Biocores: The Legendary Weapon Designer

Daewyth’s dawn bled through the sky in streaks of red and gold, casting long shadows across the obsidian pillars of the citadel. The city was just beginning to stir, but inside the high chambers of the Inner Council, Marsai hadn’t slept in hours.

Her communication device buzzed relentlessly, ping after ping — messages, reports, emergency requests — all reflecting the same impossible truth.

He was alive.

She stood by the balcony, her sharp silhouette outlined by the soft morning glow. Below her, the city buzzed with uncertainty, though the citizens didn’t yet know it. Not yet.

She’d spent the night in command, orchestrating responses, silencing leaks, reviewing satellite footage, and confirming intel from the Blackroot Archives. But no matter how many confirmations came in — Nioh had returned. freewebnøvel.coɱ

The boy she once marked for elimination. The threat she buried under ash and conspiracy. Now... walking openly on Daewyth soil again, as if death itself had given him leave.

Behind her, the high council gathered in strained silence.

The two dukes, Duval and Tush, had come out of their decade-long seclusions, robes of war draped over their regalia of peace. Their sons — Cohen and Jubilee, the Wardens of opposing bloodlines — stood behind them, tense with restrained disbelief.

Jubilee was the first to break the silence.

"I thought you said he perished in that explosion." His voice had a slight edge, like a blade being unsheathed.

Cohen, his cousin, didn’t even flinch.

"I said there were no remains. Not even ash. I gave you facts, not fairy tales."

"The point isn’t what you found," Jubilee snapped. "The point is — how in the nine hells is he still alive after that blast? That wasn’t some spark — that was enough force to level half the western corridor!"

"He played us all," Duke Duval said grimly, cutting through the argument. His voice was low, but carried the weight of a bell toll.

"From the very beginning."

Marsai turned, her expression unreadable — but her eyes were sharp as ever.

"Explain," she ordered.

Duval’s jaw clenched. "He knew he couldn’t grow under either of our gazes. The Traditional Faction and the Modernists would have strangled his ascent before it began. So he vanished. Or rather — made us think he did. He chose to detonate that spectacle. Created a glorious myth of death. While we were busy honoring his grave or hunting ghosts, he was out there... building."

"Building what?" Jubilee asked, though he already feared the answer.

"An army. A loyalist ring. A shadow dominion."

Duval’s eyes narrowed. "And now he’s returned. Not because he’s finished — but because he doesn’t have to be."

"Two years isn’t enough to challenge either faction," Tush said, crossing his arms.

"No," Marsai agreed. "But it is enough for us to burn each other down."

Her voice was colder now. Resigned, but bitter.

"He gave us the script. And we danced like monkeys. Every move he needed — we performed. The equilibrium he wanted? We forged it with our own hands."

Tush smirked, a hint of admiration glinting in his aged eyes.

"He’s perfectly suited to be Monarch."

Duval scoffed. "He cannot become Monarch."

"And who will stop him?" Tush countered. "Among the younger generation, who rivals him? Not in strength. Not in charisma. And not in vision."

Duval’s lips pressed into a thin line. His silence said everything.

"The older generation still stands," he said at last.

They all knew what he meant.

Marsai looked at them, all of them — sons and fathers, cousins and rivals. A storm of dynasties converging under one roof.

"The Absolute Monarch has only a few years left," she said, voice flat.

"There will be blood. And only one of us will stand at the end."

No one denied it.

Jubilee turned to Marsai, brow furrowed. "So what now? Do we reach out to him? Negotiate? Find a compromise?"

Marsai laughed, but there was no joy in it.

"You just nuked any chance of an alliance by showing up to this meeting with sharpened blades and bitter hearts."

Tush snorted. "As if she would’ve agreed anyway. Don’t be naïve, boy. Unlike us, she still holds a card — the Twins. She can gamble on that bond instead."

Cohen gave his father a side glance. "If the Twins remain loyal."

"They will," Marsai said sharply.

There was a beat of silence. Then Duke Duval spoke the words they were all thinking.

"In a few more years, we may have another Absolute Monarch. One no one will be able to stop."

The dawn light fully crested the horizon now, setting the skies ablaze with orange fire. The city of Daewyth stirred beneath them, unaware of the civil war quietly brewing above.

Then Marsai said the final word — the judgment that hung like a guillotine in the golden light:

"He needs to die."

No one argued.

And so, under the rising sun, a quiet pact of war was sealed — not with blood or ink, but with silence and understanding.

The storm had returned.

—

The soft hum of machines was the only sound in the dimly lit medical room, their glow casting sterile light over Akron’s still form. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, her lips nearly colorless, but her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm — fragile, but alive.

"How is she?" X asked as he stepped through the doorway, his voice quiet but laced with urgency.

Nioh didn’t look up. His eyes were fixed on Akron, red-rimmed and sunken from a sleepless night. He sat beside her like a sentinel — unmoving, silent, exhausted.

"Better," he replied hoarsely. "She should wake up soon."

"You should get some rest too," X said as he crossed the room and placed a tray on the counter. It clattered softly: a sealed bottle of water, a balanced meal, and a stack of high-grade energy supplements. "You look like death. Wouldn’t be a great look if your girlfriend wakes up and finds you like this."

He smirked faintly. "Might get dumped."

Nioh gave a dry laugh and reached for the supplements, swallowing them one by one before biting into the meal with the speed of a man who hadn’t eaten in days.

"Tell me about Daewyth," he said between mouthfuls, his voice steadier now. "What’s the current situation?"

X leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Akron for a moment before speaking. "It’s quieter than it was two years ago. After your disappearance, the Monarch moved fast. Used it as the perfect excuse to crush the last embers of rebellion. He seized factional assets, stripped power from the opposition, and dissolved a majority of the old circles."

He paused. "Right now, the realm is in balance — but a fragile one. The Traditional faction has a slight edge."

Nioh nodded slowly. "Marsai’s doing. I should’ve known."

"You figured it out?" X asked.

"A wolf always knows the scent of another wolf," Nioh replied darkly.

There was a moment of silence between them, heavy with unspoken history.

"Now that she knows you’re alive," X said finally, "what kind of precautions will they take?"

"They’ll stop promoting the younger generation," Nioh said, setting down his half-finished food. "They know none of them can match me. Not in strength, not in leadership, and definitely not in strategy."

"You’re saying... the old ones will come out of seclusion?"

"They already have."

X’s brow furrowed. "If they form an alliance against you, it could be devastating. You’re strong, but not at your peak yet."

Nioh leaned back in his chair, eyes tired but sharp. "They won’t risk anything rash. Not while the old man’s still breathing. The last time he acted, they saw what he was capable of. He’s the one fear that still binds them."

He ran a hand through his messy hair, staring out the window where dawn had begun to creep over the skyline. "As long as he’s alive, they’ll keep their ambitions quiet. And they won’t band together."

"Why not?" X asked.

"Marsai," Nioh said. "She won’t let the balance she’s spent years building crumble overnight. My return gives her options — a future through the twins. She’ll hedge her bets, not gamble everything."

X hissed. "That scheming bitch... So what now? What will they do?"

"They’ll compete," Nioh said. "Each of them will try to take my head. The one who succeeds will gain favor — rise in the ranks."

X stood upright, tension in his frame. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"No," Nioh said, a cold fire kindling in his eyes as he looked down at Akron’s face — peaceful, unaware, alive. "I just need to remind them what fear feels like."

He slid his wheelchair slowly, the weight of purpose settling on his path. "And I know exactly how."

"I hate it when you become all dark and twisty. It always spells misery for others," X chuckled inwardly.

"How can I instill fear if I don’t slay a few people. Only when blood flows does one recognize the value of life." Nioh said as he caressed Akon’s brown hair.

Unnoticed by the people present in the room, a few strands of Nioh’s hair began to turn blood red.