"Deactivate your ability and surrender, or I'll open fire."
One of the enforcers materialized a conjured handgun in his grip, the barrel aimed directly at Joey. A click echoed—bullet chambered.
Conjured weapons often came with unique effects.
But no matter how fantastical the ability, a bullet's velocity and trajectory were still governed by physics.
The usual condition: the bullet must hit the target for the ability to activate.
At most, Enhancer-type boosts might accelerate the round or infuse it with unerring homing—through vow and restriction.
But countering it?
Simple: make sure the bullet hits someone else.
Joey's arm flashed out—
One of the spectators forcibly pushed back by the gusting wind was yanked from midair and used as a human shield.
No time to think about guilt or morality.
Joey was on a clock, and the arena guards weren't about to start gunning down civilians.
Sure enough, the gunman didn't fire.
But the second guard, scowling in rage, thrust his palm forward—
A massive aura bubble launched toward Joey, expanding rapidly to encapsulate both him and the hostage.
"Emitter-type," Joey instantly assessed.
As the bubble touched the edge of his En, Joey ignited a firestorm.
Compressed oxygen, friction-heated air—a combustion burst engulfed the bubble entirely.
And then—
The "Joey" still standing there began to shimmer—distort—disperse like fog.
An illusion.
"Over there!" shouted a guard, spotting Joey's true form reconstituting in midair just a few meters away.
But before they could move, the arena exits burst open, and a tidal wave of panicked spectators flooded out.
A human stampede swallowed the guards and medics alike.
Even the two Nen users couldn't move through the chaos without trampling civilians.
Within moments, Joey had vanished into the crowd.
With no other options, the guards turned back, forming a protective circle around the medics and began forcing their way back inside the arena.
Meanwhile, Joey emerged from the flow and whipped out his phone.
A single screen displayed: a map with a red marker.
230th floor. Heliport.
That's where Gerrard was escaping from.
Also displayed: a message. "3 minutes."
That must've been Piyon's estimate—the time left before Gerrard took off.
Half a minute had already passed.
Joey bolted.
But before he made it far—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion tore through the building.
Smoke. Screams. Sirens.
The Sky Arena plunged into chaos. This wasn't just a scuffle in the stands—
This was full-scale catastrophe.
Joey glanced back once.
Then ignored it all.
Weather Report: Gale Force Winds.
He accelerated like a jet engine, streaking through the floors of the tower.
Inside the arena, Hisoka's left arm was in ruins, blood cascading from the shattered flesh.
But Chrollo—panting heavily—hid behind his army of puppets, blood leaking from his abdomen.
He hadn't escaped unscathed either.
"Tch… he read me."
Chrollo hadn't expected Hisoka to anticipate the broadcast command.
It wasn't shocking that Hisoka figured out the combo between Gallery Fake and Convert Hands, or deduced the fake 'Chrollo' was a manipulated decoy using Black Voice and Convert Hands.
But the fact Hisoka had predicted exactly how he'd issue commands—
That was unexpected.
Because Chrollo had to personally issue the voice command—
The puppets couldn't relay it.
But he wasn't panicking.
There were still dozens of puppets around him, each now charging Hisoka with rabid intent.
And just as Chrollo finished issuing the command, he threw the stolen earpiece aside, ducked behind fleeing civilians, and once again opened his Bandit's Secret.
This time, he inserted the bookmark onto Convert Hands, reached with his left, and touched a short-statured civilian nearby.
Swap complete.
But the moment he moved, a sense of kill-zone danger coiled up his spine.
Chrollo dropped to the ground and rolled aside.
In that instant—
Hisoka smashed together five corpses, all bonded to his chest by Bungee Gum, into a massive pendulum.
With a forward dash, he swung it straight at the spot Chrollo had dodged into.
If Chrollo wanted to hide—
Then Hisoka would remove all places to hide.
Anyone agile enough to dodge such a barrage—
Had to be Chrollo or a manipulated puppet.
He was sure.
After all, Chrollo held two antennae:
One was affixed to the fake Chrollo decoy.
The second…
Was likely still on him.
Hisoka knew he couldn't risk getting too close.
One misstep, and Chrollo would insert the antenna—
Game over.
But if he stayed away, the threat of double-imbued Exploding Puppets loomed.
Especially if Chrollo had applied the three-second charge for maximum detonation power.
So Hisoka had only one strategy:
Keep all puppets away.
Keep killing civilians, so Chrollo had nowhere left to blend in.
If he managed both, he might eke out a win.
But…
"It's exactly the trap Chrollo wanted."
The strain was killing him.
Swinging human bodies as flails.
Reinforcing them with Ken via Shu.
Constantly alternating Gyo for defense.
His aura pool was bleeding out.
And the puppets were endless.
As blood and limbs exploded across the arena floor, Hisoka's eyes suddenly narrowed.
The fake Chrollo—
The one with the antenna—
Was gone.
Did Chrollo retract the antenna?
Could it be returned manually? By puppet courier? Or did it operate on aura wire?
No—
Throughout the entire fight, Chrollo had never reused the second antenna.
And now even the first one had vanished.
"...He used both from the start."
Which meant—there's still someone under Black Voice.
An active sleeper—
Primed to act.
To command that puppet remotely, Chrollo had kept one hand buried in his pocket—
Likely typing on a concealed cell phone.
But not looking.
Which meant: blind-typed commands.
And the safest input in such conditions?
Short phrases.
What did he type?
"Replace antenna."
"Hide."
"Wait."
The real kill switch puppet must be a live human, fully capable of obeying complex timing.
Not just another fake.
The true final bomb isn't a puppet.
It's a manipulated human carrying the full-powered Double-Imprint Explosive.
Hisoka's fingers twitched.
Far away, a severed head rolled ever so slightly.
"There it is…"
One of the many heads he'd severed earlier—
One he'd left untouched—
Now glowed faintly pink.
And he remembered.
During that moment when he forced Gerrard's guards to assist in puppet elimination—
Chrollo had vanished for a time.
Hisoka originally assumed he'd been mass-producing puppets…
But the math didn't add up.
The number of puppets created and the timing of their activation?
Discrepancy.
"He was laying traps."
That severed head likely once belonged to a body marked with the Sun Seal.
All Chrollo needed was for a Moon Seal puppet to collide with it.
Boom.
A full-power blast—
And if Hisoka happened to pull that head close again…
Game over.
It would take a precise, controlled pawn to execute such a plan.
Only a Black Voice victim could pull it off.
Which meant somewhere in this arena—
There was a sleeper agent, inserted with the second antenna, loitering near that corpse.
And just now, Chrollo had started moving—
Running toward the head.
Hisoka's lips curled upward.
Fingers snapped.
The severed head lit up, glowing pink.
"Let's see who you really are…"