The underground facility, a fortress hidden beneath the world, stood in complete silence. The once-cold steel walls, the dim glowing lights, the air heavy with the breath of legends—this place had witnessed the rise of something beyond human.
But tonight, it would witness something else.
The fall of a hunted man.
The security alarm screamed through the facility. Red lights flashed across the corridors. A silent war began in the surveillance room as Rayyan's fingers danced over the console, his expression turning from sharp focus to cold amusement.
On the screen, dozens of heavily armed soldiers stormed through the underground tunnels, moving with precision, with confidence.
At the front of it all, his face twisted in arrogance, stood John.
The man who thought he had found a ghost.
Rayyan let out a slow exhale. "This motherfucker finally walked into his own grave."
Amir cracked his knuckles. "I don't even know how he found this place… but I do know he's not walking out."
Malik smirked. "We should've killed him years ago. But, hey, better late than never."
Faisal, standing behind them all, remained still. His gaze never left the screen. When he finally spoke, his voice was as calm as death itself.
"He didn't find this place. He was invited."
The room fell silent.
The brothers turned their eyes toward Faisal, confused, then slowly shifted their gaze to Mirshad—who stood by the entrance, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Mirshad's voice was casual, smooth, but carried an undeniable weight.
"I gave him the location."
Amir's brows raised. "You did what?"
Mirshad turned his head slightly, his glowing amber eyes sharp with purpose.
"I was waiting for this moment. John thinks he's the hunter… but he's the rat. And I just gave him the cheese."
Rayyan let out a slow chuckle. "This is his last supper."
Faisal nodded. "Then let's make sure it's his last meal."
As John and his army advanced deeper, confident in their attack, his radio crackled.
A voice, smooth yet terrifying, filled his earpiece.
"Welcome, John."
John froze, his men tensing.
"You're early. I expected you to crawl here a little later. But it's good—let's get this over with."
John's lips curled into a grin. "So, you're the coward hiding in the dark?"
Mirshad's laugh echoed, low and sharp.
"I don't hide. I just build fires big enough to burn down the people who think they can touch me."
John tightened his grip on his weapon. "You think you can beat me? I have an army. You're alone."
The moment he said it, the lights in the tunnels flickered—then died completely.
His men panicked. Shadows danced around them. Their radios filled with whispers—words they couldn't understand.
Then, just as suddenly as it went dark, a single spotlight turned on at the far end of the tunnel.
And in that light, he stood.
Not the boy John remembered.
Not the weakling from three years ago.
MRD.
A warrior draped in black, muscles sharp as steel, golden eyes that burned through the darkness.
A man who had shed his past.
A ghost. A legend. A nightmare.
Mirshad stepped forward, his boots echoing through the tunnel. "Send every one of your men at me, John."
He rolled his shoulders, loosening his body like a predator about to hunt.
"I haven't had a proper warm-up in a while."
John screamed, "KILL HIM!"
Bullets rained toward Mirshad.
But he was already gone.
Lightning-fast, his body moved between shadows. His reflexes beyond human, beyond prediction. Bullets whizzed past his head, missing by inches.
One man charged at him with a knife.
Mirshad sidestepped, caught the wrist mid-air, twisted—a sickening snap—then slammed the man's own knife through his throat.
Another lunged at him from behind.
Mirshad ducked, spun, and drove his elbow so hard into the man's ribs that they caved in.
Screams filled the tunnel.
One man. A hundred enemies.
They never stood a chance.
Within fifty-nine seconds—they were all dead.
John, standing in the middle of the corpses, stared at Mirshad, breathless.
"Who… who the fuck are you?"
Mirshad tilted his head slightly, his eyes filled with amusement.
"Three years ago, you met me once. But back then, I spared you. I shouldn't have."
John swallowed hard. "You're lying. That kid… he—"
"He's gone," Mirshad interrupted.
He took a step forward.
"You took Mama. You took everything from Baba. You took Jabir's father. You stole the light and left us in the dark."
His voice grew colder.
"But you forgot one thing, John. Monsters thrive in the dark."
John, broken and shaking, fell to his knees.
Mirshad turned his back. "He's yours."
Faisal stepped forward, his fists clenched.
One punch.
"This is for my children. My light. You stole them from me."
Another punch.
"This is for Noora. For the woman you turned to dust."
Another punch.
Malik and Amir joined in, fists raining down on the man who had taken everything from them.
For every drop of blood, John had to pay.
John coughed, barely alive, face shattered, body trembling.
Faisal turned to the chamber.
"Jabir."
The boy, standing with clenched fists, walked forward. His eyes were wild with rage, with pain, with vengeance.
Faisal placed a hand on his shoulder. "He took your father, son. Finish it."
Jabir let out a deep breath.
And with one final, fatal strike, he ended John's existence.
The past was buried.
And the future was ready to rise.
As the air grew silent, Mirshad's sword—the Soul Reaver—appeared beside him, floating gently.
It pulsed, as if sad.
Amir smirked. "What is this? We created a warrior or a supermodel? The guy fights like a god, and now he's talking to his sword?"
Malik chuckled. "Maybe we created a mental case instead."
Faisal shook his head, smiling faintly. "That sword… it's part of his soul. You won't understand it. Only he can."
Mirshad ran a hand along the blade, whispering.
"Sorry, partner. I thought I wouldn't need you. But if I brought you, that would've lowered your value. Don't worry… many wars are coming."
He sheathed the sword, turning toward the chamber.
Inside, Sara's sister stood with a tray—holding a glass of juice.
Her eyes locked onto Mirshad.
For a second, a flicker of something soft appeared in her gaze.
A hint.
A moment.
A feeling that didn't need words.
Mirshad, ever sharp, noticed.
He took the glass, smirking slightly, before turning his eyes back to the battlefield.
This was only the beginning.