WARNING: THE FOLLOWING OVA HAS MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, GROTESQUE DECSRIPTION OF CORPSES, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF BODILY MUTILATION AND VERY DESCRIPTIVE MOMENTS OF A PANIC ATTACK! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. To those who remain: I hope you enjoy!

Jojo's Bizarre Adventures: Golden Wind is the creation of Hirohiko Araki and the names of most OC stands and characters are the creation of vanillaprinces. Check their account on Tumblr today!

Vento Aureo SBR AU: Golden Blood

Bonus Chapter 1: Journal of Bucciarati (1)

1895, Latina, Kingdom of Naples, 2 Hours North of Naples:

"Uno, due, tre... rottura!" A man said as he smashed the door handle off a door of a damaged, worn-out old house on the parries just outside of town, where a fierce battle between the armies of Sardinia and Naples is being waged.

Currently we are following no soldier, neither Sardinian nor Napoli, but instead we follow 2 sharp dressed men of Napoli origin as they break into house after house looking for money, jewelry, any goods they can pawn off to make profit during a time of war. As they kick open the door with astonishing ferocity, they physically felt a cloud of thick, toxic odor escape the confines of the house.

Both men physically recoil at it with the door kicker retching loudly while the one protecting his hind cursed loudly, "Re Cristo, what is that smell?"

After a few second of trying to get used to the smell from the outside the forward man stepped inside, feeling the humidity of the air around me get much denser. He pointed his Napoli Army standard Modello 1870 Napoli Vetterli (rifle) around each corner he entered the small house, checking for any hostile threats that lurk in each shadow, however, he highly doubts someone would stay inside the house for long periods of time lest they get sick from the horrific stench they breath at all times.

As the forward man stepped into the kitchen, he stumbled across the reason why the why the air in the house was so thick and nauseating. Looking down at the nice leather shoe he wore that complimented his designer suit outfit he stepped in a dark, sticky puddle; looking deeper into the dark void of the kitchen he saw two bodies, and they were both horrifically decomposed.

One of the bodies was a woman wearing a yellow dress with green swirl designs on it and roses on the shoulder straps, she had black hair wrapped in a messy ponytail. The other body was of a man, with short black hair, wearing an unbuttoned white shirt (which was soaked in a crimson hue,) with a grey, short sleeve shirt underneath. Both seemed to be sitting at a dinner table with three empty plates and three empty glasses of wine with the female slumped over on the table and the male laying on the floor. Instantly, the forward Gangster knew what the cause of death was.

Suicide, both shooting each other with two different revolvers straight through the heads. The reason is unclear, most likely the fear of war driving them to commit it together.

"These bodies are badly decomposed; these people have been dead for weeks…" The Forward Man sighed, turning back to his mustached partner nodding as he defended the rear. "Looks like they had one last meal together before they bit the bullet. Go around to see what you can find; I'll stay here and collect their jewelry…"

The rear man huffed before carefully continuing down the corridor of the house, turning into what the Forward Man presumed was the bedrooms. The Forward Man bent down to grab the clammy, rotting hand, identifying the golden band wrapped around the woman's ring finger.

"Mi scusi, signora... I will make sure to put this to good use…" The gangster said as he pulled out a sharp hunting knife, cutting through the flesh like a hot poker through plastic and sawing through bone like a tiny stick.

He took off the golden band, dusting off the flakes of the dead skin only to accidentally smear it with dried blood. He frowned and wiped the ring roughly on his suit jacket, seeing that there is no point in trying to keep clean when his pants and shoes are already soaked in old, rotting blood. He looked at the golden band again and, through the darkness found shallow engravings on the ring.

"Bo- cel- li…" The Mobster whispered as he read. I am sorry your marriage had to end like this, Signora Bocelli…

As soon as the Gangster pocketed the ring, he stood up to walk over to the next body-

BANG!

The Gangster immediately hit the deck as an unfamiliar bang of a gun rang through the house. The gangster quickly uncovered his ears to hear faint grunts of a struggle, he lifted his head slightly and the sound of a faint, but clear thud, and a grunt of an unfamiliar voice.

"MERDA. Oh, shit that was close…" A wave of relief swept over the Gangster as his partner's voice rang out.

"You alright?" The Forward Man yelled, standing up slowly as his clothes stuck to the floor.

"I'm fine, Bucciarati…"

Bucciarati, despite his partner's reassurance, he hesitantly crept towards the bedroom readying his rifle for anything. Poking his head in the room where the loud sound originated from to find his partner trying to recharge his rifle as it seemed to have a incomplete ordinance feed malfunction. (This malfunction is where a bullet fails to chamber properly.)

"Some stronzo shot jumped out of the closet and shot at me when I opened it…" He finally rechambers his weapon properly and points it at a dark mound, intent on firing at it. "Lousy shot, though…"

Bucciarati quickly grabbed the weapon by the stock and pointed it upward before his partner can fire, causing his partner to glare at him with an air of confusion.

"No wonder he was a lousy shot. This kid looks like his parents just outside." He pointed at the limp body in front of him.

The kid who assaulted the Hind Man was in very poor condition. His body was skinny to the bone, he may be slightly tanned from the skin exposed by the short sleeve white shirt, but his face was a sickly pale in his face with extremely dark markings under his eyes signaling exhaustion from lack of sleep. His lips, chapped, bleeding.

"What the hell happened here…" Bucciarati whispered, mostly to himself.

"Who cares, we are here for the money, no? If this kid is suffering, let's just put a bullet in him, pray to your God and his soul will be at rest… And then we can move on with our lives!" The Mobster pointed his rifle at the boy again, only for Bucciarati to prevent him from shooting the child, again.

Bucciarati silently scooped the unconscious child into his arms, in spite of his partner's loud protests. Walking over the corpses of who he assumed was the child's parents. All three of them were trapped in the house for weeks at a time exemplified by the rotting corpses, the child's malnourishment. He doesn't know what occurred in the house, all the knows right now is that this child needs help. And it is unlike him to leave someone to suffer a fate where death seemed like the preferable alternative.

"… no…"

"… oh come on, Bucciarati… can at least use him to get into tight spac… he's skinny enough to fit in… of spaces…"

"I told you already… don't work with kids… let them get involved in mafia affairs… private ones…"

"… you wanted to adopt the kid… least he can be usefu…"

"… oh, Giuseppe, I think he's waking up!"

The boy shot his eyes wide open, stiff as a board, unable to move from the current position he was lying in. The world seemed much brighter than he remembered it, and the brown ceiling he had gotten used to staring at for hours at a time looks… blue. Sky blue. Wait, am I outside?

He slowly raised his upper body up into the sitting position, careful not to aggravate his wicked headache any further. He looked around and found himself on a field, the smell of smoke was prevalent in the air, but it didn't seem as striking as the stench of his house, the air was… clean.

"Oy, kid. You're finally awake…" He turned to see two people in well-tailored suits. One of their shirts was completely drenched in a dark, ugly crimson stain, all the up to his upper chest. He recognized the other, the man who he almost killed right before getting knocked out by the butt of the man's rifle.

A sinking feeling only felt once before by the boy formed in the pit of his stomach, one of existential dread, one that prevented him from running away the first time. But this time… he won't sit around and find out. He leapt up to his feet even as the world vibrated violently in protest, sprinting in the opposite direction of the well-dressed men. "Hold on, kid, wait!"

The boy, sadly, did not make it far. His weak legs from his poor constitution, added with his dizziness and exhaustion caused his knees to buckle and for him to crash onto the floor in a panting, wheezing mess. He heard some footsteps approach him from behind, but he doesn't really care, he just accepted his fate, closing his eyes. What he didn't expect was for the two men to carefully pick him up and putting him back down into the sitting position.

"Hey kid…" The blood-stained man said in a low, deep, but surprisingly reassuring voice. "We are not here to hurt you." He then turned to the moustache man behind him. "Giuseppe, give him your apple."

"What?" The Mustached Man stuttered. "This is my apple."

"Give him the fucking apple, Mela…"

"Fine, fine… Damn." The man pulled out an apple from a rucksack he carried.

The Mustached Man gave the Blood-stained Man his apple, who in turned put it in front of the boy. The boy stared at the apple, the shiny red one that doesn't seem to have a slight imperfection on it. It just occurred to him how hungry he was, as his stomach growls embarrassingly loud. He hadn't eaten anything for days. He eagerly grabbed the apple with no hesitation, never once checking if the apple has been altered at all as he bit into the crisp, flavorful fruit.

After absolutely devouring the apple, he looked up to the two me, as they both look down with stoic expressions.

"What's your name, kid?" The Blood-stained man asked.

"…" The boy pressed his lip in a fine light as his heart jumps to his throat. He breaks out into a cold sweat, swallowing the bit of bile that crawled up his throat. "Bru… Bruno…"

"Bruno Bocelli?" He asked.

Bruno sheepishly nodded his head as his sweating got worse. The men were silent for a moment, glancing at each other as if hesitant to ask the next question.

"Can you… uh…" The Mustached Man started before looking at the ground, swallowing. "Can you tell us what happened in the house?"

Hah?

"What… happened?" Bruno tried to confirm his suspicions.

"Yes," the bloody man responded less hesitantly.

Hah.

Bruno's eyes contract simultaneously, despite one pupil being larger than the other due to his concussion. His sweat becomes more of a waterfall as his breathing becomes more erratic. It looked like we was smirking, but he began shaking his head violently further aggravating his brain injury, but he doesn't care.

Oh my God, please don't make me remember what happened. PLEASE. PLEASE MADRE E PADRE, I AM SORRY FOR BEING A COWARD. I DIDN'T WANT TO DIE. PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME REMEMBER, PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME REMEMBER, PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME REMEMBER-

The blood-stained man clapped his hands together loudly, startling Bruno out of his nervous trance. His face seemed stern, but there was a softness in his eyes, one that he once saw in his father every time he got hurt. "It is okay, Bruno. You do not have to tell us if you do not want to…"

Bruno had his mouth agape, but he couldn't muster the strength to continue talking after a wave of relief.

"My name is Salvador Bucciarati…" he then pointed at the mustached man. "And that is my friend, Giuseppe Mela. We'll take care of you, Bruno."

Bruno fought the urge to sleep to ask. "Are you mafioso?"

They seemed reluctant to answer at first, but just as Bruno drifted off to sleep in the prairie fields of Latina, Italy, he heard Bucciarati respond with a genuine, if regretful. "Yes…"

The only sounds that remained were the steady breathing of a sleeping Bruno and the gun shots that echoed in the distance from the nearby city. Giuseppe turned to look at Bucciarati with glare of discontent and confusion.

"Why are you doing this, Bucciarati?" He asked in a low voice.

Bucciarati was silent for a moment. Before saying in full confidence: "I have a feeling he can help me make the world a better place."

End of the Bonus Chapter.