Expression

Chapter Twenty-four

The disappearance had occurred in broad daylight. A magician gone in the middle of their performance; people at first thought it was part of the show—some especially flashy trick—until five, ten, fifteen, thirty minutes, then an hour, had passed without him returning. He was the only one people had been watching, but another disappearance had happened too. Only an abandoned canvas and set of oil paints were left to tell of it.

Jotaro remembered this magician. The description perfectly matched the one he'd met earlier. So, too, was the style of the half-finished painting familiar. Just like so much he'd seen Kakyoin create. While that wasn't proof, the fact that a stand user was involved and that the Speedwagon Foundation had been unable to contact Kakyoin did not look good.

The news had been reporting on it as an oddity, a problem with crews occasionally showing up in the area when Jotaro and the old man wanted to be left alone so that they could be left alone. The crowds of curious gawkers staring at the scene didn't help either. It certainly didn't help in investigating things.

Kakyoin didn't notice at first that everyone except the two of them had vanished. He'd been focused solely on Marco, in that state of focus which art was so adept at bringing out in him. Really, it wasn't until he caught Marco's change in expression that he realized that something was wrong.

Marco, of course, had been the one to notice first—he was focused on the perception of others, watching to make sure they were watching him. This had been a rare, blissful moment where Kakyoin wasn't worried about it at all, no undue attention to whatever the subtle nuances of someone else's look might mean, something he loved so much to become lost in when he was able to do so.

It almost reminded him of the fight against Death 13. This world, surely not quite real—as he looked around further, he couldn't see beyond this small area of the park, not even any of the city's towering skyscrapers in view. No, this was something else, some creation of a stand. That damned Marco, evil after all. He, Kakyoin, never more than a toy to play with.

Ready to kill, he tried to call out Hierophant to no avail. More similar to Death 13 than I'd even realized. It doesn't matter. He'd kill this man whether or not he had his stand.

"You fucking bastard!" he yelled, charging at him, pissed off at that innocently unassuming face. The arrogance to think he could pretend like he'd done nothing. Eighteen years of anger flowed through him, rage driving his fists into a Marco's body. The face he pummeled kept changing, shifting from that of everyone who'd mocked him, DIO's, and even his own. Marco's face was invisible to him, and it didn't matter, really. Was this really anything different?

"Stop!" a pleading cry. Manipulation.

"Why are you-?" cut off by a blow to the jaw knocking Marco to the ground.

Marco scrambled backwards, pushing Kakyoin away but doing nothing more than that. His breathing ragged, he tried to use his stand to get in the air but could only flutter about a foot or so off of the ground. His eyes were wide, his hands exploring the blood dripping from his mouth.

"Aren't you going to attack?" Kakyoin asked, staring. Was I wrong...? Surely he would have tried to outright kill me by now.

"Attack... you? What's going on?"

"You didn't do this?"

"I, um, don't think so...?"

"With that stand. Why's it here while mine isn't?" Marco's face was blank, and Kakyoin could see that he had no idea what he was talking about. "That," he said, gesturing and the yellow creature with iridescent wings clinging to Marco's back.