going through his mind, yet how would he win without risking his allies? He was the only one strong enough to protect everyone. That was it. Do or die. He was terrified of being stolen from, of failing humanity, and there are a thousand promises he needs to keep going. No oxygen reaches his lungs. His arm is regrown and he can keep going. He has to. The warrior, the other servant, was between him and the two lords.

…he's watching the way ichor pools. He knows too much.

Was that promise he made even plausible anymore?

They didn't know, did they?

'...fuck.'

And then they know, and panic floods him worse than any high. Now there's fear in him.

The flames let go of him cleanly when he reemerges.

Only the serpent deity meets his prayers, seemingly subconsciously, and he shakes his head. The third offering, a chalice filled with golden ichor, and while it had taken far too much work to convince Kars to part with it, the flames roared louder. Blues changing, getting even brighter, and golden hints dance. He observed the flame and heat absentmindedly. It was the power of divinity that gave him these memories, and for that reason he hadn't explained to Kars what his visions had changed to. Pausing, he could hear the door to Kars's room almost be slammed as something darted down the halls.

He finished his mantra, pouring his blood into the flame as one last offering, and allowed his fires to dim.

It seemed as if there was trouble in paradise.

"How are the roads?"

"Not bad," Jacob says. "A bit slick cause of the rain."

"Hm, thank god it doesn't snow often."

"Don't jinx it."

"Looks cold."

On some level, individually, you know that the both of you are unremarkable. Appearance wise, well, you're just a scarred up sex worker not quite worth the money guys pay. It seems noteworthy that the two of you are just that; plain. Combining the catches and slips of you and Jacob...it seems to make people look more than they already did when you were alone.

Within the next Friday you had promised him, well, it took six days. Six days in and Jacob had paid for three proper meals with you escorting. Five walks, a quick chat at a coffee shop, and one night at home where you sit on a fancy couch and watch some romance movie that does nothing for you. Carlos says you have him on the ropes. That he'll drop most things for you. You aren't sure that's true. He enjoyed talking. The two of you talked way too much. It took away from your free time. The two of you had been intimate. Jacob had told you, after the second night in bed with him, that you reminded him of some actress. Played femme fatales. You didn't think to point out how annoying it was to be compared, yet again, to some pretty woman rather than a man. Couldn't they pick some actor that was feminine instead? Enough of them existed, right?

He never called you sexy. Which is fine. He called you pretty, and he said the word beautiful once or twice, but in the way most guys do when they pay for people like you. Beautiful is a word reserved for when you break a few orgasms out of him. After the first night, he called you therapeutic. You had never had anyone call you that. Right after everything had ended, and you were more focused on the way sweat and cum were drying on your frame.

You had always assumed that he'd get bored with dates, you'd end up fooling around, but it didn't end up being a planned thing. Most rich guys like planning out this kinda thing. He paid for a night at his home, and the two of you started making out on his main living room couch once dinner was over. Who even needed multiple couches in the living room? He lived alone anyway. You had shown off how to make a soup that people should know, but he didn't. For dessert, he had scrapped the idea of cake or pie and replaced it with sharing a bottle of Grey Goose. No glasses, just swapping hold. Like high school kids getting drunk beneath the bleachers at prom. That moment had felt more urgent than the other times he had asked to make out with you, more spontaneous, followed by his hands on your ribs, needy. Asking frantically if he could go further. You reminded him he would have to pay, but he gestured to his wallet, told you it could be worked out later. The bottle was half finished. He took off your top, asking for permission, which you always welcomed, and you unzipped his pants. He always let you do what you wanted.

Needy. Needy, like all rich men with too much money and too much free time. Kept on saying; 'Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.' Even if you stopped for only a moment, it was back to that begging. Other than that, he was quiet. Too quiet. The lights were never turned on. You couldn't hear him breathing at points.

You weren't allowed to see him very well.

"Let's...can we just use our hands? Is that okay? I'll pay for it."

That made you pause. You had assumed that you were about to fuck him for the first time, but...just hands? You didn't know how to respond to that. You just went along with it. You had never bothered with something so...simple. So...well, bare bones. Maybe once when you were thirteen and a virgin messing around. Not after fourteen, certainly. You want to say you've never done something quite like this. Once he was finished, he collapsed on top of you. Not a problem. Orgasms weren't always needed for sex. Sometimes people could have a good time while neither had an orgasm. You'd been there. Still, you would've had more fun, orgasm or not, if you had just done the whole thing like normal. The two of you laid like that. Quiet, he was breathing heavily. You weren't. Then he rolled off you.

You don't know how long it takes, but eventually he leaves to go to the restroom. You get up, open the window, and light a cigarette. You hear the tap running. Then a toilet flush. You watch pink smoke escape out the open window.

You thought maybe you should tell him more about you. More about that phone call you keep getting, from your own phone number no less, but you couldn't. You just wanted to forget about it. Telling some rando paying for sex about it would make it more serious, break the dynamic. This was the closest you ever came to telling him.

You were still smoking, waiting for him, when some memory came to mind. When you were young, seven or eight, you remember seeing a man standing outside your window. Wow...you hadn't thought about that one in a long time. A nebulous, patchy memory.

I don't know why it even came to my mind looking back.

"Yes, I know, you all were right. Stop bragging. Shut up." M/n had slammed himself into the nearest compact space, some abandoned storage closet with a few empty shelves and just enough room to pace. The god snarled, shaking his head before knocking a chair out of the way, and the pacing continued. "I know, I know, I know. I messed up. I shouldn't have slept with him. I should have kicked him out. I should have left. I should have done something else."

Silence echoed.

"It wasn't...that dream wasn't even real, was it? It wasn't him. No, no, It had to be."

…

"Just some...I just froze up. He's intense. Not cause of those dreams, but because...he's...maybe if I had said no he would've gotten mad...would've pushed. Would've...no, no, I'm just making things up."

…

"I got confused, that's all."

…

"And now...he probably thinks I'm weak, thinks he can get anything he wants from me...just ignore what ya don't like and push the parts you do."

…

"...the only jokes here are how I haven't ravaged myself onto your cocks. Like I'm some kinda two bit slut that will bend to his beck and call. Like I've become the town's bicycle."

…

"I got confused. That's all."

…

"He's just like before. Just another man wanting in my pants. Just another man that doesn't want their toy to have a mouth. Only this time he got something without paying. That's all. I know how to deal with men like that. I know."

…

"Just shut up! I can't hear myself think with everyone yelling! I'm fine. I'm doing great. I don't need anyone in my life. I have what I need. This will all be over and I'll never see any of them again unless Santana invites them now and then. They will never be-" He gasped, quickly swiping a hand to break one metal leg of the shelves closest to him, slamming the broken end into his leg, cracking his kneecap. "I know the type. He's just another one. I know, I know, I know...you all think I'm an idiot. Just like him! To think I was actually starting to...no, no, just because I don't hate him doesn't mean I...shut up!"

…

"I know what I'm doing. I won't talk to him for the next five days, or any of them, and it'll be fine. Joseph will come and he'll win and we all go our own ways. I love being alone. It'll be fine. Who cares? I'll show him. I'm not some idiot he can wrap around his finger. Ajamu failed...but he was different, wasn't he? I thought Kars...I thought he was different..." He twisted the metal, earning a splatter of ichor and a squelch sound. "I'll kill him! I'll fucking-"

The room spun, and he almost tripped over the corpse of the pillar man, eyes blankly staring up at him and intestines strung out like Christmas lights. Viscera splatters the floor. Static consumes his vision and it would be so easy to go back down the hall and end everything. He falls, with a wail. The apparition vanishes, but he's still shaking.

"No, no...I didn't mean it...I don't want to...just intrusive thoughts...that's all...I'm...why am I...? He's just another one..."

"That he is." He jolts, looking up to see Gabriel sitting on the now crooked shelves, blond hair framing his face. "Just another soul. Just another man. Just another life. There's no need for self-mutilation, he's not suffering, and you need not give anything."

"...you said-"

"That I wouldn't show up while you were in good health."

"...I'm-"

"Mental counts, my god. Mental counts."

"I'm not slipping..."

"Slipping would imply you stand on an edge. You've already fallen. There's no point in slipping because you're at the bottom."

"..."

"Do it again."

"What?"

"Pull the metal free of your skin, shed no ichor for a soul's benefit, and scream again. Let it free. You carry so much, let some of it go."

"I don't think-"

"Would a tsunami benefit you? An earthquake? A blizzard that buries the first floor of this prison in snow?"

"I don't want that."

"Why not?"

"This isn't good."

"Repressing it isn't good either. I know what it's like to be silent. There's no healing in repression. Not forever."

"Just five more days after this. Five and a half days. I can go till then."

"Must you?" He grabs the god, pulling him into his lap. The coat shifts to wrap around him. Gabriel carries no heartbeat, no true body heat, no true sign of life...yet M/n could call him warm. "Must you carry this for any longer?"

"I-"

He doesn't have time to finish speaking because the door opens, and a shaman observes the pair. Almost looking like a strange mix between apathy and amusement.

"Hello there," Gabriel coos, adjusting himself with no sign of fear as God flinches and tries to press further against the angel. "You'll be quite happy to find I've entered your rat's den as a neutral party, though I guess I'm the one who should worry. After all, it was your lord who proposed a war on heaven when you implied you'd follow. So, when should I expect the invasion I ask?"

A smile rests on his face, but the crack of thunder makes the entire building shake.

"This is certainly a most intriguing encounter..."

"Is it? Here I thought a man of religion would be more grateful to see an angel in their midst. Then again, I suppose one shouldn't count on the whims of mortality to be stable, or concurrent, in any form. Lest they...lose free will." He adjusts, one wing out of the first set casually moving to better hide the state of the god. "Perhaps I should be concerned. You're certainly the worst to my god's state, yet I think right now as long as your lord doesn't get involved I'm settled nicely."

"Gabr-"

"Oh, he's right. I haven't introduced myself, have I? Consider yourself well met by the archangel Gabriel, the Herald of the Storms." The sound of rain only became louder with the crack of thunder shaking the foundations of the building harder and harder.

"Let's talk, Gabriel."

"Then speak, shaman. I've lived through millions of gods, longer than any. I'm certain I can carry a conversation. Though perhaps...do you wish for my god to leave? I believe two doors down is a spare bedroom and I wish for him to get some rest. I promise to behave without him at my side."

"Just like the snake and the trickster, you talk too much." The shaman chuckled, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of the exit to the room, the back of the chair at his front as he relaxed on it.

…the exit is only through him.

"My god, I think he's threatening me!" Gabriel hums, adjusting his hold on the immortal before tilting his head to the side with a giggle. "Oh! That was good wordplay, right? I like it."

"You have no social skills, do you?"

"...? What's wrong with the way I'm talking? Am I missing something?" Gabriel tilts his head, wings unfolding and refolding, before he rested his head on top of the god's. "I don't think the book I read covered this..."

"Gabriel, maybe you should-"

"I'm not leaving. Anyway, what did I get wrong? Did I miss a conversation topic? Should I have asked you how your day was? Or what memory you saw in your prayer? Memories that you've plundered?"

"You're a petulant one, aren't you?"

"And you're rather rude. Blocking us in, ignoring how badly you hurt my god, conspiring to invade heaven...the list goes on, but I suppose you don't care. After all, every god you held dear is gone, aren't they?"

"You're the one choosing to trespass here, but as far as I'm concerned, you're just a harmless specter, right?"

"Harmless?" There's the distinct sound of something breaking, of rain and wind getting into the mansion, and Gabriel smiles when god jolts at the sound. "That depends on what you consider harmless, I suppose. Then again, what's the point of harming ants?"

"...you're not making this easy, you twit."

"...fair. Alright then, a promise; ask me one question and I'll answer honestly, like that ghastly figure with the golden skull." M/n swallows at that, looking even paler for a moment, but he's covered by a wing rather quickly. "Choose whatever you think is important, Esidisi."

"You're missing so many points you're honestly laughable. This interaction is more awkward and pathetic than when the son of Hades mistook birds for bats..."

"Oh? Then enlighten me."

"God, what do you think?"

"..." The god looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment in time, pausing in his attempts to push himself further back, and after a moment he gave a weak shrug. The broken piece of metal pulled free of his frame and tossed to the floor, leaving a small splatter of ichor behind. "That I should go anywhere else and Gabriel should go back to the...heaven. He should go back to heaven."

"You heard him, Angel. He wishes for you to go and I to stay."

"His first idea was to go away from you, but I suppose there's a point to your whim." Gabriel draws the god into an embrace. Lips brushing against his cheek, and he tucked a feather into the collar of the god's shirt before he vanished. The god twitched, attempting to make himself smaller, and avoiding so much as looking at the shaman.

"...okay, that's done...I'll just be on my way..."

"Bye, bitch!" Esidisi laughed, waving a hand before his gaze went to divinity. "Now that the love triangle has unfucked itself, now we can get to the good part...the sweet, juicy, chunky parts of the divine stew~!"

"...is this a threat or are you coming onto me?" M/n hissed, eyes flashing gold before he focused on a random point of the wall. Still left trying to make himself look smaller.

"Let's start with the most basic of questions having to do with your divine origin..."

"...I don't have to answer these questions, and I don't think I want to."

"Even If they make you feel better?"

"Every time I look at you or hear your voice, I relive you bursting out of me...how the hell would you interrogating me make me feel any better?"

"Do you think every question someone asks is an interrogation, or do you just react aggressively as a defense?"

The god laughed, bitter, before glaring at him. "Both. Also, why would I not think you were here to interrogate me? Last time Wamuu wanted to learn something, he decided getting me into a fire pit was the right idea. These 'questions' never go well for me!"

"Once burned, twice shy." The Burning King mused, eyes trailing over the god and how his shoulders shrank at his statement. "Yet you're not a snake living in a garden. You're a god, once mortal, but divinity replaced the blood in your veins a long time ago."

"Not much fault to find in the caterpillar or pupa, but plenty in the butterfly." Is what the god says, fangs flashing, as he looked away. Eyeing a vent cover as if he'd be able to escape through the building's ventilation without someone catching him.

"I'm sure most would say the opposite is true."

"If they don't know, the caterpillar or pupa has room to grow."

"Or that would lead to more judgment." The shaman gives a laugh while M/n pales even more than usual, looking frustrated. Truthfully, there is an allure to the god's appearance. But the deathly pallor of his skin and thin frame made him far different from what had been the beauty standards of their race, of humans even. Yet Kars is completely smitten. More intense than a usual courting process between two of their race. Far more love struck than he'd ever been in the past, and so set in this decision that there was no stopping him. Not even the god lacking those feelings dissuaded him from his pursuit, so he hid the part of him that found the mocking of divinity sickening. At least the god mocks divinity unintentionally. Lack of knowledge compared to a lifetime, short or not, of being human had clearly led him to only mimicking what he had once known or what he assumed he was correct. "You're certainly doing an excellent attempt at getting me off track, but I intend to question you before something gets in the way."

"...alright, can't promise ya that I have the answers you're looking for, but I'll answer some questions. After that, you'll let me go to some spare guest room by myself, right?"

"Your honor bound into staying. There's no need to hoard you."

"Right. Five more days." He gives a shaky laugh, trying and failing to look pleased.

There's a constant dip in his movements, a permanent cycle of shrinking in on himself before laxing till Esidisi speaks or focuses on him again. His words have a hiss, but also a slight unsure stutter. A lack of common social cues forming a pattern as twisting and cluttered as a serpent's den. Generations over layered and hissing in tails and knots. That behavior and those mannerisms were everything that Kars wasn't.

Dedicated to perfect manners, a constant stream of knowledge, and perfectly crafted elegance. At the height of their rebellion, Kars could cross the battlefield more akin to a dancer. Ribbons of a rainbow were the only sign before heads and limbs were severed and scattered. A dancer's grace in his walk. Each moment of pause, he'd slip into the pose of a man unaffected by the carnage. The light he produced couldn't burn or blind them, but when the blade met their flesh, it tore through them as a close second to hamon. Regeneration leaving them in their last moments. Even his displeasure had been molded into a weapon, an artful sadness of anger that could be easily waved away or pushed into a true maelstrom if needed. The cold indifference of a general, the rage of a man scorned, all accompanied by a velveteen trail of scarlet. Makeup unsmeared, furs only having light stains of blood at the untattered ends. He liked that. Esidisi had always thought it was foolish, shortsighted, as perfection was only available for the divine. Ascension, while a goal worth pursuing, wouldn't make them perfect by any means. While not human, they were clearly flawed. Yet in Kars' mind, perfection was attainable, and he had always attained it. Prizing that knowledge above all else, considered himself valuable because he could attain it. Imperfect things itched at his very mind and foundation. Fumbling conversations drew his ire. Misplaced or unsettled experiments drew heated glares and a low growl, and imperfect red stones were shattered and scattered.

No, imperfection did not suit Kars, never had.

Still, something seethed under his skin as he observed the deity. An amorphous, hungry something. Something left deep in his skin after each ritual and prayer. Something with teeth and spines and rough, sharp edges. He had encountered gods, spirits, and the divine long before he had met the god in front of him, yet he was the only one that he had become this connected to. The only one that enraged him in this way. Had Kars fallen for any past deity this undefined, wild urge that snarled and snapped wouldn't be present, wouldn't make him so quick to remind Kars to behave himself.

"You became a god by killing another, yet how old were you when this transformation happened?"

"...who knows?" The god says after a moment, giving a shrug of the shoulders earning a narrowing of the eyes. "I don't age, and I can look any age I was when I was mortal, so who the hell knows anymore? Last god became immortal at ninety-three and he liked to look thirty-six to forty."

"You're lying."

"Probably."

"Do you think lying will help you?" Esidisi asks, more amused by his dishonesty than anything else. The immortal, to his credit, didn't flinch this time.

"No."

"Then why are you lying?"

"Because I don't want you to know the real answer."

"Or maybe you don't want to reveal you're not old enough to drink." He remarks, the taunt easy to spot, yet the god hisses at him.

"I've been drinking since I was fourteen, and I'm certainly older than twenty-one!" He snapped, looking annoyed at what the pillar man was implying, but Esidisi just scoffed and waved a hand. "How old do you think I am?"

"Young enough to still be in apprenticeship to someone, certainly not old enough to be showcased as the perfect display of immortality." Was his answer earning a growl from M/n. "You gave yourself away. The other god chose late thirties to early forties because it was the perfect age to be still young, yet aged to have gained wisdom. Strong, yet weathered. Yet you choose an age where you would be considered a student, someone too young to offer serious advice, an age to be overlooked. You may have youth and strength, but that won't carry you when disguised as human."

"..."

"You can't be older than what you were as a mortal, correct?" The god goes as still as stone, expression flashing with surprise before being replaced with cold indifference. "The only other options you have would be to make yourself younger. You died at the age you currently appear, correct?"

"...you know, I don't think I can argue myself out of that one." M/n said. A bitter laugh escaping his lips, and the shaman watched how the tips of his ears gained a red tint as he avoided eye contact with a huff. "You really play those personas well. One moment you act like some frat boy the next a serial killer. Works out well for you, keeps everyone else on their toes, so you can really catch them off guard."

The pillar man burst into laughter, causing the male to jolt with a frantic yelp.

"Why are you-"

"I can't wait to tell Kars that he's robbing from the cradle!" Questions M/n had been about to ask were immediately silenced when he said that, and the god sat in silence while the other howled and laughed. His shoulders shook. He hadn't been joking when he said Esidisi was unpredictable or that he played his madness well to unsettle whoever he was talking with.

"Just because I died young doesn't change the fact that I'm older than all of you combined." He snapped when the shaman finally stopped laughing. The look he received made him twitch in annoyance, so he pressed on. "All of you, hundreds of thousands of years, that doesn't mean shit to me. I've lived for eons. I know how long it takes for an eternity to end. Who cares when I died or how old I was?"

"How many empires have you seen rise or fall? How many temples have been built for you? How long have you been awake and active?" Is his retort, earning a flinch. "I'm sure you're a mere child compared to us when it comes to experience."

"..."

"Why did you kill god?"

"I was-"

"You went to kill god because he was a monster, I heard that. But why did you kill god? Take away the lack of allies, take away what kind of person he was, take away what war you fought in, and tell me why you struck god down." That makes him fall silent. His mouth opens and his lips shift to form words, but the god may as well have been rendered mute. "You're self destructive, so why didn't you just let him kill you? To put an end to all of your suffering? A selfish ending, but one that would be understandable."

"..."

"I think you wanted to live, and that was the most selfish decision you could've made at that moment." Esidisi says it simply, confidently, as if he never questioned it. As if he had known the mortal that became god. He stands, not letting the other say anything, and shoves the chair away from the door. "I suppose I need to go before Kars gets angry at me for claiming so much of your time. I expect you to have an answer next time we speak, God of Insanity."

With that, he's gone.

You feel sick.

You try to remember, but your memory is fuzzy.

Almost as if you made it up, like everyone was right. It was never there.

Or maybe you just don't want to remember, right?

There's one in a million, and a million of you.

"Utterly elementary in his mannerisms, a disgrace to his dead gods, and above all else; an utter annoyance in conversation." Gabriel huffed, absentmindedly making a crystal orb roll between his fingers, a book on the sleight of hand tossed callously to the floor. Orbs had floated down and shattered. Now thousands of eyes watched his every move as he flipped his hand to catch the orb in the flat of his palm. Another movement allowed the object to balance on the tip of his pointer finger. The surface shifted, and Gabriel watched the shaman leave the room as God curled in on himself. "He's breaking. They're breaking him. He's in pain."

Several eyes narrowed in anger, others looked away in shame, most looked in blank sorrow.

He falls back across the altar; the sky darkening till he was shrouded in black, floating amidst the oncoming storm. For a moment, the angel could imagine he was truly divine, human, and that he didn't know where he was. Or how he got there. Maybe that would be like having a nightmare? Trapped in a space that seemed to reach out infinitely. Allowed to breathe, yet with air so thick that each gasp of air feels as if liquid was about to invade and leave you drowning.

A deep, raspy tone makes itself known, reverberating from all around yet muffled.

"Who comes near?"

Silence echoed, then the voice hummed, and shifted. Gabriel could feel the presence, whoever it was, moving. Eyes formed and covered every inch of the heavens above, yet he didn't see anyone. Still, he could feel it inside him, an understated sensation. One so unique that his momentary daydream about being purely human was cut short. Part of him regretted his phrasing. That wasn't how humans talked, but he ignored that.

"I know you are approaching. Whatever, or whoever, you are...well, you are not subtle in your methods. The shadow would have spoken by now. No courtesy? Spare me a guessing game and reveal yourself now."

The motion ceased, shadows blended, and Gabriel continued to soak beneath his own storm. Then he spotted the source of motion, a thick black tar that shifted with too much purpose. It made Gabriel feel sick just looking at it. A displeased scoff escaping his lips, fingers on instinct tracing his arm underneath his sleeves like the god did when agitated.

"I can't believe it. The King's stand leaving its user's side to break into my domain? An unspeakable thing moves before me, in all of its accursed preeminence." Gabriel's voice turns cold, mocking. As he watched Conscious Party form from its almost liquid-like state to a humanoid figure with hundreds of eyes. Mint green irises shift to observe him. "It really is you...? Interesting. Do you not fear death? Or do you think I can't get rid of you since you and your user reside inside of the god's stand? What a strange thing you are, completely silent, yet a loyal soldier all the same. Can a thing like you even feel guilt?"

He felt as if something was knocking, beating on his chest, nearly knocking the angel off guard. That couldn't happen. He needed control.

"Was it...is this something your user is doing?"

A pause, so Gabriel pressed.

"Well?"

The stand twists, a series of horrific cracks echo from its form. Almost like a spider, it crawls across the altar to reach for the orbs that hadn't turned into eyes or other such forms. It finds the one it had been looking for, and Gabriel stares at the prophecy. Buildings in Egypt being destroyed, people screaming, and a beast howling for blood and vengeance. An event that should happen later, a good few decades or so, and something that had been labeled important. Tar-like talons reach out and grab the crystal. Gabriel remains silent, watching, unsure why it wanted a vision of the future.

Gabriel reaches out, faster, grabs the hardened tar of the stand's skin, and he presses. It makes a strange sound, chatter, and the angel watches it go still. Struggle ever so slightly. Trying to avoid simply turning into its other state.

"What would you say if you could speak?"

That makes the eyes narrow.

"Damn you, Gabriel." He mimics a voice that he imagines might escape such a stand. Mocking. The stand thrashes at that, but it would never try to strike while being in his realm, while being in his being and they both know it. "Here I was, believing that your theology would at least obliged you to greet me normally. I expected you to say 'be not afraid' or something along those lines, but now I can see where the stories started from. So, what does an abomination like you want from me?"

He snickers.

"Come out, be not afraid. I will not hurt you." He states, plainly, a voice closer to human than it had been before.

"I am not a fool, archangel." He speaks in that voice again, understanding on some level how insane he would seem if the god or shadow happened upon him in this state. Or how disgusted the dead god would be to see his stand, a thing that could bend reality, being played with like a doll. Gabriel can't help but delight in that mental image. "I know what you are. What you're like. The capacity, the willingness, to end something's existence if they aren't your god. So I ask again; what do you want?"

He turns his voice cold, venomous.

"You infiltrated my realm without permission. And now you wish to take from me? Consider mercy my greatest kindness. You should take nothing and leave." He presses the pad of a thumb against the eye in the center of its face. "But there's more sin clinging to you, to your user, isn't there? I felt you. Both of you. Slithering around in the head of my beloved god, like ivy strangling a tree for its nutrients. Ripping his already fragile control away in small instances. Do you think you can flee?"

It thrashes, Conscious Party making a panicked high-pitched chatter.

"This is how I'll kill you," he coos, glee filling his tone, and his grasp tightens. It would be easy. There is nowhere for the stand to flee without him knowing. He has total control, and now he can act and harm. There is no moral obligation to the now dead god. Ajamu can rot and rot forevermore for all Gabriel cares.

Something in his connection to god jolts and screams.

The angel freezes, wings shaking, and he realizes with a snarl that he can't kill the stand. It is inside of Narcissistic Cannibal. It is part of the stand for all intents and purposes. Adding to its base strength, cursing it with chatter, and cursing the pair with Ajamu's continued existence as little more than a flicker of what he once was.

He couldn't kill the stand because it would hurt his god.

He snickered, back to the voice he decided on for the mute stand. "You're a hypocrite! Without permission? As if something like you has ever asked for-"

"Without my permission." He reminds, interrupting himself, grinning with his fangs on full display.

"Here I was, unaware that you claimed ownership of the gods or mortals you housed." He makes the voice mocking, and he can't help but laugh, pulling the stand down with him so the tar-like beast seemed to pin him. "Why do you care? You'll exist forever. There will be hundreds, no, thousands of gods after this one, just as there were thousands before. The number of humans available to ascend after him is forever endless. Why does this one matter?"

"...why does he matter? Why does he grant me this ability, this intelligence?"

For a moment, the silence is only broken by the light rain.

"The reason doesn't matter. I can't tell you why he does this to me, but I know his place in this form's heart, in my soul. Is it not enough to be deeply in love? Is it not enough to owe another your heart, mind, body, and soul?" His attention focused back on the stand trapped in his grasp, more seething than ever, and his grip tightened as much as it could without hurting his god. "You, the darkest tar hoping to drag and drown whatever you can catch in your grasp, and that user of yours needs to learn; you are not taking what is mine. Mine...that's right. He's mine and I am his. That shaman's a fool for thinking otherwise, all of them are. My god just doesn't realize it yet. He's mine. I'll be sure to...I'll fix this soon enough."

"I haven't done anything..." He whispers in that false voice again, pleading, soft and straining. "Please, just let me go."

"Then you appreciate my work." Gabriel whispered. "And look at you; a filthy thing. You and your user keep trying to control what's mine. You meant to take what's mine."

He lets go of the stand, which tightens its grasp on the orb, and darts away from his immediate range. Not that it matters. He is this entire realm and they both know it. Thousands of eyes watch them both. The rain is still light; he reaches upwards for an orb. Cradling the visage of his god, he pulls it down to rest over where his heart should be, and he purrs at the sensation.

"To think...I'm in love with him...what was once human, now divine. Still, to think, what could be considered the home of all gods, the figurehead of the most calamitous, the strongest before becoming divine...what I've become for him."

Conscious Party was about to vanish, Gabriel allowed it.

“O, unspeakable one…” He cooed in that voice, almost inaudible. “Rot in your newfound humanity.”

Then silence.

He was alone.

He reached down, fingertips digging into his wings, pulling out feathers in rough motions, earning pained hisses. Unlike his god, he could still feel pain, and it hurt. In fact, pulling out these feathers hurt more than he was prepared for. He stared at his blood, at the shed feathers, and smiled. These were important. Willing sacrifices for everything. Ways to improve for his divinity. That was obvious.

"I'll be your dreamcatcher."

That was what he had promised his god. A dreamcatcher was often made with feathers, string, and sticks. If he couldn't be there in person, then he'd be sure to provide this for him.

So, he laughed as he strung the feathers together.

"This will all be worth it...for the both of us, I just need to make you realize you love me as much as I love you."

You find Ross by accident.

Well, not entirely by accident, even if you're not sure why you went looking in the first place, but when asked, that's what you like to say. It makes swallowing the medicine down all the easier. Both your wrists are perfectly symmetrical, one long scar going from the start of your wrist to the inside of your elbow, and dozens of thinner scars running through that main scar. One portrait and a thousand landscape scars. Everyone knows where you got them from. Now, again, you were back at that rough point of your life where you were caught between thinking about putting a pistol in your mouth and actually doing it. That strange zone where you wonder about the afterlife and the possibility of an absence therefore, of shit like God or gods, and the disapproving look on Saint Peter's face, or perhaps the metric tonnage of your immortal soul or whatever. You hate that zone. Now the risks don't even matter, it makes all your hard work seem worthless. Cause now you just want to crawl home, although you'd be the very thing to kill your mother if you did. Maybe that serves as the breaking point.

But you figure after a while you've given dying a fair amount of thought, and that you should probably get living's argument in, too, before you commit to anything fatal.

Ross's a student psychologist that likens himself to a quiet, mild-mannered man in his forties, not actually the real deal bona fide, but close enough and a lot less expensive. You hop between odd jobs like you do shady hangouts. Drugs and parties are the cost of oxygen these days.

"You know, I'm thinking about offing myself doc, got anything you can prescribe for that?" You say in the first session, mainly picking at the laces of your boots. The voices howl at you for every sin. They want you to kill yourself. You wonder if you should. Want to. You sat for two hours last week with a pistol held in your mouth, till you could still taste steel and the hint of gunpowder after brushing your teeth on repeat.

Ross crosses his legs. The guy's wearing tweed slacks like he's a grandfather in a grad student's body, and leans back in his chair. His thick glasses reflect all light, serving as shiny twin mirrors of you slumped over on the couch. You look exactly like an actor portrayal of someone who's hit rock bottom in a rehab commercial. You feel sick at the thought of what your mother would say. Stupid.

“Not really. How often?”

“Hm?”

“How often do you think about that?”

You tug at your ponytail absently, one of the few simple movements your hands can make without hard focusing. The constant cycle leaves you with the worst shakes and you've been clean for two weeks. You want a hit. You want to be drunk or drugged. Both. Your body hums. Your stand's effect leaves you somewhat sated. Of course, the shakes were actually from...

Fun fact; in order to win something like the Texas limbo, you've gotta give something up. Sacrifice. It either strengthens you, or-

Well.

“Couple times a day, I guess. Those yours?” You ask, gesturing with an elbow to the row of fancy model ships that are placed at even intervals in the shelves of one wall. Some of them are painted, probably from those little pots of acrylic they come with when you buy them, but others are finished with real, honest to god, wood stain. It almost makes you jealous, really, your hands are too messed up to do that. Too shaky. It takes too much work to even fire a gun these days.

"Yes, they're a hobby. Are you doing it now?"

"Thinking about killing myself? Oh," you wave as if to dismiss the thought, a smile that's only teeth on your face. "Well, if I told you that, it'd ruin the mystery, doc."

Ross frowns, but seems to resolve to let it go.

…for now.

“Mm-hm. What do you do besides contemplate suicide? Do you have a job, go to school? Do you have a partner?”

You shrug. “Not really any of the above. I keep myself entertained, mostly.”

Now that catches with Ross, because he leans forward just enough for those fucking Coke-bottle glasses to slide forward and for you to get your first peek at his eyes. Serious. You think, in that one moment, that he's going to be amazing down the line. This is a man who will be a great therapist.

“What would you like to do?”

"I wasn't...I didn't want to live. I mean, what would the point of that be? I was...I had ripped out so many of my own organs, I had gone fully septic...there was no point. I knew I was dying. I knew there was no going back from that. Wanting to live would be...I'm suicidal. I was back then, I am now, there's no way I wanted to live." You snarl, dragging the guest room's desk in front of the door, tossing piles of blankets into the now barren corner, soon followed by the pillows. "He wasn't even there. He doesn't know jack shit about me. He doesn't know what it was like being in that void for so long...he wasn't fucking there. He doesn't know jack shit."

You looked around the room, once more you checked the main entry point, and while you knew it would be easy for even a basic zombie to break through...well, it made you feel...something akin to safe since Esidisi had burst out of you. Not like when Kars held you...whatever that was...it was fake. A trick. Some part of your mind that fell back to being an escort and liked yet another man who wanted sex but not a person.

"Just another person who thinks he knows me. That's it. Not that bad, right? Being held in a massive, empty realm getting tortured for literal years in every method but sexual...and you're making things up."

You stare at the bed, now stripped of blankets and pillows, and shake your head.

What the fuck are you doing?

Sleeping on the floor in a pile of blankets and pillows?

At least at his home there was a wooden frame, a flat one-layered mattress, before being piled with the blankets and pillows you had collected over the years. It hadn't been some ratty homeless nest since you first moved there. You were better. You shouldn't be doing this. You should go home, but that wasn't...that wasn't an option.

Moving all the blankets and pillows back took a few seconds at most, but it didn't make you feel any better.

"What do I even want anymore?"

You wanted to...did you want to go back to Kars?

"...I don't. I can't. He's just...he's dragging me down. He's bad for me. He's just another man...just another guy that wants me for sex. I know what that is. Who the fuck cares how he's made me feel? I just..." You give a bitter laugh, crossing the room to the boarded-up window, and you pull one of them loose. While it was a pain, you got the glass window open without fully breaking the boards. Pulling out a cigarette and lighter, you listened to the familiar click. Watching the flame dance, you curl up into a ball underneath the window, taking a slow drag. The smoke is only pink. You're fine. There's nothing there. "I just wanted to...I wanted to believe that..."

You swallow, take another drag, and shake your head.

"After those dreams, I just hoped that maybe by some miracle there was this guy that loved me with no restraints. No holdups. No love story is that self important. I have Joseph, I have Santana, I have...I have so fucking much, yet here I was...he's done nothing for me to feel that way. He just...guess I fell for a pretty face, a sweetened tongue, the whole shebang."

You take another long drag.

"I really need to get better taste in men."

Smoke coils around your fingers like wedding rings, and despite it quietly raining outside, not a single drop lands on you.

"People get like that, right? They want the shiniest thing, the newest thing, the thing that's worth the most money, status, value." You swallow, tapping your heels against the wooden floor. "What's shinier than a god, right?"

You steal an ashtray from one of the bedside drawers and go back to your seat.

"I should be flattered. Men will force you into uncomfortable situations, try to weasel their way into your pants, and write off your opinions, all while claiming they care about you. Of course, I'm the shiny toy that men want." You trace the glass edge of the ashtray with a claw. "Sex on legs. That's what you look like in the right outfit: sex on legs. Good to have a nice body, pretty face, to be something sexual to other people. Otherwise, well, I'd just be a former drug addict and alcoholic. Nothing good there. Maybe, if you look nice, smile real sweet, and shut your fucking mouth, someone will take you home and keep you."

You laugh.

"Cause that's the greatest thing to be; someone's kinky pet!"

A growl escapes your lips.

"I want to be worth something."

Claws flexed and twitched.

"I want to be worth more than sex on legs."

You sighed, tilting your head to the side with a groan.

"I want to be a real person. Worth more than sex on legs, more than status, more than a pretty face."

You finish the cigarette, voices intermingling in your ears, drowning everything out.

"Could you imagine? A guy that liked me for my personality from minute one rather than my looks?"

...

"Yeah, neither can I."

...

"I think Joseph likes me for me, same with Santana and Caesar."

...

"But I don't think it started that way."

...

"Oh well, I thought a hot asshole liked me. Turns out he does, just not in a good way. He just likes a guy that fucks him, stays quiet, and has a fancy title. Would've been killed like those Nazis in the cabin if he had met me as a regular human."

...

"Shame."

...

"Cheers to that."

You go to set the ashtray on the bedside dresser, and sitting on the pillow is a blood stained dreamcatcher.

Maybe you should try screaming or speaking louder next time you need something. Above a whisper in your head, at least. God's voice is strong enough to reach across the universe. One like a bell; the other, an echo. But here you are. You're the one who crossed it on foot. If God's love is clear...he's most inspired by his favorite toy.

There's something divine about being one step ahead of the crowd, the crown.

In the isle of misfit toys.

"Well, Wamuu wasn't wrong; his angel certainly is in love with him." Esidisi can't help but laugh when a wine glass shatters in Kars's hold, the other having a distinct tension to his frame, a snarl filling the air.

"Certainly?"

"No doubt about it. I think the specter would start slaughtering the masses if only god willed it." Esidisi relit his flames as Kars grabbed another wine glass to fill, tossing a small offering inside before turning his head to watch the other. "The only benefit is he's even more socially stunted than the god we have under our roof. He openly pressed a kiss to the god's cheek and whispered his affections in his ear. All the while, the immortal assumed it was something more akin to platonic behavior."

Kars looks stuck in a mixture of rage and being love-struck. The combination was sickly sweet. If only his bone blades weren't threatening to break free from his skin.

"Though Wamuu was certainly correct at the angel's lack of presence. His voice was the only thing I heard before entering the room, and he never even took a breath before speaking to me. Spoke as if he had never carried a proper conversation. I think I was the first person besides god that he's ever talked to."

"And what of ability?"

"If how he acts is to be taken into consideration, that angel certainly seems to think himself the strongest thing in the world. Certainly strong enough to not be threatened by the possibility of me attacking. While part of me would blame it on arrogance...given how unassuming the god himself looks before his strength was revealed...I would think fighting him now would lead to a messy fate."

"Then I'll handle him after ascension, like I planned." Kars replies. Expression muted as he looks towards the flame, and Esidisi can already hear the call of divinity from the center of the fire.

"And you still think that's a wise idea?"

"Do you think the angel is serving my god correctly?"

"I believe it's fitting that the God of Insanity has an angel just as mad and withdrawn as he is. Can't imagine what tasks or messages he has someone like that delivering for him, but I know who's causing this bad weather for us."

"...?"

"Our intruder was nice enough to give his title; Herald of the Storms."

"So our base is being threatened by an angel's temper?" Kars looks towards the boarded-up window where they can both hear the light rain currently dancing off the hotel's frame. "Is God encouraging this?"

"He seems to want the angel to stay away lest these days become even more taxing." He extends a hand so the flames can nip and lick at his flesh. "Why? You worried he left you aroused and alone while plotting murder with his lovesick angel?"

"Mind the tongue." Was all Kars gave him as he paced, gaze settling on a sacrificial dagger Esidisi had kept since they first left the massacre. "What of god?"

"His mental state is shattered in ways that would leave most humans deeming him a danger."

"To himself or others?"

"Both." Esidisi pulled his hand free before reaching for the next offering. "The angel seemed to have appeared because he was actively hurting himself. During our talk, he had to remember that he still had metal stuck in his flesh from when he was stabbing himself."

Kars growled at that.

"He's not lying about his inability to feel pain. I'll give him that." For a moment, anger enters the Burning King's voice. "What chased him away from your room?"

"..."

"Couldn't satisfy him?" There goes another wineglass, and he shakes his head with a laugh. "Whatever it was, it clearly put him in a worse state. Maybe you should be the one to mind your tongue from now on. Can you hear that?"

"He's moving furniture upstairs."

"Barricading his new room."

"I'll have him back to sharing a room with me by tomorrow night." When he says it so confidently, Esidisi almost believes him. Almost being the key word. "What of his age?"

"He died at the age he appears, didn't even argue once his lie was uncovered. Given how mothering you've been in the past, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised about you robbing the cradle." The flames have turned blue beneath his care and Kars looks a moment away from putting them out. "No wonder he's so attached to his dead saint, he's done nothing since he became immortal. No altars, no worship, no priests till he became a ward."

"He fell right back into being mortal after eons of slumber..."

"Obvious with hindsight, right?"

"Very." Kars frowns, picking up the dagger, and in a slow motion his palm was cleanly split. Filling a wineglass with his blood, he set the dagger back down once its purpose had ended. "Is that what he's missing? Worship? He may be Insanity in his aspects, but surely that was never meant to be like this?"

"Likely it was his berserker state when fighting Wamuu, though I doubt merely worshiping him will fix matters." The flames reach out to pull him in, but Esidisi merely sidesteps the inferno. "He's human where it matters, he'll need to be treated as a human to fix the human problems that plague his mind."

"Yet how will he ever move past these problems if he never accepts what he's become?"

"That's for him to decide. One can't make an immortal bend outside of their own will, it would be like you trying to change the nature of a volcano, or the path a river flows."

Kars considers that. Expression softening before he looked to the shaman. "And what would you have me do?"

"Kars, you're the most stubborn person I know, and you're smart enough to come to your own conclusions."

Kars nods, taking the blood-filled wineglass with him as he leaves the room.

Looking back, well, I still wonder...how or when exactly do you know something is menacing? What mental or physical clue tells that something isn't right? Something was only pretending to be innocent when it wasn't, or vice versa. Instinct always triumphs when compared to reason.

These nights, when you wake up, like always, alone is when those memories strike the hardest. That...well, you think seeing the figure in your window scares you the older you get. Each time you actually think about it...it gets worse...in fact, it seems to be more sinister in tone. Maybe you were making it worse on purpose. Hoping, ever so desperately, that giving it darker implications would make that easier. Would make understanding the figure outside your window that night...easier if nothing else.

You had woken up alone that night for no real reason. Your room was completely silent. There was no slowly waking up, just one moment, and then you were fully awake. You woke up feeling as if you had been kicked or shoved off the bed.

The first thing you note is that you're laying on your back, which wasn't how you slept. You always slept on your side, back pressed to the nearest wall, aware of any exits. You could never sleep without facing the main exit of the room you were in. The bed covers held you in place...maybe mom had tucked you in? Still, you were too hot, sweating. The door was closed, the night light turned off, and everything felt...wrong.

…the room was dark.

The fan was moving too fast. That was something you always remembered looking back. Despite how much you hated the summer heat, you could never bring yourself to turn it to the highest setting, since it always sounded like it was a mere moment from breaking off the ceiling. It was spinning too fast. That was the only sound you could hear.

This wasn't a new home...you could always hear something at night. The dishwasher, pipes, creaking, your mom moving about, something...but not tonight. You were left laying there, awake, unmoving, and alert.

And that's when you first saw him.

The bedroom you had chosen after moving out of the nursery your mom had set up next to her bedroom and the office was at the back of the house. The only bedroom on the third floor. You wanted to be high up. The window right across from your bed, well, if the bed had been in the center of the room rather than pressed against the wall, but...mostly across from your bed. Yet, being on the third floor did nothing. He was just perched there. Outside.

You couldn't see his face. It was covered by a massive skull. His frame was too skinny, you could count his ribs, and he seemed too tall...just looking at him made you feel sick. Black claws had dug into the window's frame to hold on. Yet, he was swaying slightly. Was it a windy night? You can't remember anymore, but it wasn't raining or any other bad weather. Maybe it was a cold night.

For what felt like hours you had just laid there. Watching him. He stayed where he was, never moving, other than that slight sway. He almost seemed relaxed, as if he was just resting outside of the placement of his hands. The longer you watched him, the more it seemed like he was staring at you, looking straight on despite the massive skull. It didn't make sense. None of it did when you looked back, especially given that the last time you had seen him was that day when you were fourteen, but this fragment of a memory stuck out. You remember thinking that night; how can he see me if I can't see his eyes? Childish, right? But even now you wondered about that. You knew it wasn't a dream. Yet it wasn't not a dream. That didn't even make sense...but it was all you could think of when remembering that night.

Yet, no matter how much time had passed, you still knew one thing for certain; he was watching you, that was why he was outside of the window.

A soft instrumental played from somewhere, either outside of the window or somewhere in the house, but you could never remember how the tune went. You could barely hear it. In fact, it wasn't even noticeable when you first woke up, only when you spotted the figure perched on the window outside. Maybe it was recorded music or humming? Hard to say.

And then the man wearing the skull waved.

You weren't expecting it. At first you just assumed it was a random motion, but it was too clean. Too intentional.

That changed everything.

It made you shiver, because this was intentional, because he knew you were scared and watching, because now there was malice behind his actions. As if you could never be alone knowing that he was watching and waiting. That was when you got scared by the man in the window instead of just being confused and somewhat hazy.

Even now that feeling of fear is just as real, the image of him waving is never hazy, always clear.

You closed your eyes soon after he waved, unable to move otherwise, but wishing you could pull the blanket over your head so you were completely covered. You just wanted to be safe. Wanted to call out for your mom, even if her room was on the second story of the house. Despite that fear, you fell asleep. When you opened your eyes, it was morning, and that man...or thing was gone.

You always thought it would reoccur.

Yet he never reappeared...well, not at a window.

But he was always there.

Trying to sleep under that blood-soaked dreamcatcher, you only hung it up cause you recognized the feathers, is far more difficult compared to just sleeping like you normally do. You wake up, always at the edge of the tub which you've filled while asleep, but you don't get wet. You don't drown. You never submerge. That's a blessing that you felt thankful for, but seeing the stains on those black and orange feathers is sickening. You swallow. Laying back down each time you feel a more harsh hum from the specific connection you share with the void, with Gabriel, and that threatens to make your ears bleed. Never had the connection buzzed like that. It was a hum that made your very bones shake beneath skin and muscle. Cannibal doesn't offer an explanation. Likely because they like Gabriel and think the best of him, yet you don't dare try to send a message through the connection. Instead, you let the mixed patterns of pleased, smug, angry, hungry, desperate, and love fill all your senses till you can't tell where his feelings ends and yours begin.

The dreams you have are far less pleasant.

The dream you have is blurred, more so than any of your other dreams since becoming god, but you know three things from the moment it started; you're a monster, you're racing through a city on all fours, you're hunting one person despite the crowds. If you try to think about it, you can remember heat and anger. He had wronged you, hurt something you cared about, and he was running. You were hungry, but who cared about the people screaming or running when he was running rather than turning to face you?

The dream ended with a forest of bone impaling you as the criminal escaped.

After that, you don't dream.

Just remember; removing your eyes won't let you forget what you saw.

You wake up feeling off.

Blood from the dreamcatcher drips down onto your face, even though it dried before you hung it up. The shadows seem to dance and form humanoid shapes which moved slowly towards your bed. Slowly you realize that you're stuck just laying on the bed, eyes opened, yet unable to move.

You just have to wait the rest of the night out, right?

The outline of your god form stands at the foot of your bed, and you're choking.

Oh well, what did you expect?

There was something eerie about the calm and quiet darkness of the outskirts of town, the woods calling on one side and civilization on the other, but the wintertime weather made it easy for you to look up and count the stars with no air pollution to stop you. They looked so small like this. Yet they were massive, burning themselves until there wasn't anything left. What a waste of an existence. Then again, it was probably fair for you to think that the stars didn't care for you, but maybe you'd give them a show tonight.

Felt like they were mocking you.

Narcissistic Cannibal hummed under your skin, concerned, but you don't want to think about that right now.

You shrink into your hoodie when a gust of wind, ice cold, blows past you. Claws digging and grazing your neck and cheeks. You pull up the hood and tighten it, not like it would matter soon. Reaching your destination, you take a seat. You finally look down.

From the railing you perched on, well, it made it easy to see the roaring river below you. It was almost pitch black, and you couldn't hope to see the exact details of what awaited you, but you could hear it. It was too loud, too much, and you were drowning in it. Then again, maybe you would actually drown. At that destructive thought, you grip the railing tighter. Steading yourself out. Maybe this was just your body acting on survival instinct, even if your mind was holding onto that destructive idea that led you here. Another gust of wind blew past.

You can hear someone approaching, loud footsteps, like they're not even trying to remain hidden. You turned, praying that whoever was approaching would only tell you to go home, as long as they didn't call the police or insist on walking you home or to the nearest station. Yet you felt numb, not panicked.

The stranger stopped a few feet from you, just staring, and you stared back. He was tall, thin, with long, wavy hair that seemed to blow in sync with the tattered scarf around his neck. Yet given his simple shirt and slacks, that worn out scarf seemed to be the only thing keeping him warm. He looked more out of place than anyone else that could pick you up. You think you'd rather see a cop than this weirdo. Hell, he looked way more outta place than you did. What was he doing out here? Was he looking to jump? For a moment, neither of you spoke. Guess he didn't know what to say...not like you were much better.

It was too quiet. Too long. Upsetting.

"...do ya have a problem or something?" He pauses, stiffening when you speak, and you cock your head to the side. He opened his mouth, as if going to say something, but he looked away as if trying to spot something to distract you. Then he looked back with a smile.

"What are you running from?" He finally asked, voice warm and gentle. He was a smooth talker, but the question distracted you from that. Your phone buzzed with a text from Issiah that you ignored.

"The hell you implying? I ain't running, I don't run, and you don't know jack shit about me!" You snarl, flashing your teeth, before swallowing and clicking the heel of your shoe against the railing. "Shit's eating on me so I came here to think, nothing you need to worry about, pretty boy."

"Eating on you? What is it? What's made someone like you so terrified?" He asked again. Despite never seeing this guy before, he sounded concerned. Yet his expression was muted. It being so dark didn't help you at all.

You glared at him. Given how his expression finally changed, well, he must've noticed. "I ain't scared."

You looked back towards the water.

"What's a guy like me got to fear, anyway? Dying? Drowning? Not knowing what's going on? I don't know what's going on, anyway." You gesture to yourself and then the river with a laugh. "This ain't being scared. Not by a long shot. I'm just in pain, a lot, and the whole thing's been going on for too long. I'm tired as fuck. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I don't want to keep going through the same shitty circle I'm stuck in, but...here I am."

You take his silence as a sign to keep talking.

"I ain't nothing special. Never have been, really. People go through worse. I'm just not strong enough...which is bullshit. I've survived so much shit to be broken by...myself? I'm fucking tired."

Turning to look at him again, you jolt with how close he's gotten, all without making much noise. He was suddenly next to you, and on instinct, you moved to jump. His arm shot out, wrapping around your torso, earning a panicked hiss.

"The hell was that for? Trying to get me to kill myself?"

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Eh, fine. Not like I jumped."

"Even if you had, I would've done something." He promises. "I won't allow you to die on your own terms."

You froze. Now that he was so close, you could recognize his features. They were your own, or rather an unmarred version of your own face, older, but still distinctly you. His voice was also familiar, more raspy, but a rougher version of your own.

He wasn't in that outfit or wearing the skull though...why wasn't he dressed like normal?

"People wish to end their lives for so many reasons, for far worse reasons, and while life has certainly dealt you an unfair hand, the reason you want to jump is yourself. You wish to end your life, yet life is not done with you. There is still much to be done. Besides, those who go through with these decisions carry such suffering, even if only for a final moment. The view from halfway down is the cruelest, and I don't wish for you to feel that. Not even for a moment. Death is the only inevitable. Everything has been dealt, but you can choose the how and why. No need for expiration. Death can wait, and then wait some more, right?"

"You always come knocking when I'm at my lowest. Is it funny? Am I that interesting to you?" You give a bitter laugh. "Is that what this is? I can't kill myself because I'm the problem? Where were you when I had that gun in my mouth?!"

"Go home."

"...I don't have a home."

"Then make one." He says, as if that's easy. "Rest. Tomorrow is a new day. Darkness falls and the sun rises. A life with no reason for suffering, but a life endured. Make it so."

"And where do you feature?"

"...nowhere. And ain't that grand?" You growl when he mocks your style of speaking, but he pushes you off the railing and walks. Dragging you away from the river.

"So I'm alone?"

"Everyone lives and dies alone." Is his answer, and it does nothing to make you feel better.

He had been poisoned beyond recovery, and he was fine with it.

That was wrong. He wasn't so far gone that he didn't know that, but the stimulus of physical contact was something he had never experienced before, the irrationality of the human condition as blinding as it was frail, and maybe these feelings were a part of divinity hidden away by all those before. Alarms blared in his head, but he dared not stop. His wings shifted, hand brushing against the god's cheek. At least he was resting now. He wanted nothing more, in fact, than to lie down and keep an embrace for the rest of their shared existence. This was wrong, obscene to desire this...to be here. To be thinking this way.

But the alarms kept going, yet this felt right. Did right or wrong even matter? It was always going to be irrational. Nothing outside of him lived forever. One god was a grain of sand to the desert that represented his consciousness. So why did he want to take this god and bottle him up, to keep him separate from the others?

The answer didn't matter; he supposed. He was here, and this was happening. He pulled the sleeping form into him, allowing the euphoria of having the shape and sensation of divinity in the palm of his hands to take hold. The mild shivering of the sleeping god, the sensation of his face pressed into his cloak. He could feel how warm each puff of breath was against the bare skin of his neck. A shift led to him feeling the flutter of the god's eyelashes at his collarbone, fangs brushing against skin and fabric. The constant yet gentle give of the god's chest on his body. Always moving. A slight rasp at each breath. Hair so soft against his face and neck. He felt possessed, even if he was supposed to be the possessor. Left replaying that raspy voice calling his name, over and over, ignoring all the warnings. How sickened would the god be if he knew of this behavior? Would he understand? One cohesive thought ran through his mind as he tightened his hold on the slumbering deity.

'I've been alone too.'

My dearest,

I've met someone else. He leaves me messages inside the people I hunt. Their beauty is the only thing I can think about. I'm sorry, but I'm never coming back to you. His song fills me with such a deep and vibrant longing. I can no longer stand to be apart from him. I think, well, no, I know that he's taught me a valuable lesson.

Love isn't worth it unless it kills you.

There's a knock on the door.

The god's talons stop shredding the walls as his head tilts to the side, trying and failing to keep himself from twitching or digging in deeper. Whoever is outside his door pauses, seeming unwilling to open the door or attempt to break through his barricades.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I'm here to escort you to the dining hall." The vampire answers, voice raspy, and that slight hiss makes you frown.

"I have no plans of going."

"..."

"And tell Kars that he can't just send a servant or Wamuu to retrieve me whenever the fuck he wants. He needs me so badly than he can come get me himself." You wait for a response before growling again. "You try to force me out and you won't live to see the next moon rise, ya hear me?"

"...understood."

You had a sickening feeling that he bowed before leaving, but you don't want to ponder that for long. You toss a broken piece of desk out of the way and fall back on the bed with a snarl. Knowing your luck, Kars would be the one on his way to drag you to another awkward feast next. Fat chance of that. You weren't going to just play pretend anymore. Let him have that stupid fantasy of his. Hell, for two and a half days, you had played the part. That was more than most men ever got, even when they paid for you.

"Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll just give up."

You shake your head, and let sleep take hold once more.

There had been so many times since that night where you thought you saw him.

Passing by a window late at night and there'd be that skull wearing man, legs crossed, on a bench or perch. Perfectly still, with that skull pointed your way. You had never imagined something that simple would be so intimidating, but there he was. You hated when you saw him. Seeing him was a rarer thing compared to what you had expected after it happened the third time, but you still hated it. He wasn't doing anything wrong. But he wasn't doing anything. Just sitting there.

Why the hell was he there?

You finish your cigarette by the time Jacob leaves the bathroom; he doesn't bat an eye at your position next to the window. The covers are messy. One pillow was still on the floor, the rest askew. For a moment, you wonder if he's going to go digging through the piles of clothes still on the ground. He doesn't.

"I want you to stay tonight. I'll pay." He said. "This is just...nice. Can you stay and I'll pay in the morning?"

You consider it for a moment, long enough for him to whine slightly, and then you toss the remains into the trashcan and settle onto the bed next to him. He's soft. You're still hard.

"Did you not...?"

"Nah, but it's all good. Not every sexual encounter needs to have an orgasm to be good." You lazily shift to cover more space, legs intermingling with his, and you rest your head in the crook of his neck. "Most guys ain't like this. You having a good time?"

"I am." He says when your hands make lazy circles on his hips. "Keep doing that. It feels good. You know, I like when you touch me. Despite everything, you're really tender. You're therapeutic."

"Am I?" You laugh at that.

Five minutes later, he falls asleep. Jacob's breathing slows in a way that tells you he's unconscious. You're too hot and kick the covers off quickly. Too warm. Too hot. Faintly, you registered the sound of your phone ringing. Charging in the kitchen downstairs. You should ignore it. No one would expect you to answer this. They'd know you were asleep. You couldn't fall asleep. Insomnia had cursed you once again. It rang three more times.

When you woke up in the morning, later than usual, Jacob had left, leaving the bed cold. You were now under the covers. You were hungover, mouth dry. Sitting up, you saw that the bottle of vodka was on the floor. You're wearing a tank and boxers. You don't remember putting them on. Did he dress you?

You should have told Jacob about the guy wearing a skull, that he was calling you, that this was happening. Or rather...you should have told someone. Should have said you needed helped. Should have done something.

The first time he had called you, well, you hadn't recognized the voice. Later, you noted that the number was your own number. You got the call after you had met Jacob laying in the damaged barn you called home. It woke you up. A raspy voice that filled your ears and left you confused.

Then again, there had been things that just seemed off your entire life.

There are still times where you sit and listen to the very first voice message he left you. Hoping that maybe with one more listen you'd understand the why, but you never do. Never even hear anything familiar. There was a moment where you hold your finger above the delete voicemail option just hoping you get brave enough to press it, but you didn't.

The first call you answered was quick. He said hello and a name; you said wrong number, and he stuttered out a reply that bordered on a sob and apology. The call ended. Weird, but manageable. You got drunk later that day and danced on the pole at work till you made nearly a grand in money tossed at your frame. It was nice. You woke up the next day, mood ruined, when you saw that the same number had called you. Twice. You listen to the voice mails, get creeped out, and try to ignore that by day dreaming. You have this dream that you're a normal person; you get married to some guy, and each night you go to bed with arms wrapped around you. The concept of love was something you wish you could experience, but guys like you don't get that lucky.

There are seven voicemails from him now.

"So, Wamuu, will the arena be ready in time for your upcoming battle?"

"Yes, Master Esidisi." Wamuu dipped his head to the shaman as he nursed a pint of blood, eyes darting towards Kars, who remained silent. The last living lord of the pillar man didn't even look up from his notes, only pausing once to wave for more ink. A vial with a clear liquid rested at his side. "I'm certain preparations will be down before the dawn of the sixth day."

"Excellent. I'm sure you'll give us all a show worthy of a warrior of your standing." Despite the hint of humor in his voice, the low bow the warrior gave was entirely sincere. Raising his glass to acknowledge the servant's actions, Esidisi turned his attention to the silent scientist, who slowly finished the last line of a diagram before raising an eyebrow at him. "To think even in a situation like that you'd be so forward thinking."

"Don't play coy, Esidisi. It doesn't suit you. If you have something to say, then speak."

"That vial's filled with venom, isn't it?" Kars gives a nod, earning a scoff from the shaman. "So after bedding the god and his familiar, you separated the venom from your body and his bite marks for research. How quickly did you head to your labs after we spoke?"

"Almost immediately after."

"Of course," he laughs, expression filled with the blackest comedy while Wamuu's eyes narrow at the bottle. "Just like you. So, is the god's venom any different from his familiar's?"

"More potent, but it carries the same effect." Lifting the vial, Kars examined the venom before looking back at his notes. "It completely numbs the area of the body it's released in almost to the point of paralyzing the muscle in high doses, spreads quickly, it increases sexual desires to an unnatural degree that rivals even the most furious of animals in heat, this is because of a sudden and abrupt spike in dopamine levels, exceeding far beyond the normal limit. It increases tenfold when the target is supposed to feel or register pain. It actually cuts off the regular endorphin production, meaning one would feel pure euphoria instead of pain while also robbing the body from being able to produce adrenaline. Of course, it also has the bonus of increased paranoia and hallucinations, all while being far quicker to take hold than the pink smoke both of them create."

"I wonder how much use a beast like that has for venom that paralyzes? I could understand why the god would have need for the venom in his fangs, but with the size and apparent power...I can't imagine many things lasting over one bite from his familiar. If they weren't swallowed whole first!"

"Perhaps his familiar was once smaller?" Kars purposes. Once more drawing a diagram of the beast's fangs, Esidisi could see several versions as Kars tried to break down how the injection method was structured. He seemed to lean towards the structures that fit most venomous snakes, but other drawings took inspiration from quills and spines used to inject venom.

"It could have grown over the ages." Esidisi nods, drinking more blood before tilting his head in consideration. "Certainly fitting. The Lord of Serpents, starting as a mortal with a lowly wyrm as his familiar."

"I doubt that serpentine has ever been lowly. Though I was surprised that it lacked more Draconian features." A knock at the dining hall's entrance caused the conversation to stall. "Come in."

"Lord Kars," the vampire dropped into a bow, head nearly brushing against the floor, while the pillar man looked towards the now closed door in disappointment.

"Did he refuse the invitation?"

"Yes, Lord Kars. He also said that he would refuse any other attempts at getting him to leave his current room, from other servants or Master Wamuu, and that if you desired his presence...then you should be the one to retrieve him." It was plain to see that the vampire was uncomfortable with the god's words, but instead of a swift death or punishment, the tension was cut with a laugh from the shaman at the other end of the table.

"Well, it seems as if God has made his thoughts painfully clear."

"..." Kars looked as if he would rise to his feet to go collect the god himself, but Esidisi gestured for him to remain sitting.

"Let him sulk. Chasing a snake out of its den is a quick way to be struck."

"And let him hide away till his allies return?"

"He won't last that long." Finishing his glass, the Burning King gestured for the vampire kneeling to bring him another, something the servant was happy to do. "He's settled for now, but we all heard him destroying things and clawing at the walls. He can't stay still for an hour while conscious, let alone five days. Right, Wamuu?"

"When I spoke with the god on his first day here, he was constantly moving. The one time he stopped, he grew so desperate that he carved into his own chest." The warrior recalls, watching how Kars growls before looking back at his notes.

"Exactly." He pointed the empty glass at the scientist, whose eyes narrowed at the mention of the god's self harm. "The God of Insanity seems to require a constant stream of stimulation, otherwise he self-destructs. By nightfall, he'll leave that room or he'll rip himself apart again."

"..."

"Besides, we both know that storming his new den is a plan doomed to fail. He and his familiar are snakes. Trying to pull a serpent out of its cave is a surefire way to get bitten. He may not approach you directly, but if he freely roams the building, he has to expect a potential conversation." A fresh glass was placed in front of him and Esidisi grabbed it as he rose to his feet, giving Kars a nod as he moved to exit the room.

"Wamuu…I want you to finish refurbishing the arena tonight." Kars said, after the door had closed and the room had remained silent for a few minutes. Wamuu's eyes snapped open at the order, his frame stiffening, and he watched Kars snap the journal closed. "Have a squadron of vampires guard it once it's complete. Prepare four vampire horses, the fastest the mask can produce, and make sure every phase of the race is ready. Spend the rest of these days planning for your battle with Jojo, understood?"

"...of course, Lord Kars."

I left the stove on before I came here, so now god is begging for me to go back as quick as possible. The door to the kitchen is jammed in a way only I can figure out. The biggest problem with doors and locks these days. Jamming and breaking when you need them most. When the weather changes. Wood shifts.

"Don't you see? I'm afraid of fire." God says on the phone, but only after the third ring. "I'm afraid of this whole thing burning down with me inside."

You don't dream, just wake up at the edge of the tub looking into the water.

"Of course," you hissed out, swallowing down the hint of sickness that threatened you before staggering back with a growl. Clawing at your arms till black scales break off and fall alongside beads of ichor. "...at least I didn't get in...maybe that dreamcatcher's helping?"

You don't want to think about the implications of that.

"..."

You reenter the destroyed room, trying not to let your eyes linger on the claw marks engraved into the walls, or the passive chunks of wood and plaster staining the floors. You kick a piece out of the way and tried to calculate how long you were asleep. It was probably...a day. No one came to drag you out of this room. That meant...you only had four days left. It was almost over. You could go home soon. In fact, everything should be fine if you just went back to bed. Maybe tear all the coverings off the window and peacefully freeze so you couldn't drown. You dug your claws in deeper at the thought, foot tapping against the wood, and your gaze went to the door.

For the first time since you arrived here, the building seemed completely silent. Your many layers allowed you to note that you couldn't spot Wamuu's presence. Esidisi's natural heat made him easy to track if you actually searched for him, Kars was harder to pick up since he didn't have such a high heat, but vampires didn't produce any so you were certain that the lone heat signature in his room was a definitive answer.

Yet...you couldn't spot Wamuu's signature.

Where the hell was he?

…maybe he was off gathering something?

Still, this was your best chance to explore this place instead of just...ripping the walls apart...though if given another hour, you'd probably break into the next room as long as you didn't apply any real strength to it.

…you were going insane in here.

But it probably was a bad idea to leave the room...maybe going back to bed would help you...but...

'Are you really going to hide in here like a child, N/n?'

"I'm not hiding."

'No, you're lying to me.'

"...Ajamu, I really don't want to deal with this right now. I didn't enjoy our talk the other day, and I'm certainly not liking where this one is going." You growled out, only feeling a faint spark of relief when you noted he hadn't physically appeared. Small mercies, right?

'Oh please, you don't like any conversation that doesn't suit you. Stop hesitating, either choice will be wrong, so just leave the room. It doesn't fit a god to be hiding away like a child.'

"..."

'You stole my seat. The least you can do is act like a proper god.'

With a shake of the head, and another growl, you opened the door and looked down both sides of the hall, not spotting any bound ghouls or lurking vampires, causing a shiver to run down your spine. It was too quiet. Your foot tapping grew louder and more frenzied before you fully stepped out, closing the door behind you, and then clawing a quick mark into the wood to make sure you'd know which room was yours. Not like anyone outside of the pillar man and their servants cared about this run down place.

Maybe the kitchen on the first floor was empty?

It would be nice to see the food supplies available, to make some food that you actually liked with no one watching you eat.

You mentally tried to figure out where the staircase was before sprinting full speed down the hall.

You just needed to move fast.

It's late November, maybe. You lost the concept of time when you officially ran away and the voices started filling your ears. There's no snow outside yet, might not be snow this year, but there's a thin crust of sleet in the mornings for you to break apart with your boots on the way to hideout. You're in north Texas, so you hope there will be snow so you can see it. You've got your hands in your pockets because of the chill, maybe.

That day you lean back in your seat, keeping the old stolen leather jacket on and your forearms below the lip of the bar. The pen you normally twirl when everyone talks around you is stuffed at the bottom of your bag. You take off the moment Isaiah lets you to sit outside on one of the picnic benches in the park, laid all the way back with your head hanging out over the end, ponytail brushing the ground. You remember when you cut your hair in desperation after your...well; you don't want to cut your hair again. You keep to yourself except to pop your bubblegum with your teeth. You have a job with Jessie.

The next day you don't show up.

A week later, you walk in coated in new scars, shaky hands, and with one eye fully scabbed over.

Kars paused in the middle of his notes, hearing someone sprinting down the halls before fading in volume once they descended the staircase. On one hand, there was a wave of relief at the knowledge that the god was actually leaving the room he'd taken over, yet, on the other, a spike of frustration formed at the fact Esidisi was, yet again, right about the god's behavior. Still, he mentally tracked the god's path as he put away his supplies, trying to see if the immortal was going to consider escaping despite his honor and promise, but he never seemed to move towards any of the exits. No, from the sounds of it, he was heading down to the empty kitchens.

Perhaps this would be a chance to see the god's culinary skills in action?

There are holy men, now transformed into the most vile monsters of all. To think of someone like that. Well, here he is. He became something abhorrent, a beast that could inspire fear and revulsion into even the long dead hearts of other monstrous creatures. Jagged horns. Scales and hair, both stained and matted with blood and gore. They say he's in rage, in grief. Who did he lose? So now he snaps his jaws and howls with enough force that he may bring down the heavens.

Maybe there would be someone willing to press a hand to his side and try to calm what rage remains?

Perhaps the beast hasn't forgotten everything, if only the one he lost would just reappear, but who's to say?

It was easy to find something simple, or well, a dish that you enjoyed enough that more prep time didn't feel like a death sentence. Truthfully, this base wasn't meant to last. The food storage was sparse outside of planned feasts, and it seemed like that hadn't been more than a few days of celebration. You being sold for seven days hadn't been in the cards, which was true on both sides of the coin, so you couldn't blame them for that. Still, liver and onions sounded good. It had been too long since you had that dish. After rinsing the meat, then once more just to be safe, you tossed it in a bowl which was then filled with milk. If you had the time, while prepping the onions, you'd make sure they stayed like that for an hour, two at most, but you were certain someone would appear to make yet another breakfast feast. Eh, the night was still young.

"Why are you soaking it in milk?"

"Liver has a naturally bitter taste, too bitter compared to most meats, so the seasoning won't overpower it unless you really flood the meat. It'll be drained later." You replied without thinking, for a moment you just assumed that the voice belonged to someone inside of Narcissistic Cannibal, but then it registered in your brain. You jolted, spinning around and slamming your back against the wall on instinct to guard your blind spots, and stared at Kars, who had settled at the table. Somehow, he had already laid out a series of journals and seemed more than content to sit and watch you. "When the fuck did you get here?!"

"Around the time you finished rinsing." Despite the time of night, his makeup was unsmeared, and he seemed wide awake. You had expected more visible exhaustion given how he seemed to be a few days without sleep now, especially when Santana was your main point of comparison, but...no. There was nothing. "How have you been, my dear?"

"...bout the same." You huffed out, eyes darting to the pan you had been about to prep for the onions, but the thought of turning your back on him, let along having someone watch you prep your food...it made you feel sick. "Think I ruined the room I was staying in, pretty sure Esidisi pissed off my angel, and I guess I had a pretty shitty time trying to sleep, but, hey, I didn't drown myself, so it all worked out in the end."

"Wamuu mentioned he found you drowning yourself-"

"Course he did." You snapped, eyes flashing gold at the reminder, as you tried to swallow any panic or paranoia to approach the pan. The entire time, you could feel eyes tracing your sides. "Bet he told you all about how pathetic I am. How self destructive I am. How utterly hilarious it was to make me jump in that flame."

"Wamuu isn't the type to laugh about someone's mental state, especially not when they've proven as such an adversary to him." Is his reply as you toss butter onto the skillet you eventually decided on in place of the pan you had been looking at. "In fact, the only reason he's ever brought up your self-destructive habits was from concern."

"Concern? Like I'm supposed to believe that shit." Two tablespoons. That was how much butter you needed for a skillet. Medium heat. Separate the onion rings...why the hell were the knives so dull?! "He ain't looking out for me. None of you are, and that's just the way I like it. I take care of myself just fine."

"You act as if you're alone despite all the company and preparation in place for you. It's almost borderline ungrateful." He waves off that response, possibly to stop any reaction you can give. "Riddle me this: If you can apparently take care of yourself, then why force your form into isolation and sensitive motions? And most importantly; why do you drown yourself?"

"I don't force my form into...I mean, that's not...listen, with the drowning...thing...just...hell if I know. Like I told him, if I wanted to kill myself, I'd have done it by now." You grabbed the tool to sharpen your knife, only to apply too much force and break it in half. A growl escaped your lips before you sharpened the dull blade on your scales, laxing slightly at the sparks and noise it produced. "No need to worry about an immortal getting hurt, ya know? I'm strong enough to handle a bit of water."

Slicing the onions, you began to sauté them in the butter.

"If you don't have anything to say, then you can fucking leave."

"Hmph, you humans; ascended or not, are far too reactive, but I could never blame you. I'm just...conflicted, my dear." He says after a moment, causing you to freeze up.

"Conflicted...? About what?" You look over to him, give the onions a quick flip before sitting across from him. "If anything, I think I'm the one who should be conflicted."

"It seems as if you're plagued by conflict until it makes up your own genome. You're a walking contradiction, aren't you?"

"...?" You raise an eyebrow at that. "If I'm such a contradiction, then why don't you leave?"

"That is far from my plan, but...is that what you want?"

"Well, I didn't come here to have a chat, that's for damn sure."

"How strange." You tapped your heel and claws against the table, a questioning hum escaping your lips as he leaned forward to grab your chin. "You scar yourself, casting yourself away from company and warmth when your skills may be made greater elsewhere, when the truth about you is the fact that you despise being alone, despise having no one around but yourself."

"I don't...I like being-"

"It pains me."

"Why the hell would-"

"Pains me to leave you here. Pains me to just imagine leaving you. Pains me to have you be so alone when you clearly don't desire it. When you force yourself to...such a gorgeous thing does not deserve the pain it receives. I'm not leaving you here. Instead, I'm staying. And you're not going to get me to leave."

"...well, ain't ya a bleeding heart..." Reaching up, you took his hand and pulled him away from your chin with a scoff. "But if ya ask me, the skin on your neck's a bit too thin,"

You extended your talons, the one on your middle finger, and pressed down so the skin frayed and tore. Blood welled up as you flashed Kars a fanged grin.

"No need to go sticking it out for me, babe." Kars let out a soft sigh, more of a moan, just like he did when you broke his wrist earning a scoff from you. "Guess I forgot what kind of guy you were. My bad."

"And what kind of man do you take me for?" He asks as you stand back up to go gather more seasonings from the pantry alongside a few eggs.

"The same kind of guy I always attract. Someone who wants to get in my pants and have a pretty toy that doesn't talk back. You just got to sleep with me without paying a fee. That's it."

"You truly think that lowly of me? I'd be hurt...if I wasn't so curious on how."

"I think you're a guy with a smart mind and pretty face that went his entire life getting whatever the fuck he wanted from everyone by batting his eyelashes. Makes you difficult. Clever as the devil and twice as pretty. That's how you live your life, right?" You toss one egg in your mouth, for a moment holding it in place and running your tongue over the unbroken shell, before swallowing it whole. In the center of your throat it lingers, a crack sounds, and you pull the shell's remains out and throw them away before checking the many bottles of wine. Seriously, did they have anything other than wine? "Then, when everyone finally went against you, for the first time in your life...well, you decided to kill everyone that wouldn't lower their head in your presence. I've met a shit ton of guys like that. You ain't anything special."

You grinned when you found a good, and unopened, bottle of vodka. Old Bushmills Distillery. Lucky find. A purr escapes you before you could even think about smothering it, not that you care, but the sound Kars makes when he hears it is annoying, if nothing else.

"That's why ya think you want me, right?"

"I think I want you?"

"Of course. You don't know me, not really, and that means anything you feel is physical attraction and some misguided idea that you want to be with a god." Popping off the top you swallowed a mouthful of vodka before removing the onions off of the pan. Seasoning some flour with salt and pepper, you put it in a bowl. "Hey, ain't that it?"

"..." Kars observed you, eyes narrowing in thought.

"I bet it is! You got some kind of destiny complex, ain't that right?" You give a shake of the head, a grin forming on your lips, and you drained the milk from the liver with a scoff. "You mentioned that in the bath, you had been waiting to sleep with a god since you first considered ascension. You have the ability of light. That was what Santana said. Your mode is light, like how Wamuu's is wind, or Esidisi has that burning blood. Seems like a pretty rare skill for a race that can't go out in the sunlight. Must've made you pretty important, son of a chieftain and a pretty smart scientist. Bet you were a prodigy, right?"

"So you were thinking about me enough to question Santana?"

"Keep thinking like that, won't get ya far." He observed you as you coated the meat in the flour. "But I guess it makes sense. You've had this random idea for what...hundreds of years, at least? If not thousands."

"So I believe in destiny," Kars replied, a smile on his face as he rested his head on his hands. A small swipe of his tongue cleaned the blood off his wrist before he settled. "Surely someone who lived as both a mortal and god would understand that destiny is a real force, the same as the pull of the moon, or how birds always know their migrations routes no matter the weather or season."

"Destiny ain't real." Is your quick reply. "Nothing is meant to happen, and there's not some point where everything became decided on something's whim. Sure, a thing like karma probably exists, but if you're a piece of shit, people will treat you like one if they can. There's no motive behind that."

"And what of prophecy?"

"Prophecy can be changed. Plenty of people can gain the ability to see into the future. Hell, hamon masters can deliver prophecies. That ain't the same thing as destiny. Seeing the future and trying to change it is completely different. Nothing was meant to happen. Thousands of gods have lived and died before me. Was that destiny? I just think they got unlucky or were too high up to even notice the warning signs. Destiny is just something people make up to write away bad things that happen to them, or to add bonus to the good things that come their way." You shrug your shoulders as you toss the battered strips of liver onto the pan, earning a delightful sizzle sound. "Besides, if destiny is real, you'll have a pretty shitty time."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Because on the off chance that destiny's some real thing, then I can't fight it. I'll be dead in somewhere between one hundred to two hundred years. You'll be defeated by the red stone that's been foretold to kill you. No one gets a happy ending if destiny is real." You look at him before turning back to your meal. "I hate the whole 'free will is an illusion' thing that some people like to prattle on and on about. Nothing is set in stone. I don't want to live in a world where I can't make my own decisions. The god before me loved the idea of a world where everyone danced to his tune and followed the script. If I hadn't been able to win, I'd have killed myself before living like that."

"You wouldn't want to live in a world without trauma?"

"Not if it meant people wouldn't have freedom. People are shitty, people hurt other people, but...people care. They try. They get back up. They keep going. I've been beaten, raped, tortured...you name it, it's happened to me. All done by people, well...nah, the god used to be human too...so, yeah, all done by humans. But...people have helped me just as much. Ain't any way around it. I don't believe in destiny. I don't think perfection is real either, but I believe in people. The universe doesn't care about anyone or anything, the people around you do."

"Ironic, that you yourself have total control over the universe yet claim it cares not for anyone. The bigger question here is; you, or it? Oh, but I'm sure you aren't prepared for that question...or the answer. Back on topic: you don't believe in the concept of perfection, either?"

"Course not!" You can't help but scoff at the notion, forcing yourself to ignore the first part of his statement. "There's nothing out there that's perfect. No piece of art, story, or person. Everything has a flaw or weakness. Nothing exists without one."

"Shocker, I'm wondering what else you refuse to believe. What about Santana's transformation with the red stone? What could you call his ascension, if not a form of evolutionary perfection?"

"Simple, it's a power up. He got new abilities, new strengths, and therefore new weaknesses. No different from me gaining my god form. Just another transformation. Not like I'm perfect either." You flipped the meat before examining your onions with a huff. "But that ain't my point. I don't know where I got distracted, but my point was simple; you like this idea you have of me. Or rather this idea you have of god. I'm not the person you want. I just have a title you like."

"You truly think I only love the idea of you? How dramatic."

"L...love is a really strong word. You like the idea. I never brought up love for a reason."

"What about everything I've said to you since we met? Do you think that was all a lie?"

"I think you wanted to get in my pants so you sugar coated your words. I was a whore. I know the game. Hell, I've done the same when I needed some rich guy to be interested in me so I could pay the bills. You didn't hurt my feelings, if that's what you were worried about. I can handle a lot more than that." You added the onions to the mix, reducing the heat as you absentmindedly tabbed your left heel against the tile. "Though I guess I should ask the big question, right? What do you get after ascension? What are you planning on doing after this whole thing is said and done? I mean, I promised Santana you'd stay alive, but I think enslaving humanity or anything like that would be things that I definitely have to stop."

"Is that really what you think I'll attempt?"

"I don't know!" You groan, waving your hands dramatically before going back to your cooking. "You don't seem to have some long sustainable plan! You just seem to go after that red stone and ascension. Damn anyone that gets in your way, but I mean...all those vampires and zombies certainly look like you're building up an army or some shit."

He gives a hum, low and raspy, making you stop your tapping for a moment. "Let me tell you this then, M/n, when I get what I strive to achieve, I shall never oppress the humans or hamon tribe again."

"...you won't?" That makes you laugh, but he doesn't write it off. This wasn't a joke. You weren't sure why you felt even more freaked out by that promise.

"No. What I want, I have spent millenniums working towards. The red stone of Aja is more than just a necklace or a ruby. No, it is a lexicon. A tome of near infinite knowledge on the blueprints and energy of all life force in existence. DNA, RNA, the life that courses through the veins of every animal in existence. It is the key to many things, Hamon, immortality, perfection." He pauses what he was saying after that word, a soft hum escaping his lips. "Even if you despise that word, it will be as close as any of us can get to it. It is a collection of every known and unknown life-form, from the tallest of trees to the tiniest microorganism. If it exists, its blueprint and energy are there. Infinite, everlasting. All channeled through the one thing that allowed life to form in the first place...the stars. They are the beginning and the end. They hold as much knowledge of life as the red stone of Aja that it may as well be a star without the incineration."

"Alright, so the stone's more than a shiny rock I want to add to my nest. Nice to know. But that-"

"Immortality, pure power, and to bathe in the beauty of the stars is what I strive for...but what if the goal was...added onto?" You could feel his eyes scanning your frame, almost as if someone was burning a hole in your back, and that made you shiver.

"Added onto...?"

"Considering how oblivious you've been, I'll save it for later. You'll know what I mean, eventually."

"Sure, whatever you say. I'll be honest, while I'm not sure if oblivious is the right word to describe me...well, I'll admit I have no idea where the fuck you're going with this. But I guess since you're here, I have to feed you, right?"

"Oh, feed me? Why, I would love to have your cooking, dear."

"Figured. Guess it's a good thing for you. I grew up with the idea of southern hospitality drilled into my head."

"Now that's a term I'm unfamiliar with. I'm assuming it came from the American Continent, correct? So, what is this southern hospitality?"

"In the southern states, there's this concept that you should always cook at least enough for one extra person. You have ten people, make sure everyone has enough for seconds and thirds, and then enough in case someone shows up. Could be a surprise guest, could just be a beggar, but there should always be enough for an extra plate." You huff as you load the plate up and toss the pan in the sink before getting the oven off. Honestly, it was a miracle it still fired up. Must've gotten some work when the pillar man took this place over. "Though I abandoned the concept for a while."

"That sounds tiresome, and yet lovely. Why would you abandon it?"

"I was homeless. You don't get a lot of food, that's good, anyway. I think I ate a full meal maybe once every two or three days. Few people show up for meals with some homeless street rat, anyway." Grabbing some plates, you put most of it on Kars' platter before grabbing some for yourself. "Besides, I don't have many people to feed most days. I live alone. Animals don't exactly demand fancy meals, and my familiar's preference isn't something I think about cooking a lot."

"Animals appreciate more than you think. Far more than you think...but what about the here and now?"

"I forgot how hungry young guys are." You can't bring yourself to groan when you say that. "I started cooking cause Joseph and Caesar were always training, but then I kinda got stuck being the chief. Not like I mind, but, Jesus, they eat so fucking much. Santana's also got an appetite, but he'll eat just about anything, so I don't worry about it too much."

"Do they appreciate it?" He says with a light chuckle, eyes trailing off, as if remembering deeply. "Hamon tribes are a physically demanding bunch, always burning calories constantly. Even children required larger than average meals."

"Caesar's nice about it. I'm sure Santana would cook instead of me if I asked, but I enjoy cooking. I always bake when I'm bored, so it was nice to have an excuse to be back in the kitchen. As for Joseph...well, my hierophant's an utter nuisance when I cook. He moans and acts like he's getting railed over a home cooked meal. Drives me insane." You set the plates down, grabbing a random bottle of wine and two goblets before sliding one to Kars. You fill yours with the bottle of vodka, pouring the red wine into Kars', but only to half. You aren't sure how much he'll drink right now. Frankly, you don't want him drunk. But it doesn't look quite right. Without thinking, a worrying trend of yours, you ripped open your left palm and filled the rest with ichor. Kars looks surprised. You try not to react or encourage that look. "Guess that reaction's one reason he's a trickster. Doesn't matter right now, anyway. Go on, dig in. Probably not like the fancy meals you've been eating up till now, but I hope it'll suit your pallet if nothing else."

"I'm certain it will." He coos, raising his glass towards you. After a moment, you clink yours against his as he takes a drink from the mix of wine and ichor. You nearly groan at the slight moan he makes, but unlike Joseph with your cooking, well, you know that your ichor has this effect on people. Still, you silently wait for him to take a bite and watch how he perks up after tasting the liver.

"Ya like it?"

"You certainly weren't lying about your culinary skills." He purrs, lips curling into a smile, and you flinch slightly before taking a bite out of the meat. Well, it certainly wasn't your worst dish. Then again, you supposed as shitty at this whole seven days thing was this wasn't your worst date either. In fact, thinking of Kars as some guy paying for your time made the whole thing easier to handle.

"Thank you. But this ain't my recipe. That honor goes to my mother." You take another bite when his gaze goes back to the dish, having to constantly keep your eyes on him so you could eat when he wasn't looking at you. "Hell, most common dishes I know came from her."

"Most aspects of our base life come from our parental figures. It is a matter of nature and nurture..." A sigh was let loose from the Pillar Man's lungs, another memory perhaps. Well, whatever it was, he got over it quickly and returned to his confident demeanor. "Was she a fine chef? She must have been considering the love of this dish."

"Depends on who ya asked. She claimed she was shit at cooking. Her bunch was all...well, they were old money, so they never really cooked for themselves. When I was born, she was already a long way into getting disowned, so she was more or less picking up whatever she could with no butlers or cooks living in the house." You frowned as you nudged the meat with your fork. "She tended to be that way about most things she picked up. Thought it was neat I could cook, but she was always better than me. I don't have half her talent. Didn't take enough out of her book in most things, if I'm being honest with ya."

"And why would you say that? Did you not spend enough time with her?"

"I left home at fourteen." You give a bitter laugh, slamming the rest of the vodka down and leaning back in your chair. "My familiar formed, and I was...starving. I couldn't be trusted, so I ran. I never even told her why, but if I had stayed...I would've killed her. I know that looking back, but it never made it easier. My grandparents were probably right. She should've drowned me in the bath after I was born, but I think she'd have killed them had they suggested that more than once. Didn't make them less mad bout the whole thing."

"Your family history sounds...unpleasant. Considering the murderous intent like that."

"Like I said, they were the old money types. She was supposed to marry some rich guy with the right breeding, but mom chose some guy at a bar that made her laugh. She miscarried, and refused to listen to them when they said that was a sign from god or some shit, and eventually had me a few miscarriages later. Dad was a worthless drunk, moved in when I was six or so, and got kicked out at seven for ripping my face open with a beer bottle." You shrugged, giving a shaky laugh to cover up your hands, shaking so hard you nearly dropped your fork. "They never met me in person, but they never changed their minds either. Wouldn't let me attend her funeral."

"You laugh as if it's all funny when truly it isn't. Do you?"

"Course it ain't funny. I'm not laughing cause it's funny...I just..." You frowned, trying to come up with the correct answer. "I don't...trust me, I don't cry like I should, either. Born broken. Then again, mom always laughed when bad shit happened...I'm just...ya don't get a guy like me that's...built right. Head's messed up. Been that way for a long time. But if you were asking my grandparents, they'd say it was on account of me being the antichrist, so who the fuck knows, right? Funny how things turned out with them calling me that."

"So, you laugh instead of crying at everything? Do you cry instead of laugh when something is humorous? Or is laughing reserved for both as if it's one in the same?"

"I laugh when things are funny." You hiss out, starting to drum your knee. "I don't have all my emotions flipped. I'm just not good at...I don't know how to explain it. Like, something bad happens, and the air gets pushed out of your lungs but your eyes don't water, so instead you can't help but chuckle cause it doesn't make sense...or it wouldn't be happening, and yet...I don't know how to describe it, okay? Plenty of people react like that when bad shit happens. Therapists recognize that as a grief response. It isn't that weird. Hell, Esidisi burst into tears for like three minutes when Joseph fought him."

"That was different. He lost his whole arm."

"Do you want me to cry?"

"Depends. How long ago was it?"

"Three eons ago, give or take."

"Too late. You'd be obsessive at this rate, and by the looks of it, you're obsessed enough already."

You give a laugh at that. "Think you're one to talk, but whatever ya say. So what? I had a shitty life, I died, and now I'm having a real shitty run as a god. At least I'm consistent."

"Some Gods have had worse, trust me. You've yet to meet ones such as Set. He was forced to eat his own cum."

"You're fucking with me. I don't know why, but I know you're fucking with me. That ain't true."

"You can ask him yourself. He can't get over anything."

"Don't think I will. Besides, I don't plan ongoing to Egypt, weather's nice and all, but my home is Wind-Knight's Lot now." You take another bite before considering something. "If you ain't after world domination or anything like that, well, where are you three going once this is all said and done?"

"We'll be the most powerful beings in all of evolution, possibly the most powerful beings in the mortal world...we'll figure it out when we get there, no doubt. As the sun will no longer be our limit."

"Seems like you're putting the cart before the horse on that one. But I know I'm not the person to ask. I mean, immortality is just a curse if ya ask me. Can't wait for my run to finally end. I hate the long lonesome paths the most, so it was to be expected." You tap your claw against the table in thought for a moment. "Eh, whatever it is, I hope you find something worthwhile."

"Oh no, your attitude is absolutely pessimistic. But we can change that, in time."

"I don't change easy. Also, and I feel like this is a key point. After this whole thing is said and done, we won't be seeing each other again. I'm closing up the doors and going back home. No guests. No roommates, besides for Santana. Just the way I like it."

"Isolating yourself again? Yes, that went well considering how you 'refurbished' the room you stayed in..."

"I think you'll find when I'm not being held against my will, I'm quite happy to come and go as I please. No destroyed rooms or nothing. Then again, I don't think my consent on things has been taken into that much consideration since this whole shit show started."

"...then why did you barricade yourself in? By the looks of it; you held yourself against your own will."

"You barricade a door to prevent people from breaking in. That's the obvious use of it. I wasn't sealing myself away from everyone else. It's just...not like I can leave. Joseph spoke for me, like it or not, so I have to stay. My honor dictates I have to stay. Besides, even if I didn't value that, I wouldn't get very far right now by running and my method of vanishing is corrupted at the moment, so I'd freeze and be trapped in the snow less than a mile out." You laughed, lifting a hand so Kars could see the frost spreading. "Now that the oven's turned off, I'm already crystalizing again. So, yeah, I'm just stuck here."

"I could carry you..."

"Back to my allies? You wouldn't do that, and even if you would, I wouldn't let you. My hierophant spoke for me. My word is by extension his, my honor wouldn't let me back down. Besides, I have three days after this one. I'm in it to win it. What does it matter anyway? This is what you wanted, right? To divide and conquer?" You swallow, looking down as your heel tapped even faster. "Won't be long now, and no matter what shit Ajamu or anyone else says, I'll be on my merry way just fine. I don't have to worry. I've been alone with Narcissistic Cannibal all my life, really. I'm built for solo travel."

"You speak of honor yet act as if it's holding you back. You claim its something you have and dictates you, yet your constant desires to be alone and become aggressive to assistance or acts of love contradict such an attribute. You hold yourself back and verbally communicate yourself like you're selfish...how curious."

"Course I'm selfish. I mean, I should do shit like this without Joseph stepping in and telling me to. If all it took was giving up me...then I should be willing to put another muzzle on, right? As for assistance and love...I don't deserve that shit anymore than I deserve to be god." There's a slight crack from where your claws dig into the table. "Joseph and them, all too good for me, and I somehow tricked them into not realizing it. If the universe had better sense, I'd still be burning in hell, but here I am...fuck, this conversation's gotten dark. Can we talk bout something else? I feel sick."

Before another word was uttered, you were pulled into an embrace by the Pillar Man.

"...?" You twitched, unsure of what to do. For a moment, your instincts screamed for you to run or attack, but then it clicked he wasn't...he wasn't hurting you. A laugh escaped your lips before you could swallow it down. "What the...? Why the hell are you...? I don't...I really don't...if you're gonna get touchy feely with someone, make sure it's someone that actually deserves...or...I don't...why...?"

"Stop talking."

"...easier said than done."

"Ironic, but lovely." You laugh when he says that, claws instinctively digging in to hold him in place, and now you're shaking.

"You have a real shit taste in men, ya know that?"

"You have shit tastes in codes and self-care."

"I don't do self care, babe." You get out, trying to ignore how hard you're shaking now. "Never have."

"You will soon. Trust me." He runs his fingers through your hair, slow and gentle, reminding you of a mother's brush.

"What? Ya gonna enforce self care on me?" That earns a laugh from you despite the face he still sounds serious. "Ain't nobody gotten me to do that before...at least, nobody in this eon. Still haven't said why you're doing this...I mean, you're not gaining anything from it."

"...oh dear, you're delusional beyond recognition. It's pitiful, like watching a newborn deer fall to their knees and be abandoned." Kars sounded genuinely upset, less sarcastic or mocking, so you allowed him to continue running his fingers through your hair. Somewhere along the way, he ends up pulling you on your lap, forcing you to settle against him with your legs folded awkwardly. "Lucky for you, there's me to help you up."

"...yeah, sure thing, bud." You mumble out, feeling how he only tightens his hold on you. "This your way of telling me that the sun's down and I'm sleeping in your room again?"

"Of course, darling." Kars hums, and you jolt with a hiss when he rises to his feet, not putting you down. He doesn't seem to mind the hiss or your light struggling. "It was so lonely without you, and I can only imagine the state of that room leaves much to be desired."

"...I guess. Probably have wood and paint chips in my hair."

"Then we'll have a bath before bed." He sounds way too pleased with that one. Makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"I have a dreamcatcher in my room. It's a gift from...could I go get it?" You nearly snarl when you ask that question, feeling way too upset about having to ask him that, like he was your mother or some shit. "It's charmed. Keeps me from drowning myself."

"Didn't you say that sharing a bed with someone prevented you from sleepwalking?"

"Well, yeah, but...that was a gift. Rude to not keep it with you." You can feel the frown forming on his face even if you can't see it. "I don't have to hang it up, but I don't want it to get lost. I can just store it with the rest of my things."

"I'll have a servant bring it to our room. Though I imagine this object was a gift from the angel who entered our midst?"

"Yeah. Is there a problem with that?"

"Not at all. Though you'll have to explain where you're storing your possessions, I don't remember you having a bag on you. Did you perhaps create a cache in one of the rooms? Under a floorboard or panel of the wall?" The reminder that he doesn't know about Cannibal's storage space makes you mentally screech at the fact that, once again, you had given information away for absolutely no reason.

"Something like that." You mumble out, the only sign that he heard you was a soft hum by your ear.

With that, you were carried out of the room and towards the stairs.

You reach into your bag, pull out your phone, and begin to look through your contacts.

"Who're you calling?" Jacob asks, not sounding worried or concerned, which you take as a good sign.

"Just checking my texts."

You stop looking when you scroll down and find the very first message the guy with the skull left. To think that would be the start of it all. You hadn't thought of it all when you first spotted it on your phone, but looks like your shit luck caught up once again. At least you're consistent. You know this one by heart.

'You know, I didn't expect you to pick up. That's fine. I know that. But...there's only one question to resolve. There's only one moment that matters. I'm scared. I bet you didn't think I could get scared, but I am. How long do we have left? I feel more than a little crazy. I know...there's no doubt about it. I'm not lucid right now. Everything you ever thought...no, everything they all thought...they're all right. I can just feel my fear growing. I need the answer. One question. It has to be answered soon. Please, call me soon.'

You guessed they weren't aggressive or at least outright threatening, but they still freaked you out. Each one was listing as being made with your phone number. You wondered if it was a hacker. His words are nonsensical. They lack meaning, but they have a purpose. Or at least he sounds like he has a purpose when he talks. The whole thing is weird. What's worse is that each message is word for word the same.

It was kinda sad that the only neat thing in your life, other than a rich guy taking you to meet his parents, was some spooky phone calls. You were seeing Jacob, and that freak was leaving you creepy messages while calling through your own phone. You usually kept secrets, take them to the grave if able, but this is weird even for you.

These days, if you woke up late at night, there would be missing calls and voicemails left on your phone. Typically, he called bout three in the morning. Yet it was always late at night. He never called during the day. Always from your own phone number.

There was one date with Jacob where he called, midnight, the two of you on his main couch watching movies. He doesn't know what to think of the gore porn horror movies you put, but he said it was your turn to pick. You wanted something unappealing and terrible, both in the violence and the writing, and it seems to work cause he's leaving you all the popcorn. Honestly, you watched worse, but A Serbian Film had ended and Human Centipede seemed to be far worse for Jacob. You had expected the opposite. Most could never stomach sexual violence compared to the softened medical gore of the first segment. Oh well. You tend to be wrong. Then the guy in the skull called as the centipede tried to climb up the stairs, moaning and ripping at the mouths, while Jacob pretended not to cringe. When you said you wanted horror, there was a part of you that knew Jacob was hoping it would be romantic. With you pressing against him while he comforted you, instead he's listening to you laugh and explain behind the scene details because you adore horror. You swallowed more popcorn and handed the phone over to him. He's happy for an excuse to turn the volume down, but he hands the phone back and says it was just an old man who had the wrong number. That makes you frown, but you thank him and promise him that the next movie will be a good horror movie, not the other two Human Centipedes. He looks terrified when he learned this movie got two sequels. He looks like he might cry because good horror is The Thing, but your stand was making you hungry and you wanted to see gore and blood.

He called after movie night. Well, he called three times.

The calls were also messing with your mind, making you have plenty of nightmares. Any time you slept back in your home, if that abandoned barn counted for jack shit, you'd wake up in the middle of the night certain that someone was waiting to kill you. You never sleep well these days. You wake up, flat on your back, as reality breaks and warps. Unable to move. You learn that's sleep paralysis.

It's too late to tell anyone about this, anyway.

There are no servants tonight. No zombies heating the water or getting rose petals, just Kars placing you by the door as he moves through the steps of preparing a bath for the two of you. Your foot taps against the tile, you stop only to kick off your shoes and socks before you go back to watching Kars. He's quiet. He should say something. Or maybe he should be mad at you for snapping at him in the kitchen? Or maybe he should push your buttons like he'd been doing since you first got here to get whatever info he was looking for?

Claws scraped at the points where your scales ended and overlapped, you dig in, pushing them out of alignment till the points of your claws embedded into soft flesh. You feel ichor bubble up, flooding the small, air thin gaps between your scales with your own ichor. Black scales gaining a faint golden sheen from the bloodshed. Your gaze stops darting, stops even focusing on Kars, and you instead trail over all the grooves of the tile flooring.

"I see Esidisi wasn't exaggerating about your tendency to self mutilate." A hand pulls your claws free, causing you to jolt and look up at him in confusion. When had he gotten so close?

"I...I wasn't-"

"Injuring yourself?"

"...there just wasn't..." You frown, not used to having to explain yourself to anyone. You didn't get this twitchy around most people, or Santana was quick to stop you these days.

"There wasn't what?" Kars asks, eyes narrowing as he watches ichor drip onto the tiles, and you just shrug in response. That seems to give him some pause before he regards you differently. It's a small change, but one that only confuses you. "I suppose Esidisi does get to be right every few thousand years. Only a handful of times, but it happens."

"What exactly was he right about?"

"You require some variant of stimulation." As he talks, he leads you towards the bath. You nearly interrupt him to point out the two of you are still dressed, but you swallow that down. "The moment you lost the ability to repeat the clicking of your boot, you started to twitch till you resorted to injuring yourself. Now, is it a lack of sound that irritates you? Wamuu mentioned that calmed you after the 'incident' in his room, and that weapon Jojo used seemed to make you relax as well. Or is it the act that soothes you? You seem to constantly move your hands, far more than a nervous tick."

"...it's just a stim I haven't been able to drop." You mumble out, adverting your gaze when he sheds the few items he wore. "You aren't going to just cut through my clothes again, right? I actually bought this outfit and I don't want it ruined."

"I'll remove your clothes properly this time." He promises, already messing with your shirt, and for some reason you let him do it. "And what you were saying about those habits of yours?"

"They're stims. My family had a lot of problems in the head, became a whole thing, so no one ever got surprised." You manage a weak laugh, slowly following his motions to make sure the outfit doesn't get torn on its way to the floor. "An aunt set herself on fire, someone coated themselves in blood and raw meat to get mauled by dogs, someone killed themselves claiming people were trying to get inside of them. My whole family is a crate of horror stories, used to be called Black Family Madness, if you can believe it. The motto was madness was just the price that had to be paid for genius. Made sense in hindsight, my whole family was too artsy to be sane."

For once, Kars doesn't seem delighted when you're fully undressed.

"You have an art background?" The question doesn't fit his usual style of talking, almost out of character, but you handle it well enough.

"I'm a poet, not by trade, since I don't enjoy selling my work." You tap your fingers against your scales, finding your claws to make enough of a sound to be distracting. "I know how to play guitar, piano, harp, and French Horn. I was taught to sing from an early age, and acting followed suit before I left home. It was a tradition to learn the basics of two musical instruments before you were ten, for instance. I still play the guitar and piano, but I have...well, not a lot of opportunity for the other two these days. I did a part-time gig writing horror columns in a local newspaper, but I'm no big time author."

"Do you want to be one?"

"Hell no." You were brought into the water, where you were soon brought right back to his side. God, you were feeling more like a doll than a person. Maybe that was what Kars liked? "I'm immortal now. I don't need to risk something of mine becoming famous. Could you imagine that? Being known forever...as least most get to die in peace and ignore the bad takes on their writing."

He gives a hum of amusement at that, but he says nothing for the rest of the bath.

Don't waste time asking the time old question; 'Why do bad things happen to good people?'

You might as well ask; 'Why do good things happen to good people?'

Or,

'Why does anything happen at all?'

Might as well walk off the edge of the world and hail the hydrogen at the heart of our nearest, yet not dearest, star while asking; 'Well, why do you combust?' Ask why the universe exists at all. Or maybe ask for who it exists for.

So, go ahead.

Ask that fire why it burns the time it has.

It may not answer.

But here is what we all know for sure;

With the time it has,

It burns.

There's a cosmic joke somewhere when you lay down next to him and think he's being honest.

'I'm repeating all my old mistakes.'

Because when you look at him, you see Bluford's smile as he crumbled to dust.

If you misjudged him, then he's in love with you, and that's what hurts the most.

You flicked the lighter two, no, three times before the spark caught and you watch how the flame slowly dances despite how hard it was to get the lighter working in the first place. You let it burn and flicker for a moment longer before you flipped the zippo shut and tossed it on the dashboard.

"You know, I wish you wouldn't do that in here." Rick gave a scowl as you propped the heels of your boots on the dashboard. "I happen to like my car, believe it or not. You're gonna set it on fire if you ain't careful."

"Just get over it. Not like you pay for it, Isaiah does. He don't care." You huff, flicking your gaze up to the rearview mirror to look at the kid in the backseat. Despite what Jessie said, you were going to consider him a kid even if he was your age...not like he had any of your life experience. Any of Jessie's either. Still, his image is fuzzy. Since your eye got messed up, one side of your vision is...well, you see in heat signatures. Completely blind otherwise. You decide your stand is to blame, but you don't care anymore. A blink and your good eye handles the rest. You're already used to it. He's well-rounded, with light brown skin, short hair, and big eyes. Not quite innocent with the starting build of a football player, but he didn't look like he was a gangster, either. You wondered what he wanted to be. "Did Jessie boy tell you what's happening?"

"Smuggling drugs." Was the answer he gave.

"But did he tell ya how?"

Kit shook his head, and you snorted before bursting into howling laughter. Rick grimaced and leaned slightly closer to the window, despite how he was the one driving.

"Alright, alright, well, here's the deal," you coo, flipping yourself over to look at him intently. "We're gonna have a nice long drive. When we get to the town, a fella by the name of Isaiah will take us out of Rick's hair and take us for a ride back home. And then, so it looks like a nice visit to our good pal, we'll be there a week. That's the fun part. A nice vacation. You like the beach?"

"Not really."

"Me neither," you admitted with a chuckle. "Good thing there are no beaches there, right? Farmland though, that's my favorite thing, but I think the theater's still open. Anyway...last day there, well, we're gonna fill up a...hundred or so condoms with coke, tie 'em off in these ittty bitty baggies, spray down your throat with something that numbs it, pop an antacid and then we all swallow them."

"A hundred?"

"At the very least, kid."

"It's Kit...still, that's so many...can you really swallow that many?"

"Uh-huh," you nodded absentmindedly, digging under the seat for a bottle of vodka where you ripped it open and started chugging. "Then we drive back, Rick picks us up, you pop a pill in and have a real 'shitty' day. Bingo. Job's done, ya get paid."

You laughed at the face Kit made in the mirror.

"Is it...painful?" He asked, looking sick at the thought.

"Eh," you gave a halfhearted shrug. "Nah. Not at all."

"Don't listen to him." Rick interjected, eyes narrowing, though he didn't look away from the road. "M/n ain't been able to feel lotta pain since he got his shit kicked in by Jessie. Sides, he's always drugged or drunk since he got here. Isaiah pumped him full of shit on day one and he ain't ever stopped."

You burst into more laughter at that, till you were wheezing and coughing.

"Peripheral sensory neuropathy!" Was what you howled, as if it were a punchline to some joke Rick had set up.

"So," Kit started, anxious and avoided you entirely. "Is it going to hurt?"

"Oh...yeah, of course." You nodded, taking another drag of your drink. "Like hell on earth."

You leaned forward, brightening as the old rock station played a song you knew, turning the volume all the way up, causing Rick to scowl again. "Oh, fuck yes! I love this song! In the land of the lost horizon, where the queen lies dark and cold, and when the stars won't shine, then the story's told, yeah!"

In the back seat, Kit clutched at his seatbelt, swallowing down nausea.

"When the world was milk and honey, and the magic was strong and true, then the strange ones came and the people knew that the chains were on, that the chains were on! Come on, Rick, sing with me, ya killjoy!"

Notes:

Fun fact; if I had ever made this an OC story instead of a reader insert, my plan was to name the reader Cassius due to it fitting in the Black family's theming of naming a child after a figure from a tragedy and the name meaning: hollow, empty, and narcissistic or vain. Meaning the condescending nickname Ajamu would've called him would be Cassie, which I always found funny. Days three and four are done, here we go, gays. Also, be on the lookout. I plan on starting something new alongside this that I think you'll all love.

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Honey_Im_King on Chapter 1 Wed 07 Jul 2021 06:37PM UTC

very interesting character you've come up with, I'll definitely be following this series

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MilfHunterEpicGamer on Chapter 1 Sun 25 Jul 2021 08:45PM UTC

>character has trauma and mental issues
@
>literally describes me
…
Ok thanks now I have to take some time to reflect on my life
Hjjgkjgjgkghgkfj

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Mortons_Salt on Chapter 1 Fri 15 Apr 2022 03:02AM UTC

I haven’t even read the chapter yet but I came down here to say YOUR ART IS FUCKING AMAZING!!!! LOVE THIS SHIT! I wanted to comment before I got distracted and forgot to

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koi (Guest) on Chapter 1 Thu 02 Jun 2022 04:06AM UTC

I want to do a hormone swap and be buff like the (absolutely beautiful) cover art-- transition goals, guys

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Quey on Chapter 1 Fri 05 Aug 2022 04:25AM UTC

? i have a question, what does 'm/n' stand for? does it stand for made-up name??

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1. TheDemonicjackalpack on Chapter 1 Fri 05 Aug 2022 12:19PM UTC
  
  It typically is used to mean a Male or Masculine name since Y/N or your name was so commonly used for female reader inserts. Technically either can be used interchangeably, but most male aligned works use M/n for that reason. It was also chosen because for a time most people assumed that a majority of reader insert readers were female and would need to make a somewhat fake or altered name if they read something where the insert character was male.
  
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2. 1. Quey on Chapter 1 Tue 09 Aug 2022 06:06PM UTC
    
    ah i understand now, thank you very much for answering!
    
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DeerPoke on Chapter 2 Wed 06 Jan 2021 09:18PM UTC

You're writing is wonderful it makes me FEEL things.

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your_random_reader on Chapter 2 Wed 13 Jan 2021 07:48AM UTC

This is wunderbar
It has been a very long time since I’ve come across something like this
It is amazing
Make sure to take your breaks and you deserve cookies
Drink water

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SaltedOtaku on Chapter 2 Wed 20 Jan 2021 10:41AM UTC

Although I adore the writing and the concept, I find the paragraph breaks that have an almost poetic ramble to them quite tiring. It won't stop me from reading, but it feels a bit like filler sometimes.

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1. TheDemonicjackalpack on Chapter 2 Sat 03 Apr 2021 07:59PM UTC
  
  Sorry I didn't get to your comment till now, and I understand where you're coming from. In all honesty the paragraph breaks were something I thought would scare away readers, but to me that's the best way to handle the story. I also tried to write it in a way that felt authentic to how I tended to go through life with the same mental disorders the reader is written to have. There have been days of my life where I seem to just drift from short moment to moment and I wanted to encapsulate that feeling alongside the poetry to give the whole thing "a poetic ramble" as you put it. Either way I'm glad you'll keep reading and sorry that the style isn't exactly your thing.
  
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ThatOneKidMaya on Chapter 2 Thu 04 Feb 2021 10:54AM UTC

I love this! ❤️❤️❤️

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Milax on Chapter 2 Sat 23 Jul 2022 12:42PM UTC

Just discovered the book and i really love the way you write! As an everyday reader, books like this are such a rare gem to encounter :P
- The way you wrote the characters especially the protagonist and the art! It's such a bonus thank you for blessing us this masterpiece :)))

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DeerPoke on Chapter 3 Sat 27 Mar 2021 06:23AM UTC

YOOOOO this is some top tier fic right here, this is honestly my favorite not gonna lie 💕💕 Keep up the good work!!

Last Edited Sat 27 Mar 2021 06:23AM UTC

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your_random_reader on Chapter 3 Tue 30 Mar 2021 03:16AM UTC

It returns
This is amazing

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DragonsSlayed on Chapter 3 Fri 02 Apr 2021 10:34PM UTC

fans of the sfcu (snake frog cinematic universe) are crying and shaking rn
how do you come up with such poetic allegories? i’ll read one and be like “damn, they can’t top that” and then you shove another one into my eyeballs. this fic is absolutely top tier, thank you for writing 🙏🙏🙏

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1. TheDemonicjackalpack on Chapter 3 Sat 03 Apr 2021 07:45PM UTC
  
  Aw thanks, as for the poems a lot I wrote years ago that just got rewritten to sound nicer, 16 year old me was a very depressed and edgy teen, and since I like writing about trauma that I can relate to it all fit in with the reader insert. Otherwise it was just practice and a love for religious imagery and Gothic literature. As for the snake and the frog stuff...well, I was kid that always hated that story and the you can't deny your nature talk so I always wanted to think about the alternatives. Some got depressing and some were more light hearted. Either way I'm glad you like them I was worried when I first started this story that the poems would get old for readers.
  
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2. 1. DragonsSlayed on Chapter 3 Sat 03 Apr 2021 09:57PM UTC
    
    yeah, i remember hearing that story and going “wow, that sucks in every way!” because it really does suck. personally, i think the poetry is really interesting so i hope you keep going :)
    
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Shinobus_Corpse on Chapter 3 Mon 07 Nov 2022 01:24AM UTC

New favourite fic, this is an absolute masterpiece from every point

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DeerPoke on Chapter 4 Sun 25 Apr 2021 07:58PM UTC

God your writing is immaculate and I'm loving all these plot points, I can't wait till we get to fight Dio again, good work as always :))

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DragonsSlayed on Chapter 4 Mon 26 Apr 2021 08:22AM UTC

yesss, i love that angsty shit, everything is just *chef’s kiss* beautiful. idk what’s gonna happen next since it kind of has to diverge off of canon, but i can’t wait to see!
(you might’ve made a typo where it says “finding the whole thing a but particular” instead of ‘bit peculiar’)

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1. TheDemonicjackalpack on Chapter 4 Mon 26 Apr 2021 05:32PM UTC
  
  Yeah that's the one problem with having no beta writer. Trust me every time I read any chapter I make I notice what feel like thousands of mistakes and typos.
  
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2. 1. DragonsSlayed on Chapter 4 Tue 27 Apr 2021 07:08PM UTC
    
    i haven’t noticed too many, so you’re doing pretty good so far :)
    
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Old fart (Guest) on Chapter 4 Mon 03 May 2021 10:56PM UTC

I have a question are you going to continue this story up until part or more, or is this going to stop at part 1.
I am loving the plot of the story, your writing is gorgeous and i mal currently in love with the oc.

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1. TheDemonicjackalpack on Chapter 4 Tue 04 May 2021 01:29AM UTC
  
  This story will go through parts 1-7 and then after Steel Ball Run ends it will cover the events of Eyes of Heaven, plus I have some bonus material I want to post once the story ends, so this is far from over.
  
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DragonsSlayed on Chapter 5 Sun 20 Jun 2021 03:07PM UTC

*chef's kiss* another absolute fucking banger of a chapter! i may need to reread or rewatch part 1 because i had no memory of what was going (except zepelli's hey baby for some reason) but your writing is really good and i basically got what was going on, can't wait for the next chapter!

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1. TheDemonicjackalpack on Chapter 5 Mon 21 Jun 2021 01:46AM UTC
  
  Thank you. And yeah I had to really reference the manga for Bluford and Tarkus's fights since so much of it is just boring in the anime, and the manga drags for several chapters, but hopefully the rest of Phantom Blood will be more memorable till we hit Battle Tendency.
  
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2. 1. DragonsSlayed on Chapter 5 Tue 22 Jun 2021 04:46AM UTC
    
    phantom blood is highkey boring but good boys jona and speedwagon make up for it. super curious to see where you go with this and especially with the transitions between parts (idk if i've seen any fics actually tackle the issues with an immortal insert character despite the number of vampire OCs there seem to be), so yeah :)
    
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  2. 1. TheDemonicjackalpack on Chapter 5 Wed 23 Jun 2021 02:45AM UTC
      
      Yeah, while I love the segments with Dio I won't pretend that Phantom Blood doesn't lag between the main battles between Jonathan and Dio. Though the characters certainly help, I probably would find so many moments impossible to get through without Speedwagon even if I make the reader bully him quite a bit. Honestly I find it rather odd that so many people make the reader immortal, usually through some strange mixture of vampire blood and hamon for some reason, and yet they don't discuss the effects of what being immortal would mean for that person when it came to interpersonal relationships. Though I do have some fun planned when it comes to how exactly an immortal processes grief and the passage of time. I can only hope that you'll enjoy it. ;)
      
      Last Edited Wed 23 Jun 2021 03:08AM UTC
      
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DragonsSlayed on Chapter 6 Thu 08 Jul 2021 10:06PM UTC

your art is amazing, is there anything you can't do 😫😫
another kickass chapter, and we've gotten past part 1! i'm not in the slightest bit surprised that MC's mental health is again, absolutely wrecked, but at least he was able to reconcile with erina our queen :)
i really enjoyed the glimpses into ajamu and MC's past and im pretty sure that MC is a guy from our universe who's shit partner landed them in JJBA as gods, but my brain doesn't ever work so i can't be sure.
anyways, really excited to see how you transition to part 2. keep it up 🥰

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1. TheDemonicjackalpack on Chapter 6 Thu 08 Jul 2021 11:22PM UTC
  
  Aw thanks! But really I can only write and draw, those are the only skill trees I've developed. And yeah the reader's mental health really took a nosedive here, but hey when you hit rock bottom you can only go up, right? As for his backstory...we're getting there.
  :)
  
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Shinobus_Corpse on Chapter 6 Wed 21 Jun 2023 01:28PM UTC

Still trying to give kudos every chapter and reread Jesus christ above i love this fic sm 😭

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