Chapter 13: The Arrow and DIO
Outside the hotel, the supernatural fog that had shrouded the town began to dissipate, revealing the truth. There was no town. There had never been a town. It was a desolate, barren wasteland, littered with bones. The "residents" who had just been trying to kill him were now revealed for what they truly were: piles of skeletons and desiccated mummies, crumbling to dust in the night air.
From the very beginning, from the moment he had stepped into the "town," he had been inside the domain of Enya's Stand. The entire place had been a grand illusion, another facet of her terrifying ability.
Jonas looked down at the cloak in his hand and understood what had happened. Enya had used one final illusion to cover her escape, leaving the cloth behind as a decoy. He commanded Maw to try and pick up her trail again, but the distance was too great. The "taste" of her shadow was already too faint to follow. He had to hand it to her; for an old woman, she had incredible stamina. She had actually gotten away.
Jonas let out a sigh of frustration. He had come here seeking information on Diavolo, and not only had he failed, but he had also nearly lost his own life in the process.
Still, perhaps the old crone had left something useful behind in her lair.
As Jonas turned to head back into the hotel, his gaze fell upon Maw. His Stand was noticeably larger than before. If it was the size of a frog before the fight, it was now the size of a large rat. More than that, Jonas could feel a subtle shift in its power, a new potential unlocked within it.
He dismissed the Stand, then summoned the particles again. He could immediately feel that the quantity of [Invisible Black Matter] at his command had increased. With a thought, he split the particles, and two identical Maws materialized before him.
Just as I thought! It's grown stronger!
He experimented further. Not only could he split it into two, but he could also merge them back into a single, larger Maw, increasing its destructive power and speed. A grin touched Jonas's lips. He would no longer have to worry about his Stand being too weak for the trials ahead.
Back in the hotel, Jonas's first priority was his arm. He found some bandages and crudely dressed the stump. He theorized that his Stand's true power was to resurrect him to a perfect, whole state upon death, but that was still only a theory. And besides, he had no intention of making a habit of dying. The experience was agonizing, and becoming reliant on resurrection as a crutch was a fool's gambit.
He lit a fresh candle and began to search the hotel. In the very room where they had fought, he found something glinting on the floor near the pillar. It was one of the Arrowheads, its shaft broken. It lacked the scarab beetle design of the one that had awakened his power. Enya must have dropped it in her hasty escape.
He secured the Arrow and continued his search, finding a considerable amount of cash and even several gold bars stashed away. A wave of relief washed over him. After days of being broke, his wallet was full again. The old Jonas might have scoffed at such a material concern, but his recent hardships had taught him the undeniable importance of money. He could almost understand why Diavolo had been so desperate to rob him.
Continuing his exploration, he entered what appeared to be Enya's bedroom. There, on a nightstand, was a framed photograph of a man. He had sallow, dark skin, a gaunt face, and thinning, dry hair. His eyes were cloudy and vacant, the look of a long-time addict. But what truly caught Jonas's attention were his hands. Just like Enya, the man in the photograph had two right hands.
"So," Jonas murmured to himself. "This must be the 'dear, sweet son' the old hag was talking about."
A plan began to form in his mind, cold and ruthless. If Enya doted on her son so much, then he was her weakness. If Jonas could find the son, he could use him as leverage. He could force her to tell him everything she knew about Diavolo. A wicked smile spread across his face. It was a despicable plan, and he was almost proud of himself for thinking of it. But for Jonas, when it came to achieving his goals, certain sacrifices were always acceptable.
As the first rays of dawn pierced the horizon, the last of the unnatural fog burned away. Jonas, his severed arm tucked under his good one, left the phantom hotel with his spoils and returned to the bazaar. He found a local clinic, cut the line, and slapped his dismembered limb on the doctor's desk.
"Reattach this," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. The doctor, seeing the grisly sight, nearly fainted and tried to call the police, but after some "gentle" persuasion from Jonas, the surgery proceeded without a hitch.
When Jonas left the clinic, his left arm was reattached and wrapped in a thick layer of bandages. He looked down at the useless limb with a sigh. He had a feeling the doctor's work wasn't exactly top-tier. He summoned Maw, having it try to pick up Enya's trail one last time, but it was no use. She was long gone.
He decided to give up the direct pursuit of Enya. His new target was France.
That evening, he returned to the tavern. Aya was horrified to see him in such a state, but her subsequent, tender care nearly made him forget the horrors he had endured. He stayed for another week, resting and recovering. Slowly, feeling returned to his left hand. With his French visa approved, it was time to leave. After a farewell dinner with Aya and her father, and under Aya's lingering, sorrowful gaze, Jonas boarded a plane to France.
Meanwhile, in a lavish, shadowed mansion somewhere in Egypt, Enya the Hag knelt before a beautiful, androgynous man of magnificent bearing. Her entire body was wrapped in bandages, and cold sweat dripped from her brow despite the cool air. She was in agony. The wounds inflicted by Maw tormented her every waking moment. Painkillers, morphine—nothing could dull the ache. It was an attack on her very soul, a wound that no medicine could heal. A burning, all-consuming hatred for Jonas filled her, a desire to see him torn to shreds to end her suffering.
The man seated before her finally spoke, his voice smooth as velvet, yet cold as the grave. "Enya. You look absolutely pathetic."
"Lord DIO!" she cried, prostrating herself on the floor, her voice thick with terror. "It is all my fault! I have allowed your grand ambition to be hindered!"
DIO sat comfortably in a large, ornate chair, his face illuminated by the dim candlelight. He did not look at her. His golden eyes remained fixed on the pages of the book he was reading.