A/N: This short story was written for the r/FanFiction December prompt challenge over on Reddit.

My random words to incorporate: cosmically, guild, and drum

Hope you enjoy!

"Look at that." Nicholas pointed up at the sky. "That's where we'll all end up, someday."

Johnny followed his finger, eyes wide. "Really?"

"You bet," replied Nicholas. He laughed. "Maybe there'll even be races up there."

"Will we be able to see each other?" Johnny asked in quiet awe.

Nicholas chuckled. "No one knows…but I'm sure we will."

Stars twinkled in the night sky, so numerous that it was a chore to pick out the many constellations. It was a clear evening, and a nice change from the past few days of cloudy, dreary weather.

Johnny Joestar lay on his back, staring upwards. Despite knowing how much he needed to rest, he couldn't seem to doze off. When he was young, he'd sneak outside and stare at the stars until sleep would overtake him. Somehow it just wasn't the same now.

He turned over and glanced at his traveling companion, Gyro Zeppeli. Gyro was snoozing soundly. He never seemed to have any problem getting to sleep. As soon as they made camp each night, Gyro would be out like a light as soon as was possible (clutching a teddy bear that he seemed a little wary of showing off). Gyro didn't need to spend his mental energy reflecting: he had a goal in the race, and he was determined to reach it.

But…Johnny had a goal as well. He lifted his hand, knowing that the powerful corpse part rested underneath. Then he glanced at his dead, motionless legs. His body seemed at odds with the vast reaches of the sky. In comparison, Johnny felt miniscule, insignificant. What could he really do in the face of the momentous task that awaited him?

Nevertheless, he had to keep going. Maybe then he could do something to appease that essence in the sky. Maybe he could make things right.

But the universe was never so kind.

Johnny and Gyro broke camp at first light and rode hard for the entire day. They hadn't seen running water for quite a while, and their canteens were almost empty. Upon realizing this, Gyro grunted in frustration and mapped out an alternative route. By the time the sun was setting across the western horizon, they still hadn't reached the river. Johnny's throat was parched. His upturned canteen only produced a few drops of water.

"Dammit," remarked Gyro through gritted teeth. "I was sure we'd have enough."

"The river is just a few miles away," Johnny observed, examining the map. "If we can make it there, we can stop for the night."

Both were too fatigued for much conversation, and they rode in silence. The only sound was the clopping of horse hooves on the ground. Eventually, the familiar noises of the night mixed with the sounds of travel, and everything seemed to pass by as if in a blur…

…Until strange lights appeared in the distance.

Gyro squinted to make them out. "They're torches. It's a camp of some sort."

"They could have water," Johnny pointed out. "Should we go see who they are? Maybe they're not part of the race."

Gyro narrowed his eyes. "I don't like it. We've run into Stand Users left and right. It could just be another enemy."

"…But we won't know unless we meet them," replied Johnny.

"Let's go, then," conceded Gyro. "But don't say that I didn't warn you."

As they rode toward the flickering torchlight, the scene became quite strange. The tall steeple of a church, with a large bell in its tower, appeared first. Tents were scattered in the vicinity of the church, and the light revealed the silhouettes of a number of people walking about. Soon, one of them spotted Gyro and Johnny in the distance, and the camp broke into a flurry of activity.

"Maybe they're rolling out the welcome wagon," Gyro joked.

"There's no turning back now," remarked Johnny ominously.

It wasn't long before the silhouettes became actual people. But they weren't people that Gyro and Johnny had expected to see.

"What's with all the natives?" asked Gyro, his eyes glancing back and forth. "Don't they usually live off the land?"

Every person in the camp seemed to focus intently on Gyro and Johnny, staring. Gyro's unnerved state was starting to rub off on Johnny. He attempted to hide it, but he was unsure of how successful he was. Flies had started buzzing around their heads distractingly. Johnny tried swatting them away, just as unsuccessfully.

It wasn't long before they reached the entrance to the church. Standing in the doorway, as if awaiting their arrival, was a man, one whose presence stood out from the others. He walked out of the church and approached Gyro and Johnny as they approached.

The man was immaculately dressed, sporting a crisp black suit and the gleaming chain of a pocket watch. The shadow from the light behind him made him seem even taller than he actually was. He raised his arms in a welcoming gesture, a twinkle barely noticeable in his eye.

"Greetings!" he called. "You must be participants in the race!"

Johnny eyed the man, his eyebrow raised slightly. "How did you know?"

The man pointed. "Your horses, your saddlebags… You've traveled a long way."

He adjusted his coat. "My name is Collins. I lead this group. We call ourselves the Guild."

"So what are you doing way out here?" Gyro interrupted sharply.

Ignoring Gyro's interjection, Collins continued. "I simply wished to be away from the demands of society, so I moved west. Along the way, I found all of them."

He made a sweeping gesture across the camp. The native people were still staring at Gyro and Johnny as though they had fallen out of the sky.

"We have plenty of food and water. You need only ask."

Johnny's thirst was quite powerful now. He felt the intense urge to immediately accept, but his gut still held him back. He glanced at Gyro. He too was wearing a less-disguised expression of suspicion. Something about Collins felt off. Maybe it was the people he surrounded himself with. Collins had a strange charismatic aura about him. The way the native people looked at him was almost…religious.

"And what makes you so altruistic?" Gyro asked dubiously. "I'm sure that we aren't the first travelers to find your hideout."

"Ah, you judge me too harshly," replied Collins, placing his hand across his chest in a gentlemanly manner. "I ask only one thing, while you are here."

"And what is that?"

"A short ceremony," Collins replied. "My friends here are very particular about their beliefs. If one is to accept the gift of water, one must properly thank nature."

Before Gyro or Johnny could respond, the group of natives encircled them. Each carried a large drum, and they began beating on them with their hands in a synchronized rhythm. The sound started as a low rumble, but Johnny could hear the beats getting louder and more distinct. As the drumming increased in volume, Johnny started to feel woozy. The outlines of the natives started to blur at the edges.

"Gyro…" he murmured softly, partially to avoid being heard and partially because he was having trouble concentrating. "Something's wrong…"

Gyro's image became hazy as well, but Johnny could see that he had placed a hand to his head, obviously experiencing the same phenomenon.

"I think you're right…" Gyro replied through gritted teeth.

In that same moment, Johnny felt a blinding flash of pain. He looked down to see a luminous fist protruding from his chest. Blood splattered from a gaping hole is his torso, and his body convulsed as his head shot backward. He reeled as he heard Gyro yell and watch his vision turn to white.

Suddenly, he could see again. But it wasn't a pleasant sight.

Johnny stared in shock as he looked at…himself.

Johnny beheld his face from the outside, his mouth still in the shape of an "O" and his eyes rolled back into his head. But most disturbing was the confirmation that he had not imagined that intense pain. His torso had been ripped apart from behind. To his astonishment, Gyro's body appeared to be in the same condition. Both bodies limply slid backwards and hung from their horses. Johnny looked around wildly and saw another Gyro, a floating, clouded figure next to him.

"Shit!" the other Gyro swore. "What the fuck just happened?!"

It was then that Johnny realized where their injuries came from.

"Gyro, look!" he pointed.

Behind their motionless bodies was the glowing outline of a shrouded, hulking monstrosity. Its arms were its only visible appendages, still dripping with blood. Red, glowing eyes pierced the darkness. The more Johnny looked at it, the more he was sure that they had encountered another enemy Stand.

Johnny looked around. The circle of natives were still hammering away at their drums. Collins stood near the center, arms folded. It was obvious that he was the User. In a flash of anger, Johnny whirled to attack Collins.

"TUSK!"

His Stand appeared beside him. Eyes narrowed, Johnny focused and fired three nail bullets directly at Collins' face.

But the nail bullets passed right through Collins. He suffered no wounds and didn't even flinch.

"What?!" Johnny cried aloud. Just what was the ability of this enemy Stand? Did it render him completely powerless?

"Johnny," spoke Gyro from his right. "I don't think we're going to be able to hit him. I think his Stand just ripped our spirits from our bodies!"

Frustrated, Johnny stared daggers into Collins.

That's it! he realized. Stands are manifestations of spiritual energy… If our spirits are on a different plane now, we can't touch him!

Gyro's eyes shifted around, scanning the area for some sort of clue. He looked at their bodies again. Flies still circled their heads.

"Flies…" he mused, thinking quickly. "Why are there flies…?"

Collins began to step forward.

"Friends!" he yelled, trying to make himself heard over the drums. "I've brought to you a sacrifice once again! It is the will of the gods that you should receive bountiful blessings of nature!"

The drumming continued uninterrupted, although Johnny could see the looks of surprise on many of the assembled faces.

"Normal people can't see Stands…" he remarked to himself. "He's convinced them that he's a miracle worker!"

Just then, a new person entered the circle. He plodded towards the bodies, almost in time with the drumming. In his hand he carried a menacing meat cleaver.

Johnny realized instantly what he planned to do. "They're going to chop off our heads and finish the job!"

Strangely, Gyro appeared calm. He was still staring at their bodies.

"Look, Johnny," he said. "Can you see anything?" He held up his right hand as though he were holding something, but nothing was visible.

Johnny shook his head.

"I can feel it," Gyro replied. "My Steel Ball. It's spinning."

He grinned.

Suddenly, a Steel Ball rocketed from Gyro's belt pouch, shooting directly at the man holding the cleaver. It hit the man square in the face, breaking his hose. A shower of blood spewed in all directions, and the cleaver-wielder was thrown backward.

"How-" Johnny started to say.

"Johnny, can you still feel pain?" Gyro asked.

Johnny stopped for a moment considering. Gyro was right.

"Yeah," he replied. "It's in the back of my head, but it's still there."

"That's how I did it," said Gyro. "We're still connected to our bodies. That Stand can't totally kill us."

Johnny glanced over at Collins once more. Gyro followed his glance.

"He's running this show," Gyro grunted with contempt.

Collins looked at the downed executioner and raised an eyebrow. He seemed to have confidence. It wasn't a good sign.

Johnny nodded. "We surprised him, but we're not out of this yet."

For a few seconds, nothing moved save for the constant drumming. Each party seemed to be waiting for the other to make a move.

Then Johnny noticed the flies. They had lost interest in Gyro and Johnny's bodies and instead started to buzz around the bloodied executioner. One of the flies tried to land on the broken nose…and passed right through it.

"Gyro!" Johnny called. "The flies- They're spirits just like us! The stand must have an area of effect!"

He was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate. The circle of drummers was starting to drive him crazy.

The circle…

"It's the circle! The area of effect is the circle!"

Gyro balled his fists. "So let's break the circle."

Johnny looked for an opening. He felt useless. Tusk had already proven to be ineffective, and he didn't have the Spin like Gyro…

Maybe I can't attack with Tusk directly…but I'm still connected to my body! If I can control my nail bullets there…

Johnny's Stand appeared behind him again, somewhat clearer this time. He started concentrating intently, focusing all of his mental energy on his motionless body below. He watched was his nails quivered, then went still. But Johnny was determined.

With a wild yell, he focused even harder. Without warning, all ten of his nail bullets exploded from his body's fingers, whizzing out in all directions. A few shot harmlessly towards the sky, but the rest collided with the drummers. Johnny could see that his nails punctured drums and bodies alike, but none of the drummers moved, completely focused on the rhythm.

The drumming steadily became even more overpowering. Johnny squeezed his eyes shut.

Gah! This drumming…I can't think straight!

Johnny clamped his hands over his ears, forcing one of his eyes open.

Collins was staring at him. Not at his body, but directly at the floating, spirit Johnny that was hovering above the circle. One look at Collins broke Johnny from his disorientation. Johnny could no longer hear the drumming. His face hardened and his eyes blazed like wildfire.

Upon seeing this, Collins' demeanor changed. He lost all pretense of a calm, collected man, breaking into a stride and snatching the cleaver from the dead man's limp grip.

Johnny's expression wavered. He'd broken Collins' composure. They had won psychologically…but that wouldn't stop Collins from severing their heads.

"He's coming!" Johnny shouted back at Gyro.

A split second later, Collins had raised the cleaver over the head of Johnny's body, ready to strike.

"GYYYYRRROOOO!"

Gyro's second Steel Ball rocketed away. But it sped past Collins. Bewildered, Johnny was close to panic…until a great GONG! echoed around them.

Gyro had been aiming for the church bell.

Instantly the drumming stopped. Johnny's vision went white again, and he felt a powerful pulling sensation. The next thing he knew, he was staring up at a blurry outline of Collins, still holding the cleaver over his head.

Johnny sucked in a giant breath, ignoring the intense pain from his chest. He heard Gyro do the same beside him. Collins hesitated for a moment, but still wore the same intense expression. In a moment of sheer panic, Johnny looked around. All of his nail bullets were gone, and Gyro's other Steel Ball sat motionless in the grass.

"You're finished," Collins spat. "I've seen your tricks now. Your projectiles are gone. I'll have to kill you the messy way. You've forced my ha-"

With a crack, something hit Collins in the neck, knocking him over. He hit the ground hard, consciousness fading. Just before his vision faded to black, the last thing he saw was Gyro propping himself up.

"Looks like you miscounted," Gyro sneered.

After watching Collins fall, the other people scattered from the circle. It seemed that Collins had been the force that held them together. Several of the natives even helped Gyro and Johnny move so they could stitch themselves back together. Eventually they were able to mount their horses again and gallop away.

"Do you think that guy was after the corpse parts?" asked Johnny as they rode.

"Maybe," replied Gyro. "Does it matter? He won't be coming after us again, that's for sure."

It was true. They had made quite sure of that.

"I wonder if those were Sandman's people," mused Gyro. "They're a strange bunch, for sure. Here, catch."

He tossed a small sack at Johnny, who fumbled a bit to avoid dropping it. In the sack was an intricate net-like object.

"One of them gave me that," Gyro explained. "Told me that I'd have good dreams."

He shrugged. "I don't need all that mumbo-jumbo. You can have it if you want."

Johnny pocketed it. "Thanks, Gyro."

By the time they made camp for the night, the sun had already set. As usual, Gyro fell asleep immediately, but Johnny found himself staring up at the night sky once again. Curious, he took the strange object out of his bag and held it up, staring at the stars through its decorative beads and string. Maybe he would actually have a pleasant dream.

The twinkling stars looked almost identical to the previous night, though something had changed in Johnny. Physically, he felt the same. His arm still pulsed with the energy of the corpse, and his legs remained limp and useless. But he wasn't so sure he wanted to be a part of the great cosmos just yet. No matter what stood in his way, or how many obstacles he had to overcome, he had to set things right.

END

STAND NAME: 「Mad Man Moon」

USER: Collins

POWER: B

SPEED: B

RANGE: C

DURABILITY: A

PRECISION: D

POTENTIAL: E

References (in case you were interested):

"Mad Man Moon" is a song on the 1976 Genesis album, A Trick of the Tail

"Collins" is a reference to Phil Collins, the band's vocalist/percussionist on the album.

The story's title is a lyric from the song.