He was a fluid blur, attacks unimpeded by his opponents' weak attempts to guard against him. Each hit more damaging than the last; Hisoka systematically destroyed his opponent's body with vicious prejudice.
Bones began snapping one by one, cracking through the air in the eerily silent stadium. His blood painted the stage as he was thrashed into the floor with such force it crumbled under his broken frame in a shower of cement projectiles and dust.
It was pure force of will that had him moving to get up at all. He struggled for each wet gasp of oxygen. Pushed for every inch of distance between himself and the rubble beneath him. He saw Hisoka only through a blurred shade of red. He was stunningly stoic, staring down with not a care in the world. For the first time in his life he felt the cold clasp of fear clench around his heart.
His own blood choked up his throat, caught in his lungs he hacked and rasped, hunched over as Hisoka readied for the finishing blow. Crouched at the rim of the crater, smile stretching wide across his face, hand contorted into that of a claw.
He jumped at him. He felt nothing but blinding agony when Hisoka's foot crushed his shattered ribs. He slammed into the wall of the crater and Hisoka was there before him. Pinning him with a tight squeeze around his throat. He punched his claws into his chest. Entering smoother than a knife through soft butter.
His blood spurted out and ran down Hisoka's arm. It was nothing short of excruciating with Hisoka's hand clenching around his heart and ever so painstakingly slowly coercing it out of his body.