Prologue-Switzerland 1938
Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli coughed weakly, tasting blood on his tongue immediately. That and the unbearable pain in his chest told him his lungs had been punctured, possibly by his own broken ribs. So many parts of his body hurt that he couldn't even register which ones they were. He hadn't expected to wake up at all. He'd thought he was already dead, but the oppressing weight on his back and the stinging pain told him he'd somehow survived the ceiling's collapse.
He would've been relieved to be alive if he wasn't so busy wishing he was dead. He couldn't move. He could barely think. His head was growing light and unfocused, either because of the blood loss or the absence of air in his lungs. He forced himself to suck in a painful, insufficient breath. He should have died.
"CAESAR!"
The voice was muffled by the tons of rock trapping him beneath the ceiling's debris, but he knew it well. JoJo! He hadn't expected him to come so soon. He'd been resigned to die, having given his friend all he could, but perhaps there was hope. Caesar struggled to bring in more air. He just needed enough to cry out.
There was another voice, calm and feminine. Master Lisa Lisa was there too. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but it brought him comfort just to know she was there. He clenched his teeth and put every hope he had into a desperate scream.
"Uhhf!"
Even to him, it barely sounded like a whimper. He had the will to live, but his body couldn't support it. It was broken and useless.
JoJo called again, this time his voice conveying the last thing he wanted to hear from him: the mournful cry of one who has lost a friend. Despite the physical pain he was in, hearing his friend's despair hurt more. He wasn't dead! He had to find a way to let them know. Even then he could tell the little oxygen that'd been trapped with him was depleting, even with his weak and haggard breaths being the only thing to sap it. He should have died when the ceiling collapsed on him! He didn't want to hear it, their losing him. It was too much to bear.
JoJo kept calling him. As much as he wanted to respond, his voice was no more than a sad squeak being absorbed by the stone and rubble around him. JoJo was crying. He didn't want that!
He could hear rustling. Again, hope filled his heart. Were they digging him out anyway? He hadn't expected that, not with Kars and Wamuu so nearby. Despite the danger, he hoped they would uncover him before he finally expired. He owed JoJo a goodbye, after what he'd last said to him.
No, that wasn't it at all. The rustling was becoming more distant, not getting closer. No, no, no, no! They were leaving him!
"Ehkh!"
The cry was even weaker than the first. NO!
"Jo-" he managed to gurgle before his throat filled with blood.
He forced the blood out with a cough and wheezed in another breath, reaching his hand out as far as his broken elbow would allow, wincing against the sting. His arm moved slower than he wanted it to. It was useless, he knew, but his spirit wouldn't allow him to give up. He grasped a handful of gravel and laboriously pulled it toward himself. Good. Only a few thousand more handfuls to go and he'd be free.
He inched his arm back out again. His body was begging him to stop, but he couldn't.
"Jo…Jo…"