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Vanilla Ice loved Dio, and Dio liked Vanilla Ice.
He was the favorite by any measure: the most trusted, the most loyal, the one Lord Dio confided in. He guarded Dio's door when he was away, rid him of his nightly dalliances, listened to his endless lectures, and spent many, many nights in his master's bed. Dio rarely took repeated lovers, so Vanilla Ice considered himself special in that regard as well. He took great pride in his service and never questioned his standing with his Lord—not until the night he mentioned you.
"Say, Ice, there's something I would like to show you." It was late. Vanilla Ice was lying in bed beside his master, breaths heavy and skin flushed, still high off the pleasure from their lovemaking. Ice longed to remain that way, snuggling up beside his lover as the world settled into the night. But instead, he was made to watch his Master rise. Unlike Dio, who didn't bother to adjust his open trousers, Vanilla Ice was fully naked. He felt no shame as he stood, having revealed himself to Dio time and time again. He simply gathered his clothing from the floor as he crept across the room.
It was cold, and the burning scent of incense made his eyes water, but Vanilla Ice didn't mind; he loved his master's proclivities.
*
Dio set a camera on his writing desk and tapped it and the deep purple vines of his other stand sprouted all around him.
A moment passed, then another, and the camera released a grainy photograph.
Dio gave the photo a once over, a brief, cursory glance, before passing it over to Vanilla Ice. Their fingers touched, Ice's heart fluttered, and he looked away in modesty. Instead, of looking at Dio and the beautifully smug expression that graced his features, Ice decided to focus on the photograph.
It was a picture of a woman, of you, dressed in red and sitting near an open window. It was dark, he could barely discern the outline of your features but he knew he'd never once laid eyes upon you. You weren't another minion who came and went as they pleased, nor were you one of his known targets; you were a stranger to Vanilla Ice, a threat.
"What do you think? Be honest, Ice."
"There isn't much to look at," he answered, and he meant that quite literally. Still, Dio laughed despite this, a throaty chuckle that made Ice's heart swell. He made his master laugh.
"This woman is quite beautiful in person I assure you, a true vision to behold. But she vexes me," Dio went on to tell him. "She seems to enjoy denying me, defiant at nearly every turn." This new knowledge enraged Vanilla Ice more than anything else. Who were you to trouble his Lord Dio? He wanted to kill you, snap your neck, erase you from this world for your grievous offense.
"I do love the fire in your eyes, Vanilla Ice," Dio placed the flat of his hand upon his servant's shoulder. "Do you believe I, DIO, should kill her? This nuisance of a woman?"
"I will be glad to take the task upon myself, Lord DIO. You should not be troubled."
"Your initiative is appreciated, but there is no need. This woman is not my enemy. On the contrary, she is an important ally." Vanilla Ice did well to control his features, but he was still confused. Why would Lord Dio trouble himself with such an ornery girl?
"I've known her for many years," he continued, releasing Ice from his hold. "And though I do not doubt her loyalty, she plagues me nonetheless. There is an imbalance in our relationship, you see; I have begun to care about her feelings ."
'Were you a Stand user?' He wondered. Did you place Lord Dio under a wicked spell? Curse him with such needless concerns? Or was it something different, something even worse?
"Does that upset you? The thought that I may care for another?" His voice took on a soothing tone, but his smirk belied something sinister, a dark intent. But that was typical for his Master.
"No. I would never be so selfish as to demand the whole of your attention." Would a priest ask his god to love him and him alone? No. Vanilla Ice understood his place; he was happy to accept his Lord Dio as he was.
"Ah, my sweet Vanilla Ice," Dio grinned, though his wicked gaze grew hungry as he dragged a finger down his servant's chest, caressing his body as a lover would, "your selfless nature is commendable. Such traits are of interest to me…" Vanilla Ice leaned into his master's touch, into his praise.
"Thank you, Lord DIO."
'Perhaps it was a simple test,' Vanilla Ice thought. Perhaps Dio wondered if his love for him was finite and was pleased to see it had no limit.
"You will keep my secret now won't you, Ice? Yes? Then let us return to bed."
Dio placed the photo in a box within his drawer and coaxed his Vanillia Ice back to bed with a renewed sense of excitement.
He seemed to have something in mind for him.
*
Dio never spoke of you directly after that, but Ice learned about you secondhand: He discovered you were a vampire, and that you had a powerful stand. Despite this, Lord Dio never expected you to battle. Instead, you were tasked to locate a powerful artifact on his behalf. Unlike the priest, who he hoped one day to break in half, he never brought you to Egypt, not even once, so the picture of you was all he knew.
So later, when finding you became a top priority, he knew he was in for an arduous task. He only knew you lived in England, but the coordinates were still unknown to him. Worse, he could barely function on his own.
He had no choice but to wait.
The trouble began when the Joestar party made their way into the mansion.
Vanilla Ice knelt outside his master's door, forced to tell him of D’Arby’s defeat at the hands of Jotaro Kujo, Joseph Joestar, and Noriaki Kakyoin.
"Come...you may enter."
Despite the situation, Dio seemed to be at peace. There he was, calmly lounging in the bed, an old book resting in his hands. His tranquillity calmed Vanilla Ice, who took a knee in the presence of his Lord. He took note of an empty vase not an arm length away. That wasn't there before.
“D’Arby swore his loyalty to me, DIO, but it seems he was not prepared to die for me, that is why he was not able to win in the end.” A cool draft drifted in from somewhere, pushing dust and the strong scent of incense around. “Ice…look at the wound on my neck.” He did as he was told, watching Dio move his beautiful hair aside to reveal the scar that looped around his neck. “It’s likely that if I drink the blood of one more person, this body will fall completely under my control and this wound will heal. Ice, will you offer me, DIO, your blood?”
“Yes, with pleasure.” Vanilla Ice raised his hands, willing Cream, his ghostly stand, to appear behind him. Ice took hold of the vase and leaned forward. He refused to make a mess for Lord Dio to clean.
He gave the silent order for Cream to decapitate him. There was no hesitation, no indication of remorse. In fact, in the brief moment of life that followed, Vanilla Ice was truly happy.
Finally, he thought, he was of use to his Lord Dio.
The life he lived flashed before his eyes; his loneliness, his rejection, the scornful gaze of the family who regarded him as nothing but a simple-minded boy.
Before he knew what a Stand was, he believed that Cream was just a specter, a demon meant to torment him. He tried so hard to move on with his life, to avoid feeling, and invoking his demon’s all-consuming rage. He wandered like a vagabond, unable to settle in a single place. In his travels, he would sometimes gain the attention of others—men, women, and those who found themselves between. And though he refused most of their advances, Vanilla Ice was a curious man, one who hoped to indulge in his attractions. They were meaningless, passionless nights which often left him feeling worse.
And in that depression, he tried his best to settle with a nice person he met. He was afraid of long-term commitment but his partner was a traveler, the same as he. And for the first time, Vanilla Ice found someone he thought could make him truly happy.
But about a year into that relationship, something changed. His partner became distant, colder, and less affectionate. Another three months passed before Vanilla Ice realized why: his partner was unfaithful.
Despair built inside him like a rushing river, one with no dam to block it. He called upon the power of his demon and erased those wretched lovers from the world. They could stay together in the void.
Vanilla Ice considered running, sending his demon on a rampage, destroying everything in his path—but what would be the point of it? He was miserable, hollow, as empty as the void his demon seemed to carry. So he confessed to his murderous crime.
He was prepared to embrace death by the executioner's chair.
But then Dio appeared before him.
"I came here seeking sinners," he spoke, his voice deep and sultry. "And so I have found you."
He was an angel from above, a divine being sent to bring him from the darkness; he took Vanilla Ice from his cell and promised him a better life, a fruitful life, a purpose.
So Vanilla Ice lived for his Lord Dio—and he gladly died for him as well.
His head hit the ground with a sickening thump and the world fell away to nothing.
But then something happened. In those brief moments of lifelessness, he knew he heard the voice of his master, and felt his touch upon his skin. The words he spoke were forgotten, like a dream upon waking, but he wasn't at all bothered because a miracle had just occurred.
He was alive; his dedication to his Lord was rewarded.
“Lord Dio.” Vanilla Ice touched his neck and found no scar there, no indication that he sacrificed his life. Yet when he turned his attention to the vase, he saw it filled with blood.
“I could never take the blood of a man of your caliber.” Lord Dio reached down and caressed his face. Dio said something about 'changes' and 'effects' but Ice wasn't quite sure he understood what was happening. Dio must have noticed because he leaned forward, took Ice's face between his hands, and smirked.
“You are now like me, Vanilla Ice, so be wary of the sun. I will leave them all to you.” Happy, could not describe the feeling that took hold of him. There were no words to describe the bliss he felt, knowing he could remain at his master's side for all eternity.
It was a wonderful reward. He offered Dio his blood, and in exchange received eternal life.
He vowed he would not fail his Master and promised to live up to his expectations. He forgot to use the door as he left but killed Muhammad Avdol with ease.
Next, he killed that filthy dog.
But that traitor, Polnareff, somehow evaded him; the bastard refused to die. And worse, he lured Ice into a trap.
“You’re like Dio now!” Polnareff yelled, “A filthy, soulless vampire!” Ice wanted nothing more than to rip Polnareff's throat out. How dare he insult Lord Dio in such a way? But Polnareff was a clever wretch and his Silver Chariot moved to cut the walls and smashed the windows, flooding the entire room with light.
Vanilla Ice, unused to his body, reached into the sunlight and his arm burned away.
You are now like me. Dio's voice echoed through his mind, the realization of what that meant sounded an alarm much louder than Polnareff's goading. He could not go into the sun. So, he turned his body, lunging at Polnareff from beyond the reach of the light, blinded by his violent rage.
But silver chariot was faster than him. It used its sword to cut another wall and light burst in from the hole he made.
His right leg was the first to go, then four of his left fingers.
"You bastard!" He yelled as Polnareff mocked him, watching his body burn and crumble to pieces. It hurt, it hurt more than anything he'd ever felt before. He wanted to cry out but that would be useless. Instead, Ice needed to do something. He needed to live, needed to remain at his Master's side.
So his soul acted on its own.
Cream, without command, consumed him quickly, pulling Vanilla Ice away from that accursed sunlight.
It took all he had to maintain Cream's power, to float high into the air so Polnareff would not see him. But his right arm and leg were missing, as were several of his fingers and part of his left thigh. He was in so much pain he thought he would die. But instead, he fell unconscious, safely nestled within Cream's void.
*
When he woke, Vanilla Ice was hungry—but the thought of food made his stomach churn.
He peeked out into the world and saw that it was night. And though his body still pained him, he wanted to search for Dio and beg for his forgiveness. Had he not fallen into such a terrible trap, he thought, had he not been too weak to defeat Polnareff of all people, he could have fought the Joestars at his master's side.
He searched and searched but his Lord Dio was gone, and the pain he felt was nothing in the face of his all-consuming grief. Without Dio, his life meant nothing, he was nothing. Vanilla Ice wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and die alongside his Master... but Dio gave him the gift of immortal life. And since Dio did not make mistakes, he wouldn't dare waste it.
So, deep into the night, with the sounds of the city far in the distance, Vanilla Ice dragged himself across the floor and entered Dio's bedroom.
There was very little he could do in that pathetic state, but he hoped—no, he expected—to find an ally in you, the one Lord Dio cherished.
He reached for the drawer and took your photo from the box, ignoring the other contents. If you truly loved Dio you would come to Egypt and confirm his death with your own eyes.
And when you did he would be there to meet you, and you would avenge Lord Dio together.
You arrived in Cairo three days later. It was night, but you remained reasonably covered, unwilling to reveal your identity to anyone lurking about. Your spies lead you to Dio's mansion but most everything was already gone.
And yet you felt something. The pull was different from what always seemed to drag you and Dio together, but it seemed to be the same force, the same law of gravity. And so you followed it, moving from room to room, from floor to floor, searching for something just barely out of reach.
"Enough," you finally demanded. "I've grown tired of this; if there is something you want from me then show yourself." Your voice echoed through the empty halls, but you sensed the presence of another right above you. So you furrowed your brows and turned your head slowly.
It was there you met his steely gaze, the bright red eyes of an apex predator: wild, sharp, and hungry. He stared down at you from the mouth of a horrifying stand, a true grim reaper, but you stood firm against him.
"Vanilla Ice?" you recalled the name Dio once told you, the one whose stand could disappear from the world, the one whose body was never recovered.
He said your name in turn.
*
When you finally saw the whole of him you understood why he wanted to hide.
"Your limbs won't regenerate, no matter how much blood you consume," you told him. "We'll have to get you new ones." He didn't ask for your assistance, but you gave it to him anyway.
"...Lord DIO grafted his head unto the body of Jonathan Joestar. Would it work the same for me?"
"Your Lord Dio once grafted the head of a man to the body of a dog. I think I can handle a few limbs." You waved away his concerns.
"Lord DIO is truly astounding, there is no one else like him," he ignored your comments, unimpressed by your haughty decree. You rolled your eyes.
You wanted Vanilla Ice to like his new body so three nights passed before you found someone of comparable size and musculature. And though it wouldn't matter in the end, you wanted the man to be handsome as well.
Luckily, when you found what he thought to be the perfect man, bringing him home was easy.
"...and you simply must meet my friend, Vanilla Ice." You pitched your voice high and smiled at him flirtatiously.
"Vanilla Ice?" He purposefully lowered his voice, practically growling his name. "If she's anywhere near as sexy as you, I know we'll have fun together... " You opened the door and lead him inside. He pulled his gaze away from you and looked around to find 'her.' Instead, he was met with the sight of an old dusty floor and walls covered with a tarp.
It was clear something terrible happened here, but he only just seemed to notice. His footsteps slowed to a halt beside your own.
"Where is she?"
You made an upward gesture, and the man made the mistake of following your lead. He couldn't see the Stand, which you later learned was named Cream, but he could see Vanilla Ice's piercing gaze above him.
The man's expression morphed into one of utmost terror and he tried to run, but you called forth your stand, Déjà vu, and kept him rooted in place.
"What do you think of this one, Ice?"
After a moment or two of contemplation, Vanilla Ice gave a solitary nod.
"You won't be needing this," you told him, slipping off his golden ring. You examined its make and texture as Ice took care of the dirty business. You frowned; the ring was cheap.
Cream was a surprisingly adorable stand, once you moved passed the shock of his appearance; it placed the necessary limbs before you like an offering, and the action brought to mind your followers back home.
Every so often they thought to bring you something: their precious jewelry, their family fortune, their life savings, their children (though you never accepted them), and, of course, the blood that flowed through their bodies. They gave you these offerings while laying prostrate at your feet, begging and crying, so grateful for you. It was pathetic really, and so utterly boring.
But Vanilla Ice wasn't begging. To him, you were a simple means to an end: someone to help avenge Dio.
It was a little bit amusing, perhaps even a little exciting. Could you make him submit to you? You wondered.
"I've never actually done this before," you confessed, pushing those thoughts to the back of your mind—you would rather him be your friend. "You'll be a little patient with me, won't you?"
He was. And so you grafted the severed limbs to his body.
"Now," you stood with an exaggerated groan in your voice, acting as though you performed a complex surgery. "Why don't you come with me?" You extended your hand toward him, offering a way forward. "You must be hungry."