The underground training chamber had been transformed — no longer a sterile lab, but a brutal arena. Concrete walls scorched with marks from past battles, the air thick with sweat and metal. This was not a place for training.
This was a place where warriors were forged or broken.
In the center stood Mirshad, shirtless, his skin glowing faintly under the harsh lights, scars barely healed from the surgeries and enhancements that rebuilt him. His body — perfect. His mind — unstoppable.
But a perfect mind was useless without the instincts to survive the chaos of battle.
Today, Mirshad would become the storm.
Faisal didn't bring ordinary instructors.
He brought monsters — men and women whose names were whispered in fear across the underworld.
Sensei Hattori — master of bladed combat, a ghost from the shadows of Japan's underworld.
Ghost Walker — the South African killer who could fight blindfolded in complete silence, breaking bones with surgical precision.
Vladimir Korov — ex-Spetsnaz, a man who once fought a whole unit barehanded and walked out alone.
Madame Fang — poison and pressure point expert, capable of killing with a touch or paralyzing with a glance.
They stood in a circle around Mirshad, watching the boy who would one day become legend.
A black case was carried into the room — guarded like it held a nuclear weapon.
Inside lay The Soul Reaver, the sword forged from the heart of a fallen meteor. Its edge reflected no light, only darkness, as if the blade swallowed the very air around it.
Mirshad stepped forward, his fingers reaching for the hilt.
The moment he touched it — lightning crackled down his arm, veins glowing faintly as the sword recognized its master.
The trainers took a step back. Not in fear — in respect.
The weapon had accepted him.
Hattori was the first to attack, his katana slicing through the air faster than human eyes could follow.
Mirshad's sword rose — not from training, but from instinct, as if the blade itself moved to protect its master. Steel met steel, sparks flying like stars in a dying sky.
No words.
No hesitation.
Just the clash of metal and will.
Fight until there is only silence.
Ghost Walker struck from behind — no warning, no sound.
Mirshad twisted, his elbow finding the assassin's throat before the strike even landed. A move no normal man could anticipate — but Mirshad wasn't normal.
He didn't just react.
He predicted, his mind and body moving as one.
Every muscle controlled. Every nerve sharp.
He was no longer just a man.
He was a living weapon.
Vladimir didn't fight clean.
He slammed Mirshad into the concrete, ribs cracking under the force.
But Mirshad didn't stay down.
He didn't fight back with speed or strength — he fought back with adaptation.
Vladimir's style — learned in seconds.
Countered in minutes.
Every bone broken taught Mirshad how to never break again.
Madame Fang stood last, her hands delicate, fingers moving in hypnotic patterns.
She didn't strike hard — she struck soft, her touch finding nerves and pressure points, sending shocks through Mirshad's body.
But pain was no longer the enemy.
Pain was fuel.
He closed his eyes, his mind syncing with SIRIUS, tracking the microscopic movements of her fingers.
The next time she struck — he caught her wrist mid-air, twisting it with the precision only a man who had mastered every nerve in his own body could achieve.
She smiled.
He was ready.
No warnings.
No mercy.
All four trainers attacked — together.
Swords, fists, poisons, and shadows all converged on Mirshad — a storm of death meant to break him.
But Mirshad wasn't just ready.
He was waiting.
His sword became an extension of his soul — slashing, blocking, deflecting.
His body moved like liquid — bending, twisting, flowing between strikes.
His mind, enhanced by SIRIUS, predicted their every move, countering before they even knew what they were doing.
What should have been impossible — became effortless.
In 68 seconds — all four legends were on the ground.
Breathing hard.
Smiling.
Because they knew…
They hadn't just trained a warrior.
They had created a force the world was not ready for.
Behind the glass, Faisal stood silently, hands in his pockets.
Pride in his eyes — the boy he saved was now something no army could ever stop.
But Rayyan?
He didn't smile.
Because he knew…
This wasn't just about building a warrior.
This was about controlling a force of nature — a force that, if ever unleashed without a purpose, would consume everything.
As Mirshad stood over his defeated trainers, his sword dripping with sweat, he heard a whisper inside his mind.
Not SIRIUS.
Something older.
Something deeper.
"You are almost ready. Soon… you will need me."
He didn't understand it yet.
But soon — he would.
Because mastering the body was only the beginning.
The power was still waiting.