Best Laid Plans

1888: Because One Is Never Enough

Erina laughed. How could she not? Here she was—a vampire, with superhuman strength and the ability to suck Dio’s blood right out of his body—and still he stood against her, fists raised to fight, face stained with tears, expression hard. It was almost admirable. 

But it was mostly hilarious. 

She—she who was practically a god—was being stared down by a blond nineteen-year-old dressed in a ridiculous feathered cloak and top hat.

Dio’s face darkened at her mirth, and he rushed towards her—fists swinging. Erina dodged his blows easily, barely moving from her place as Dio frantically tried to hit her. His skill was undeniable—seven years of boxing and rugby had honed his fighting skills—but it seemed to her as if every move were in slow motion. To her new vampiric speed, dodging Dio’s blows was an easy task.

Erina smiled as she dodged another fist to the face and Dio’s side was left wide open. Instinctively, she jabbed at him with her fingertips, hearing the satisfying crunch of ribs breaking as her fingers connected.

Dio fell to the floor, landing beside Lord Joestars bed, wincing and groaning, his breathing ragged. He scrambled backwards as Erina stepped towards him. 

She was thirsty.

So thirsty.

She’d managed to ignore it well so far, but it was getting to her now. She knew she should leave Dio alive, but the scent of his warm blood coursing through his veins was too good to resist. Her powers, she knew they would grow further if she could just get some blood. She felt her fingernails grow, curving and pointing into talons. She licked her tongue against the two pointed fangs in her mouth as she got closer and closer to Dio.

Her plan no longer mattered, just her thirst.

She needed blood.

✩ - - - - - -✩ - - - - - -✩ - - - - - -✩ - - - - - -✩ - - - - - -✩

Dio frantically scrambled backwards, trying to put distance between himself and Erina. His hat lay discarded on the floor and his cloak was lying in a similar state. He couldn’t even spare a thought for how the feathers would be ruined as he tried to get away from Erina, who was advancing slowly, her fingernails sharpened to talons, fangs visible as she bared her teeth at him. 

Fangs.

Blood.

The Mask.

Shit.

Vampires. Why the hell did the mask make vampires? Dio was far out of his depth. How was he supposed to fight an undead being? Erina was hundreds of times faster and stronger than him, in his current state—ribs broken, blood dripping from his mouth—it would be a miracle if he lasted long enough to reach the headboard of the bed.

His hand brushed against something hard…stone? He grasped it, feeling the strange carvings along its face.

In his current state…

Dio didn’t think. He knew if he let himself overthink this, he’d never avenge his father. He’d never be able to stop Erina. He wiped some blood from his mouth, placing the mask on his face. Then—staring dead ahead at Erina, who was still advancing on him—smeared the blood on the strange stone surface.

Instantly, the spikes shot into his brain. The pain was so great Dio’s vision went white. He opened his mouth to scream, but the pain was already gone. He blinked his eyes, adjusting to the now bright room. Erina was standing frozen, and Dio could practically see her calculations running through her head, trying to figure out what step to take next.