We are now at the Trish introduction! There's a lot going on in this one, so I hope you all enjoy. I am very much looking forward to you all reading the final chapter of this fic o_o

Something Wicked

A JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Fanfic

(Vampire Hunter AU) When Bucciarati's team is tasked with escorting the daughter of the Hunters' Boss safely to him, what they assume will be a relatively easy mission turns deadly quickly, leading them to the realization that there might be more to Lady Trish and her father than they thought.

Part One

The ruckus had already started before Bucciarati had finished his first coffee that morning.

"Okay, but actually what if a vampire bites a ghoul? Do they turn into…what, a ghoulpire?" Narancia was asking.

"That's idiotic," Abbacchio grunted into the morning paper.

"You know, he does have a good point though," Mista pointed out, directing his fork toward Narancia.

"I'm not sure as to whether I've heard of anyone trying it," Giorno said with genuine interest. "I would assume that it wouldn't affect them the same way as it would a human—ghouls can't actually eat vampires without adverse effects."

"So you're saying the ghoul might just die?" Narancia asked.

"Possibly."

"Okay, but what about a human possessed by a demon?" Mista proposed. "Does the demon cancel out the vampirism or is that person just extra unlucky?"

As much as Bucciarati was looking forward to hearing the theories on that one, Fugo entered the dining room, holding up a telegram.

"Bucciarati, an urgent message just came from Polpo," he said. "He wants to see us right away."

Bucciarati set his cup of coffee down and pushed his chair back. "All of us?"

Fugo nodded.

Bucciarati raised an eyebrow as he reached for his coat folded across the back of his chair. "Well then, we shouldn't keep him waiting."

The head of Napoli's Hunters lived in a townhouse within the bustling city center. Polpo's staff came and went at all hours, seeing to tasks set by the captain, and ferrying information and assignments to the Hunters under Polpo's jurisdiction.

Their carriage pulled up out in front of the house and the group of Hunters exited to make their way inside.

The footman showed them to Polpo's office where the man was still enjoying his breakfast at his desk.

"Ah, Bucciarati, thank you for coming."

Bucciarati bowed slightly, eyeing the large man with curiosity. Polpo's time as a Hunter was written across his body in scars, several visible even now on his face and hands—as well as his eyes which, like the other team leader Risotto Nero's, had turned black. A side-effect of the antidote from the time he had nearly gotten turned by a vampire. Polpo had seen and fought every kind of monster out there, so Bucciarati was indeed curious about what could prompt him to call all of them in.

"Of course, Capitano. Is there a new mission for us?" Bucciarati asked, feeling the eager looks from his team at his back.

"Indeed there is," Polpo told him. "Directly from the Boss himself."

Bucciarati froze and a brief murmur went up from his team before Abbacchio hissed at them.

"The Boss directly entrusted me to pick the best team for the job," Polpo said. "And so I entrust it to you, Bucciarati."

"And the nature of the job?"

Polpo got up and headed toward a door on one side of the office. He opened it and poked his head inside calling, "Trish? You may come in, if you please."

Bucciarati and his team all turned to look as a young woman stepped cautiously into the office, eyeing all of them warily. She couldn't be much older than Giorno or Narancia, he realized with surprise. Piercing emerald eyes stared out from her delicate face, framed by strawberry blond hair. Her dress, however, while fashionable, was black with only a few dark pink trimmings, denoting that she was most likely in mourning.

"This is Trish Una," Polpo said. "She is the Boss' daughter."

"The Boss has a daughter?" Narancia hissed then gasped as Fugo slapped him in the back of the head. Bucciarati shot them a look before turning back to the girl, hiding his own surprise well. He bowed to her.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Signorina."

"Trish, these are the men you'll be staying with for a while," Polpo told the girl. "Bucciarati is my best man and he'll be sure to keep you safe." He turned back to Bruno. "Trish's mother recently passed away and the Boss has requested she go stay with him in Rome. Your job is to escort her into her father's care. Instructions will be provided during your travels. I have already booked tickets for you and your team to depart Napoli by train this evening."

"Understood," Bucciarati said with a nod. Something lurked in the back of his mind though, questions he would never ask, especially in front of the girl.

"I know I can trust you to see this mission through to the end," Polpo said. "Trish, I wish you the best, my dear. Do what Bucciarati says and he'll be sure to get you safely to your father."

The girl gave a small nod, squeezing her hands together tighter where they were clasped in front of her.

Polpo's eyes suddenly widened. "Ah, my dear, you appear to be bleeding. I told the maid not to use that chipped china set anymore."

Trish looked down with surprise at her finger where there was a spot of blood, but Polpo was already covering it was a handkerchief, pressing firmly as he wiped the blood away.

"Here, allow me," Bucciarati said, pulling his own clean handkerchief out and tying it around Trish's finger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Polpo tucking the bloodied handkerchief into a desk drawer. Curious.

Trish held her hand delicately, eyeing the Hunters with scrutiny before she straightened her shoulders with an inhale and then said, "So, you're the ones who will be escorting me? Who's going to carry my bags out?"

Bucciarati's team glanced at each other as if they were going to start passing the job off, so Bucciarati waved at them. "Go on then, help Signorina Una with her bags."

They left with a grumble and Bucciarati began to follow them before Polpo called him back.

"Bucciarati, a word."

The Hunter turned, staring at his captain attentively. "Capitano?"

"We have reason to believe that there are people who want Trish for their own reasons. The Hunters who retrieved her from her home had to take down several would-be kidnappers just to get her here."

Bruno frowned. "How did they know who she was?" he asked.

"That is the question," Polpo murmured. "Even I was not aware that the Boss had a daughter before now. She and her mother, Donatella Una, had been living on Sardinia out of the way of anyone. And yet somehow news spread." He folded his hands on top of the desk. "Make sure your men are on the alert at all hours. Do not allow her to be left alone."

"I will see that no harm comes to her," Bucciarati promised.

"I have every faith in you." The captain reached for an envelope on his desk and handed it over to Bucciarati. "These are your tickets. Your destination will be Florence where further instructions will be given."

Bucciarati tucked the envelope into his coat with a nod. "Capitano," he said before he turned around and went to rejoin his team.

When he came out into the foyer, he found Mista, Narancia, and Giorno laboring under the weight of a multitude of suitcases, carpet bags and hat boxes, with the young woman watching them with utter scrutiny. Abbacchio stood smirking to one side as Fugo tried to reason with her.

"Um, Signorina, I fear we may not be able to bring all of this luggage with us."

"Then what am I to do without my wardrobe in Rome?" Trish replied incredulously. "Apparently I'm not coming back and I refuse to leave any of my things behind!"

"For real?" Narancia demanded as he dropped one of the suitcases on his foot, staggering with a loud oath.

"Careful with that!"

Bucciarati quickly stepped forward and picked up the fallen suitcase. "Signorina, I'm afraid it will be nearly impossible for us to take all of this with us at this time, but I promise you that once you are in your new home, I will have all of your belongings sent to you. For now, please just pack the essentials—one carpet bag is all we can afford to take."

Trish glowered at him, folding her arms over her chest. "I better not find out that any of your grubby men have taken anything or, heaven forbid, riffled through my underpinnings!"

"Hey, grubby is a little harsh," Mista grunted as he hefted a trunk. "So what are we doing with this stuff, Bucciarati?"

"Put it in the carriage, we'll keep it at our place until we can send it out."

Bucciarati watched the girl as the boys loaded the carriage. When she wasn't giving orders, she looked tired and rather out of place. He wondered how long it had been since her mother's funeral. The thought sent a sympathetic pang through him as he remembered the dour plot in the small village graveyard where he had buried his father—he'd been even younger than this girl when he had done so.

"That's the last of it," Giorno called.

"Then let's go, we have to prepare before the train leaves," Bucciarati called to them.

They stepped outside and Trish approached the carriage with a sniff before looking down at the puddle between the sidewalk and the carriage steps.

Mista was already standing in it with little notice, holding his hand out. "Here, Signorina, allow me."

She scrunched up her nose and turned to Fugo, holding out a hand. "Excuse me, but may I borrow your jacket for a moment?"

Fugo stood there for a second with his mouth open before he shook himself slightly and gave a jerky nod. "O-of course," He pulled the coat off and handed it over." I didn't realize you were cold, I apologize…"

He trailed off as Trish simply shook out the jacket and tossed it onto the ground in the puddle before taking Mista's hand and stepping over it into the carriage.

Fugo just stood there in silent fury, Mista staring back at him, stunned, his hand still held out.

Abbacchio let out a low chuckle behind Bruno before he leaned in and said quietly, "You know, I kind of like her."

Bucciarati just felt exhaustion wash over him. This was hardly a normal mission for any of them, and he truly hoped Trish would not cause problems that would only make it harder for them to protect her. But there was little they could say. Guarding her was a direct order from the Boss and Polpo had trusted Bucciarati's team to do it. Bruno was sure they would see it through, but that didn't mean it was going to be easy.

He let out a quiet sigh and followed the others toward the carriage, stopping to pat Fugo kindly on the shoulder as he retrieved his soaking jacket from the dirty puddle.

"I'm sure she'll mellow out once we're on the way," he said quietly.

Fugo swallowed down a growl and angrily tossed his coat across the upper seat before climbing up there to sit with Mista and the driver.

Bucciarati ducked inside and the carriage was set in motion, taking them back toward their mansion.

When they got there Bucciarati was slightly surprised to see another carriage out front and a familiar, tall figure in black leaning against it.

Abbacchio leaned around him to look out the window. "What's he doing here?"

"I don't know," Bucciarati murmured as their carriage pulled to a stop. He got out first and greeted their visitor. "Nero, I wasn't expecting you."

The silver-haired man looked down at him with his unsettling eyes. "Polpo told me you were going on a mission outside the city and that I was to take over any of your outstanding cases." He held Bucciarati's gaze for a second longer and Bruno gave a small nod back.

"Of course—we only have a couple but I'll get you the files." He turned back to the others, just as Giorno was helping Trish from the carriage, thankfully with his jacket still intact. "If you would all make sure Signorina Una's things are stored safely—you can use one of the spare bedrooms. Narancia, ask the cook to make her some tea."

"Sure thing!" the boy ran off, snickering at Fugo who still carried his sopping coat.

"Oh, and Abbacchio," Bucciarati turned to the other man who had been standing at his shoulder, ready to follow him and Risotto. He reached into his coat and handed the envelope of tickets over to his second. "Have transport ready to take us to the station at the right time."

Abbacchio frowned slightly, opening his mouth, but finally took the envelope, and nodded with one more look before he followed the others into the house.

Bucciarati turned back to Risotto. "Come, we can speak in my office."

He led Risotto inside and slipped into the office while the others were busy with the chaos of unloading Trish's luggage. Bucciarati shut the door behind them, heading over to his desk to start collecting files.

"I assume you're also here because of our little side project?" Bucciarati inquired.

Risotto nodded, folding his arms across his chest. "Yes. That and I came to give you a warning." He stepped closer and Bucciarati looked up, brows knitting together as Risotto leaned one hand on the desk. "Do you remember my informants, Sorbet and Gelato?" he asked, voice low as if even these walls had ears. Bucciarati nodded. "They turned up dead. Hacked apart and very obviously dumped in my territory."

Bucciarati felt a cold creep of frost in his chest. "And they're the ones you sent to—"

"Look into the Boss, yeah," Risotto grunted, shaking his head. "Sorbet and Gelato were a warning. This man…there's a reason he doesn't want to be found and that only strengthens my suspicions."

Bucciarati nodded, tapping his chin in dark contemplation.

It had started out with questions. Vampires and dhampirs Bucciarati's team had cleared as safe showing up dead out of nowhere. When he'd asked Polpo about it, the old Hunter had simply told him it wasn't their place to interfere with the politics of vampires as long as they weren't affecting the human populace. But rumblings in vampire society told Bucciarati that they were growing uneasy—perhaps even scared. And that told Bucciarati that there was some other force at work and who could it be but the head of the operation he served?

The Hunters' Boss was always an elusive figure. No one but his inner circle had so much as seen his face. Bucciarati had always assumed it was because his position dictated the utmost secrecy lest he be compromised, but the higher he climbed in the organization, the more questions he had about why things contradicted what he had been taught. Hunters were meant to be liaisons between the human and supernatural worlds. They were meant to show an unbiased opinion in their judgement of a situation. It was something Bucciarati took pride in and when one of the suspects he had cleared or a young vampire he had helped to rehabilitate ended up dead, he was going to suspect that this was a decision made from those who had a high enough position that they didn't think justice applied to them anymore. He began to suspect that the vampire families might use the Hunters as their own hitmen to take out unwanted mistakes, or rivals. Money for death. It didn't sit well with Bucciarati nor did it with Nero and over the last few months, unbeknownst to their teams, the two had started looking. Looking for any information they could find on the Boss so see if their suspicions were correct.

"I don't think we can deny that the Boss is behind these executions any longer," Bucciarati murmured. "So what do you suggest our next move be?"

"Laying low," Risotto growled. "Sorbet and Gelato obviously got too close to the truth. Unfortunately, they were unable to pass any of that information on to me. But there was one thing they uncovered." He reached into his coat and pulled out an obituary cut from the paper.

Bucciarati took it and glanced at the name. 'Donatella Una'. He glanced up sharply at Risotto who was staring at him pointedly.

"If that girl in there is who I think she is then tread carefully, Bucciarati. This will either be an opportunity to gather vital information for our cause, or your prompt execution."

Bucciarati's mouth was dry, but he nodded. "I understand the dangers well enough, but there's nothing I can do now but make the most of it." He turned back to the files on his desk, tucking the last few things into it before handing them off to Nero. "These are our open cases. I'm sure your men will be able to handle them swiftly."

Risotto nodded, tucking them under his arm before Bucciarati grabbed his wrist. "Nero, if I am to die on this mission, promise me you will look after my team."

"Of course," Risotto told him sincerely.

He left the room and Bucciarati let out a long exhale, setting the news clipping down on his desk. His uneasiness about this mission had just tripled, but there was little to be done for it now. He should probably go make sure Trish had been accommodated for anyway.

As he left the office, though, he nearly ran into Giorno who was leaning against the wall, an odd look on his face.

"Giorno? Can I do something for you?" Bucciarati asked.

"Could I have a word, Bucciarati?" Giorno asked.

Bucciarati sighed and motioned back toward the office. He and Giorno stepped inside and the young man speared him with a look.

"Tell me honestly," he said. "Are you and Nero investigating the Boss?"

Bucciarati froze, a look of horror on his face as he stared at the young man.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but my ears are better than a human's," Giorno said. "I heard everything, so there's no point in denying it."

"I'm not going to deny it," Bucciarati finally managed to say. "But it's a complicated matter and—"

"I think you misunderstand me," Giorno cut in. "I'm not accusing you. I…" He sighed, folding his arms across his chest. "I've heard whisperings about the executions. It was one of the reasons I tried to keep a low profile. I originally assumed it was the Hunters doing it, but I now realize that of course it wasn't you or Nero's factions, and Polpo has his secrets, but he's got too much of a Hunter's black and white mentality still to carry out this kind of deed."

Bucciarati stared at the young man with surprise, slightly unnerved that Giorno had been looking into this the whole time.

"Thus I came to the conclusion that it must be someone higher up the chain of command. Why, was my question."

Bucciarati sighed and sank into his desk chair. "The same conclusion we came to. But it is a deadly line of questioning and I would urge you to forget everything you heard today, Giorno."

The young man straightened his shoulders. "As much as I respect you, Bucciarati, I'm afraid I just can't do that."

Bruno looked up at him in surprise as Giorno continued.

"All my life I have strived for justice. Vampire, human, dhampir—even ghouls. If someone is perverting that, is it not then our duty as upholders of justice to stop them?"

Bucciarati stared at the young dhampir. Giorno might have only been with them for about five months, but he had made his mark on their team, becoming an invaluable asset as well as a friend and comrade. Bucciarati had come to value his opinions greatly and this was no different.

"You're right," he said simply. "But you must promise to keep this between the two of us."

"So the others really don't know," Giorno commented.

Bucciarati glanced toward the door. "No. And I plan to keep it that way for as long as possible. Even the knowledge could put them all in serious danger." He stood and pointed a warning finger toward Giorno. "Promise me you will not look into this on your own."

"I won't do anything without notifying you," Giorno replied. "But you have to realize that being given charge of the Boss's daughter is an undeniable opportunity. We'll likely never have another chance to get this close to him."

"Yes," Bucciarati sighed. "And yet I don't think she knows anything."

Giorno pursed his lips. "I suppose we'll find that out soon enough."

Bucciarati gave a small nod, and headed toward the door, dismissing Giorno. "Come. We have a lot to prepare before the mission."

When Bruno returned downstairs he found Trish sitting in the parlor as the maid set out a tea service. The boys were sitting around the room in various positions, watching her.

Bruno cleared his throat and jerked his chin at them. "All of you, go pack your gear for the mission."

"How long are we going to be gone, Bucciarati?" Narancia asked.

"I don't know yet," he replied honestly. "Plan for at least five days to be safe. We will not be receiving further orders until we reach Florence."

Abbacchio approached Bucciarati as the others left and spoke low. "Does this feel weird to you? All this secrecy shit?"

"It's not our place to question," Bruno replied. "The Boss has his reasons to keep himself out of the public eye."

Abbacchio's jaw set firmly, brows pulling together in annoyance. "What did Nero want?"

"His team is taking over our open cases while we're gone."

Abbacchio turned to him with a look, brows only drawing closer together. "Bruno," he said in warning.

"Abbacchio," Bruno cut in before he could continue. "Did you call for the coach?"

The other man huffed a sigh. "Yes, boss, it will be here half an hour before the train departs. That should give us plenty of time to get to the station."

Bruno frowned at his pointed jibe, but pretended to ignore it. "Good. You should pack your gear as well. We don't know what we might be facing on this mission."

Abbacchio turned away without another word, but Bruno could hear him muttering something under his breath and bit back a sigh. He knew it was only natural for his team to ask questions considering the nature of their mission and their mysterious Boss, but he wished he wasn't apparently quite so transparent. He knew he couldn't keep his and Nero's plans from the others forever, but it would only complicate the mission now if he was forced to explain that he thought the Boss was no longer the man of justice they all assumed him to be.

He stepped into the parlor and Trish looked up from her tea, wary. Her expression turning, once again, from sad to stoic. He offered her a smile as he took a seat in the chair across from her.

"I'm sure this is a lot for you, Signorina. I can imagine it's not easy being shuffled around from place to place."

She looked down at the plate of biscuits beside her. "I suppose I don't really have a choice. Though I don't understand why Hunters need to escort me."

"Well, your father is a powerful man and there are many—from the human and supernatural worlds—who wish to cause him trouble. We are here to assure your safety on both fronts."

"I don't know why I would cause him any trouble," Trish said, a sudden bitterness in her voice. "It's not like he bothered to care about me before."

Bucciarati frowned sympathetically. "I take it you've never met your father before."

Trish shook her head. "I've never even been to the mainland," she admitted. "Mother always said we would go but…" She trailed off with a shuddering breath and renewed her stoic expression, picking up her teacup to take a long sip. "It doesn't really matter anyway. I understand that I don't have a say in anything. Perhaps I will enjoy my life in Rome."

"I hope that you will," Bruno told her quietly. And for the first time, he might have regretted his plans for the Boss just slightly. If only to not cause this girl any more grief.

They made it to the station just as the sun was setting. The team encircled Trish as they exited the coach, all of them looking around for potential danger. Bucciarati glanced at Giorno who nodded, noting that the area was clear, at least when it came to potential supernatural dangers.

They moved on toward the train and Bucciarati handed over their tickets to the conductor.

"This way, Signore."

They were shown to a private car that Polpo had likely requested for them so that it would be easier to keep any potential danger at a minimum.

"Woah, nice!" Mista grinned as he set his travel case down, shoving it under one of the seats. "We don't usually get to travel in style!"

"At least try to act with some decorum, Mista," Fugo snapped in annoyance.

"Easy for you to say, rich boy," Mista teased. "Some of us have only ever seen business class."

"Wait, do we get food as well?" Narancia asked, eyes widening.

Abbacchio flicked the back of his head. "Sit down, brat. And eyes open. We're on a mission, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," Narancia muttered as he took a seat next to Giorno at one of the tables the car held.

Bucciarati took a seat by one of the doors and Abbacchio took one at the other end of the car.

Sudden whistling signaled that the train was leaving the station. Everyone braced as movement started, then settled in, all of them feeling a little more comfortable as they started on their way.

Bruno sat silently for a while, listening to the others bickering, watching Trish as she stared out the window she was sitting next to. He debated telling her to pull back, but decided there was hardly any chance of her being recognized at the speed the train was traveling at. Still, he wasn't quite at ease with their arrangements just yet.

He finally stood and motioned to Giorno. "Giorno, let's take a brief patrol of the train."

Giorno nodded and stood, hurrying after Bucciarati as they left the car and headed out toward the area with the other passengers.

"Are you sensing any vampires on board?" Bruno asked quietly.

"I could smell a few while we got on, but it's unlikely for them to be here just because of Trish. It's the first night train out of the station, after all, it's likely just normal travelers."

Bucciarati nodded in agreement. But it was still good to know in case anyone decided to cause trouble.

"Let's check the dining car and the main seating area before we head back," Bucciarati decided.

Giorno nodded and they continued on their way.

Fugo fought a yawn as he tried to concentrate on the book he was reading. It was rare they were up all day and it was pushing twenty hours since he'd last slept. He hoped that someone might bring them some tea or coffee soon. It would be embarrassing to be the first one to fall asleep.

"How long is this train ride supposed to be anyway?" Narancia asked, not bothering to stifle his own yawn.

"A little under four hours," Abbacchio grunted.

Narancia huffed and came over to plop himself down next to Fugo, likely to annoy him, but before he could there was a muffled knocking on the door to the rest of the train.

"Hey, what's that?" Abbacchio asked from the other side.

"I don't know, would Bucciarati and Giorno knock?" Fugo asked as he got up, motioning to Mista who already had his hand inside his coat, reaching for his pistol.

Abbacchio moved so that he was between Trish and the door as Fugo and Mista approached.

Fugo glanced at Mista and as the gunman nodded, Fugo swung the door open.

He had perhaps expected an attacker, but he had definitely not expected two gentlemen making out against the wall.

He froze awkwardly, annoyed at the intrusion, before he cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

One with ash blond hair turned to look at him with a glower and Fugo glowered right back. "This is a private car. I would suggest finding a cabin for yourselves," he said pointedly.

The man grinned suddenly and Fugo thought he saw the glint of a fang. "Of course. Apologies, signore. Come, Squalo."

Fugo ducked back into the car and slammed the door.

Mista was snickering. "Holy shit, your face…"

"Shut up!" Fugo snarled, shouldering Mista aside as he returned to his seat. "They should have more decency than to do any of that in public." He quickly glanced toward Trish and flushed slightly. "Ah-apologies, Signorina."

Trish pursed her lips and turned back to the window.

Fugo was startled as another, more pointed knock sounded from the other side of the car. This time Abbacchio got up to answer it and found that it was one of the train staff with a tea service.

"Finally!" Narancia said, rubbing his hands together as the service was brought over to the table.

Fugo breathed his own sigh of relief at the smell of fresh coffee. He poured a cup as soon as the steward left and took a long sip.

"Can I get you a cup, Abbacchio?" Mista called as he headed over to the table as well.

"Please."

"How about you, Signorina?" Mista asked.

"Tea—sugar and cream," Trish replied.

"Coming right up."

The door opened again and Fugo looked up to see Giorno and Bucciarati returning.

"Anything?" Abbacchio asked, taking a drink from his coffee.

"Nothing to report," Bucciarati said.

Fugo sank back, feeling even more tired than he had before. He hoped that the coffee would start kicking in soon.

Giorno also poured himself a cup and sat beside him, taking an appreciative sip. "Hopefully we'll be able to reach Florence without any mishap."

"Hey, that was my cup!" Mista snapped at Narancia who had gulped down the waiting cup of coffee while Mista brought Trish her tea.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you poured it for me," Narancia said, smacking his lips. "Needed more sugar, though."

"Oh, come on, that was the last of the coffee too! Now I have to drink tea!"

"We can ask for more," Bucciarati said. "I'd like a cup myself."

Fugo took another sip and felt himself sinking deeper into the chair, body growing almost strangely heavy. His eyelids fluttered and he suddenly started, adrenaline surging through him as a crash sounded out. He lolled his head to one side to see the cup slip from Giorno's hands as he slumped against Fugo's shoulder.

"Giorno, what—" Bucciarati started before another thud preceded Narancia slipping out of his chair.

Trish gasped, and Fugo fought to force himself up, reaching for the teacup she still held. "Don't—don't drink it!" he croaked before he felt the darkness pulling him in as he too crashed to the floor.