Biocores: The Legendary Weapon Designer-Chapter 116: Old Acquaintance

Aksel had been part of the Biohive Defense Squad for three years now.

Three long years of smoke, blood, and bootlicking. He had climbed the ranks not through valor or strength, but by claiming the achievements of his more capable teammates. He told himself it was cleverness—strategy. Why break your bones when someone else could bleed for your promotion?

And it had worked... until now.

Now, that same teammate he once overlooked—mocked, even—had become the Prince of the Fiefdom. A living legend. Worshipped by the masses. Adored by the peasantry. Feared by the aristocracy. Nioh, the boy with the quiet eyes and cracked hands, was now a name sung in war chants and whispered in prayers.

And where was Aksel?

In the slaughter pit.

Sent to die on the outskirts with the rest of the expendables—mostly warriors from the outer districts, whose only crime was being born on the wrong side of the hive wall.

He chuckled bitterly, raising his greataxe as the horizon pulsed with a hellish yellow light. The sky shimmered, and the swarm poured over the horizon like a plague given wings.

"Life’s really funny," he muttered to himself, sparks flying as he split an Electric Bee clean in half. Its charred wings twitched spasmodically before the rest of its body hit the ground. ƒreewebɳovel.com

"They just keep coming! Thousands of them!" he roared, spinning to cleave through another wave.

A sharp zap cracked against his armor, followed by another. One of the warriors in his unit dropped, screaming as two bees latched onto his leg and shoulder, discharging raw current into his body.

"UNIT SIX! Tighten ranks!" Aksel barked, adrenaline forcing his voice louder than fear. "We hold till morning!"

"Yes, Captain!" the surviving members responded in shaky unison, scattering into defensive formations.

Despite the chaos, the discipline held—for now.

The Electric Bees were monstrous in size, easily as large as pillows, with sleek carapaces that shimmered like charged obsidian. Their bodies crackled with bioelectric power, able to unleash volts strong enough to stop a grown man’s heart. A single sting wasn’t just painful—it was a death sentence. Their behavior was shockingly coordinated, a lethal testament to the queen’s command.

They were omnivorous, but they preferred flesh.

And they were hungry.

Aksel let out a guttural cry as he triggered his transformation—his armor shifting, folding, expanding with a surge of hydraulic strength and clicking metal. He rose into a towering mecha form, spikes of electric insulation jutting from his spine like quills.

"Come at me, you flying bastards!" he howled, slamming the axe into the ground, sending out a shockwave that scattered the frontline bees.

His strategy was simple: draw their attention, become the lightning rod, let the others survive behind him.

The unit’s long-range users took their cue, launching spikes, nets, and bio-plasma bolts from behind cover. The air turned thick with ozone and insect ichor. Still, it wasn’t enough.

The swarm was endless.

And their queen hadn’t even arrived yet.

Aksel’s limbs were beginning to seize, the armor’s joints shorting under the constant voltage. His vision swam.

He gritted his teeth, pushing through the static dancing along his spine. The wind howled around him, filled with the screeches of his dying men.

"May the support come soon..." he thought grimly, his grip tightening around the haft of his axe. "Or we will not live to see another dawn."

—

The sky split open.

What little courage remained in the hearts of the defenders was swallowed by awe as a thunderous sonic boom rolled over the battlefield. Every head turned skyward as the clouds above Biohive 81 crackled and peeled apart like fabric torn by a divine hand.

Three figures descended, framed in white-blue fire from the atmospheric breach—comets made flesh.

A flaming sword arced first, spinning downward like a spiral of fury and light. It buried itself in the ground with a crack that split the battlefield, and from its flames emerged X. Cloaked in a long red coat that danced like fire itself, his blade reformed in his hand as his feet touched the earth. His presence was wildfire—unpredictable, fast, hungry. Electric bees surged toward him, but were cut down mid-air, severed faster than eyes could follow.

The temperature dropped instantly.

Shards of ice coalesced around a floating silhouette. Cryo hovered gracefully above the carnage, her body wrapped in a deep blue exosuit, frost blooming at her every step. Her hands traced elegant arcs in the air, and the moisture in the atmosphere bent to her will—needles of glacial death raining down on the swarm in a perfect spiral of synchronized execution. Limbs froze mid-flight. Wings shattered like glass. Screams were muffled beneath layers of rime.

Then came the impact.

The last to arrive was Akron—a cannonball of brute force crashing into the earth like a meteor. The ground cratered beneath him as his armored frame rose from the debris. No weapon. No theatrics. Just raw, unstoppable strength. An electric bee the size of a truck darted toward him—he caught it mid-air with one hand and crushed it, its chitin popping like an eggshell. With the other hand, he swung a corpse into a cluster of attackers, scattering them like broken toys.

The swarm paused for a moment.

For the first time... the Electric Bees hesitated.

And then the final figure descended—slowly, gracefully, seated in a sleek, obsidian wheelchair that floated just above the ground.

Nioh.

He did not need to speak. He did not need to fight.

His presence alone was war.

The ashen white of his hair now bore a streak of crimson, glowing faintly like a wound that never healed. A faint hum of corrupted energy pulsed from him, barely visible but undeniable. He wore simple black robes adorned with silver embroidery, the fabric flowing as though moved by some wind that ignored all others.

He rolled to the front line in utter silence, unbothered by the chaos erupting around him.

He did not raise a hand. He did not call for action.

He simply waited—eyes locked to the distant sky beyond the hive—his mind focused on the one enemy that mattered.

The Queen.

Akron landed beside him, bloodied and panting, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. Cryo and X flanked the battlefield like twin gods of winter and flame, carving through the swarm with relentless precision.

Behind them, the exhausted remnants of Unit Six fell to their knees—not from fear, but reverence.

The Prince had arrived.