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Diego was motionless, save for the heavy breaths as he sat, supporting his weight on one arm. The other he held in front of his face, just close enough to obscure his view of the horrific scene before him. Oh, he had done it this time. This was bad. This was really, really bad.
He could feel something in the back of his throat and hacked. He was rewarded only with guttural growling, as nothing would come back up. Part of him felt like he was going to throw up. He waited a moment longer for his breathing to even out, but his hand in front of his face, for as much good as it was doing, was making him sick. There was so much blood.
How much blood did the human body even have? His hands were covered- the long slender fingers tipped by elegant claws were completely red. He swallowed, the taste of blood and raw meat only serving to make him more disgusted.
This was not at all what he had wanted.
He moved his hand down to face the facts. He moved himself into a more proper position on his knees and looked around.
He looked back down almost immediately.
The corpse splayed out before him was not a sight he was ready to deal with. He would give himself another moment. He shook his head, willing this to all be his imagination. There was no way he could have actually done that, right? The blood all over him was just an illusion, right? It was all over the ground too, and his tail swiped back and forth as he thought over his course of action.
His thoughts were still muddled, he wasn’t thinking straight. He hadn’t been thinking straight. The instincts were too much, too fast. The instincts were still clouding his judgement. The longer he sat there, the more the thoughts grew.
If he left fresh meat out, flies and scavengers would steal it from him. It was only fair to eat his kill.
He shook his head and brought his hands up to his face. He instantly regretted it as he felt the dried blood in his hair and how cold it all was. The blood had been so warm only a handful of minutes ago. How long had it been? He didn't even know, everything happened so fast. He didn’t mean for this to happen. His breathing got faster, and he let out an inhuman growl to silence whatever thoughts he was having. He didn't like any of them. Instead, he looked again.
He didn't know what to feel. Some part of him felt he should be glad to see his rival put in his place. But they were never really on that bad of terms, were they? It was all just the heat of the moment? Something made up by the crowds and each other after every race. Maybe they could have even gotten along if they really gave each other a chance.
But that didn't really matter now, did it? What was done was done. He pulled his hands from his face completely and forced himself to look at the corpse. The sight of viscera and bone were highly unpleasant, things he should never be looking at from another human. But he wasn’t exactly human anymore, was he? He felt the weight of his tail counterbalancing him from falling forward. No, no, there was something very much inhuman about him now. About his body, about his mind, about his actions. Oh God what had he done.
He moved forward just slightly, peering over the body before him. He could feel saliva begin to pool, some of it starting to drip from his cracking mouth. No, this wasn't right. This was not the response he should have been having. He brought a hand up to Johnny’s face, caressing it ever so gently in contrast to the way his claws had ripped through his body not long ago. His pale skin and hair such a sharp contrast to the dark blood. Oh God, there was so much blood.
He swallowed thickly, realizing now how much drool was dripping down into the open cavity of his victim. He brought his other hand up to wipe it away.
He was at a loss. He knew he had to do something about this. He could just leave. He could pretend something else did this, some other big predator, a mountain lion maybe. No one could trace this back to him.
Would Gyro think to blame him? Gyro knew enough to suspect him, but it’s not like he could go to the authorities with such a bold claim as ‘the man turned into a dinosaur and murdered my friend.’ Diego suddenly realized the horses had left sometime in the haze and commotion. He didn’t even have any clue which direction Silver Bullet had gone. This is great. Just fantastic. Murder a guy and lose both your horses in one easy step. He cursed his own idiocy.
He swallowed again, and looked back down at the corpse. Something about Johnny’s face looked almost peaceful, if you ignored that he had been brutally mauled to death. Diego didn’t want to think about that. Instead he looked back at the organs. The torn flesh and muscle right beneath him. He felt another growl rising in his throat.
A sudden convulsion went through him and he let out a cry, his body shivering momentarily as he hunched forward. Something in him felt animalistic. Something felt raw and powerful. It was without warning he felt the transformation revert him back, he felt his face and body become more inhuman. He reached his claws out again and sliced. The sound of flesh cutting so smoothly exciting him further. He felt as though his body moved on its own accord, some sort of autopilot as he brought his head down again. He could feel the flesh tearing as he bite into it, he felt so alive and yet he felt nothing at all. He swallowed whatever was in his mouth, not even registering if there was a proper taste.
This was his kill, and he intended to finish it. He ripped what he could from the bones, his snout and hands working to break apart ribs and tear at whatever other organs he could.
To pull out Johnny Joestar’s heart. Maybe it would be poetic given any other circumstance. But his mind wasn’t equipped to think on such a trivial thing, the only thing now was possession. This was his. This body and the sustenance it provided belonged to him. This was his, and only his. He wasn’t about to let anything take this from him. Not a scavenger, not authorities, not Gyro.
Some part of him snapped at the thought of Gyro. Something human in him came back. It was jealousy. Of all the things to break him from his trance, it was jealousy. It was all pointless now. He had what he wanted. No, wait, that was wrong, this was not at all what he had wanted.
His mind spun as he felt the instincts fade again. He backed away quickly, his tail swishing awkwardly from the movement. He spat out the remains of what was still in his mouth. He wished he would throw up. He looked over the corpse again. Disgustingly torn and violated. This was not at all what he had wanted.
He stood up on shaky feet, willing himself to stay upright. He couldn't do anything else, it would only make it worse. He looked around again for any sign of Silver Bullet, but upon finding none he just let out a defeated huff. He glanced down at the body one more time, blood-soaked bits of clothing and flesh littering the immediate area. He looked down at his hands again. There was nothing he could do. So instead, he turned and walked away. He would find a stream. He would wash away the blood and pretend this never happened.
He would move on. Besides, he had gotten what he wanted. Just not how he wanted it.