The huge explosion created a wave of air, and the burning heat blew Johnson Joffrey away.
Then he fell heavily to the ground again. Reversed Hierophant wanted to help Johnson up, but he had lost too much blood. He turned his head to look at the exploding Prison and couldn't help but marvel at his luck. The process of dealing with Polpo was too fast; he had already calculated it in his mind when he fired the first shot.
The first shot was fired with the belief, 'I can't be that unlucky.' Johnson simultaneously observed Polpo and Black Sabbath's positions, designing a plan to ricochet the bullet off the tempered glass onto the ceiling. Then, when Black Sabbath attacked Reversed Hierophant from behind, he would pull the bullet from the ceiling to strike Black Sabbath.
However, the plan was initially smooth, but the bullet was too small. Even a shot to the heart didn't defeat Black Sabbath. After all, Black Sabbath was a long-range attack Stand, so even if it was injured, it couldn't relay feedback to Polpo.
The plan failed.
To make matters worse, the Prison Guards rushed in. Just as he was about to die, Johnson used a self-inflicted injury to grasp an arrow, connecting the drawn line to the line on Black Sabbath's chest. He hadn't expected the arrow's energy to be so immense that it directly swallowed Black Sabbath, giving him a chance to attack Polpo.
Regardless, he successfully killed Polpo, but the subsequent problems were very troublesome. The original plan was an assassination, but now the commotion was a bit too large. Johnson estimated that everyone would know it was his doing.
But not killing him wouldn't work; Polpo clearly wanted to kill him.
In this situation, it could only be considered self-defense, right? So, members of the Assassination Team, don't blame him.
Johnson dragged his body, trying to see if Reversed Hierophant could connect his wounds, but it was clearly impossible. Reversed Hierophant could only connect two objects, and his wounds were all his own, just one object, so the two could not be connected.
Johnson had no choice; he had a gunshot wound in his thigh that was still bleeding profusely, making it difficult to Stand. Yet, he would soon face enemy pursuit.
In this situation, he still couldn't help but feel joy. At least he got the arrow!
Although it was an ordinary arrow, it meant that Johnson Joffrey could create his own Stand Users.
He looked at the arrow in his Stand's hand. Its hilt was broken, leaving only the arrowhead. He wrapped it in cloth and put it in his pocket.
Johnson looked back again, the entire Prison was engulfed in flames.
The Prison Guards finally discovered the explosion in Polpo's exclusive Prison and began to extinguish the fire. Johnson then ordered Reversed Hierophant to find an underground pipeline, open the manhole cover, and jump down, cleaning up the bloodstains along the way.
Burning golden waves of fire continuously licked the air, as if igniting the wind over Naples Harbor into gold.
"What? You said Polpo is dead?"
Pannacotta Fugo's eyes widened, and he suddenly rose from his stool, knocking over a glass of water on the table. The water soaked his math practice book.
"Fugo! What are you doing?!" Narancia came in with a pen from the restaurant owner and immediately saw Fugo messing with his practice book.
"Hmm." Bucciarati stood straight, frowning, his tone somewhat puzzled. His thumb and index finger were on his chin as he pondered slightly, but he still nodded firmly: "He was sent to the intensive care unit."
"He is expected to die."
"Polpo?" Narancia asked with a questioning tone, then clapped his hands sharply, "That fat guy! Why is he in the hospital?"
"Who did it?" Abbacchio had just joined not long ago. He pursed his lips, his expression unstable. Polpo was practically the highest-ranking executive in southern Italy; everyone who joined the gang had to undergo his assessment. So, Abbacchio was deeply impressed by his Stand, Black Sabbath, which moved in the shadows. He couldn't imagine how someone with such powerful strength and pressure, capable of even bestowing Stands, could die.
"It is said to be a newcomer from the Assassination Team, who made a move during the gang initiation test." Bucciarati sighed thoughtfully: "No one expected it; it happened too suddenly."
"Huh? That fat bastard finally got injured and ended up in the hospital?" Narancia's eyes widened in confusion, completely misunderstanding the conversation.
Milan.
"Ha? You said Polpo from Naples was killed?" The man wiping a gun in his hand couldn't help but stop. After a slight pause for thought, he picked up a glass of Riesling white wine and asked, "Who did it?"
He was the head of the gang organization 'Passion' in Milan.
"Mr. Bellini, it was Risotto's nephew. It is said that Risotto wanted his nephew to join the gang and brought him to Polpo for a test, but he ended up killing Polpo."
"Risotto truly dared to do it," Beruni said, taking a sip of his drink, then putting down the goblet and throwing the gun in his hand to the ground. The pistol immediately transformed into a humanoid figure, jumping out.
It was a Stand.
"I thought he was a man who preferred stability." Beruni stood up. His hillside villa overlooked a vast forest, and he gazed at the shimmering sea of trees: "If I were the Boss, I would establish a separate assassination squad instead of having them subordinate to the executives."
"Of course, I'm not the Boss." Beruni was a typical Northern Italian, with a smile characteristic of Northern European elegance.
·
"Have you heard?" a low-level gang member asked. "Mr. Polpo was severely injured and hospitalized."
"Mr. Polpo?"
"Mr. Risotto did it."
"Huh? You're joking, aren't you? Isn't Mr. Risotto about to become an executive?"
"Yeah, we're all wondering! Who's going to take over Polpo's affairs now?"
"Never mind that for now, I heard someone say Polpo might already be dead." A gang member came out from inside, dragging a long shovel that scraped the ground with a harsh sound. As he spoke, he wiped away tears from the corner of his eye.
"Luca, are you sad? Boss Polpo seemed to treat you very well."
"No, I'm just excited," Luca said, dragging the shovel. "I heard Polpo left behind several hundred million in assets!"
"Ha!" Everyone showed surprised and greedy expressions: "Really?!"
·
"The news has arrived, Mr. Pericolo." A middle-aged Italian in a gang suit took a piece of paper and a photo from a fax machine and quickly ran to a short, white-haired man, handing it to him. "This is the right person."
He was one of Pericolo's executives.
He frowned as he took the photo. The photo showed a blond man entering a Prison. His blond hair was a bit distracting, but his face was still clearly visible.
— Johnson Joffrey.
"This doesn't seem like Risotto's work at all. If Risotto wanted to kill Polpo, he wouldn't cause such a big commotion," Pericolo analyzed with a frown. "If he went to this extent, it would be an individual declaring war on the organization."
Pericolo was still incredulous. He then opened his computer and contacted the Boss through a special method.
As he logged into a non-existent webpage that wasn't recorded and couldn't be accessed, he muttered to himself, "Risotto, did you really go this far for Gerard and Sobel?"
·
A dark wind blew into the room through the sealed window. In the cheap hotel, a man completely wrapped in black cloth stared intently at the photos on his laptop, frowning. The laptop's eerie green screen couldn't illuminate his face; instead, it made the entire room feel strange.
His gaze lingered on one photo: a blond man entering a Prison. He frowned slightly, seemingly pondering who this person was, with a few rose-red strands of hair peeking out from under his black hood.
He sent several photos to all the executives. In less than three minutes, all of Italy's Passion members knew the full details of the assassination squad.
"Risotto, you've done well these past few years, but you're too greedy."
"No one can Stand in Diavolo's way!"
Then, the Master said, wouldn't it be wonderful to feminize Rong Rong? Rong Rong's true form is female; those short-sighted, wicked editors actually made him male.
Me: ??? Holy crap, that's actually quite exciting! A beautiful, gentle, and lovely fifteen-year-old Giorno.
Although this idea got me incredibly hyped, I decided against it.