yo, 40percentbluelung here.
so before i start the story, i wanna add a lil a bit of background info on this fic right here.
fugo has been a favorite character of mine in jojo ever since his appearance with purple haze, and purple haze feedback really gave me so much more love for him, even if he didn't have much screentime in part 5.
demon slayer is something i watched as a friend's recommendation, and it quickly sucked me into the rabbit hole, as i binge-read the entire manga shortly after during my summer break. after i finished reading all of it, i decided that it would be funny to make a crossover between jojo and demon slayer, specifically focusing on my favorite characters from the two, Fugo and Shinobu. that spiraled into an actual story, and we're here today now.
this story has been in development for like 3 years now, and i've basically worked on it since 2020 whenever i was bored and had time to kill. with the help fo a few friends i met through discord, i made what was basically a crack fic idea into an actual full fledged story that's actually half decent. even if it's not great, it's still something that i put a lot of work and time into, so i hope you stick along for the ride.
i'm proud to present to you my first fanfic, In The Grand Scheme Of Things. enjoy!
"I-I'm starting to remember now... I need to get back to my comrades!"
"Did you forget, Abbacchio? You came here on that bus. This is the last stop. You can never go back."
"Y-You're… That's right! You're...You're the one who died that night because I took that bribe!"
"Abbacchio, you did very well... So well that I could say that I'm proud of you."
"Now, once we get the arrow back... it'll all be over. Once we get back to Naples, I'm gonna go to school! I wanna eat some piping-hot pizza too! Authentic margherita from back home, where it's baked over an oak wood fire! I'll get some porcini mushrooms on it too! And then… If I ever get to see Fugo again… Maybe I wouldn't mind him calling me dumb. Too bad Abbacchio's gone now, though..."
"My soul had been fated to die that evening when we first encountered the boss, but it was reborn...Thanks to you. This is what true happiness is. This is how it should be...Don't worry about me. Please give everyone my regards. I'm only going back to where I was supposed to go...I'm simply returning to what I once was...That's all…"
This is a story about people's struggles.
These people cannot pursue their own past or future because of their struggles. They have no comfort in daydreaming about the future, or remembering about the past. Perhaps the years gone by and the years up ahead are not for them; for they exist only in the now, fighting to define themselves, and make a choice.
For others, it is the opposite, and they have found themselves stuck in the past, unable to move on, or they are unable to keep their hands away from the future and greed.
Do they struggle to find purpose? Do they struggle to move forward? Do they struggle to retreat? Who knows? They could not tell you. The world that left them to providence provides no answers to them, or anyone else for that matter, even to those whom fate has given this struggle to.
But even then, they know only one thing for sure – the ground under their feet is crumbling, and they can no longer remain still, despite their inability to move forward, or turn back.
What can they lash out at, in their despair, when there is no footing to stay upright? Where can they run, when something beyond their reach is preventing them? Let us examine one young man in such a predicament, and the people involved with him, suffering through that same situation, following a group of men and women, who have been subjected to the same destiny.
This is a story of struggles, a modern Judas Iscariot, and his quest to find his purpose that fate has given to him, hidden in a silent, deadly haze.
Naples, Italy, 2001
Naples, a city located in Southern Italy. A tourist location so famous for its atmosphere, that people say you should go to see it at least once before you die. But within every city, there is darkness in the various corners and alleyways.
And within those corners and alleys, there is always the distinct scent of blood.
There was a boy who resided in that dark part of Naples covered in the scent of blood who would never forgive himself.
This boy was part of the largest, most powerful Mafia in Italy, and perhaps the entire world, Passione, part of La Squadra Guardie Del Corpo, or the Bodyguard Crew.
His name was Pannacotta Fugo.
He had betrayed not only his comrades' trust, but his own self as well. He was too scared to fight his tyrant boss along with his friends. He was never able to do anything good for his companions. He was too weak to do anything.
The people who had supported him, his best friends, the few people who accepted him despite his past.
Giorno Giovanna, the blonde haired boy with the dream to make Italy a better place, Bruno Bucciarati, their courageous leader who acted more like what parents should have been like than his own ever had, Leone Abbacchio, the somber and gloomy silver haired man who seemed to work harder under pressure, Narancia Ghirga, his rock-for-brains, yet loyal best friend who had a seemingly endless reservoir of hope, and Guido Mista, the laidback and easy going marksman, who never seemed to be dampened by any mood.
They had been the best company anyone could have ever asked for, yet he let them down. He was the worst kind of person ever. He had the chance to help them, but he didn't take it. Because Fugo was a worthless coward. He wasn't upset at his comrades' betrayal of the boss. Nor relieved that they did. His heart was empty, devoid of all feelings. He himself had abandoned them...but why? Wasn't he the one who'd stayed away from betrayal? He was the one who had made the logical decision to not invoke the Boss' wrath, so why did he feel like he'd betrayed them the most out of anyone? And why had he felt as if he had betrayed himself as well?
It had never occurred to him ever that he himself was the foolish one, unable to gather his resolve to move forward with them, even when he saw Narancia swim past him, towards the boat. He refused to admit that what he did was the wrong decision. He made a logical choice, while the others chased after some pipe-dream that was bound to fail. And it would not occur to him for much longer.
He would completely feel the regrets of making that decision though; he felt lonely, just as he had been when he was a child.
It was not the fact that he made the logical choice, but it was the fact that he made the decision not to walk with his friends that he regretted the most.
Fugo listlessly walked through the streets of Venice as he remembered his best memories when he was still with his friends. All he could really do was hope they would come back in one piece.
Throughout his life, he had suffered more than anyone his age should have gone through. This had only added one more painful experience.
Pannacotta Fugo was born into a wealthy Neapolitan family, albeit one that had gained its riches and reputation off lies, as well as legally and morally questionable deals, and risky investments in Africa a few years prior to World War II. It had driven their creditors to the bottom, all while the Fugo family grew in money. The family had all the money they had needed, but they were greedy, and hungered for more than just riches. They desired not only wealth, but prominence to go with it. "We must have a title!" Fugo's grandfather had often repeated to him. In order to achieve that, he had arranged a marriage between his own son, and a bankrupt noble's daughter, resulting with Fugo being the third child of that union. He had been born with an extraordinary intellect, an astounding IQ of 152, showing more academic prowess than any other boy from an early age, or almost anyone for that matter, severely contrasting his elder siblings. They had been born with nothing remarkable about them, for they were only ordinary children.
Fugo alone was the only child who showed promise among the three children his parents had. His grandfather and parents had often doted on their youngest boy, certain that he would bring their family's name to greater heights...while in turn, pressuring him heavily to succeed. All of the pressure, starting from the moment he was born, had resulted with his temper shortening. Fugo had a difficult time restraining himself from lashing out violently, and could barely keep himself in check. He had almost forced a knife into his own father's back while he wasn't looking, and had to pull his arm away from the blade.
He was constantly angered by small things, like seeing a small smudge on an important assignment, or someone being too loud on the street. But he always tried his best to not burst. He had done remarkably well with controlling his anger, and never once hurt anyone, although he would show signs of being on edge.
But his family had never seemed to notice, although it wouldn't have made much of a difference in the end. They only kept pushing and pressuring him more and more to further his intelligence. He was taught everything that was available to be learned, and was regarded as a genius in practically every field. Fugo's education correspondingly accelerated with every subject and topic that he learnt, skipping grade after grade.
He was incredibly talented, and had mastered almost everything put to hand. Art, mathematics, music, science, he excelled in every subject given. But that same talent had meant there were limits only Fugo himself could see, and never confide to anyone else.
As there is with anyone, there were certain limits with what he could have done with his aptitude. But what truly bothered the young Fugo was just how many limits he found himself encountering. Music and composing had peaked with Mozart and Bach, who had revolutionized music. Sculpting and painting had climaxed with artists like Michelangelo and Leonardo Da Vinci, creating pieces like the Mona Lisa, and David. Architecture had been finalized with Scamozzi and Bernini, while mathematics had reached its near end of its development when Carl Friedrich Gauss had entered the picture with Gaussian Curvature and Theorema Egregium.
Fugo often asked himself, "If the best of the best lived and died hundreds of years before, just what is there for me to do?" A boy at such an age, where optimism was what they thrived on, naturally had thought of this as discouraging. But he never dared mention it to his family members. He had once expressed his dismay to his tutors, only to be met with severe reprimanding for allegedly "comparing himself to others like a self absorbed fool."
Because of these limits and the desire to surpass those who had been considered the best, he isolated himself away in his room, furiously studying, trying to better his academic prowess. He had never gotten much interaction with other boys his age, because of this. For all of his childhood, Fugo had never made a single friend, and found himself hated by those who knew him. The people around him had been born upper class, they were of old money, while it was painfully obvious that his family had bought their title. He was never able to make friends because his own family had bought their title through scheming and illegal trade, yet acted so superior to them, simply because their child had been born with a genius level intelligence.
Fugo had realized long ago, the first time he had ever been taken to a social gathering, that his parents had never looked at him like he was their son. They only saw him as leverage to bring in more fame and riches.
In their eyes, Fugo was only a trophy, an object. That was all he was to them. He was never of any importance to them, other than being a bragging right.
But he was able to endure it all, because of his grandmother, Fugo's sole source of solace.
"Don't worry Panna, things may be tough, but the Lord will protect you." She had often repeated to Fugo, as she listened to his problems. She was the only one who had listened to him, and let him relax. But the rest of his family saw his grandmother as an embarrassment.
Fugo's grandmother was a farmer's daughter, and had been married off to his grandfather before he had gained his wealth. She was much more old fashioned than the rest of his own family, and if Italy was not a national Catholic country, then his grandfather surely would have divorced her if it were not a sin against his religion, tossed aside like a dirty rag…
But she alone was the only member of his family who truly loved him with all of his heart, regardless of how smart he was. She saw Fugo for who he really was, just a child.
Fugo actively had avoided his parents, and his brothers had often mistreated him when they were alone out of envy of the attention that he received. But through his grandmother's support, he had been able to endure everything.
Eventually, at the age of 13, he was accepted into the Universita di Bologna. At the time, Fugo had felt for the first time in ages... free for once. He was away from his parents, away from his grandfather, away from his tutors, away from his siblings, and he was most of all, away from the pressure.
His professors were kind to him, and actively encouraged him, without putting much strain on his mental health. They weren't like his parents, who pushed needless amounts of pressure of his success onto his back, and instead encouraged him to do what he could, and that there was time to sharpen your skills later.
But it was all a ruse, a trick for the professors to accumulate more fame for having a genius as their pupil. Sycophants. One day, after a long period of class, his professor had asked to come to his office suddenly. Fugo hadn't done anything wrong that he could remember, so he straightforwardly walked to his office, without any fear.
It was that day, when Fugo was held on his shoulder tightly by his professor. He didn't understand what he had done at first, but it all clicked into place when the professor loosened his tie and grabbed Fugo's thigh. Fugo tried to run, but as an adult, the professor held him back, and pulled him towards him. It was horrifying, seeing a professor that he had looked up to doing something so revolting to him.
In a burst of fear, he ran as fast as he could when he was able to break free from his grasp, and tried to call his family, but they brushed it off, thinking Fugo was only being ridiculous, in an attempt to prank them. Out of any options, Fugo called his grandmother. He told her of what had just happened, but unlike the rest of his family, she was heartbroken after hearing from what happened to Fugo, and reassured him. Right before she hung up, She told Fugo to stand up for himself, and fight back against his professor.
But what she hadn't told Fugo was that her days were numbered. Fugo's grandmother contracted cancer, and it was slowly killing her.
And then, the day had finally come, when she passed away. When word reached Fugo, he called his parents immediately to visit her funeral. His parents had begrudgingly accepted his request, knowing that his grandmother was an incredibly important person to Fugo, but when he reported to his professors that he would be absent on the day of an important assessment for a funeral, one of his professors forbade him from going.
Fugo could not keep his mind off his grandmother's death and his absence from her final goodbye. When he tried to study, all he could think of was how disappointed his grandmother would have been, her most beloved grandson not even attending her funeral after all the time she had spent with him. When he finally took it, he could feel that he was wrong, but he was too distressed to think about it.
Then, the same professor called him over 3 days after the assessment. He was furious, and yelled at Fugo for being incompetent and stupid for getting what should have been easy for the young boy with his IQ and his past grades. Suddenly, he stopped yelling, and said something that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Fugo, I'll forgive you and regrade your assessment if you let me spend a little time with you...You can come for dinner here with me again…" He said as he licked his lips. A bead of sweat slipped down Fugo's temple, and he quickly tried to excuse himself, but he grabbed his shoulder, the exact same place he had placed it before.
"Fugo...I'm sure your grandmother wouldn't have minded if her grandson spent a little extra time studying with me...So how about it?" The professor whispered into his ear. Fugo could feel the wind blowing from the professor's mouth with each word he said."Don't worry, I'll be gentle with you, no need to worry." The professor unbuckled his pants as he spoke into Fugo's ear.
"Stop it. stop it. stop it…" Fugo kept repeating those words to no avail. "It'll be fine now, so just relax! Like I said before, I'll be gentle-"
Finally, all the pent up rage in his body rushed out, like a dam breaking under pressure. "I TOLD YOU TO STOP, DAMMIT!" The professor was cut off abruptly by Fugo when a 9 pound encyclopedia rammed into his skull. He stumbled for a moment, before he crashed into a shelf and fell to the ground.
Fugo picked up the heavy, bloodstained encyclopedia once more and began to strike the professor over and over, blood splattering onto the walls.
I LOOKED UP TO YOU! YOU PIECE OF SHIT! AND DON'T YOU EVER SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MY GRANDMOTHER! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"
Soon after, Fugo was arrested for assault on his professor, and was taken to court. The professor seemed to have bribed the jury out, and he was proven guilty. His parents made sure he would not arrive in prison so that he would not destroy their reputation, but he was disowned for it.
It was then, when Fugo's life began a downward spiral. He was left to the streets to fend for himself, but ironically, he learned to use his intellect to its fullest potential, pickpocketing in the crowds, and weaseling his way out of situations.
One day, he was caught by the owner of a restaurant who saw him leaving without paying the bill.
"You little brat! How dare you try to dine and dash from here?!" The owner yelled at him, his fists clenched on the young boy's jacket collar. "I'm gonna make sure they send you to jail for this!"
"No, I'm afraid that will be impossible." Fugo replied calmly. "Are you familiar with the De Sica vs. Argento Case from 1982? If we are relying on their judicial precedent, what you call dine and dashing from your restaurant will most likely be seen as acting out of necessity. I am a homeless child, after all." The owner grunted first in confusion, and then exasperation.
"Mr. Bucciarati, please sort this brat out!" The owner cried out at a customer sitting at a nearby table.
The customer turned around in his chair and grinned. "Well, that sounds interesting, doesn't it?" He asked. This man, Bucciarati, beckoned Fugo over to his table to talk to him over dinner.
"So, that about sums up what my life has been like up until now. Please do not pity me, I don't think of myself as an unfortunate boy." Fugo said, looking down at his cold soup.
"I see." Bucciarati nodded. "But well, I believe our meeting is fate. Would you like to join my team, Pannacotta Fugo? I want your intellect and knowledge with me."
"Mr. Bucciarati, was it? At this point in my life, joining a gang does not seem like the worst outcome, but I've already made up my mind." Fugo said. "I'm going to live on my own, and not bother anyone."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"I told you before, didn't I?" Fugo said. "When I lose my temper, I do horrifying things to others around me. If I joined your team, who knows if I could endanger you, or even kill you?" Fugo asked.
Bucciarati didn't say a word for a moment. Then he stood up out of his chair.
"Then in that case, let's see if that will really happen. Come with me Fugo. I swear I will bring out the best in you, including that fierce and impulsive rage of yours." He said, with his hand outstretched.
Those words gave Fugo a little hope in those dark times, and moved his heart. After that, Fugo followed Bucciarati, and took one of the capo's, Polpo's test, and gained his stand, Purple Haze.
That seemed so long ago. Now he was alone, with his promise unfulfilled. Not because Bucciarati was incompetent, but because he was.
As he walked, Fugo felt a chill travel down his spine, as the air suddenly grew cold around him, even though it was still sunny, with no clouds in sight.
Then he heard it.
Agonizing shrieks of pain, flesh being stomped underfoot, and sadistic laughter filled his ears. "W-what the hell?!" He began to sweat, and looked at his surroundings. It was as if hundreds of men and women, even children, were being tormented, all silenced after what felt like an eternity.
He saw the figure of a human woman from the corner of his eye, but when he spun around to confront the woman, he saw nothing.
"Shit...a stand user?" Fugo whispered, gritting his teeth, as he glanced around looking for the culprit.
"You're quick on the uptake, aren't you?" Fugo spun around at the voice, and saw the same woman he had just seen gazing at him before.
"I've been ordered to wipe out any other potential traitors by the Boss as his final order. A shame, really. You seem like a gentleman that I'd love to have met under different circumstances. Maybe we could have worked on a mission here and there. You're part of the Bodyguard team, Pannacotta Fugo? How interesting. You hear a lot about the bodyguards in the underbelly of Passione these days, and how they betrayed the boss. It seems you didn't come along though. Huh, must be a coward to not pursue so much power. Trust me, even I've had thoughts about it at times."
"Shut up...You don't know what happened that day. Who even are you?" Fugo muttered under his breath, as a vein began to bulge on his clenched fist.
"Well, I may as well introduce myself, so be grateful that I am letting you know my name. I am Acqui Donnafugata, quite a tiring name, but it would be hard work to change it, so I've kept it for a while. It rolls off the tongue rather nicely though, doesn't it? I'll have to thank Polpo for giving me that name. Not the best man, but he saved my parents." She said cockily. Fugo could tell her family was of dirty money. It took one to know one.
Before Fugo could say anything, she immediately called out her stand.
"Go! London Calling!"
The sky turned dark, as shadows around him took a grotesque and mangled imitation of a human being, if you could even describe it as humanlike.
They turned their heads towards him simultaneously, and their faces contorted into a demonic gaze, with hungry eyes. The eyes belonged to something that would kill you in an instant when you let down your guard and presented yourself to danger.
But something told him that, even if you hadn't let your guard down, they wouldn't hesitate to attack despite being on guard. They suddenly leapt on Fugo, drowning out his screaming. No matter how much he struggled against them, they were unrelenting, not letting the man have a single moment of rest, always attacking.
Fugo had narrowly escaped with his life, after fighting them off his body, and began to run as fast as he could. While there were no visible injuries that he could see, the feeling of pain still wracked his body. The acute sharpness of the agony shivered down his spine with every step he took, but the boy kept running.
As Fugo ran, he heard his footsteps gradually shift from hard stomps on the ground, to the sound of a liquid splattering with each stride he took. Strangely, the watery floor felt solid, almost as if the boy had been walking on solid water. But it did not matter to the boy. Trivial things such as hearing water splashing meant nothing compared to trying to escape monsters that would kill him in a heartbeat.
"I can't summon my stand...Not here…" Fugo said out loud as he kept running in the water.
"Oh? Why not, Pannacotta Fugo? You're 100% free to activate your stand! I'll even invite you to! It would be boring either way, if you would not fight my London Calling!" Acqui said from somewhere in the dark. Fugo gritted his teeth.
Suddenly, Fugo cried out in shock as he looked at his surroundings, as if every gaze tore apart his body, and found its way to his soul. He suddenly tripped on a ledge, as the world around him collapsed, leaving only the black darkness around him, nothing visible at all. He could barely even see his own hand in the darkness, or anything else, for that matter.
Fugo desperately tried to pull himself upright, but fell back to his knees before he could even stand properly on his two feet. He had slipped on something slick, something viscous. It was a different texture from the watery ground, and was more sticky. Out of sheer curiosity, he shakily put a hand down on the floor, and felt it thoroughly, before he realized what it was, and immediately reeled his hand away from the floor. The ground was covered in an inky substance, and had a slippery feel to it, almost like oil. But the stench of the liquid was what had given away its identity.
It was the coppery smell of blood.
The red fluid wafted through the watery floor, lazily drifting on the surface of the liquid. Fugo let out a clear yelp of fear, as he backed away from the puddle. As if on cue, the blood had begun to gradually rise up, and before the boy knew it, the crimson liquid had reached his knees.
But suddenly, he bumped into something. He jumped back, fearing that he had touched some kind of beast, or worse, Acqui's stand. He slowly turned his head, each body movement filled with panic. But when he turned around, he saw what it truly was. What he had bumped into while he was running was something much worse than a beast.
When he had turned around, instead of a beast, he saw his friends.
Every single one of the people he had fought with together now lay on the water-like ground, tinted with red. People he knew like family, comrades who had accepted him, the very same men who stood by his side and trusted his decision were lying on the floor.
But the thing that made his body break down was the fact that they were all floating in the blood. It was then, when he realized, the blood he had trampled all over to get away from the beasts, was theirs. The awful liquid poured from a number of injuries and gashes on their bodies, mixing with the glittering water they laid on and giving it a disgusting red sheen. Their bodies were cut like meat prepared by a butcher. Limbs sliced and torn so thoroughly he could see their pinkish-red muscles that should have been covered by skin. Bones poked out from the more poorly severed limbs, even more blood flowing out. Large pieces of their flesh floated in the blood. Their eyes were gouged out of the sockets and left only empty spaces in their place. A foul smell reached his nostrils, but he wasn't able to properly focus. Nobody would have been able to focus if they were in his situation either.
It took everything he had to not let out the vomit rising in his throat. It took every bit of the little amount of willpower he had left to not fall to his knees again helplessly, as he stared at the corpses of his friends. Something inside of Fugo told him that if he fell down here, he might never get up again. He took a step back as his shakiness grew even worse than before, and the horror twisting and slithering around him only became so much more terrifying, almost like an anaconda was choking him, depriving him of air. The fear rooted within him grew more powerful with each second, spreading and mangling every part of his body in its vicious grasp. He struggled to even form a proper thought, sweat had begun to cascade down his brow like waterfalls. Eyes wide and bulging, his trembling had gotten to the point where he could barely even stand properly.
Suddenly, visions began to flash before his eyes, ones that didn't belong to him. He saw one of his comrades, a tall silver haired man, who had been walking by the beach, as children ran past him, a rare smile on his face for once, before an arm dug its clenched fist straight through his chest, leaving a hole blown in the middle of his torso. Blood erupted from his body, before he stumbled onto a nearby rock, and bled out, the color slowly fading from his eyes.
Another of his comrades, this time, his best friend, a gangly boy with jet black hair, Narancia, had been impaled throughout multiple places on his body on a fence, blood dripping down from the bars, before it flashed again, and showed him, dead on the floor and covered in flowers, an unnaturally peaceful expression on his resting face, as the others walked away from his corpse.
He saw Bucciarati, his leader, destroying some kind of bright stone behind him using his zippers, before a flash of golden clouds obscured him from vision. Bucciarati ascended to heaven, surrounded by angels, guiding him upwards, but not before he gave everyone his regards before he passed on.
A single gasp traveled and echoed through the darkness, before it fell silent again. There was no sobbing, only silence after a single gasp, as Fugo grasped his head. Fugo slammed his fist into the bloody ground, as another echo followed the first one, before the boy collapsed to his knees into the blood, gripping his head even harder, as he held back tears.
"I-Is this what happened because I was a coward? Is...Is this because of me?" He could almost feel Acqui's eyes boring into his back, and without a doubt, she had a smile on her face watching this.
He finally gave in, as a wail of pure misery echoed throughout the darkness. Despair was the only emotion present in the dark void the boy was left behind in. It was too much to handle. Fugo didn't even entertain the thought of trying to stay calm, as he slammed his fist into the bloody water for the 3rd time, and let out another sorrow-filled scream, before he heard growling.
He didn't even bother to turn around to face the beasts that had pursued him before. Perhaps this was his punishment, and this black void was his personal hell, condemned to eternally float near his comrade's bodies, and watch them die over and over, all while being mauled apart by black beasts. A fearsome ability, Acqui had.
Suddenly a dim light shone through the darkness. Although it had barely brightened the place up at all, to Fugo, it was more than enough light, after not being able to see anything. The monsters had backed away from the light, as if it were startled by the sudden ray.
"What?" Acqui said. "Impossible...Only I'm able to enter the void on command…"
Upon closer inspection, there was the silhouette of a man, but it wasn't like the suspicious man he had seen right before the world had plunged into darkness. Instead, this man felt warm. He exuded an aura of calmness, and although he was barely visible, it had comforted him enough, knowing that there was another one with him, in the dark.
Fugo took a step closer, the puddle of blood rippling as he took one slow stride after another. He finally saw the man's full body, although his face had been shadowed by his hair. He had a peculiar shirt, with metal tags hanging from the top of it, along with openings at the shoulders, and his trousers were a deep shade of pink, with a web motif rippling across them.
But perhaps the most peculiar feature about the man was his head. He had purple hair with a prominent bang on his right, but his hair was trivial, when Fugo saw the sides of his head. There was a crown of thorns, that stretched across the sides, to the back of his head. A moderately sized rock was placed near his feet, with the symbol for misfortune engraved into it.
Fugo recognized the man immediately, and pointed at him with an alarmed expression painted over his face.
"It's you! You're the sculptor who tried to kill Bucciarati, aren't you?! I saw you in Abbachio's replay! You're Scolippi, aren't you?!"
"Calm down. You're one of Bucciarati's friends, aren't you? Tell me, what happened to him? I need to know. I need to know...If he was able to break free from his fate as a sleeping slave..."
Fugo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out from his lips. He didn't know what to say. Could he trust the visions of Bucciarati? Fugo was at a loss for words.
"Ah...So Bucciarati has finally passed on, hasn't he?"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up...SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED! BUCCIARATI IS STILL ALIVE!...BUCCIARATI IS...still..." Fugo clenched his fist. He could feel a lump in his throat forming as his mouth closed. His fist began to loosen up, before he put his pointed hand down.
"I'm sorry for your loss. Fate is a cruel part of life, and we cannot change the shape of what is meant to happen. But those men...Bucciarati and Mista...They were admirable in that sense. Despite knowing the fact that fate was unchangeable, those two still rebelled against it. But I didn't follow you here just to ask if Bucciarati had died."
Fugo looked at Scolippi anxiously, his gaze alternating from Scolippi's abnormally calm expression, to the stone next to his feet. The stone, despite looking incredibly unremarkable, aside from the engraving on the center, was anything but.
It was a stand, one that according to Mista, would not listen to its master, Scolippi's orders. From what the gunslinger had explained to him, it was an automatic stand that would shift into a statue of a person, and their cause of death, following them. If the person who was fated to die touched the stone, they would die peacefully, instead of dying painfully later on. Mista's report had details that Scolippi only followed Bucciarati, so he could give him a peaceful death. But when he said that he had followed Fugo, he felt a shock traveling down his spine.
Had Scolippi followed Fugo, because he was fated to die soon? Fugo's finger anxiously twitched as his brain went into overdrive, thinking of all the possibilities that were presented by the appearance of the sculptor.
"Pannacotta Fugo, the true reason for why I had followed you was because of my stand. I'm sure that man already explained to you how it works, so I will not go into the details of it. Normally, my stand, Rolling Stones, would foretell the future of someone who is fated to die. But when Rolling Stones suddenly shifted into your body, I noticed something odd."
There was a slight pause, as if Scolippi wanted to make sure Fugo was still paying attention to him.
"When I saw your body engraved in Rolling Stones, there was no sign of you dying. Instead, it was you, in a walking position. It was strange, because all of Rolling Stones statues before this one had the person fated to die crouching, with their cause of death clearly shown. But there was nothing related to death at all. This all had intrigued me, since all Rolling Stones has ever done was give people a more peaceful end. But this may be different. Pannacotta Fugo, I have come here to ask for you to touch my stand, Rolling Stones, in order to see what will happen." Scolippi said calmly.
"And if I say no?" Fugo inquired warily, a droplet of sweat traveling slowly down his cheek. Fugo wasn't entirely sure on whether he would trust Scolippi. What if he was lying, and he was going to make him meet his end?
"It does not matter whether you agree to touch it or not. Rolling Stones shows the preordained fate of what will happen to an individual, and that fate is absolute. If you choose to not touch it, something will happen either way. But if you touch it now, the fate that was destined for you will come to you now.. I have only come here to sate my curiosity." Scolippi said calmly. Despite how demanding his words were, his tone was anything but. Fugo could not help but believe him solely through his voice.
"So, Pannacotta Fugo, what is your answer to this curious man's request?"
Fugo sighed. His former rigid posture collapsed as he took on a more relaxed stance.
"I guess I don't really have anything to lose anymore, do I?" Fugo muttered under his breath. "I'll do it." He said exasperatedly.
Fugo slowly walked over to the grey stone, and shakily put his hand out, and placed his palm onto the head of the sculpture. Almost immediately after, he began to hear an intense ringing in his ears. He staggered back as if he had been injured, and fell to one knee, as pain began to course through his body. His vision blurred and focused again and again.
"Damn..! The fuck did you do to me?!" Fugo yelled.
Fugo tried to remove his hand from the stone, yet it would not budge a single bit.
However, in spite of his pain, Fugo could barely, with his blurry eyes, make out a blue glow slowly covering Rolling Stones. His own body seemed to have a purple sheen to it, as Purple Haze's arm began to materialize, then flicker out, and then materialize again over and over.
He could feel the pulse of his heart beating in his chest from everywhere in his body, right to his toes.
"Argh...Dammit!" Fugo roared as another wave of agony came by with each passing heartbeat.
Suddenly, the pain stopped entirely. Everything stopped. Curious, he slowly pulled his hand away. No pain. He opened and closed his fist. Still no pain.
But then, he saw his right hand's fingertips begin to glow a green shade. Upon closer inspection, he saw his fingers evaporating into verdant strings. Strangely he didn't feel anything at all when his fingers were disappearing right in front of him. If anything, he felt too calm.
"Scolippi, what's happening!? Fugo asked frantically, while the evaporation had spread to his forearms.
"This has never happened, ever." Scolippi muttered quietly. "Pannacotta Fugo, this is a revelation. Rolling Stones…Something tells me you are not dying now. Yet you meet your fate here…"
"I don't want to hear any of your fate bullshit, tell me with your fucking brain and not whatever part of yourself that believes this!
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?! Can't you just answer me properly, before this shit pulls me into hell or whatever!?" Fugo yelled. It had spread to his shoulders, and it wouldn't be long until his entire body just vanished.
Suddenly, Scolippi's eyes widened.
"That's it! The reason Rolling Stones seeked you out was because you would meet the end of your fate here. But only here specifically. You're being transported to a different dimension most likely, because your fate ends here, but continues elsewhere."
Fugo gritted his teeth, as the green dissolved him near the neck.
"Dammit…I'm not ready to leave yet!" Fugo roared, trying to resist the evaporation.
Scolippi was silent for a moment. Then he placed his palm on Fugo's head.
"The reaper won't come when you're ready for him, Pannacotta Fugo." Scolippi declared before all of Fugo's vision went black.
Somewhere in Japan, 1911, 90 years into the past
Under the branches of a Wisteria tree, a young man's bold, dark purple eyes, rivaling the color of the flowers above him, shot open, and gazed upon the blue sky above him, accompanied by the white clouds and the bright sun. A series of three blonde bangs fell down the front of his face, while the rest hung down near the nape of his neck. A green two piece suit adorned in holes clung onto his torso, as it showed off his slim, but well built form. A pair of pants of the same shade of green as his suit, covered in holes as well, hugged his long legs. A dark purple colored tie hung loosely off his neck, and swayed in the wind ever so slightly. The tie was lined in a strawberry pattern that went from top to bottom, and wore vibrant purple dress shoes, which looked to be expensive and well cared for. A strawberry pattern, identical to the ones on his tie, decorated the tongue and vamp of his shoes, and wore earrings of the same fruit. As the man got up, he released a small groan of pain.
Pannacotta Fugo slowly rose from the ground shakily, barely standing right side up.
He took a quick look at his surroundings warily. He clearly wasn't in Venice anymore by the looks of it. It was much more of a rural area, and there were no canals present.
"What the hell happened...What was the sculptor going on about?" Fugo muttered quietly. Cold sweat trickled down his brow and traveled down his cheeks like raindrops dripping down a window pane. A cold breeze blew through the air, enveloping his body in a chill, relaxing his sore limbs as he let out a sigh, and momentarily felt at ease.
After resting his arms and legs, Fugo attempted to slowly stand up to his full stature, only to stumble and fall down back to the dirt. It was as if he had just been born, and didn't know how to use his body. He attempted to get up again, and leaned against the tree trunk, taking deep breaths as he took a shaky step forward, one by one. Every movement he made with his body ached and throbbed with pain. It felt almost unnatural to move his limbs. Everything was alien to his body, and his movements were unstable. He began to pat himself down for any lingering injuries from before.
After checking his body for any injuries, he shakily began to stretch his body. After a few minutes of warming up his muscles, the sore began to dissipate slowly, and the feeling of his arms and legs returned to him. He rolled his neck a little before focusing his eyes on the horizon.
"Now then...where am I?" Fugo murmured, looking back and forth.
like i said in the beginning, im hella proud to finally be posting this, and i hope yall will stay tuned for the few chapters, which might or might not be coming real soon if i decide not to procrastinate. thanks for reading!
-40percentbluelung, signing out.