As Chrollo vaulted into the stands, the entire arena erupted into chaos.
The announcer's voice cracked with shock—clearly unprepared for the battle to spill into the audience.
The spectators, less fortunate than the commentators, were the first to suffer.
From Joey's vantage point, he saw it all.
With Gyo focused in his eyes, he caught every intricate twitch of Chrollo's hand.
Book in his right hand.
Phone and two antennae in his left.
A flick. The antennae embedded into two nearby spectators.
Chrollo flipped a page, slammed his hand on a man's shoulder—
And transformed.
Appearance, clothes, aura—everything. Gone.
Convert Hands.
Left hand to become them. Right hand to make them you.
Both hands? A clean swap.
Then, as the two controlled puppets charged Hisoka, Chrollo slipped behind them, merging into the crowd.
Hisoka didn't hesitate.
He shattered their spines and necks in one fluid motion.
Blood exploded. Screams followed. The audience devolved into a panicked mob.
Joey moved with the storm.
A swarm of beetles burst from under his coat, darting straight toward Gerrard's location.
A second beetle touched its mark.
Another target erased—silent annihilation.
But that was the signal.
Several figures—Killers, disguised as bystanders—locked on to Joey's position.
They stormed forward, throwing aside screaming civilians.
Joey glanced down.
Gerrard. Artikam. Both turned to him.
Gerrard smirked.
Cold. Playful. Mocking.
Beside him, Meikō—his red-haired secretary—turned.
Her pupils were now blood-red, and with her at the center, her Aura Sphere—her En—began to turn scarlet.
Beetles that crossed into the blood-hued field dropped midair, striking the floor as nothing more than button batteries.
Joey narrowed his eyes.
Confirmed—Meikō's En was lethal.
A Weather Beast appeared on Joey's shoulder.
He couldn't decode Meikō's ability just yet, but he didn't need to.
It was a threat.
Thin tendrils of fog began curling around his boots.
Spreading.
His En radius was 1.8 meters, but his ability—Weather Report—was not limited to it.
Just like his Mirage illusion bent light beyond his reach, his fog did too.
Outside the radius, the mist was just weather—no Nen, no manipulation.
But inside?
He was god.
In seconds, a dense, suffocating mist consumed the arena.
Visibility zero.
Even Joey himself couldn't see far—but he didn't have to.
He could sense everything inside his En.
From Chrollo's chaos below to the shouts in the VIP stands, pandemonium spread.
And then—
A man leapt across the crowd toward the upper deck, but in midair, a bird—summoned via Nen—slammed into him.
The man exploded mid-flight.
Joey smirked.
Two battlefronts. One plan.
Chrollo was stirring chaos below.
Joey would assassinate Gerrard above.
He changed clothes. Reversed his jacket.
Wiped off his makeup. Mask, shades on.
Two coins left his fingers—projectiles transformed via Gold Experience.
But—clink. Both were deflected.
Weapons. Armor. Preparedness.
Behind him, Killer Queen materialized and punched.
A grunt.
The target reeled.
Then—CRACKLE.
A lightning bolt arced from the mist. Joey's Rainstorm Weather.
Then came the caress.
Killer Queen's hand brushed the attacker's cheek.
A thumb dropped.
Boom.
Joey pulled Killer Queen back. Dismissed the Weather Beast.
Let the fog thin.
Panicked spectators began to appear once more.
Down below, Gerrard was still seated.
The merchant who had sat beside him—gone.
But Gerrard, Meikō, and their entourage remained.
Calm. Unified. Cold-blooded.
They were waiting—for Joey to die, or for the crowd to scatter enough to extract safely.
And down below?
Chrollo vs. Hisoka had turned into a hurricane of puppets.
Copies, manipulated corpses, Convert Hands transformations, explosive seals via Sun & Moon—
Chrollo wove his symphony in blood.
Hisoka was being pushed.
And like a snake sensing warmth, he began slithering toward Gerrard's position.
Joey took note.
And that's when he saw it:
Artikam—gone.
Ed had taken his place beside Gerrard.
Along with the fake gym trainer.
The fog had flushed out all of Gerrard's protection detail.
Perfect.
Three down. Several more to go.
But the fog had revealed his powers too.
Would they decipher its source? How much would they figure out?
Joey didn't know.
But the real fight was just beginning.
Killer Queen appeared again, this time at a distance.
No source could be traced.
Its arm cocked back—and fired the Sheer Heart Attack.
A tank-like projectile cloaked in pink Nen streaked through the fog, screaming:
"FRIED CHICKEN'S GONNA BURN!"
It tore through Meikō's En—
But a man in a black suit stepped up.
Oversized baseball bat in hand.
"FASTBALL!"
He roared, swinging.
Joey's eyes narrowed.
Wrong move.
If it were a normal Nen projectile, a manipulation of rules could work.
But this was a Stand Ability.
And Stand rules didn't obey Nen laws.
Boom.
The bat exploded.
The man screamed.
But Sheer Heart Attack kept going, howling its stupid chicken line.
Then—
Slam.
A massive Nen hand crushed it midair.
Emission-type ability.
Direct suppression.
Joey saw it. Scoffed.
The real attack had already ended.
The Sheer Heart Attack would now just roam—
tracking anything above 35°C until it exploded.
And Joey had rigged the area.
The button batteries dropped earlier?
Traps.
Once their Nen faded, they overheated—becoming lures.
The entire section around Gerrard was now a hot zone.
Joey smiled.
Let the chaos stall them.
He had work to do.
A shadow rose ahead.
Tall. Muscled. Terrifying.
Artikam.
Joey recognized him immediately.
And so did the crowd.
The man was punching through civilians without mercy.
Not targeting Joey. Just clearing a path.
One punch per head.
Each strike—flawless.
Like it had been practiced a thousand times.
Perfect form. Lethal precision.
Joey squinted.
No Nen coating. Just raw "Ken."
Physical strength.
Could be Enhancement-type. Or hiding his real hand.
Either way—dangerous.
Joey stopped.
So did the crowd.
He held a coin between two fingers—
And his danger sense flared.
A chill. Reflex.
He dropped into a defensive stance—Ken across his arms.
CRACK.
Pain.
But less than expected.
Joey's eyes narrowed.
Why hold back?
"I knew it! You're the one!
Accept my challenge, Joey Joestar!!"
Artikam leapt back, yelling loud enough to shake the stands.
At that instant, a glowing aura shield surged out of his body.
An arena.
Joey's instincts screamed. He tried to dodge—
But the shield spread too fast.
He was caught.
Spectators nearby were flung away—rejected by the shield.
Joey blinked.
His Nen was gone.
"Zetsu."
A special-type ability?
Forcing opponents into Zetsu?
Joey's eyes darted to Artikam.
No Nen there either.
Both of them were suppressed.
"An arena. One-on-one."
The size matched the lower-ring stage.
Then, the pieces clicked.
Artikam smiled.
"You catch on fast. This is my ability:
Gladiator Arena."
"If I hit you once, speak your name, and issue a challenge—
The duel begins.
No Nen. No weapons.
Just muscle. Technique.
Fist vs. fist.
A real man's fight."
As he spoke, his tight suit ripped apart, revealing iron-forged muscle, sculpted through a lifetime of brutality.
His backstory played out like a warrior's myth:
Fighting since age four.
Took down a bear at five to pay off his foster father's debt.
Raised in underground arenas, sold as a gladiator.
By 23, he had mastered every martial art—
Boxing, Jiu-jitsu, Wrestling, Muay Thai.
He came to Heaven's Arena and crushed the first 200 floors.
But here, he lost.
Not to fists.
To a Manipulation-type Nen trick.
Since then, he devoted his life to creating true combat.
And birthed his ability: Gladiator Arena.
Now—he had Joey.
Or so he thought.
Artikam charged—then stopped.
Joey's side shimmered.
Killer Queen.
Appearing without warning. No aura. No signal.
Its fists blurred.
"MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!!"
A storm of punches.
Artikam's body twisted under the barrage—muscle buckling, bones creaking.
He roared.
Grabbed Killer Queen's wrist.
Eyes bloodshot. Snarling.
Then—
Shatter.
Glass breaking.
Artikam fell backward.
Unconscious.
His Nen barrier shattered.
"His ability's broken," Joey muttered.
He'd won.
Killer Queen twisted free.
Reached toward Artikam—
Joey paused.
He didn't want to kill him.
Not out of mercy.
But because he sensed something…
Resolve. Obsession. Madness.
If he killed Artikam, something worse might happen.
Instead—
He touched Artikam.
Set a First Bomb—aimed to precisely destroy the man's limbs.
Cripple, not kill.
But as he reached—
A voice behind him:
"I'd advise you not to touch him."
Suddenly, grotesque bloody faces appeared on both of them.