CHAPTER 119: THE RISE OF A SYMBOL

The silence that followed the Queen’s final screech was deafening. The battlefield, once alive with the incessant buzz of electric wings and the crackle of discharged voltage, was now still. Smoke curled from shattered rooftops and scorched terrain, and the scent of ozone lingered in the air like the breath of a storm that had just passed.

And then, the trapdoor of fear unlatched.

One by one, doors creaked open. Children peeked from behind tattered curtains, mothers with tear-streaked faces stepped into the ruined streets, elders clasped their hands in prayer. From basements and bunkers, from alleyways and shelters, the people of Biohive 81 emerged like petals unfolding after a long, brutal winter.

They looked upward—and there he was.

Floating above the shattered battlefield, surrounded by the remnants of his thunderous dominion, was Nioh.

His black wheelchair, gleaming under the dying glimmer of the Queen’s energy, hovered steadily above the ground. Around him, the last of the black needles still shimmered with stored voltage, tiny arcs of blue lightning webbing through the air like sentient filaments. The net of energy flickered once more before vanishing with a thunderclap, and in its place, a soft rain began to fall—light, ion-charged droplets, humming with his residual power.

The cameras mounted on the public drones locked onto him at once. Dozens, then hundreds of lens-eyes rotated and zoomed, capturing every angle of the prince in the sky. Live feeds broadcast his image across the hive, into every home, every hub, every screen. The caption glowed beneath the footage:

"The Storm Made Flesh—Prince Nioh Saves the Outer City"

The crowd erupted. Cheers broke like waves on all sides.

"He did it!"

"Prince Nioh saved us!"

"Look! He didn’t even need to stand up—he’s THAT powerful!"

"May lightning strike our enemies and spare our souls!"

They shouted his name, over and over. Nioh. Nioh. Nioh. It rolled like thunder through the streets.

Children ran forward with glowing sticks and holographic ribbons. Someone began to play music through a speaker rig—a victorious swell of brass and synthetic string. Confetti cannons launched from rooftops, their silver and gold shards fluttering through the ion-charged air like metallic snow.

Down below, X leaned on the hilt of his flaming sword, smirking at the commotion. "Think they like you."

Akron grunted beside him, folding her arms. "They should. He’s the only reason this city isn’t a crater."

Cryo, with a soft smile on his face, looked upward. "He used to be worried no one would follow him, you know. Said being stuck in a chair would make people underestimate him."

"They still do," Akron added, "until they see what happens when he moves without moving."

Above them, Nioh remained still.

The wheelchair descended slowly, electricity humming around the wheels like the growl of a restrained god. He landed on a high platform constructed of blackened steel and reinforced carbon plates—what had once been an old tramway station now served as his podium.

X waved to the people, grinning like a showman. Cryo lifted his hand in greeting, her frost mist dancing in the air. Akron stood beside Nioh like a monument, stone-faced and unmoving.

Nioh raised a single hand.

The crowd went quiet, like nature itself obeying the gesture. Even the cameras panned slowly to his face, capturing the weight of the moment.

His voice—clear, low, enhanced through the drones—cut through the air.

"You were not abandoned. Not today. Not ever. The outer city is part of the fiefdom, and I will protect every inch of it, just as I would the inner sanctum."

"We are done with the days of sacrifices. From now on, we move forward together."

The crowd roared. Families wept openly. A group of children released a set of plasma-glow kites into the air, their wings trailing arcs of harmless blue energy.

On the outer edge of the crowd, Aksel stood watching. His armor was scorched. His mech had deactivated, and he looked more soldier than officer now—hair plastered with sweat, eyes raw from the smoke. He didn’t cheer. He didn’t cry. He simply stared.

He remembered those words from the academy. "I hope you succeed in your future endeavors."

And now he stood in the shadow of that success.

The people chanted again, their voices louder than before. "Nioh! Nioh! Nioh!"

X leaned in and whispered, "You gonna say something dramatic? Or just keep brooding up here like a lightning god?"

"I’m not a god," Nioh replied quietly. His red eyes flicked over the crowd, taking in their awe, their gratitude. "Just a madman, using popularity for his evil ways."

A drone zoomed in, capturing his profile in the light of the static-streaked sky. Another caption bloomed:

"THE PRINCELY STORM: THE MAN WHO RODE THE LIGHTNING"

And as the celebration stretched into the night—with food being brought out, with fireworks igniting in the sky using static harnessers, with murals already being digitally painted across the city’s walls—it was clear that this night would be remembered for generations.

A symbol had risen.

And his name was Nioh.

—

On board the ship, Akron, was brushing Nioh’s hair. " The guests will probably be arriving soon," she said.

" With this speed, we should be arriving before the important guests arrive," He said, holding her hand.

"You look magnificent," Nioh added.

"I suppose you have great taste when it comes to clothes," Akron said, twirling into her robe. She was dressed in a pale blue dress, decorated with expensive sapphires that highlighted her skin tone and her sharp features.

"I am excited to see my sister. We have never been separated for this long," Akron added.

"I understand, I am afraid that after today, things will take a dramatic turn. I don’t know when we will be able to have this much peace for a while."

"The implication of a Warden killing weapon is too big to ignore. That is why you are building public sentiment to use as a shield."

"I am less worried about the repercussions of that, I am more concerned about a cure for you."