A night- colored ronin holding a giant sword dangles lifelessly, suspended by dozens of frayed, sinewy black ribbons that vanish into the darkness above. His futuristic pastel samurai armor, once radiant, is cracked and dulled, its holographic sakura etchings flickering like a dying signal. Ethereal red mist coils around his motionless limbs, twitching unnaturally as unseen hands pull the threads. His high- collared translucent pearl- plated shoulder guards gleam under a sickly neon glow, casting warped reflections across the damp ground. His head tilts slightly, eyes void- like, glowing faintly with deep crimson as if awakening from a nightmare. A gust of wind makes the ribbons quiver, and for a split second, the marionette Ronin moves—not by his own will, but by something lurking beyond sight