Battaglia 90: Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross
Fugo watched as Mista toppled to the ground, the faint voices of his Sex Pistols disappearing as the Stand vanished. He waited a few seconds to be sure the gunman was truly out before calling Haze back to him.
It wandered over, its growls subdued to a low hissing as it bent down to start lifting the rocks off its user, one by one with more caution than you'd think a Stand like Purple Haze would be able to do. When it pulled off a particularly large stone that caused the rubble to shift and Fugo to wince in pain, it yanked itself back frantically.
"I'm fine, Haze," Fugo soothed, beckoning the Stand back to him. "Keep going."
It hissed with what sounded like concern but obeyed. Honestly, Fugo probably wasn't all that fine. Mista had been a tough opponent, more difficult than Fugo had expected, and his whole body was sore. His shoulder stung where dirt and rocks had fallen into the bullet wound, his left was starting to swell shut, and he was fairly certain his ankle was sprained- at least. It was probably broken; a stone had pinned it at an awkward angle and the rest of the debris had crushed it pretty damn good.
The last of the rocks were falling away and it had gotten loose for him to pull himself out from the rest, sending Haze back before the Stand could notice how dirty it had gotten. His green suit was full of additional holes and had enough bloodstains on it that he could pass for a pretty authentic zombie if it was Halloween.
Fugo approached Mista, still lying motionless face-first on the ground. He'd made sure that Haze hadn't broken a capsule; the least he could do was save his former friend that sort of painful death. With a little too much care, he pushed the limp body over so Mista was lying face up. Blood streaked down his face from his nose and he had a few splatters across his forehead that was probably from Fugo himself.
He needed to finish the job. It was his task. It was what he'd promised the Boss and- and yet…
"We'd always take you back."
Mista's words echoed through his mind. Why would they take back a traitor? Why would they ever trust him again?
Yet Fugo knew the answer, and that was ultimately why he stepped over Mista's body and walked away.
"I'm a fool as well," he murmured, clenching his fists as he began to walk towards where Castagna and Bucciarati had been fighting. It was a slow process, his foot basically dragging along the ground behind him, but he wouldn't stop. Mista had shown his resolve, it was time for him to show his own.
His new resolve.
Castagna had revealed his plan for dealing with Bucciarati to Fugo while giving the blond as little detail about his Stand as possible. It was a pity that he'd underestimated how much Fugo could gather from the vague information the man gave him. That, combined with what Fugo had already figured out from the previous few interactions he'd had with Violet Hill, left Fugo with a very distinct picture of Castagna's Stand. He didn't know everything about it, but he knew enough.
He knew that it manipulated body parts. Based on what he saw with Fillippo, he knew it couldn't control an entire body at once. He knew it was long-range. And then there was the hunch that had been growing in the back of his mind, that the way Castagna phrased his words and emphasized the living had something to do with Violet Hill. It was too early to say for sure whether his theory was right or not; it could only be tested through practice.
As far as Castagna's plan went, it was a fairly simple one. All he had told him was that he would use Violet Hill to incapacitate Bucciarati. While that alone hadn't told him a lot, knowing that the Stand manipulated the body, Fugo had gathered that meant he'd be using Bucciarati's own body against him.
Of course, Fugo knew that Bucciarati wouldn't make it that easy, but Castagna hadn't seemed worried. Much as he hated to admit it, Violet Hill was a good counter to Sticky Fingers. It had a large range, larger than Sticky Fingers did, it wasn't a single body that could be removed through just one zipper, it could slow Bucciarati's normally fluid, elegant movements.
Fugo wasn't sure how the ex-capo would deal with Castagna. There was always something stronger than yourself, he recalled, and Fugo couldn't help but wonder which of the two that was. Not that it mattered; he knew what he had to do.
As he grew closer, it became clear that Castagna's plan had, for the most part, worked. Both Bucciarati's arms lay on the ground behind the pair, the ex-capo breathing heavily as he used Sticky Fingers to escape into a zipper in the ground as Castagna charged him with the daggers that were his weapon of choice.
Castagna smirked wildly as Bucciarati's foot hooked onto the edge of the ground, getting zipped off in the process as the dark-haired man reappeared further away. Fugo's current partner didn't look like he'd escaped unscathed though; his last two fingers on his left hand were gone, blood still dripping from the wounds, there was a long stretch of wound empty space going down his side from where Bucciarati must've landed a hit, and his forehead was oozing scarlet again- although Fugo thought that may have been self-inflicted again.
It looked like Bucciarati had figured out somewhat what Violet Hill did by the way he immediately ripped off his own leg, but Fugo knew there wasn't much point. Unless Castagna had another target, there was no escaping the Stand.
It had felt like hours while he was fighting Mista, but in reality it had only been maybe ten minutes at most. Fugo remembered watching from his hiding spot as the pair had approached the ruins and the surrealism of the situation had finally sunk in.
Throughout the fight, he'd been thinking: what was driving Mista? Bucciarati? Why did they believe so strongly they were right when Fugo himself was so sure his own decision hadn;t been wrong? He wanted to understand. He still did.
Maybe it wasn't too late after all. Maybe it never had been from the start. Maybe-
"There you are, Caro Fugo!" Castagna's sickening voice brought him back to reality as it echoed through the open expanse the pair were fighting in.
The way Bucciarati's facial muscles didn't change confirmed it; the ex-capo had definitely caught a glimpse of him fighting Mista. However, the glimmer of fear in his blue eyes said that he was worried Mista was dead. Fugo made eye contact with him, the first time he'd been able to in what seemed like weeks.
Bucciarati's expression was pained and Fugo forced himself to look away first. He didn't want to read too much into that look.
"You've taken care of the sinner, I presume?" Castagna's voice sounded friendly but it was laced with thinly-veiled venom and Fugo recognized it for the threat that it was.
He nodded in return. "Signor Martino," he began, voice carefully devoid of emotion as he approached the dark-skinned man. "If you would be so kind as to allow me."
Castagna's plum-colored eyes widened and a wicked grin spread across his face. He bowed low, stepping to the side as he gestured wildly to where Bucciarati rested on the ground. Bucciarati, who was staring at Fugo with an unreadable expression, as if he could see into Fugo's very soul. Maybe he could, Fugo supposed. It had always seemed that way.
"By all means," Castagna allowed, tone gleeful as if he were a child at a carnival. "I had intended to keep this one for myself, but I suppose you have earned it more than I. After all, I have already rescued this soul."
Fugo wasn't sure what Castagna meant by that, but he knew that Bucciarati and Castagna had known each other in the past. He was probably referring to that.
"Fugo." It was the first time Bucciarati had spoken to him since telling him that he was betraying Passione and it hurt more than Fugo had anticipated. "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness."
'For they shall be satisfied.' Was this the closest he would get? No. That wasn't acceptable. He knew what he had to do, had known it from the start. Maybe Mista was right; maybe it was cowardice. His own insecurities brought to fruition the moment his leader wasn't bathed in the light of the Heavens Fugo had always seen him as.
"Bucciarati, thank you." The ex-capo's expression softened and Fugo felt like crying.
Purple Haze appeared at his side, the soft growling noises echoing through the ruins. Castagna looked positively ecstatic at seeing Fugo's Stand for the first time, and it only reconfirmed Fugo's belief that that man was insane. No one in their right mind would enjoy a Stand like his.
With a roar of fury, Haze charged.
