The ship that had carried Nioh to the Hellscape now hovered in the distance, a cold, mechanical observer of the chaos unfolding below. The rest of the heirs and nobles were stationed on the edges of the Hellscape, far enough to witness the unfolding spectacle, but far too cautious to venture into the depths of the cursed land. The ominous fog that hung in the air was a silent witness to the turmoil, a thick, poisonous mist that made the land seem even more otherworldly.
The ground beneath Nioh cracked as his wheelchair touched the desolate land. For a moment, there was silence—a tense, expectant quiet that fell over the wasteland. His wheelchair, once a symbol of restraint, stood still in the center of the Hellscape, like an anchor in a storm. The fog swirled in every direction, thick and suffocating. There was no escape. No safe zone. Only the land, the fog, and the dark presence that was Nioh.
