Part 1 – The White House, Washington D.C.
A thin layer of snow dampened the streets of Washington. That night, sirens howled from every direction. Special forces dashed across the grounds, struggling to hold back an animal-masked battalion that had broken through the final defenses of the White House.
Inside the Oval Office, the chandelier swayed violently. A tall man stood in the center, breathing heavily, his face hidden behind a black dragon mask etched with gold. He was the Dragon Mask, commander of Battalion 21.
Across from him, the President of the United States sat calmly at his desk. There was no panic in the old man's eyes—only a cold, unsettling smile.
"Give me the deactivation code for the nuclear missile you've hidden in the Indian Ocean," Dragon Mask's voice was low, distorted by a voice changer. "Now, before it's too late."
The President chuckled. "So, that's what you came all this way for? Hahaha… you have no idea what you're facing."
Dragon Mask threw a file onto the desk. A small red light blinked from the camera attached. "The whole world is watching, Mr. President. You can lie to your people, but you can't lie to history. Say the code."
The President sneered. "Do you think you can defeat us? This world has long been under the control of demons. And I—" he yanked back his sleeve, revealing skin turning pitch black, veins glowing with crimson fire, "—am one of them."
The room grew heavier, suffocating. Around the desk, the masked members of Battalion 21—Lion, Whale, Eagle, and Komodo—froze in disbelief. The world witnessed the confession in real time.
"Yes, I am a demon," the President continued. "And the code you seek can only be activated from inside the missile itself. Hahaha… you've already lost!"
Dragon Mask didn't flinch. "The code."
With a mocking grin, the President recited a string of numbers. The camera caught every word. But what stunned the world wasn't just the code—
It was the moment Dragon Mask removed his mask.
Not a faceless revolutionary. Not a nameless shadow.
But Iqbal Ramadan.
A rising young entertainer from Indonesia, a singer whose fame had reached international stages. The world exploded in chaos.
"No way… that's Iqbal!" screams erupted from living rooms, radios, and screens across nations.
The President roared with laughter. "So you're nothing but a stage clown?"
Iqbal smiled faintly. "I am only the Lion. Our real commander… is already inside that missile."
Silence fell. Cameras kept rolling. The world held its breath.
---
Part 2 – An Island in the Indian Ocean
Thousands of miles away, on a remote island where the missile stood ready, a battle raged.
Flames devoured the coconut forest. Explosions shook the ground. Amidst the chaos, a young man drenched in blood staggered to his feet. His face pale, combat suit torn to shreds. He was Nagi, the true leader of Battalion 21.
Demonic soldiers, hulking and winged, surrounded him. Their black wings beat against the smoke-filled sky.
"Protect the missile!" one of them bellowed.
Nagi gripped the short sword in his hand. Blood dripped from his forehead. His breath was ragged, but his eyes burned with fire.
He stepped forward and slashed. One demon collapsed, its throat torn. Two others lunged at him. With a snarl, Nagi leapt, his kick caving into a demon's chest, hurling it into a tree.
But the numbers were overwhelming. A claw tore across his chest. Blood sprayed. His body crashed into the wet sand.
"I… can't die yet…" he whispered.
Above, the roar of engines shook the air. A massive missile, marked with the American emblem, was being hauled to the launch pad. Time was slipping away.
Nagi dragged himself up, knees trembling, and faced his surviving comrades. "Fall back. Leave this to me."
"Commander!" one of them cried, but Nagi had already staggered forward, driving his blade through the last demon guarding the missile.
A blast rocked the area. Nagi's body was hurled into the open hatch of the missile.
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Part 3 – Inside the Missile
The cramped chamber was filled with wires and panels. Nagi's breaths grew shorter, yet his hand slammed against the activation switch. A screen flickered on—requesting a code.
With the last of his strength, he typed the numbers Iqbal had spoken. The panel beeped. The display turned red. Letters appeared:
SELF-DETONATION MODE – 180 SECONDS
Nagi swayed, then activated the small chest camera strapped to him. He stared into the lens, face battered, lips curved into a faint smile.
"For my family… for my people… forgive me. This is my path."
A tear rolled down. The footage streamed directly to the ongoing broadcast from Washington. The world saw the true leader of Battalion 21—not a celebrity, not a politician, but a young man ready to sacrifice himself to stop a war.
The President shrieked in fury. "No… you wouldn't dare!"
Iqbal stared at the camera with a bitter smile. "There he is. Our real leader."
The engines roared. The missile was raised skyward, cutting through the night clouds. Time bled away—60 seconds… 30 seconds…
"Carry this dream… beyond the sky," Nagi whispered.
A blinding flash erupted. The missile exploded high above, tearing the night apart. The deafening blast rippled across the ocean, birthing monstrous waves.
And then—silence. The broadcast ended.
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Cut – Ten Years Earlier
Darkness.
Then, the sound of waves.
"Wake up, Nagi…" a faint woman's voice called.
A fifteen-year-old boy jolted awake in a large bedroom lined with glass walls facing the sea. His chest heaved, sweat dripping from his brow.
That dream again—the shadow of a dragon, the explosion in the sky, the voice that called his name.
Nagi turned to the restless ocean outside his window.
He had no idea—his journey had only just begun.
—End of Chapter 1—