A Distraction

[Belle]

Beneath the street of Tier Four, resting in a niche of the immense web of sewage ways and piping that lay beneath the glittering towers above, was an arena.

It wasn't impressive, as stages went. Compared to the Heaven's Arena, it was practically a slum. But it did offer one thing that such sanctioned, officially recognized venues didn't, and that was the unrestricted use of force.

Hisoka inspected his nails, then gazed upward. Whoever had built the arena must have had co-conspirators in the construction industry, he thought, to have set this all up. Although he called it a niche, that was in relative terms to the enormous pipes surrounding it. The entire area had been walled off, electrical power fed, and considering their proximity to the Tier's heating pipes, a mammoth air conditioning system installed to keep the patrons comfortable. Around the center ring, seats rose like an amphitheater, each level seperated by several steps. Cheering, bloodthirsty gnats packed the upper reaches, far away from the ring itself, crowded onto wide stone blocks. The lower levels were more exquisitely furnished, with the first three being especially so. Closest to the stage, besuited mobsters, businessmen, and the perenially rich indulged themselves in the spectacle of violence, seated at elegantly lit tables in plushly padded chairs, half-eaten meals left before them.

Flexing his fingers, Hisoka loosened the muscles of his wrist, allowing the playing card he had placed underneath the band to slide out, into his hand. Holding the card between index and middle fingers, he lowered his eyes back to the other in the ring with him. "Now," he mused. "What shall I do with you?"

The bearded man before him twitched, letting out a gasp of pain. Sitting on his knees, his muscled body was bent backward, his arms out to the side, his face pointed towards the ceiling. Sweat clung to his bronze skin and dark, scraggly beard. "What-" the man gurgled, then cut off, his breath hitching with a cry of agony as his body arched further back upon itself. "What did you do?!"

Hisoka smirked. "Who knows?" he answered, his voice svelte and smooth. It was a natural question: the man couldn't see what Hisoka saw. The man couldn't see the aura that clung to his feet and knees like tar; to his wrists that had been webbed to the faraway corners of the ring by invisible threads; and to his head, attached by a thick stripe to his lower back.

But Hisoka couldn't blame the man. Aura was hard to perceive even when one wasn't using a technique to conceal it, like Hisoka was. Perhaps he was being overcautious; no one had yet been able to penetrate the veil. Oh well, he thought to himself. Old habits died hard; but he had to admit: it was so much fun to watch the confusion ripple across the faces of his prey, the writhing of their bodies like worms caught on hooks... Yes, it was worth the extra effort.

Hisoka stepped forward, one hand on his hip, the other slowly turning the card's face towards him. "It's a little bit of a magic trick. Unfortunately, you know, a magician never reveals his secrets."

The man swore, spitting. "Don't mock me, you freak," he snarled. He tensed further as Hisoka neared, attempting once again to move. His half-naked body strained, bare chest  rippling as he fought to pull his arms towards one another, fighting against the elastic aura that chained him. His corded muscles coiled, moving one inch, then another. His face bright red as he glared up into Hisoka's smiling visage, burning hatred in his eyes.

Oh, those eyes...! Hisoka loved those eyes. What a pity, he thought, that they had to belong to such a man. Hisoka had seen it in him during their bout - so simple. Hisoka yearned for that. Yet that simpleness offered the man no clarity. Whatever potential he man might have once had, he had squandered it in compromise after compromise. He was now too rigid, so confident in his own muscles that he had ignored everything else strength had to offer.

The muscles trembled, strained - beaded sweat rolling across the man's body. Then, abruptly, the effort gave out, muscles releasing, and with a reverberating SNAP, the man's arms recoiled back into position, pinned outwards.

"I'm not mocking you," Hisoka murmured, caressing the man's cheek with the back of his fingers. Focusing his aura, he tilted the playing card held between his fingers. The edge touched the corner of the man's eye, and blood flowed exuberantly from the opening wound, the card's edge slicing through skin as if it were as sharp as a razor blade. "Only another magician could see through my tricks. So tell me," he asked, and smiled. "Do you still not believe in magic?"

The arena had fallen silent. The air was pregnant with expectation. Hisoka could feel it, the sensation like tickling fingers across his skin. He shivered in delight.

The man's eyes widened. He must have seen something in Hisoka's face, some suggestion of what was about to happen. The pre-match announcement had billed him as a survivor of many deathmatches, but Hisoka guessed that now was probably the first time he had actually seen Death's scythe coming for him. With a sudden struggle, giving a last desperate attempt like a candle flame against a hurricane, he roared at Hisoka, defiant, flecking spit flying from his mouth. "Fuck you, clown!" he bellowed. "Fuck-!"

The card flashed, and a spray of blood sailed from the man's bared neck. His body jerked and stiffened, eyes widening. His once mighty voice trailed off into coughs and gurgles, crimson pouring in smaller and smaller gushes from the gaping wound.

Hisoka stood back, card held loosely in his fingers, blood dripping from the edge down to the corner. The arena remained silent, until at last the jerking and twitching stopped. With a lowering of his head, Hisoka released his aura, and the restraints on the recently deceased vanished, body collapsing back to the tiled arena floor.

Another few seconds of silence, and then - cheers. As the announcement went out over the arena's PA, Hisoka flicked his hand, sending the remaining droplets to the ground. Then, with sleight of hand and flick of his fingers, he tucked the card back into his wrist band. Another win. If he kept this up, he might actually climb the ranks enough to start facing a real challenge. Then he could give these hungry people a real show.

Sweeping his arm up, Hisoka bowed, his yellow eyes squinting with amusement as the cheers continued. No, it was no Heaven's Arena, but it sufficed. Turning from the prone form of the man whose name he had forgotten, Hisoka stepped off of the slightly raised dueling floor and exited the floor via the nearest of two vomitoriums that fed fighters towards the killing ground.

Yes, he thought to himself, it was a fine distraction.