A storm covered Gotham, rain pouring over the city, hitting the remains of the abandoned steel mill. Water streamed through shattered skylights, hitting rusted beams and pooling in deep cracks along the floor. Wind howled through broken windows, forcing its way through corroded support beams, making the structure groan. The air reeked of rust, damp concrete, and old blood. The mill had been dead for years, but tonight, something worse than ghosts stalked its halls.
Fifty feet above, Hisoka Morow sat on a rusted I-beam, shuffling a deck of playing cards. His fingers worked with absentminded precision, the cards snapping into place. The edges caught flickers of light from dying industrial lamps buried in the factory's depths.
His golden eyes were half-lidded, his painted lips curled at the edges. Not quite a grin, but close. The wind tugged at his sleeves, rain streaking down his pale skin. He didn't care. He sat in the storm like it wasn't there, like the air wasn't thick with the promise of violence.
Below, Slade Wilson stood.
No wasted movement. No hesitation.
Rain slicked off his armor. His Prometheum sword hung low at his side. A butcher's grip. His mask—black and orange, its single eye burning in the darkness—never left Hisoka.
The only sounds were the storm and the shuffle of cards.
Then—Hisoka broke the silence.
"Took you long enough," he said, voice carrying through the hollowed-out factory.
Slade didn't react.
Hisoka sighed, rolling his shoulders. "I was starting to think you weren't coming. Or maybe…" His grin stretched slightly. His eyes sharpened. "...you were afraid?"
Slade moved.
Not a shift. Not a flinch.
One second he was standing in the rain—the next, he was a blur, sword flashing upward.
The blade sang toward Hisoka's throat.
But Hisoka was gone.
A flicker of movement.
Then—behind Slade. Perched on a rusted pipe. Grinning.
"Ooooh," Hisoka cooed. He licked his lips. "You're fast."
Slade spun. The sword came around in a brutal arc.
Hisoka leaned back. The Prometheum edge sliced a single strand of red hair.
Cards flicked between Hisoka's fingers.
Slade moved.
His rifle snapped up. The muzzle flash lit the shadows. A .50 caliber round cut through the air.
Hisoka tilted his head. The bullet missed by half an inch, carving through rusted metal.
The second shot came before the first impact echoed. Hisoka caught it. Two fingers, a flick of the wrist. He twirled it once, grinning.
"Guns? Really?"
Slade didn't answer. The shot wasn't meant to hit.
Hisoka's fingers twitched.
A thin red laser traced his wrist—motion tracker activated.
Slade pulled the trigger again.
Not bullets. EMP rounds.
A cluster of pulse charges exploded in midair, bathing the mill in a disruptive electromagnetic field.
Hisoka felt it immediately.
His Nen flickered—like a candle in the wind. His movements slowed, balance thrown off. The Bungee Gum strand he had instinctively shot out? Weaker.
Hisoka's grin faltered for a split second.
That's when Slade struck.
His sword whistled through the air.
Hisoka flipped backward. The blade slashed across his jacket, barely missing flesh. Hisoka landed on another beam, fingers flexing. Bungee Gum responded, but sluggish.
"What the hell happened?" Hisoka muttered.
Slade took a slow step forward.
"Oh… just shocked you." He rolled his shoulders, sword resting against his shoulder guard. Calm. Unrushed. "See, I've been watching you. Pulled every CCTV feed since you murdered Penguin's goons. You didn't use your—" he made a vague gesture, "trick. And your movement? Sloppy. Slow. When you did start using it, it was weak—kind of like that tailor you bullied into making that ridiculous outfit."
Hisoka's grin widened.
Slade kept talking.
"Then I noticed something. When you started killing, your trick got stronger. Which led me to one conclusion—" He pointed his sword. "If you're weak, your trick is hindered."
Silence.
Then—
Laughter. Deep. Genuine.
Hisoka wiped at his mouth, eyes shining. His body trembled—not from pain, but excitement.
"Ooooh, Slade…" He licked his lips. "You are really, really fun."
Slade exhaled. No more talking.
Slade lunged. His sword blurred. The tip aimed for Hisoka's throat.
Hisoka ducked, twisting sideways. His elbow snapped up—aiming for Slade's ribs.
Slade pivoted. The gauntlet pulsed. Another EMP shockwave.
Hisoka twitched mid-motion. The Nen disruption hit his nervous system. A fraction of a second delay. Enough.
Slade's knee slammed into Hisoka's gut.
Air shot from Hisoka's lungs. His body lifted off the ground for half a second.
Slade followed through—grabbing Hisoka by the collar, twisting, and slamming him face-first into concrete.
The ground cracked.
Hisoka let out a shuddering laugh. Blood dripped from his nose.
"Harder."
Slade stomped down.
Hisoka vanished.
No—above.
Bungee Gum. He had latched onto the ceiling, yanking himself up the instant before impact.
Hisoka twisted midair, a card between his fingers. Nen-infused. Razor-sharp.
He flicked it at Slade's exposed neck.
Slade's Nth Metal gauntlet shot up. The card shattered on impact.
Hisoka landed, moving before his feet touched the ground.
Slade met him head-on.
Sword swung.
Cards slashed.
Sparks flew.
Gunfire rang out.
Nen crackled.
The steel mill turned into war.
Then—
The ceiling exploded.
Hisoka's laughter echoed through the ruins. Rain poured through the broken ceiling.
Slade didn't hesitate. His blade came down in a crushing arc. Hisoka dodged, but slower. The EMP threw off his nervous system.
Slade pressed the attack. His free hand snapped up—a shock charge fired point-blank.
50,000 volts slammed through Hisoka's body.
His back hit a rusted beam. Muscles locked. Sparks danced across his skin.
Slade advanced. No wasted motion.
His sword slashed.
At the last second, Hisoka yanked himself sideways with Bungee Gum. The blade buried itself in steel.
Hisoka flicked five Nen-infused cards.
Slade's gauntlets snapped up. The cards embedded in reinforced plating instead of flesh.
He countered instantly.
Sword sheathed.
Two submachine guns flipped into his hands.
Gunfire tore through the air.
Hisoka lunged.
Palm slammed into Slade's chest. Nen-enhanced force sent Slade flying through a rusted catwalk.
Slade rolled, coming up on one knee.
Hisoka followed.
Slade met him midair.
Their clash shook the mill.
Then—
The Bat crashed down.
A shadow in the storm. A cape in the wind.
Batman landed between them.
"Enough."
Slade fired.
The bullet stopped midair.
Bungee Gum.
Hisoka grinned.
Before he could react—
Batman was already moving.
A grappling hook yanked Hisoka backward. A Batarang slammed into his shoulder, emitting the same high-frequency shockwave Deathstroke used to distrupt Hisoka's Nen.
Deathstroke commented "How did you know?"
Batman said "I guessed"
Hisoka's arm went limp.
Slade lunged.
Batman caught the blade between his gauntlets. Sparks flew.
"I told you to walk away, Slade."
Slade pushed forward. "And I told you—don't interfere."
Hisoka chuckled, testing his Nen. It was still unstable.
He licked his lips.
"Oh, this just got even more interesting."
TO BE CONTINUED