Having finished off Artikam, Joey didn't charge straight at Gerrard.
Instead, he melted back into the chaos.
The stands were painted with blood now—dozens of spectators had already died. But on the far side of the arena, crowds still packed the rows, unwilling to abandon their front-row seats to slaughter.
And there, right next to them, the announcer bellowed into her mic:
"Audience chaos! The referee is confirmed dead! This match is OFF THE CHARTS!
Everyone, please remain calm. Piling at the exits is dangerous.
Remember: since the match started, another group has launched an assassination attempt on Arena Executive Gerrard!
The assassin has not yet been captured! Running now will only make you a target!
Also, to those of you who've stormed the ring—don't attack Hisoka! That's suicide!"
Joey let out a low chuckle.
These maniacs really did love their fights.
Even death hadn't dulled their appetite.
And the Arena's response time?
Slower than he expected.
Of course, what guards could really step between Hisoka and Chrollo?
None.
Not and survive.
Thinking this, Joey pulled a phone from his coat.
With a pulse of Golden Experience, it warped into a bird and launched skyward—
Headed straight for Hisoka.
But—BAM!
A flying severed head collided midair, blasting the bird into pieces.
Message received.
This was Hisoka's answer.
He'd use anything—the crowd, the ring, even corpses—
But he didn't cooperate.
It dulled the thrill.
Truthfully, Hisoka had already spotted Joey.
Back when the beetles swarmed toward Gerrard—
That gave him away.
Ilumi had once told him, after all—
A beetle had betrayed them, years ago.
Joey's motive was irrelevant.
If he interfered with the match, Hisoka would kill him.
After he finished Chrollo.
Hisoka stood on the edge of the ring, not far from Gerrard's section.
He looked up, eyes sweeping the thinning crowd.
Too few spectators nearby.
Not optimal for Chrollo's trickery.
"He knows my play," Hisoka thought.
"So what's his next?"
Chrollo's Skill Hunter required him to hold the book in his right hand.
He could only use one stolen ability at a time, unless he anchored a bookmark, which let him use a second.
So, likely setup:
Anchor Gallery Fake (the clone-maker).
Flip to Order Stamp.
Animate the clones with the command: "Destroy Hisoka."
The arena's audience all recognized Hisoka, so their residual thoughts would make the puppets aggressive.
And unless Hisoka destroyed their heads, they wouldn't stop.
Meanwhile, Chrollo would lurk among the chaos, waiting for an opening.
But—
There was a flaw.
While Order Stamp was active, Chrollo couldn't use both hands to create more puppets.
Only when not commanding could he resume copying.
Hisoka's eyes narrowed.
"That's the bottleneck."
He used Gerrard's guards as cover, slicing through puppets.
Chrollo struck back a few times—scoring hits.
But Hisoka gave as good as he got—retaliating with whipped corpses, still lashed to him by elastic aura.
Even.
For now.
But Hisoka's analysis was accelerating.
Another puppet came.
This one had the Order Stamp on its forehead.
Hisoka didn't destroy the head.
He severed both arms, pinned the body to the ground.
If the stamp stayed, Order Stamp was still active—
Which meant Chrollo couldn't be copying right now.
This gave Hisoka a window.
He began predicting Chrollo's decision tree:
Keep Order Stamp active, direct existing puppets.
Cancel Order Stamp, switch to Gallery Fake, copy more puppets.
Use Convert Hands to swap appearances and vanish.
Especially now—with Gerrard in the mix—Chrollo would likely retreat and re-mask.
Which meant:
If Hisoka let him build too many puppets—he'd lose by attrition.
Hisoka's grip on the corpse puppet tightened.
Then—
It went limp.
"Gone."
Chrollo had switched skills.
Time to hunt.
Joey watched from afar.
Chrollo's strategy came with risks.
More chaos meant more unpredictability.
If too many spectators died, the entire arena could spiral into an uncontrollable riot.
But the biggest problem?
Convert Hands.
Chrollo could be anyone.
Anywhere.
Hisoka's mind raced—then snapped to clarity.
"If he's making more puppets, he needs to be near the last ones.
Where the first batch went on standby."
He turned.
Looked to the far corner of the arena—
There.
Chrollo.
Hisoka moved.
A blur.
He raced past Gerrard's group—
Right into a detonation.
Joey's Killer Queen, silent and deadly, had left a trap.
First Bomb's range: 3 meters.
Beyond the average En range.
Most of Gerrard's guards were just 200th-floor fodder—
Strong enough to use Nen, weak enough to be irrelevant.
Their En, if it existed at all, wouldn't catch a First Bomb in time.
Joey was deliberate—
Each explosion a test, a nudge, a reminder.
A signal to Hisoka.
A threat to Gerrard.
And slowly, his bombs began to whittle away Gerrard's guards.
First one.
Then another.
Then a third—
One by one, blown apart.
Fear crept in.
The Sheer Heart Attack battle car still prowled near them—
Shrieking, exploding.
Panic.
Soon, only two remained by Gerrard's side:
Gerrard and Eide.
But even now—
Gerrard didn't flinch.
No panic.
No fear.
His gaze met Joey's—
And he smiled.
That same sly, amused smirk.
"Something's wrong," Joey thought.
"Terribly wrong."