The underground chamber hummed with a low vibration, the sound of machines working in perfect harmony — not to create a weapon, but to complete a legend.
Mirshad stood at the edge of the transformation pod, his fingers tracing the smooth glass, his reflection distorted by the swirling liquid inside. This wasn't fear. This wasn't hesitation. This was the final step — the point of no return.
Behind him stood Faisal, Rayyan, Malik, and Ameer, their faces unreadable — but the weight of what they were about to do sat heavy in the air. This was no longer just science. This was art — the creation of the first and last being of his kind.
Mirshad took a deep breath, his voice breaking the silence.
"What are you guys going to do to me now? Haven't I been through enough?"
The brothers exchanged glances, a rare flicker of warmth touching Faisal's face.
"Don't think too much, son." Faisal's voice was calm, but the pride was unmistakable. "This is a gift from all of us. A surprise."
Mirshad raised an eyebrow. "A surprise?"
Faisal stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"When it's done, you won't need a mirror to see the change. Just look at the faces of the ladies — their eyes will tell you everything."
Malik chuckled, "Trust me, kid. Even angels will hold their breath."
Ameer grinned, "We're not just giving you power. We're giving you presence."
Rayyan's voice was softer, but carried the weight of a promise.
"The world won't just fear you, Mirshad."
"They'll never forget you."
No more shadows.
No more invisible boy.
The world would see him — and never recover from it.
The glass pod slid open, the silver fluid swirling gently like liquid starlight. As Mirshad stepped inside, the temperature dropped — the warmth of his skin stolen by the cold embrace of the immortal serum.
He took one last look at his brothers, his family.
Then the pod sealed, locking him away from the world.
For 365 days, the world would forget his name.
But when the doors opened, the world itself would change.
The silver liquid wasn't just fluid. It was alive — thousands of microscopic bio-machines swimming through his veins, dismantling him piece by piece.
Every skin cell, every bone fragment, every strand of hair — reconstructed.
His face was broken down to its foundation — only to be rebuilt, sharper, smoother, unnaturally perfect. Every curve, every angle was designed not just for beauty, but for impact.
This was not just about appearance — it was about commanding attention without speaking a word.
His muscles, enhanced to perfect proportions — not bulky, but sculpted with a balance no gym could ever create.
Even in unconsciousness, his body was becoming art — the most dangerous kind of art.
The wires feeding into his skull carried more than data — they carried identity itself.
MRD.
BOSS.
Two names, two legends — now being rewritten into one soul.
No more personality shifts. No more mental battles.
There would be no 'switching'.
The wealth of BOSS and the death of MRD would belong to one mind.
His neurons were rewired — his brain now processing data faster than any supercomputer, capable of predicting financial collapses and battlefield outcomes with the same effortless precision.
Every piece of knowledge was now his.
BOSS was not an alias.
MRD was not a mask.
He was both — all the time.
The extraction of SIRIUS was delicate — every line of code, every memory transferred out, leaving no digital presence inside his mind.
What once was software became instinct.
Every system the AI once controlled, Mirshad could now control with his own brain.
The SIRIUS chip, a small obsidian crystal no larger than a bullet, was forged — an external tool, accessible only by his unique biological code.
SIRIUS would still serve — but not inside him.
The only mind inside Mirshad… was his own.
The final six months were pure silence.
The silver liquid thickened, turning into a protective cocoon — suspending him completely.
His body, now flawless, was infused with a molecular defense system — adaptive skin, self-healing organs, reinforced bones.
No poison, no virus, no biological weapon could touch him.
His cells would regenerate faster than any wound could form.
Even aging itself was halted.
He was no longer just alive.
He was beyond death — a living storm, eternal.
As the pod drained, the silver liquid receding like a tide, Mirshad's body was revealed — perfect, powerful, untouchable.
Every breath was calm, deliberate, controlled.
The glass opened — cold air rushing into the chamber as Mirshad stepped out, his bare feet touching the steel floor.
He didn't stumble.
He didn't hesitate.
He moved with grace — the grace of someone who no longer feared the earth beneath him.
He stood before his brothers, the dim light reflecting off his flawless skin, his golden-silver eyes holding no doubt.
The boy was gone.
Only the legend remained.
As the doors slid open, Sara, her sister, and the others stood waiting.
They had been prepared for change.
They were not prepared for this.
Their eyes widened. Breath caught in their throats.
Even Sara, who had known him from the beginning, found herself unable to speak.
There were no words.
Because there was nothing left to say.
The man standing before them was no longer just Mirshad.
He was the living embodiment of power, beauty, and fear.
Even angels would hesitate to look directly at him.
Faisal stepped forward, resting a hand on Mirshad's shoulder.
"You're not just MRD."
"You are the first and the last."
"The Ghost King."
"The living storm."
"The man who owns fate."
Mirshad didn't smile.
But his eyes…
They burned with a fire the world would never extinguish.
Deep inside, beneath all the beauty and power — a voice whispered.
"I am ready."