Battaglia 25: Then happy I, that love and am beloved
"Purple Haze!" Fugo cried, and his Stand appeared at his side with a roar of fury. As it rushed towards Castagna, Fugo's brow furrowed. Was it just the pain clouding his mind, or did Haze look… different. And even as he wondered that, he could feel it, could know that something was different, something was new about his Stand.
But it wasn't the time to keep thinking about it as he felt his own mouth form the words, "Stop!" of its own volition. Haze did, looking confusedly back at its user as Fugo fell back, skirting around Castagna and moving determinedly towards his knife. As soon as he felt his leg stiffen up, Fugo cried out, "Go, Haze!"
As hie Stand moved again, Fugo planted his stumbling feet on the ground and pushed off. Just a few more meters to the butterfly knife and he'd be there. When Castagna manipulated Violet Hill again, Fugo was ready. With no hesitation, he bit down on his left hand. Hard.
The roar of fury from Castagna as he realized the blond's plan gave Fugo a satisfactory feeling, even as his own teeth dug into the soft flesh of his fingers and the sharp tang of blood filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He only needed one hand to wield his knife.
Purple Haze's fist swung so fast through the space next to Castagna's cheek that the air itself was ringing as the tanned man narrowly avoided the attack. His next few seconds were spent focused on avoiding the flurry of punches headed his way. In the single moment it took Purple Haze to twist around, both Fugo and Castagna found their opportunities.
Fugo felt his mouth's muscles ease and he braced himself for the feeling of losing control over a different limb. When it didn't come, he didn't hesitate. Trusting Haze to keep Castagna busy, he used those precious seconds of freedom to practically throw himself at his weapon, wrapping both hands around the pocketknife's grip to pull it free from the tree.
Success flared through him, but it was short lived as he spun around- only to plunge stomach-first into a long, narrow blade that cruelly twisted down into a cross-shaped hilt. Blood spurted out of the wound and his own butterfly knife clattered to the ground as Castagna's leering grin stared down at him.
"Do you like her?" Castagna cooed lovingly as he stared down at the silver blade buried in Fugo's stomach. "My sweet Magdalena, to henceforth deliver your precious misericordia."
Fugo saw Haze behind them, looking confused and agitated and enraged as it frantically looked around for its target. Its attention quickly shifted to the mud on its legs and a disgusted hiss escaped its lips as it began to rub frantically at them. Pushing back at the muddled delirium threatening to overtake him, Fugo was confused. Purple Haze had lost track of Castagna? But how? Haze wasn't as fast as Sticky Fingers or Gold Experience, but it wasn't slow by any means, how could-
"Really," Castagna's voice twisted to a hiss as he pushed the blade even deeper into Fugo's chest. "Did you think Violet could only control others?" His fist curled in the bloodied remains of Fugo's suit, practically hoisting him up as he withdrew the dagger with lightning speed to stab again, this time deep into the soft flesh of Fugo's leg. Fugo heard the scrape of metal against bone and bit back a gag. "I'm sure you've heard, Signor Fugo, that the best offense is a good defense."
Understanding shot through Fugo's pain-addled mind. Violet Hill's true capabilities didn't lie in its ability to manipulate others, but in the way it could control the one 'patient' that had been 'exposed' to it for years. This was how Castagna had never lost before.
It didn't matter how fast or how strong Purple Haze was if its fists never made contact. It didn't matter how deadly its virus was if anything inorganic was killed by Violet Hill. Haze's virus was quick, but Violet Hill's antibodies were quicker. But a plan was forming in his mind, forming around the single thing he knew was different about Purple Haze. He had one chance left.
"Haze!" It came out as more of a gurgle from the blood pooling in his mouth and thrust, but his Stand heard him, looked back from where it was scrubbing at the dirt stains covering it, saw Castagna, and flung itself forward with an incoherent, garbled shriek.
"I should've gone for your damn throat," Castagna cursed under his breath, balling his fist tighter in Fugo's clothes as he practically threw the blond to the ground, crimson spraying out from the open wounds to stain the stones of the ruins as the older man darted out of the way of Haze.
As strong and fast as he was, Castagna could only dodge Haze, lest he risk being hit by the deadly virus within the capsules. There was the possibility, however small it was, that Haze's virus was not one Violet Hill could defeat, and both Castagna and Fugo knew that. Fugo was relying on that.
Purple Haze's fist exploded on the ground not a meter from Fugo's own head, and he took careful note of the telltale hissing noise as his Stand reared back to go after Castagna.
His knife. He had to reach his knife. It, too, was only a meter away, half-folded in on itself, but Fugo was bleeding out, that meter might as well have been a mile. Still, he grit his teeth, dug his fists into the grass poking out of the ground and dragged himself towards it.
When cold metal brushed beneath his fingertips a moment later, he breathed a single sigh of relief, grabbing both the blade and the small orb beside it. Now for the hard part. The part that relied far too much on luck for his liking. Fugo was not a lucky guy, never had been. But ever since Giorno had joined their group, it seemed like their luck was turning around. Even though he didn't believe in all that unscientific, superstitious nonsense, he couldn't help but hope that would remain the case.
Fugo scanned the sky, clutching a rock in his free hand and- and found his target. Why a bird would remain when there was all this noise and fighting and movement going on, Fugo had no idea. He grinned. Maybe Mista was right, maybe Giorno really was a good luck charm after all.
Though Narancia would berate him if he ever found out, Fugo took aim and threw with all his strength. There was a loud screech that echoed through the air and a second later, a black crow plummeted out of the sky, one of its wings bent back and bloodied and broken as it thrashed about on the ground.
Castagna saw the bird fall. A sign, a good omen of protection, a symbol that he would achieve victory yet again. Castagna praised his God and, for a second, really just half a second, not even a full tick on a clock, he hesitated.
That was all Purple Haze needed to connect a fist directly into Castagna's gut and send him flying.
Haze had perfect aim, just like Fugo had hoped.
He landed roughly on the ground with a heavy thud, immobile for less than a second before Castagna stood like nothing had hit him. Fugo noted that it was clear by the way his left femur seemed to be jutting awkwardly out of its normal position, a lump of rapidly-bruising flesh sticking out of a tear in his plum-colored pants, that his leg was broken. Violet Hill was helping him move anyway.
As Haze dissipated behind them, Fugo and Castagna both noticed the ruptured capsule on its fist at the same time. Castagna paused for a single second, looking down at his body as if checking for something before he began to laugh, slowly and softly at first, until it ascended into a crescendo of gleeful hysteria.
"You fool!" he shrieked wildly, whipping around to leer at Fugo. "Violet kills all viruses! You can't defeat me! God's favor is once again within me!"
He leapt for Fugo, blood and sweat dripping down his face in a deranged mask. As Castagna's strange dagger flashed out to rupture Fugo's jugular, Fugo was just a millisecond faster, years of avoiding Narancia's switchblade giving him plenty of practice. His own butterfly knife buried itself in Castagna's stomach as he rolled to the side to avoid his throat being pierced.
Blood spurted from the graze on his neck and began to stain the ground as Castagna stared down at him in shock. A single well-aimed kick was all it took to knock the bigger man off of him, forcing the blade in all the way to the hilt as he thudded to the ground.
Fugo took a second, perhaps the first second he'd taken since their fight began to actually breathe, before Haze appeared at his side. As he broke the capsule he'd been holding in his mouth since Haze had punched the ground beside him, he chuckled to himself. How ironic, that he couldn't stand on his own without his Stand supporting part of his weight.
It didn't matter; he'd won. Even if Castagna didn't know it yet.
Castagna, who was trying to stagger to his own feet, paused from his position on the ground. Blood gurgled in his throat as he stared confusedly at his chest, which seemed to be bubbling and oozing more than just blood.
"I know you hate questions," Fugo drawled as he approached Castagna's rapidly-decaying body. "So I'll spare you the misery of asking 'how.' Violet Hill acts as antibodies, you told me that much. It attacks anything nonliving in the body and 'cleanses' it, so Haze's virus would do nothing to you. But what about a parasite?"
Castagna seemed to freeze for a few seconds before his face twisted into a furious scowl.
Fugo grinned. "Violet can't hurt something that's 'alive.' And parasites are living things."
"Uu… an't…!"
"I couldn't," Fugo corrected, knowing what Castagna meant to say despite his rapidly-dissolving vocal cords. "Haze is imperfect. Impure, just like I am. But it can change, just as I have." His purple eyes narrowed as he stared down at the distorted lifeform beneath him, the last of Castagna's precious mist-like Stand dissolving around him. "'But the vile—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur.' So burn."
There was next to nothing left of him, but the pleasure Fugo received from watching Castagna's plum-colored eyes condemn him was immeasurable. The man writhed violently one final time before falling still forever, body still oozing into the ground.
"Brucia e pentiti. Amen."
Purple Haze made a soft grunting noise next to him and Fugo finally turned to look at his Stand's new form. The white-and-purple checkered pattern, the helmet, and the capsules, two ruptured on the left and one missing on the right, looked the same as before. Its waistcloth was gone, the spikes lining its spine vanished as well, and its boots had faded to a simple continuation of the pattern stretching down to the stitches on its feet. It stared at Fugo with iris-less yellow eyes and somehow, it seemed more human because of it.
"You know," Fugo murmured quietly as he sagged to the ground. "I had despised you, Haze. But you knew that already. Even so, you chose to protect me. Thank you."
Haze made a quiet moan that Fugo recognized as concern, its hand appearing near his shoulder as if to comfort him. The fingers were flickering in and out of existence, Fugo's own ability to keep his Stand out fading with each passing second. That Purple Haze was ignoring its own deteriorated state at all would've shocked Fugo in the past, but he was different now. They both were.
"Don't make that face, Haze. I won't leave you. I've realized something," he explained softly, knowing his Stand wouldn't really understand him, and knowing that that was okay. "For something that's already so misshapen and deformed… there's always room for more distortion."
