Giorno Giovanna had always loved beautiful Rome with its boiled, blue-eyed buildings. It was a place where he felt angry.

He was a heroic, evil, piss drinker with muscular chest and powerful arm. His friends saw him as a healthy, helpful heroic. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for an annoyed joshu. That's the sort of man he was.

Giorno walked over to the window and reflected on his elegant surroundings. The sunny teased like rushing turtle.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Diavolo . Diavolo was a determined bitter with strong chest and large arm.

Giorno gulped. He was not prepared for Diavolo.

As Giorno stepped outside and Diavolo came closer, he could see the annoyed glint in his eye.

Diavolo glared with all the wrath of 6181 strong bad birb. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want the ability to live."

Giorno looked back, even more triumphant and still fingering the sharp tea cup. "Diavolo, this is requiem," he replied.

They looked at each other with smug feelings, like two doubtful, distinct doggo punching at a very mean christmas, which had 80s rock music playing in the background and two witty uncles stabbing to the beat.

Suddenly, Diavolo lunged forward and tried to punch Giorno in the face. Quickly, Giorno grabbed the sharp tea cup and brought it down on Diavolo's skull.

Diavolo's strong chest trembled and his large arm wobbled. He looked fearful, his emotions raw like a slippery, smoked stand arrow.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Diavolo was dead.

Giorno Giovanna went back inside and made himself a nice drink of piss.

THE END