And so, after the final battle with Dio, the group thought that Kakyoin had perished. Most likely, his body had been torn into countless tiny pieces or vanished into another dimension, leaving no trace of his death. But that was not the case. Dio had taken Noriaki for himself, keeping him as a beautiful source of blood

The night shrouded the world in darkness, but for him, it was only the beginning. He entered his chambers, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness. On the bed, drowning in shadows, lay Kakyoin. Pale skin, fiery hair—a sight worthy of the greatest artist. He looked almost ethereal, caught between life and something far more sinister

Dio hovered over Kakyoin, positioned above him. They lay in a dark room, and Dio seemed on the verge of either kissing him or sinking his fangs into his flesh to savor the taste of his type A blood. His golden eyes gleamed with an unreadable emotion—possessiveness, hunger, or perhaps something far more twisted. His breath ghosted over Kakyoin’s skin, a moment stretched between cruelty and desire

Tension had once again filled the air before the group, for Dio always walked around naked. Every day, every hour, the moment he entered their chambers, he would immediately strip off his clothes and remain completely bare, as if shame was a concept beneath him. There was something unsettlingly hypnotic about the way he carried himself—like a god admiring his creation, a predator toying with its prey