"Get serious Hisoka! You can't hope to win like this!" Vanto yelled. Hisoka's arrogant smirked dropped. Face blank, Hisoka popped his shoulder back into place and rolled it to assess the fix. A thoughtful expression settled on his face as he crossed his arms and entered a classic consideration pose, one hand on his chin.
Around them the others were still heavily involved in their own fights. Hisoka quietly observed Vanto.
"Hmm, is that so? I suppose you have gotten stronger." He muttered mostly to himself. He tilted his head to the side and smirked, eyes widening manically. As if he were on the cusp of losing control to his bloodlust or giving it up.
Vanto lunged at him whilst he was thinking. Hisoka simply leaned out of the way and snatched his arm as he flew past, using his own momentum to swing him around and catch him by the neck. He held tight to Vanto's throat and lifted him from the ground, letting his bloodlust, his Nen, trickle through just little bit as he gazed into Vanto's eyes.
"Are you sure you want that?" He asked with a smirk. Vanto struggled for breath in Hisoka's grasp, terror flooding him. Hisoka did not look away and Vanto held his gaze.
"If that's what you want." He said.
Vanto was dropped on his arse as Hisoka stepped away and searched himself for that ever so close release. His smirk became a toothy, crazy grin as his Nen oppressed the area, crippling the weaker combatants and smothering the stronger. He giggled as his enemies stared on in horror, as though he were their worst nightmare come alive. Vento caught a few falling dead to the dirt when Hisoka's aura touched them.
He felt sick as Hisoka sauntered towards him, tried to get away from Death's chaotic emissary. His aura was overwhelmingly dark, violent, turbulent, it was utter madness. Hisoka could not possibly be driven by anything else.
He laughed as he stomped Vento's leg to dust, bone splintering with the force of Hisoka's heel punching through it. Through the pain, the utterly self-consuming, lung seizing, terror, Vento couldn't hear himself screaming. Hisoka was kneeling between his legs, running his hands over his chest, gouging flesh out with his nails as they travelled across his skin, licking the divots he dredged into Vento's chest making them burn.
He gripped Vento's bicep and braced his neck before yanking the arm from its socket. He tugged it and twisted it right around and tore it off with a fountain spurt of blood.
Hisoka hadn't once looked away from his eyes. He cupped Vento's face and smoothed Vento's own blood over his cheeks bones in mock tenderness.
"This will be the last face you see Vento." He circled Vento's eyes with sharp fingertips and tapped them considering.
"Such an interesting colour." He murmured to himself, before he plunged a thumb into the depths of one. Vento thrashed in his iron grip, screaming, squealing, screeching, Hisoka did nothing more than pin him bodily to the dirt with a grin. He dug out the remainder of the popped eye and yanked it from Vento's skull, held it before the other, squished it between fore finger and thumb as you would a grape before he dropped it and jabbed out the remaining eye in an instant.
Hisoka was pleasantly surprised to find that Vento could scream louder than he had been after he shoved the detached eye down his throat and forced him to swallow it.
Vento would die soon. Hisoka could feel the life draining from him, not exclusively from the blood bubbling from this dog of man. Ungraceful, unimportant, forgotten the instant Hisoka chose to turn his attention elsewhere. Blood loss would take him soon, if shock didn't first, but Hisoka craved the euphoria thrumming through his veins that only murder could bring.
He shattered Vento's ribcage with one sharp hit and watched with glee as he choked on his own blood filling his lungs. Hisoka stayed his hand a moment to drink it in, to bask in the pain he brought, the terror, the horrification. He pulled Vento into a sitting position and tucked his head under his arm, took hold of the stump and, with one steeled tug, wrenched his head from his body with a wet pop.
The field was suddenly quiet.
He dropped Vento's body without a thought and launched himself at the closest target faster than the eye could follow. He tore through those around him with brutal efficiency, a throat ripped out here, a heart gone there, a head detached over there. Still the aura weighed down on the field mixed with the heart stopping terror of his targets. In minutes they were nothing more than detached bodies strewn about haphazardly, blood dyeing the dirt below them, not a glimmer of a pulse between them.
Hisoka struggled to reign himself in then, with strenuous effort he pulled back, stopped and looked over his handy work. He would get in trouble for this if anyone found out. He sat himself in the shade of a nearby tree and wiped gore from his face, picked from his drenched hair and flicked it from his ruined outfit. Picked it from under his nails and contemplated what he was to do with the evidence.
He searched his person for his solution and smiled when he found it. Standing, stretching and searching for survivors he knew weren't there he struck a match and dropped it on the dead grass at his feet. He waited for it to catch before walking away, mind wandering to his next job as smoke plumed behind him. He was long gone by the time it turned acrid and black as it burned at their remains.