JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Moth to a Flame

[Residisi]

1901

The loud noise of rain and thunder echoed in the humble home where I lived. Thunder and lightning being so weak and fragile in its presence, merely lifting off its curse in a split second before cowering away in fear. I was afraid of both. When I saw a flash of thunder light up my room during the dark, I would cry and cry till my mother embraced me with her gentle hands and placed me near her soft bosom, source of life, source of love and trust. In the dark, I would be too scared to even talk, but my father would pat me on the back and give me a wide grin as he lit up a match that sent my fears away. After that, he would tell me stories about shadows and darkness, and how they were merely natural impulses of humanity, whom were scared of things they couldn't understand or comprehend, thinks far beyond their reach. My father however always comforted me by saying that nothing was beyond human grasp. We had obtained fire from the Gods in order to overcome shadow. Weapons to protect ourselves. Medicine to defeat plague. Now we were even starting to cure our own, mental ailments. He told me various things, and always wore a strange, white coat, with various symbols on it. He told me he helped people who were sick, but not physically sick. People whom couldn't tell the difference between a letter and a number, or people who thought cats could fly. It was all very interesting to me, listening to the tales of his work at home, during long, rainy nights. I couldn't bear the thought of staying up at night without my father. He was the only person that removed my fear of the dark.

..........

Of course, he passed away once I reached the age of twelve. Nothing lasted forever, it seemed. While my mother would mourn and various people would enter our home and try to comfort me, I didn't really care much. He had died, but I was no longer afraid of the dark. I was a young boy now. A young boy can't be scared of such, puny things! My father's death was truly tragic, but he always told me that crying during funerals was useless and only insulted the dead, and I believed him. I'm not sure what my mother thought though, since she started falling sick every now and then, forcing me to take care of her while still trying to gain a proper education. This continued on for days, with me finally getting accepted in my dream school, and my mother being limited to stay in bed all day. During this period, I could finally feel my father's absence. In the years following my father's death, I think it's true to say that the house became my whole world. During the long period of mother's illness, the house often seemed so vast, so confidently real, that by comparison I felt little more than a ghost haunting its corridors, scarcely aware that anything could exist beyond those melancholy walls. Until the night in 1901, when I first caught a glimpse of the other world. The world on the dark side.

Knock

Knock

"Mother? Mother? It's me. I've brought you something to eat." A young boy said as he opened a small, wooden door, leading to an incredibly dark room, save for a pale, ray of moonlight lighting the bed in middle of it, revealing a woman that was apparently old, due to her white hair and wrinkled skin, filled with boils and pimples. Along with that, her skin was also heavily pale and gave off a large stench, while her lips were so dried and green that the very sight of them was sickening. Regardless of that, she wore a beautiful, white cloth around her, devoid of stench, resembling the one a princess would wear in a fantasy novel. "Please, I think you should try to eat some of this." The boy said, having a large, silver tray in his hand filled with bread and some sort of soup, along with a cup of tea. "Mmf....Mmf...Eaten..." The old woman struggled to say, refusing to open her mouth. The young boy gave her a strange look, before she smiled in reply and opened her mouth, and started talking. 

"I've eaten, darling. I've eaten."

She said as she revealed bright yellow teeth, while corpses of roaches and various critters would fall from her mouth, some still alive. Only one lone roach would remain in her mouth, as she forcefully bit it and tore off its head, decapitating it and happily feasting on its remains, while the roach still moved in painful agony. The bugs then started moving around her bed, as she forcefully grabbed them with her hands and feasted on them more. Caterpillars, cockroaches, centipedes, spiders. She ate everything. The young boy then dropped the tray as tea poured all over the floor and more critters hidden under the bed started feasting on the bread and soup, while the boy hastily closed the door and ran away, falling down the stairs in the process. Once he landed, he was in tears, staring at his bloodied elbow. He quickly started licking it for some futile reason, perhaps to prevent disease or infection, since everyone would want to make sure they weren't infected after seeing such a repulsing sight. As he did that, thunder struck, and the windows were filled with flashing lights. The boy covered his eyes and screamed as he ran and ran, hiding himself in the basement of that dreaded house.

..........

That was the moment when I first felt truly alone. After a while, people in white clothes came and took my mother away, cleaning up the room as they did so. As they did that, I felt as if she wasn't my mother anymore, as if she was merely a devil in disguise whom attempted to steal my sanctity during that fateful night. However, once I saw her behavior during her leave, I realized that she was simply trying to protect herself from something, in the only way that made sense to her. But even then, I understood that mother had been born again. In that world of darkness. A world of fathomless signs and portents. Of magic and terror. 

And mysterious symbols.

[Residisi]

2010s

The loud noise of rain and thunder echoed in the humble home where I lived. Thunder and lightning being so weak and fragile in its presence, merely lifting off its curse in a split second before cowering away in fear. I was afraid of both. When I saw a flash of thunder light up my room during the dark, I would cry and cry till my mother embraced me with her gentle hands and placed me near her soft bosom, source of life, source of love and trust. In the dark, I would be too scared to even talk, but my father would pat me on the back and give me a wide grin as he lit up a match that sent my fears away. After that, he would tell me stories about shadows and darkness, and how they were merely tricks of the light. My father always comforted me by saying that I was the strongest person he had ever met. Courage resided deep inside of me. Justice was in my blood. By now I had even confronted my own, personal demons. He told me various things, and always wore a strange, white coat, with various symbols on it. He told me he helped people who were sick, who had diseases ranging from a mere cold to cancer and AIDS. People whom couldn't tell live the normal life anymore, or people who would inevitably die, despite treatment. It was all very interesting to me, listening to the tales of his work at home, during long, rainy nights. I couldn't bear the thought of staying up at night without my father. He was the only person that removed my fear of the dark.

..........

"Well, looks like it'll be raining longer than I thought." An old, tall man said, observing the road from a water-stained window, as thousands of rain drops descended on it at once, like a never ending barrage. He took a sip from a cup of tea in his hand, as he sighed and looked at the rain gradually flood the road while a looming mist appeared in the distance. After that, a sudden lightning bolt descended from the sky, slightly startling him and almost causing him to pour his tea on the luxurious carpets and wood that decorated the room he was in. "Bloody Hell! This is worse than winter!" He cursed, as he placed his cup on a glass table and sat on a nearby sofa, trying his best to relax in the ever raging thunderstorm. This man was known as Stewart, and he was the only inhabitant of an enormous mansion known as Copeland Mansion, built by the prestigious Copeland family. The Copelands were quite famous in Umpire City for the deeds of their ancestors. Many of them did extraordinary things during Umpire City's long history, and all of them were incredibly talented, having members that were artists, business men, soldiers, cooks and engineers. During this generation, the latest descendants of the Copelands were Sting and Andy Copeland, two great medics whom shared a lot in common: A great love towards their city and a great dedication towards making sure that it would never collapse. The two married and had two children, whom they cared for deeply, but their happiness would not last. The couple were murdered one fateful night, while they were returning back home from the cinema with their youngest child. The child was traumatized and didn't speak for several months, while his brother would leave to join the military at the age of eighteen. Eleven years after the fateful accident, the youngest sibling died to a heart attack, while the eldest was KIA during an armed conflict in a civil war.


This was the story of how the Copeland family died. Despite their deaths, the Copeland family still had a successful business, known as Copeland Enterprises which was possibly the face of Umpire City, since it produced the highest possible technological devices for them, along with supporting the city with free healthcare and several other good deeds, as ordered by Sting Copeland himself. The Copeland's vast fortune was now under the control of the CEO of Copeland Enterprises, but according to Sting's will, his last remaining relative deserved to inherit the Copeland Mansion, before inheriting Copeland Enterprises once he came of age. However, since there were no more relatives, the mansion, Stewart, inherited the vast mansion, much to everyone's chagrin. In the end however, everyone was extremely disappointed in the Copelands, since the city started showering in an age of decadence and corruption ever since their deaths, as if the only link to the city's past had been destroyed. The murderer was apprehended and it was rumored that he worked under the powerful crime lord known as El Corvino. Still, no dirt could be found on the famed crime lord and the assailant pleaded guilty, forcing the police force to imprison the small fish. The people continued on with their lives, some still fondly remembering the times where the Copelands were still around, while others cursed their deaths, believing it to be the Copelands's fault for being so "foolish" to die. The local criminals were instead pleased by the Copelands's deaths, since no-one would fund the law system anymore. Rumors also started spreading about the Copelands being parts of orgies and sexual rituals while they raped and slaughtered beggars. It seemed as if certain people enjoyed insulting the heritage of dead men more than others.

..........

Until now, that is.

"Hmm?" Stewart grunted as he saw a small, black spot on the window while he drank his tea. It was probably a lone bird or raven that couldn't find refuge in the rain, or perhaps it was the rain itself playing tricks on him. No-one had visited Copeland Mansion in years, only associates at Copeland Enterprises in order to show Stewart their daily gains and remind him that the company was in safe hands. As the lone butler thought that, he suddenly heard a loud, knock on the door. Just who was that? A beggar seeking refuge? A hitchhiker? Or perhaps....A spree killer, whom killed his victims by making them open the door as he stabbed them in the stomach.....No, no! That only happened in the movies! Stewart probably read too many detective novels. He swiftly descended the stairs and observed the door. The person had not left yet, since they kept knocking. Of course, he didn't open on impulse, because maybe, just maybe, his theory about the knocker being a mass murderer could be right....

"Hello? Who is there?" Stewart asked, worried. No-one was inside the mansion except him, and no-one would certainly come to his aid right now.

"...Knock knock." A gruff voice replied, with a seemingly annoyed tone. "....Who's there?" Stewart said, reluctantly playing the man's game. "Walter White." The name answered, as Stewart was left confused. "Walter...White...Who?" He said, as he would hear a sudden laugh. "Walt are you waiting for? Let me in!" The man said, with a much more jovial tone. Stewart was confused, but that joke reminded him of something....Someone. He opened the door while keeping a phone in his hand, which had a quick button for police calls, just in case something happened. As he opened the door however, a tear fell on his eye. The man he saw was so different, and yet so similar. He was smelly, dirty, hadn't shaved his beard in years and had extremely long nails. And yet, his heart pulsed at an incredible intensity upon seeing him. "W-What...." Stewart said, crying, while the bearded man would smile at him and say: "I'm home." Before passing out inside the mansion, soggy and wet from the heavy rain. Stewart instinctively crouched next to him, tapping him and shaking him. "Stephen! Stephen!" He shouted, trying to wake him up.

The Elder Son: Stephen Copeland

[Residisi]

I return to the family home on a cool spring morning in 1920, shortly after my mother's funeral. She opened her own throat with a razor. In the end, perhaps it was for the best. I have to believe that. As the only child, I am to inherit the house and the acre of land upon which it stands. Alone in a gloom that smells of dust and childhood, I dedicate myself to the prevention of such suffering as my poor mother knew. And I begin to make my plans....

..........

Stephen found himself on a large bed, under the embrace of the finest sheets, while his head rested on an amazingly soft pillow. Despite that, he struggled to enjoy his peace, as he didn't even have the strength to move his pupils and gaze at the rest of the room. His sense of hearing was left untouched however, as he managed to hear several footsteps coming from another room a few meters away. "Well, I see you've finally woken up." Stewart said, placing a silver tray on a nearby table, with a cup of tea and a spoon on it, all silver as well. "....You don't even seem shocked at my return.......Enjoying your new life I guess...." Stephen tiredly commented on Stewart's actions, giving a weak smile as he did so. "Well, I didn't need to fake it. You've been gone for seven years. I had stopped thinking about you after six." Stewart laughed as he sat on his favorite armchair nearby, grabbing a newspaper while he did that. "....I suppose you're right. Seven years sure is a long time, now that I think about it." Stephen said, as he started getting dizzy, probably due to fatigue. Soon, he closed his eyes. The moment he opened them again, it was already dark, and the tea was still on the table. Cold, of course.

But the young man managed to move his body now, at least. He slowly rose from the prison that was his bed and drank the tea to see if he could still remember its taste. He hadn't drunk tea in years. After that, he sluggishly stood up and walked barefooted towards the room where Stewart came from, wanting to see his butler again. As he did that, he suddenly noticed a strange critter, camouflaged on the wall, hiding out of plain sight. Upon closer inspection, he realized how utterly banal and common the object he noticed was. It was a moth, a mere moth. Still, he was puzzled by it, as if it looked so simple and small that it couldn't exist. Something so vulnerable, so weak, could it really exist after all? The weakest insect of them all. He gazed at the moth for a few more seconds, before it decided to move and flew away, leaving him alone. "Well, you're up early today. Or should I say, tonight." Stewart said, having snuck up behind him. "...Are you a moth person now? I remember that you cleaned the house regularly and slaughtered all insects in your path." Stephen joked, much to Stewart's irritation. "Well, people change, Stephen. For example, I thought you were dead. Look at you now!" He said, as Stephen bit his lip. "Very funny." He said sarcastically as he noticed Stewart's armchair and decided to sit on it, just to spite him.

"Well, jokes aside. Where were you all this time? Why didn't you bother calling?" Stewart asked, his face now looking incredibly serious and worried. "I can't even believe that you're here. I still keep thinking that this is some twisted dream I'm having." He said, as Stephen laughed for a bit, before scratching his head and deciding to talk. "Well, I was shot and left for dead in a firefight. The others abandoned me, but for good reason, since the retaliation of the insurgent forces was tougher than they had thought. I managed to survive despite that, but was left stranded there, alone and with no form of communication. I couldn't ask for help, since the insurgents would have known who I was thanks to my ethnicity and look. After several years I finally managed to get in contact with you though. It was a bit fun, exploring the world like that. Painful, but fun." He said, as Stewart shook his head and started biting his teeth. "Fun? You found humor in the fact of being almost killed? Your company nearly went bankrupt! Your brother died! Everyone thought you were dead, and you still think that was a fun experience?!"

"....Look. You probably think this isn't me, but...Travelling. Travelling has changed me. During my travels there was always this voice in my ear, telling me to go back to Umpire City to do what I should have done ages ago." He said with a determined look on his face as Stewart gave him a weird stare. "What?"

"Honor my parents's will and make this city proud as it once was."