"You're not sure?" Phinks frowned slightly.
The black-haired youth turned, tossing Bonolenov to the ground. He was still alive, but barely. After that, the youth looked calmly at Phinks and Feitan.
"Maybe the ability he was preparing was decent," he said casually, "but the setup was too slow—too vulnerable. Honestly, your overall strength is just too low. All three of you are the same. Compared to me, the gap is massive. So this is the Phantom Troupe? If people like you can earn an A-rank bounty, then Nen users in this world aren't as impressive as I thought."
His expression grew colder. "What I don't get is—how did you kill White? With his strength, there's no way he should've been defeated by you."
Neither Feitan nor Phinks responded. The name "White" made them instinctively recall the white-haired youth from before—someone whose strength had overwhelmed them. If Ron hadn't intervened, the Troupe might've been wiped out, one by one. Only a handful could have escaped.
The black-haired youth took a step forward—and vanished.
When he reappeared, he was behind Phinks. A punch came crashing down.
But Phinks, alert, wasn't caught off guard like Bonolenov had been. He managed to react, raising his arms in time to block.
The blow sent Phinks flying.
This time, Feitan saw it clearly.
"It's shadows," he muttered. "He moves through shadows… Just like that other one moved through bone."
The white-haired youth had the ability to shift through bone. This one could do the same—only with darkness.
Phinks slammed into a wall and stopped. But the black-haired youth gave him no time to recover. Content originally comes from novel{f}ire.net
A second punch struck his chin, sending him airborne.
The attacker vanished again—this time appearing above Phinks mid-flight.
Both fists came crashing down.
Phinks coughed up blood mid-air.
He hit the ground hard. The floor cracked and caved in. His body fell through to the level below.
The black-haired youth followed to deliver the finishing blow.
But Feitan arrived in time.
His blade sliced through the air.
The attacker dodged to the side, quick.
Feitan didn't hold back anymore. He threw himself into the fight with full force, even abandoning his own defense.
It was a brutal, all-out brawl. He moved like someone willing to die just to protect his comrades.
"Oh?" the black-haired youth said with a mocking smirk. "You're going to sacrifice yourself for your friends? How touching. Even criminal gangs have that kind of bond?"
He scoffed. "But what exactly do you think that'll accomplish?"
Feitan didn't answer. He just kept attacking, recklessly and relentlessly.
His strikes barely harmed the black-haired youth, while his own injuries stacked up rapidly. Cuts, bruises, blood soaking through his clothes.
The pain only made him more focused.
And then the black-haired youth noticed something was wrong.
Bonolenov was gone. So had Phinks, both had vanished at some point.
Only Feitan remained in the burning wreck of the floor.
"Not enough… not yet," Feitan muttered through gritted teeth.
Their bodies collided again.
This time, Feitan's blade tore through the black-haired youth's shirt—just a shallow wound. But the youth's punch drove deep into Feitan's gut.
His body doubled over.
Blood erupted from his mouth—more than Phinks had coughed up.
Feitan crashed to the ground. He couldn't even get back up.
The black-haired youth walked toward him step by step.
"Finally… looks like that's it."
But then the pressure shifted.
Feitan's aura flared.
"Those who are unforgivable… must burn."
A strange outfit materialized on his body, wrapping around him completely.
The black-haired youth froze.
Feitan activated his second ability.
"Pain Packer: Rising Sun."
A fireball materialized in front of him. In the next instant, it rose, floating into the air.
Aura surged into it, dense, and it felt heavy.
The black-haired youth looked up, eyes narrowing.
The orb swelled rapidly. The flames weren't just hot—they were blinding, monstrous. This wasn't mere fire anymore.
It was a miniature sun.
Feitan had poured every drop of his pain into it.
Flame and heat filled the entire building.
Feitan's voice came through the inferno. "No more shadows. You can't use your power now."
The black-haired youth's ability relied on darkness—but Rising Sun had erased all shadows. Every inch of the building was scorched by searing light.
Feitan didn't believe anyone could survive it—not in here.
In an open area, maybe. But in this enclosed space?
The destruction was amplified tenfold.
The flames engulfed the black-haired youth completely. The building shuddered.
Shalnark's eyes narrowed.
"Hooker, Pakunoda—keep watching here. I'm going in."
"But—" Pakunoda hesitated.
"No buts," Shalnark said. "I have to see what's happened. Feitan, Phinks, Bonolenov—they're in bad shape. But so is that guy. We both know Feitan's ability. If I act now, I might be able to turn the tide."
Soon, he found the others.
The scene was worse than expected.
Feitan was collapsed on the ground. Phinks and Bonolenov were barely breathing.
Shalnark knelt, ready to treat them.
A figure appeared silently behind him.
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