The sonic impact slammed against the shield, energy waves cascading outward—but the barrier held. Impeccable defense. Not even a crack.
Impenetrable.
But Nioh didn't stop.
He dropped to one knee, then unleashed another scream—this one untamed, erratic, a banshee's cry let loose across the field. No rhythm, no pattern. Just chaos.
The battlefield shuddered under the weight of his voice.
Walls trembled. The frost distorted. Runes flickered.
Even seasoned fighters faltered with the balance stolen by the dissonance.
Nioh had turned the arena into a soundscape of war.
And he was the composer
The arena roared like a beast unchained, surging with excitement as the six warriors clashed in three separate duels, their energies colliding like storms on a warpath. Stone and steel sang, and elemental forces ignited the air with tension. At the heart of the chaos, the three members of the Fangs stood defiant against the nobility's chosen—squires groomed by monarchs themselves.
