Joey had never developed any spatial-type Nen techniques.
Even as an Emission-type user, once he committed to shaping his ability around Weather Report, branching off into space manipulation would've been a waste of memory slots.
But not developing a spatial technique didn't mean he couldn't use one.
Joey had long anticipated the abilities of certain Guardian Beasts, and had prepared accordingly.
In Nen combat, intel warfare is everything.
While he couldn't generate spatial abilities himself, Joey could still leverage certain tactics—so long as he was given time to prepare.
And while preparing, Joey wasn't just going to sit back.
After all, one of his greatest strengths was that he didn't fear getting hurt.
So he chose the simplest method: testing the Nen Beast's ability using Killer Queen.
More precisely: Sheer Heart Attack—the autonomous, tank-like second bomb embedded in his left palm.
The beast in question wasn't much of a "dragon" at all.
It had strange, crooked horns, multiple legs sprouting randomly along its sides, and a face that lacked even the faintest dignity.
More like a centipede-snake hybrid than a dragon.
Killer Queen, masked behind the shimmering veil of Afterimage Mirage, silently launched Sheer Heart Attack toward the creature.
At the same time, the stand itself began inching closer, closing distance.
Depending on the results, Killer Queen might become Joey's main attacker.
He still suspected that first bomb detonation would be the most effective tool for erasing a Nen beast.
As Killer Queen initiated its probing attack, Weather Report—his secondary stand—shifted into a humanoid form, wreathed in rolling cloud layers.
It held a wooden plaque in one hand, standing beside Joey.
Its eyes were locked on the jellyfish-type Nen beasts approaching from all directions.
Joey's hypothesis was that these jellyfish were reactive types:
If triggered, they'd retaliate instantly against whoever provoked them.
They hadn't attacked yet because he hadn't let them get close enough.
But their movement patterns implied that melee contact was their activation condition.
Since there were multiple instances, he could also assume they were not the beast itself—just projections.
Even destroying them likely wouldn't injure the host Prince directly.
Still, if they belonged to a Lower Prince, exhausting the jellyfish projections might drain their aura enough to weaken the host.
Joey had already seen this: Prince Momozet was visibly worn out after her Nen beast activated.
So Weather Report didn't just block the jellyfish; it aimed to obliterate them.
And it did so with no subtlety whatsoever.
Storm clouds gathered over its head—
and from them, bolts of lightning struck with merciless fury.
Each bolt hit a jellyfish, sending them writhing and twitching, falling to the floor in smoldering heaps.
These weren't normal lightning strikes.
Joey had already injected aura into the atmosphere, ready for use.
This was charged Nen lightning, infused in real-time.
A benefit of being an Emission-type—his released aura didn't decay, and within the radius of En, he could deploy Nen in numerous tactical ways.
Spread-out aura could be used to attack directly, or to amplify weather effects.
One by one, the scorched jellyfish collapsed.
But Joey noticed something: they weren't truly dead.
The burns were superficial.
Their mobility was halted—but their forms remained intact.
He considered their composition.
In nature, jellyfish are 95% water, with the rest being protein and fat—which gives them their transparent, amorphous structure.
These Nen jellyfish were tinted with a deep red hue, evoking blood.
Still, Joey saw familiar signs:
Their internal makeup was mostly fluid, confirmed by the splattered remains.
Which meant… the lightning only coagulated the proteins, damaging any Nen-based "nervous system."
But since they were constructs made of aura, they could potentially regenerate.
Which led Joey to his next move:
Freezing.
"If you're made of liquid," he muttered, "let's see how you swim when you're ice."
He manipulated the ambient air through Weather Report, dropping the temperature with calculated precision.
Frost crawled across the floor like a creeping tide.
The jellyfish began to slow—then harden.
Simultaneously, Sheer Heart Attack vanished—absorbed into the dragon-centipede's vicinity.
At the same time, Joey's aura dispersed cold mist across the room.
Rainfall turned to sleet, coating the jellyfish until they were sealed in crystalline tombs.
Joey licked his lips.
With one hand, he used a steel pen to etch something into the wooden plaque Weather Report was holding.
With the other, he flicked out aura bullets—dense Nen shots, slamming into the frozen jellyfish.
Crack—smash—shatter.
Each impact pulverized the targets into chunks of sparkling ice.
They were truly dead.
Meanwhile, the music note-type Nen beasts—those odd stick-figure creatures—continued to float lazily.
They weren't fazed by cold, and they were drifting toward the tied-up guards.
Joey didn't intervene.
Kurapika had already moved to intercept.
His priority remained:
Monitoring the centipede-dragon beast and tracking Sheer Heart Attack.
From its reaction—disappearing the moment Sheer Heart Attack neared—it was clear:
This wasn't nullification or destruction.
It was teleportation.
Space displacement.
The behavior resembled Nobunaga's portal abilities rather than explosive-type counterattacks.
That matched what Joey had heard:
The Guardian Beast protecting Prince Marayam could separate him into an alternate space.
But then—why did this beast look so different now?
Did Guardian Beasts evolve?
Could they change shape and function post-activation depending on the host's will?
Joey didn't know.
But he was certain of one thing:
This beast had changed.
The one seen isolating Prince Marayam looked nothing like this centipede-snake.
The transformation's trigger remained a mystery.
Still—if the beast teleported Sheer Heart Attack, then Joey could now track where it went.
He followed the residual aura trail.
And just as he suspected—
Fourteenth Prince Woble's chamber.
That confirmed his theory:
Guardian Beasts aren't just reactive.
They seek out threats to their host's succession chances—and remove them.
Even if they can't directly attack a Prince,
they can weaponize secondary abilities to accomplish the same effect.
Just like how Momozet's beast likely targeted Woble.
In that moment, Joey felt a tingle in his left hand—
Sheer Heart Attack had been attacked.
But the force was too weak to damage it.
And now—Joey narrowed his eyes.
He understood the beast's gimmick:
It was untouchable.
Even if he reached toward it, his hand would be transported elsewhere.
A near-invincible state.
But no ability is perfect.
This one had a glaring flaw:
It had to leave its host.
Joey realized something essential:
Only weak Princes had Guardian Beasts that wandered freely.
Stronger Princes didn't need their beasts to roam.
Therefore, by repeatedly triggering the teleport ability,
Joey could exhaust its aura—
draining the host.
Prince Marayam was just a kid—not a prodigy like Gon or Killua.
His stamina would have a limit.
If he passed out—the Guardian Beast might vanish.
Or at least, cease functioning.
Either way—it gave Joey a window.
If it didn't vanish, it confirmed that recall required certain conditions—like proximity.
To test this, Joey summoned Golden Experience.
Dozens of coins materialized in his hand.
With a tap, each coin transformed into a tiny hummingbird.
He launched them—one after another—into the space around the beast.
Each bird vanished upon contact.
But Joey saw something else…
That drill-faced, ceiling-dwelling worm beast?
It hadn't moved.
Despite looking fierce, it stayed glued to the ceiling like it was glued to something invisible.
Joey compared it to the Zodiacs in the Hunter Association—
"A non-interventionist," he thought. "Self-centered but not disruptive."
He liked that type. Easy to deal with.
As for the music-note beasts, a few had landed on the tied-up guards.
Joey knew this was Kurapika's doing.
The rest had been shot down mid-air—
Kurapika using bullets coated in Shu, making them capable of harming aura constructs.
No need to expose his Nen ability.
Clever.
As for the ones on the guards—they hadn't activated yet.
Joey focused back on the dragon-centipede.
It had begun to move.
Slowly.
Likely trying to avoid the hummingbirds.
But Joey noticed that no atmospheric technique—neither wind pressure nor vacuum walls—affected it.
Worse, it could phase through walls.
Half of its body was already submerged in solid metal.
But Joey didn't panic.
Because he was ready.
Ordinary Nen constructs couldn't touch it.
But space manipulation wasn't the only way to counter a space-based ability.
He had something else:
A way to reinforce physical space itself.
A secret he'd developed over months of studying Divine Script—
and working closely with Pyon, one of the Twelve Zodiacs.
Together, they'd created "Godscript Seals"—
runes that, when inscribed on an object, would stabilize local space.
This would anchor the environment, preventing teleportation or spatial warping in the area.
Since the battle began, Joey had been quietly carving the seal onto the wooden plaque.
Now—he was finished.
He released it.
The plaque flew through the air like a frisbee, landing above the dragon-centipede—right on the wall.
A burst of aura erupted.
The beast froze mid-phase.
And suddenly—one of Joey's hummingbirds collided with its exposed body.
A direct hit.
Its sharp beak punctured the creature's flesh.
For the first time, the beast reacted violently.
Its remaining half spasmed, flailing as it thrashed in pain.
The teleport field wasn't gone—but it was weakened.
Another hummingbird struck.
This one, however, was special.
It had been imbued with Killer Queen's first bomb.
Joey raised his hand.
Killer Queen appeared—
and calmly pressed its right thumb down.
Click.