Final part of this one. The jig is finally up...
Part Three
Bruno and Trish were still looking over the maps when Abbacchio and Narancia returned, stone-faced and empty-handed.
"I take it you didn't find them there," Bruno said grimly.
"No," Abbacchio replied. "But we did find some recently dug up graves, one still open, but with no one inside the coffin. Just shovels. I don't know if that was our target's doing or part of Giorno and Mista's investigation."
"We also found one of their lanterns outside the mausoleum," Narancia said, holding up the item. "But that was it. No blood, no signs of struggle. It's like they disappeared."
Bruno frowned, worry and frustration gnawing at him. "We weren't able to find much here either. I'm assuming that this Cioccolata might not reside too far from the graveyard. Transporting bodies is no easy task. The fact that no one seems to have spotted him on the road even if he does his deviations at night tells me he has somewhere close by that he can get to easily."
"He also managed to snatch both Giorno and Mista, which, if it's just one guy, he had to have taken them by surprise," Narancia said.
"There are a few spots of trees around the cemetery," Trish pointed out on the map. "Do you think that a building might be hidden in one of them?"
"It's possible," Bruno mused. He glanced over to Abbacchio and Narancia. "You've seen the area, what do you think?"
Abbacchio pursed his lips in thought. "We only looked around the area itself a little. The trees are pretty thick to the west side though, so it might be possible."
Bruno reached up to rub the bridge of his nose tiredly. "We need a plan of action. I hate going in blind."
"He would need medical supplies, right?" Trish broke in.
"Well, I suppose," Bruno said, wondering where she was going with this.
"Then he must buy stuff from the apothecary in town. I can't imagine where else he would get it, and it's likely he has it delivered somewhere."
"That's not a bad thought," Bruno murmured, then pulled his watch out of his pocket to check the time. "It's getting late, but you should be able to reach the town by cart before the apothecary closes. Trish, go with Narancia, it wouldn't hurt us to stock up on some medical supplies ourselves—you can use that as your cover."
Trish looked surprised, but straightened her shoulders. "Of course, Bucciarati. Just make a list for us."
Bruno made up a quick list, putting down things they might need if Mista and Giorno were injured when they found them. "Oh and, if you could pick me up some iron tablets as well?—Apparently, I'm anemic."
Trish frowned but took the list. "Anything else."
"Be careful," Bruno told her and grabbed the hooded cloak he had been wearing earlier, pulling it around her shoulders. "If you see anyone suspicious, come straight back here. And if anyone gets too nosy, just deflect."
"I'll keep her safe, Bucciarati," Narancia promised, throwing on his coat and hat again as he and Trish left.
Bruno rubbed his head again and got up to head into the kitchen. "None of this makes sense. I just feel like we're missing something," he muttered.
"You might be able to think more clearly if you would rest."
"I slept for two hours on the way back," Bruno reminded him. "Better sleep than I've had in days."
He pulled the bottle of pills out of his pocket and popped another one into his mouth. The iron seemed to be taking the worst of the edge off but he was sure it wouldn't last long. Like taking a bite of bread after two days of eating nothing. He got a glass of water and drank to relieve his dry throat.
"So is the throwing up because of the anemia or the cause of it?" Abbacchio asked.
"Abbacchio," Bruno said tiredly, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned around to face the other man. "I am begging you to please drop this until we get Giorno and Mista back. Once we do, you are welcome to tie me to my bed and force whatever medicine you see best down my throat, but until then—"
"Are you dying?"
Bruno stopped what he was doing and finally turned to look the other man in the eyes, seeing the pain and frustration clouding the gold-flecked violet. He took a deep breath and said, honestly, "I can swear to you that I am not dying."
Abbacchio didn't look entirely convinced but a tiny bit of tension left his shoulders. "Then alright, I'll give you until after we find Giorno and Mista, and then you and I are sitting down and you're going to tell me about every ache and pain. Because I'm done with this denial shit, Bruno. I get that you're the leader, and you have it in your head you're not allowed to show pain. But you're too important to this team for us to lose you so I am begging you please stop hiding your suffering. You're human too, you know."
Bruno let out a soft exhale and had to turn around, unable to look Abbacchio in the eye for another second. Because the fact was, he wasn't human anymore, and that was what hurt so much.
Giorno tended to Mista until his wounds healed enough for him to fall into a somewhat peaceful sleep. Then Giorno folded his arms on the side of the cot and lowered his head down as he too dozed for a brief moment from pure exhaustion before he heard footsteps approaching their cage. He looked up just in time to have a camera flash go off in his eyes.
"Excellent, what a picture of pure exhaustion and despair," Cioccolata chuckled as he handed the camera to Secco and pulled his keys out of his pocket, opening the cage.
Giorno glowered up at him, putting himself firmly in front of Mista, the action only making Cioccolata grin more.
"Relax, puppy. We'll let him rest for a little longer, I'm just going to collect some more of your blood for later."
Giorno allowed himself to be pulled from the cage, ready for any opportunity that might arise for him to get the upper hand.
He was strapped into the chair once again and hooked up to the pump. Giorno fought the dizzying pull of blood loss stoically, urging himself to have enough strength to do what he had to do. Cioccolata was scribbling something into a journal at the desk in the corner while he waited for the blood to be drawn and Giorno looked around, finally spotting the tray of medical tools still covered in Mista's blood sitting at the head of the metal table. It was only a few feet from Giorno's chair, he may be able to snatch something on the way back…
Once the blood draw was complete, Cioccolata got up and came back over to him, unhooking the tubing.
"There, now we're all set to play with your friend again later."
The second Giorno was on his feet, he crouched and rammed his shoulder into Cioccolata's middle. The vampire let out an oomph and staggered back as Giorno rushed forward, purposefully tripping over the rolling cart and scattering the medical tools onto the floor.
"Little shit!" Cioccolata snarled, grabbing Giorno by the back of his shirt and slamming his face against the metal table. Giorno went down, curling up to protect himself as Cioccolata started to kick him viciously.
"Secco!" Cioccolata shouted with a crazed tinge to his voice.
The thrall ran up and Giorno was blinded by another flash as Cioccolata pressed his face into the ground with the heel of his boot.
"Show me the despair of your pathetic escape attempt," he growled. "You really thought you would get away so easily?"
Giorno didn't reply, allowing himself to be hauled upright as if in defeat. His body protested the new bruises, but he had managed to tuck away his acquisitions.
Cioccolata dragged him back to the cell and threw him inside, slamming the door shut.
"Stay in there and think about what you've done," he chided before heading back into the laboratory.
Giorno pushed himself up, and slid the tools he had grabbed from where he had hidden them in his waistband. A scalpel and a pair of forceps. He hoped these would both prove useful.
He slid over to Mista and gripped his shoulder, shaking him awake.
"Mista, hey."
The gunman's eyes flickered and he murmured a question. "Hm?"
Giorno held up the tools. "Look what I was able to grab. I think I can work the lock open with these."
A slow grin spread across Mista's face. "That's my boy. Lemme know if I can do an'thing."
Giorno huffed a fond laugh before he tucked the tools away again. Now all they had to do was wait for an opportunity.
Trish and Narancia headed into the apothecary shop to the jingle of a bell.
The man working at the counter looked up, giving a pleasant smile. "Good afternoon, what can I do for you today?"
"We need to pick up a few things," Narancia told him, and handed over the list.
"Also, we had a question," Trish added. "Do you do deliveries?"
The man nodded. "Yes, we will deliver things if asked."
"Well, we live outside of town, would that be okay?"
The man shrugged. "If you're willing to pay the boy I send around for the extra trouble then there's no issue in it."
"I'll keep that in mind, thank you," Trish said. "I imagine you might have to take stuff to the other villas out in the countryside as well."
"Sometimes," the man said. "Most of our deliveries are in town, though."
"Oh, and some iron pills," Narancia told the man.
Trish looked around the shop, trying to figure out how to get more information out of the man without sounding suspicious. She could try to use her manipulation on him, but she wasn't entirely confident in that yet. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. It seemed to depend on the person. Mista, Narancia and Abbacchio were easy, but it never worked on Bucciarati. And of course, Giorno was apparently immune being a dhampir. Still, there must be another way…
That was when she saw the opening to the back of the shop and an office tucked away. Perhaps she would go for a more old fashioned approach.
"Ah, signore, if I may ask another question," Trish said, trying to appear slightly embarrassed. "It was a bit of a trip here and I'd like to freshen up if possible."
"Of course, signorina," the man said quickly. "There's a powder room in the back."
"Oh, thank you," Trish replied and hurried through to the back room.
She spent a second looking around, hearing Narancia start to chat the man up about something as she riffled through the desk as quietly as possible. She opened one of the drawers and finally found a records book.
Flipping through it quickly, Trish found the page that detailed deliveries. Some were obviously not what they were looking for, but the others were candidates.
Only problem was that none were under the name Cioccolata.
Trish frowned, looking through the names again until one caught her eye.
"Secco," she murmured to herself. Why did that sound familiar?
It was then she remembered reading it earlier on the list of names Bucciarati had gotten from the nurse at the asylum. One of the missing patients.
Hurriedly grabbing a piece of paper and a pen from the desk, Trish took the address down and tucked it into her purse, slipping out of the back room just as the man was wrapping up their package of supplies.
"Anything else?" the man asked.
"I think that's all, thank you so much," Narancia told him, handing over the money before he and Trish headed out.
"Did you get anything?" the Hunter asked the instant they were outside.
Trish dug into her purse for the paper. "This delivery address was under the name of one of the patients who went missing," she said in a hushed voice.
Narancia glanced at the address, eyes widening. "You think that's where Giorno and Mista are?"
"I don't know," Trish replied warily. "But the address is here in town. Shouldn't we check it out while we're here? It will take too long to go back and get Bucciarati and Abbacchio."
Narancia nodded. "You're right. We can at least check it out and see if it's a possible candidate."
It was getting dark by the time they made their way to the address and Trish had a sense of foreboding when she looked up at the decrepit apartment.
"Am I the only one who has a bad feeling about this?" she asked.
"No," Narancia replied, swallowing hard. "But it's okay, I'll keep you safe if there's any freaks in there."
Trish huffed a breath, as Narancia walked up and knocked on the door. When no one answered he reached into his pocket and pulled out a lockpick set, opening the door within the matter of a few seconds.
The door swung open on creaky hinges and the interior of the apartment was dark. Narancia pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on, the flame only illuminating a small patch of area at a time.
Trish found herself gripping Narancia's elbow as they crept further inside. "I don't…think anyone's here," she whispered.
It appeared to only be a small two-room apartment, but there was something in the back corner, casting darker shadows.
"Man, this place gives me the creeps," Narancia wavered, pushing forward until something rustled under his feet and he jolted with a gasp.
Trish let out a sharp squeak. "What? What is it?"
Narancia bent and picked up the object, a crumpled photo. It was blurry but showed a man with a manic grin, bending over what seemed to be a sleeping person.
A shiver went up Trish's spine as she glanced over to the wall. "Um, Narancia…"
Narancia brought the light closer to the corner and the two of them stared in horror at the display.
It was an awful collage of photos, all of them showing the same man as was in the other one. Each one worse than the last. They depicted him covered in blood, standing over other people who cowered in terror, dissecting bodies, patting the head of a thin man who looked up at him adoringly—it was perhaps that shift that horrified Trish the most.
"H-holy shit," Narancia croaked. "I'm pretty sure this is our guy but… none of these were taken here, were they?"
Trish shook her head, swallowing hard as she forced herself to look closer at the details of the photos. "Some of these look like they might have been taken at the asylum, but I'm not sure about the others. Looks like a surgery maybe?"
"I think you're right," Narancia said. "We need to get back there now. Let's grab as many of these as we can, there might be a clue in them we're missing."
"Narancia!" Trish suddenly gasped, pointing to one of the pictures. "Is this in the cemetery?"
Narancia grabbed the picture. "Yeah, that's the mausoleum in the center of it."
"Was this there when you and Abbacchio went?"
Trish pointed to a spot on the photo of Cioccolata and who she assumed was Secco standing in front of the mausoleum, near their feet was a hole in the side of the building behind one of the statues.
"No, it wasn't," Narancia said quickly. "You think…I mean, what if there's, like, a secret passage inside of it and that's where he keeps all his victims?"
"It's the best theory we have so far," Trish said. "Come on, let's get Bucciarati and Abbacchio and go save Giorno and Mista."
Bruno poured over the maps again, trying to figure out what he felt like he was missing.
"Something isn't adding up," he muttered. "There wasn't anything strange at the graveyard?"
"Well…" Abbacchio shrugged. "There wasn't much of anything at all aside from the dug-up graves."
"How is it set up?"
Abbacchio slid the map closer to him and tapped one side of the area. "This is the pauper's lot, that's where most of the graves were dug up. Aside from that, everything from this side of the mausoleum is old. None of it looked like it had been touched for a long time."
Something tickled the back of Bruno's mind. "Where did you find the lantern?" he asked.
"It was sitting beside the wall of the mausoleum, on this side," he tapped the spot where it would have been.
Bruno sat back. "Abbacchio, what if he's been under our noses the whole time—or, under our feet, I should say."
Abbacchio furrowed his brow in confusion.
"An underground passage," Bruno said. "From the mausoleum. Think about it. No one has seen him come and go from the graveyard because maybe he never had to leave it."
Realization dawned in Abbacchio's expression. "Holy shit. You might be right."
Bruno was already getting up. "Let's go, there's no point in wasting anymore time."
"Hold on! We should wait for Narancia and Trish to get back," Abbaccio said.
"We don't have time for that," Bruno snapped. "Whatever information they might have gathered we can't afford to leave Giorno and Mista with this hack for any longer than we have to."
"Yeah, and I don't know how I feel about you as my backup right now," Abbacchio replied. "I'd feel more comfortable if Narancia was with us."
"I am fine," Bruno snapped. "I already told you earlier, you're not allowed to mention my health until we get the boys back. If you're not comfortable with me as backup, then I'll do it myself."
Abbacchio's black lips peeled back in a snarl. "You're insufferable. Boss."
Bruno sighed, but Abbacchio got up to gather his gear. Bruno did the same, strapping on his sword and tucking several daggers away. It was already getting dark outside, the twilight breeze teasing Bruno's hair into his eyes as they set out. He couldn't say for sure, but he was certain it was an ill wind and that there was something dark brewing that night.
Giorno spent the rest of the day, preserving what little strength he had left. Mista was able to sit up, though he still looked a little wan and pale. At some point Secco brought them food and fresh water.
Giorno took a couple bites of the bread, and while it didn't make him sick, it settled poorly in his stomach, telling him that he was going to have to drink some blood soon at the risk of getting sicker.
"How are you doing?" Mista asked him quietly as Giorno silently passed him the rest of the bread.
"I'm still okay for now, but he took a lot of my blood and I'm not exactly at my best."
Mista glanced toward the curtain that led into the surgery before he leaned closer to Giorno and spoke quietly. "Look, you still have the best chance of getting out of here between the two of us. I'm honestly not sure how much I could do without my guns right now. So, if you need to drink some of my blood to get your strength back, do it."
Giorno gave him a pained look. "Mista, you've already lost so much blood."
"Yeah, and you drinking blood right now would give you more strength, right?" Mista asked and Giorno nodded reluctantly. "Okay then, there's no question in it. Because I don't know about you, but I want to get the hell out of here."
Giorno sighed. "If you're sure."
"Of course. What's a little blood drinking among friends?" Mista grinned and held out his arm.
Giorno gripped his elbow, hesitating slightly. "I won't take more than I need."
"I trust you."
Giorno leaned over, fangs extending as he bit into the crook of Mista's arm. The gunman let out a soft sound of discomfort, but Giorno ignored it as he felt the warm blood filling his mouth, and the relief it brought to his system as he swallowed it down.
He took several long gulps before he pulled away, wiping his mouth and allowing his fangs to retract.
"You okay?" he asked Mista who looked a little woozy.
"Yeah," he said with a loose grin. "You good?"
"Much better," Giorno said, already feeling strength return to him. It might not be enough to go against a full-blooded vampire hand to hand, but if he could get out of here and grab their weapons, then they might have a chance.
It was then he heard Cioccolata walk back into the surgery, talking to Secco.
"I'll be going out for a little bit. Keep an eye on the cemetery in case any more Hunters show up."
"Y-yes Master!" Secco replied. "What should I do with them if they do?"
"Capture them of course," Cioccolata replied. "If you're a good boy and do your job I'll give you another treat!"
"Yes, Master! I'll do it, I'll do it!"
Mista lay down under the blanket again and Giorno returned to his slumped position beside the cot as Cioccolata strode past the cage, leering in at them. "Once I get back we'll have some more fun together."
He left with an ominous chuckle, sending goosebumps up Giorno's spine. He waited for Secco to shuffle off as well, before he pulled out the tools and instantly went to work on the locks.
"What's the plan?" Mista asked as he pushed himself up.
"I'm going to try to find our weapons first," Giorno said, jamming the forceps into the lock and rattling them around. "Then we'll get out of here and hope they don't hunt us down."
Their odds weren't great. In Mista's condition they would be slow going and there was little to no shelter between here and the villa except the patches of trees on one side of the cemetery that would take them further out of their way. It wouldn't matter anyway because Cioccolata would be able to track them by scent. Giorno realized that realistically, their best chance would be to make sure the vampire couldn't follow them.
He swore as he struggled with the rusty lock using both the forceps and the scalpel. Their precious time was ticking away and Giorno was growing more and more frantic.
"Give it a good whack," Mista commented. "Sometimes the mechanisms in old locks like that will just explode."
Giorno shoved both tools in and slammed his hand against them. To his surprise, the lock disengaged, and he swung the door open.
"Nice!" Mista grinned.
Giorno hurried over to offer him a shoulder to lean on and headed into the surgery, looking around. He finally helped Mista sit against the cupboards. "Sorry, I'll be able to go quicker alone. If either of them come back before me, just hide."
Mista slumped gratefully. "Got it."
Giorno hurried further into the underground catacomb they seemed to be in. He found what looked to be cross between a study and a bedroom and inside was where he found their weapons, tossed under the bed. Giorno grabbed them, strapping his sword on, grateful for the comforting weight, before gathering Mista's guns and holtsers up and heading back out to him. On his way another room caught his eye and he bit his lip, hesitating slightly, before hurrying back to Mista.
"Hey, there's my girls," Mista crooned in relief. He'd found his clothes thankfully and shrugged into the holster as Giorno handed it over.
"Wait here just another second, I'm going to check something."
"Giorno! Are you crazy?" Mista demanded. "Let's go!"
"Just two minutes," Giorno pleaded, already hurrying back down the hallway and stopping by the other room.
He opened it up, seeing it littered with strings holding photos clipped up to dry. Trays of chemicals sat on a table on one side of the room and on the other side, a desk with an open journal and stacks of files sitting next to it.
Giorno riffled through all of them, growing sicker by the moment. All of the files contained patient records from the nearby asylum but with Cioccolata's notes scribbled into the margins, telling of how he lured them out, manipulated them, and then ultimately used them for his experiments.
A cold rage settled in Giorno's stomach the more he read until he finally broke. He ripped through the sheets, tore pages out of the disgusting journal, yanked the strings of photos down, most of them showing him and Mista. He was so caught up in his fury that he didn't note the vampire's return and the footsteps stopping in the doorway.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
By the time they got to the graveyard night had fully set in and Bruno looked around, getting an idea of the terrain himself.
"That's the mausoleum there?" he asked, pointing to the shadowy structure in the middle of the cemetery.
Abbacchio nodded. "Yeah."
Bruno started forward before the wind shifted and he caught something, an awful smell. He stopped Abbacchio and looked in the direction it had come from. "Do you smell that?"
Abbacchio sniffed. "I…not really."
"Doesn't it smell like death to you?" Bruno asked incredulously, pointing. "I know it's coming from that copse of trees."
"Are you sure, I really don't smell anything?" Abbacchio said, sounding a bit frustrated.
"I'm positive," Bruno insisted. "Look, why don't you take a quick look while I scout around here."
"Are you insane? We need to stick together here."
"Abbacchio, just a quick look," Bruno insisted firmly. "I won't go anywhere until you get back."
"Fine," Abbacchio huffed and started off toward the trees.
Bruno made his way into the graveyard, testing out this new sense of smell. It wasn't just that, it was also the ability to detect heartbeats within a certain vicinity. He could vaguely hear Abbacchio's leaving the area, but there was another, much closer.
In fact…
He spun around and saw a figure duck behind a gravestone.
"Who's there?" he demanded, pulling his sword out.
A manic giggle sounded out and a shadow darted between the grave stones again.
"Hunter, Hunter! Looking for your friends?" a voice taunted. "You'll never find them—they belong to my Master now, and he's going to be so happy with me when I bring him another prize."
"Show yourself," Bruno growled, grip tightening around the hilt of his blade.
There was silence until he noted the heartbeat behind him.
"Here!" came a sing-song voice.
Bruno spun but not before a piece of wrought iron was swung at him. He barely got his arm up to deflect it from hitting him in the head and his shoulder took the brunt of it, forcing him back.
He stabbed out at the figure, but the man was swift, ducking in and out, swiping again and striking Bruno in the knee this time, forcing him to stagger.
"Little bastard," Bruno snarled, gritting his teeth in pain, as he pulled out a knife and slung it in the direction of the heartbeat.
A shriek and a clatter sounded as the knife struck the gravestone the figure dove behind.
Bruno took a second to breathe. He could tell his opponent was human, but with the references to 'master' and his maniacal devotion, he would guess that this was one of Cioccolata's thralls.
"My Master will kill you if you hurt me! He'll rip your guts out and strangle you with them!" the man screamed.
Bruno curled his lip in disgust. "You realize he's only using you, right? You're his thrall, no better than a pet. He doesn't really care about you."
"Wrong! You're wrong! S-Stupid Hunter!" the man dashed out and tackled Bucciarati, driving him back into a gravestone. Bruno's head smashed against it, leaving him dazed as the thrall started to flail, clawing at him with hands and fists.
"He's my Master! He loves me! You—you bastard!"
He picked Bruno up bodily and swung him into another grave stone before he could recover. Bruno hit with a sharp cry, feeling ribs crack upon impact. He gasped, crawling to his hands and knees, realizing he had lost his sword at some point. His limbs shook. He was so, so weak right now. He needed…
The thrall's foot slammed into his stomach and forced Bruno back down, another kick ground his face into the dirt as he groped for one of his knives.
"Stupid stupid Hunter bastard!" the thrall was snarling as he continued to kick Bruno. "I'll kill you for insulting Master like that! I'll kill you!"
All of a sudden, the sound of a muffled explosion shook the ground of the cemetery and it forced the Thrall to pause, looking around in shock.
It was enough for Bruno to get his knife up and lash out, slashing the blade across the back of the thrall's knee.
The man howled, leg collapsing under him in a spurt of blood.
"Ow! Ow you hurt me! You hurt me, you bastard! My Master will kill you now! he'll kill you!"
Bruno wasn't listening anymore though. His nostrils flared at the scent of fresh blood, pupils dilating as his vision focused solely on the crimson liquid flowing from the thrall's body.
He rose, pain numbed, heart pounding in his ears as he panted, lips pulling back in a snarl to reveal his fangs to the moonlight.
He saw the thrall's eyes change from accusatory to terrified. "Y-You're a—a vampire!" he croaked.
"Yes," Bruno growled. "I am."
The thrall wailed, trying to crawl away but Bruno's body moved without him being able to stop himself. He grabbed the man's ankle, hauling him back toward him. Some of his blood got on Bruno's hand and he couldn't stop himself from bringing his shaking fingers to his lips, licking it off.
He gasped, euphoria crashing through his body. He had never tasted such ambrosia as he had in that moment.
Before he even registered what he was doing, he had leapt onto the thrall, and sank his fangs into the pulsing jugular, taking a long drink, then another, unable to stop himself. He kept going until the thrall's screams ceased and he stopped twitching under Bruno and in that moment he knew nothing but blood and the pure ecstasy of relief.
Giorno spun around to see Cioccolata standing in the doorway to the room, horror on his face as he saw the mess Giorno had made.
"You truly are the most vile creature I think I have ever seen," Giorno spat at him, taking a fistful of the torn files and throwing them at Cioccolata's feet. "Manipulating the helpless so you can perform horrific experiments on them for your own enjoyment? You are no doctor, you are a murderer. A butcher. There is no redemption for a foul demon like you. The only justice you should ever see is to burn in hell for eternity."
"How dare you! That's my research! Do you have any idea how many years I've spent on that?!" Cioccolata stormed in and Giorno swung his sword up, slashing the vampire across the chest. He staggered back with a surprised shout.
"What's the matter? You only enjoy pain when you're watching others experience it?" Giorno snarled. "How about I give you a taste of what they felt?"
Cioccolata's lips curled. "You think a little half-blood like you can stand against me? You don't need your tongue or legs to provide blood for me, and I've had a lot of practice performing amputations so I'll make sure you survive the procedure."
He lunged and Giorno lashed out with his sword again. This time Cioccolata dodged and stepped inside Giorno's range, grabbing the front of his shirt and throwing him into the photography tables.
Giorno crashed with a pained grunt and Cioccolata lunged toward him, fangs bared.
Giorno tried to stab his sword upward, but the vampire grabbed the blade and wrenched it aside before he seemed to remember it was silver. He hissed as his hand burned, kicking out at Giorno's wrist instead. Giorno's arm was slammed to the side, but he managed to keep a grip on his sword.
"Weak, just like I thought," he snarled, stomping a foot down on Giorno's chest. "How does it feel now to know you lost? Are you terrified? Show me, you wretch! Show me your terror!"
"He hasn't lost yet," a voice growled from the doorway accompanied by a gunshot.
The bullet sliced through Cioccolata's head, sending him reeling with a spatter of blood and brains.
Giorno caught the sight of Mista slumping against the door frame with his gun dangling from weary fingers.
"You got this?" he asked Giorno.
Giorno pushed himself up, holding his sword at the ready. Cioccolata staggered like a puppet with cut strings, swaying from side to side.
Giorno gritted his teeth as he drove his sword up through the vampire's heart.
Cioccolata gasped, eyes wide with terror.
"What's that on your face?" Giorno snarled. "Terror, fear? Realization that you lost?" He shoved his sword through him, up to the hilt and Cioccolata choked, blood dribbling from his mouth as Giorno leaned in. "Now die."
He yanked his sword out and drove it through the vampire's body again, and again and again as Cioccolata staggered back and landed on the desk with a heavy thump. By then Giorno was no longer stabbing but hacking at the vampire's body indiscriminately.
"Die!" he snarled. "Die you worthless piece of shit!"
He finally severed the vampire's head, his eyes milky and long-dead, staring at the ceiling.
"Giorno!" Giorno felt a hand descend on his shoulder and flinched, spinning around, but it was only Mista, eyes wide, not without a little fear. "He's dead. You got him, man."
Giorno exhaled, then sagged backward as Mista caught him, both of them collapsing with a grunt. They stayed slumped on the ground like that for a long minute, getting their breath back, and Giorno finally unclenched his hand from around the hilt of his sword, realizing he had chipped the blade in several places. Perhaps he should have felt terrified by what he had just done, but he was honestly just so tired. He wanted to sleep.
But he was also sure he wouldn't rest until this place was destroyed.
"Do you…" he cleared his throat. "Do you have any fuse?"
Mista frowned but looked through his belt pouch and came up with some coiled fuse. "What are you thinking?"
"Flash powder—it's magnesium, isn't it?" Giorno asked, staggering over to the camera stuff and coming up with a box of the stuff.
Mista gave a slow grin. "I like your thinking."
They put one end of the fuse into the box and rolled the rest out the door of the dark room as far as it would go.
"We'll have to move fast," Mista said, pulling out a book of matches.
Giorno nodded. Mista lit the match and dropped it next to the fuse, which came to life, the spark running down the line.
Giorno wrapped his arm around Mista's waist, practically hauling him along as they both limped as quickly as possible through the appalling surgery and toward the stairs.
They came out in the mausoleum just as the blast sounded and threw themselves on the ground, ducking as dust and mortar rained down on top of them from the concussive blow.
"You know, I didn't think about it, but I really hope that doesn't drop half the graveyard into the ground," Mista said with a wry laugh before coughing from the dust.
Giorno choked, managing a small smile. "Then Cioccolata can face the dead as he should," he said darkly.
"You know, you're pretty scary sometimes, Giorno," Mista told him.
Giorno didn't reply, simply crawled to the corner where he could see a dim bit of moonlight emanating.
"Come on, let's get the hell out of here," Giorno said tiredly.
He slid out first and reached in to help pull Mista out as the gunman winced.
Out in the open, Giorno's ears picked up the sound of fighting before almost inhuman screams sounded out, echoing through the graveyard.
"The hell is that?" Mista asked.
Giorno settled him against the side of the mausoleum and straightened up. "Stay here, I'll go take a look."
He ran off before Mista could protest. The screams had already stopped and Giorno looked around, trying to figure out where they had come from.
He then spotted Abbacchio standing there in the graveyard staring at something with his gun held at the ready.
Giorno looked beyond him and saw—
Abbacchio trudged quickly toward the trees Bucciarati had been convinced he had 'smelled death' from. Honestly, he was as bad as Giorno…
But then the wave hit him as he got closer and he realized the other Hunter had been right. There was the definite smell of death coming from the copse of trees.
Abbacchio slowed down and crept more cautiously through the forest. The ground was uneven and as he pressed his foot curiously into the loam, he felt it give.
The stench was definitely unbearable in here and he pulled his coat up over his nose as he pulled out his lighter to give himself some illumination.
As soon as the warm glow lit up the trees around him Abbacchio turned his eyes downward.
Under his feet was bare, turned earth, and, to his horror, he could see something breaking through in several places. Bone white shards, and in a one place, a pale, dead hand.
This was a mass grave.
"Holy shit," he croaked, staggering back, nausea blooming in his stomach.
Screams began to echo across from the graveyard and Abbacchio whipped around, swearing again.
He ran all the way back to the cemetery. The screams had died down, and he looked around for what could have been the source.
"Bucciarati!" he called, looking around for his companion. "Bruno!"
A thin gurgling sound caught his ear and he cautiously stepped around one line of gravestones, glancing down the row to see one figure crouching over another, twitching, body.
"Hey!" he snapped, starting forward. "Show yourself."
The figure froze and dropped the body, before slowly turning around.
Abbacchio stopped dead in his tracks. He did not believe what he was seeing right now. He refused to believe what he was seeing right now.
It was not Bruno Bucciarati crouching there with blood smeared over his mouth, two sharp white fangs glinting in the moonlight. Those ocean blue eyes were not red, and there was not a drained corpse sprawled beside him. He refused, he refused, he refused.
Bruno's hand came up, wiping the back of it across his mouth before he said one word: "Leone."
"No," Abbacchio croaked, wrenching the gun out of his belt and cocking it, pointing it at this—this thing that looked like his best friend. "What the hell are you?!"
The thing that was not Bruno brought his hands up, covered in blood, held out pleadingly. "It's me, Leone. It's just me."
"No, it's fucking not!" Abbacchio snarled, stepping closer with the gun still level. "You're a—you're a…vampire!"
Bruno's expression turned pained, and he made to stand, but Abbacchio motioned with the gun, trying to keep his hand from shaking. "Don't! Don't come any closer."
"Abbacchio!"
He barely glanced to the side to see Giorno running up in a blood-stained shirt, holding out a hand. "Don't shoot him, Abbacchio! It's Bucciarati!"
"No," Abbacchio snarled, furious as his throat closed, eyes smarting. "This is not him, don't you get it? It's not him anymore!"
"That's not true!" Giorno snapped, grabbing Abbacchio's arm, trying to pull it down. "Look at him, Abbacchio."
Bucciarati stood shakily, his eyes clouded with pain. It wasn't the insane bloodlust that had been in his partner's eyes, none of the pleading, the loss of humanity. It was so much worse. Because he still looked exactly like Bucciarati and yet everything had changed.
"Leone, I'm sorry," Bruno said, so genuine that Abbacchio saw red.
"Why didn't you tell me?!" he demanded. "Why the hell did you keep this from me? From all of us?!"
"I didn't know what to say," Bruno said brokenly, looking between him and Giorno, pleading. "It was…by the time I knew… it was already too late."
"It was the Boss," Giorno breathed in realization.
Bucciarati nodded, reaching up to touch the back of his neck. "He bit me in the church."
"Then why the hell didn't you tell us sooner?" Abbacchio demanded, feeling the tears prick his eyes again. "We could have gotten you a cure, you damned idiot! But now that you've drunk blood—"
"It wouldn't have mattered, Leone!" Bruno snapped. "I had already drunk the Boss's blood. He forced it on me while I was dying. It was just a matter of time, and that was why I…I just didn't know how to say it."
His voice wavered and Abbacchio felt his heart wrench, so, so close to shattering, but he refused to let it. Viciously gathered all the pieces back together and glued them tight. He didn't know what to do. He felt completely cut adrift for the first time in a long while, his anchor standing there in front of him, covered in blood.
He finally lowered the gun though and forced himself to turn his back. "Let's go home," he said, too tired to even function another second. He couldn't even acknowledge Bucciarati's existence another second. It was too much to process and if he tried right now he was afraid of what he might do.
"Where's Mista?" Bucciarati asked.
"Sitting over by the mausoleum," Giorno replied.
Abbacchio didn't wait for them, he simply trudged off on the path back to the villa, hearing the others talk low behind him, Mista exclaiming every once in a while as he obviously got the news.
Abbacchio's fist clenched. He honestly didn't know whether he was more offended by the situation itself, or by the fact that Bruno had kept it from him. How stupid. He was so stupid.
By the time they got back, Narancia and Trish were waiting out front, pacing worriedly, but when they saw the party, they ran forward to greet them, throwing their arms around Giorno and Mista.
"You're safe!" Trish cried. "We were so worried."
"Did you figure out the mausoleum thing?" Narancia asked, moving in to support Mista as the gunman ruffled his hair.
"It doesn't fucking matter," Abbacchio snapped.
"But…you got them back. What happened?" Trish suddenly asked, looking between all of them. Bucciarati hanging at the back, head down.
Giorno took a deep breath. "Bucciarati is a vampire."
"What?!"
After making sure Giorno and Mista were okay, Bucciarati left them to the others' care as he went to clean up.
He didn't want to admit to how good he felt now after drinking the thrall's blood. Even the injuries he'd sustained in the fight didn't hurt as much as they should have, though he did still have bruises.
He poured water into his washing bowl and was about to bend and wash his face when he caught sight of his reflection.
He pulled back in sudden horror as he realized his eyes had turned red.
Bucciarati swallowed hard. There was nothing he could do about that now. There had never been a chance to reverse this. He would have to live with it, and so would everyone else.
He turned back to washing the blood from himself, cringing. He really had been a mess, though looking at Giorno, he wasn't much better. Bruno hadn't asked what had happened down there but Giorno had informed him that Cioccolata would not be causing trouble for anyone else, and that was good enough for him. The job was over, they now had other things to worry about.
After he finished washing his face and hair, he dug a clean shirt out of his dresser just as a knock came on his door.
He sighed, tugging the shirt on as he went to open it.
He was somewhat surprised to see Giorno there, patched up, holding two glasses of red liquid that Bruno could instantly tell were blood.
"I thought I'd bring you some just in case," Giorno said. "I know Trish feels better drinking together so…"
"I…feel like I've had enough for tonight," Bruno said quietly as he let Giorno inside.
Giorno set the glasses on the desk and pulled the chair out to sit in. "Bucciarati, can you promise me something?"
Bruno looked at him questioningly and Giorno continued, voice stern. "Do not try to starve yourself."
Bruno was slightly taken aback. "I don't…"
"Because I've been starving, you've seen me starving," Giorno continued. "Don't do that to yourself. There is nothing wrong with drinking blood, we can get plenty from the butcher. There is nothing wrong with being a vampire. It will take some adjustment—for all of us, yes—but we'll make it work. You're still you, you just have fangs."
Bruno slowly picked up a glass and slumped onto the side of his bed, taking a cautious sip. "It—it tastes different," he said, surprised.
Giorno smiled. "Blood is incredibly varied. Pork blood is my personal favorite, but you might find you like something else."
"What do I do?" Bruno asked suddenly. "I mean…I can barely use any of our weapons anymore, I—how do you do it?"
Giorno let out a light laugh. "Gloves, and being very careful. And trusting my comrades." He smiled softly. "I asked Illuso the same thing not long after I joined the team and he told me that he trusted his teammates more than anyone else in the world because they had the power to kill him and the skills not to. I like to think that we're a well-oiled machine by now. We'll figure it out."
"Well, considering that your most hairsbreadth escape was your own doing," Bruno replied, unable to help teasing a little.
Giorno smiled wryly. "I suppose that's fair." He stood and crossed the room, impulsively throwing his arms around Bruno, who sat in shock, Giorno never being one for much physical affection.
"You're still you," he reiterated, squeezing Bruno harder. "Do not forget it. Humanity is a choice. It's a state of mind, not biology."
He pulled away, one hand lingering on Bruno's shoulder. "You might want to try sleeping during the day too. It might help for a while to find a new natural rythem."
Bruno nodded and Giorno gathered their empty glasses and left.
Bruno lay down on his bed, deep in thought. Giorno was right, he knew it would take some adjusting. He still wasn't entirely sure how everyone would actually take the news once they weren't all in shock.
And then there was Abbacchio.
Bruno winced, knowing that conversation was going to have to come sooner rather than later, and he would be lying if he said he didn't dread it.
He tried to sleep, but maybe Giorno had a point. He hadn't been truly tired at night for a long time.
He finally got up, instinctively to make a cup of tea, before he wondered if he could even stomach it anymore.
But he was still going to head to the kitchen anyway, when he realized there was already someone there, slumped at the table a, stone cold cup of tea in front of him.
He looked up as Bruno approached, catching him before he could sneak away.
"Can't sleep? Oh wait, it's not daytime," Abbacchio snipped half-heartedly then started to get up. "I won't interrupt you…"
"Leone, wait," Bruno said, stepping up to the table. "We need to talk about this."
"What is there to talk about?" Abbacchio asked with a wry laugh. "That you're a fucking vampire now? What am I supposed to say? Congratulations? My condolences? That I'm sorry I'm such a fucking screw-up that two of my partners have gotten turned now?"
"This is not your fault," Bruno said firmly. "Do not blame yourself for this."
"Then what the hell am I supposed to do, Bruno? I didn't see any of this? How the hell did I miss you turning into a fucking vampire?" he gave a cynical laugh, burying his face in his hands. "God, I—your eyes."
"I know. They scare me too," Bruno said, finally taking a seat across from the other man. "I—this, all of this, terrifies me. And I think that's why I tried to deny it for so long. I knew it was coming, but I guess maybe I thought if I ignored it…" He shrugged lamely.
"Fantastic plan. That went really fucking well," Abbacchio spat.
"I know," Bruno replied with a sigh. "But can you really blame me? What with how you reacted?"
Abbacchio slammed his fist down on the table and Bruno saw fury and dampness pooling in his eyes. "What did you expect me to do?!"
"I expected a little understanding! You have no idea what this is like!" Bruno snapped back before he ducked his head, clenching his hands in front of him. "Look, I understand how hard this is for you, but you're just on the damn sidelines, Abbacchio. You don't have to live it. You didn't have your teeth fall out to be replaced by fangs, you didn't have your body reject any form of sustenance that wasn't blood. You don't have to fear the sun or most of the tools in our arsenal. You don't have to experience your own teammates, the people you trust most, look at you like you're a monster."
Abbacchio turned away, unable to look at him. Bruno took a deep breath before he continued.
"But I understand how it might be difficult for you to serve under me anymore, so if you'd like to go back to Napoli with Fugo or ask Polpo to put you in another team, then I would not blame you."
Abbacchio's jaw clenched and his lips twisted. "Dammit, Bucciarati," he snarled, looking even more angry as he finally turned back to look at the vampire sitting next to him. "How can you even say that? Regardless of how impossible that would be with the shitstorm we're currently in, do you think I'm some damned summer soldier? It will take me some time to get used to the new you, okay? But that being said…" He hesitated, grimacing as his breath hitched. "The only time I have ever been at peace is when I'm with you. Until that changes for any reason, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone."
Bruno felt his heart warm slightly, though he was still aching inside. "Abbacchio," he whispered, throat tight.
"You're insufferable," Abbacchio gritted out. "And I'm sick and tired of your insistence to deny anything that you don't want to deal with. And I'm pissed that I'm a damned Hunter and I can't even tell when my friend is turning into a vampire."
He stood, scrubbing at his eyes angrily, smearing kohl against his hand. "Just promise me you won't hide shit anymore, Bruno. It doesn't do anyone any good. You don't have to tell me, hell, tell Giorno for all I care, just tell someone. Don't suffer alone anymore like some fucking martyr. It's not a good look."
He left the room and headed slowly back upstairs. Bruno sat at the table for a long moment before he looked up and realized that it was almost dawn, the glow of the sun rising above the horizon.
Bruno stood at the window and felt tears slide down his cheeks. Watching the first rays stretch across the land as he wept for his humanity and the warm glow he would never feel again.