Biocores: The Legendary Weapon Designer-Chapter 75: Cosmic Suppressing Physique

Deep in the Expanse, the marshland that once housed the Sin of Lust had transformed into a frozen wasteland. The waters were locked in ice, the skeletal trees stood lifeless, and the few creatures that had once roamed this land were long dead, leaving behind only brittle husks.

The air itself was deathly cold, an unnatural chill spreading across the barren landscape. Amidst this eerie desolation, a lone figure sat cross-legged, motionless, his gaze fixed on a single point at the center of the frozen lake.

"It should be any time now," Grimmes muttered impassively.

At the heart of the lake, encased in solid ice, was Nioh.

For nine months, his body had endured an unrelenting assault of hell energy. His mind teetered on the edge of collapse. Ever since that fateful night in the Knowledge Hall, he had been preparing for this moment. He had trained, meditated like a madman, and followed every method recorded in the Grimmes ancestor research—anything to survive what was to come.

His body had been ravaged by the process. He was little more than bone and crystallized muscle, his once-vibrant form now a twisted shell. The hell energy crept toward his face, searing into his very being as the final nail of the Nine Punishments detonated within him.

A violent vortex of cold energy erupted, stripping him of every remaining sensation. He could no longer feel touch, nor see, nor smell.

He was utterly alone.

In the darkness of his mind, a reflection appeared—his six-year-old self, standing amidst thousands of shattered mirror fragments, each one displaying a moment of his life.

One by one, the shards crumbled, breaking into smaller and smaller pieces until they dissolved into nothingness.

And with each disappearing fragment, a part of him was lost.

The process was agonizingly slow, turning him, piece by piece, into something unrecognizable. His sense of self wavered, his identity dissolving like dust in the wind. He gritted his teeth, resisting with everything he had, but time was against him.

Until—

One shard remained.

Unlike the others, this one refused to break. It flickered, revealing an image—

A woman, bound to a stake, tears streaming down her face.

She burned.

The flames roared hungrily, drowning out her cries. Around her, a crowd cheered and chanted, their voices filled with cruel reverence.

The image was grotesque. Horrifying.

And yet—

Something deep within Nioh stirred.

A forgotten part of himself—something primal, something buried beneath the weight of suffering—awoke

The vision shifted.

The shattered mirrors reassembled, forming a single, unbroken reflection—Nioh as a six-year-old child. But something was different. His silver hair was gone, replaced by wild, crimson locks. His once-familiar silver eyes had turned into piercing emeralds, gleaming with unchecked intensity.

The red-haired Nioh stepped forward, reaching through the mirror as if the boundary between them no longer existed. His fingers closed around Nioh’s throat.

"So pathetic."

His grip tightened, lifting Nioh slightly off the ground.

"If you had let me take control, we wouldn’t be in this situation."

With a scoff, he released him, only to deliver a vicious kick to his chest, sending Nioh sprawling backward.

"You are weak. You are emotional. An embarrassment to our ancestry."

The red-haired boy took a slow step forward, his presence suffocating, his voice dripping with condescension.

"Just let me take over, and all your pain and suffering will end."

For the first time, a chuckle escaped Nioh’s lips. A tired, knowing chuckle.

"You were caged for a reason."

He pushed himself to his feet, unfazed by the chaos unraveling around him.

"I’ll deal with you later."

He took a deep breath and roared into the void.

"EKOHHHHHHH!"

Like divine judgment, golden chains erupted from the abyss, wrapping around the red-haired Nioh’s body. They coiled and tightened, binding him, restraining him, dragging him into the shadows. His struggle was brief, his resistance meaningless.

With one final defiant glare, the red-haired Nioh was swallowed by the darkness.

Then, from the lingering golden light, a figure took form.

A young man, ethereal and radiant, stepped forward, clad in black and gold armor. His black hair cascaded down his back, framing a golden crown that shimmered atop his head. His very presence was transcendent—divine, yet somehow deeply familiar.

Nioh’s breath hitched.

"Ekoh...?"

His voice wavered, as if unsure whether to believe his own eyes.

The figure’s golden gaze met his.

"I thought you would not recognize me." Ekoh’s voice was smooth, almost amused. "It took far too long for your intent to manifest clearly enough to see me."

A rare smile tugged at Nioh’s lips.

"It’s good to have you back. But for now, we have more pressing matters." He cracked his neck. "There’s a certain parasite causing havoc in my body. It’s time we deal with him."

Ekoh nodded.

"I know."

With a step, his form blurred into golden light, reappearing beside Nioh in an instant. Slowly, he lifted the golden crown from his own head and placed it onto Nioh’s.

As it settled, he whispered a single command.

"Suppress."

A pillar of golden light erupted from Nioh’s body, surging skyward. It split the heavens apart, illuminating the frozen wasteland below. His body trembled under the sudden influx of power as the golden radiance bathed his very essence, purging the virus-like corruption from his biocore.

The sound of mnemonic chants echoed through the air—solemn, divine—like the arrival of a celestial being.

The cocoon that encased Nioh began to rise from the frozen lake, ascending toward the sky as if carried by an unseen force. Then, with a deafening crack, a bolt of lightning descended from the heavens, striking the cocoon with divine fury.

Grimmes, who had been watching in silence, took a sharp step forward, his instincts screaming at him to intervene. But something in the air stopped him. He hesitated.

Then—

Another lightning strike.

Then another.

Eight in total, each one slamming into the cocoon with unrelenting force. The very fabric of the sky trembled with the echoes of celestial judgment.

And then—silence.

The sky cleared.

The chants ceased.

The golden light dimmed.

Inside Nioh’s mind, he staggered under the weight of the golden crown, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His body threatened to buckle beneath its power.

Ekoh sighed.

"I suppose... it’s still too soon."

With a flicker of motion, he reached out and tapped Nioh’s forehead. Instantly, Nioh’s consciousness faded, his body going limp. The golden crown fell from his head, vanishing into nothingness.

And then—

From within the cracked cocoon, a slender, pale hand emerged.

Then another.

The cracks deepened, spiderwebbing across the surface until, with a resounding shatter, the cocoon split in half.

A figure stepped forward.

Nioh.

His naked form was renewed—lean, compact, sculpted with the precision of something beyond human. His bones gleamed like crystallized diamonds, his muscles were dense as steel yet moved with the flexibility of flowing copper. His long, ashen hair cascaded down his back, framing a physique honed to perfection.

But it was not just his body that had changed.

It was his very presence.

Vitality surged through him in waves, drawn not from mere breath or heartbeat, but from existence itself. The sky, the sun, the earth, the clouds—the universe—poured into him, an unending supply of life. It was the cosmic suppressing physique.

His golden eyes flickered, sharp and calculating. And then, he sensed it—Grimmes.

His gaze locked onto the observer.

He stepped forward, his foot meeting the air—yet instead of falling, he descended smoothly, as if walking down invisible steps.

His movements were measured, his demeanor refined.

Nine months of torment had shaped him.

Nine months had broken him down and reforged him.

And now—

He had emerged.