Are You Prepared to Make a Move Against Me?

Choo-choo~

The train chugged along, billowing thick white smoke. Dawn sat by the window, taking in the scenery, but his mind was racing for a plan.

There were two enemies this time: Prosciutto, with his stand Guts, and Radish Pesci, with his stand Beach Boys.

Among them, Pesci the radish wouldn't grow until Prosciutto died in battle. Though his ability was troublesome, at this stage he had no resolve and posed little threat to Dawn.

So Dawn just needed to sit back and watch, waiting for Prosciutto to clash with Bucciarati and eventually get crushed by the train.

Then Dawn could step forward, state his position, and deal with Radish Pesci on the side, smoothly worming his way into Bucciarati's team.

Bucciarati's team would certainly be wary of Dawn, but they wouldn't make a move against him.

In terms of deterrence, Dawn's ability was unmatched. In their eyes, provoking Dawn was an extremely unwise move.

It could even lead to heavy casualties for the whole team. For now, Bucciarati and Giorno hadn't openly broken ties with the Emperor of Darkness, so they wouldn't risk it.

To earn the Insect Arrow's recognition, Dawn was going all out. He just hoped his next snap would yield a powerful skill—at least something with real combat potential.

Before he knew it, the bustling crowd quieted down. Soon, the thud of heavy objects hitting the floor rang out one after another.

"Hey, buddy, let me have some of your water. I'm suddenly... so thirsty."

Dawn turned to look. A once-vigorous young man had horrifyingly turned into a bald old man with thinning hair. As he spoke, loose teeth fell out, and his eyes rolled back as he passed out completely.

"It's started, huh? The stand attack from Guts. Sacrificing an entire trainload of people to achieve his goal. This guy Prosciutto..."

Dawn pulled his hood lower and tilted his head, carefully scanning the aisle.

Tap tap tap~

Footsteps echoed. Mista of Sex Pistols walked through the aisle with a grim expression, his gaze sweeping the area, searching for the stand user launching the attack.

Clearly, Bucciarati's team had realized this was a stand attack and sent Mista to investigate with some ice.

But he found nothing. Mista had no choice but to head for the air conditioner switch, hoping to neutralize Guts' attack.

Just as Mista's finger was about to touch the switch, Radish Pesci, lying in ambush, narrowed his eyes and curled his lips into a cold smirk. "Biting."

Beach Boys' stand ability activated. A pink fishing line's hook burrowed into Mista's palm, digging deeper bit by bit.

"What?!"

Mista was shocked. He tried to break free, but when that failed, he quickly raised his revolver and fired at the line.

Bang!

The result was unexpected. The attack rebounded, blooming a bloody flower on Mista's body.

Pesci muttered to himself. He'd already identified the prey by weight and Mista's struggling force—it was Mista of Sex Pistols.

"Idiot. Beach Boys' fishing line can't be destroyed. Take this!"

Pesci yanked the line hard. Mista was dragged like a fish out of water. Seeing the danger—the hook about to pierce his heart—Mista's eyes flashed with ferocity, and he shot himself in the chest.

Sex Pistols entered Mista's body with the bullet, but they couldn't budge the hook. They could only watch helplessly as it crept toward his heart.

Mista changed tactics. He fired three shots at the door ahead. The bullets, guided by Sex Pistols, hit a cup full of ice water, scattering ice cubes everywhere.

In his panic, Pesci actually deactivated his stand and scrambled to scoop up the ice. Without it, he'd fall victim to his boss's stand Guts and turn into a decrepit old man.

After gathering the ice, Pesci didn't think about continuing the fight with Mista. Instead, he turned to run, but an old man in a yellow shirt collapsed and blocked his way.

Sweating profusely, Pesci stared at the approaching Mista. Facing the dark muzzle of the gun, he let out cowardly whimpers.

"I'll give you three seconds. Tell me where your partner is, or I'll shoot through your eye."

Mista kept the pressure on Pesci, starting his countdown. "One..."

"I don't know... How would I know? I don't know!"

Pesci knelt on the ground, babbling incoherently. Mista's eyes turned colder.

"Two... Then die."

Just as Mista was about to pull the trigger, a hoarse voice came from the old man on the floor.

"Please, save me."

Mista paid him no mind and moved to shoot, but the old man got up and grabbed his hand.

Stand: Guts activated!

Mista instantly began to age, turning into a decrepit old man. The floating Sex Pistols withered like autumn leaves and collapsed, unable to move.

Back to normal, Prosciutto first elbowed Pesci, then kicked him. After scolding his useless underling, he picked up the revolver from the floor and aimed at Mista's head.

Bang! Bang! Bang!!!

Watching the three bullet holes in Mista's head, Prosciutto dropped the gun and led Pesci toward the driver's cabin.

Not long after they left, another set of footsteps approached. It was Dawn, who'd been hiding and watching the show.

Dawn took off his sunglasses and looked down at Mista lying on the floor. "No sleeping here."

Mista didn't react. At least, he looked like he'd already croaked.

Dawn chuckled, pulling a half-melted bottle of ice water from his bag and pouring it over Mista.

As the ice water drenched him, the aged Mista transformed back into a strapping young man.

Sensing Dawn's goodwill, the hidden Sex Pistols No. 5 pushed aside the three bullets lodged in Mista's head and crawled out.

No. 5, with a "5" marked on his forehead, clutched an ice cube, his face streaked with tears as he kept calling out to Mista.

It turned out he had blocked those three bullets just now; otherwise, Mista would have been dead for sure, long gone cold.

"I'm fine... And you... what's your name?"

Mista, face-down on the ground, couldn't see Dawn, but since the aging had been reversed, he wasn't half-dead like in the original story. Instead, he asked.

"Dawn. I'm here to help you."

Dawn smiled, helped Mista up, tore off a passerby's clothes, and bandaged him up simply.

At this point, he didn't care about bacterial infections or anything—if he didn't act, the guy would croak.

After settling Mista, Dawn headed alone to the driver's cabin.

Through the slightly ajar door, he saw Bucciarati fighting Prosciutto, while Pesci had been knocked out cold by Bucciarati's kick.

Dawn's plan was simple: with Prosciutto tied up by Bucciarati, he just needed to activate [Stand: Beyond Imagination · Emperor Engine], walk in, intimidate both of them, and pour a bottle of ice water over the main crew hiding in the turtle's shell to turn the tide.

Thinking this, as Bucciarati was about to lose ground, Dawn gently pushed the door open. In the moment no one noticed him, he quietly activated Emperor Engine.

Thump! Thump-thump!! Thump-thump-thump!!!

Thunderous roars exploded, the terrifying sound of pumping blood like the seventh movement of hell, playing in the ears of Bucciarati and Prosciutto. Even the unconscious Pesci jolted awake.

Bucciarati and Prosciutto were horrified, their breathing slowing for an instant. At that moment, their thoughts aligned perfectly.

"There's still a monster like this on their side?! It feels like making even a slightly displeasing sound would get me killed! How is that possible?!"

"Eek!!!"

Pesci gritted his teeth, letting out a strange shriek, and quickly clamped both hands over his mouth. When he saw Dawn's gaze turn to him, his heart pounded uncontrollably.

Dawn thought to himself, Let me show you something else.

With a flick of his mind, he activated [Stand: Beyond Imagination · Demon Lord Descends].

Pale horns sprouted from his forehead, crimson flames swirled around his body, and he became terrifying and sinister.

Dawn grinned at Pesci, baring sharp teeth, and the sight scared him so badly he foamed at the mouth and passed out cold.

"Pesci, wake up!"

Prosciutto whispered urgently, afraid to disturb Dawn, but Pesci didn't stir, his eyes rolled back and twitching.

"Damn, is this a non-discriminate Stand attack?"

Bucciarati's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't unreasonable for him to think that—Dawn's entrance made it hard to tell friend from foe.

Making up his mind, Bucciarati quickly summoned Sticky Fingers, punched a gash in the wall, and dragged Prosciutto out of the train with him, ready to take them both down together.