Fire!
Never mind where the barrel was pointing—just fire!
At the critical moment when his consciousness was gradually fading, only one utterly absurd voice remained in Mista's mind.
And in the end, he chose to trust that voice.
With his arm pinned down, he had no way to raise his gun, much less turn it around and aim it at the silver-haired man behind him. Mista could only struggle to shift his gun-holding arm, extending the barrel a short distance out from beneath his body.
Bang!
Amid the sharp report, the bullet carrying Mista's last hope shot forth with a howl.
At that moment, Mista's gun barrel was pressed tightly against the ground, perfectly parallel to it.
Under normal circumstances, after leaving the barrel, the bullet would skim along the ground for a short distance before immediately dropping into the hard surface due to ballistic descent. It would ultimately achieve nothing but punch a tiny dent into the ground and turn into a ricocheting bullet like a headless fly.
But the current situation had absolutely nothing to do with the word "normal."
A normal bullet was like an unbridled wild horse that had been slapped hard on the rump—it ran wherever it happened to go after setting off.
But clinging to the bullet Mista had fired were three tiny bullet "knights."
They were Mista's Stand, Sex Pistols.
To save Mista in his moment of peril, the captain, No. 1, had personally led his companions No. 2 and No. 3 as they rode that bullet together.
Like brave prairie warriors, they stubbornly reined in that fierce wild stallion, forcing the bullet to change direction according to their will.
Just like that, the bullet that had originally been flying parallel to the ground suddenly changed its straight trajectory as sharply as the nuclear missile Iron Man caught during the Battle of New York in The Avengers, then shot straight up into the sky.
And that was only the beginning.
Like a roller coaster racing at full speed through an amusement park, the bullet soaring into the air first traced a beautiful arc resembling an ellipse, made a full 270-degree turn, then immediately plunged downward along a nearly vertical trajectory.
That made the bullet's target—
Abbacchio's crown.
"What was that?!"
Abbacchio noticed Mista firing and promptly heard the unnatural sound of something cutting through the air above him.
His hairs stood on end as he sensed the danger. He hurriedly released Mista from beneath him and rolled desperately to the side.
Fortunately, after such a forced trajectory adjustment, the bullet had slowed considerably.
With his agile body, Abbacchio dodged sideways in time. Though he could not completely evade the sudden strike, he perfectly protected his vital points and only let the bullet graze his arm.
His beloved black coat was mercilessly torn open by the bullet, and crimson blood immediately spurted out.
"His gun barrel was clearly pointing in a completely different direction, yet the bullet somehow ended up hitting me!"
Abbacchio's expression turned extremely ugly, not because of the pain from his wound, but because he had realized Mista's Stand ability.
"This guy's Stand ability..."
"So it controls the trajectory of bullets?!"
A moment's thought was enough to reveal how terrifying that ability was.
Stand Users were mostly flesh-and-blood bodies that could not withstand bullets. Even when fighting ordinary gunmen, they had to find ways to avoid the line of fire before making plans.
Now that he had suddenly encountered a "master marksman" whose self-aiming, head-locking bullets could bend and hit with absolute certainty, it was only natural for him to have a headache.
And Abbacchio's situation was even worse.
His Stand, Moody Blues, leaned toward support and reconnaissance. Its combat power was not even greater than his own physical strength, making it completely unsuitable for a direct fight.
"Damn it!"
Abbacchio could not help cursing internally.
"I put so much force into that sneak attack just now, enough to knock out a bull!"
"How am I supposed to deal with a tough-skinned marksman who won't even go down when hit?"
Charging straight at him was definitely not an option.
Although they were only a meter apart, unarmed Abbacchio would need at least half a second to strike, while Mista, who did not even need to aim, only had to casually pull the trigger.
Running away directly would be even more suicidal.
No matter how strong or fast he was, he could not possibly outrun bullets.
"What do I do..."
Abbacchio's mind raced.
Mista had only just freed himself from the crushing pressure. He kept a wary eye on Abbacchio while greedily gulping down fresh air to steady himself.
He did not have time to fire and pursue immediately, giving Abbacchio a chance to catch his breath.
In that instant, he thought of a method that could protect himself and perhaps even turn the battle around.
"Die!"
Abbacchio deliberately let out a roar, drawing all of Mista's attention.
But what he flung toward Mista's face amid that shout was not his fist, but—
"Blood?"
Watching the handful of blood flying straight toward his eyes, Mista instinctively felt disgusted.
He hurriedly raised a hand to shield his eyes, but he still could not stop the blood from getting everywhere.
"Using blood to block my vision? What a filthy trick!"
"But you got one thing wrong."
Mista vigorously wiped his blood-smeared eyes and raised his other gun-holding arm with a shout.
"Even if I can't see, my bullets can still hit you!"
After regaining consciousness and fully awakening his Stand ability, Mista was like someone who had been infused with memories by some mysterious power. In just a few breaths, he had roughly grasped his Stand ability and learned the name of the Stand born from his subconscious.
"Get him! Cripple his limbs—"
"Sex Pistols!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Mista pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession.
No. 5 and No. 6 each rode a bullet, speeding out at Mista's command.
Because Mista did not want to kill people casually, unlike their autonomous actions during the earlier emergency, they did not aim for Abbacchio's more easily hit and more deadly head. Instead, they targeted his limbs.
By then, Abbacchio had already run several meters away.
After using that trick of blinding his opponent with blood, he had never intended to pursue. Taking advantage of the brief confusion caused by the dirty move, he desperately fled deeper into the ruins.
"You came at me so hard out of nowhere."
"And now you want to run away?"
Having survived the crisis and awakened his Stand, Mista suddenly shed his lazy, idle air, gaining a sharpness that seemed ready to cut through anything.
Letting a tiger return to the mountains was no good. Instinctively, he wanted to keep the silver-haired man who had shown such intense hostility toward him here.
"It's useless. You can't possibly outrun my bullets!"
With that, he immediately chased after him.
At the same time, under the control of No. 5 and No. 6, the two bullets whistled through the air, carving two beautiful spiraling arcs through midair.
Hearing the gunshots, Abbacchio dodged with all his might. In the end, he only barely shifted enough with his physical skill to let the two bullets that should have lodged in his limbs narrowly graze past the outer layers of his flesh.
Even so, bullet grazes were no picnic.
He had been shot three times in total, and the blood pouring out had stained half his clothes red.
Although none of those three gunshots had injured his bones or tendons, the searing pain of torn flesh still severely affected Abbacchio's movements.
He endured the agony and struggled to flee deeper into the ruins, but his speed inevitably dropped by a great deal.
"Stop!"
Mista pursued with his gun raised and roared threateningly, "I'll fire again!"
Another shot would make it the fourth shot. Mista felt that was unlucky, so he did not really want to fire.
But Abbacchio showed no intention of stopping and continued running forward.
Mista chased him for a few more steps, then hardened his resolve and raised his gun, preparing to pull the trigger again.
But at that moment, his opponent stopped.
Mista stopped as well, cautiously aiming his gun at Abbacchio.
"What, have you given up resisting?"
"No."
Abbacchio clutched his wounded arm and slowly turned around.
"Open your eyes and look carefully—"
"You brat, you're the one who has been driven into a corner now!"