Silva's hands glowed with an immense concentration of aura as he plummeted toward the street. His target was Isori, who had just dragged himself out of the floodwaters.
Isori sensed the danger immediately.
He still had his revolvers. Thanks to the protective coating of his Nen, they hadn't misfired despite the submersion.
He squeezed the triggers rapidly.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Isori emptied his clips into the air, aiming straight at the descending assassin.
But the moment the bullets left the barrel, a serpentine dragon head lunged from the side, swallowing every single round mid-air.
The bullets exploded inside the dragon's translucent belly, but the construct, made entirely of Zeno's aura, didn't even waver.
Alarm bells screamed in Isori's mind. He tried to move, but his body wouldn't obey.
If that dragon had aimed for him instead of the bullets, he would have been torn into three pieces by now.
Isori strained every muscle, but he couldn't budge an inch. The space around him felt thick, viscous, solid. It was as if he had been frozen in a block of invisible amber. He couldn't even twitch his pinky finger.
Above him, Silva was coming down fast.
In Isori's peripheral vision, he could see Zeno standing nearby, hands posed as he manipulated the dragon.
The dragon, having contained the explosion, turned its head toward Isori. It seemed ready to swallow him whole if Silva's strike failed.
But that wasn't what filled Isori with despair.
The true despair came from the realization that his senses weren't lying to him.
Space itself had been locked down.
And the cause was Ronin, who was staring directly at him from a short distance away.
Ame-no-Tokotachi.
This was the ability of Ronin's left eye. Its power: to freeze a specific area of space within his line of sight.
Isori couldn't pull the trigger because Ronin had activated Ame-no-Tokotachi, locking Isori and the space immediately around him in stasis.
However, the area was perhaps a bit too large. Ronin felt a warm trickle of blood run down his cheek from his left eye.
He wasn't sure if the strain came from the size of the frozen area or because Silva, falling at high velocity, had just entered the zone of effect and been forcibly paused in mid-air.
But Ronin knew one thing: if he released Ame-no-Tokotachi now, Silva's attack would connect perfectly.
Suspended in the air less than half a meter above Isori, Silva felt a flicker of disbelief.
He was frozen. He could feel the aura in his fists burning away rapidly, yet his body was descending at a snail's pace.
The sensation lasted less than a second.
Silva instantly pinpointed the source of the interference.
Then, just as suddenly, time resumed. Gravity and momentum returned. Silva's fists, wrapped in devastating aura, smashed into Isori as the gunman stared up in helpless terror.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the street. A crater appeared where Isori had stood. Blood sprayed violently, and two severed hands, still clutching revolvers, spun out of the pit.
Silva didn't bother looking at the paste that used to be Isori. He stood up and turned his head, looking straight at Ronin.
At that moment, two figures blurred into existence near the crater.
It was Nobunaga and Phinks.
Moving in sync, they launched a pincer attack on Silva. Meanwhile, two other figures charged toward Ronin.
Zeno's Dragon Head Caricature hadn't dissipated. With a flick of his wrists, the dragon whipped around, slamming into Nobunaga and Phinks with increased speed.
Nobunaga slashed at the dragon. His blade cut into the aura, but it couldn't sever it—the moment the blade passed, the dragon reconnected.
The impact sent Nobunaga flying.
Phinks, however, ignored the dragon and reached Silva. Silva matched him, raising a fist charged with explosive aura to meet Phinks's punch.
Crack!
Both men slid backward from the impact. But Silva looked completely at ease.
He had just expended massive energy to kill Isori, yet he could still clash evenly with Phinks's fully charged strike. The difference in their base power was evident—Silva was at least two or three tiers above Phinks.
On the other side, the red skeletal warrior manifested around Ronin again.
It was only a partial torso, but its massive hand grabbed at the small figure rushing him, while its ribcage effortlessly tanked the barrage of Nen bullets from the other attacker.
The small attacker was Feitan.
Having seen the power of the skeletal hand earlier, Feitan didn't dare make contact. He backflipped away rapidly, dodging the hand's grasp but losing his chance to close the distance.
Franklin, seeing his Double Machine Gun failing to scratch the Susanoo, made a decision. He grabbed his left wrist and yanked, detaching his hand to reveal a dark, gaping cannon barrel.
A massive amount of aura began to gather in the opening.
Single-Arm Cannon.
But before he could fire, a bullet struck him squarely in the forehead. Sparks flew as Franklin stumbled back, his concentration broken. The condensed aura in his arm discharged prematurely, firing wide.
A volleyball-sized sphere of pure destructive energy screamed past the Susanoo, slamming into a nearby building.
BOOM!
The explosion tore a hole several meters wide in the concrete structure.
Franklin looked up toward the source of the shot. On a distant rooftop, a sniper rifle was set up.
Standing behind the shooter was a young man with glowing red eyes.
It was Kurapika, standing beside the mercenary captain, Muherr.
"Retreat!"
Chrollo's voice echoed from the distance. Something must have happened over there to force the order.
The Troupe members exchanged glances, frustration evident in their eyes.
But then, more figures appeared on the street. Mercenaries, heavily armed and openly flaring their Nen. In the center of their formation stomped a four-meter-tall metal mech suit.
The Spiders stiffened, then quickly grouped up and began a tactical withdrawal.
With the mercenaries here, the tide had turned.
The mercenaries didn't pursue. Instead, they formed a defensive perimeter around Ronin.
Zeno and Silva had no intention of fighting, either. Their target was Isori.
Now that Isori was a smear on the pavement, the contract was fulfilled. There was no reason to fight the Phantom Troupe for free.
Killing outside the contract wasn't professional. Unless the client paid extra, Zeno wasn't lifting a finger. He hated working for free.
Silva, likewise, wasn't the type to kill indiscriminately. His gaze lingered on Ronin.
Ronin's strength was concerning. Especially the bizarre, versatile nature of his abilities.
Silva didn't approach. He simply nodded at Ronin—an acknowledgment of the assist with Isori that had saved him time—and turned to leave.
Zeno followed suit.
"Young people these days... truly terrifying," Zeno muttered as they walked away.
His voice wasn't loud, but Ronin's sharp ears caught it.
The corner of Ronin's mouth twitched upward.
I'll take that as a compliment.