"How rare. Have you taken up self-mutilation lately? Won't Illumi say anything?"
Hisoka's teasing voice came from the other end.
It was accompanied by a chorus of screams.
"Please, please, let me go! Let me go! Oh, for God's sake, let me go! I'll never do this again! Please! Ah!!!"
A playing card sliced off one of the man's hands. Hisoka paid no attention to his screams.
He leaned close to the man's ear and murmured softly,
"If you live by the sword, you'll die by the sword."
The moment you kill your first person, you should know your crimes have begun.
God will strike your name from the list of those who can be saved.
The sin of murder has already nailed you to the pillory of shame.
The stench of blood will cling to your soul forever.
Until you fall into hell.
So, from the moment you raised your hand and brought down your blade, you should have known that one day, someone else would raise a hand and bring down a blade on you.
And it might be even worse.
So what are you still praying for?
He who kills shall be killed.
It's just a matter of victory and defeat.
Hisoka smiled and raised a hand, pressing it against the man's chin.
He spread his lips in a terrifying, savage grin.
If the man had been a little more accepting, a little more carefree, Hisoka might even have thought more highly of him.
"Remember this in your next life. Don't mess with me again."
As he spoke, his sharp fingernails pierced the man's neck.
He exerted force.
The blood vessels tore. The skin, along with bits of flesh, came away.
Hisoka had already severed the bone with his thread.
Effortlessly.
Head separated from neck.
Blood poured out.
It sprayed everywhere like a fountain.
The body collapsed to its knees, still frozen in the pose its owner had held in his final moments.
One hand half-raised, knees pressed to the ground.
The earth was disturbed beside his feet.
The ground was soaked with sweat.
Fear, terror, mixed with despair.
What did the trampled, tangled grass along the way say?
It no longer mattered. None of it mattered.
The scarlet pigment repainted this "canvas,"
covering up everything that had come before.
All that remained was red.
The breath of life.
And the signal of death.
Yet the one who had caused it all felt not the slightest regret or fear.
Madness and satisfaction ran wild in his dark golden eyes.
And there was a faint hint that he wasn't quite satisfied yet.
Thump, thump, thump.
A round object hit the ground.
Its scarred surface was marked with terror and shock.
As if it were astonished by how swiftly its executioner had acted.
Hisoka slowly straightened, then covered his face with his bloodied hand.
His pupils trembled with excitement.
He tilted his head back and stared at the dim sky.
For the first time, Hisoka felt such a strong kinship with Coleman.
His sharp laughter slowly echoed through the endless sky.
His eerie, exhilarated laughter startled the few crows perched in the distance.
They flapped their wings and cawed.
Caw. Caw. Caw.
A gentle breeze swept through, dispersing the stench of blood.
But it couldn't blow away the thoughts lost in madness.
Gradually, the laughter grew low and hoarse.
"So, my dear sir, could you tell me what sort of mischief you're up to now?"
By now, Coleman had simply threaded his severed arm back together and left the Zoldyck estate.
The makeshift connection wasn't enough to let Coleman control his hand.
But it freed his other hand.
He lit himself a cigarette.
Frowning, he shook his hand as the lighter's lid flipped open.
A blue-red flame danced in the air.
He brought it to the cigarette between his lips.
A scarlet glow lit the dark forest.
He took a deep, unconcerned drag. Much better.
He slipped the lighter into his pocket.
Coleman waited for an answer from the man on the other end, who seemed to have suddenly gone off the rails.
"Oh, nothing. I just thought your art was rather interesting, too."
"Mhm. How many people have you killed in the time we've been talking?"
Coleman raised an eyebrow, carelessly holding the cigarette between his fingers as he squinted into the distance.
The bright moon hung among the clouds.
Perfect for making art.
Though he thought that, Coleman still cared about Hisoka as a "friend."
Even if Hisoka was already abnormal to begin with.
At his core, though, he was simply obsessed with strength.
You couldn't really call him an "artist."
But for someone standing at the edge of madness like him, killing enough people in a short span of time, in a sufficiently bloody fashion,
could, in a single moment, erase the last trace of reverence he had for life.
It could make him more like a "gentleman" such as Coleman.
So when Coleman heard such unrestrained laughter, he knew without having to think.
Hisoka had seen something that had pushed him over the edge.
That was the only way he could share a fleeting moment of kinship with Coleman, who had long been immersed in the bloody theater.
"Fifty? A hundred? I lost count. Anyway, I went to a little gambling den near your place to have some fun. I've probably killed most of the people there by now."
Staring at the stream, already dyed red with blood, Hisoka froze.
He stared blankly at his reflection in the water.
Slowly, he crouched down.
Holding the phone between his shoulder and ear, he put his red hand into the stream in that position.
It was icy cold.
He washed his bloody hand in the bloodied water.
Slowly, from his palm to the gaps between his fingers, not missing a spot.
"Okay, fine."
Coleman nodded. What could he say?
A madman had gone mad. That was normal.
"Where are you?"
Coleman glanced at his left arm, which he couldn't feel at all, and spoke. "Stop getting lost in your killing game and take me to a doctor first."
What was the best way to deal with someone lost in his own world?
Beat him up.
So Coleman was going to see how far this guy had evolved.
If possible, it wouldn't hurt to put a stop to it, either.
After all, Coleman was a completely rational madman.
Hisoka wasn't. He was easily controlled by his nerves when they were pushed to the limit of excitement.
That could make him do something out of line.
To make sure this hired hand was still alive in the short term, Coleman had to stop him, to some extent, from continuing his bizarre evolution down the path of depravity.
"By the stream next to the mountain in front of your house."
Hisoka smiled brightly, his expression quite strange.
He looked like a pervert who had already thought of something interesting.
"Stay there. Don't move."
With that, Coleman hung up.
He took a drag from his cigarette.
Slowly, he exhaled a full, round smoke ring.
That felt great.
Being outside was so much better.
At home, he couldn't even smoke.
As he walked at an unhurried pace, Coleman once again wondered why Hisoka couldn't read more.
When you had a solid grounding in theory, you found that you could handle situations more calmly and rationally than most people.
So why didn't this guy read?
If he did, Coleman wouldn't have to keep an eye on him!
Sighing, Coleman tossed away the cigarette butt and stamped on it.
He watched the tiny ember go out before setting off again.
Scratching his head, Coleman quickened his pace.
I'm still the best.
I always know where to draw the line. I never make people worry, and I never lose my head!
Thinking of Illumi, who had suddenly become obsessed with making money a few days ago and had even started staying away from home for weeks at a time, Coleman silently reflected.
I really am a dependable gentleman!
Nothing like Illumi or Hisoka.
Surely I'm the most normal one out of the three of us!
Oh, no. I've always been perfectly normal.
I'm just an ordinary, elegant gentleman.
The Great Hunter: Ultimate Elegance was written by Miao Shijiu.
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