Hunter X Hunter: Tombbound Power

After loading his revolver, Ronnel dashed forward, seeing the Uvogin puppet lunge toward him the moment it sensed movement. With a fluid motion, he pulled out his ancient Subai copper saber and charged.

"Crack!"

The saber in Ronnel's hand sliced down cleanly, cutting the puppet in half—from head to waist—right down the center, splitting it with surgical precision.

"Damn impressive."

The shadowy figure, standing just out of reach, narrowed his eyes at the sight of the puppet being bisected so effortlessly. His jaw clenched, grinding his teeth in frustration.

"Hisoka, you bastard. I didn't think someone like you would team up with anyone!"

Hisoka emerged from the shadows, a smirk tugging at his lips, his tone playful.

"Technically speaking, we're still companions, so teaming up isn't out of the question, is it?"

With his characteristic grin in place, Hisoka stepped aside, gesturing toward Ronnel.

"Omokage, meet Ronnel. Phantom Troupe's new Number 8."

Omokage sneered.

"A new Number 8? No one told me anything, or I'd have made a puppet out of him."

Omokage's voice turned venomous as he raised his dark gun—modeled after Franklin's—and aimed directly at Ronnel.

"But it doesn't matter. None of you are leaving here alive. I'll craft the finest puppets from your corpses."

"Da-da-da!"

Bullets sprayed toward Ronnel in rapid bursts, but he remained calm, watching their trajectory carefully.

"They're dense, but..." Ronnel whispered as he twisted his body unnaturally, avoiding the hail of bullets.

"Not impossible to dodge."

If Franklin had fired these shots himself, Ronnel wouldn't have dared to risk such a maneuver. But these phantom bullets lacked the speed and power of the original.

Hisoka, watching from the sidelines with gleaming eyes, observed Ronnel's movements with intrigue. He made no move to help, instead twirling his playing cards idly in his hand.

"Die!"

Omokage snarled, frustration turning his face feral as Ronnel danced through the onslaught. Realizing he was losing ground, Omokage threw two more puppets into the fray.

"Go, Nobunaga, Feitan! Chop this bastard's head off!"

The puppets landed with a thud, taking shape almost instantly. But before they could strike, two sharp cards flashed through the air.

"Shua!"

"You seem to be forgetting I'm still here," Hisoka said with a singsong voice.

His playing cards sliced the puppets cleanly in two before they could fully form, pinning parts of their bodies to the ground.

"Tch!"

Blood dripped from Omokage's mouth as he coughed, staggering backward under the pressure. His injuries worsened, but the real threat loomed closer—Ronnel was now within striking distance, his ingot knife poised to finish the job.

"It's over."

Ronnel's voice was calm and cold as the knife descended toward the shadowy figure.

"Not yet, damn you!"

In a desperate attempt, Omokage roared, fusing his arms with the phantom's power to rotate them violently. It was Phinks' Ripper Cyclotron—the more rotations, the stronger the strike.

But Omokage wasn't an Enhancer, and this power came at a cost. Every extra rotation strained his body, pushing him toward self-destruction. Yet he had no choice. Life or death—he chose now to worry about nothing but survival.

With his arms swollen to an unnatural size, Omokage swung them toward Ronnel's descending saber.

"BOOM!"

The impact between fist and blade sent shockwaves rippling through the forest, scattering birds and beasts in all directions. Dust and debris kicked up violently, creating a thick cloud around the battlefield.

Even Hisoka, still perched in the branches, had to shield himself from the powerful gust.

When the dust settled, a large crater came into view. In the middle of the pit stood two figures—one upright, the other sprawled out on the ground in defeat.

Both wore black clothing, but the figure on the ground had lost an arm, his clothes shredded and stained with blood.

"Not bad," Ronnel muttered, lowering his knife. "But it's a pity you're still not as strong as me."

Omokage could no longer speak. His body, wracked with pain and burdened by the immense backlash of his own technique, lay broken and helpless. The strain had cost him dearly—not only his arm but also what little hope he had left.

"Kill me," Omokage whispered with the last bit of strength he could muster. "Just… do it."

"As you wish."

"Shua!"

The blade flashed once more, and Omokage's head rolled to the ground, his lifeless eyes frozen in a final grimace.

Ronnel crouched down, rifling through the remains and swiftly retrieving four glowing spheres of light.

"Looks like that wraps things up."

Hisoka finally leapt down from the treetops, landing gracefully next to Ronnel. He gave a low chuckle, glancing at Omokage's corpse.

But his gaze lingered on Ronnel a second too long, and for a brief moment, a flicker of unease crossed Hisoka's face. Not a scratch on him...

"Five points." Hisoka murmured, twirling a card between his fingers, the corners of his lips twitching with unspoken thoughts.

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