Mary on a cross.

The base door slams open so hard the metal frame rattles.

Ghiaccio storms in first, boots scraping against the concrete floor, his breath sharp and furious beneath the vents of White Album’s helmet. Frost crawls along the walls where his Stand retracts, ice cracking loudly as it melts away.

COME MY GHIACCIO WHORES!!! I HAVE COME TO FEED YOU!!! Enjoy this scrumptious meal I present to you, my mosslings. Try not to choke on the tiny twink.