"Y-You... You're the Phantom Troupe?!"
Light Nostrade felt as if a jagged rock was lodged in his throat. His eyes bulged in pure, unadulterated terror.
He couldn't understand it. What grudge did the Spiders have against him? Their true enemies should be the Ten Dons—the fools whose Shadow Beasts were wiped out! Why were they targeting him?
"Whatever you want! I can give you whatever you want!" The once-untouchable mafia boss, a man whose hands were stained with the blood of thousands, fell to his knees like a begging stray dog. "Money, power, anything! Just let me live! Please, I don't want to die!"
All his grand ambitions, his dreams of sitting among the Ten Dons—they burst like soap bubbles. In the face of absolute, predatory strength, all his wealth and schemes were worthless.
"Oh?"
Hisoka's narrow, crescent-moon eyes glinted with a sliver of amusement as he looked down at the pathetic creature.
"If you spare me, the Nostrade Family is yours! I will fund your Troupe! I will do anything you ask! Please!" Light Nostrade sobbed, his face pressed against the expensive rug. "I swear I never moved against you! I never went after your bounties!"
In the shadow of death, the mafia king chose absolute submission.
"Well then. Give me your daughter," Hisoka smiled playfully, spinning a blood-red card between his fingers. "And all your wealth."
"Ah?! N-No... Impossible..." Light Nostrade jerked back like a rat cornered by a snake. "H-How do you know about her? No, no, no! I can't give you my daughter! I love my daughter! She's—"
He panicked. Everything he had built was entirely dependent on Neon's Lovely Ghostwriter. Even as he screamed about loving her, what he truly loved was the power she provided him.
"How about a trade, then?" Hisoka purred, treating the man's terror like a fun game. "Give us all your wealth, and we'll spare your daughter's life. But we will take her ability."
"NO! NO, NO, NO! YOU CAN'T DO THAT! YOU CAN'T TAKE HER ABILITY! IT'S EVERYTHING I HAVE! IT'S MINE!" Light Nostrade shrieked hysterically.
Hisoka sighed, his smile fading into disappointment. "Boring."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the silent, blood-soaked hallway.
Light Nostrade scrambled back, looking toward the noise.
A man in a dark coat walked out of the shadows. In his arms, he carried an unconscious girl.
"I have it. Let's go," Chrollo Lucilfer said, dragging Neon Nostrade like a discarded doll. He had successfully stolen her ability using Skill Hunter. However, the condition of his Hatsu dictated that if the original user died, the stolen ability would vanish. Therefore, he had to keep Neon alive and secure.
"M-My daughter... My..."
SNAP!
Light Nostrade's head was violently twisted 360 degrees, his neck snapping like dry pasta. Hisoka didn't even look at him as he did it.
"Since you loved her so much, take a good look. It'll be your last," Hisoka chuckled, his sadistic aura flaring.
Chrollo didn't spare the dead mafia boss a glance. The two Spiders vanished into the night.
The Ruined Hideout.
The remaining Spiders were tense, waiting for their Danchou to return.
"Damn it! We can't just let that bastard go!" Phinks punched a concrete pillar, shattering it.
Every Spider in the room felt the same. This was the greatest humiliation the Phantom Troupe had ever endured. The world's most feared criminals, forced to hide in the ruins like cornered rats, fleeing from a single teenager.
"But he's too strong," Shalnark said quietly. "Uvogin is... probably already dead."
"The Danchou and Hisoka are making a move," Machi said, finishing the stitches on her own arm. "We wait until they return. Then we plan."
"Even for revenge, we must be cold," Shizuku added.
"No one kills a Spider and lives," Phinks growled.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sound of slow, mocking applause echoed through the ruins.
The Spiders froze. They slowly turned their heads toward the entrance.
When they saw the figure standing there, the temperature in the room plummeted.
Ryker.
The demon they had been hiding from.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Without a single word, Franklin unleashed his Double Machine Gun. Ten fingers opened up, firing a storm of high-caliber Nen bullets directly at Ryker. Each bullet could shred solid steel.
But as the bullets reached Ryker, they stopped.
They hung suspended in the air, inches from his face, trapped in an invisible gravitational field.
The Spiders felt their scalps go numb.
"SCATTER!" Feitan screamed.
The Troupe moved on instinct, diving away in different directions.
A split second later, the bullets reversed trajectory.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
They shot back like a shotgun blast, tearing through the concrete and stone where the Spiders had just been standing. Kortopi, the slowest of the group, took a grazing hit to the shoulder.
One figure, however, didn't run. He stayed in the center of the room, pulling out a concealed sword hidden inside an umbrella.
"GO! LEAVE HIM TO ME!"
It was Feitan.
"But Feitan—" Shizuku started, before Machi grabbed her collar and dragged her away.
"Move! We can't fight him without Uvogin! Feitan will cover the rear!" Machi ordered.
The memory of Ryker's nuclear-level explosion was still burned into their retinas. Retreat was the only logical option.
"I will handle this," Feitan hissed, his eyes locked on Ryker.
Ryker didn't bother chasing the others. His [Lucky Star] was on cooldown, meaning he could only guarantee a perfect drop from one Spider per day. If he killed them all now, he'd waste their premium traits.
One a day keeps the boredom away.
Ryker smiled as he looked at the short, brooding assassin in the skull-motif bandana.
"You shouldn't have messed with us," Feitan growled, his voice rasping. "You will pay in blood. Tell me... are you afraid of the heat?"
As Feitan spoke, his aura violently spiked. A sinister, restrictive suit of armor began to materialize over his body, covering everything except his eyes. The ambient temperature in the ruins skyrocketed.
"Nice ability. Very nice," Ryker complimented, activating his system view.
[Target: Phantom Troupe Member - Feitan Portor]
[Traits: {Conjuration Talent} (Gold), {Pain Packer: Rising Sun} (Double Gold), {Unforgivable Sinner} (Gold), {Sadism} (Gold), {Torture/Interrogation} (Gold), {Hatred} (Gold)]
Ryker's eyes lit up.
Another treasure chest of Gold.
If Uvogin was the Troupe's ultimate single-target nuke, Feitan was their ultimate Area of Effect (AOE) disaster.
Ryker also noticed a new trait: {Hatred} (Gold).
Interesting. He didn't have that trait before. It only appeared after I killed Nobunaga and Uvogin. So, psychological trauma and intense emotion can literally generate new high-tier traits? That means if I torture them mentally, I can fatten up the 'pigs' before I slaughter them for XP.
Feitan didn't waste time talking. The air around him distorted from the sheer heat.
"Laugh while you can. You will repent."
Feitan vanished.
CLANG!
His umbrella sword struck with supersonic speed, aiming directly for Ryker's throat.
But Feitan's eyes widened behind his armor visor.
His ultimate thrust had been casually blocked. Ryker stood there, one hand in his pocket, using a simple fish-filleting knife to parry the blow. The immense kinetic force of Feitan's charge had only forced Ryker to take half a step back.
What kind of monster strength is this?!
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
Feitan unleashed a flurry of strikes, his blade moving so fast it created a dome of steel around Ryker. But Ryker simply stood his ground, casually flicking his fish knife, parrying every single strike with mathematical precision.
"Is this the power of the Spider?" Ryker taunted. "Disappointing. Swordsmanship isn't really your forte, is it?"
Ryker was just playing. His [Super Five Senses] and mastery traits allowed him to analyze and copy Feitan's combat style in real-time. But copied skills were inferior to plundered System Traits. He just wanted to see what Feitan could do.
Swish.
During the exchange, Ryker's fish knife slipped past Feitan's guard. It sliced cleanly through the conjured armor, leaving a shallow, burning cut across Feitan's cheek.
Feitan leaped back, touching the blood on his face. His eyes filled with absolute, maniacal resolve.
"I WILL RETURN THE PAIN! BURN! UNFORGIVABLE SINNER!"
Feitan roared in a strange, corrupted language.
A massive, suffocating wave of crimson aura erupted from his body. He looked like an Asura clawing its way out of hell.
A sphere of blinding light shot up from Feitan's position, rising high into the ceiling of the cavernous ruins.
The moment it reached the apex, it ignited.
[Pain Packer: Rising Sun] (Double Gold)
BOOM!
A miniature, localized sun detonated inside the ruins.
A flood of apocalyptic heat washed over the area. It was like a dam of magma bursting open. The temperature reached thousands of degrees in an instant. The sky turned blood red.
Stone pillars instantly cracked and melted. The surrounding trees vaporized into ash before they could even catch fire. The entire zone was swallowed by a blinding, scorching hellscape.
Several kilometers away, the fleeing Spiders stopped and looked back.
"Feitan..." Machi muttered, watching the sky turn red.
"He used it," Phinks grinned. "That kid is dead for sure."
"Why is my heart beating so fast?" Shizuku asked, placing a hand on her chest.
They kept running. They knew better than to stick around when Feitan activated Rising Sun.
Back at the epicenter, the miniature sun burned for a full minute.
The earth was baked into black glass. The air was so hot it was toxic to breathe.
Feitan, protected within his conjured armor, fell to one knee, panting heavily. Sweat poured down his face.
That was the strongest Rising Sun I've ever produced, he thought, grinning viciously beneath his mask. Even steel would melt in that. I focused all the heat directly on his position. It was like dropping him into a blast furnace. He's ash.
As the blinding light finally began to fade, Feitan forced himself to stand. He stared at the epicenter, waiting to see the charred remains of the monster who had terrorized them.
The smoke cleared.
Feitan's body went completely rigid.
His pupils dilated to their absolute limit. His jaw dropped. He forgot how to breathe.
The arrogant, sadistic torturer of the Phantom Troupe stared at the center of the blast zone, his face contorting into an expression of absolute, mind-shattering terror...
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