Apparition (Vento Aureo x Reader)

Every Living Thing Dies Alone

Giorno Giovanna, originally known as Haruno Shiobana, has had a rough couple of days. Maybe it was because of all this stress that he, even now, cannot rest. Every other stand user that he has fought, none of them have gone down just as easily as the man on the runway. He would love for someone to slap some common sense into him, that it was just his own brain still doped up on adrenaline that his thoughts were about as nonsensical as a toddler after consuming a slice of chocolate cake and two juice boxes, or (Y/N) when she gets really sleepy and starts mumbling really weird shit. But deep down he knew that something was very, very wrong.

"Hey hey hey hey," Mista waved his car magazine, doing his best to calm the younger gangstar who was currently on his knees in front of a cupboard, demanding he be ready to shoot. "You're acting weird you know, you're the one who said there wasn't so much as a cockroach on this plane."

"That's true... I don't feel any life energy, even now. But still..." His hand inched toward the latch of the cabinet, he knew there was something inside, even if he couldn't sense anything there. Mista was correct, there was no conceivable way a remote controlled stand had been unleashed upon them so far and so fast, but just what else could it be? "I could very well just be freaking out, but I know I heard something. I have a bad feeling, so I'm going to open this. Please have your gun ready."

Reluctantly, Mista raised his gun, aiming it toward the contents of the cooler revealed through a thin fog of mist. To his surprise however, there were... chicken bones, or something, on the bottom rack of the freezer. "Giorno, what the hell kind of joke is this? When did you put that in there? You're trying to scare me with chicken scraps? What the hell's so funny about that?" He raised his gun, finger lifting away from the trigger. He leaned closer to investigate the odd, flesh colored chunks. "That's not chicken. It's still wet. Th-the blood's still fresh. Aren't these the fingers of the fatty I blasted back at the airport? Giorno, am I wrong?"

"Calm down, Mista." Despite trying to comfort his friend, he too sounded rather panicked. On another glance, their stomachs churned. Wasn't there another now?

"You two. Is something wrong?" Bruno stood, breezing past the girls to find the source of the commotion. Baited by her curiosity, (Y/N) had managed to wrench herself from the seat with Trish, inching her way down the cabin to the cooler. Just as before, the fingers lay lifeless in the freezer. "Giorno, you confirmed that there weren't any signs of life on his plane. But Mista is saying that it looked like those fingers increased from three to four. Is there any life energy in those fingers?"

With a life infused punch, plants and flora had begun to stem across the freezer, growing even over the fingers. These were just bones, they had no life; if they were a stand or even just alive, plant life wouldn't have grown on them. Deciding it was much more trouble than it was worth, Bruno opted to throw the whole thing out. "Huh?! But opening the door is super dangerous! Apparently, the difference in air pressure would send us flying like some rat in a toilet!"

"Then you all should hang onto something." Unfazed, his stand fizzled next to him, his half-assed warning only giving them a few seconds to scramble to latch onto anything in reach. As they dove to grab onto the seats, the freeze was whisked away without so much as a whisper. The deed has been done, and (Y/N) relaxed, hooking an arm around Giorno, her seat buddy. "Guess you didn't need to hang on after all."

She didn't really feel much better, even if it was nice they weren't going to go skydiving but unprepared and I'm not even sure this plane has parachutes. "Ugh I hate planes... You ever been on one, Giogio? Was it just me and my poor nonexistent ass that never went on one...?"

"(Y/N), You have an ass, what are you talking about?" Mista informed. Gee, thanks, ass god. Compared to him, everyone in the world had the flattest asses.

"No like literally, I don't exist- You can look me up but I don't have any records at all." She explained, letting go of Giorno for a moment stand up as best she could. This fact seemed to worry the others, if they could erase records so easily, then how would they track the boss. "Don't get your panties in a twist, If he went into hiding when he became a mafia boss, then he has to have a birth certificate, I was born in secret and stayed in secret, I was under the radar before it was cool."

"Fine. Anything else out of the ordinary?" Bruno sighed, willing to eject any and all sus objects. "Check every inch of the plane."

Still, even with the imposter freezer gone, he just couldn't shake off that horrid, unexplainable feeling that leeched off him. In the corner of his eye, small text caught his attention. They just wanted a pizza margarita, hm? "I want some pizza too. I want to go back to Naples and enjoy a simple Margherita."

Then even more text, where was it all coming from? The state of this plane was as bad as a train station bathroom. What rich guy treated their private jet like this? Running his hand along the walls, one more word caught his eye, Sardinia. What the hell was this? Like ants, more appeared, ink seeping into the walls and staining his own palm, the ink was fresh, but how did it get there? All that he knew was the enemy stand's name, drawn in a larger font than all the rest, as if boasting its own name. Notorious B.I.G.

"Who wrote this?! When?!" His fear only grew at the sight of his own name, and then the pen that protruded from his sleeve. With the slightest peek, he had understood it. He was the one who wrote those words, but this second hand, those fingers, they were not his, they belonged to a man long dead already. It clung to the earth like a vengeful spirit, the amorphous sludge feasting on his flesh and nutrients to grow larger and larger. The only way to stop the growth was to cut it off, but even his stand had been affected by the mysterious stand, His right arm almost torn in two, the frayed, mangled edges sticking side to side. His stand.... Was being consumed!