For Trish, it was easy to say that this entire week was painful. But the worst of it was the last hour or so. The problems began when she woke up from the stand induced sleep. She watched as her father attempted to attain the arrow from Giorno, who plunged it right into Gold Experience's chest. All at once, things seemed to crumble apart. The arrow created a gash in Giorno's chest, as it along with the stand user, clattered to the ground. Diavolo, maniacally laughing at Giorno, encroached upon the blonde, circling the teen clutching at his wound. Diavolo taunted Giorno, saying that he was glad that he approached, instead of fleeing. King Crimson manifested next to the pink haired mafia boss, readying it's fist. Giorno glared up towards Diavolo, scowling towards the boss.
"Time to die like the weakling you are!" Diavolo bellowed, his demonic smile showing through.
"Don't just sit there Giorno! Run!" Mista cried, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Begone, retched dog!" Diavolo roared, launching King Crimson's fist to Giorno.
All at once, everything fell apart. Gold Experience took the brunt of the attack, but it couldn't save Giorno. The force of the assault was enough to shatter a human skull. And since any damage inflicted upon a stand is also inflicted upon it's user, Giorno crumpled to the ground.
"To be slain by a king. A final gift for you!"
Diavolo's shouts of victory were lost on Trish. She had just watched her father murder her closest friend. The one who she bonded with was now falling to the ground. But something else caught her attention; a new eye from beneath Gold Experience's shattered surface. She pointed it out to Mista, who was freaking out like her. That eye was a sign that Giorno was still alive, and that's all she wanted. Diavolo realized this too, standing with fear as the three watched the requiem arrow snake up Gold Experience's arm and pierce through the wrist. The arrow seemed to flow through Gold Experience's arm like it was swimming up a river. Diavolo launched King Crimson, unleashing a barrage of punches upon Gold Experience. The assault did little to the stand. In fact, all it did was remove the shell of the old Gold Experience. Trish could see it, but Diavolo didn't. She watched Giorno rise from the ground, glaring down upon the mafia boss, with an entirely new stand. The stand looked like Gold Experience, with ladybugs on its hands and oblong grooves across its body. Its head extended into pointed tips with the back of the head hollow, looking like a blooming flower. A motif of the requiem arrow was laid upon it's forehead.
Diavolo looked up from the crumpled husk of the original Gold Experience to the newly birthed Gold Experience Requiem. A quick exchange of words between Giorno and Diavolo, as Diavolo's hair flicked forward. The mob boss watched and waited, a wry smirk forming on his face as he called out in a victorious tone. Giorno made his descent to the earth's surface, as Diavolo called for King Crimson's ability. She heard five gunshots go off next to her, waiting for the shots to connect with Diavolo.
But they never came.
In fact, the event never occurred. It was like a bad cut in a movie. One moment, Diavolo was ranting on about how Giorno would die then and there, with King Crimson at the ready, and the next, he stood alone, baffled and confused. He finally summoned King Crimson, looking at the premonition before him, which Trish guessed was Giorno's death. In a second, Gold Experience Requiem launched it's assault upon Diavolo and King Crimson.
"MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!" Gold Experience Requiem roared, the force of his fists cracking King Crimson's skull and knocking off the small head atop the other stand.
With one final earsplitting MUDA, Diavolo was sent soaring through the air, landing in the Tevere river below. Trish and Mista finally stood up after they heard the splash Diavolo made.
"Damn, he actually did it." Mista cheered, rushing over to Giorno's side.
"You and that arrow kicked major ass, Giorno." Mista complimented, clutching his chest. Trish approached, peering over the side into the river below.
"It still beats the hell outta me what Gold Experience whatchamacallit's actual powers are, but none of that matters since that bastard's dead now." He continued, as Giorno eyed him cautiously.
Trish could still feel her father's signature, a small gasp escaping momentarily. "No, not yet Mista. I can't see his body and I can still feel his presence." Trish explained, as Mista too looked over into the river.
"How the hell'd he manage to get away?" Trish cried, her gaze focusing on the blonde next to her.
"Damnit Giorno, help us look! Which way did he go?" Trish shouted to the blonde, as she frantically clenched her fist in fear.
"I-I can still feel traces of him, so help us-"
"Trish, please. Take a breath. It's okay." Giorno said, his gaze still upon the Tevere below them.
"H-Huh?" Trish stood bewildered, as did Mista. Both teens looked towards Giorno, waiting for an answer.
"There's nothing to look for anymore." Giorno stated, manifesting Gold Experience Requiem to his side.
"He will never be back. Even though I never witnessed Requiem's power myself, something deep within my soul tells me my- our job is done. Nothing will ever come within his putrid reach again. Not even the truth of his ultimate fate will grace him. His own death'll remain a mystery to him for all eternity. It's over"
For the life of her, Trish couldn't follow Giorno's logic. She could still feel Diavolo's presence.
"But we didn't finish him." Trish explained, as she tried to drill her point home to Giorno.
"His end is without an end." Giorno paused, glancing up to Trish and Mista.
"That… is Gold Experience Requiem's ability." His gaze pierced right through Trish's soul.
Mista sighed. "So, that's it then, eh?" The blue capped teen chuckled.
"I… guess it is." Trish rubbed the back of her head, sighing.
A clatter broke the momentary silence. The trio turned to the source, seeing the Requiem arrow at Giorno's feet. He bent down, picking it up and carefully eyeing it over. No damage whatsoever. He slid the arrow into his back pocket, as a slapping sound disrupted them once again.
"Oh, shit! Bucciarati's still at the colosseum. You still gotta heal him." Mista's words sunk like a knife into the two teens skin.
"C'mon. Lets get him and get the hell outta here." Mista gestured, breaking out into a sprint towards the colosseum. Trish didn't leave Giorno's side. He was still overlooking the water.
"Hey guys, are ya gonna…" Mista trailed off, gesturing to the road before them.
"We'll catch up with you in a minute, Mista." Trish said, glancing back to the capped teen.
Mista simply nodded and, instead of sprinting, casually walked towards the colosseum, leaving the two teens alone.
"Giorno?" Trish whispered. If Giorno heard her, he didn't respond.
"If you want to talk about it, just know I'm willing to lend an ear, ok?" She murmured, laying her hand on Giorno's shoulder in support.
A single nod gave Trish her answer. A small 'thanks' from Trish, and she was off following Mista. On the way there, they found Polnareff, who'd been left behind when Giorno gave chase to Diavolo. A small exchange between Giorno, Trish, and Polnareff confirmed that they all knew Bucciarati was dead. Trish left that discussion alone, opting to stick with Mista. She hoped that once they arrived at the colosseum, that Mista'd take the news easily.
"H-Hey – Bucciarati...?"
Mista addressed him in a shaky voice, but the man lying on the pavement gave no response. Though his eyelids were open, his eyes no longer saw anything. Bucciarati was very clearly dead. They could still hear some commotion nearby, the chaos that the fight had caused throughout the whole city still in the process of settling. Only this area seemed to be cut off from the confusion, a strange silence falling...
"W-What the hell, Bucciarati – are you messing around? C'mon, that's enough!" Mista shook his body, but there was no response.
Trish was stunned, seeing Mista in this state. It seemed like he was going through the denial step now.
Just as she had that thought, an awful cracking sound echoed in the vicinity. It was the sound of bones crumbling in the body that Mista was shaking. He instinctively pulled back with a start, but even if the bones were broken the body couldn't have said anything about it.
Finally, Giorno holding Polnareff close to his chest, opened his mouth.
"That's enough, Mista. He's been dead for a long time. He isn't coming back."
The quiet voice resonated heavily around them.
"He's not...?" Mista turned toward the teen, who nodded.
"You must have already realized it too – Bucciarati originally died back when we first ran into Diavolo. He had been working with a dead body up until now. Maybe it was because of this power, maybe his determination caused a miracle. I can't say for certain, but – Bucciarati fought while knowing he couldn't save himself, that it was too late. He can't come back."
Matter-of-fact, logical: these were words that left no room for any doubt. Trish gaped at Giorno's insensitivity. What changed from earlier this week to now?
" –!"
Mista moved in a flash. Kicking the ground, he put distance between them, jumped into an opportune position – and held up his gun, aiming at his target. Right in the middle of Giorno's forehead.
Even with the barrel of the gun directed at him, Giorno appeared completely calm. He just stood there, without even letting go of the turtle he was holding in his hand.
"What the hell is this?" Mista asked the boy in a shaking voice.
Again, Giorno just said quietly, "You should realize it now, then. There's nothing to wonder about."
"Don't fuck with me!" Mista yelled, scowling at him. "Explain, damnit! Give me a damn good explanation!"
The boy didn't reply, however, simply staring back at Mista silently. An increasingly intense aura simmered between them. The mood was hot like a flame and cold like water at the same time.
"U-uh...?"
Trish hadn't moved during all the hostility. Mista glanced over to Bucciarati's corpse, a small tear crawling down his face. He waited for something, anything to happen. But his body stayed still as Mista continued pointing the barrel of his gun at the boy, ready to kill.
"You mean you knew everything this whole damn time? Encouraging Bucciarati, letting him betray the boss..."
Trish interjected. "Mista, Bucciarati told us not to-"
Giorno responded to Mista's trembling voice with a crystal-clear declaration:
"That's right."
The wrinkles in Mista's forehead were etched so deeply that they could have been carved right out.
"And you already know – I was the one leading, but this was what Bucciarati wanted and decided on his own. He hoped that someone would give him a push; I was only helping him. You know that Bucciarati wasn't the sort of man to let other people force him or to waver in his convictions."
Giorno didn't falter at all. Mista's entire body was shaking and trembling, but, with a habit that was deeply instilled in him, his pistol didn't move an inch. No matter how shaken he was, he was a formidable gunman who always kept his aim.
"You...who the fuck do you think you are?!" Mista shouted.
Staring directly into Mista's eyes, Giorno flatly said,
"I, Giorno Giovanna, have a dream."
His catchphrase, words that Mista had heard often.
"Right now, you have two paths," he said, as if admonishing him. Then, suddenly, he asked, "Mista, you hate the number 'four' – right?"
"Yeah? What about it?"
At Mista's puzzled frown, Giorno continued, "Right now – if you shoot me, that will make me the fourth one. Would you be okay with that?"
The corner of Mista's mouth began to twitch. He understood what the boy was saying. Their teammates – the ones who had been sacrificed. Three of them were already dead. If Giorno was killed here, then that would indeed be the 'fourth sacrifice'. Trish watched with disgust. Giorno was using Mista's own fear against him. Just what the hell was he doing?
"Th-that...that's..."
Mista broke out into a cold sweat, his back teeth beginning to chatter.
"That's – that's just a stretch, really...!" Mista forced himself to yell.
The boy nodded.
"You're absolutely right. You have your obsession, Mista, but it doesn't matter to me. You're the only one who will have a problem with it. It's up to you to decide."
"Uh..."
"Right now, you have two paths you can choose... One is to take down the despicable person who caused your teammates' deaths, to settle everything so far. That in itself should be meaningful. In addition, you would end up freeing yourself from the uneasy life of this 'fourth' curse that you're bound by."
"..."
"And the other one – the path where you keep living with this obsession. This obsession of yours is important, and this way of thinking means that you won't pull the trigger at this very moment. If you choose the life where you continue to avoid the 'fourth' from now on, when you find yourself in that position, I won't hesitate to choose that 'fourth' in your place. That is one of my 'responsibilities'."
"What –"
Mista's throat made a strange gulping noise. He swallowed.
"What are you...going to do now?"
"You already know that, too."
For a moment Mista looked furious at the boy's words, holding his pistol at the ready again, and
– he pulled the trigger.
...!
Trish instinctively closed her eyes and covered her ears.
The echo of the gunshots faded into the vast space of the coliseum – everything was dead silent.
Trish nervously opened her eyes, and saw Mista's figure. Smoke was rising from the barrel of his gun. Following the direction in which it was pointing, smoke could also be seen rising up from the point of impact. There were holes in the pavement – in front of this, the boy holding the turtle was standing. There were three holes; upon confirming this, the boy gave a calm smile.
"As I thought. You didn't fire four shots, did you?"
"Hmph. Don't look down on me. My obsession is a universal truth. And there's not a single guy who can change that. So – if there's a time when you give up being a member of Team Bucciarati, if you renounce being that 'fourth', then I'll be putting a bullet right in your brain, got it?"
Mista spun his pistol around in his hand and put it away. Carrying the turtle under his arm, Giorno slowly walked over and knelt down beside Bucciarati's body. Reaching out a hand, he gently stroked the pale face.
Giorno addressed the corpse in a sincere whisper.
"Bucciarati – when we first met, you saw through my lie. But there won't be any more lies. I swear on your soul. I will keep your wishes."
Mista was standing beside him. Right at that moment, in the middle of a troubled, dirty, crooked and archaic world, there was a brand-new glow: "Passione" was reborn.
Giorno lifted his head to look at Trish, who was vacantly watching the spectacle, and said,
"This is as far as you go, Trish Una."
Giorno turned around, with Mista next to him as the two of them got ready to walk out of the colosseum.
"W-Wait, Giorno. You can't be serious." Giorno didn't face Trish.
"Giorno, what the hell happened to you?" Trish cried, making her way towards Giorno.
"Don't ignore me, damnit!" She shouted, neither Giorno or Mista looking behind them.
"GIORNO, I-"
All around her, the world fell into darkness, leaving only two entities. Trish gasped, as Mista disappeared, leaving only her and Giorno. But he looked different. His suit was gone, replaced by a white robe. His blonde hair was somewhat longer, now flowing past his shoulders and down his back. Giorno looked back to Trish, and she could clearly see his now golden eyes glowing.
In a distorted voice that sounded much like Giorno, he made his own statement.
"Please don't follow me. I don't want to lose you too." A somber tone, which deeply worried Trish.
And just like that, the world returned to it's regular state. Giorno and Mista were long gone. Trish crumbled to the floor, cupping her head in her face, sobbing. She felt another presence embracing and comforting her. Trish didn't have to look up to know who it was. She sat alone, forgotten by her only 'friends'. She was left to figure out herself, and to figure out what she'd just seen.