Biocores: The Legendary Weapon Designer-Chapter 72: Body Tempering

*Clang* *Clang* *Clang*, the sound of a hammer against an anvil, resonated in the laboratory. Nioh hadn’t taken a step out in a few weeks. He was too weak too vulnerable. He was dreading the first punishment nail explosion. The heat from the burning furnace was illuminating his delicate face, now smeared by smoke and dirt.

He had established a solid retaliation plan against the hell energy that pervasively invaded his body. Early in the morning, he would practice his military boxing techniques. With weight tied to his torso, ankles, and wrists. This would effectively shred the accumulated cold during the night, while warming his body up for the rest of the day.

During the day, he would spend time near the furnace, producing dozens of identical needles. He had begun the process of building his ultimate weapon. He had to control his strength, body movement, and dexterity to produce identical needles that would serve as integral parts of the weapon.

The exterior shell he had acquired from killing the Diamond stinger, was the most difficult material he had to transform. And without his biocore energy, he was limited to the high temperatures of the furnace.

Despite being so close to the flames, his skin was becoming paler due to the effect of the hell energy.

His movements had turned, calm and mechanical. Almost like he had lost part of his soul. The control required to achieve such harmonious movement, could not be achieved in mere weeks. Had Grimmes been present he would have been very surprised.

After passing by the initial outburst of emotion, he began to analyze Grimmes motives. And he came to a single conclusion "Body tempering."

The subtle hints the madman had left during their conversation, comforted him with the idea that there was a purpose to his suffering. According to Grimmes, his body was severely lacking compared to his biocore, and the consequences on the latter were dire.

Right now he was tempering his body the same way he did his mind all those years.

A few days he delivered the first weapon order. The auction had sold for exactly one million credits. It was a swordsman who wanted to enhance the performance of his plasma sword. He redid the biocore wiring and optimized the balancing resulting in a shooting in performance from forty-five percent to eighty percent. Almost doubling its performance results. The client was very satisfied and after updating the performance sheets, the next month’s quota had risen to two million credits so far.

A chilling wave spread through him and Nioh knew it was time for the first punishment needle to explode. The intensity of the wave was completely different to ones he had felt before.

A violent tremor ran through Nioh’s body as the first Punishment Nail detonated inside him. His breath hitched, his muscles locked, and for a moment, his mind went blank from the, unbearable cold.

Then, the pain came—sharp, raw, and all-consuming. It was like being submerged in an ocean of ice, his bones cracking under the pressure. His body rejected the surge of hell energy, but it didn’t matter. It was inside him now.

His skin began to crawl, veins darkening like ink spreading through water. His heartbeat became erratic, pulsing with every new surge of cold energy. He tried to move, but his limbs felt sluggish, weighed down by an unnatural heaviness.

Then, the real nightmare began.

A searing heat bloomed in his left arm, violent and ravenous, in complete contrast to the icy torment ravaging the rest of his body. The flesh warped before his eyes, twisting as the veins beneath the skin glowed with an eerie, molten red. His fingers curled involuntarily, muscles convulsing as his arm withered, its once-strong form shriveling and tightening around the bone. The skin hardened, darkened, and then—cracks formed.

Crystalline.

His left arm became something else entirely—a jagged, obsidian-like structure, gleaming with deep, hellish energy. The cold still raged within him, but his arm burned like a furnace, radiating raw power.

He could feel the power coursing through it, far beyond anything his normal body could produce. Yet, the power wasn’t evenly distributed. It was concentrated, forced into his limb while the rest of him was left trembling, weakened, and vulnerable.

His teeth chattered uncontrollably, his breath coming out in short, visible puffs. He tried to clench his left fist, and the moment he did, the ground beneath him cracked. A surge of energy, barely controlled, pulsed through his crystalline limb, and the entire workbench beside him shattered into splinters.

The disparity was unbearable. His left arm felt corrupt, like it was thrumming with an otherwordly force beyond his comprehension. Yet, the rest of his body was trapped in a relentless, merciless freeze. His legs threatened to buckle, his muscles rigid with the cold. Every breath felt like inhaling shards of ice.

Caught in the violent imbalance of his own body, Nioh’s consciousness flickered like a dying ember before finally extinguishing. He collapsed onto the cold floor of the laboratory, his body convulsing in erratic, involuntary spasms throughout the night. Each twitch sent a ripple of pain through his nerves, his muscles rebelling against the unnatural force invading them. The lab remained eerily silent, save for the occasional crackle of residual hell energy flickering along his left arm.

By the time the first rays of sunlight crept through the grimy windows, Nioh stirred, his breath shallow and ragged. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing hollow, unfocused eyes that took a moment to adjust to reality. His entire body ached—no, it ached would be an understatement. It felt like he had been torn apart and sewn back together with frozen wire.

His limbs trembled as he forced himself up, dragging his near-lifeless body toward the nearest mirror. The moment he caught his own reflection, his breath hitched.

"Is this... me?"

He looked worse than before—his vitality had drained to an alarming degree. His once-toned body was now gaunt, his skin pale and almost translucent, veins darkening like poisoned roots beneath the surface. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, sagged in their sockets, shadowed by deep bruises. He resembled a walking corpse, a being barely clinging to life.

But his left arm—that was the true horror.

The limb had fully crystallized, hardened into a jagged, obsidian-like structure that refracted the dim laboratory light in sharp, eerie glimmers. It was grotesquely thin, the fingers elongated and claw-like, as if sculpted from some ancient, cursed mineral. He tried to flex it, but it was lifeless—completely devoid of sensation, as if it wasn’t even his. Yet, when he instinctively clenched his fist, a sudden pulse of power surged through it.

Nioh froze. The strength wasn’t just unnatural—it was monstrous. Terrifyingly so. His body barely had the energy to stand, yet this cursed limb carried the might of an Iron Bull. The imbalance was suffocating. One side of his body was deteriorating, shivering under the weight of hell energy, while the other pulsed with an overwhelming, unstable force.

His expression darkened.

"I can’t let anyone see this."

With a sharp breath, he reached for a roll of bandages and methodically wrapped his entire left arm, binding it tightly from shoulder to fingertips. The coarse fabric barely concealed the unnatural sharpness of the crystalline limb, but it would have to do. He pulled a heavy, tattered cloak over his shoulders, shrouding himself in its folds.

His fingers curled into a trembling fist.

"I need answers."

His voice was barely above a whisper, his breath still uneven from the cold. His body was fragile, his energy reserves nearly depleted, but there was no time to waste.

"I need to get to the Knowledge Hall."