Nioh twisted mid-stride, his scythe cleaving through a charging locust. The blade vibrating with a shrill humming sound, sent cracks rippling through the creature's armored shell.
The moment it split apart, he whipped around, using the momentum to strike another, while the bells on his weapon were singing with each movement.
The Wyvern Mecha roared again, as its battered body dragged itself forward. Its golden frame was now burned black, one wing torn, but its intent remained unbroken. It wasn't just fighting—it was hunting.
The battlefield became a dance between past and present, of man and machine.
The survivors on the cliffs, and those on the streams watched in stunned silence as Nioh and the Wyvern moved in tandem. It was as if they wanted to carve this moment to memory as to not forget what was at stake in this battle for the safety of humanity.