Biocores: The Legendary Weapon Designer-Chapter 85: Infinity

Back in the laboratory, Nioh was seated on the floor, combing through the content he acquired from the knowledge hall. He had a theory.

If Zones were the culmination of intent, then his Rhythm Walker was a zone inducer.

What he needed was to create an amplifier powerful enough to increase the output force of his Rhythm Walker.

The first hurdle had already appeared. Most amplifiers only amplified biocore energy. Intent was something completely different.

The question remained.

"How can I create a real Zone without reaching the seven biocore level?"

"You are looking at it wrong."

A voice resonated in his mind. Ekoh.

"What do you mean?" Nioh asked back.

"Your line of reasoning is good but your approach is wrong. Why is the seventh rank needed to create a Zone?"

The question ignited something.

Nioh’s brain started firing.

"The only answer I can come up with is... energy output."

"Yes. Because, beyond anything, biocore energy is the support of the universe. Energy is the base. And remember—nothing is created, everything transforms."

"Transmutation... My Rhythm Walker transforms energy into intent... so the Zone is the result of transforming intent into matter. I need loads of energy to do that. But... I don’t know how to influence matter."

"You don’t," Ekoh replied calmly. "But I do. Remember—matter and wave are the same in another plane."

"So basically, I already have all three aspects. The energy. The intent. The transmutation."

"You’re still far off. Your intent is too meager to withstand the power required for that level of manipulation."

"It’s okay," Nioh said quietly, more to himself than to Ekoh.

He shut down the screen, his eyes lit with determination.

"I have a year."

--

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but somewhere between notes and equations, amidst loose cables and scorched metal, his body gave in.

The floor of the laboratory was cold as always, but this time, it pulled him into something deeper.

He dreamt.

It was a memory—one that had long been buried, locked beneath layers of determination and pain. But tonight, it resurfaced.

There was fire.

Everywhere.

The sky was red, the air thick with smoke and heat, like breathing in sorrow.

She was tied to the altar, struggling, fighting even as the flames curled around her like snakes.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t help.

He just watched.

The worst part wasn’t the fire.

It was the silence.

His ears were deafened—completely void of sound. Her screams, her cries, her final words—all lost to him.

He stood there like a useless shadow, watching her burn, her figure crumbling into ash while the world watched with empty eyes.

When he opened his eyes, it was morning.

But the weight of that night stayed on his chest like a slab of iron.

"Soon..." he whispered, staring at the ceiling. "I’ll be going back. Soon, I’ll get justice for you."

He sat up slowly, body aching in familiar places. His night robe slipped off his shoulders and fell, revealing pale skin drawn tight over sculpted muscle. His neck cracked twice as he tilted it from side to side.

Then, without pause, he began his morning ritual.

The first movements were slow—centuries-old martial forms passed down from dying traditions. But as he moved, the precision increased, each motion sharper, heavier, laced with quiet aggression.

Then came the weapons.

With a flick of his fingers, the black umbrella leaning against the wall snapped into motion, floating gently into his open hand.

Infinity.

That was its name.

A weapon like no other. Forged through obsession and pain. Every inch of it was handmade, born from months of solitude and rage.

Over a hundred thousand thin needles made from diamond stinger shell—each one refined and shaped by his own hand. Unbreakable. Precise. Deadly.

He had then woven them together using the silk of the Spider Queen, the toughest organic thread he could find, forming an infinite chain of segmented death. A weapon of elegance, brutality, and adaptability.

But that wasn’t enough.

At the core of it all, embedded deep within the handle, was the Null Stone—a rare artifact capable of imitating any energy frequency. That one stone allowed Infinity to resonate with every waveform he could control. A perfect complement to his style. A perfect extension of his body.

He spun it once in his hand, letting the sound of shifting needles whisper like wind. His stance changed, ready to begin training his throwing arcs.

And then—

SLAM.

The door to the lab burst open without warning.

"You! Why the hell are you never dressed properly?!" came a voice, loud and frustrated.

Akron.

Behind him, Althea was trying (and failing) not to look, but her tilted head and guilty smirk betrayed her curiosity.

Nioh didn’t flinch. "Why are you making such a fuss? You’re a man too."

He casually reached for a black shirt and slid it over his head.

"There are girls with us. Be respectful!" Akron growled, stepping further in with a heavy sigh.

"And your lab..." he winced, waving his hands around, "still looks like the stomach of a dying machine. Can you please learn to clean up after yourself?"

"I can’t think about cleaning when I’m building a dream," Nioh replied coolly, tossing a rag over a pile of tools.

"Dream or not, this is a hazard zone," Akron barked back, already rolling up his sleeves to start clearing the mess. "There’s literally a melted fusion coil on the floor."

"I’ll help," Nioh said, grabbing a few energy rods to sort through. "I was going to clean up after training anyway."

Althea wandered the lab like a child in a museum, her fingers tracing the edges of machines, her eyes wide.

"This place is crazy..." she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "How do you even know what any of these things do?"

"I built them," Nioh said simply, wiping sweat from his brow. "They talk to me."

"Right..." she said, half-smiling. "We have a mission."

Akron stood straighter, brushing dust from his shirt. "I checked the Harvester Ranking this morning. We’re still at the bottom. Pathetic, really. Most of the good missions are locked off."

"So you picked something desperate," Nioh muttered, raising an eyebrow as he sat back on his reclining chair.

"Not desperate. Strategic. This one’s a solo, single-team operation. Rare to find."

He paused for effect.

"A rescue."

Nioh tilted his head, curious.

"A team of scientists from the Factory were sent into a cradle zone in the Stine region. Standard extraction. But last night was their final transmission."

"They’ve been captured. Rogue mercenary unit. No formal allegiances. They’re asking for five million credits in ransom."

Nioh said nothing. Just watched.

"The Factory doesn’t want to pay. Instead, they want a clean-up crew. Us."

"This mission is off the record. No Stine officials. Full deniability. Covert infiltration. Secure the scientists. Wipe the mercs."

He held up a data pad.

"They’re offering ten million conqueror points."

That made Nioh blink once. The number was absurd for a low-ranking mission. Clearly something was being buried.

"It’s good pay. Clean and simple. And it gives us a chance to test our synergy. See how we operate under pressure."

Nioh slowly leaned back into his chair, thinking.

"What’s your plan?"

"I’ve compiled all data on the zone. Mapped terrain. Pulled satellite scans. I’ve synced the last known coordinates with their encrypted distress beacon. Once we get a lock, we move. Assess the threat. Decide how to neutralize."

"Where are you going?" Akron suddenly asked, noticing Nioh standing and stretching.

"To take a shower. Then pack."

"You’re not even going to review the plan?"

"No need," Nioh replied, stepping into the hallway.

"I trust you."