The underground chamber was unrecognizable.
The surgical lights, the sterile floors — all removed. In their place stood a circular arena, its walls carved with ancient symbols, glowing faintly with an eerie crimson light. The air was thick, not just with heat, but with energy, a presence that crawled under the skin and whispered secrets no human should hear.
This was no laboratory.
This was the Chamber of Evolution, a place forbidden even to the Unseen Council — a place meant for legends, not mortals.
And tonight, it belonged to Mirshad.
Mirshad stood in the center, his bare feet on cold stone, his body covered only in black silk trousers. The air itself seemed to press down on him, heavy with invisible hands.
Without warning, the walls shifted — transforming into jagged blades.
A spike shot up from the floor, impaling his foot.
Mirshad screamed — not just from pain, but from the sheer realness of it. His flesh tore, blood spilled, his body burned — but he did not die.
The room healed him instantly — only to kill him again.
Drowning. Burning. Stabbing. Suffocating.
Every method, every death, every agony a man could suffer — Mirshad experienced them all.
The cycle repeated — until death no longer mattered.
Until pain became nothing more than a door.
Until fear became just… silence.
When the last spike shattered through his chest, Mirshad didn't flinch.
He just stood — eyes empty, body still.
Fear was gone.
The walls pulsed, and the silence shifted — replaced by whispers.
Soft at first. Then louder.
Hundreds of voices filled the chamber — the dead. Every soul Daniel's empire crushed, every innocent life stolen by Faisal's war, every nameless body buried in unmarked graves.
"You will betray them."
"You will become worse than them."
"You are death — and death deserves no mercy."
The whispers swirled around him, clawing at his mind, showing him visions of himself — standing above a world in flames, his sword dripping with blood, his eyes unrecognizable.
For a moment, his knees buckled.
But then, from deep inside, MRD's voice rose.
"You speak of death like it's a curse."
The whispers faltered.
Mirshad lifted his head, his voice steady.
"Death is not my curse."
His hands curled into fists, lightning flickering across his fingertips.
"It's my gift."
The voices screamed — and then they were gone.
In front of him, the sword appeared — not resting on a pedestal, but floating in mid-air, humming faintly with power.
The Soul Reaver.
The moment his hand touched the hilt, a pulse shook the chamber, every symbol on the walls glowing brighter, responding to the connection between weapon and master.
The sword was no longer just a blade.
It was part of him — tied to his heartbeat, to his mind, to his will.
If Mirshad called — the sword would come.
If anyone else touched it — they would cease to exist.
The blade wasn't just steel.
It was a piece of Mirshad's own soul, forged into metal.
The final stage was silent — no rituals, no whispers.
Only the stillness of his own breath.
In the silence, something inside him clicked — a new sense awakening, beyond sight, beyond sound.
He could feel them — not just the people in the room above, but every heartbeat, every breath, every shift in the earth itself.
Enemies weren't threats anymore.
They were prey.
Every weakness — he could sense it before they even moved.
Every lie — he could hear it under the smoothest voice.
Every plan — he could see it before it was even formed.
This wasn't instinct.
This was the birth of the first true hunter — a predator so evolved that no enemy could ever hide.
A mirror rose from the floor — cracked and scarred, reflecting not the boy Mirshad, but the being he had become.
MRD.
Skin flawless but hardened like armor. Eyes no longer brown — but a deep, burning crimson. Muscles carved from suffering, built for speed and precision. And at his side — the Soul Reaver, humming softly, waiting for blood.
The reflection spoke, MRD's voice cold and certain.
"Do you accept me — not as your curse, but as your weapon?"
Mirshad's own voice was steady.
"We are not enemies."
He stepped closer to the mirror, his hand pressing against the glass.
"We are one."
The mirror shattered — not into pieces, but into smoke, merging into Mirshad's body.
And just like that…
MRD was born.
The chamber doors opened, and Mirshad stepped out.
The room above was silent — Faisal, Rayyan, Malik, Ameer, Sara, Jabir, and the doctors all waiting.
But what they saw…
It wasn't the boy they saved.
It wasn't the broken man who once feared his own reflection.
It wasn't even the ghost they trained underground.
It was something beyond.
He didn't need to speak.
His presence spoke for him — the air heavier, the light colder, even the ground seemed to pulse beneath his feet.
Malik, usually the loudest, whispered first.
"The King of Death."
Faisal stood tall, no pride — only the weight of knowing what they had truly created.
"The King of Death has arrived."
Mirshad's gaze passed over them all — his family, his protectors — but his voice belonged to something darker.
"Whoever stands between me and my family…"
His fingers curled, lightning crackling around his hand.
"Will not see tomorrow."
And in his hand, the Soul Reaver appeared — without a sound, without warning.
The sword and the King — united.
The Ghost King of Death had been born.
And the world… would soon learn his name.
MRD.