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The crimson skeleton roared back into existence. The skeletal hand slammed against Susanoo's ribcage and stopped cold.
For a split second.
Then came the crack. The withered palm punched straight through the glowing armor like it was tissue paper, only to freeze mid-air an inch from Ronin's chest.
"Huh?"
The short, shriveled old man tilted his head, genuinely surprised.
Maha Zoldyck. The oldest living Zoldyck, the one even Zeno called "Grandpa" with real respect.
Ronin's left eye was already bleeding. The instant Susanoo shattered, he'd triggered Amenotokotachi and locked the space around the incoming hand—plus the hand itself—into a perfect cage.
Strong. Way too strong.
The raw power behind that single strike told Ronin everything. The old man had gone all-in with pure Ko the second he attacked, dumping every ounce of aura into that one palm.
No hesitation. No warmup.
Ronin didn't even think. His right eye flared and Amaterasu ignited on Maha's exact position.
Black flames bloomed—then swallowed nothing but empty air.
Maha was already gone. All that remained was the severed hand still floating in the frozen space, cleanly cut at the wrist.
Cold-blooded son of a bitch.
The old man had ditched the arm the instant he sensed danger, like it was nothing more than a glove he didn't need anymore.
The spatial lock dissolved. The severed hand dropped—then shot forward on its own, fingers curled like claws straight at Ronin's heart. Residual aura still burned inside it, strong enough to keep the limb moving.
Ronin's hands were already forming seals, but the hand was too close. Flying Thunder God flashed the moment the technique completed.
He vanished from the arena floor, severed hand still clamped to his chest.
Maha's head snapped around. His eyes locked onto the lower stands.
At the exact same second, Illumi appeared on the ring right where Ronin had been standing, silver needles already between his fingers.
No target left.
"Come," Maha ordered, voice flat. He blurred toward the fighter exit tunnel.
The referee on the ring and the entire crowd froze for half a heartbeat—then erupted.
Ronin had just disappeared like a magic trick. Now two more assassins popped out of thin air and sprinted after him. The arena lost its collective mind.
Shouts of shock, gasps, angry roars—half the fans were already screaming at the Heaven's Arena staff.
This was the second time. First Uvogin, now Hisoka. Every time Ronin won, some psycho tried to jump him. Was the Arena even paying attention?
The organizers were furious too. They'd stationed pro Hunters in the stands specifically to prevent exactly this kind of bullshit. Yet here they were again.
Two of those Hunters stood in the crowd, phones buzzing angrily in their pockets. They traded a bitter look.
The fighter they were supposed to protect had just gone full monster against Hisoka. And now these new attackers? Their aura levels were off the damn charts.
Chasing them felt like volunteering to get murdered.
But the boss was already yelling on the line. They swallowed hard and took off after the chaos.
Ronin reappeared inside his reserved room on the 188th floor. The hand was still clawing at his chest, trying to punch through his armor.
He grabbed the wrist, ripped the severed limb free, and flung it across the room.
Maha was clearly an Emission–Manipulation hybrid. He could control his own detached body parts like living weapons. That explained the instant teleport and the hand still trying to kill him after it got cut off.
Ronin raised his right eye to burn the thing to ash with Amaterasu.
The hand vanished mid-air, slipping into some pocket dimension.
Exactly as he thought. Maha had mastered long-range Emission to the point he could teleport his own body parts. That's why he'd appeared behind Ronin without a single trace for the Mangekyō to catch.
No point wasting pupil power on a single hand. Ronin had already burned through too much keeping Susanoo up, using Amaterasu, and locking space. Risking eye damage just to delete one severed limb was stupid.
He formed the Flying Thunder God seal again and blinked out of the room.
Less than two minutes later, two figures materialized inside the now-empty suite.
They were greeted by one of Ronin's Shadow Clones and a massive Rasengan already spinning in its palm.
The explosion lit up the entire 188th floor like a bomb going off.
Outside the Arena, Ronin glanced up at the distant blast, then lowered his gaze. A car screeched to a stop beside him. The door swung open—Kurapika, Neon, and Shizuku were already inside, waiting.
He slid into the backseat without a word.
The Zoldycks weren't invincible.
And picking a fight with someone who had no real allies and a whole slaughtered clan behind him?
That was a really dumb move.