As Mori walks on tapping Osprey on the back for approval , Osprey takes back his seat in awe watching the party and taking part.
The squad erupted into cheers, lifting their cans and slamming them together. Someone threw on music. Another lit a flare in celebration. It was chaos—youthful, loud, victorious.
Mori climbed onto the table, his shirt half unbuttoned, God Stick strapped to his back. He held a can in one hand and raised it to the sky before chugging it down in one go. The squad roared with approval.
"I'm going to change the world one day!" he shouted, eyes ablaze with passion. "All this hate, this pain, disease, the toxic waste of a world we live in—one day, it will flourish again. Mark my words!"
Issak smiled as he stared onwards in admiration, clapping. "One day. Our vision will come true."
From the edge of the crowd, Dreyfus responded coldly. "You're one man against a world full of scoundrels."
Mori didn't flinch. He reached behind his back, gripping the God Stick, and raised it high.
"One man should be able to make a difference—if he's powerful enough."
Dreyfus walked off, "Ignorance sure is bliss" as he holds the scar he received from failing the Presidents Elite Guard Trails.
Everyone continued to celebrate until daybreak before they were fast asleep.
Five months later…
In the middle of the desert, their entire fleet was wiped out.
Corpses strewn like trash.
Blood, eyes, organs—so much red it drowned the sand.
Kegrez's body was half-buried, unrecognizable, melted into the terrain by shrapnel and flame.
Jackie was everywhere. Pieces of her uniform and her limbs were scattered like confetti made of flesh.
The Red sand travelled over 2 Kilometres.
They were in hell
This wasn't combat.
This wasn't war.
This was butchering.
And it's what "he" turned them into.
By the time they finally brought him down, the damage was irreversible.
The enemy had already torn through their forces like paper.
Osprey laid on the ground, unable to move. Both legs shattered—snapped by a projectile thrown from over 900 meters away.
He muttered, blood on his lips, "I don't know if I'll ever walk again…"
Mori, face slashed and eyes hollow, struggled to even speak. The light behind them—the fire, the spirit—it was gone.
And then there was Issak.
The only one still standing.
He stood over the bloodied corpse of the one responsible.
"The Faceless Man."
A myth. A ghost. A monster whispered about in Middle Eastern catacombs—said to lead a cult that worshipped chaos.
Issak said nothing. His face was still. But inside, something was shifting.
Issak's worldview shattered at his feet alongside that corpse.
Mr. N was born
Behind him, Mori limped forward, dragging himself through the sand. His voice barely a whisper. He could see it—the fracture in Issak's mind. The pain. The guilt. The awakening. He had to bring him back…. somehow.
Sad eyes see something brand new. And in Issak's eyes there was nothing. Not a damn thing.
And in that moment, Issak understood something new.
Something final.
Strength isn't just power. It's deeper than that, far deeper.
Mori desperately pleas: "You're one of us… You always will be, Issak."
He looked down at his own hands.
" You're right. I'm one of you, "
"But I could have been so much more."