Nioh's spine arched as the harmonic energy surged through him like a tidal wave. The flickering lightning that had danced across his skin suddenly collapsed inward—imploding into his body—before bursting outward in a radiant pulse.
His skin was shredded in an instant, disassembled by unseen magnetic force as panels of black alloy materialized around his limbs, forged from nanite-grade armor and willpower. The pieces rotated mid-air, locking into place with perfect mechanical precision.
A sleek, form-fitting black exosuit enveloped him, each segment humming with restrained violence. Gold filigree traced along the contours—subtle, divine, ceremonial.
His shoulders ignited with twin arcs of energy. His helmet sealed, and when the visor snapped into place, two vertical golden lines flared like eyes opening in the void.
It began with a whisper.
