CHAPTER 12: The Trial

The Cell Confession

Inside a dimly lit military prison, Fakhrul and Hridoy sit quietly in the same cell. Silence hangs between them until Fakhrul finally asks,

"What did Siddik whisper to you… the day he left?"

Hridoy looks down, and then speaks with a heavy voice,

"I never truly trusted Siddik until that night. After the fight, he pulled me aside and said he'd been tracking Kawser from the beginning. He had evidence, but not enough to convince the rest. Still, he vowed to protect us no matter what. That's why he did what he did – he took the shot so none of us would have to."

Fakhrul looks away, ashamed.

"He obeyed your every command, Fakhrul. Never once questioned you. And yet… you didn't ask him why he pulled the trigger. You just sacked him."

Fakhrul, eyes wide, whispers, "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because he told me not to," Hridoy replies. "He said even if it came from me, you wouldn't believe him without proof. Besides, he knew the real enemy wasn't just Kawser. It was bigger. It was political. He said… if you lost your faith in him, it would be safer than dragging you into a bigger war."

Hope from the Island

Nafisa and Zara stand before Siddik on his island, surrounded by futuristic architecture and guarded by his loyal forces. Nafisa tells him everything – about the failed mission, the loss of lives, the public outrage, and the arrests.

Zara hesitated, her throat dry.

"Siddik… we need you."

The pen in Siddik's hand stopped moving. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes cold as death.

"Need?" Siddik said.

"You needed me when they put a bullet through Kawser's skull. You needed me when the city called me a murdered. Where were you then, Ms. Zara?"

She flinched.

"We were wrong," she said, voice trembling.

"We didn't understand–"

"No."

Siddik stood up, the lights flickering with his movement. He walked towards her like a judge, steps heavy with broken trust.

"You chose not to understand."

"You chose your pride over loyalty."

Zara's fists clenched at her sides.

"Then punish me!" she cried.

"But don't punish them. They never stopped believe in you!"

Siddik laughed – a hollow, bitter sound that shook the walls.

"Believing?"

"They chained me like a dog and cast me out like a traitor."

The room grew colder.

The storm outside roared.

Zara drooped to her knees.

"Please, Siddik."

"You taught us loyalty. You taught us family. Don't turn your back on your own blood."

For a long time, Siddik said nothing. He stared at her – broken, kneeling, shivering.

Memories flickered in his mind.

Fakhrul's first handshake.

Hridoy's Laughter.

Nafisa's promise to fight.

Zara's stubborn heart.

His face remains unreadable until he nods.

"Then we act now. We have two ways: One is legal, another is illegal. We fight the court if the result goes against us, we'll break them from jail. The system was never ours to trust. They never wanted us heroes. They wanted martyrs."

Zara lifted her head, hope rising like fragile light in a storm.

"And call Zacob," Siddik said, colder again.

"If the world wants a trial…"

"Then I will give them a war."

He calls Zacob, his most trusted and sharp-minded lawyer, once was a big political mind. Also he calls old contracts – ghosts from political wars nobody speaks of. Behind closed doors, he unleashes a campaign – evidence leaks, blackmail files, silent threats. Together with Nafisa and Zara, they begin working through every detail of the case. Zacob handles the legal side; Siddik works from shadows, gathering digital proof and security footage.

"If they want a show," Siddik says coldly, "we'll give them a funeral."

The Courtroom Drama

The day of the trial arrived.

The city was boiling with rage.

The public demanded blood.

The politicians demanded a scapegoat.

And the media swarmed like vultures.

Before the session starts, Siddik quietly slips a black envelope into the Chief Judge's desk.

No words.

No threats spoken aloud.

Inside the envelope: a simple note–

"Set them free.

Or the world will see who you really are."

Inside the courtroom, Fakhrul and Hridoy stood handcuffed in front of the judges.

General Najmul sat silently among the crowd, tense.

Nafisa and Zara watched, helpless.

The judges slammed their hammers.

"Bring the defendants."

The main doors of the courtroom creaked open–

–and the world changed.

A shadow fell over the courtroom. Boots hit the marble floor in perfect rhythm.

An army poured in –

Not soldiers, but ghosts wrapped in titanium and black steel. Their armor shimmered with lethal precision. Their weapons – nothing like the government had ever seen. Pulsing with energy, beyond their understanding.

Gasps filled the hall.

Panic crackled through the government guards.

In the center of this unstoppable march – walked Siddik.

Dressed in a customized combat suit, black and silver, a long dark coat swirling behind him, a mechanical crown etched lightly on his collar –

the heir to the Spiral Crown's destroyers.

Hridoy whispers to Fakhrul, "Now this is Dr. Doom."

Every step he took was heavy with power. Every official, every soldier felt the weight of his presence, like the time itself had bent to his will.

The chief judge stood up in anger and fear after reading that note on his table:

"This is a court of law! Who gave you permission to bring an army here?!"

Siddik didn't even blink and lighting a cigar.

"You made the mistake of thinking law were stronger than justice," his voice echoed like thunder across the room.

His lawyer Zacob casually placed down a 1000-page file –

evidence, proof, surveillance – enough to not only clear Fakhrul and Hridoy, but to crush half of the courtroom's corrupted officials if Siddik wanted.

The government soldiers hesitated – weapons half-raised.

But Siddik's private army moved like a black wave.

Within seconds, every doorway, every window, every exit was locked down. The government soldiers were surrounded.

The judge shuttered:

"W-what do you want?"

Siddik's cold gaze sliced through the hall.

"I came for my brothers," he said. "And a warning."

 He nodded once.

His army lowered their weapons. Zacob handed over the final papers. And within minutes – the judges had no choices but to free Hridoy and Fakhrul.

Not because of justice.

But because they feared the Silent King who had conquered without firing a shot.

Fakhrul and Hridoy walked toward Siddik. Fakhrul laughed bitterly:

"You insane idiot."

Siddik smirked – the first real smile in months.

"Welcome home."

Fakhrul storms up, throws a punch into Siddik's chest–not in anger, but frustration and guilt. Then pulls him into a tight hug. "Why didn't you defend yourself? You let me hate you."

Siddik smiles faintly.

"Because your decision is law to me. Your words are order to me. I never needed to be right–I just needed you safe. And yes, Kings don't explain their wars to soldiers."

Fakhrul turns to the others. "It's time we rebuild what we lost. HUNTERS will rise again."

Hridoy gently put a proposal, "But before we want to see Siddik's island."

Siddik, "Obviously, why not? Let's go."

After the trial ended, General Najmul stood silently on the courthouse steps, watching Fakhrul, Hridoy, Nafisa, Zara – and Siddik – walk away into the golden dusk.

One of his junior officers came up quietly and said,

"Sir, we did it. HUNTERS are free."

Najmul didn't answer immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on Siddik – the man walking ahead, calm, composed, untouchable. Finally, Najmul shook his head and muttered under his breath,

"No, we didn't free them."

The officer frowned, confused.

Najmul's voice grew even louder, almost carried away by the evening wind:

"Siddik conquered this courtroom without firing a single bullet."

He said nothing more. But deep inside, he knew:

The world didn't realize it yet -

but Siddik had just declared a war without making a sound.

The, it happened.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Mocking applause echoed through the shattered halls. Every head turned. And there he stood.

Dressed in a long black coat, boots made from unknown leather, a faint, terrible smile cutting his scarred face.

His hair was silver, almost white.

His eyes… weren't human anymore.

They burned, cold and patient – like a predator that had been hunting for years.

"Siddik."

The voice.

Low, ragged, deeper than memory itself. A voice Siddik thought he had buried under a thousand victories.

Siddik's cigar fell from his lips.

"Grok."

For a second – just a second – Siddik was not the iron-hearted genius anymore. He was the boy again, staring at the ghost of the man who once taught him to dream.

The Hunters looked at Siddik, confused, wary. None of them recognized the name. None of them understood why Siddik's fingers were trembling.

Grok smiled wider.

"You saved me, Siddik."

"Then you left me behind."

"You left me to rot."

He stepped closer.

The guards moved to stop him – but they froze in terror, their guns shaking.

Because now they could see – under Grok's coat, the scars, the metal implants, the horrors stitched into his very flesh. He wasn't just a man anymore. He was something worse. Something that couldn't die.

Grok leaned in, close enough that only Siddik could hear:

"Your ancestors almost killed me that day, but you saved me."

"Now I'm here… to return the favor."

Without warning, the ground shook. An explosion tore through the courthouse walls. Panic erupted.

Through the smoke, Grok vanished – like a shadow melting into the chaos. Siddik didn't chase. He stood still, his heart pounding louder than the alarms.

Because he knew:

The war had just begun.

And this time…

It was personal.

After returning to the island, Siddik called an emergency meeting with the island's army heads, politicians, and the mayors. Siddik said,"Grok's coming. We have less time. Prepare for the battle."

The Head of his army said, "Sir, how should we approach?"

He ordered,

"We are facing the ghost. Activate Spiral Shield. Begin war protocol. All units–prepare for battle. We protect our people. We protect the crown."

The meeting's over. All the men going out of the room to execute the plan. Siddik's watching outside from the window.

The island's defenses roar to life–

black-armored mechs rise from underground.

The world is changing.

The Spiral War is on its way.

The War Council

The command chamber was silent. The giant steel doors closed behind Fakhrul, Hridoy, Nafisa, and Zara.

Siddik stood at the head of a long black table, his cape swaying slightly from the silent air flow.

Behind him, the massive screen showed a rotating 3D map –

their island – now a fortress under siege.

No one spoke at first.

The weight of what was coming crushed the room like an invisible hand.

Fakhrul broke the silence.

His voice was low, serious.

"Tell us everything, Siddik."

Siddik turned slowly, his dark, calm eyes locking onto each of them.

He placed the crumbled black letter on the table.

"Grok."

"Leader of the remnants of Spiral Crown."

"Once my science teacher, who mastered me in weapon and techs."

"He wants revenge for what my ancestors did."

"He won't stop at the island. He'll burn the world to ashes if he has to."

Zara clenched her fists.

"How strong is he?"

Siddik's lips curled into a grin smile.

"Stronger than anything you've ever faced."

"They've been preparing in the shadows for decades. Waiting for a king to fall… so they can rise again."

"Before I became the king, my ancestors told me about their comeback."

Nafisa whispered:

"And now… they think it's their time."

Siddik nodded.

He tapped the table.

Holographic images flickered into existence – Spiral Crown bases, armies, experimental weaponry.

Places marked OFF THE MAP.

"Grok isn't alone."

"He has generals. Assassins. Bio-engineered monsters."

"They're ready to rip open the gates of this world."

Hridoy leaned forward, grim.

"Then we need an army too."

Siddik's voice dropped into something even colder.

"We don't just need an army."

"We need monsters of our own."

He slammed a small switch hidden under the table.

From the sides of the room, sliding metal panels revealed hidden weapons –

tech far beyond anything the world had ever seen.

Blades made of nano-carbon.

Exo-suits laced with black plasma.

Guns that could tear through tanks.

Siddik looked at each of them with the eyes of a man who had already decided:

"You were HUNTERS once."

"Now… you'll become something more."

"Warriors of the New Age."

"We fight not just to survive. We fight to conquer what tries to conquer us."

The team said nothing.

One by one, they stepped forward. Placing their hands on the table – accepting the war they didn't start, but would finish.

Over the speakers, the war sirens kept howling – a wolf's cry echoing into the stormy night.

Outside the command chamber, the first warships of Spiral Crown had already begun moving.

The real battle had just begun. And for the first time in years, Siddik felt fear — not of losing, but of what he'd become to win.