The night in New York City was a living, breathing thing.
The streets pulsed with the muted thrum of distant traffic, the glow of neon signs painting the sidewalks in ghostly shades of red, blue, and green. The cool night air carried the lingering scent of rain on asphalt, and a faint breeze whispered through the alleys.
John Joestar moved like a shadow through the backstreets, the hood of his dark jacket drawn low over his eyes. Every sense was sharpened, tuned for trouble. Since returning to the city, he'd taken it upon himself to patrol at night, hunting the worst that lurked beneath the glittering facade of the concrete jungle.
John's hand subconsciously brushed the Steel Ball hanging from his belt — the strange, unknown metal that Smokey had given him before he left. Every time he trained with it, he noticed things. It absorbed kinetic energy, growing heavier with every spin, only to release it explosively on impact. It pulverized anything it touched.John didn't know what it was made of. He only knew it felt... alive.
Tonight felt different.
The air tasted... wrong. Thick. Heavy with a tension he couldn't name. His instincts prickled, telling him that something was about to happen.
Then he saw her.
A young woman, mid-twenties maybe, hurried down the sidewalk, clutching her purse tightly. Her eyes darted nervously around. She was alone — a bad idea this late at night.
John's pace quickened, but before he could call out, a figure stepped from the shadows.
Tall. Fast. Blurred.
Before she could even scream, the figure grabbed her, a hand snapping over her mouth, and dragged her into the darkness of an alley.
John's heart slammed into his ribs. He sprinted after them, but by the time he turned the corner, they were gone — only a faint scuff mark on the concrete remained.
He crouched, breathing slowly, letting his mind work. His Stand, Weather Report, stirred at his fingertips, a soft current of wind whispering around him.
There — a faint disturbance. A trail of disturbed dust leading deeper into the alleys.
He followed.
But something was wrong.
The man moved inhumanly fast. Faster than any normal person could. Yet… there was a strange gentleness in the way he carried the unconscious woman. He didn't let her head bump against anything, even as he sprinted.
It wasn't random.
It was deliberate.
-<<>o<>>-
The pursuit led John through the maze of the city, into a richer part of the suburbs where abandoned mansions stood like skeletons of a forgotten age.
It was nearly dawn when they reached it.
The mansion loomed ahead, a massive structure of rotting wood and crumbling stone. The iron gate hung open, creaking slightly in the breeze. Weeds clawed up the once-grand walls, and shattered windows gaped like broken teeth.
The figure disappeared inside with the woman.
John crouched behind a half-collapsed wall, his chest rising and falling quietly. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to rush in, to save her.
But years of training under Joseph — the relentless sparring, the lectures, the grueling mornings of Spin and Hamon — held him back.
He needed to be smart.
He needed to wait.
His Stand whispered around him, the air thickening slightly as he extended his senses. No immediate threats nearby. No signs of reinforcements.
Still, he kept his breathing slow and deep, maintaining his Hamon.
Minutes dragged into an hour.
Finally, the man emerged from the mansion... alone.
John narrowed his eyes. Where is she? he thought. What did he do?
The man moved back toward the city, sticking to the shadows, avoiding the approaching dawn like it was poison.
John knew what he had to do.
He slipped silently into pursuit, every step a ghost on the pavement.
They reached a narrow alley squeezed between two old apartment blocks. The sun had just begun to crest the horizon, spilling weak golden light over the rooftops.
John stepped out of the shadows, blocking the man's path.
For the first time, he got a good look at him.
The man's face was wrong. His eyes burned red, veins bulging and pulsing at his temples. His mouth foamed with a thick, sickly white froth, and his skin was as pale and cracked as a dried riverbed.
The man hissed, baring jagged, yellowed teeth.
John clenched his fists. "Where's the girl?" he demanded, his voice low and even.
No answer.
Only a growl — deep, rumbling, not human.
John tensed, ready.
The man moved first.
A blur of movement — one second he was standing, the next he was a streak of death flying at John with absurd speed.
Too fast!
John barely managed to dodge, rolling to the side as the man's clawed hands slashed through the air where his neck had been a heartbeat before.
John skidded to a halt, panting, heart hammering.
He recognized this.
Joseph's stories came crashing back — tales of blood-sucking monsters that could tear a man in half. Vampires.
This wasn't just a thug.
This was something worse.
John's breath slowed, falling into the Hamon rhythm. His blood sang, energy gathering at his fists, crackling through his veins.
"Sunlight Yellow Overdrive!" he shouted, launching forward.
His punch, empowered by the ripple of life energy, struck the vampire's right side.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then — sizzle — the vampire's flesh burned and disintegrated, crumbling into ash where John had struck.
The creature screeched, stumbling back, clutching the smoking ruin of its arm.
It turned and ran, moving with desperate, jerky speed back toward the mansion.
John cursed and gave chase.
But the rising sun was against the vampire now.
The alleyway ahead bathed in golden sunlight, cutting off its escape.
The vampire skidded to a stop, whirling around in rage and terror, its back to the approaching daylight.
John reached for his belt, fingers closing around the cool metal of his Steel Ball.
He felt it hum in his palm — alive with Spin and Hamon.
Without hesitation, he unleashed it.
The Steel Ball whirred through the air, a perfect spiral of controlled energy, striking the vampire dead between the eyes.
There was a wet, sickening crunch, and it's head exploded into pieces of rotten flesh and bone.
For a moment, the vampire stood there, frozen, almost as if nothing had happened.
Then, like a crumbling statue, it disintegrated into dust and blew away on the morning breeze.
John lowered his arm, panting heavily.
The Steel Ball returned to his hand, warm and thrumming.
For a long moment, he stood there, staring at the empty space where the vampire had been.
But he didn't care about the monster.
His eyes were drawn back — toward the mansion.
-<<>o<>>-
The mansion loomed like a rotting corpse under the rising sun.
John felt it in his bones.
A chill deeper than the night itself.
His memories stirred — flashes from another life.
A face.Golden hair.Eyes like burning pits of hell.
DIO.
The monster who had taken everything from the Joestars once before.The monster who might not have died after all.The monster who might be back.
John clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms.
He stepped forward, shadows clinging to his heels, his Stand stirring at his side.
He knew, in his heart, that tonight was just the beginning.
That mansion held secrets.
And somewhere in the darkness... Dio was waiting.
John's voice was barely a whisper, but it carried through the morning stillness like a gunshot.
"Dio, I'm coming for you."