The city museum is not open to the public at night.
But relying on a single frail glass door is simply not enough to stop "overly enthusiastic" visitors.
The Spiders entered as if no one were there, easily appearing in the gaps between the museum's ceiling and the lower partitions, preparing to weave a massive web to hunt their prey.
Chrollo calmly issued orders to the members seated nearby:
"Once Jobhan himself is found, if there are guards by his side, Omokage and Shalnark will restrain them."
The two nodded.
"Feitan, ignore the other small fry. Directly assassinate Jobhan himself."
After speaking, Chrollo thought for a moment, then continued:
"If anything unexpected happens, failure doesn't matter. Preserving yourselves comes first."
"Kisho."
Chrollo's gaze fell on the newcomer who was participating in a large-scale operation for the first time.
Kisho lifted his head to meet Chrollo's eyes, his gaze hollow, his expression numb.
Chrollo frowned imperceptibly.
"Before receiving any orders, stay close to me—or Shalnark. No acting on your own."
Kisho lightly nodded.
After that, the Spiders lurking in the interlayers, ready to hunt, began to quietly wait for the moment to close the net.
About ten minutes later, Shalnark took out his phone, pressed a few buttons, then turned off the screen.
He looked at Chrollo.
"The special assault team has arrived."
Chrollo inclined his head slightly, his cool voice reaching every member's ears:
"Operation begins."
In the pitch-black museum, the exhibits stored behind glass display cases were inexplicably shrouded in a layer of ominous shadow.
...
The infiltration went far more smoothly than expected.
With a casual swipe from Feitan, the only middle-aged man on night patrol collapsed to the ground, and from then on the Spiders encountered no further obstacles.
Chrollo walked easily and casually at the front, flowing smoothly past one display case after another. Shalnark followed closely behind, while Feitan's figure remained hidden in the darkness at all times—even though the vast museum was empty, he still concealed himself with speed and shadow.
They arrived at a door on the first floor of the museum that led down to the basement.
Before pushing it open, Chrollo said softly:
"Because there's some kind of unknown Nen array present, unexpected situations may arise during the assassination—don't lower your guard."
The three people other than Chrollo all looked at Kisho with eyes full of disdain.
As veterans who had come out of Meteor City and were seasoned in killing and arson, they naturally wouldn't make such a low-level mistake; so who the captain's words were directed at was obvious.
Noticing their gazes, Kisho rolled his eyes.
He might be depressed, but he wasn't about to joke with his own life at such a critical moment.
Chrollo raised his hand and twisted—then the iron door secured with a heavy lock was easily pushed open by him. The group moved close to the downward-extending walls, their figures slipping through the stairwell like ghosts.
The moment his feet touched the basement floor, Kisho smelled an extremely foul stench.
The odor came from densely packed glass tanks placed throughout the enormous room—exactly the same kind used in aquariums.
The row of glass tanks on the left was unsealed, filled with transparent liquid that soaked various grotesque, unrecognizable things—one could only barely tell that these things might have come from the human body.
And in the aquariums on the right, many misshapen "people" were placed inside, their expressions twisted in pain, their state between life and death unknown.
Shalnark looked around and spoke:
"...It seems these are Jobhan's collections."
"Tch, disgusting." Feitan said with open revulsion.
Kisho didn't speak, but at least at this moment, his thoughts aligned with Feitan's.
Disgusting...
Unconsciously, his gaze fell on the row of aquariums on the right.
Eyes that had been maintaining "Gyo" all along saw, on those "collections," a layer of aura so faint it seemed it might vanish the next second.
—These "people" were actually all still alive!
The overly similar scene almost ignited emotions he had suppressed to the extreme. The emotions in Kisho's eyes nearly froze into ice.
He stepped forward uncontrollably, only to have his wrist suddenly seized.
The string called reason snapped completely amid the merged fury of two souls. He violently swung his arm to break free, yet unexpectedly failed to shake it off.
Chrollo calmly met Kisho's gaze, silver-blue light gathering in his eyes as he glared viciously back.
Chrollo spoke softly and evenly:
"Don't act rashly."
A figure dressed in a snow-white suit appeared without warning at the very front of the basement level.
He turned around and looked toward the Spiders in the hall, casually sweeping his gaze over Kisho and the others, before finally settling on Chrollo.
He let out a malicious chuckle.
"Are you guests here to admire my collection?"
"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. The basement level only holds inferior pieces."
He looked at the Spiders.
"The collection I truly take pride in is on the second level. If you're interested, why not move upstairs?"
Chrollo returned his words with a smile utterly devoid of warmth.
Feitan's figure had already vanished. When he reappeared, he was behind Jobhan, cold light flashing—
Feitan revealed himself. His eyes were icy. With a flick of the rapier in his hand, he flung the blood staining it onto the ground.
Jobhan, now appearing on the other side of the hall, raised a hand to cover the nearly fatal wound on the back of his neck. The playful expression from before was gone from his face.
His resentful gaze swept across the Spiders' faces, and the next instant, the entire basement level suddenly flashed with dazzling white light.
When the light faded, dozens of mafia enforcers appeared out of thin air in the hall.
Jobhan stood at the back, looking at the bodyguards summoned to support him.
With a blank expression, he gave the order:
"At any cost, hold them back."
...
The mafia bodyguards charged forward with "fearless disregard for death."
"It's a teleportation-type Nen array—earlier reconnaissance showed that aside from those collections, there were no living people inside the museum."
Shalnark spoke seriously as he dodged bullets fired from the mafia's gun muzzles. With a flick of his wrist, a cold gleam shot toward the direction the bullets came from.
One of the gunmen twisted his face in terror, eyes filled with fear, turned his weapon around, and without hesitation opened fire on those who should have been his companions.
Bullets from behind were impossible to guard against. Dozens of mafia members who had entrusted their backs to their comrades died miserably under their "companions'" guns.
"They must have been transferred from elsewhere."
Chrollo remained composed. "Bandit's Secret" appeared in his right hand.
"He just said 'hold them back,' so deal with these as quickly as possible."
He slowly sidestepped a mafia member rushing toward him. A breath later, two of the three attackers collapsed, while the last clutched his slashed throat, gasping for air until his pupils lost focus.
Omokage summoned three man-height puppets from who knows where. One stayed by his side, while the other two charged straight into the mafia gunfire, swinging their arms and forcibly tearing two mafia members apart.
Feitan's figure streaked through the area like a ghost. Wherever he passed, headless bodies slowly fell to the ground.
In less than a minute, fewer than a handful of people were still alive.
Shrill screams echoed underground—
This place was hell to begin with, and hell should look like hell.