Chapter Thirty Three.

As Dio walked through the graveyard, he finally came to kneel besides his dead father's grave.
Whipping away the dust of past ages, he grimaced as he read the inscription. Dario Brando, beloved friend, father and husband. Pillar of his community and friend of the Joestar's. A man taken to soon by illness.
How was it that Dario, the old bastard who had raised Dio had a gravestone yet his mother did not. He had admitted to himself that as a child he had hated his mother, but as he had grown that had changed to a love that turned him against his father.
He remembered his mother's funeral vaguely. Only he and the priest, a man he believed to have been named Gregory, had been there.
For all the kindness she had shown her street, they had ignored her passing. All those starving, bastards who she had fed, all those bastard housewives she had helped and who had bullied here, they are only taken from her and given nothing in return, not even the kindness of being present for her funeral.
But Dario, he was allowed to be remembered. Why then was he remembered. Even if this was a different universe, Dio doubted this was Dario had been a saintly figure.
'How does it feel,' Dio said. 'To see me again? To see your son after a century? Hnngh. I wonder, sometimes, what would have happened had I not killed you. Would you have worked me to death for a drink, probably. Or, would someone have killed you for me, after a theft gone wrong?'
Dio brought himself up, looking around the quiet graveyard. 'It doesn't matter, you do not matter. Whatever happened happened, nothing more, nothing less. All I can say is I am glad I killed you. For now, now, I am immortal, everlasting. Once I sought riches, then heaven. Now I shall reclaim my power and then achieve both of my old goals.' He paused, straightening his tie. 'Then once those are done and said, I will obliterate any memory of you!'

Joseph Joestar leaned on his cane, Mohammed Avdol by his side. The graveyard was eerily quiet, save for a distant voice which seemed to be shouting madley.
'Have the youths of London no respect?' Avdol asked appalled. 'Who shouts in a graveyard, the land of the lost and of mourning.'
Joseph shook his head sadly. 'A self-absorbed bastard, thats who.'
As the two passed through the gate, they saw the youth who was shouting. He seemed young due to the vitality of his messy blonde hair and his broad-shoulders made him seem older than his partially visible face. But his face was so white it seemed grey.
The boy was shouting at a grave, perhaps an abused family member? Or perhaps the influence of drugs, which had slowly grown in use after the incident all those years ago.
'Hi, boy,' Joseph called. 'Would you please keep it down, some of us have family to visit.'

Dio turned, lividly. 'Why don't you silence yourself, you dirty codger. I'm visiting my father, so f I want to shout I bloody hell will. Who do you think you are y-y-you…'
As Dio saw the codger and his friend, he knew them immediately. Joseph Joestar and Mohammed Avdol.

'Avdol,' Joseph said. 'Is it just me, or does that young boy have a striking resemblance to Dio Brando.'
'Y-yes, at least in the face. I mean, he is slightly shorter and broader than the man we faced in Cairo all those years ago. Perhaps the son or grandson of one of Dio's bastards?'
'No, that grave is Dario Brando's the grave of Dio's father. I know it well, the Speedwagon Foundation made sure it was found and restored after we bet Dio, a final taunt if you would.'
Avdol growled. 'Bkr… Wait, Mr Joestar, did we not receive an email from the Speedwagon facility keeping guard over Dio's remains?'

Dio turned from the pair, trying to make a quick get away. 'Shit,' he muttered. 'In this state I can not win against those two, my best chance of survival is just to flee!'
'H-hi!' hea heard the elderly Joseph say. 'Is that you, Dio Brando. I know it is, you bastard! We heard about your little escape. But to see you walking about in broad daylight in my back garden, that takes balls!'
Dio picked up pace, trying to conserve his blood-fuelled vampiric abilities and The World's time stop.
'Purple Hermit!'

As Joseph's stand wrapped itself around the reborn vampire's leg, Dio stumbled over. 'Not like you to run, Dio. What's the matter, not killed enough innocence to face a real man?'
'Shut up, Joseph, don't make me kill you old man!' Dio's voice was off. It was oddly high compared to when Joseph had heard him. The boy-Dio pulled out from his jacket a throwing knife, and with practised experience threw it at Joseph.
Intercepting it, Magician's Red set the knife aflame, letting it tumble to the ground as a molten puddle. 'Do not worry, Mr Joestar, I will keep him compliant while you bring him in,' the edyptian Stand User said.
'Unhand me, Joestar. Or else I'll kill not just you two, but Kakyoin!'

That earned him a reprieve from Joseph. So, it was true, Kakyoin was alive. With the subtlest manifestation of The World, he broke free from Joseph Joestar's Hermit Purple.
'That's right, Joestar. I have Kakyoin. If any harm is done to me, it will be done to him. And last I checked, he's not nearly as tough as I am. Now, let me go, and I will ensure Kakyoin is fed for another day.'
'Your bluffing, Dio.'
'Am I? Then why did you slacken your hold on me, Joseph?'
Growling, Joseph Joestar said: 'Run, Dio. But know we will find and kill ou again.'
Taking that as his queue to leave, Dio made good his escape.

Nothing smart to say, so take care.