PSEUMINO, VENTO AUREO.

✦.⁺ hamartia.

═ ☆. A LINE OF CRYSTAL ICE SPREAD from the tear in the infirmary to a point in the sea. It sparkled in the dim light, incongruous against the dark black of the ocean. A slight wind blew back Giorno's hair as he frowned intensely down at Narancia, Gold Experience moving to stitch together his flesh and muscle as he lay prone on a cot.

He had spent months working on this ability of his Stand. It made sense that if Gold Experience could create plants and animals, it could heal injuries. On some level, cells were also living things, weren't they? Practicing on small cuts, Giorno found his Stand was able to create new skin, practically indistinguishable from the skin his body would have made itself. Perhaps the only drawback was that the pain remained, even if the injury was healed.

Creating entire parts of limbs was taxing. It took immense focus and energy on Giorno's part. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shoulder, Gold Experience running its hands down Narancia's now-smooth arm. Giorno felt wrung-out and drained, but there was still work to be done. He wasn't naive enough to think that Trish, Abbacchio, Bruno and you wouldn't sustain injuries dealing with the Stand mass.

He had learned its name from Prosciutto. Notorious B.I.G. It was a fitting name that he might have chuckled about any other time.

Risotto had been easy enough to heal. Rest was probably the only thing he needed to get back on his feet. Narancia and Mista had been harder, but at least their injuries were only surface-level, not deep enough to harm muscle. Even Caprese, as ghastly as he looked, had only needed healing on his arms and legs. Giorno had nearly forgotten about him until Prosciutto hauled him in from the hallway. He was in one of the guest rooms now, where some freshmen would probably find him and assume he'd gotten into a fight somewhere.

Giorno was particularly worried about Fugo, the welts and bubbles on his skin. He had waited for as long as he could before going in, for fear of Purple Haze's lingering fog. The two of them had spoken about the possibility of creating some sort of antidote for his Stand's virus. They'd sent a snake that Giorno had made from Gold Experience into the Purple Haze's mist in the hope of using the venom somehow. Hopefully Vanilla Ice would be able to find the vial in his room and bring it quickly.

"Anything?" he called to Melone by the window.

Melone shook his head. "Ghiaccio still isn't not back yet. They must have gone farther than we thought."

You would have had to, in order for the waves to be fast enough to draw away the Stand. Giorno forced himself to move to pick up the bandages and replace the scattered medical paraphernalia. Worrying about you wouldn't do any good.

In a flash of surprising pragmatism, Formaggio had rounded up the other notable members of Giorno's vigilante group after he'd seen the mass. In curt, tense words, Giorno had laid everything out for them, Signor D's attempted murder-spree and their half-baked plan to get rid of the Signor's Stand. He had ordered Ghiaccio and Illuso to use their Stands to find the boat on the ocean. Formaggio, Prosciutto and Melone stayed behind to get everyone onto a cot and to try to help Giorno the best they could. Bloody bandages and gauze littered the floor. Giorno kept waiting for the nurse to return to the infirmary, but he never did.

"You should take a break," said Prosciutto. "You've been working non-stop. You'll collapse at this rate."

Giorno shrugged off his tuxedo jacket. "I'll be fine. If I leave them for much longer, someone might see. We need to keep this under wraps."

"No one will come up here," Formaggio said. "We told everyone you and the elites wanted privacy. They think you're playing strip poker."

Giorno smiled bitterly. If only.