The Requiem of Remnant

by The Black Mage of Phantasm

He was not aware of how he got to this new world. He could not see a way to return home. Some might say he had nothing...but they would be wrong. He had his wits, his skills, and most of all, his ambitions. And even in a new world, there was still an underworld of crime he could rise to the top of. A golden wind is about to sweep through Remnant.

7. The First Step

Chapter 6: The First Step

With bruises on his skin and a familiar pain deep in his bones, a boy slowly rose from his bed. He made no sounds as his feet touched the wooden floor or when he descended down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen, bringing a large chair with him to help reach the cabinets on the wall.

He learned a long time ago—or maybe not so long ago; the days were always the same, so how much time passed between each was hard to say—that the mornings were the most peaceful parts of his life. The most relaxing. When the sun was barely over the horizon, he did not have to worry about anything but his breakfast. He would not see his step-father's belt or his mother's glare in the pale-blue room, because they would either be sleeping or wouldn't even be home. The mornings were times when he could forget about his fate.

The boy was standing on the chair as he pulled out a plate from the cabinet.

In the mornings, when he was tired and still not quite awake, he could dream that he was someone else and that he wasn't such a pathetic—

He heard something behind him. He turned.

And the boy saw his stepfather standing just underneath the doorway. The lights of the kitchen were off—he never turned them on in the mornings, too much chance of waking someone up—so his stepfather's face was covered by darkness. But even with his face concealed, just seeing his stepfather up so early was enough of a shock to startle him and cause him to drop the plate in his fingers.

The plate broke into dozens of pieces when it hit the floor; the shattering noise it made was as frail and brittle as the silence that followed. He knew what would happen next: a fist to his face, followed by his step father's belt. Made all the worse by the fact that he hadn't healed from his injuries.

He continued to stare at the broken pieces of the plate, staying perfectly still as he waited for the furious screams and the thudding steps to signal the beginning of his beating. He should've known that fate wouldn't even let him eat before reminding him of his place—

In the silence of the kitchen, he could easily hear it. That sound; a sound that had always come from him and no one else.

The sound of a small, painful moan.

He blinked. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at his step-father. His step-father, who always had that fragile anger on his face. Who always beat him when they were alone.

Who now had bandages covering his nose—which looked very crooked—a black eye, a split-lip, several bruises of various shapes on his face and bits of dried blood on his right temple.

He instantly recognized that face. Not because of the way the bruises colored the skin a sick purple was something he had seen before, but because of the look in his step-father's eyes: the look of someone thoroughly beaten by the world.

It was the same look the boy saw every time he looked at a mirror.

The boy stood there, staring at his step-father. He did not know for how long; everything around him seemed so distant. His entire attention was on this...impossible sight. He would have said he was dreaming, but the pain of his wounds told him that this was real. That his step-father did, in fact, look just like him.

And he was currently kneeling right in front of him.

The boy blinked again, just barely stopping himself from taking a step back in fear. He wasn't sure when, but at some point his father had moved and was now only a few feet away. He was on the ground, and the boy looked down at him—it was the first time he ever looked down at anyone and it made him feel...odd.

His stepfather was not looking up at him, but at the floor instead. Slowly, piece by piece with trembling hands, his stepfather picked up the broken plate from the floor, mostly silent.

Mostly.

His stepfather's voice was a murmur and every other word came out in a stutter; if the boy was being honest, he didn't catch a lot of what he said. But there were words he could make out. Words that were constantly repeated.

Words like, "It's fine."

Like, "My fault, don't get upset."

And finally, "I'm sorry."

Never had his stepfather apologized. To anyone. And here he was, stammering so badly it sounded like he was talking in another language, apologizing to him.

The boy stared at his stepfather, eyes wide as the sounds of sobbing reached his ears.

...Was this really not a dream?

---

The boy soon left after...that. He had no idea had to process the wreck his stepfather had become seemingly overnight, and the longer he stayed in his house, the more he would have to stare at a face that was so much like his own. So, he had put on his raincoat—the clouds outside were grey and stormy, and he didn't want to get wet if it rained—skipped his breakfast, and quickly headed for school.

He tried to make sense of what happened, but he could not. He tried to think what exactly had happened to his stepfather between yesterday and today; between beating him with his belt to becoming the shattered wreck of a man he saw this morning. Obviously, he had been beaten up, but it was more than just that. Someone had...had just broke his stepfather. Whoever attacked the boy's stepfather, they had thoroughly beaten into him that he was at their mercy. That there was nothing he could do, and he had no choice but to take his punishment. To accept his fate as someone else's whipping boy.

Never before had he felt so connected to his stepfather as he watched him cry.

The boy let out a small grunt, pain flaring in his sides as he walked up the long, curving street. It was early enough in the morning that most of the stores around him hadn't opened yet. What few people were out were either walking to work or, for the men waiting in alleys with bloodshot eyes and pale skin, waiting for their "friends" to hand them their "medicine." Though, really, there was not any reason for them to hide in the shadows. They could have done their "business" out in the open in a street full of people and no one would have given them a second glance.

The boy was almost at the top of the hill, carefully moving around anyone on his path and making sure not to look at their faces. Not that he needed to look up to see their scowls aimed at him; the same scowls everyone made when they saw him. But he wasn't that far from his school, and once he was there, the chances of encountering people that actually paid attention to him were practically—

The boy didn't notice Alberto and his friends standing until he made it to the top of the hill. He immediately stopped walking as he saw them all.

He should've picked a different route. He knew that this was where his bullies usually liked to meet up before school, but this morning had just been so confusing that he had not thought about—

The boy's bullies turned towards him at the same time. When he saw their faces, he blinked.

And then his eyes widened as he took a step back.

On every one of his bullies faces, they had several bandages on the right ear; so much so they were all but completely covered in sterile gauze. Their right eyes were completely covered with a large black bruise that all but swallowed their pupils. But the boy did not focus on the partial red-stained bandages, the painful-looking bruises or the fact that it looked like none of them had gotten any form of sleep. His eyes were locked onto his bullies faces.

Faces full of anguish.

Faces just like the face he had seen on his stepfather.

And just like the same face he always wore every day.

The boy could barely comprehend what he was seeing. The same shock he felt when he saw his father had come back with a vengeance. It was made all the worse when his bullies did something he never expected.

They smiled. Not the cruel, mocking smirks that he had seen time and time again, but actual smiles. At least, they would have been. With their lips stretched as far as possible, yellowish teeth exposed to the world, it was easy to see what his bullies were feeling right now.

Utter terror. Terror, from just seeing him.

They were speaking to him. Words left their mouth. Words like "hey, friend" and "nice to see you." Sentences that he never once expected to here in his life—without being mocking or sarcastic— like "we missed you" or "wanna hang out" fled from their mouths one after the other.

The boy did not say anything as his bullies, the ones who constantly reminded how much of a mistake his existence had been, desperately complimented him every other second and all but begged to walk to school with him. All while the odd feeling in his chest returned.

He ran away the moment he had the chance.

---

The boy...did not know what was going on.

At all.

He had been trying to come up with an answer. Someone had decided to beat up his bullies and his stepfather and practically command them to be nice to him for...some reason. Who exactly, he didn't have the slightest clue. And with every step he took, every sight he took in as he walked on one of the longer routes to school, more questions arose.

The people he met while walking looked at him with very strange expressions. He noticed that the pedestrians were actively walking around him, which in itself was strange since no one that lived on these streets would show that kind of courtesy, least of all to him, and when he had looked up from the street, he saw their faces. He didn't see the normal impassive stare of someone just trying to make it to their destination, or the scowls of someone who actually noticed him before realizing he was trash.

There was only fear. Some would instantly look away the moment their eyes met his, others would start to sweat as they quickened their pace. And as the odd feeling within him grew every time he saw their reactions, he tried to think of an answer to every question assaulting his mind. But how could he? Nothing about today made any sense whatsoever.

And then his mother showed up.

The boy had seen his mother come home after drinking enough alcohol for five men, the pungent odor of expensive liquor mixing with her cheap perfume to create an aroma he always loathed. He had seen her when she came home in the middle of the night after clubbing with beer stains all over her clothing. He had seen her when she stopped trying to hide behind money and a carefree face. He had seen her at her worse.

But this...this was different.

His mother's clothes were fine and free of any stains. There was no smell of alcohol coming from her breath; no half-dazed half-lucid stare on her face. And unlike every other person he knew who he had met today, there weren't even any bruises or cuts on her face anywhere.

Yet he still saw fear. The same kind of fear that had been present on his stepfather and his bullies. It was strange enough to see his mother on his way to school, even if the route he took was close to one of the bars she frequented, but to see her like this was even stranger. To see her look over her shoulder almost every other second. To see her hands shaking as her breaths left in shallow gasps.

While his mother might not have been as terrified as every some of the people he had seen today, he could say that she had never been more scared in her entire life than right now.

And then she started talking.

The words washed over him. He didn't—couldn't—pay attention. Not when his mother looked so much like himself that it almost hurt to look at her. Not when the odd feeling in his chest all but consumed him from within. Not when he tried to figure out just who had made his mother sound so desperate and fearful and why that person had done the same to his bullies and stepfather and why he would do something like this for—

In the middle of his mother's squeaky and rushed words—something about being sorry for never walking him to school and promising to be there for dinners with his stepfather—she hugged him.

The boy froze. Everything seemed to fade away as he felt his mother's slim arms wrap around his raincoat.

And then she said three words.

"I love you."

The boy pushed away from his mother as hard as he could. His mother had not been expecting that, so he was able to break free from her grip as he stumbled backward. And another feeling, different from the one in his chest, rose up from the pits of his stomach.

His mother looked at him, and flinched. He was not sure what kind of expression he had on, but he knew it was one he never wore before. And it showed his mother that he did not want to deal with another second of her...her...bullshit.

He saw a series of emotions flicker across his mother's face—anger, shock, disgust—and just as she opened her mouth, she saw something behind him as her eyes glanced up.

His mother paled. The fear he saw was unlike any he had seen before; crueler, somehow. Something that made his mother knees tremble and lips quiver. It was like his mother was staring at the face of death itself.

He blinked. His mother told him that she loved him again, at least, he thought she did, it was hard to tell through her constant stammering. She told him she had to go home and that she would be waiting for him just before she stood up and all but ran away.

The boy stared at his mother for a few seconds, confused. Then, he slowly turned around to where he thought his mother had been looking.

The rain had started now—or maybe it had started a while ago, and it was only now that he noticed. The people in the street had either started to walk a bit faster or taken out umbrellas to deal with the rain that was steadily getting faster and harder. But something stood out to the boy.

More accurately, someone.

A man was walking down the sidewalk, his back facing the boy and making it impossible to see his face. His suit was a dark grey, the same shade as his trousers, and his hair was dark black, just like the umbrella above his head. There was nothing particularly striking about his outfit, but it was not the man's clothes that had the boy's attention.

It was the people moving as far away from the man as possible. Every single person walking on the sidewalk along with the man seemed to do their best to stay out of his way. Some stood as close to the walls of nearby buildings as possible as they moved, almost like they were trying to blend in with the old bricks and disappear from the man's sight. Others were walking at a very quick pace and a few of them even entered the streets; one woman all but jumped into a large puddle of water and almost got hit by a car, but she did not care in the slightest and rapidly moved to the opposite sidewalk.

The strangest reaction the boy saw was when a police officer walked by. The officer's face was pale, but not as much as the others on the sidewalk. And unlike the other people, he stared right at the man's face. It was clear he wanted to look away, but for some reason, he restrained himself from doing so.

And once the officer and the man were only a few feet away from each other, the officer gave the man a short, yet respectful, nod.

The man did not react; he simply kept walking. The officer let out a loud sigh as he walked a little faster on the sidewalk.

The boy took in every single detail he could. All of the fear he had seen directed at himself today was nothing compared to the fear that man caused. The man did not do anything, not even speak, yet everyone around him was cowed just by him walking in the middle of the rain. With just his presence, the man had silently demanded everyone around him to submit. That they should be afraid of what he could do to them if they wronged him.

The boy's legs had already been moving without him even realizing it. He walked around the scared pedestrians, through puddles of water that drenched his shoes, all to catch up with the man. Everything inside him was screaming that this man was responsible for what had happened today.

And the boy wanted to know why someone that could inspire such dread would help someone like him.

The man had turned into an alley, and the boy quickly followed. He slipped on one of the puddles, but he immediately picked himself up and ran towards the mouth of the alley, and then stopped. There were cracks on the stone pavement in the alley, trash bags littered everywhere as the smell of something foul and rancid hit him without warning.

And then there were the addicts. Some looked to be homeless, others seemed to be working-class people who were currently shooting up in tiny little alcoves where the shadows seemed darker than the ones in the rest of the alley. The sound of the rain echoed heavily here, just as loud as the moans from the either dying or heavily injured man who was bleeding out near a dumpster.

The boy felt cold. But then, he looked up.

He saw the man already leaving the alley. Nothing about his posture seemed to indicate that he had even been slightly worried about the addicts he had just passed. If anything, some of the addicts seemed glad the man was leaving their abode.

The boy stood still as he stared.

And then, Haruno Shiobana took a step forward into the darkness.

---

With an ache splitting his head in two and a sharp, stinging sensation enveloping his body, Giorno Giovanna rose from his seat before he slowly opened his eyes. As the pain faded and his vision cleared, he took in his surroundings.

The first thing he realized was that he was in a car. The door right next to him had been heavily dented, the metal deformed and expanding inwards. There was glass all over his seat, and he felt several cuts along his body; specifically around his temples. He felt the blood trickling down his head as he remembered where he was: in a car, on a highway, and he was just attacked.

His eyes narrowed. Turning, he looked out the window. Smoke obscured the road outside, but what he could make out was either on fire or covered in blood. From the destroyed wrecks of cars to the corpses lying in the destroyed asphalt, it looked like he had stumbled onto the road to Hell itself. But, more importantly, where exactly was the person that attacked him. That person—a short woman with multi-colored hair who appeared just as soon as he heard what sounded like glass shattering, so if he remembered right, that was Neopolitan—wasn't anywhere in sight. And for all he knew, she could already be about to strike and—

There was a wet gurgle from the seat in front of him. He looked and saw that his driver was laying back into her seat as she choked on her own blood. He also noticed that her right hand was on the gear shift.

And that the car was currently in park.

He raised a brow. His eyes then glanced to the right, and he saw that just outside the window was one of the concrete walls the enclosed the highway. And the car was perfectly parallel with the wall.

He looked back at his driver. She was rapidly losing color, the hole in her suit was gushing with blood, and her the choking sounds she made were getting quieter.

Giorno leaned forward. "To the bitter end, you did your best to ensure that I would survive."

He brought up a hand towards her face. A glow surrounded it as it grew closer.

"Your skills as a driver are truly unparalleled, Charlotte Sapphire."

---

Smoke and fire: never good smells. Really, she could think of only a few things that smelled worse. One was burnt toast—specifically, toast that had been smothered in a batter of sugar and cinnamon and vanilla that would've been so good but was ruined because of some idiot leaving the burner on to high. If she were being honest, there was nothing worse than seeing sweets like that go into the trash.

Two was rotten meat. It would depend on just how much it decayed, but in her experience, when said piece/pieces of flesh had been out long enough for maggots and flies to devour them bit by bit as they planted their eggs, that was always when the smell was at its foulest; Nasty didn't even begin to describe it.

Three was burnt corpses. Though, she mostly gave that one a pass due to the other aspects they provided. The morbid, wonderful aspects that she could only get from the body of someone that had been brutally burned alive. And while she would have loved to see the same thing happen to this idiot, she wouldn't let him off that easy. No, for stealing from both her and Roman, this would require something much worse.

She could already hear him screaming in her head.

Sitting on top of what was left of a semi, and not even bothering to use her Semblance to hide, Neo waited. She was good at that, no matter what Roman said. Hours, days, weeks, she could stay as perfectly still as possible without even trying. It was just that, most of the time, she didn't want to just sit around and do nothing. Being still was just so much work, reigning in all her urges when it would be so easy to just let loose.

But that wouldn't do for this wannabe. No, instead, she would do the opposite of what the lovely voices in her head were "suggesting" she should do. She would not move from her spot—unless it looked like it was gonna explode, which she noticed seemed to be happening to every other car here. She would only wait for the wannabe to make the first move.

And then she would counter it.

Then whatever he tried after that.

And once he tried every little trick in his book, when he realized there was nothing he could do against her, only then would she thoroughly break him for the crap he just pulled and had been pulling. Unlike those two lackeys had failed to do, she'd show him what being a criminal really meant.

Besides, if she made her move now, then everything would come to an end and Roman would miss out on all the fun. He said he wouldn't be that far behind her when she left him to catch up with "Goldie"—such a cute name for a future plaything—and not including him would just be rude. Sure, he never wanted to get in on her, in his words, "messed up kind of fun" before, but she still had to ask just in case he changed his mind.

Neo blew a stray strand of her hair out of her face. Below on the highway, there was nothing going on. Well, nothing new, anyway. There were still mountains of wrecked cars everywhere that were now in all sorts of deformed shapes and sizes. They were also kinda on fire, like everything else she could see on the ground. Faintly, she could hear the idiots that still hadn't died screaming as they continued to burn in their own cars.

And Goldie had yet to get out of his car. She hoped he didn't die in that crash or something. That would make all this waiting around just be pointless. Not to mention the fact she would have to find someone else to stab if Godie croaked, because there was no way she was going home without killing something tonight.

There was a bang. Not from a gun, but from metal getting hit hard and fast. She saw that the door of Goldie's car had deformed, the metal extending outward and twisted.

Neo grinned. And the moment she did, another bang echoed through the highway as the door went flying off its hinges. The door hit the ground hard, sparking and squealing against the burning asphalt. With the door off, and the fire of the highway illuminating the insides, she could see someone slowly making their way out of the car.

Her grin grew. She stood up, umbrella twirling lazily in her hand.

As Goldie stepped out of his car, he carefully walked around the fires around him until he was standing in a center of burnt metal, blood, and a few corpses. He looked up, finding Neo right away as he stared at her.

Neo could see that his face was clear of any blood. That his lips were in that same smug smirk he had on just before he hit her with a hundred flashbangs.

And Roman's hat was right on top of his head.

Her smile faded.

On second thought, maybe she should stab him right now.

---

Keep smiling.

Giorno kept eye contact with Neopolitan, his focus almost entirely on her. He made sure to be aware of the growing fires around him, as well as the pungent smell of burnt flesh that hung over the highway like a thick cloud amidst the smoke and fire.

There was also a faint whirring sound that he could just make out through the crackling embers.

Maintain your persona. You are the arrogant thief that adores danger and making fools of everyone he can. You are the bastard who has stolen from Torchwick time and time again without ever losing your smug grin. You are the interloper that soundly defeated two of her colleagues during their mission all while making it look like you were barely even trying. Do not let this woman see anything different.

At least for now.

Adjusting the hat on his head, Giorno took a few steps forward. With far more flourish than necessary, he spun around the jagged and crushed remains of a sports car, his hand briefly brushing against hot metal as he spun a touch to close.

All while Neopolitan watched from atop the wrecks of a semi-truck, unimpressed.

She thinks you're nothing more than an insect. That you are just a victim that shall fall to her blade. Your past accomplishments mean nothing to this cold-blooded psychotic. The more you keep up your mask, the more she thinks you are not worth her time. And that will make her careless.

Grabbing the hat off his head just as it began to fall off, Giorno spread his arms out wide. "Why hello again, Ms. Neopolitan!" He put as much obviously false cheer in his voice as possible. "Apologies for the—shall we say—abrupt goodbye I gave you and Mr. Torchwick. But unfortunately, I have places to be, actual important matters that need to be taken care of."

His smile never once changed; still wide and oh-so-smug. "So, while I'm flattered that you went to such efforts just to get my attention, I'm afraid I can't stay for long."

Neopolitan's frown deepened. He saw her twirl her umbrella with a bit more fervor.

This is unexpected, but also beneficial. Neopolitan is Roman Torchwick's right hand.

With an effort of will, a hidden sense sharpened, and Giorno could feel the life energy surrounding the highway. He felt the strands of energy tied to the people left on the highway. People who were rapidly dying, whose souls were fading away from existence. And there was nothing he could do to help them.

However, instead of focusing on his rage, and that was quite the task, he focused on one specific life signature.

Neopolitan has been with Roman Torchwick for years. Their exact relationship is unknown, but one thing is clear: Torchwick cares about her.

Something he had been working on the last few months, among other things, was refining his life sensing abilities. Before, in his home, he could tell if there were people nearby, but he couldn't tell the exact number. Before, he could only feel the direction a person was in, but not specifically how far away they were from him or his friends. But that was no longer the case.

Now, he could tell exactly how many people were in a general area. He could feel not only where they were, but also, how they were standing and even moving. It was like he could see the outline of a person in his mind; the outline would be made of the same energy that made up a person's soul—the color bright yellow, usually—and he could see how they moved and acted in relation to himself.

Which was how Giorno quickly realized that there was someone standing literally right in front of him—arm raised over their left shoulder—while he felt absolutely no life energy whatsoever from Neopolitan.

He ducked, head bending forward just as the sound of mirrors breaking emerged from seemingly everywhere. Something sharp just missed cutting the tips of his braids, and when he was sure the object fully passed him, Giorno lifted his head up before sprinting forward.

He saw Neopolitan, right arm extended and holding the handle of a long blade, eyes widen as he closed the distance in less than a second.

How would Torchwick react if you delivered him her head on a pike?

He launched a right cross towards the center of Neopolitan's face. The moment just before impact, he focused inward and called upon his partner.

At least, a part of it.

Hidden beneath his glove, he felt his arm transform. It was like putting on a second layer of skin, and in an instant, Giorno held the power of Gold Experience as its hand overlaid with his own.

And Neopolitan felt the strength of his Stand as his fist slammed into her face. He felt his own Stand's energy jettison from his fist and enter Neopolitan's body as her own life energy suddenly went into overdrive. It was like watching fireworks go off all at once; Gold Experience's power merged itself with Neopolitan's very essence, and every part of her that kept her alive suddenly worked so much better than just a moment ago. But despite the boost his Gold Experience just gave her, she would never be able to use her newfound strength.

It was rather hard to use new strength when you suddenly had no idea how to move your own body. Especially as you processed everything a million times faster than humanly possible.

The sound of bones breaking reached his ears. His hand was suddenly wet with blood.

And Neapolitan went flying off the ground, spiraling uncontrollably through the air. Giorno watched as she headed right for a crushed pile of cars, one that had a rather sharp piece of metal protruding from it.

A piece of metal Neopolitan collided with back-first.

And then she shattered into a million pieces.

Giorno's eyes widened. He quickly searched for Neopolitan's life signature, mind ablaze with activity.

Neopolitan's ability was to create near physical illusions that can alter the perception of the environment. She could set them up near-instantly, and they were dispelled either when she chose to do so or when someone else physically interacted enough with the illusions to break them. Exact limitations of her powers were unknown.

Could she have created another illusion after she dispelled the first in her attempt to cut his head off? No. If she did, then the Neopolitan he hit would have just shattered like glass just as all her other illusions did. Her illusions weren't like Sustari's, they didn't mess with every one of his senses; otherwise, she would use them far more often and make more than just copies of herself that only seemed to follow a certain set of actions. And he knew Gold Experience had hit her head on with its abilities.

So...

In the second it took him to analyze Neopolitan's abilities, he felt a life signature right behind him.

...how exactly did she just avoid getting impaled?

Giorno whirled around, the sound of glass shattering as he did so, and brought both of his arms up and in front of his face as Gold Experience's limbs quickly became his own. A second after, a blade sliced into both his arms.

Well, tried to. The strength from the blow did push him back, and while he did feel small cuts from on his arms, they were barely even noticeable.

What was noticeable was the fact that Neopolitan was glaring at him with pure, unadulterated rage. Her were lips pulled back in a vicious snarl as blood gushed from her nose—which was crooked and clearly broken. Neopolitan was furious and wanted him dead more than ever.

He gave her a small smile—this one more genuine than his last. And then, he spoke; intentionally making every word as mocking and sardonic as possible.

"You have something on your face."

A lighting quick kick lashed out towards his right side. Giorno jumped back, just dodging the kick, but Neopolitan did not let up. She ran up to him, jumped off the ground, and then spun before launching a kick at his head. He blocked it with his right arm, and the follow-up kick at his chest with his left. With both her legs still extended, Neopolitan landed on the ground in a one-armed handstand, pushed off, and bent forward as she thrust her blade right at his face.

Giorno dropped to his knees, the blade just missing him and cutting a few strands of his hair in the process. As he did so, Neopolitan kicked off his arms, landed a few feet away, and then charged him again. He barely got up in time to twist away from the first swing of her blade. The horizontal slash that came after, however, was to fast, moving like liquid silver as it sliced into his stomach.

The only reason blood wasn't pouring out of his body was because he had called another piece of his partner and had it cover his own stomach. But the blow still hurt, and he felt the small gash forming near his abdomen. And as Neopolitan pulled back her arm for another slash, he knew he had to act quickly before she actually landed a decent hit.

Which was why he had been steadily moving away from the sports car he touched until it was out of Neopolitan's line of sight. And once he was sure her murderous eyes were focused entirely on him, he saw his chance.

He focused inward. He felt something akin to a line—invisible and untouchable to all but him—connecting from the inside of his heart to the car, going through the metal as if it wasn't even there. He channeled the energy that made up his Stand into the line, and it instantly traveled down the line and into the car. What was left of the left tire began to glow, the rubber starting to bubble like water in a boiling pot, and the color began to change. Black became a dark shade of yellow, hundreds of legs and antennae were created from every bit of the tires skin as little, insectile wings started to emerge from the growing bubbles. Then, the bubbles popped.

And hundreds of Japanese Giant Hornets buzzed into the air.

They were also known as flesh melters, and their venom was enough to kill a man in ten stings. A connection to the freshly created insects suddenly appeared in his mind, the same connection he felt towards every organism he made. A bond that let him hear the thoughts of his creations, and once it was made, Giorno would always receive the same question.

Purpose?

The hornets were no different; they buzzed and flew in formation, flying high into the air just as he wanted, but they did not know why they did so. Their minds were still new, existence only just beginning, and were confused. He put an end to that indecision with one silent command.

Kill her.

The hornets buzzing suddenly grew louder, their formations far more uninformed than anything those from their same species could match, and at once they dove down. Without any further explanation, they knew why they had been created.

They knew their target.

Just before she swung her blade, Neopolitan heard the buzzing of his swarm, turned her head slightly, and her eyes widened at the oncoming hornets. Gold Experience's hand once again became his own, and Giorno threw a punch right at the back of Neopolitan's head before she could turn around.

When his fist made contact, Neopolitan shattered into a million pieces, her life signature simply...vanishing.

Giorno took several steps back, focusing on finding Neopolitan once again as his eyes darted around the highway.

Again. Somehow, this psychotic kept escaping from him when she should not have been able to. No matter how fast she might be able to set up an illusion, there was no way he wouldn't be able to tell where her location was with his life sensing; and illusions would not explain how she disappeared from reality itself like she seemed to have done right now. He knew for a fact Neopolitan had been right in front of him, but the moment he threw his punch, the only thing in her place was an illusion. It just didn't make sense.

Unless there was another part of her abilities than just illusions.

As his mind went to work, Giorno suddenly felt Neopolitan's life signature. It was three dozen feet away, and right next to the blazing remains of a pick-up truck. He quickly reached out to his swarm.

There.

The hornets immediately adjusted their course. They flew around him, stingers already out, and headed towards the location he just sent them. Instantly, they were at the pick-up truck, only a few feet away from the life signature.

But then mirrors cracked.

Neopolitan became visible for a split-second—eyes set in an intense glare.

And then her body shattered into a million pieces of glass, her life signature once again gone as the hornets swopped through empty air.

Teleportation.

Giorno's eyes darted, pushing his life sensing ability to its absolute maximum.

That was how she kept disappearing from his senses. That was how she avoided his attacks. She teleported, using her illusions to make it look like she was never there in the first place.

And now that he knew how she kept disappearing, he could come up with a plan to deal with her.

There was a life signature above him.

Without even glancing up, Gold Experience's leg became his, and he kicked the ground hard, mirrors crashing as he did so. The force was enough to send him flying, and he just avoided Neopolitan's weapon stabbing him in the head as it plunged through the concrete ground. When he landed, he turned and saw Neopolitan balancing on her weapon with no strain whatsoever.

Or so she would have him believe.

He sent a command to his swarm, and at the same time, sent another command to the dozens of spiders that had been hiding on his person. His creations did as instructed, and he quickly ducked into a crouch.

Mirrors shattered, and a blade aimed to stab him in the eye missed completely. As he stood up, he threw an uppercut at Neopolitan's chin. She ducked back, fist just flying past her face, before she grabbed his arm by the wrist and pulled as she let go. He stumbled forward, and then a knee crashed into his stomach. While he was able to summon his partner's own stomach to block the attack—though, he still felt a bit of pain—he could not do the same for the high kick that hit him underneath his chin. He could taste metal as his mouth suddenly filled with blood.

Neopolitan thrust her blade at his face, but he managed to bring his arm up in time to block it. With Gold Experience's limb as his own, the blade all but bounced off his arm, only the tiniest of cuts forming from the impact. Focusing inward yet again, he felt his partner's leg overlay with his own, and then he kicked the ground just as Neopolitan swung her blade towards his throat. The force of his kick sent him flying backward, just dodging the psychotic's swing. He landed near the destroyed remains of what looked like an SUV, and he could just make out the crushed corpse inside it.

His fists clenched, and he focused on his creations. Now that he had put some space between him and Neopolitan, and that his other bugs were in position, he could act out his plan.

Neopolitan just righted herself from her missed attack, expression still bloody and furious, and she took a step forward. At the same time, focused on one of the lines connected to his creations, and then, started to pull back on the energy that kept them alive; he felt what was once a living being almost instantly ceased to exist as his heart was filled with life energy.

Neopolitan suddenly stumbled, her foot having stepped on something. She looked down.

And she saw the flashbang that one of his spiders had reverted back to just sticking out from underneath her heel. The other spiders—hidden from view—were already at work, silk being produced from their abdomens far faster than naturally possible as they worked in tandem to make a long silk thread. A thread that connected to the firing pin of the flashbang.

Once finished, all of his spiders pulled on the thread. The pin came loose and hit the ground with an audible ping.

Neopolitan's eyes widened. And then she was gone, broken glass in her place as the flashbang exploded.

Just as he wanted.

Giorno couldn't see—both because he was covering his face with his arms and because the light from the flashbang still hadn't died—but he didn't need to. The hornets were already in position.

He didn't know the exact limits of her range or how exactly she picked a spot to teleport. But what he did know was that the sudden explosion of light would take her by surprise, thereby giving her less time to plot out where exactly she should teleport. So, with her options now limited, she would pick a spot somewhere on the highway that would give her some sort of tactical advantage to strike him from. Which was why he had divided his swarm.

On every location he thought would be an ideal place to teleport too, he had sent clouds of black and yellow. Each cloud had easily a dozen hornets, every single insect hovering in the air as they waited. Some were flying above ruined cars, others near the remains of the divider, and some were flying behind him. There was no location he had overlooked.

So he wasn't surprised that he felt Neopolitan's life signature teleport only inches above a cloud of hornets near the top of a massive pile-up of cars that somehow wasn't on fire. He was surprised that when she fell into the cloud that he didn't hear her scream. It seemed like she really was mute and was not merely acting like she was, as some of the sources he had suggested.

With the light now all but gone, he brought his arms down and looked towards the pileup of cars to his right. He saw Neopolitan at the very top, swinging her blade in a frenzy at the hornets swarming her. Every other hornet he had created were flying as fast as they could to join their comrades and attack, thousands of wings buzzing through the air. In less than a few seconds, Neopolitan found herself lost in a sea of black and yellow insects; every one of them stinging her and slowly depleting her of her Aura.

At one point, he actually felt a few of his creations die from her wild swings. At the same time, the lines that connected him to his now-dead creations suddenly went limp, falling to the ground and fading from existence as all of the life energy left his dead creation's body. But since the line had vanished from reality, the energy did not return to Giorno. No, instead, he saw the energy jettison from the corpses of his creations. The life energy compressed into the shapes of crescent-like blades—invisible to all but him—and then flew right towards Neopolitan as they sliced into different parts of her body.

All of which happened in less than a blink.

Blood erupted into the air. Through the swarm, he could just make out Neopolitan falling to her knees. The hornets continued their assault, and it looked as though Neopolitan had been too injured by his last attack to continue fighting as she kneeled on the floor, completely motionless. But Giorno was well aware just how easy it was for the tides of battle to change. He was also aware that enemies like Neopolitan would never accept death so easily.

Which was why he wasn't too surprised when Neopolitan and every hornet assaulting her suddenly shattered into broken pieces of glass. He instantly tried to find her life signature, muscles tense as he prepared to call upon his partner at a moment's notice. After a few seconds, he felt both Neopolitan's and his creations' life signature.

They were both currently inside a truck trailer that was currently on fire; a majority of his hornets almost instantly died as they were consumed by flames. Since they had died from a "natural" cause, as in died in a way other than someone else directly applying some kind of force on his creations, they could not reflect back any damage. As the rest of his creations were burned to death, glass shattered, and Neopolitan stood roughly fifteen feet away from him.

The jacket she wore was burnt, several parts of it were actually smoking. Both her jacket and her pants had splotches of her own blood staining them, and they seemed to be growing larger with each moment. Strands of her hair had been burnt pitch black. Portions of her face were starting to swell as blood leaked from rather large puncture wounds on her skin, a hand violently clenching the side of her temple as if to alleviate pain from a migraine.

Neopolitan glared at him with eyes that promised death.

And Giorno kept smiling—as he had been doing this entire fight.

He could end this. If he called Gold Experience into existence, it would be child's play getting close and ending Neopolitan with a barrage of fists. His partner could create a literal army of bee's or any type of organism with but a touch, move faster than light itself and had the strength to punch through steel with ease. This fight would've been over far sooner if he just used the full extent of his abilities.

But he couldn't.

The whirring sound he heard throughout the fight grew louder.

There were certain precautions he had been taking to ensure his plans would come to fruition. The most important one was never summoning Gold Experience into reality unless he felt he either had no choice or he could still keep its existence a secret from the world even after he summoned it. Gold Experience was one of his trump cards, and he wanted to save it until he was face to face with the woman that ruled the underworld. If there were any witnesses who saw his partner, he had to make sure they would never get the chance to tell anyone what they saw. But if there was someone observing him, someone he couldn't silence one way or the other, and they had yet to see him actually call Gold Experience, then to avoid any complications, he wouldn't actually summon his partner.

Such as right now.

Giorno glanced up, and he could just make out the helicopter high above the highway through the smoke, a spotlight underneath shining down onto the flame-ridden road. Considering the people on board were neither shooting at him or shouting at him to surrender, he assumed it was a news helicopter, though he could be wrong. But regardless of that fact, all that mattered was that right now, there were people watching him, and he could do nothing to stop them while they flew so high in the air. If he used the full extent of his powers, the people on the helicopter would tell everyone what they saw. And that wasn't even getting into the fact that they might be able to see his face, and might now have it on camera.

He looked at the ground. Somehow, Torchwick's hat, which he knew for a fact had fallen off his head near the beginning of the fight, was now lying next to his feet.

Within a day, the entirety of Vale might know his face. And while there was nothing he could do to stop that—if it happened—he could at the very least control how he would be perceived.

Slowly, he reached down and picked up the hat. With a flick of his wrist, the hat flipped through the air and landed back on his head. The spotlight from the helicopter landed on him.

And he forced his lips into an even bigger, positively smug smile.

"Ready for round two?" He asked, voice just loud enough to be heard over the crackling flames and whirling blades.

Neopolitan did not respond. All she did was stare at him with narrowed eyes that held an almost startling amount of intensity. Giorno kept smiling, but he knew something was wrong. Neopolitan should have reacted in some way, but all she did was stare. With his life sense, he knew that the psychotic in front of him wasn't an illusion, but then why was she so—

There was a sound coming from behind him. Like something large and fast-moving through the air. Turning, he focused inward, the range for his life sense expanding, and he felt life signatures behind him. Signatures that were floating in the air, where he saw nothing.

His eyes widened in realization. Without any warning, the air shattered like glass, revealing a Bullhead, one of the smaller models, hovering in the air. The cargo bay was open, about a dozen different men and women dressed in familiar black suits were standing within it, each one armed with what rocket launchers.

And Torchwick stood at the front of his henchmen, grinning. Also, hatless.

"Well now, what do we have here!?" Torchwick shouted. Giorno wasn't sure if he was using some kind of voice amplifier or if he could just scream that loud. And as he continued, the spotlight moved away from him and landed on Torchwick. "If it isn't the little upstart thief himself. I got to say, I didn't really appreciate that little surprise you left me with all those other animals, 'Goldie!'" He felt as if Torchwick was quoting something when he called him that nickname, but he did not know what.

Torchwick's eyes narrowed, and the barely hidden anger he had heard in his voice grew. "I also don't appreciate how you've been treating Neo."

With a glance over his shoulder, Giorno saw Neopolitan's lips slowly move into a sadistic, bloody grin.

This wasn't good. Torchwick's men had enough firepower to rip apart highway. Since they didn't have to worry about the psychotic behind him getting caught in the blast, they could fire until they ran out of ammunition. Unless he called Gold Experience into existence or used his other abilities in an overt manner, he wouldn't be able to survive the coming attack. But doing that would expose far too many of his secrets; there had to be another way—

As he felt around the highway with his life sense, he felt the signature of one of his creation getting closer towards him—specifically, a ladybug he created before the fight truly began. Only, the ladybug wasn't moving an inch. Instead, the other life signature he sensed was, and the ladybug was right on top of it and staying still as the other signature continued to get closer.

Just as he ordered.

Torchwick was still speaking. "Let me tell you 'Goldie,' you picked the wrong people to mess with."

The life signature was slowly weaving between piles of broken cars, hidden from view to all but him.

"I don't know who you think you are, but trying to go against me of all people is just suicidal. Just because you beat a couple of snot-nosed kiddies doesn't mean you're ready to play in the big leagues."

Torchwick snapped his fingers. His men raised their weapons, each one taking aim at Giorno.

The life signature was kneeling on the ground now, hands gripping something tightly.

"I don't normally do executions by rock launchers, usually I have something a bit more classy for arrogant chumps like yourself, but after all the trouble you've caused me, I'll make an exception just for you." He saw Torchwick's frown move into a deep scowl. "So unless the next words out of your mouth are the location of my mech-suit, I suggest you—why the hell are you smiling!?"

Throughout Torchwick's little speech, Giorno's smile remained wide and cheerful, like he was having a pleasant chat with an old acquaintance. His eyes were almost mirthful as he chuckled. And while Torchwick couldn't hear him laughing, he could see the slight shake of his shoulders that indicated he was.

"Well!?" Torchwick was roaring now, cane held up and pointed at Giorno. "What the hell is so funny!?"

He could all but see the life signature standing up, the weapon in her hand pointed right at her target.

As the spotlight moved back to shine on Giorno, his smile became just a touch real, and he spoke, making sure his voice was clear and audible to everyone present.

"Because, Mr. Torchwick, you aren't the only one that brought a bazooka to this fight."

Torchwick had just enough time to blink; just enough time to process his words and what they meant. But that was it.

Because before he could even respond, a scream of pure fury came from behind Giorno.

"Eat shit asshole!"

Multiple bangs rang out, and at least a dozen different rockets soared through the air and hit the Bullhead right in its side. A sound like fireworks erupting and metal being torn to shreds erupted throughout the night, massive holes now present on the Bullhead. Giorno watched as flames consumed the cargo bay. There were screams as men were burned alive. Screams as the Bullhead lost control of its flight and spun wildly in the air, a few men on fire falling off it and towards the ground.

Screams as the Bullhead crashed onto the highway, plowing through the piles of trucks and cars with ease. Metal screeched, sparks flew, and the bullhead eventually came to a stop.

Then it exploded. Again.

Giorno turned away from the Bullhead and stared at Neopolitan. At her horrified expression, mismatched eyes unable to look away from where the Bullhead crashed. It was the first time he had seen emotion other than anger and glee on the psychopath's face.

It was nice to see that he was right about just how deep her and Torchwick's connection was.

"Hey, jailbait!" The same voice from before shouted. Neopolitan whirled around, hatred consuming every inch of her expression, but when she saw who the voice belonged to, she froze, shock replacing her rage. Giorno turned, and easily found the owner of the voice.

Charlotte Sapphire stood on top of a pile of wrecked cars smooshed together into a mess of wrecked metal, outfit stained with somewhat wet blood but otherwise looked completely uninjured, the red and black bazooka held in both of her hands pointing at the ground. Her hat was gone, and she had taken off her tie and draped it over shoulders. Smoke rose from the inside of the cars, but even with the smoke, he saw the borderline manic smile on her face.

"Yeah bitch, I'm talking to you!" Charlotte pointed a finger at Neopolitan, who was still frozen in shock. "What's the matter? Surprised I'm not dead? You shouldn't be, considering just how much you half-assed the job. Next time you try to stab someone, actually check to see if you killed them, you dumb sack of shit!"

Giorno noticed the almost hysterical quality to Charlotte's words. The way her smile kept growing and growing without showing any signs of stopping. He also noticed how Neopolitan seemed to forget about him entirely as she glared at Charlotte.

"Also, not gonna lie, I'm kinda miffed that you stabbed me in my fucking chest. So, consider me shooting your boy-toy or Dad or whatever the fuck that bastard was to you my fucking resignation. You've both been shit bosses, and I hope you both burn in hell. But, I guess Roman's already halfway there, am I right?"

As she continued to speak, rant, really, it became clear that she did not care that Neopolitan was progressively getting more furious with each word and could still kill her. It was as if a dam had broken in Charlotte's mind and everything she had always wanted to say to Neopolitan and Torchwick left her mouth with wild abandon, regardless of the consequences.

Giorno saw Neopolitan step forward, hands clenched in an incredibly tight fist. Gold Experience's hand was his own as he placed it on top of Torchwick's hat, a connection forming between him and the garment.

"So, Neo." Charlotte all but sang that word. "Before you try to murder me again—and actually try to make it stick this time, sweetie—I just want to say something I have always wanted to say since the very first moment I saw you."

Charlotte paused. Neopolitan shook with rage, teeth grinding and eyes switching colors every second.

Giorno gripped the hat tightly, and waited. For a moment, the only sounds on the highway were the crackling flames and faint screams.

And then, Charlotte spoke.

"That outfit makes you look like a midget hooker!"

Neopolitan's eyes turned blood red, and then she was gone, shattered mirrors taking her place.

Giorno took off the hat, pulling his arm back as far as he could.

Your timing has to be perfect. Remember how she attacked after each teleport. Account for Gold Experience's strength, weight of the hat and the wind speed when calculating the trajectory. Do not miss.

He counted off a second and a half in his head, channeled energy into the hat, and then threw it like a frisbee, crown facing the ground. The hat spun through the air, curving as it sailed right over Charlotte's shoulders.

And right into Neopolitan's face as she appeared behind Charlotte, air shattering into a million pieces. Her blade had been pointed right at the back of Charlotte's head, but when the hat hit her, the psychotic's head flinched back from surprise as she took a step back. At the same time, the hat had bounced off her face and now flipped through the air. In the process, the contents within the hat came out.

As in, the Indian Red Scorpions that he had made from the label within the hat were flung out and heading right toward's Neopolitan, each one carrying one simple order in their minds.

Gouge her eyes out.

The scorpions landed on her face, and then their tails lashed out, stabbing their targets with ease.

Once again, no screams. But he didn't need to hear Neopolitan when he could see her pain as she stumbled back. Her hands immediately went to her eyes and she swatted at the scorpions, dropping her weapon as it tumbled off the roof and onto the ground. And the moment she smacked one of the scorpions hard enough that he heard an audible crunching sound, she bent over, as if she had just been punched in the abdomen.

It was the perfect moment to finish her.

"Charlotte, now!"

"You got it, boss!"

Charlotte ran forward, lifting her bazooka up and pressing a hidden button just behind the trigger. Instantly, the weapon folded in on itself, the top portion becoming more cylindrical and bulky as the lower half of the bazooka became a long handle, almost like a baseball bat's. Just as the weapon finished transforming, Charlotte pulled it past her shoulders and swung it in a wide, horizontal arc.

The scorpions jumped off Neopolitan's face. Her eyes went wide just before Charlotte's club smashed into her cheek. Blood flew from her mouth, and she flew off the wreck of metal, landing face-first onto another deformed car with enough force to bounce off it. Neopolitan hit the ground with an audible crack as her head bounced off the blood-stained concrete.

Giorno watched her suddenly still form. With narrowed eyes, he focused on his life sense. He confirmed that the Neopolitan on the highway was in fact real, and not an illusion.

But she was still alive. Unconscious, but alive.

"Hah! Take that you fucking bitch!" Turning, Giorno saw Charlotte slowly make her way down from the pile of squashed cars, her lips set in an ecstatic smile and club still in hand. She then turned to face him. "Oh, you have no idea how good that felt! I've wanted the chance to smack that damn psycho since forever." She was laughing now as she continued to descend. "I'm going to remember the look on her face for fucking years!"

As Charlotte spoke, Giorno slowly walked towards Neopolitan. Along the way, he saw her parasol blade on the ground and picked it up.

Charlotte finally made it back to the ground, holding her club out in front of her. "Also, can't help but feel like I've seen this thing before. Not that I'm complaining, but doesn't this belong to—."

"Yes, it does," Giorno said, turning to face Charlotte as he continued to walk. "Though, he won't mind you using it."

Charlotte nodded, quickly running towards him. "So, uh, I know I called you boss before and that you healed me back in the car and after that you told me—"Charlotte abruptly trailed off, looking at the ground. Her manic energy was completely gone now, a somewhat nervous expression on her face.

Giorno stopped walking, raising a brow. "Yes?"

He saw Charlottle lick her lips. "I'm...you were serious, right? About, well, hiring me and...all that other shit. That wasn't just you saying stuff to get me to help you deal with these assholes, and then just get rid of me like—like garbage."

He said nothing; he only stared. Charlotte visibly wilted under his gaze as she continued, speech rapidly becoming frantic.

"No-not that I think you were lying—well, I guess since I'm asking you I do think so, and that probably kinda pisses you off and probably makes me seem like some ungrateful bitch you shouldn't trust and—oh God I really need to stop talking—"

Giorno placed a hand on her shoulder. She stopped talking immediately, and he felt her tense.

"I loathe repeating myself, Charlotte Sapphire," Giorno said. "Because of that, I always make sure that I chose my words carefully. That way, there is no chance of anyone misinterpreting what I'm saying." His voice was as firm and as sharp as he could make it. "If I hate someone, then I make that abundantly clear. If I thank someone, I show them the proper gratitude they deserve."

When he continued, he made sure to soften his expression, eyes more gentle than they had been before. "So when I say that I would be honored to have an amazing driver be a part of my gang, I mean every word. Especially if they are as splendid and skilled as you are, Charlotte."

With every word, the tension faded from Charlotte's body. And when he finished, Charlotte Sapphire stared at him with an almost awestruck expression. Charlotte then swallowed audibly before she spoke.

"Yo-you know, I think you're honest to God the first one to ever tell me that I'm amazing and mean it." Her voice was shaky. "Kinda fucked up, but, right now..."

She trailed off again. And then, Charlotte smiled. A blissful, relieved smile; it was easy to see that this was the first time in a long time that she smiled genuinely.

"Right now, I'm just glad to have a decent boss for once."

Charlotte took off her sunglasses, and Giorno saw purple eyes staring into his own blue. He also saw tears building up in the edges of her eyes.

Giorno gave her a small smile. "I expect great things from you Charlotte." He turned around. "However, before we can get into the specifics, I need to deal with this sooner rather than later."

He pointed his newly acquired weapon at Neopolitan's prone form. Charlotte turned her head, saw what he was pointing at, and blinked.

"Wait, she's still kickin'?" She asked.

"Yes," Giorno said, taking a few steps towards Neopolitan.

"So...what exactly are you going to do with her?"

Giorno had already asked himself that question. This night had not gone the way he expected, and he had to take certain actions he would have preferred not to do, but that was why he had come up with contingencies. So even though so many things had diverged from how he would have wanted them to play out, he was going to complete what he set out to do from the very beginning of this fight.

"I'm going to kill her."

Giorno's voice was cold as he spoke. Once he was standing over Neopolitan's unconscious body, he lifted the weapon above his head, blade aimed right for her head.

"O-oh," Charlotte said, voice quieter than it had been a moment ago. "I...right." With a glance, he saw Charlotte staring at Neopolitan's body, noticeably more uneasy with the thought of killing her than she had been when she assaulted the psychotic with her club.

Well, he supposed that killing in the midst of battle—especially when one almost died, and the desire to take vengeance on the people responsible for almost killing them overrode any doubts they might have—compared to killing them after they were defeated and knocked unconscious would make most people, at the very least, think twice before taking their lives.

He stared at Neopolitan. At a girl that was, in this moment, completely helpless and posed no threat whatsoever to him.

Giorno Giovanna was not most people. He was the man that would become the ruler of the underworld, and would do whatever it took to get there no matter how immoral he would have to—

He almost missed it.

Just as Giorno was about to thrust the blade through Neopolitan's neck, he heard some kind of fizzling sound. He turned, his eyes widen, and he grabbed Charlotte by her shoulders.

"Get down!"

"Wait, what—"

Gold Experience's leg was his own as he kicked the ground, the force sending both Giorno and Charlotte flying.

And just dodging the red ball of sparking energy that had passed right where their heads had been. The ball crashed into the wreck of cars and exploded, sending them the cars flying; though, there were no flames from the explosion, only smoke. Giorno landed on his feet about fifteen feet away, Charlotte stumbling out of his grip from the sudden end to their flight and almost falling to the ground.

An almost eerily calm voice suddenly spoke up.

"You know..."

Giorno's immediately turned towards where he heard the voice. Through the flames on the highway, he could just make out the silhouette of someone slowly walking towards him.

"I don't think I've ever been this mad before," The voice continued, silhouette getting closer. "I can't ever remember a single time when one person has made me as angry as you have." As the figure moved between the flames, he saw a stained white jacket lined red with streaks of blood. "Making me look like an idiot, stealing from me again and again, having my own grunt firing a rocket launcher at me, and to top it all off, hurting my Neo. No one has ever done half the shit you've pulled here, and I suppose that deserve's an award." Giorno saw the bruises on his skin, the way he favored his left leg more than his right as made his way out of the flames. "So, congratulations, Goldie..."

Roman Torchwick stepped out of the blaze. And though he never raised his voice, though every word that left his mouth was calm and composed, there was nothing but a visceral hatred in his eyes as he glared at Giorno.

"You've earned yourself a one way beating to hell, courtesy of my fucking cane."

Giorno stared. He honestly hadn't been expecting Torchwick to survive that last attack. In fact, it was actually better that Torchwick survived.

He glanced around. By his feet was Neopolitan's weapon, and a few feet away from it was Torchwick's hat. The helicopter was no longer in the sky as it had fled the moment Charlotte fired her bazooka. Speaking of Charlotte, she was raising her club, preparing to charge in, but he held out a hand to stop her.

"There's no need," he said. "I'll handle this. Just take cover."

Torchwick snarled. Charlotte looked from him to Torchwick, contemplating what to do, and then nodded her head before running towards the remains of a car; sliding over the hood, she disappeared from his sight.

No helicopters, no one other witnesses to this fight save an unconscious girl and his newly acquired ally.

Giorno picked up Neopolitan's weapon from the floor and slowly took a few steps forward.

There was no reason to put on a persona.

When he got close enough, Giorno stomped on Torchwick's hat, instantly crumpling it.

No reason to hold back.

Giorno glared at Torchwick, eyes cold. "Roman Torchwick, let me make something abundantly clear to you: this "fight" is not going to go how you expect."

Torchwick aimed his cane at Giorno, who sent a command to the remaining insects on his person before continuing.

"It won't end with me dying."

He saw the bottom of the cane pop open, an eyepiece with crosshairs now situated right above a small muzzle.

"It will end with you bloody, beaten, and most of all—"

Torchwick fired.

A bright red ball headed right towards him. He ducked low, just avoiding the ball, and charged. Torchwick fired even more shots, bright red flares almost blinding him. With Gold Experience's leg as his own, he kicked the ground, and he soared above the crackling orbs of energy. And he was flying right towards Torchwick, whose eyes widened just as Giorno threw Neopolitan's blade right at him.

Torchwick twirled around the blade, moving with grace even in his injured state. However, as the blade past him and sliced through the air, he took a step with his right leg and let out an audible grunt of pain, stumbling slightly as Giorno landed not even ten feet away from him.

It was time to end this.

He charged at Torchwick again, fist raised. Torchwick immediately got out of his stumble, aimed his cane, and fired again. Another bright red ball headed right towards him, and there was no time to doge.

So, Giorno didn't.

In an instant, everything suddenly changed. His senses were sharper, his muscles more finely tuned, and his blood was all but bursting with energy. He had called the entirety of his partner's body into existence and now wore it like it was his own personal armor just before the ball hit him dead center in the head. Smoke rose an explosion rippled through the air.

Giorno barely felt it.

He had Gold Experience fade from reality as he ran through the smoke. When Giorno burst through it, he saw Torchwick's jaw drop slightly. Giorno pulled back his right fist, and Torchwick acted quickly as he swung his cane towards him, the hook aimed to slam into his head. As Torchwick swung, Giorno saw that his eyes—wide, full of shock and just a touch of fear—were focused entirely on him as he prepared for him to counter in some way.

And that was Torchwick's biggest mistake. Expecting the next attack to come from him...

In less than a second, he channeled the energy within him and focused, the air behind Torchwick shimmering.

...and not from his partner.

From that spot of air, Gold sparks formed around a being that was rapidly growing more corporeal, and in an instant, Gold Experience came into existence; this time not just a phantom image he used as protection. And just as Torchwick's cane would've hit him in the side of his head, his partner threw its fist right at the back of the man's head.

"MUDA!"

Giorno didn't realize just how much he missed his partner's warcry until it screamed it to the heavens.

Gold Experience's fist was a yellow blur as it slammed into Torchwick's neck. There was an audible crack.

And then Torchwick screamed as the force from the blow sent him flying, flipping through the air until he hit the asphalt. He skidded on the road for a few more seconds before he stopped near the spot where the man had first shot him.

He sent another command to the insects that left his person, Gold Experience fading away from reality. It had finished its job. While Torchwick wasn't beaten yet, Giorno never intended for his partner to finish this fight. Otherwise, he would have had Gold Experience punch Torchwick with its life shot.

"You..." Torchwick said, growling as he slowly stood up, putting a large amount of effort into not moving his neck. "Are...dead." Giorno focused on the invisible lines that connected him to his creations. "Do you hear me!?" He pulled back on the life energy that made up some of his insects, and they slowly began to turn back into the objects they had once been. "I am not going to stop until you are a damn stain on this road!" He sent one last command to the creations that were still alive, and with that, he won.

Giorno stared at Torchwick, who was all but frothing at the mouth.

"You don't mess with Roman Torchwick! I am the biggest criminal in this entire city! The police piss themselves when they see me, those filthy animal terrorists all but lick my damn boots, and I've gone toe to toe with every damn Huntsman in this city, and won! I am the damn king of crime, and I won't let some little shit ruin—"

"Torchwick."

"What!?"

"You might want to look down."

Torchwick heard the finality in Giorno's voice and immediately knew something was wrong as he stopped screaming. Slowly, he looked down.

And he saw the piles of grenades at his feet. Grenades that already had their pins pulled by insects tugging on long strands of spider silk. That would blow up any second now.

Torchwick's head shot up.

Giorno stared at him, eyes devoid of any emotion.

The color began to fade from Torchwick's face.

Giorno continued to stare. And then, he posed.

Crossing one leg in front of the other, Giorno extended his left hand, fingers splayed and pointed at Torchwick. He then placed his other hand on the back of his head and ran it through his hair. To complete the pose, he thrust his crouch at a touch, never breaking eye contact with Torchwick as he spoke two simple words.

"You lose."

There was silence; more so than there was a second ago. Confusion replaced the fear on Torchwick's expression. He stood perfectly still, staring as if he was seeing something completely incomprehensible.

Then, not even a second later, the confusion gave way to a blazing rage as Torchwick roared.

"OH YOU MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKING BASTAR—"

Torchwick never finished as the grenades exploded. The sound was absolutely deafening as explosion after explosion stacked on top of the other, violent gales whipping across the highway. The heat he felt was like standing in the face of the sun as fire and smoke erupted like a volcano. The height of the explosions easily reached twenty feet high, and he had to use Gold Experience to help keep him on his feet as the gales pelted him.

But as the explosions began to die down, Giorno saw.

[Roman Torchwick]

[The False King]

[Status—]

He saw, through Gold Experience's eyes, Roman Torchwick flying from within the massive fireball and high into the air. And once he reached the apex of his flight, gravity took effect and he plummeted to the ground.

Right on top of the car Charlotte had driven him in.

[—RETIRED!]

Giorno stared at Torchwick, not even bothering to check with his life sense to see if Torchwick was faking. There was no need, not after what he saw. He slowly walked away from the massive crater he had created with the grenades and made his way towards Torchwick.

He also felt his lips quirk upward for just a moment as he burned the face Torchwick made before the explosions into his mind.

Giorno made his way through the flames on the highway and the wrecks of metal. He moved passed the divider—or, what was left of it—and was now about twenty feet away from the car. The electric shields on the wall were starting to flicker, blue light briefly shining on the car before just as quickly fading away.

He took in Torchwick's prone body. The man seemed to be stuck in the metal of the car, the roof having collapsed from the impact of Torchwick's body. The parts of Torchwick's skin that he could see were heavily burnt and charred black. His arms were clearly broken, bent at unnatural and painful-looking angles. Blood ran live rivers down his face, his right eye swollen shut after something—most likely concrete—slammed into it. His outfit was torn to shreds, white jacket and what was left of his pants completely covered in blood and soot.

And then there was the fact that his right foot had been blown to smithereens. There was no longer any trace of the limb, and in its place was a bloody stump that had been cauterized by the fires from the explosion. He still had his left foot, but it was mangled and burnt pitch-black; Giorno could make out the muscles lying underneath the burnt and flayed skin.

But despite just how badly he was beaten, Roman Torchwick still glared at him with an eye full of hatred.

Once he was close enough, Giorno leaned down. With Gold Experience's limb as his own, he slowly brought a hand up to Torchwick's face, running it down one of Torchwick's gashes. The lights from the shield suddenly flicker on and cast a blue shadow over both of them.

"What was it you called yourself? The king of crime? I will be honest, I have never heard such an unfunny joke like that in my life." Giorno's voice was fainter than a whisper, but his words held a deadly chill to them. " You are no king. The only thing I see before me is a fool with delusions of grandeur. You dare boast that you're that the epitome of a criminal, yet here you lay: broken and defeated while I stand tall. There are certain types of men that I truly loathe, Roman Torchwick."

His finger dug into one of Torchwick's cut, and the man let out a painful gasp through clenched teeth.

"And you are one of them," Giorno said, leaning closer. "I truly hate you and that little psychotic of yours with every fiber of my being."

Torchwick spat a thick patch of blood. It hit Giorno right in his cheek. Even now, helpless, Torchwick was resolved to show his defiance. At the very least, Giorno could respect that.

He still dug deeper into Torchwick's gash, though. Torchwick let out another shuddering gasp as Giorno continued.

"I have plans, Torchwick. Plans that will make me the most powerful criminal this city has ever seen. And when I succeed, the people of this town will see you for who you truly are. A two-bit thief no better than any idiot with a gun and a ski-mask."

Giorno's voice grew colder, expression just as icy as he glared at Torchwick. And while he tried to hide it, he still saw the fear slithering in the man's eyes as he leaned even closer; their faces were now only inches apart.

"The true king of crime is right in front of you, Torchwick." The way those words left Giorno's mouth, it was as if he was stating a universal truth. He felt Torchwick shiver. "And you and your ilk have no place in my domain."

His voice radiated malice. From his posture to his words, he made sure that Torchwick knew just who he was dealing with. A criminal. A killer.

A true, unyielding—

Giorno heard mirrors shattering. He turned around, and his eyes widened just as he ducked to the right, the blade thrust at his head slicing off a part of his cheek instead of its original target. And the follow-up spin kick hit him right in the face, the force snapping the bones in his nose and sending him to the ground. And as he fell, he saw it all.

He saw Neopolitan—bloody, bruised, and barely able to stand up straight—glaring at him with an enraged expression.

Saw her reach out and touch Torchwick, instead of charging at him and attacking again.

And saw the air shatter into a million glass-like pieces as Neopolitan and Torchwick vanished.

Giorno hit the ground back-first, the blue lights flickering off. He quickly got up, felt around with his life sense, and realized that neither Neopolitan or Torchwick were anywhere nearby; distantly, he heard more mirrors shattering, the sound repeating itself again and again as it grew more distant.

"Boss!" Turning, Giorno saw Charlotte rapidly running towards him. "You good!?"

"I'm Fine, Charlotte." Giorno brought a hand up to his face as Gold Experience's limb became his own.

"You sure?" Charlotte asked, stopping a few feet away from him as she pointed a finger at his face. "Your nose is...kinda...fucked up."

"I am aware," he replied, fingers clasping his bent and twisted nose; even through his gloves, he felt the blood leaking from his nostrils. That psychotic had broken almost every bone in his nose with that kick. But it wouldn't be that hard to fix.

He twisted his nose back into place with a loud crack, causing more blood to leak. With a bit of focus, he channeled the life energy within him into his nose. It was like he could feel the dents and breaks in his bones repair themselves bit by bit, any wounds inside his nostrils almost instantly closing up. And it wasn't just limited to his nose either. The would on his cheek slowly began to heal, the cuts on his arm sewing shut and the gashes on his stomach all but disappeared as new skin replaced the damaged one. Gold Experience's life energy rejuvenated his body. He was glad he had been working on the "healing" aspects of his powers, as with some practice, he figured out how to repair injuries with almost no pain.

He forced back a wince just as another piece of his broken bones came back into place, his nose feeling as if it had been stabbed by a very sharp knife.

Almost being the keyword.

With a few more seconds of concentration, all of his wounds were repaired.

Charlotte blinked. "Huh. Never seen Aura heal like that before."

"There are many things about me that are different from the norm, Charlotte."

"Right. That...really should be obvious to me by now."

"In any case, we should leave. Torchwick is gone, and I rather not have to deal with any Huntsman yet."

Charlotte scowled, looking around the highway. "Can't believe that ice-cream bitch actually got up. You almost had that bastard, and he got away."

"They did not escape."

Charlotte turned back to face him, confusion scrunching up her expression. "What?"

"I let them go," Giorno said.

The confusion rose. "What?"

"I have plans, Charlotte Sapphire." Giorno turned to face Charlotte with calm blue eyes. "And most of these plans require Torchwick alive. At least, for a while."

The outcome of this entire night was, while not ideal, acceptable. Among the original goals he had set out and accomplished, Giorno had also delivered his message to Torchwick far sooner than he had expected, and the scumbag would now deliver it to his boss. And because of Neopolitan's abrupt attack at the end of their "talk," it made it looked like she saved Torchwick's life just before he got the chance to kill him; not that he would have, as he even used Gold Experience to take care of any life-threatening wounds that would've killed Torchwick within the hour when he touched him. Before, he would have just knocked Torchwick out and then kill Neopolitan, thereby making Torchwick absolutely furious, but this might have been better. Both Neopolitan's and Torchwick's pride had been all but torn to shreds by Giorno, and since they were both alive, they would do everything they can to get their revenge once they healed. Two arrogant and egoistical thieves encouraging the other to commit stupid mistakes all just to get back at the man that beat them at their own game.

It wasn't what he originally planned...but he could make this work.

"Bu-but wait—"

"Charlotte, I will explain things in-depth. But, I feel as though that can wait until we are somewhere other than a slowly crumbling highway."

Charlotte paused. She looked around. Her eyes went over the smoldering fires, burnt corpses, bloodstains, the large hole and the cracks that seemed to be rapidly spreading across the road.

"Yeah, I think you're right." She said, a bit of worry in her voice.

"Then let's go, Charlotte."

Giorno approached the wall, channeled the energy within him to his hand, and Gold Exeperince's own hand became his. He touched the concrete barricades, channeling life energy into it, and within a second, there was now a tunnel of dark green vines within the concrete. Through the archway at the front of the tunnel, he could just make out the city at the end of the passage—even though it was rather dark. Now, all he had to do was create a few longer vines, and then he could carry Charlotte down with Gold Experience's help and—

"Um..."

Giorno paused, hand still on the vines he just created as he turned his head. He saw Charlotte looking at him, biting her lip and looking hesitant about...something. He couldn't tell.

"Yes?" He asked.

"You uh..."Charlotte trailed off for a moment, but then she continued, voice almost...shy. "You can call me Charlie, if you want." She gave him a small smile. "It's...what I let my friends call me."

...Friends.

He stared, and said nothing.

"I, uh, haven't really met anyone that I can call a friend since I was like, a kid."

He kept staring.

"But, well, after all the stuff you've done for me, you're basically the best friend I have right now, so—"

"Charlotte."

His voice came out colder than he was expecting. Charlotte abruptly stopped talking, mouth clamping shut.

Giorno glared slightly. "I am not your friend."

He saw the look of hurt on Charlotte's face. But he didn't care. He needed there to be no misunderstandings.

"I respect you, and I see you have a plethora of potential. I have every intention in making sure you are well compensated for the help you have, and will, provide me. But I am your boss. That is all." His voice held an edge that made it clear he would not accept any arguments. "Do you understand?"

Charlotte didn't respond. She just looked down. After a few moments of silence, she spoke; her voice quiet and subdued.

"Yeah. I got it."

"Good. Then follow me."

Without waiting to see her response, he walked into the dark passage of the vines.

And while his plans and contingencies would need adjusting after tonight, Giorno Giovanna felt that the first step to becoming the underworld's ruler had been completed.

To Be Continued~

AN: Hey there. Been a while hasn't it?

Alright, so, first of all, let me explain why I essentially fell off the face of the earth for almost seven months. To sum it up in a sentence: new job and family issues eating up any free time to write and stressing me out and getting told to my face I am a horrible writer by someone I really respected and all of my friends agreeing with them and telling me to go find a new "hobby", and this was all while I took some of the hardest courses my college had to offer, and maintaining decent grades in every one of them. So yeah. Haven't had either the time or been in the best headspace to get a lot done.

But, I still tried to get this chapter out to you as soon as I could. You guys kept leaving me wonderful reviews, likes on Spacebattles and kudos on A03, favoriting and following my stories even after months of no activity I was honestly a bit touched. So I was determined to get this chapter out to you guys. Some of you seemed to think either me or my other active stories were dead, but that will never be the case. One way or the other, my three main stories will have some kind of ending to them.

Speaking of my other stories, for those that follow The Lazy Painter and Gems are Unbreakable, I will try to update them with a new chapter, not sure which one yet. Now that things are becoming less hectic in my life, and headspace being a lot better, I should hopefully be able to get them up within a few weeks. But, if it takes longer, sorry in advance.

Now onto questions. A lot of you have been asking why GioGio has been more ruthless than usual, such as when he bodied White Fang grunts. Mostly, it's him adopting a persona that he thinks will get his enemy to react in a certain way, and then he sticks with it until he sees that he doesn't need to any longer. And even when he drops his persona, he still does his best to give his enemies bad info/come to false conclusions about him. Like what he did in this chapter with Neo and Torchwick, which will have an effect on the inevitable fallout when Cinder learns about this.

Another question is why does Gold Experience seems so much stronger in this fic when its stats list its Destructive power as rank C. For one, Stands can grow stronger over time through fighting/training, see Crazy Diamond learning to fire projectiles like a pro in no time at all and Stone Free going form only being able to crush a coin to deflecting meteors as their respective stories go on. For another thing, remember that just before the final fight with Diavolo, due to Chariot Requiem's soul manipulation, every Stand in the vicinity got a boost in strength, from Narancia's Aerosmith to Mista's Sex Pistols.

Finally, Gold Experience casually sent cars flying after hitting them so hard that its fist severely damaged the cars if not outright destroyed them. Considering all that, I decided that Gold Experience being able to donut someone wasn't that impossible.

Also, I know that Neo's full name is spelled "Neo Politan," but Giorno does not know that and assumes its spelled "Neopolitan" since he's never seen her name in written form. I also know that there's some debate over whether or not Neo can teleport, but after rewatching every Neo fight I could, I decided that some of the stuff she does could only make sense if, in addition to creating illusions, she can also teleport the moment she sets them up. But, if it's later said in the show that she doesn't teleport, then consider this an AU element I added to the story.

So, I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I've changed my style a bit, but I hope you all still like my writing. If you have any thoughts, criticisms or theories as to where this story is heading, don't be afraid to say so in the reviews! Or, if you want to have a general discussion head on over to Spacebattles and/or A03!

This is the Black Mage of Phantasm signing off. Peace!