Six months later.
The palace of Imolodia. Almost midnight. The new president, General Crane, sat alone in his office. A glass of wine rested before him. On the wall still hung the flag of United Ameron. He was alone. Tight security surrounded him, but tonight felt different.
Suddenly, the wind outside stopped. The leaves froze in place. The guards instantly fell asleep—standing upright. Cameras shut down on their own. The electricity failed. Generators didn't start. Emergency lights remained dark.
Only a candle flickered to life in the president's room. Someone had lit it.
President Crane jumped. "Who's there?"
No answer.
The door slowly creaked open.
A shadow stood in the doorway. Tall. Clad in black. Face covered with a black mask. Eyes glowing with an eerie light. In his hand, a sword.
He walked forward. Slowly. Each step making the sword's sharp edge scrape the floor.
Shhh… shhh…
Scraping.
Again.
Sparks flew. Marks scorched the floor. The sound made the room tremble.
President Crane tried to stand, but his body refused. He was stuck in the chair. No sound escaped his throat.
The figure in black moved closer. His gaze fixed on the president's eyes—without mercy. Only fire burned in them.
He stopped. Stopped scraping the sword. Then, in a grave voice, he said—
"Those who do injustice will soon know where their end lies."
(Surah Ash-Shu'ara, Ayah 227)
President Crane stammered in fear, "Who… who are you? What do you want?"
The man in black lifted his sword—effortlessly, as if it weighed nothing. Then he placed its sharp tip against the president's chest. Applied a slight pressure.
The sword entered the chest.
Slowly. Gradually.
The blade sank completely inside. Only the hilt remained outside.
Blood flowed. President Crane's face twisted in pain. He wanted to scream—but couldn't. His body was paralyzed. Tears streamed from his eyes.
The man in black released the sword. It remained lodged in the president's chest.
Then he removed his mask.
Musa.
He slowly turned to look back. There was a chair, which he dragged and placed before the president. The chair was soaked in blood, yet he sat. Eyes locked with the suffering president.
Musa spoke in a calm voice—
"Do you remember fifteen years ago?"
President Crane, in pain, whispered, "W-what… what are you saying?"
Musa began,
"Fifteen years ago, you went on a mission. Half of your soldiers died. You faced Dark Psycho. You saw someone—tall, clad in black, masked. That was Dark Psycho. You chased him. You and your men surrounded him. After the battle, all your soldiers were dead. You were left alone, lying on the ground."
Memories flickered in Musa's eyes.
"You closed your eyes, waiting for death. But Dark Psycho didn't kill you. He stood before you and said—'Go. Live. But remember… one day, I will return.'"
President Crane's face went pale. He whispered, "You… you are that Dark Psycho?"
Musa nodded. "Yes. I survived. You lived because of my mercy. And now… I have returned. Fifteen years later."
At that moment, the door opened. A man entered in military uniform. Sharp eyes. He came and stood beside Musa.
Musa looked at him. "Hussain, report."
Hussain said, "Commander, the entire palace is under our control. All of the president's soldiers and administrative staff have been detained. We've won this battle—within just one hour."
Musa nodded. "Good. Now Imolodia is ours."
He looked at the president one last time and said,
"Fifteen years ago, I spared you. Today… I won't. You will live with this pain. Every day, you will remember why Dark Psycho didn't strike you back then."
Musa stood. With Hussain, he walked out of the room.
The president remained, seated with the sword lodged in his chest. Blood continued to flow. He writhed in agony—but he was still alive.
The candle flickered out.