Chapter Thirty Five.

As Dio returned to U.A., long after the school days ended, he was greeted by small groups of his classmates. 'Eh, Dio, your back so early,' came the voice of the pink alien creature.
'Oh, hi,' he said before disappearing to his room.

Fast Kilmister walked the busy night streets, rubbing elbows with old partners in crime. He came to stand before an old restaurant, built in the Victorian style of Britain. He had been told about a job, one which he was told would pay well.
A cruise liner, coming from some Medditerrenian country to Japan, that was the job. An entire cruiser liner, passengers and all. Apparently, according to his acquaintance, two medical research companies had been having a dispute over a certain "formula".
One had the actual formula on the ship, the other had the abilities to create more. However, due to the chief researcher having a, as Kilmister had been told, "small legal issue," neither company owned the formula, or rights to fabricate more.
So, to get around this one of the companies had hired out a small private army of Quirk users - and whatever Kilmister was - to destroy the ship, all the while another group killed the researcher.
To Fast Kilmister, it was both easy money and a way to test his Ace of Spades.

In the Republic of North Macedonia, on the border of Greece, a man sat in his wheelchair, watching smoke rise up from a manmade gulley. The smoke was thick, but the smell was old. He knew this smell well, the smell of burning flesh.
It was miraculous that the Foundation had been able to keep the locals away, but when had they ever failed to keep a secret? The man pushed himself along and down the gentle slope that led into the gulley, whipping away beads of sweat from his forehead. He was missing an eye and both legs.
This man was French and a Stand User, his name was Polnereff. A quartet of aides surrounded him, listing off casualty reports and the prospective repair costs. A fifth stood at the lipof the facility's entrance, this one far removed from the others.
His face was hawkish, with his head covered by a wild shock of black hair. His eyes were wet amber jewels, his skin puckered with old blade-scars. Scarification, each scar was ritualistic. He was stocky, with stout arms. His name was Timur, and he, like Polnareff, was a Stand User, though his was much more mundane.
'Polnareff,' Timur greeted, his voice like a stampede. It had a thick accent, marking him as a son of the steppes. 'It is bad. Almost everyone is dead. Aphetor… Well, no one will cry over his death. The bird got him, took his eyes, the bloody vulture!'
'Thank you, Timur,' Polnareff said, waving aside his fellow Stand User. 'We had better take a look, make sure they only took the scraps.'
Letting Timur lead the way through the body-littered hallways, Polnareff was reminded of the brutal barbarity he had witnessed in Egypt and Italy all those years ago.

In a rural area of Japan, in a hill-side manor, a man sat in a cocoon of bandages, IV tubes, life support systems and a dozen other devices. The man had a bandaged face, with only a small blemish of deeply tanned flesh showing.
One of the devices, a voice modulator, let him speak to his assistant. 'R-r-r-rewind the foot-age, show m… me the flesh of Lord DIO once more, Corswain! I must see the flesh of DIO-o-o-o…' The voice was scratchy, jumping and freezing constantly.
'Of course, Mister E,' the assistant, Corswain said, reminding the footage sent by Pet Shop and the human Stand Users.
'...G-g-good, excellent. This is-s-s… Good! Ah, I see it now. My vision clears… Corswain, ready the f-f-food… Soon, our Lord Dio will feat!'

Lot of jumping about, but gotta do what ya gotta do to set up plot lines am I right? Well, take care everybody.