Chapter Text
Even though he had held it before, years ago, back when he had been just a young man, the arrow felt weird in his hand. It sent a shiver through his arm, right down his spine and an odd, pulsating sensation seized his hard, as if it was skipping every other beat.
This was it, Diavolo realized as he plunged the arrow into King Crimson's chest, a surge of power running through his body as three pairs of eyes watched him helplessly. The despair in his damned daughter's face made him pull his lips into a smirk.
Finally he would be free. He had seen, felt, experienced the havoc Chariot Requiem had brought firsthand but it had brought him to this point.
And of this was what it took to take back, no, gain control of his life fully, he would gladly take it.
"N-No...!"
Trish's voice was drowned out by the low, booming hum emanating from King Crimson as it took the arrow in, a crack running up its chest, its neck and finally, it split Epitaph with a screech, like a record being scratched.
With its face being neatly split in two, the stands eternally angry expression disappeared, and Diavolo allowed relief to take over.
He chuckled, low at first, exhausted. Then it grew into a full blown laugh.
As Epitaph' halves grew, covering the sides of King Crimson's face almost like two snow-white theater masks, like a mockery of the ancient Roman Janus, its original face peeking out from underneath, its scowl having changed into something more solemn. A bright, pink glow shone out of the masks' eyes and mouth, from underneath, too.
At this point he could see the traitors give up. Even the newbie, the golden haired boy who seemed wise beyond his years suddenly looked his age.
His victory had sunk in.
"Have you realized that you can't stop me? That I, Diavolo, will be the one to take the win?", he jeered, his stand's pink aura visible around him.
"I will forever be the Emperor!"
The fishnet pattern on King Crimson's stomach ripped, as if cut by scissors as the white armor broke off and reformed into something resembling spikes on its upper thighs, forming a somewhat lacy pattern underneath the intact pattern on its chest, just a small cutout remaining on its breastbone. There, the arrow laid, imbedded in that crimson skin, in plain sight like a lion showing its fangs.
Giorno Giovanna, Guido Mista and Trish Una, his one mistake, huddled together, their faces mirroring the left mask, full of sadness, fear and despair as King Crimson stood taller than before, its shoes, knee-pads and pattern forming into high-heeled boots, ending just over the knee, connected to the spikes via more of the fishnets.
Its aura threatened to overtake the entire area, the ground cracking, debris floating inches above the broken concrete.
The stand took a step forward, back straight, the victorious king approaching the enemy he had slain. Diavolo's knees almost gave out underneath him in relief. It truly was over. He had won, fully and undeniably.
Requiem would end this once and for all, rid the world of those who opposed him and of the mistake he had not sooner realized he had committed.
Still, it was almost too sudden when the pavement cracked again, ominous pink light seeping through all the cracks, reflecting in those traitor's eyes as the deafening hum and a noise eerily similar to VHS tapes getting rewound composed a cacophony too intense to escape. A high-pitched screech sounded from it, beginning quietly and getting louder and louder and louder still, and just like it began it was over all again.
A "Click!" resounded as the bright light consumed all, the metaphorical curtains were drawn.
And so His reign was absolute.