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..

Indeed, Nioh's eyes were burning with a deep crimson light now. The once controlled, calculating expression he had worn at the beginning of his assault was now replaced with something darker—something primal.

His movements grew less refined, more reckless, as if each strike of his umbrella was a desperate attempt to feed his insatiable hunger for power. The soft click of each needle piercing zombie flesh became the sound of something far more brutal: a jagged, chaotic symphony of violence.

The next wave of zombies came at him faster, swarming like a tide of writhing bodies, but Nioh didn't hesitate. His needles sliced through them with wild abandon. His hands no longer held the umbrella in a careful grip, but clenched it as a weapon of sheer destruction. The once precise jabs were now sweeping, violent slashes, sending torn limbs and broken bodies flying in all directions.

Every strike was now fueled by raw aggression. His body, no longer bound by the cold, was alive with energy—too much energy, far more than he could contain. The zombie horde fell one after another, but each death seemed to twist him further into the madness, pushing him to the edge. His breathing was ragged, jagged gasps that echoed in the fog-filled air, every breath deeper and more desperate than the last.

The nobles saw his hair shift in the screens, at first subtle, then unmistakable. The ashen strands of his hair, once so characteristic of his Noble bloodline, began to darken at the roots. The first few strands of red appeared, faint at first, like a slow burn, but soon, more and more followed.

The transformation was slow, deliberate—a reflection of the dark energy now coursing through him. As Nioh hacked and slashed, his hair darkened further, turning the once pale ashen color into an intense, blood-red hue that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the power he was absorbing. It wasn't just a physical transformation—it was a mark of the Hellscape's influence on him, a visible sign of his growing corruption.

"His hair…" one of the noblewomen gasped, unable to take her eyes off the screen. The red hue spread like wildfire, a violent burst of color that mirrored the storm inside him.

"This is…" another noble's voice trailed off. "It's the Hell energy. It's changing him. He's feeding off them. It's feeding him. This mad man is absorbing the Hell energy"

And indeed, Nioh's battle was now more about consumption than control. With every undead he killed, the Hell energy poured into him. It was no longer just a subtle flow—it was a raging river, coursing through his veins with an unholy fury.

The horde of zombies surrounding him seemed to multiply as the fog thickened, as if the very land was conjuring more to throw at him. But it didn't matter. With every strike, with every kill, Nioh's strength grew.

The footage relayed from the drones was now a blur of motion, a maelstrom of black and red. The needle tips of his umbrella extended in every direction, stabbing into the rotten flesh of the zombies, twisting and writhing in the air like snakes

. Nioh's body blurred with the force of each attack. The mist of the Hellscape thickened, rolling in like a living thing, consuming everything in its path. He was surrounded, but it no longer mattered. The zombies were merely obstacles, their numbers nothing more than a statistic in his frenzy of power.

"Look at him," a noble whispered, her voice trembling. "His strength… It's monstrous."

Each kill was a feast, each zombie a conduit for more power, and yet the consumption was never enough.

--

The battlefield was no longer just a cursed land — it had become an arena of transformation. Nioh stood at the heart of it, a figure carved from chaos and forged by fury. His breath came in ragged bursts, chest rising and falling like a war drum, yet there was no sign of exhaustion in his eyes — only fire. His hair, once entirely ashen, now flickered with brilliant strands of red, more and more of them igniting like fuses as the Hell energy surged into him. It whipped around his head in a wild halo, untamed and alive, echoing the madness building within.

The Hellscape itself seemed to respond to his presence. The toxic fog, once an oppressive, omnipresent curse upon the land, now spun with unnatural speed, spiraling into Nioh as though summoned.

The ground beneath his feet groaned and cracked, not from weakness but from awakening — as if the land, long dormant and feral, recognized a new sovereign. A great maelstrom of Hell energy formed, with Nioh as its epicenter. What was once a suffocating haze became streamlined torrents of corrupted essence, siphoning directly into his body, fueling something ancient and terrible.

"The fog is clearing," Akron observed, her voice sharp with urgency. Without hesitation, she gave the signal. "Let's move."

The five heirs dove from their observation point, each clutching a glowing cube buzzing with condensed static. They descended through the thinning fog and landed in a cleared zone around Nioh, the sickly soil hissing beneath their boots. The scene that greeted them was beyond anything they had imagined: Nioh, surrounded by a cyclone of storming fog and lightning, fought like a death-god, his black umbrella — Infinity — now fully unfolded into a rotating halo of a thousand black needles suspended in the air above him, spinning in a near-hypnotic pattern.

The fog continued to pour into him, and crackling arcs of energy danced along his body, wrapping him in a cocoon of violent transformation. His every movement left afterimages — blurred, ghostlike echoes of his previous positions.

Each time a Hell zombie lunged toward him, it was met with a blur of slashing needles or the crushing force of a blow wreathed in static, torn apart before its corrupted claws could even graze him.

Suddenly, the rotating needles of Infinity shifted formation, rearranging themselves into a new geometric array above him. With blood trailing down one temple and lightning crawling across his skin, Nioh raised a trembling hand to his headphones. He clicked the dial.

"Track two," he whispered. "Static Veil."

The air warped the moment the song began. A sudden silence fell — not from absence of sound, but from its distortion. The atmosphere rippled as if submerged underwater, and the very frequency of the world changed. Static screamed in the background, and a veil of crackling energy enveloped the battlefield. Sparks flew like fireflies. The scent of ozone thickened. The area around Nioh shimmered in waves of distorting energy, masking his movements and warping the senses.

"Now," Akron ordered.

The heirs activated their cubes, stepping back as the devices unleashed torrents of highly focused electrical currents. Each bolt struck Nioh like a divine punishment, sending arcs of searing power through his frame. His body convulsed, blood spattering the blackened ground, but he didn't fall — he roared. The pain kept him tethered to his fading sanity, a brutal method of stabilization amidst the flood of Hell energy.

Lightning from the cubes met the Hell fog midstream, blending in a storm of power that fed Nioh and hurt him in equal measure. His veins pulsed with unnatural rhythm, bulging beneath his skin as his body expanded and contracted, adapting in real time. His muscles twisted tighter. His stance widened. His eyes burned brighter — one red, one flickering gold. It was like watching a mortal shed his humanity inch by inch and something monstrous take its place.

With the needles now serving as conductors of divine fury, Nioh launched forward, engaging the remaining Hell zombies not with weapons, but with his body itself. Every movement crackled with electrical discharge. He struck with fists and knees, elbows and heels — bone-breaking strikes that dismembered and vaporized the undead on contact. Lightning laced his limbs. The ground sparked wherever he landed. His war cry was half scream, half static.

Dozens of Hellspawn fell before him, their bodies torn apart and their corruption siphoned with each kill. He didn't just fight them — he consumed them. Absorbed their rot, drank in their madness. His aura pulsed wildly now, jagged and feral, the fog around him almost completely vanished as it was fed into his ever-hungrier core.

Those few Hell zombies that evaded him turned instead toward the nobles at the perimeter, drawn by the electric cubes.

"Protect the boxes!" Akron shouted, drawing her blade.

The nobles leapt into formation, blades gleaming, their eyes wide not just with fear, but awe — awe at the being Nioh was becoming.

"This madman is crazier than I am," Magnus said as golden light began to charge from his fingertips.

"His energy levels are rising exponentially," Lithaa. declared, snapping her mace on the ground.

Akron cracked her neck and said, " Don't worry about him! Just protect the boxes"

They had arrived expecting to assist a prince on a symbolic conquest. What they found instead was a storm made flesh, a god being born in blood and thunder.

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