The Bizarre Cheer For Sweet Revenge (PAUSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE)

Chpt.1 Every Hour, On The Hour, They Drew Blood.

In the year 1868, December 6th, a carage had fallen. It took the life of the wife of George, but it spared the baby and George himself. An old, scraggly man trudged over to the wreckage, looking for things to pawn for his benifit. Upon the rubble, there was a mask. It wasn't any mask, however. And that is exactly what the old man was looking for.

"You...Came to s-save me..."

George's voice croaked, catching the theif-to-be off guard. "Eh?" The old man scowled. "You there...-Cough-...What is your name...?" George looked up at the man, eyes glassy and distant. The old man stood still for a moment, his hands ringing invisable cloths. He then smirked, deciding to play along. "Dario Brando, good sir." He said with a bitter undertone.

"T-Thank you, Dario...Could you check if my wife and child are okay...?" Begged George, struggling to get up on his knees. Dario did so. The wife was covered in splinters and metal scraps, with vacant eyes and deathly pale skin. She died on impact. The baby, roughly eight months old, was screaming and covered in it's mother's blood.

"You're wife's dead, but your baby's okay." Dario bluntly stated, picking up the flailing infant in his arms, and handing it to a vulnerable George. With shaking hands, George took his wailing child, and swaddled it close to his chest. "Oh dear..." Choked George, tears stinging his eyes. "...Could you help me and Jonathan to the mansion...?" He shakily got up, a look of desperation on his face. 

With an eyeroll, Dario nodded. The two slowly walked up the hill, through the mountains, and to the village; carelessly leaving the wreckage and deceased wife behind. When no one else was around, a strange being came to the site. They donned a black suit with a ruby-red tie, had black hair, a pale face, and red eyeliner. They grinned widely.

"Soon..." They mused. "Very soon..."

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It had been 15 years since that day. The tale itself was immortalized by that strange mask on the wall. It was a conversation starter for all the other rich folk that come to visit the Joestar mannor. At the moment, Jonathan was seen reading shakespeare upon the cobble fence. The backyard itself was connected to the local cemetery behind the church. The graves stretched for miles, possibly beyond the pine trees.

The climax of his story was about to conclude, before the gong of the afternoon bells rung through the peaceful air.

A close of the book, and a dusting of his jacket, Jonathan got up from his spot, and set the book aside. It was time to go to the chapel, and tend to the youth groups. Jonathan sighed, as he made his way to the church, still ringing it's bells. They were a siren song that Jonathan had no control over. He had to attend to keep his father's  image intact.

He was a minister, afterall. No matter. The doors were already in front of him. The rotting, barely polished doors with rusted, cherub-shaped knockers. 

A good push, and the doors barely open. A second push, and they glide all the way with ease. A few of the people were sitting amongst the benches, either side of the oriental rug that went from the pastor's stand to the front door. Jonathan walked hastily to the front row, sitting next to a young lady who donned a virgin white dress with red accents.

Her hair was flaxen blonde, and her eyes sparkled like the sky that hid behind the rain clouds. "Afternoon, Brother Jonathan." She smiled up at the young man next to her. "Uh...Yeah. Afternoon, Sister...Sister..." Jonathan struggled to find her name. She only giggled at his expense. "Erina, JoJo." Erina assisted. 

"Right. Sorry." Jonathan blushed. "It's okay." Erina reassured before the pastor showed up.

"Good afternoon, people of Liverpool." The pastor began. "We shall begin this week's sermon with a reading from the bible. There's a new resident of the church in here, as well." Jonathan raised his hand. "Yes, Jonathan?" The pastor inquired. "Who is that person, Father Spettatore?" JoJo asked with curiosity. "After the passages, Jonathan." The pastor dismissed, returning his eyes to the holy book.