Editing Skills

"Na... Narancia?!"

Polpo exclaimed in surprise.

The driver and bodyguard in the front seat reacted instantly.

They instinctively wanted to point their guns at Narancia, who was clinging to the outside of the car window, but no matter how fast these ordinary people were, they couldn't outrun Narancia's Aerosmith.

The seemingly harmless "toy plane" simply turned its nose slightly and, just before the two men could draw their guns, fired a blinding burst of fire at their heads.

Those powerful micro-bullets easily shattered the car windows, blasting a row of dark, bloody holes in the two men's heads.

The shards of glass and the spray of blood mist splattered onto Polpo's fat face.

Before Polpo's sluggish and bloated body could react, Narancia manipulated his Stand to point the gun firmly at him.

Looking at the Aerosmith who was practically pointing a gun at his chubby face, Polpo immediately broke out in a thin layer of sweat on his fleshy forehead.

He glanced at Narancia leaning against Bucciarati on the surveillance screen, then at the Narancia in front of him, who was pointing a gun at him with a Stand:

"How is that possible? You were right there!"

At this moment, time seemed to stand still.

Narancia stared intently at Polpo, explaining in an icy tone:

"It's just an empty shell."

"That's a dummy that Giorno cloned with my blood. It has no soul at all, and it doesn't even have a complete human structure. It's just an outer shell that looks like me."

"But my real body had already escaped by hiding in the sewer through a zipper opened on the ground by the Steel Chain Fingers."

"Cloned? Dummy?"

Polpo was completely bewildered. "You can do that?"

Unfortunately, Giorno himself had only recently unlocked this "creation" ability, so of course he couldn't grasp this crucial information.

However absurd the truth may be, Polpo now has to face the cold, hard reality.

But like all villains who die with their eyes wide open, he desperately tried to figure out what had just happened:

"No, that's not right!"

"I had already considered everything beforehand. At this distance, even if you did escape the surveillance area, you shouldn't have been able to find me!"

Polpo was well aware that Narancia's Aerosmith missile had a range of only 50 meters, and its detection range for sensing carbon dioxide concentration was no more than 100 meters.

He had clearly maintained a safe distance of a full kilometer beforehand, so why was Narancia able to find this place so accurately and instantly?

"Mr. Polpo."

"You're really stupid."

For once, Narancia revealed a mocking smile that exuded intellectual superiority in front of others:

"Has spending so much time in jail caused your brain to deteriorate?"

"Look at the car you're sitting in. Such a massive Hummer with such a huge engine is extremely environmentally unfriendly."

"I can smell the huge amount of carbon dioxide this car emits when it's on the road!"

Polpo's expression froze instantly.

He hadn't left the house for many years and had even forgotten how special his car was.

The surrounding neighborhoods were deserted due to the previous "biological attack," and there were hardly any other cars passing by on the streets.

The exhaust fumes from his massive Hummer were incredibly powerful; the carbon dioxide lingered on the road like icy fog on a winter morning.

"So... that's how it is."

Polpo's chubby face was covered in beads of sweat.

At this very moment, his Black Sabbath is still a kilometer away, confronting Bucciarati and others.

There was no time to summon his Stand back to protect him; he could only helplessly face Aerosmith, who had a Stand by his side, like a lamb to the slaughter.

But Polpo was, after all, a mafia boss who had weathered countless storms.

Although caught off guard by these successive changes, he quickly recovered from the instinctive panic that comes with human nature:

"Narancia, your performance is indeed unexpected."

"But don't forget."

He adjusted his breathing slightly, and his voice gradually became calm, indifferent, and subtly threatening.

Judging solely from his tone, an outsider might assume that Polpo is currently in a dominant position.

"Those old guys are still in my hands!"

"Haha. Just to be on the safe side, I already told my men about it."

"If they don't receive my call instructions within ten minutes, they'll just send those useless old guys straight to heaven."

"In other words," Polpo said provocatively, moving his enormous head closer to the muzzle of Aerosmith's gun, "If you kill me now, those old guys will die with you!"

"You?!"

Narancia's body trembled.

He seemed completely unprepared for Polpo's insidious and shameless behavior, and was so angry that he trembled.

"What, still want to kill me?"

Polpo seized the initiative and then made timely concessions:

"Narancia, make your choice!"

"Should I be killed to vent my anger, or should I be released to save those old bastards?"

"I"

Narancia clenched his Riot Games tightly, hesitated for a long time, and then asked with difficulty:

"Polpo, do you mean that if I release you, you'll keep your promise and release those people too?"

"That's right."

Polpo took out his phone and said very seriously:

"As long as you let me leave here, I'll call and release the people right away."

His tone was slightly urgent, as if urging the flustered Narancia to make a decision quickly.

Narancia's decision was:

"Mr. Polpo, you may now begin your journey."

"Ha?"

Polpo was slightly taken aback.

The next instant, a dazzling burst of fire erupted before his eyes.

A hail of bullets came hurtling towards us like a whirlwind.

Polpo's massive, mountain-like body trembled violently before collapsing helplessly into the pool of blood.

Why?

"Don't you guys care about those old guys' lives?"

"Polpo said with his eyes wide open in death."

However, he wouldn't live to see the answer revealed.

Narancia glanced at Polpo casually, then opened the car door as if he were nothing and picked up the phone from his body.

Then, he dialed Bucciarati's mobile phone number.

The phone was a disposable phone that Bucciarati had hidden in the escape car beforehand, so there was no need to worry about it being located or eavesdropped on for the time being.

Upon learning of Polpo's death, Bucciarati and the others immediately left the bridgehead and rushed to this location.

"Narancia!"

Bucciarati didn't even bother to look at Polpo's body; the first thing he asked upon seeing him was:

"Did you get Polpo's phone?"

"Got it." Narancia waved the blood-stained phone. "The call logs are still on it. We can call back to the men in charge of the kidnapping."

"Great, what about the 'materials'?"

"The materials have been collected, and there should be enough for our needs."

"That's good."

Bucciarati breathed a slight sigh of relief, then turned his expectant gaze to Abbacchio.

Abbacchio didn't hesitate and immediately stepped forward, replaying Polpo's dying words in Moody Blues:

"."

"Should I be killed to vent my anger, or should I be released to save those old bastards?"

"That's right."

"As long as you let me leave here, I'll call and release the people right away."

After some preparation.

Abbacchio took Polpo's phone, dialed a number, and then put the phone to Moody Blues' lips.

Ordinary people cannot see Stands because Stands are actually aggregates of spiritual energy and cannot reflect light like physical objects.

However, when the stand-in "speaks," it actually causes the surrounding air to vibrate with some kind of force, so the phone can completely capture the sound emitted when the Moody Blues is replayed.

The call was connected very quickly:

"Boss Polpo, what are your instructions?"

The Moody Blues instantly adjusted the "playback progress," extracting two words from Polpo's statement, "I'll call and release them right away."

Release them.

"Huh?" The subordinates asked with slight doubt, "Boss, are we just going to release them like this?"

The Moody Blues once again pulls the progress bar forward.

It's like a Bilibili content creator who's good at making parody videos, painstakingly extracting a few words from what Polpo said and piecing them together into a fluent and complete sentence:

"That's right."

"Let go of those old guys."

"Yes!"

The number is from Polpo, and the voice is from Polpo too.

Although "Mr. Polpo's" tone was a bit strange, his subordinates on the other end of the phone ultimately dared not question the orders of this underworld boss:

"We'll release them now."

The call ended.

The Moody Blues stopped being replayed, and the innocent citizens on the other end of the phone were released.

Only then did Bucciarati have the mind to turn his attention to Polpo.

"Those innocent elderly people shouldn't have been dragged into this."

Looking at his deceased former boss, Bucciarati showed not a trace of regret:

"Mr. Polpo."

"What you're doing now is going too far."