Ch. 10
Je Sui Un Homme

NOVEMBER 30TH 1988
12:02
HONG KONG, CHINA

The plane made a safe crash 35km off the southern coast of Hong Kong. Rescue efforts lasted from several hours after the crash well into the morning. Helicopters and ships helped bring all the passengers onto the mainland. Their luggage was mercifully salvaged from the plane. Joaquín couldn't be more grateful of China for helping them all, but he felt annoyed that they thought he and his group killed all those people.

Thankfully, his grandfather helped the police identify the criminal known as Grey Fly (the Stand user's nickname). They were free to go after that. The following day, the group made their way through a dainty market place, where Joseph had to stop for a moment to place an important call. Possibly to the Speedwagon Foundation, thought Joaquín as they waited patiently for him across the street. He was able to catch some snippets of what he was saying from where they stood.

"Yes... Make sure we're the only ones aboard, along with the crew members... Of course... We want to avoid any future casualties..."

"Jojo, where do you think we're going," asked Della.

"I don't know," said Joaquín scratching his chin, "But it better not involve another plane. I think one crash with Abuelito is enough to last me a lifetime. Personally, transportation's the last thing on my mind right now. I wanna get some rest. And some food."

"We all do, niisan," said Joutarou, tilting his cap a bit. The excitement from the turbulent flight had faded, replaced with an empty feeling in them. It wasn't just hunger or exhaustion. Joaquín and the others had allowed innocent civilians to be killed aboard the flight. All because they were in the way. It filled Joaquín with such guilt that he wanted to scream. But he didn't. He needed to keep his head level, especially since he did enough screaming like a little girl on the plane.

A nearby street vendor popped his sweaty head out of a window, speaking in slightly broken English. "Hey, big boy! You all tourists? Want some congee? Anyone coming to Hong Kong has to have congee and dim sum. And with some hot cola, too!" The vendor pulled out a bowl of white porridge from behind his kiosk, as well as a glass of fizzing, not-at-all-cold soda. Joaquín was surprised hot soda was a thing here in China.

"Rice porridge, eh," said Noriaki with interest before turning to Joaquín and his brother. "Did you know that unlike in Japan, rice porridge is a staple in Hong Kong?" He turned back to the vendor and ordered a bowl with pork and a century egg.

"Century egg," asked Della. "What do you mean by century egg?"

"Well, the egg is preserved in a special mixture for several weeks or months until the yolk is grey and the whites are orange. It's better than it sounds." Poor Della had turned green and was trying not to puke at the thought. The same went with Joaquín. Before Mohamed could make an order, his grandfather had finished his call and was crossing over.

"Hey, are you guys hungry," he asked. "Don't get food from there, we're going to a friend's shop to eat lunch."

"Hey, dandy guy," called the vendor, offering the bowl and glass from before. "Want some congee and a glass of hot cola?"

"HOT?! Cola's supposed to be cold, everyone knows that!"

"Jijii," said Joutarou. "Who were you calling?"

"Don't worry. I'll explain when we sit down and eat. We need to come up with a plan to reach Egypt."

"Mr. Joestar," said Mohamed. "the quickest route would be by plane. However..."

"You're right." They all began walking with Joseph as he went on. "It's impossible to reach Egypt by plane. If we take another commercial flight, there would only be another Stand user waiting like before. We can't afford more civilian casualties. Therefore, our only options left are by land or sea."

~+JO*JO+~

"However," said Mohamed, as they were all sitting at a table in a local Chinese restaurant, "if we do not reach Dio within fifty days, then Mrs. Holly's life will expire. There is no doubt..."

Everyone looked troubled. Noriaki, who vowed to save Holly out of wishing to marry a saintly woman like her, spoke what Joaquín had thought since they arrived here. "If we were still on that plane, we would have been in Cairo."

At this, Joaquín's grandfather gave him a curious smirk. "I know that, but I don't think so. Have you heard about Jules Verne's novel Around The World in Eighty Days?" Everyone except the two Japanese students nodded. "A man traveled over 40,000km around the Earth during an age where steamboats, trains and hot air balloons were the best methods of travel. Any man can travel if they believe they can. Plane or not, we can still travel those ten thousand kilometers to Egypt. The best route would be by sea."

He then pulled out a map from his coat and placed it on the table. Everyone followed his finger, which began on Hong Kong. "I've already made the arrangements. We charter a suitably-sized vessel to travel around the Malaysian Peninsula and through the Indian Ocean. The Silk Road of the seas, if you may."

"I see why you decided to take a sea route, Abuelito," said Joaquín. "Looking at this map, if we go by land, we have to deal with deserts and the Himalayas. And we're not prepared for cold weather at all. Not to mention there would be more traps on the road for us. And borders, too. Right, Mohamed?" An impressed Mohamed nodded, having thought the same thing.

"Not to mention that several countries are still in conflict," added Mohamed. "It would be unwise for us to be caught in a war when we already have our own problems. Our presence among them would only worsen their situation. But hopefully, we can avoid this."

"I hope so as well," said Noriaki. "I've never gone by those two routes before, but I will take wherever you all go." And everyone nodded in agreement.

"Now here's the next problem," continued Joaquín. "Stand users. I thought about who we would bump into, considering these are assassins being thrown at us. We know nothing about them at all. But I have a hunch that their Stands are all named after tarot cards. With the exception of Money back home, there was Hierophant Green and Tower of Grey... Mohamed, do you know any other Stand users with that type of theme who might work for Dio?'

The fortune-teller looked pensive for a moment before speaking up. "Devo the Cursed and his Ebony Devil fit the profile. He is an extremely scarred Native American shaman and a deadly assassin. I have only met him once, but from what I gathered, he allows his opponents to harm him. The hatred and pain he feels allow his Stand to remotely kill them. Normal people claim a curse was placed on his victims. None know what his Stand does, for all who have been 'cursed' die."

"Diablo. I'd hate to be in the same room with that." Joaquín shuddered, but he wasn't too worried. They so far had taken down two of his minions and reformed one. A remote Stand like that wouldn't be a problem for us. If there's anything I've learned from seeing them is that it's not just a battle of strength. You need to think. If we can't think of how to defeat one without brute force, then they would gain the upper hand. And I'll be damned if I allow any of Dio's men to outsmart us.

He sighed and went to pour more tea, but there wasn't much left. "Uh, we ran out," he said sheepishly.

"Allow me," said Noriaki. He slightly removed the lid. "In Hong Kong, you do this if you want a refill. And while the servers do that, you tap your fingers twice as a sign of gratitude." And he did just that as a waitress came and refilled their teapot. It looked like something Joutarou wouldn't do. At least, in the present company.

As she left, a young man approached. The smiling man looked pretty young, his peculiarly silver hair styled up in a short pillar and his matching, silvery blue eyes shining. He wore golden, half-heart earrings and a black, single strapped top that exposed some of his pectorals. "Excuze-moi," he said to them all in French. "I hate to disturb you all, but I am having trouble with this menu. You see, I'm a tourist from France, and I couldn't help but notice two of you were Chinese."

"Japanese," corrected Joutarou with a sneer. "Now get lost, we're having a serious conversation."

"Now Joutarou, there's no need for the rudeness." Joseph looked through his menu. "I don't mind helping you, good sir. I've been here in the past, so I can read a bit of the characters. Now, let me see… What would you like? Shrimp, duck, shark's fin, mushrooms?"

"Surprise me," said the Frenchman. Joseph called over a waiter and made several orders (Joaquín hoped he knew what he was asking for) as the stranger pulled up a seat beside him and Joaquín. "By the way, I am Jean Pierre Polnareff. A pleasure to meet you all."

"Likewise," said Joaquín as he shook his hand. "I'm Joaquín. That's Della, Mohamed, Noriaki, my brother Joutarou, and my grandfather Joseph.

"Bonjour, mes amis!" Everyone returned the greeting except Joutarou, who eyed him cautiously. For a moment, he turned his gaze to Joaquín. He immediately knew what he was thinking. While Jean Pierre had a friendly air to him, it was strange that of all the people in this restaurant, he'd choose to go to them for help choosing food. Joaquín nodded to his brother and kept his eye on the man as well, smiling along with him. He didn't look dangerous, but looks were always deceiving.

It took several minutes, but their food had arrived. And his grandfather could not have picked more questionable food. There was congee, but there was also boiled fish, steamed clams, and whole grilled frogs. Jean Pierre eyed the frogs with intrigue. Joaquín meanwhile felt uncomfortable eating something that reminded him of Preciosa.

His grandfather laughed and shrugged. "Oh well! Let's just tuck in, then! It's on me!" Everybody but Jean Pierre, who was helping himself to the frogs, was looking at Joseph with the same incredulity as when he mentioned his history with planes. His smile didn't falter. "What's with those faces? It's not that bad!"

And so everyone cautiously did. All things considered, the food wasn't that bad.

Jean Pierre picked at his vegetables. "Well, they sure took their time in making this for us. Just look at these carrots." He picks up a carrot in his chopsticks, looking at it with wonder. "It looks like a star. Such fine craftsmanship. It's funny, really. This star almost reminds me of something important."

The air suddenly grew still. They all looked up with dawning realization as Jean Pierre's smile slowly faded. He moved the carrot over the side of his neck.

"Yes... A man I met before... He had a birthmark on his back. Just like this carrot."

He was one of Dio's minions.

The bowl of porridge shook. Before anyone could say a word, a hand shot out of it. It was holding a long and sharp rapier, which it tried to slash at Joseph. He moved his left hand and it sliced right through one of his fingers, which surprisingly didn't shed blood. Magician's Red made himself appear and began to breathe fire on the sword, but it was for naught as the thin blade spun and spun the flames like cotton candy before it was enveloped in it.

The sword rose from the bowl, to reveal the Stand holding it: a thin, robotic, silver-armored knight with glaring yellow eyes.

Everyone got up and away from the table as the Stand knocked it over, sending bowls and food flying everywhere. He slashed and sent the flames all around the table. It looks like it created a clock from the fire. Jean Pierre's eyes never left Mohamed's the entire time. He looked as if he wanted to fight him the most. "My Stand represents 'The Chariot' card. Silver Chariot. Mohamed Avdol, it seems as if you wish to be the first to settle this. Then so be it! You will die before the clock strikes 12!"

"Have you lost your fucking mind," shouted Joaquín, who had yet to call out Preciosa. "Are you really planning to fight here?! In a restaurant full of civilians?!"

Joaquín looked around and saw several people looking on in confusion and fear. The Stands and fire were invisible to the patrons, but they could still feel something tense was happening. They needed to move this battle away from them. He knew Mohamed felt the same way, but could he convince him?

"Before 12," he chuckled softly. "That's a rather conceited claim, considering that those are my own flames." He made a swipe with his hand and the bottom half of the table burned off, taking the hand off the makeshift clock. Polnareff was actually impressed. "Monsieur Polnareff, do not assume my flames always burn upwards or against the wind. There is a reason my Stand is named Magician's Red. These may be his flames, but I am their magician."

Polnareff raised a shaved eyebrow before speaking again. "It is said that when the world began, it was wreathed in flames. I expect nothing less of Magician's Red for manipulating the flames of beginning. Now, you said I was conceited for my threat? Then does that mean," he pulled out several coins from his pocket and tossed them amongst the flames that hung lazily in the air from the smoldering table, "that my swordsmanship is conceited too?!"

Silver Chariot stabbed through each coin with precise speed. It was so fast that Joaquín doubted even Preciosa could catch it. But his speed wasn't surprising. No. It was the fact that between each coin was an ember, punctured by the sword.

"By now, you see what this means. I never make a boast if I knew I couldn't back it up. My Stand can cut through anything freely, including flames. The air is nothing when I tear through it. It can make gaps of nothingness in it. In other words, your flames are useless." Silver Chariot made one more swipe and relinquished the flaming coins from its skewer. Jean Pierre walked past them and the patrons, who were complaining about the heat. He turned back to the group and smirked.

"The card my Stand is named after represents invasion and victory. In a crowded space such as this, I would win. But that would be unfair, wouldn't it, Avdol? I think a wider battlefield would give you a better chance at victory. Perhaps show your Stand's flames' true worth." His smile, though laced with something wicked, felt sincere. "Beating you there would be victory worthy of my Stand. Now come. All of you. Once I win, you all shall follow in his loss."

~+JO*JO+~

The location Jean Pierre lead them all to was beyond anything Joaquín and the others had imagined for a battlefield. Everything was so bright and bizarre. Statues of tigers, dragons, even one of Buddha himself rested unmoving upon colored and raised landscapes. There were some pagodas cropping up from amidst the beautifully-crafted fauna. Such a place could only be real in dreams. Perhaps that was why it was made, to make such dreams a reality.

"Welcome to the Tiger Balm Garden," said Jean Pierre as he stepped down from a nearby perch. "A beautiful backdrop for what is to be a magnificent battle. Now, allow me to make a prediction. You, Avdol, shall be the first to perish. And by your own Stand's flames." Mohamed and Magician's Red did not look too fazed by this. He couldn't see behind him, but he was certain he flashed a smile.

"Avdol," started Joutarou, but Mohamed stopped him.

"Joutarou, there's no need for your involvement," he said reassuringly. "The same goes for you, Joaquín. It's as he said earlier. My Stand has a better advantage in a wider battlefield." The brothers nodded as they and the others backed up. Joaquín almost felt excited. He was finally going to see his Stand in action. As the crimson bird-man braced himself, so did Silver Chariot. There was a brief moment of silence. Then...

"Hora!" Silver Chariot thrust his rapier at his opponent's head, but the bird dodged. This didn't bother him. In fact, it was amusing Jean Pierre instead. Magician's Red continued to dodge the jabs with little effort. The man's smile couldn't be any wider. "What's wrong? Are you so vain that you won't use your special flames against me? If you won't use them, then by all means, allow me to strike! HorahoraHORA!"

The rapier jabbed almost as fast as Preciosa could punch. It didn't look like he was aiming to hit Magician's Red, but rather hoping he tries to dodge in order to strike him. The bird crossed his arms and shot several fireballs at Silver Chariot, only for him to swipe them into a rock formation behind his opponent. It didn't crumble completely, rather breaking apart to reveal a finely carved effigy of Magician's Red.

"Okay, you guys have to admit that's fucking cool," said Joaquín excitedly.

"That bastard's mocking Avdol," his grandfather said angrily.

"But it's still cool!

Jean Pierre chuckled as he admired his work. "This statue will make a fine addition to this garden. Wouldn't you and your Stand agree?" He received no answer except Mohamed and Magician's Red moving their arms. The air grew hot around them, greater than back on the plane. "Yes...You're about to get serious with your abilities, aren't you? Fascinating. Now bring it on!"

"Everyone hide," shouted Joseph as he hid behind a statue. "He's going to use that technique! We'll burn if we don't!" Nobody argued with him. They watched as Magician's Red breathed in, flames forming in his mouth as he crossed his arm. Jean Pierre made no move to dodge at all.

"CROSSFIRE," shouted Mohamed, his Stand closing his mouth over the gathered flames. "HURRICANE!" Magician's Red opened his beak, and they immediately knew why Joseph warned them. He had unleashed a gigantic blazing ankh, sparkling with several ankh-shaped rubies trailing in its wake. A vision, just like Hierophant Green's tidal wave. But the flames and the intense heat, even at a safe distance, were all too real.

"Is this all there is to your trifling power," taunted Jean Pierre. "I told you, my swordsmanship lets me create gaps of nothingness in the air, just like with this flame!" Silver Chariot sliced the ankh. It was so bright and hot that Joaquín could barely make out what happened. But it became painfully obvious after a second. The flame returned to its breather, both the Stand and Mohamed now enveloped in the powerful flames. Joaquín couldn't believe it. Jean Pierre was right.

He was going to die at his own Stand's hands.

But the prospect of burning to death wasn't going to stop Mohamed. Lying prone on the ground, he brought his flaming Stand back to lunge at his opponent, Jean Pierre looked exasperatedly at him and said, "Good grief, good grief! Attacking me in vain? How unsightly!" He sliced Magician's Red in half. It looked like he had won, but... he didn't. Something wasn't right. The split Stand burst and engulfed Jean Pierre in flames, leaving him and everyone else confused.

Mohamed, standing unharmed to his feet with the real Magician's Red, gladly explained. "Dazzling, they not? My flames. What you burned and cut apart, Polnareff, was the statue you had carved. The flames you sent back hit the statue and turned its joints to mud, allowing it to move. I told you, I am the magician of these flames. They move to my will. Therefore, it is you whose Stand shall be his own undoing. And again, to my Crossfire Hurricane."

Magician's Red breathed out another ankh and blasted both Stand and master away. "Fighting a prophet with prophecies? Perhaps you are ten years too early, my friend." Jean Pierre landed atop some stairs, his Stand now burned up completely. Both Joaquín and Della cheered as they and the others ran up to Mohamed.

"That was incredible, Mr. Avdol," said Della.

"You kicked major ass, Mohamed," cheered Joaquín.

"He looks pretty burned," said Joutarou unsmiling. "If he's lucky, he'll live with some pretty severe injuries. But luck can only go so far."

Mohamed and the others turned their attention to Jean Pierre. He wasn't moving at all. His skin looked almost charred. "If he survives, he will be unconscious for three months or so. With his Stand in the condition I left it in, he will be unable to fight for some time. Now, we must make haste. Planes are out of the question, so we must hurry to Egypt."

Joaquín looked back at Jean Pierre. He felt sorry for the man. Sure, he was working for Dio, but he seemed to be different than what the madman sent their way. Here was a man filled with pride and honor. Overconfident and conceited as he sounded, he wasn't afraid to allow his opponent a proper fighting chance. He wasn't cowardly, nor was he reveling at the prospect of killing. He fought his hardest, and Joaquín knew he would accept the loss with dignity when he awoke.

You have my respect for that, Jean Pierre, thought Joaquín as everyone began leaving. You and Silver Chariot… Huh?

"Uh, guys," said Joaquín with a hint of worry in his voice. "I don't think it's over yet." Everyone stopped and turned to see the remanifesting Silver Chariot, smoldering and rising from Jean Pierre. He should have been in pieces, but there he stood, shaking and glaring. All too suddenly, it burst apart in smoke, and his user was lifted off from the ground. There he floated, facing them upside down. Everyone noticed that the burns were now nothing minor than major. Jean Pierre opened his eyes and smiled at them all.

"Bravo! Oh, bravo!" He clapped in praise as everyone looked understandably shocked. Especially Mohamed "You put on quite a good show, Avdol!"

"You're… You're okay," Della said shakily. "H-How? And how are you floating?"

"Mon cher, look below me." Jean Pierre chuckled and pointed under him. Just barely visible, there was a silver figure holding him up. He tossed his master, who landed beside him elegantly. The Stand became much clearer. Silver Chariot looked drastically different now that his armor was blown off. He was leaner, his skeletal, scaly body now exposed to his opponents. His rapier was aiming directly at Mohamed.

It was definitely not over yet.

"You all look taken aback. It would be shameful of me if I didn't show any chivalry and sneak attacked you before explaining what just happened. So, can you give me a second to do so before we continue?"

Mohamed stepped over and nodded. "I would be grateful," he said earnestly. "Please, explain."

"My Stand wasn't destroyed by your flames. He had his defensive armor on when you blasted him. All I did was have Silver Chariot remove it. Only some of his armor was burned, which is why I'm left with only minor injuries here and there. Now Silver Chariot has become lighter. And faster. Tell me, did you all see him move when he lifted me?" Of course not. It was fast. Joaquín saw a glimpse, but it was almost too fast for his eyes. "Obviously not. That's how fast he is now."

That perfectly explained his survival. He allowed himself to be hit by the Crossfire Hurricane. Jean Pierre knew Silver Chariot could take it. But he was exposed now. He had traded defense for speed. If he were to get hit again, there was no guaranteeing survival. Mohamed wasn't afraid to point this glaring problem to his face. But all it did was make the Frenchman scoff.

"Oui. However, c'est impossible."

"Impossible? I would like to try."

"You can try. After I show you something that will make you change your mind."

"Please. Go ahead."

With a snap of Jean Pierre's fingers, Silver Chariot glided all around him at an almost impossible speed. But he was not alone. There were two now. Then four. Then seven.

"Impossible," shouted Joseph. "He duplicated himself! But that's not right! You can only have one Stand!"

"That's right," said Joaquín, who was watching closely with Preciosa hovering nearby. "But I met a guy who had multiple at the same time. Like a colony. This is different, though... Silver Chariot isn't making physical copies of himself... They're afterimages. He's moving so fast that he's leaving behind visions of himself."

"Very observant, Joaquín," called out Jean Pierre. "As for you, Mohamed, it looks like I succeeded in scaring you. Now, suffer!" The Silver Chariots flashed before Mohamed, lunging and slashing. It was almost impossible to tell which one was the real Stand. Magician's Red chose one of them to use another Crossfire Hurricane on, but it was for naught as he struck a rock instead. "Non, non, non, non, non, I told you, your attack won't work this time. All you will hit is nothing, while I..."

It seemed as if the wounds Jean Pierre sliced onto Mohamed's face finally made their appearance. Small, bloody ankhs popped up like tattoos. His fear had long since left him. It was as if he understood what he had to do next.

"Such precision," said Mohamed as he stumbled slightly. "I did not even feel the cuts until now. You've trained your Stand's ability quite well."

"Yes, of course," said a humble Jean Pierre. "There's a reason I trained my Stand for ten years. Now, come at me! I'll finish you off with my next move!"

"I see. You had revealed your skills before you attacked as a sign of chivalrous spirit. I bow to that." And so he did. "Therefore, before we move on, I will tell you a secret about my next attack. My Crossfire Hurricane has a variation. One which my ankh is not one, but several, divided to conquer multiple targets. With this, you will lose!" Magician's Red breathed in, preparing for his next, and possibly final, attack.

"CROSSFIRE HURRICANE SPECIAL! DODGE THIS IF YOU DARE!"

"Foolish, Avdol!" As several burning ankhs burst from Magician's Red's mouth, the Chariots began to encircle their master. He was prepared for this. It was going to be a repeat of the first round, only there was no other statue to burn and use as a decoy this time. Mohamed was finished. The Chariots began to jab right at the flames again. "Naïve, naïve, naïve, naïve! This time, you will fall to your power! Now, deflect!" But as one Silver Chariots was ready to do so to one of the ankhs, the ground broke before them.

A separate ankh burst through and struck them all. Polnareff was tossed to the ground, flames dancing on his body as his Stand faded away once again. "My attack was not meant to hit you at first," explained Mohamed. "It was a distraction that allowed me to make this tunnel with the flames." He pointed to the hole before him. "I told you, Polnareff, my fire divides and conquers. I'm afraid that this time, you have lost."

Mohamed tossed a dagger before him. "Use it. It will end your suffering quicker." And he turned back to return to his group. At first, Jean Pierre took the blade and was going to toss it. Joaquín didn't say anything, knowing deep down this man wouldn't dare do something so cowardly. He was right, as he rested his hand before flipping the blade to pierce his neck. And even doing that, he hesitated before dropping the blade. He looked proudly at Mohamed walking away as his head dropped.

"You were right," he muttered loud enough to hear. "I was being conceited… I never thought my swordsmanship would lose to your flames... Heh... Regardless... I shall honorably burn to death... I lost my battle against you... at the hands of your ability... It would be undignified for me to commit suicide..."

Mohamed and the others were moved. Joaquín could have sworn he saw a tear in Della's eye. In response to Polnareff's touching words, who had passed out from the pain, the fortune-teller snapped his fingers and extinguished the flames. He went back to him and kneeled at his side.

"Even in the face of death, you do not lose your chivalry. You had an opportunity to stab me in the back, and yet you stayed your hand. Your proud spirit transcends even Dio's will. You are a better man than him, and you have earned my respect for that. You deserve a second chance." He shifted back his hair. Joaquín saw a flesh bud amongst the silver locks. "It is as I thought. Jojo, if you would mind?"

Joutarou, who knew it was him that was being called, approached and summoned Star Platinum to remove the parasite. Unlike last time, where the situation was much more serious, the process managed to disgust his grandfather. "Ugh, god, just hurry up, Joutarou, it's disgusting," he cried out, averting his eyes from the writhing tentacles of the flesh bud. There was no need to use hamon on it this time once it was removed, as the sun disintegrated the parasite on the spot.

Joseph helped carry the unconsciousness Jean Pierre to his feet. "Alright! Now that that bud's gone, maybe we can make this guy our bud-dy. Huh? Get it?"

Nobody laughed, not even out of pity for the horrible joke. Joutarou looked at his brother with slight exasperation and muttered, "Doesn't it bother you when people make shitty puns?"

"Not really," Joaquín said with a smile before admitting, "but that pun was kinda shitty."

~JEAN PIERRE POLNAREFF: REFORMED~