Chapter Text
The child didn't have his eyes, or his hair.
He didn't have this desire for revenge, or this craving for violence his father cultured over the years.
Haruno was a small, innocent, quiet child. Most of his time was occupied by sleeping, but then, as a human offspring, it was the most normal thing to do.
Dio's return was meant to remain a secret, to prevent any of the Joestar to hunt him down so soon. As long as he kept his livestock, and therefore the number of his victims small, his enemies would not suspect him to be back.
That was the plan : to hide in a deserted part of Italy, retrieve his powers and strength back, and claim this world once again.
But he saw the child's mother, a pathetic woman that was clearly not clever enough to live the rest of her life grateful enough for having survived him.
She allowed this ballsucker, good-for-nothing pest of a man to hit her child.
The child of God.
He killed them all that night. The woman, the man, and any other fellow of theirs.
Haruno, apparently Giorno now, was crying silently in the small bedroom he occupied, hugging his knees tight to muffle his voice the best he could. Dio towered over him, blood dripping from his claws, scanning his face.
"How old are you?"
The child didn't appear afraid of him, the deep voice of the adult not phasing him for a second.
"Four, sir."
Dio could see all of this was a facade. He knew the act all too well. Long ago, he was the scared little boy hiding from his paternal figure, learning to speak clearly, and with few words. The reminiscence pulled a grimace on his face, and he crouched in front of the child.
"I can take you away from this place. Do you accept?"
His plan didn't change. He, Dio, was going to rule over the world, and wipe the Joestar family from existence. And now, he would take the child, his child under his wing. He would not allow the blood of his blood to cower in fear and submission.
Giorno stared into his eyes, trying to find the same malice he always saw in his mother's eyes. All he saw was freedom, strength. And care.
"Yes, sir."
Dio smiled, reaching for his son's armpits and raising him up before pulling him closer. The boy carefully joined his little hands on his front, not daring to show affection for this almighty stranger. Dio walked out of the bedroom, strolling past the bodies in the small living room, not hiding them from Giorno.
The boy didn't react.
"I met your mother four years ago. I had to leave, at the time. But now, my son, I will not leave again." The tall man spoke out, the hand that wasn't supporting Giorno pointing at the woman's body. "What would you have me do with your mother's body?"
She was unworthy of any ceremony, of any kindness, but it was his son that should judge her. God had already punished her.
"I just want to go, sir." Giorno looked away from the ground to stare at Dio's cape, eyes starting to wet.
"Very well."
The house was set on fire as the both of them left, Giorno holding onto his father's clothing.
The child did not have his eyes, or his hair, but undoubtedly, he was his son.
He was the child of Dio.