So I did a new cover for this story. It's kinda tough to see, but it depicts Joaquin, Della and Joutarou. If you wanna look at a better resolution of the image, check out my instagram (shen_valor). You can also find it on AO3 under the same name. I also shortened the story name. I was going with the original format of the parts before they gained their individual names. Anyway, I kinda had some trouble with this chapter, but it wasn't too bad to work it out. The problem was whether or not to make this a two-parter or not. I decided in the end to go with it. With all that said, as always, I hope you guys all enjoy.

Ch. 29
More Than You Know

JANUARY 5TH, 1989
06:14
KOM OMBO, EGYPT

There came good news and bad news when the group paid both Noriaki and Mohamed a visit. Good news was that the latter (his neck wrapped up) was cleared to go that night, and the former (his eyes wrapped up) would be able to keep his sight after all.

"It seems like my pupils weren't cut," he had told them all, "so my eyes should heal up pretty soon. When I was in secondary school, a classmate of mine was hit in the eye with a baseball so hard that it crumpled. But by the next day, it had healed up. Apparently jut some fluid leaked out of it."

The bad news was not their rather high bill of 46,350 Egyptian pounds, but the fact that Noriaki had to stay behind. While more than okay, he could not risk damaging his eyes further in the hot and bright environment.

"I can take these bandages off in a few days," he reassured them with a smile. "I'll come after you guys afterwards… Dio is about 800km away in Cairo… Until then, everyone… please be careful as you continue your travels."

With Noriaki's encouragement, Joaquín and the others traveled on without him. They were neither saddened nor worried by his absence. The youth was more than capable of defending himself, even without his eyes. And he did promise to make it back to them in one piece. Joaquín had the utmost confidence that by the time they reach Cairo, they would be reunited.

It was the dawn of the next day. The group had chartered a small sailboat to travel up the Nile the night before and had sailed safely since. They were about to reach was Kom Ombo, a quaint, former city turned agricultural town that housed a rather unique temple. From there, they would visit Edfu, then Luxor, and finally make their way further up north until they reached Cairo. They would not stay here for long, merely making a small pit stop until they continued.

"In ancient times," began Joseph as they watched the rising sun, "the Egyptians buried their dead in the direction of the setting sun against the Nile River. Thus, every town we see was built to the east. All structures to the west are buildings associated with tombs or the dead. But our enemies don't care about the living east or the deceased west. They will attack us from all directions. Even when we relax, we must always be on the lookout."

"I think they're the ones who need to look out," said Della as she and Joaquín were in the middle of holding a tree pose. With the gentle rocking of the boat, it gave them quite a challenge to keep their balance. "I mean, with as much as we've been kicking everyone's asses, you'd think they'd learn not to mess with us anymore. Right Jojo?"

Joaquín, who was channeling his hamon and was glowing from its energy, simply nodded in agreement. His enemies were not his primary focus, but his breathing was. Having mastered the ability to breathe in and out for a combined twenty minutes earlier, he was currently aiming for forty. It was much harder, and it required all of his concentration. And while he was attentive to his surroundings, he could not break his focus just yet.

He had two minutes to go.

"That may be, Della, but we can't drop our guard. Always expect the unexpected." In his peripheral vision, he could see his grandfather suddenly grab a nearby can and chuck it with all his might at Joaquín. Luckily, Preciosa was faster, catching the can and throwing it back in one swift motion. Joseph chuckled after he had caught it, proud of his grandson's reflexes. "He knows exactly what I'm talking about. Good timing, kid."

"Speaking of which, Mr. Joestar, how strong do you think Jojo is? Compared to you?"

He took off his hat and scratched his head for a moment. "Let's see… In comparison to strength, when I met him, his strength was stronger than when I was a teenager. But not at the same level of when I finished my training. Looking at my grandson now… he's far stronger than when I fought Kahz."

Joaquín finally finished his breathing, relaxing his pose and breathing. He looked down at his hands in wonder. He could feel slightly stronger just by overcoming another limit. "I'm kinda happy you think that," he said humbly as he now gave his grandfather his undivided attention. "But I don't think that, no matter how much I train my hamon, I could use it to defeat Dio."

"Niisan is right," muttered Joutarou, adjusting his cap. "Dio's had experience with hamon after fighting Jonathan, right? He's more than likely prepared himself for that. Using it would be a huge risk, especially up close."

"But that does not mean we don't have a chance. Now, let's get our stuff. Looks like we're already here."

Indeed they were. They brought their boat to a stop and gathered their belongings before stepping foot onto land. To the north of them was a town, but their interest lied in what was around them. Several traders huddled around and bargaining with one another, some gazing curiously at the group. And just past them was the Temple of Kom Ombo, built long ago in dedication to two different Egyptian gods. It was a rather interesting tourist spot, one they would undoubtedly check out.

As they approached the temple, Joaquín noticed something laying forgotten on the ground. It looked like a book. Curious, he detached himself from the group and approached it before gently picking it up. It was indeed a book, fat and weathered with what looked like a house-shaped structure emblazoned on it. There was no name on it at all. That's weird. There's no way someone would forget a book like this at all.

Before he could open the book to see its contents, a dark, multi-ringed hand reached out from behind and snatched it from his grip. "I'll be taking that," said a stern, feminine voice over his shoulder. Turning around, he saw a young, sharp-nosed woman with inky black eyes and short hair in a bottle-green blouse over black trousers. She wore a small, golden ankh around her neck, glistening against her dark skin. This woman immediately reminded him of most old librarians he ever met.

"Uh, sorry," he apologized. "Is that book yours?"

"Clearly." She even spoke in clipped tones, which fitted her strict, professional appearance. The woman then took a moment to look him over, her dark eyes scanning him rather quickly. "You're a tourist, aren't you? I can tell by you and the few others walking around. In fact, I can tell other things about you just by looking at you."

"Like what?" He crossed his arms and smirked. "That I look like a punk? It's not the first time I've heard that one."

"Yes. But you also have the look of a warrior. A man who has gone through many difficult battles and came out victorious in the end. A pillar of undefeatable strength. If I had to compare you to someone, I would say you remind me of Alexander the Great, the former warrior king of Macedon."

Like him, he thought in bewilderment. I know a lot of people back in New York said I was almost unbeatable, but I've never been compared to anyone like that. Especially Alexander. That guy's gone 15 years without losing once! "G-Geez, thank you," he humbly said, a light blush of pride on his cheeks. "You're the first to tell me-"

And then, she leaned her face close to his, freezing him in place. His breathing stopped, though he barely noticed it. In a soft, cold whisper, she spoke again. "I can also tell you where and how you received each of these scars just by tracing them."

To prove her point, she ran a finger gently along his right index finger. The touch felt as intimate as it did bizarre. He couldn't pull away. "This one in particular… You grabbed something very sharp and jagged… Like sharkskin… Two months ago…"

That's Doble Filo, Peter the Blade's Stand..!

"And here," she moves her hand up to his head, trailing her finger along the small, scabbed-over scar along his forehead from his fight with Geb, "you were sliced by something… fluid… Like a jet of pressurized water… Two days ago."

He was shocked. She wasn't kidding when she said she knew… How the hell did she do that..? Joaquín was at a loss for words.

"Forgive me." The lady stepped away from him, giving him a chance to let out the breath he held. "I've always been fascinated with warriors and the battled they held. Seeing the scars across your body made me want to learn some of the battles you have gone through."

"I'm... flattered. Really, I am." He offered her a sincere smile, which hid his discomfort towards her. He wanted to get as far away from her as possible. "But, er… I'm kinda busy at the moment." He looked around, trying to find his friends. They were talking with some of the traders, but he noticed that among the group, a certain silver-haired man was missing. "I gotta go meet up with a friend of mine. I think he's at the temple. It was nice meeting you, miss…"

"Martika," she answered as he trailed off. And without another word, Joaquín quickly strode towards the temple. Never in his life did he feel uncomfortable around another woman until today. He wasn't shy, not at all. But everything about Martika, from her icy voice to her gentle touch, made him lock up. And not in a good way. He was glad to be getting away from her, all while he silently prayed he would never see her again.

Upon reaching the courtyard of to the stone temple, he heard some pained grunts and the clash of steel on steel echoing from within. He recognized these as the sounds of Jean Pierre and Silver Chariot, undoubtedly fighting against someone with a blade. Another Stand attack, he wondered as he quietly made his way inside. It certainly felt like it, given how tense the air felt. With one last clash, silence fell, save for someone's footsteps

.Joaquín hid himself against one of the pillars, keeping an eye out for his friend. Once he spotted him, he quietly made his way towards him. Jean Pierre noticed him and silently waved for him to get closer. "Jean Pierre," he whispered when he came to his side, "what the hell happened here? And what happened to you?" He pointed to the bleeding slash across his biceps, which seemed to run even under the strap of his shirt.

"A Stand user with a sword," he whispered. "He slashed right through a pillar and got me. Even through my shirt… He looks like an amateur, but his skill is almost professional. He's like a demon… And I just lost him… He's still here."

"That's weird… Those pillars are pretty wide… How big was his sword?"

"Average length of a katana. And my Chariot's reach is only a meter…" He looked around the temple, trying to find his enemy. "Damnit… I can't believe I, Polnareff, am struggling in a sword fight… That cheeky bastard's totally mocking me… But he won't be conceited for long…" He ran over to a broken pillar and leaped on top of it, Joaquín following suit. It was clear that with the higher ground, they had the advantage now.

"Come on, Chaka boy," he loudly teased, his voice echoing lightly in the temple. "How's this, huh? Bring it on. I can see everywhere now, so sneaking up on me from another pillar's pointless now. Or were you going to get me from underground? Ha ha ha ha ha!"

An echoing, low chuckle was what he was answered with. The two looked around, trying to discern where exactly it came from, but it seemed to come from all around. Not even Preciosa could discern where it came from. Looking down at the shadows cast by the morning sun against the pillars, he saw nothing that would give away their enemy. Where the hell is he..? And then, there came a crumbling noise behind them. They turned around to see one of the pillars collapsing in their direction.

And hanging atop it was an arm holding a long sword.

"My blade doesn't just go through thing," roared the an known as Chaka as he came down. "I could even cut down the pillars themselves!" The sword raised up, ready to slash through. "DIE, POLNAREFF, JOAQUÍN!"

"Preciosa!" Both Joaquín's Stand and Silver Chariot burst forth from their users. While the former as poised to punch the enemy into oblivion, the later merely aimed his rapier at another pillar. What happened next left Joaquín speechless. The rapier's blade shot off its guard like a missile, jetting straight at the stone and then bouncing off. And then came the sound of it stabbing the enemy, who gagged in pain. Jean Pierre jumped off his perch as the structure crumbled beside it.

Joaquín was simply standing there with his jaw hanging open. It took him a moment to process everything before saying, "Okay, can you tell me what the fuck I just witnessed?"

The Frenchman chuckled and approached their fallen foe. A shoeless, tan boy with a loose, yellow tunic and ragged dark pants. He looked poor, a far cry from what they normally encountered. "That was my secret technique," he said smugly as Silver Chariot stuck his guard into the blade and pulled it out of his neck. "Nobody, not even Joutarou, knows about it. But I only have one chance to use it. I could end up losing it if it's dodged. That's why I only really use it when I'm in danger."

It was now that Joaquín realized that he did not lie to Mohamed last month. "You really were holding back…"

"Yes. I wanted a fair fight back then. Or maybe it was the flesh bud holding me back. In any case," he looks over at the twitching boy, "the wound doesn't look fatal. But it should be enough to retire him."

"Just don't let Mohamed find out about this." He looked over to the blade Chaka dropped, a beautiful black handle with a flat, golden pommel and a matching, uniquely-crafted guard unlike any katana he has ever seen. But the blade was mysteriously back in its black scabbard. "That's weird… It's been sheathed."

Jean Pierre looked over at the sword before kneeling picking it up. "That is strange," he mused. It must have happened by accident… Let's pull it out and… "He then took the sword and slowly pulled the blade out, only to stop when about a few inches were exposed. It was unlike any blade, expertly-forged and shining in the morning light. A soft hum seemed to emanate from it, undoubtedly from being unsheathed. The two were completely mesmerized by it's beauty.

And yet, Joaquín felt there was something dangerous about the blade.

"Looking closer at this sword," Jean Pierre said slowly, as if in a trance, "c'est absolument magnifique… I should try pulling it out…"

As Jean Pierre tried to pull more of it out, Joaquín could hear the blade humming more. The sense of danger grew inside his heart. He felt something awful would happen if the sword was completely taken out. But just like with the woman from before, he couldn't move. He couldn't stop it.

"Hey, Polnareff, Joaquín," called out Joseph in the distance, and the blade disappeared into its scabbard. The trance wore off and the two noticed him and the others approaching them from the courtyard, looking worried. "Where've you been? We were worried you both ran off on your own. What if you both ended up attacked?"

"Well…" Joaquín looked at the Frenchman who gripped his head and looked disoriented. What's up with him, he thought with curious suspicion. It's like he just woke up… "Jean Pierre, you okay?"

"Huh?" He looked at him and their group before shaking his head and rising to his feet, muttering "Yes, I'm fine."

"Hey, what's with that sword," asked Della as she pointed to it on the ground. She then noticed the now unconscious Chaka beside the rubble of the fallen pillar. "Oh my god, what happened here?!"

Jean Pierre's hotheadedness returned as he growled, "Right. I was attacked by an enemy. But Joaquín and I took care of it."

"An enemy," Mohamed nearly shouted, turning his attention to the fallen swordsman. "Was it that boy?"

"Oui. But it's already over. He's a Stand user who's implied to use the Divine Anubis. He was an sword master who used his Stand to cut through things without destroying them. He was pretty strong." An unusual, firm confidence shone through as he said this. Perhaps it was from winning a sword fight with Silver Chariot. "He also had this swo- Hey!"

When he had reached for the sword, it had not been there. Apparently it was moving away from them, being carried on the back of mice. It was a confusing sight, but they didn't have time to question it before Jean Pierre scattered them away with a swipe of his foot and reclaimed the blade. "Shitty rats… Even here they're compulsive thieves! Why don't you go steal some cheese, you assholes?!"

"Well, we're happy you both managed to win," said Joseph appreciatively. "Just be careful and don't act alone. We're in a place where being alone even for a few minutes can lead to an attack. Now, come boys! Lets get back to the boat. Edfu awaits!"

The two nodded and followed them back to their boat without another word. Before he boarded, Joaquín took a moment to look around the area. There was no sign of that creepy Martika anywhere, which made him sigh in relief. The last thing he wanted to see was that woman again.

~+JO*JO+~

Edfu was like any other city they had visited in Egypt thus far. There were diverse social groups from the nomadic Bedouin to Nubians who have lived in Egypt since ancient times. There were many shops and an abundance of trade wherever you go. And there were ancient sites that attracted tourism. Like Kom Ombo, Edfu had a temple devoted to a god. According to Mohamed, this one worshiped the Egyptian god of skies, the hawk-headed Horus.

The gang had split up into groups of three upon arriving. Della and Mohamed left to order them some hotel rooms for the night, as well as buy some food. Joutarou joined with Jean Pierre to keep him company while the latter was getting a shave at a barbershop. And Joaquín and Joseph traveled to the Temple of Edfu, the same one that honored Horus. They weren't there to sight-see, as many usually do there.

"We're going here to do some hamon training," announced Joseph a they approached it tall entrance. "You're strong, more than me. And I can't be any prouder. But in combat, there are certain techniques you must learn if you hope to stand a chance. I don't know how Dio will fight is, but if push comes to shove, you have to use some techniques other than a simple punch."

"What else do you have to teach me, Abuelito," asked Joaquín curiously. He had never thought of using special hamon techniques or creating any aside from his Crescent Azul Overload (which he could only use underwater). And now he was about to learn some his grandfather undoubtedly used in the past. How many did he learn from his former masters? And how many of them were naturally his own?

"Just three techniques. And given how quickly you learned to master forty minutes of a single inhale and exhale, you should have no problem learning these." He stopped in the middle of the temple courtyard, him and his grandson the only person there. He then turned to face him, both standing some feet apart from one another. "Now, I want you to focus your hamon and throw a punch at me. With your right fist. I'll throw one as well."

He nodded and centered his focus on his breathing. It relaxed enough for his body to spark up with hamon, which his grandfather seemed to mimic as well. They both prepared themselves, channeling their energy to their arms, and threw a punch that stopped just inches apart from their faces. And yet, Joseph's fist didn't stop. Without moving his body, his arm stretched out farther than it should have, aiming straight for his face. Joaquín couldn't help but grab his fist before it made contact.

Joseph, who expected this, smiled. "You saw that, right," he asked before retracting his arm. "We're both the same length when it comes to arms, and yet my fist nearly came close to hitting you. Why do you think that is?" Joaquín had no answer, merely replying with a shrug. "It's simple. Using my hamon, I separate my joints and soften the pain with it. From there, I can extend my punch and strike farther than I normally can. If only a short amount."

Stretching your limbs to strike? That sounds as dangerous as it does awesome. "So what's it called?"

"The Zoom Punch. The first technique you'll learn. Now, pay attention,because this is tricky. You have three major joints: shoulder, elbow and wrist. You have to learn to separate all three and pull your punch back in time to reunite them. It will be painful, that's why you have to focus your energy on those joints." He looked back at his hand and smiled. "To be honest, I didn't expect I could pull it off as well as I did at my current age."

"Okay, let me try it." Joaquín faced away from his grandfather and focused his hamon within his arm, just as he was instructed. Most of it was focused on the elbow joint. When he threw his punch, he felt it. His upper and lower arm dislocated and separated. He could feel his skin stretch, his muscles stretch, and a numb, heated pain where the joint was. His glowing fist extended for a brief second before pulling back into place. "Ha! I can do it! That's so awesome!"

Joseph couldn't smile any wider. "Atta boy, Joaquín," he said proudly, patting his back. "But that was only one joint. You have two more to separate together."

"I know. I just figured, since this was the first time, I should get used to doing it to one and work my way up."

"That's a good way to start. But learn quick. I have two more to teach you. One of which involves your hair-"

"You can use your hair," he asked with a chuckle.

"Yes you can. And it's easy. The third is a technique Speedwagon saw my grandfather do with his own eyes. I only practiced it, but never pulled it off in battle. It's called the Sunlight Yellow Overdrive." As Joaquín punched the air, stretching and retracting his arm each time, Joseph took a seat beside him. "Think of it the way your Stand punches. But it's only your fists, enveloped in hamon and pouring it into your opponent with each swift and heavy blow."

"Sounds pretty strong." Joaquín punched again. He was slowly getting the hang of dislocating his shoulder now for his Zoom Punch. "Maybe enough to beat Dio if he didn't have a Stand."

"It even had some silly rhyme to it. Let me see… It went something like, 'With trembling heart, and scorching heat, I'll cut right through with my blood's beat.' At least I think it did. It makes sense, given that you're generating enough hamon to be as hot as the sun."

"Heh. You won't hear me saying something that silly. It's like Overdrive. I'm telling you, Overload sounds much cooler and meaningful. Overdrive makes no sense"

"I myself have been very impartial to Overdrive as well."

Both grandfather and grandson wheeled around and saw a woman entering the courtyard, the sight of whom made Joaquín blanch. It was Martika, still cold-faced and carrying her ancient book. How the hell did she get here, he thought in disbelief. Was she eavesdropping on us to find out where I was headed?

"You know, the practice of Sendou began in China, during the Xia Dynasty. Back then, it was known as Xiandao. The man who first practiced and founded the art was simply named Old Cui. Seeking enlightenment, he scaled the Zhongan mountains and trained upon its peaks, emptying his mind and focusing his breathing. Quite by accident, his body became enveloped in the very sparks you both can create. He had harnessed the very power of the sun.

"From then on, he trained himself for twenty years before descending back to his home village where he taught many disciples his art. He tasked them to take their knowledge and spread it all across Asia. Of course, it wasn't until Xiandao was introduced in Japan that it became Sendou, and became well known throughout the old world. He was proud, and would still be if he were here today to see it had lasted so long."

The two shared a glance before Joaquín spoke to her. "I bet he would. Listen, is there something you need from me? Because I'm getting the distinct feeling you're purposefully following me and it's honestly making me feel uncomfortable."

"You met her before," asked Joseph before standing to his feet, looking just as wary as his grandson.

"You both have incredible stories to tell," she said almost seductively. She then opened the book and gently turned the pages, her eyes locked with theirs. "One day, your names will be etched in history, ready to tell the world of your legendary battles... Joseph Joestar… And Joaquín Trejo…"

She knows our names… Only one kind of creep would know our names…

The duo silently manifested their Stands, Preciosa ready to fight beside Joaquín and Hermit Purple entangling around Joseph's arm. Martika stopped on a page and gently blew against it. Dust rose from the page and swirled between them both like a miniature dust devil. It slowly began to form feet, then legs, then the body of a Chinese man wearing a brown robe, his head bald and his eyes a well of dark determination. He said nothing as he rushed them, his body instantly glowing with the light of hamon.

This man was Old Cui, the founder of the very art they practiced.

"Preciosa!"

"Hermit Purple!"

Both the frog-like man and the vines shot towards their new opponent, who rushed at them just as fast. He jumped over Preciosa's punch and weaved through the thicket Hermit Purple created to try and catch him, using his palms to move them out of the way. He then landed in front of Joseph and struck him in the chest with an open palm, making him skid some feet away. His grandson had turned and started to attack the man in tandem with his Stand. But both their blows were blocked with little effort.

"How the hell is this even possible," he shouted to Martika, who hadn't moved as she watched the ensuing fight. "Isn't this man dead or something?!"

"You are correct," she spoke calmly as she idly turned the pages of her book. "But you are not fighting the true Cui. Simply a spirit in the prime of his strength pulled from within these very pages. This book, imbued with the ancient Stand, Goddess Nephthys, can allow me to summon the spirits of warriors who have passed on. Everything from their personalities, their styles, their fighting spirit, and even some of their natural quirks."

As if to prove her point, the Sendou master stopped his attack and pulled from under his robes a gourd to take a sip out of. "One of his is his love of drinking in the middle of battle. Sometimes he will even drink while striking." When he finished, Cui resumed his masterful fighting against Joaquín. Every one of his strikes held power to them. Every movement he made was swift and fluid. He made no mistakes in his actions. This man was perfect.

But he was not invincible.

"Gah, enough of this," said Joaquín as he recalled his Stand. "I'll fight you at your own game, viejo!" He focused his breathing once again and sparked up his entire body, ready to fight the man with his own power. Cui gave him an amused smile before the two began to fight hand-to-hand. It didn't improve his chances of winning, but worsened them. This became very clear once Joaquín threw another punch, only to have it swiped away with the master's palm and leave everything open.

Only one thought ran through his mind.

This is gonna hurt…

Then came the massive barrage of open palmed strikes all across his chest and face, each one brimming with blazing heat. There was no time for Preciosa to come out and stop it, his mind was disorientated and his breathing was thrown off balance. One final strike to the chest sent him skidding along his back to join his grandfather as a hot, aching mess.

"Joaquín," exclaimed Joseph, helping him to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Dunno," he admitted as he wobbled. "His blows are so… perfect and precise… It's like he's his own Stand. That man is a master for a reason…" He looked down his shirt to see pink patches where the hamon-infused blows landed on his chest. "How the hell are we gonna beat him? He can clearly see our Stands, and his Sendou is out of our league… There's gotta be a way."

"This man more than likely lived around the same time as the Pillar Men appeared in history. His knowledge of Sendou is far more ancient than what my grandfather and myself were taught."

"Meaning?"

"You know the saying, 'You can't teach an old dog new tricks'?"

He had, and he knew exactly where he was coming from. The idiom was used for people who have been doing the same thing for so long that they won't try anything new. But Joaquín understood that Cui's old way of Sendou could be overwhelmed by modern techniques. And he was certain the one he had been practicing was modern enough to do the trick.

Joaquín looked back at Cui, who simply took another swig from his gourd and continued to glow. The two locked eyes for a moment, during which the younger of the two raised his hand and motioned for him to come try again. Cui simply scoffed and put his gourd away before rushing towards the two again. This time, no Stands were summoned. Their fists were primed and ready to strike at the best opportunity. And it came when he jumped into the air.

"NOW," shouted Joseph, whose fist shot out at the man and stretched. Joaquín did the same, but rather than stretch, he feinted. Because he had an idea as to what the master would do, and he was right when it began to unfold before him. Cui pushed away Joseph's Zoom Punch, then tried to do the same to Joaquín. But with nothing but air to push, he left himself open. The real second Zoom Punch, with all three joints separated, sprung out at him and struck him straight into the gut, making him wheeze and disrupt his breathing.

But he wasn't done yet. Preciosa rushed out and pummeled the spirit of Old Cui with a roar of "¡TOMATOMATOMA!" before sending him flying into a wall with one powerful punch. The impact turned his body into dust, which flew back into Martika's book. His defeat was not met with her rage, but rather an applause.

"Oh, yes," she exclaimed, her voice almost lusting over the violence. "Bravo! Your fight was incredible! Such strength! Such strategy! I never would have expected you to defeat the master of Xiandao, but clearly I was wrong! You have my respect, boys.! But this does not mean our battle is over! So long as I have this book, I will continue to summon more warriors to try and kill you! I will have your names etched within these pages!"

Joaquín could only whisper to his grandfather, "Ella e'ta loca." To which was met with an understanding nod. He then called out to the woman, "Listen, if you think you have a chance at killing us, then go ahead and send more after us. Trust me, we've both fought more men than you ever fought in your entire life. We can take down whoever you summon, be it one man or an army!"

At the mention of the word army, Martika smiled widely. She re-opened her book and flipped some more pages before stopping and blowing deeply against it. A whirlwind of dust flew out and swirled before them. "Abuelito, brace yourself," warned Joaquín as the two got into fighting stances. From within the dust came men in ancient armor and swords, all of whom ran directly at the two.

Preciosa wasted no time unleashing his usual barrage of punches to knock them away. They immediately turned to dust upon landing on their backs, but as one fell, two more ran out from the small tornado. Joseph's Hermit Purple spread and tripped as many as it could, sending them into Joaquín's endless maelstrom of fists. All the while, Martika stood behind laughing with her book in hand. He knew there was not way to beat her unless they took that from her.

"Abuelito, aim for her instead," he yelled. "I'll keep punching!"

The thorned vines ignored the soldiers, slithering as fast as they could towards their enemy. But when they reached her and attempted to take the book, Martika blew once more against the page. The dust immediately formed a hand, which wrapped itself around Hermit Purple and pulled hard. Joseph was sent flying towards her, then punched away by a second hand onto his back. More dust began to form until it took the form of another soldier, attaching itself to the disembodied arms.

But this one was different. His very appearance made the others stop their assault.

Garbed in golden armor, a helmet with great white feathers atop it and a blue cape over his shoulders, there stood a very powerful looking man. What little dark blonde curls fell from his helmet framed his handsome, fair face perfectly. The soldiers saw the man forming and shouted something in an ancient language, each of them stopping and opening a path between Joaquín and the newcomer. Blazing blue eyes locked with hard, blue and brown.

And then, the man spoke to the troops in the same language as they did, his voice commanding and powerful. Whatever it was he said, they all nodded and backed away, giving the two more space. He then looked up and smiled at Joaquín and spoke in perfect English. "I never would have thought I'd return to the land of the living… just to face another warrior in combat… Tell me… what is your name?"

"Joaquín Trejo," he answered, Preciosa's fists clenched and ready.

"I will remember that name. I am Alexandros the Third. But your history knows me by another name."

He didn't need to ask. He already knew. And it sent an excited chill down his back. "Alexander the Great… I'm honored to stand before you. But I kinda have an issue here that we've gotta deal with. And she's standing right behind you."

Alexander did not look back at all. "I'm aware of it. But she is not my priority. Fighting you… a warrior in the new world… is all I care about. Now… you and your golden friend… face me… Show me your fighting spirit…"

Wish a shrug and a defeated, "I guess I have no other choice," he and Preciosa ran after the former king with their fists clenched. Their opponent simply stood open, not even bothering to raise his defenses. Of course, Joaquín knew better than to underestimate him because of this. When he threw the first punch, it was met with a hand to catch it and a second to punch back. Anticipating this, his free hand slipped past and aimed for his stomach.

What he hadn't expected was for him to unleash a swift headbutt to knock him onto his feet. Disoriented, Joaquín tried to stand up, but was met with a fist to the chest and all the air leaving his lungs. And then came the swift blows to his chest and face before a hard hook sent him crumpling to the ground. Alexander simply stood above him, waiting for him to stand. "If this is all you have to offer me, warrior," he said with a hint of disappointment, "then I will kill you right here and now."

It took a moment, but he stood back up. And then another fist flew at him. Preciosa grabbed it and used his free fist to jab at his head like it was a punching bag. "TOMA," he shouted sharply as he released the king's fist and delivered a hook of his own to make him stumble backwards. Seeing his opening, his Stand flew at him and roared his usual "¡TOMATOMATOMA!" as his fists pummeled away at the defenseless Alexander. With one last blow, he was knocked onto his back.

The two then slowly approached him as he lifted himself to a sitting position. His helmet had been knocked off, and his forehead was bleeding. His mismatched eyes locked with him, now filled with a look he had often seen in himself: respect. "Incredible," he murmured. "In just a few short blows… I felt your fighting spirit… It burns brighter than any star in the sky…You… are fighting for more than just yourself… aren't you..?"

"I… Yes. But how did you know..?"

The man smiled. "Joaquín… I have fought many a battle.. conquered many a kingdom… and named many a city in my honor… But all throughout, I never once believed in only myself… My battles… were for the benefit of my people… I cared not if I ever fell… I only wanted my empire to lead itself into a better future… And… though I am merely the spirit of Alexander the Great… I feel great pride in my actions… And for having fought someone with such strength as you…"

"Even if it was only briefly," he added with a smile of his own.

"Yes… There is no reason to continue fighting… Just that moment was enough… To me… you have already proven… that you will fight for a better future… like I had in life…"

"WHAT?!" Martika looked at the ancient warrior as if he had lost his mind. "But you are supposed to be unbeatable! You were supposed to grind their hearts under your heel! And yet you admit defeat?! Stand back to your feet and kill them!"

Alexander simply looked over his shoulder and smiled, whispering, "Never." Infuriated, Martika opened her book to his page and swiped her hand over it. Both he and his army turned to dust and returned to the book, which she slammed hard. Her cold eyes now burned in annoyance.

"I should have known," she lamented. "When Dio told me that I would have very little control over these warriors, I thought he was lying… I wanted to have a legion of legendary warriors to bow to my every command! This Stand… It's useless!"

"You said the Stand's in there," asked Joaquín, pointing to her book. "How's that even possible?"

"This book isn't mine. It belonged to the wife of a master blacksmith. A historian with interests in the legends surrounding her people's champions, she crafted this very book and bound her own Stand to it. Likewise, her husband did the same with his Stand into what he claimed was the perfect blade. This was five hundred years ago, and they were nearly forgotten by history. That was, until an expedition unearthed them and placed them in the Museum of Cairo… Just to gather dust…

"And then I met Dio. Before then, I was simply a historian, just like the blacksmith's wife. And with the same interests, no less. When he looked into my heart, he knew I was the type of person who wanted control. I may not have gotten it from my peers, but I received it when he handed me both the book and sword. The Goddess Nephthys and Divine Anubis… I could not control the sword, so I merely planted it for someone worthy to find. The book was enough for me."

The sword… Wait a minute… The same sword Jean Pierre found..? Does that mean..?

"So the sword Polnareff found," started Joseph with trepidation, "actually has a Stand inside it? It wasn't just the swordsman?"

"That's just what I said," she answered listlessly. "Speaking of which, I'm certain that by now, he has pulled out the cursed blade and is fighting your companions as we speak. He's probably using it in tandem with his Silver Chariot" Her lips curled into a seductive smile. "Now wouldn't it be something… if their names appear in my book as we fight..? How lovely would be to see them in there..? I wonder if their Stands can be manifested from within…"

"You're sick," growled Joaquín.

"And if I am? This Stand, despite its flaws, is a gift. And I'm making use of it by bringing legends to life. By the end of today, I will have your names in this book. I will learn your fighting history. And if I can't control you, then Dio most certainly will."

"Over our dead bodies," said Joseph, his vines writhing around his arm.

Martika smiled and whispered, "I'm counting on it," before opening the book and landing on another page. She then blew the dust off it, two tornadoes forming between them. The duo prepared their Stands once again to take on whoever this woman had summoned. After taking on both Old Cui and Alexander the Great, Joaquín felt that whoever she had in store for them would be an absolute cakewalk.

But then the dust settled, and who they saw made him feel otherwise.

Two muscular men towered over them, each wearing large earrings and sporting matching facial markings. One wore a type of keffiyeh with a golden band and a large horn at the top, along with Indian-styled underwear and a short top with small golden daggers piercing through his pectorals to hold it up. The other had pieces of leather stitched onto his chest and shoulders. A ruby-adorned hat rested atop a small cloud of white hair. They both looked down at Joseph with mild amusement.

"Jojo," exclaimed stitched man in a husky, excited voice. 'I never thought I'd get to fight you again!"

"Indeed," said the blade-pierced man in a calm baritone. "You have grown older since we last clashed."

Joseph's eye twitched, his Stand twitching anxiously. "I never thought I'd be hearing that name again from you… Or that I would be fighting either of you…"

"Abuelito," breathed a shocked Joaquín. "W-Who are… These can't be…"

"They are," Joseph confirmed grimly. "These two are Esidisi and Whamuh… The Pillar Men…"