Your Words Are Honey [Mista x Giorno] 🔫🐞

Smoke

For someone with eyes made to look closely at quick things, Mista's brain could not register how time passed over them when they were attacked. There was no reaction, only broken air. The taste of panic soaked into his bones. They got ambushed. Should've known better.

They weren't ready.

Silvano Torgetti,The Culprit; the man they chased after for days got to them first. They never even considered the possibility of him having a partner until the first droplets of blood appeared on the ground. The situation asked for quick and effective solutions. They both knew, as they stared at each other's eyes, that there was a chance of defeat, death. But neither of them would allow that to happen. Mista reacted first, of course, but that didn't mean they had the upper hand. With the current development, it was most likely this was a loss.

And loss came to them quick.

How much time had it passed? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? They were tired and even though they felt it in silence, they were also afraid. Giorno raised his voice in a plea Mista understood immediately. The Gunslinger's eyes rose to the occasion. Giorno's voice echoed around the brunette's skin. It lingered, but it was enough for him to keep looking, to keep out for the next series of attacks. He did just that, impulsed by the passion and love that only Giorno got out of him, he shot at an angle. The perfect one.

Blood spurted at a speed that could only be compared to the force of a wild river and the Partner died on the spot.

One down.

The rest happened fast and way more painful than it should have been. The Culprit activated his stand. Mista was stranded, hot and mad, about to faint suspended in a thick black pitch fog that ended up surrounding them. Struck down laid Giorno. He could still see him, a gouging wound on his neck. He was alive, barely so and Mista was not going to allow that ground to become Giorno's grave. It was non deserving of his presence. If Giorno Gionvanna, The Creator, had to die then he would do it in his arms and he wasn't willing to lend him the comfort of slipping away. (Giorno didn't want to die anytime soon. He tried to breathe but his nose was filled with gravel and heat. Guido. Oh Guido, my love. I don't want to leave you alone .) The Gunslinger couldn't let his guard down and now that The Culprit was waiting for something to happen, a window of opportunity opened up for them. He would have to kill him right now.

The Creator mustered something, a small whisper that got to Mista's heart. Those simple but effective words paved the way into a powerful state of mind, one that was made to get the job done.

The Gunslinger's dark eyes polished the surface of darkness with the scrutiny of a collector who wants to understand his possessions. The gun was loaded. He just needed luck. Struck down laid the love of his life. Golden hair shining through a darkness deep and heavy. Mista closed his eyes, listened. There was nothing around, not even wind nor light. Even then, with the odds closing down on him and the presence of death looming over them, he asked Fortune for a blessing. Then, he shot two bullets.

A lazy silence surrounded him but then he felt it on his hands, meat was struck, bones shattered and the sound of blood coming out of his body made Mista sure that The Culprit was shot.

Two down.

Fortune decided that they would win with a dumb strike of luck. The enemy was defeated and his stand as well as his body, started dissipating into nothing.

The Gunslinger breathed through his mouth. In and out. His lungs filled with fire and what felt like syringes penetrating his organs. Careful as not to disturb Giorno too much, he kneeled down to touch his limp body. Agonizing into the pain, he made sure they were safe and asked for help with the emergency cell phone Giorno always had with him. Thank god he did.