Chapter 251: The Man in the Mirror

As a Stand user with the ability to shrink, Formaggio finally felt the power that comes from being small.
The six Bullet Knights, whose bodies were much smaller than ordinary Stands, were now wantonly stirring up trouble in his chest.
Even without bullets, they are still knights who can bring glory and victory to their masters.
And this glory will eventually bring pain and death to the enemy.
"Well--"
Formaggio immediately let out an inarticulate groan.
His breathing stopped at this moment, and an indescribable pain surged in his chest.
He could feel his fragile lung walls being torn apart frantically by the six little men. The flesh and blood tissues that sustained his life were torn as easily as paper.
The flesh in his lungs was soon torn into several large holes, but the six small "drills" continued to drill into his body without stopping.
Their drilling is purposeful and directional.
"Damn...my...heart!"
Formaggio tried hard to do something.
But the six little men had planned to tear open his lungs and in the blink of an eye they reached the atrium between the left and right lungs.
Although the destructive power of the Sexy Pistol is extremely low, the heart is not the kind of place that can easily withstand damage.
This is the center of human blood circulation and the source of power for the human life system.
Therefore, the moment the six little guys started to touch the heart, Formaggio immediately developed symptoms similar to acute myocardial infarction:
The heart aches violently and the blood pressure drops sharply.
The hands and feet are paralyzed and out of control, and consciousness becomes blurred.
Formaggio was already seriously injured and had been losing blood for a long time. His limbs were cold and numb, and his blood pressure was very bad.
Now that he was hit hard in the heart, he completely lost control of his body.
He was in shock.
No, it was more serious than shock, it was sudden death.
Without even the time to speak, Formaggio's life flame instantly became dim like a light bulb that had its plug pulled out.
He fell heavily in front of Mista, into the filthy sewer.
It may be because the death was too sudden, or it may be because the pain of heart damage, shock and sudden death was too great...
His eyes remained the same as they were in life, staring at his enemies until his death.
"Finally... it's over."
Looking at Formaggio 's eyes that were still open, Mista breathed a sigh of relief.
He is undoubtedly the winner.
It’s a pity that this victory came too tragically.
Mista was now lying next to Formaggio's body.
Although his body was strong and resistant to blows, this injury that almost cut him in half was an unbearable pain for him.
If he didn't get timely medical treatment, he would really die in this sewer with Formaggio, just as he had lied to his enemies.
Thinking of this, Mista immediately gathered his last bit of strength and took out his cell phone from his shirt pocket:
"Li Qing is right..."
"Don't wear too fancy clothes."
As if to find joy in misery, or to keep himself calm, Mista muttered to himself with difficulty:
"Fortunately I was wearing an ordinary shirt that I had brought all the way from Naples three days ago, and there was a pocket on the top to keep things in."
"If I really put on a sleazy tights like those hooligans, I'd be dead today."
Mista sighed with only his upper body intact.
Fortunately, the cell phone survived along with his shirt pocket, otherwise he might not even be able to call for help.
Now he can call for help from his teammates in time through his mobile phone, and the train station is not far away, so he naturally has a great chance of surviving.
"but…"
"Instead of being able to help Li Qing, I became the wounded person who needed help."
Mista dialed the number with difficulty while looking at Formaggio's face which was full of resentment.
The eyes on that face were still wide open.
Faintly, it seemed as if it was saying to him:
"Just going out to look for ice cubes... seems..."
“It’s not that easy…”
Mista sighed softly.
※※※
Go forward a little in time.
Near Venice train station, in another direction different from Fugo and Mista.
A breakfast restaurant had just opened, and an unexpected guest came to the store:
"Hey, pack all the ice cubes you have here into bags!"
"Don't just stand there! Didn't you hear clearly?"
"Take off your pants as fast as you would when you need to pee, and move without stopping!"
Polnareff, who was probably nearly 2 meters tall with his hair covered, unconsciously showed off his torpid and powerful muscles, standing abruptly in front of the restaurant employees like the Five Finger Mountain falling from the sky.
Polnareff is also a member of the ice-searching team, and he is solely responsible for exploring in one direction.
He took the initiative to get this task.
Because Polnareff has been suffering so much over the years.
Until last night, he had been trapped in that small wheelchair, hiding in one inconspicuous corner after another.
The swordsman who was once a nimble and quick master, during that long period of time, needed help even to go up and down the stairs.
This is not only sad, but also desperate.
After experiencing such pain, Polnareff, who had regained his healthy body, hated to stay still the most.
He has been sitting in a wheelchair for too long, and now all he wants to do is run as much as he can.
So, when the team was in need, Polnareff immediately volunteered to take on the task of going out to find ice.
He thus fully exercised his reborn body and ran freely through the ancient streets of Venice.
Soon, Polnareff found a breakfast restaurant that had just opened nearby.
The restaurant did have a stock of ice, and the staff were extremely cooperative.
There is no way not to cooperate.
Polnareff is already a burly man with an imposing appearance. He also has trendy clothes and an avant-garde hairstyle, a scar on his face, and exposed muscles. At first glance, he looks like someone who is not someone he is going to mess with.
If we don't send this ferocious door god away quickly, I guess no customers would dare to come into the restaurant to eat.
Therefore, the shop assistants quickly and hurriedly packed a large bag of ice , and then brought it up cautiously and tremblingly:
"Sir... the ice you requested."
They were so nervous that they looked like hostages communicating with their kidnappers.
But the "kidnappers" responded in a surprisingly friendly way:
"Okay, thank you."
Polnareff took the ice and said thank you very politely.
That alone is not enough...
He even took out a wallet from his pocket out of habit, and pulled out :
"Keep this money. I'll pay for the ice."
"The extra amount can be considered a tip from me."
Yes, he paid.
As a well-educated French gentleman, Polnareff may look a bit fierce and scary, but at heart he is a very well-behaved and polite man.
He will try his best to avoid taking things without paying and avoid trouble if possible.
This is a kind of principle of his. Of course, it may also be a habit he has developed from being cautious over the years.
But no matter what, unlike those unruly, independent gangsters who stay away from money and do not follow the secular crowd, Polnareff does carry a wallet.
And there is quite a bit of money in this wallet——
As a disabled person who was once unable to take care of himself, Polnareff understood better than anyone the importance of carrying enough money.
Therefore, now, Polnareff just took out a few large-denomination bills from the bank, which was enough to make the restaurant employees instantly forget the trauma suffered by their fragile hearts.
"Please take care, guest!"
“Welcome to visit again!”
When Polnareff walked out the door, the shop assistants started addressing him differently.
Money really does have a magical power that is no less than that of a stand-in.
It was just a few pieces of paper with numbers drawn on them, and the restaurant staff, who were originally eager to send Polnareff out as soon as possible, suddenly staged a farewell scene at the door of the store.
Just like that, under the affectionate gazes of the shop assistants, Polnareff’s tall figure quickly disappeared.
He held the bag of ice in his arms and his wallet in his hand, and ran towards the station as fast as he could.
Soon, Polnareff ran to a long bridge.
Venice is a water city with numerous rivers crisscrossing the island, and you can see ships and bridges everywhere you go.
These bridges are either large or small, with the smallest ones being just a few meters for pedestrians to pass through, and are so exquisite that they can be called works of art.
It was just like the one under Polnareff's feet now, spanning both sides of the river, with a length of dozens of meters from front to back, and a wide bridge deck for cars to cross the river.
It is still early now, and there are not many cars on the bridge. There are only a few residents and tourists walking across the river.
"After crossing this bridge, the train station is not far ahead."
Looking at the train station that had clearly appeared before his eyes, Polnareff couldn't help but quicken his pace.
He ran up the bridge along the same route he had come, but he could faintly hear the roar of a car engine behind him:
"A car was coming from behind me, and it was going really fast."
"Are you a passenger heading to the train station? Or... is there an enemy chasing me?"
Although it was just an ordinary car and most likely just passengers passing by, Polnareff still subconsciously became alert.
He had been through so many battles, and such rich combat experience had almost enabled him to develop a sixth sense of intuition.
This may just be his over-caution, but it never hurts to be more careful:
"Silver Chariot!"
Polnareff immediately summoned his Stand.
The silver-armored swordsman stood at his side with a sword in hand. At the same time, Polnareff decisively stopped on the bridge, turned around and looked at the car from a distance.
He wanted to watch the car pass him and continue on its way, rather than leaving his back to a stranger whose identity was difficult to determine.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, Polnareff's bad premonition seemed to be correct - the other party seemed to be a real enemy.
The car chasing from behind was driving very fast, as if it was in a hurry to catch up with something.
However, after seeing Polnareff stop on the bridge, the driver immediately stepped on the brakes.
The car drove all the way onto the bridge, did a graceful and neat tailspin and braked suddenly, and finally stopped sideways in front of Polnareff with great momentum.
"It's coming for me!"
Polnareff's eyes suddenly became deep.
That relaxed and gentle temperament disappeared from his eyes in an instant, replaced by a caution honed in endless darkness.
He did not rush forward to attack, but approached step by step under the protection of the silver chariot, carefully spying on the enemy in the carriage.
But it doesn't matter if you don't look at it, as soon as you look at it, the situation becomes weird:
"Where are the people?"
"Where is the driver who was sitting in the driver's seat...how come he disappeared?!"
Polnareff was surprised to find that the driver's seat was empty.
The driver, whose outline could be clearly seen, disappeared inexplicably as if he had evaporated from the face of the earth after the car stopped in front of him.
"Is it a trick, or some kind of spatial ability?"
Polnareff became more alert.
The silver chariot protected him and helped him monitor the space behind and beside him.
He stared at the empty car parked in front of him, trying hard to find some clues from this strange scene.
And then...Polnareff succeeded.
But it was not Polnareff who found it, but the enemy himself showed up:
"You're looking for me, aren't you?"
"Don't look for me, I'm right here—"
"Right in front of you, in this mirror."
The figure of a strange man quietly emerged on the mirror-like car window.
This is not someone's reflection in a mirror.
It was just that there was an extra man in the mirror.
Now Polnareff saw not only his own reflection in the mirror, but also the man standing opposite him.
But beside Polnareff, in the real world, there was no trace of that man.
The man seemed to be living completely in a mirror world. Now he was standing in the mirror with a leisurely expression, looking at Polnareff in front of him with sharp eyes.
"There's someone...in the mirror?!"
Polnareff's eyes widened in surprise.
An absurd and indescribable sense of familiarity suddenly welled up from the bottom of my heart.
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