The arena, having morphed into a warped chamber of intellect and insanity, seemed to breathe with every step they took. The red apple—the symbol of forbidden knowledge—still spun midair in the aftermath of its hallucinogenic explosion. The smoke had settled, and within it, two silhouettes emerged, untouched by the illusions.
Hisoka's fingers danced once more, Bungee Gum already stretching invisibly around the room. Makishima, unfazed, turned a page in the floating book, the text altering with each word he read aloud.
"Madness is not a state. It is a method."
Hisoka landed behind him, aiming a piercing blow to the spine, but Makishima twisted, using Hisoka's arm momentum to send him crashing into the mirrored wall. The glass didn't break.
"You're more elegant than I imagined," Hisoka whispered, upside down, his breath fogging the mirror. "But how long can you keep this up before you want to see me break?"
Makishima smiled. "Only those who understand the abyss deserve to gaze into it."
He lunged.
Their clash became primal, yet remained laced with philosophy and insanity. Hisoka's cards sliced through space with vicious aura, while Makishima parried them with philosophical deflections. The words he spoke were imbued with aura now, creating physical force fields of logic and contradiction.
The Arena's Collapse
The room began to crumble. Their auras destabilized the environment, triggering a chain reaction across the entire theatre. The chandeliers wept blood. The curtains shrieked. The labyrinth of books turned into a hurricane of paper blades.
Hisoka laughed, even as a dozen slashes tore his shirt.
Makishima, bleeding from his temple, moved as if conducting a symphony of entropy.
"Tell me, Hisoka," he said, voice calm amidst the storm, "Do you kill to feel alive or because you already feel dead?"
"I kill," Hisoka replied, blood dripping from his mouth, "because you exist."
Final Clash
They charged at each other—a ballet of destruction. Cards, shards, thoughts, and philosophies collided.
Makishima drove a sharpened piece of the Book of Genesis toward Hisoka's throat. Hisoka deflected it with a card coated in Nen, rebounding it with Bungee Gum.
Makishima caught it.
Hisoka grinned.
The card exploded, revealing it was merely a decoy. The real attack came from above—a puppet clone of Hisoka tied by Bungee Gum that dropped from the ceiling, plunging a card directly into Makishima's side.
Makishima staggered. "Well played... clown."
He twisted the card embedded in his ribs and slammed it back into Hisoka's chest.
Both collapsed.
Time slowed.
The floating theatre paused mid-implosion.
Breath held across the multiverse.
Both bodies twitched. Both hearts pounded. But only one stood up.
Blood gushed from his mouth, but the grin remained intact.
Hisoka Morow.
Makishima, lying on the ground, whispered, "You... are not chaos. You are structure without morality."
Hisoka leaned in, touching Makishima's face gently.
"And you... were the only one who made me feel."
Makishima smiled one last time.
Then silence.
The arena imploded, not in destruction, but in applause.
Reality rewrote itself. The crimson curtains returned, folding around Hisoka like wings.
The match was over.
The victor: Hisoka Morow.