Nioh was a blur of motion and lightning, fighting bare-fisted now, his umbrella long retracted. The thunder god had descended. His fists cracked bone, his knees shattered skulls. Every movement left a trace of static, every step burst with ground-splitting pressure. The remnants of the Hell zombies—misshapen, twitching horrors once feared—fell before him like brittle leaves caught in a storm. They didn't stand a chance.
On the far side of the Hellscape, beyond the sealed perimeter and safe behind the armored barriers of the diffusion field, the spectators watched in open-mouthed silence. What they were witnessing wasn't a battle. It was a revelation.
"The prince is too strong," someone whispered, awestruck.
"I can't believe it..."
"He's going to survive, right?"
"The other heirs are there. He won't fall. He can't."
"Yes. He is... the Strongrest."
