Biocores: The Legendary Weapon Designer-Chapter 86: Stines Region

The Fangs crossed through the tunnel of the war hall, boots echoing on reinforced alloy as they approached the closest transmission point to the research team’s last known location.

Stynes Region.

A strange land suspended above a floor of toxic mist. The air shimmered with a low-frequency hum, like something was always breathing beneath the surface. The mist was pink, sickly, and constant—stretching across the horizon like a forgotten ocean. The people of Stynes didn’t walk the ground. They lived in the trees, in towers, in platforms suspended by organic steel cables and old-world tech. Survival demanded elevation.

Right now, the trio stood at the border of Lellaft—also known as the Giant Treehouse. A living city, built around and into a gargantuan ancient tree. Its massive branches spread across the sky, holding walkways, homes, even gardens. Over five million people lived here.

From a distance, Nioh watched it breathe. He saw energy pulses, micro-biocore circuits blinking like veins across a body. Sanctuary-type biocore. Defensive, nourishing, low-aggression. One of the last stable cities in this quadrant.

He hummed to himself. "Interesting architecture. Looks peaceful. Probably isn’t."

"Are we heading into the city?" Akron asked, adjusting the straps on his harness.

"No. But if the mercenaries abducted the researchers nearby, they must know this region well. Too well."

"I doubt the council would allow a mercenary group to take root this close to a Sanctuary," Akron frowned. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

Nioh nodded. "Exactly. Which means we’re not looking at outsiders. We’re looking at someone from the inside."

"You’re saying it’s an inside job?"

"That’s the working theory. Pull up the personnel manifest of the research team. Look for anyone born in Lellaft. If someone has local roots, they might be our mole."

"On it," Akron said, already pulling up his device.

"I’ve mapped a route to the coordinates from their final transmission," Althea chimed in. "We can be there in twenty minutes if we go direct."

"No." Nioh shook his head. "Take the long route. They’ll be expecting us. Let’s not give them a clean shot."

Akron squinted at the screen. "Found someone. Aldoh Bradger. Born and raised in Lellaft. Worked at the local institute before transferring to the Factory three years ago."

"Potential leak," Nioh said. "Keep eyes on him if we recover the team. Let’s move."

He snapped his fingers. Static popped from his fingertip. In a blink, a long floating needle surged up from the side of his boot and hovered beneath him. He stepped on and balanced without effort, the Infinity folded and strapped across his back.

Althea pulled a hoverboard from her backpack, booting it with a soft pulse before kicking off to follow.

Akron just leapt.

One clean bounce. A hundred-meter arc. His tiny frame soared effortlessly, body tight like a coiled spring unleashed. Nioh’s eyes tracked the ripple of energy where he landed, barely believing the strength hidden in that small build.

Now that he saw it in action, he remembered Grimmes’ warning:

"That lass will tear your limbs off in a brute contest. Don’t let the size fool you."

They flew through the forest, weaving between massive vines and high-rising trunks, staying far above the toxic mist crawling below. Pink, glowing faintly, whispering softly. It didn’t want you to fall, it wanted you to slip.

Now that they were beyond the influence of the sanctuary biocore, the environment shifted.

More feral biocores. Wild, hungry, unrestrained.

Floating kinds. The worst kinds.

Nioh’s vision shifted—his field of view scattered with sound waves and harmonics. His fingers twitched.

"Flock of Avian Scissors, six o’clock. Six incoming," he called out.

Akron responded instantly.

He twisted mid-air, launching higher with one push. Up through the treetops. His eyes scanned, hand forming a visor as he caught sight of the incoming threat—metallic glints slicing through cloud and vine.

The next moment he dropped like a meteor.

In the blink of an eye, he was inside the flock.

His knees hit the first Avian Scissor mid-torso. The crack echoed like a thunderclap. Before the others could react, his foot swung around—one clean arc—and two more dropped, wings shattered, beaks broken. The last three didn’t even manage to shriek. They were dead before they realized they were targets.

Althea was already on the scene, sliding beside the corpses, harvesting whatever still pulsed.

Nioh hovered down slowly, watching with neutral curiosity. No wasted motion. The kid was more dangerous than most lieutenants he’d seen.

Akron jogged over, dusting off his coat. "Threat neutralized."

"Efficient," Nioh murmured.

He turned his eyes to the forest ahead. "The last communication came from somewhere near here. Let’s split and search for clues. Keep distance. Ping anything unusual."

While the team split, Nioh sat cross-legged atop a thick branch, entering a meditative state. In his hands, he turned the dial of his Rhythm Walker

He increased the volume key, filtering out all non-audio frequencies until only sound waves remained in his field of view. The forest around him faded into a misty silhouette, replaced by arcs of colored vibrations. His eyes turned gold, glowing faintly, and his fingers began to move.

Sharp. Quick. Precise.

He reached out and tapped at each sound wave, reading their signature through subtle resonance.

"Avian Scissors. Wind. Crumbling leaves. Tree caterpillar..."

One by one, he eliminated the ambient noises until only a few patterns remained. Then he caught it.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A mechanical pulse.

Faint, distant, but unmistakably artificial.

A transmitter, he thought.

But the source came from within the pink fog below.

He inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with as much oxygen as they could hold, then leapt down like a diving hawk. Right before he touched the fog, his body shimmered with a layer of biocore energy, forming a protective membrane around his skin and lungs.

The moment he entered the fog, he felt it.

The mist was alive. Not sentient—but aware. It hissed and slithered, wrapping around his shield, trying to corrode it. It bit at him like acid, eager to chew through his defense.

He descended deeper, eyes squinting through the swirling pink haze. Below him, scattered debris—bones, shattered equipment, rusted metal arms. Corpses of scavengers and failed expeditions.

Then he saw it: a compact metal box, half-buried beneath a pile of scorched skeletons.

Without hesitation, he reached out and snatched the box, his shield flaring brightly as he kicked off the fog floor and surged upward. The energy membrane cracked at the edges, but held just long enough for him to break the surface.

His body slammed onto a thick branch just above the mist line. He landed hard, coughing out a lungful of tainted air before it could get into his system.

The fog only consumed living matter. Machines, dead things, and inert minerals were untouched. An anomaly worth studying he thought as he examined the box

It had an old Factory crest etched into the corner, barely visible under corrosion. He pried it open carefully, snapping off the oxidized latch.

Inside were three items:

A voice transmitter still pulsing softly.

A set of vials, each filled with glowing amber liquid.

And a research log,