The ship that had carried Nioh to the Hellscape now hovered in the distance, a cold, mechanical observer of the chaos unfolding below. The rest of the heirs and nobles were stationed on the edges of the Hellscape, far enough to witness the unfolding spectacle, but far too cautious to venture into the depths of the cursed land. The ominous fog that hung in the air was a silent witness to the turmoil, a thick, poisonous mist that made the land seem even more otherworldly.

The ground beneath Nioh cracked as his wheelchair touched the desolate land. For a moment, there was silence—a tense, expectant quiet that fell over the wasteland. His wheelchair, once a symbol of restraint, stood still in the center of the Hellscape, like an anchor in a storm. The fog swirled in every direction, thick and suffocating. There was no escape. No safe zone. Only the land, the fog, and the dark presence that was Nioh.

With a strained breath, Nioh's fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. His body, still frozen from the weight of his curse, shuddered as the energy of the Hellscape began to pulse around him, seeping into his very being. Slowly, painfully, his frozen leg started to thaw. A sharp crack echoed in the air, like ice breaking apart. His muscles, stiff from months of immobility, began to stretch and flex as his body fought the remnants of the cold that had long restrained him. But with the melting ice came something far more dangerous—the wild, untamed energy that had long been dormant inside him.

A rush of raw power surged through his veins, almost too much to bear. The air around him seemed to crackle, to distort with the intensity of the energy building within him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the heat of the Hell energy flooding his body.

Then, without warning, he stood. The wheelchair, once a constant companion, was forgotten. He felt the land beneath his feet, the crunch of it, the shifting power, the raw chaos that the Hellscape emitted. The fog seemed to churn in response to his movements, the mist parting around him like the opening of a storm. And then they came.

The first zombies emerged from the fog. A wave of them, each more grotesque than the last. Twisted, decaying husks of their former selves, their eyes empty, their movements sluggish. Their rotting limbs reached out for him, driven by an instinctual hunger for flesh. But Nioh was not concerned. He barely acknowledged their existence as they shuffled toward him, mindlessly hungry.

He pulled the black umbrella from the folds of his cloak. At first, it appeared to be just a simple umbrella, its dark fabric folded tightly against itself. But as he snapped it open, the umbrella twisted and stretched, transforming into a weapon that seemed to defy all logic. The black fabric split, and from it emerged a thousand sharp, gleaming needles, each one vibrating with a dark energy of its own. It was no longer just an umbrella—it was a weapon, a tool of destruction.

The first zombie lunged at him, its decayed hands reaching for his throat. But Nioh was faster. In one fluid motion, the needles shot forward, piercing the creature's skull with terrifying precision. The zombie crumpled to the ground, its form disintegrating into ash as the life drained out of it.

Nioh's heart raced as the first surge of energy filled him. It was a feeling unlike anything he had ever known. The Hell energy, the essence of the land, began to flood into his body, seeping into his every pore, consuming his mind. The power was intoxicating, wild, and it only fueled the chaos rising within him. His senses heightened. His sight sharpened. He could feel the very air around him vibrating with dark energy.

Another zombie charged at him, and this time, Nioh didn't hesitate. The umbrella needles shot forward again, this time piercing the zombie's chest and driving it back. Each kill brought with it a surge of power, and the energy in the Hellscape seemed to respond to his every move, swirling and pulsing around him, eager to feed.

But it wasn't just the energy of the land that he was absorbing. With each zombie he killed, the Hell energy within them was absorbed by him, feeding his body, strengthening him, warping his mind. The more he killed, the more power he drew in. And the more power he drew in, the more chaotic his actions became. His mind clouded with the bloodlust, the need to destroy, to consume, to claim.

The zombies came at him in droves now, pouring from the fog in a seemingly endless wave. Their numbers were staggering, but Nioh was unfazed. His movements grew faster, more violent. He was no longer just fighting; he was hunting. The umbrella needles flew, cutting through the undead with surgical precision. Each strike was met with the disintegration of a body, followed by a rush of energy that filled him, fueled him.

But with every surge, his body became more erratic. His movements became less calculated, more savage. The darkness inside him—once a distant, controlled force—began to rise, overtaking his mind. He could feel the Hell energy eating away at his thoughts, corrupting him with each passing second.

His body was a conduit for the Hellscape's power, and he was losing himself in it.

The fog around him thickened, swirling faster, as if the Hellscape itself was responding to his transformation. The air seemed to hum with dark energy, a low, eerie noise that reverberated through the very bones of those watching from the safety of their distant vantage point. Akron, the other heirs, and the nobles watched in stunned silence as Nioh battled the horde, his every strike more violent, more frenzied than the last. His eyes glowed with an unnatural intensity, his pupils dilated as he became more consumed by the chaos around him.

From where they stood, they could feel the shift in the atmosphere. The energy in the air was suffocating, thick with the power that Nioh was drawing in. It was overwhelming. Dangerous. And yet, it was beautiful in its own twisted way.

The undead fell faster now, their bodies disintegrating into dust as Nioh's umbrella needles sliced through them with deadly precision. But as the bodies fell, so too did Nioh. His breathing became ragged, his chest heaving as the power surged through him. His limbs trembled, not from fatigue, but from the overwhelming energy that was flooding his body. His movements were no longer controlled. They were primal, animalistic. The chaos was taking over.

--

The watchers observed in tense silence, their eyes glued to the live feeds as Nioh's fight unfolded. His image, transmitted through drones and cameras, was broadcasted to every corner of the distant, protected land.

His body now seemed to move with terrifying grace, but there was something different about him. The calm, methodical precision of his earlier strikes was beginning to unravel.

At first, Nioh had fought with the cold calculation of someone who had trained their entire life for this moment.

His black umbrella, Infinity, spun through the air in precise arcs, each needle finding its mark in a clean, controlled manner. He'd taken down the first few waves of undead with surgical ease

. Every movement was sharp, quick, and purposeful. With each thrust of his umbrella, a zombie fell, its body disintegrating into ash as the energy of the Hellscape swarmed around him, feeding into him.

But that controlled rhythm was quickly disturbed. His body shuddered violently, and with each passing moment, the fight seemed to consume him more and more. The watchers saw it first in his eyes: a flicker of something wild, a dark glimmer that wasn't there before. His expression twisted as he killed, a hungry, feverish gleam replacing the calm demeanor of a warrior at peace with his blade. It was as if he was becoming more animal than man, drawn further into the madness of the Hellscape with every kill.

"Is he... losing control?" Aquila murmured, her voice heavy with disbelief. His gaze was fixed on the screens, where Nioh's silhouette flickered and danced in the thick fog of the Hellscape. The darkness around him only seemed to deepen with each kill, as if the land itself were feeding off his energy, growing stronger as he did.

" No, this is all part of the plan." You should get moving soon it will be our turn" she said as she she could not hide the worry in her eyes.

On the screen Nioh's body glowed with a fierce, unearthly light as he absorbed the last of the Hell energy from the zombies he had slain. The air around him crackled, a sharp, electric hum building in intensity as the energy reached a boiling point.

Yes he wanted it all, he wanted to consume it mindlessly, the earth, the skie, he wanted it all. He felt hollow, like nothing could fill the void within.

It was greed, the sin of greed was forming..

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