The scream had echoed for miles.
It wasn't the roar of a beast or the wail of a weapon. It was the sound of a child broken by fear, confusion, and sorrow—a sound that tore through the clouds above and rattled the world below.
Now, that same child sat hunched over in the middle of a shallow crater, fists clenched tight against the soft soil. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, and his breath came in ragged sobs.
Mori, age nine, pounded the earth with all the strength in his small body.
Each strike of his fists sent tremors racing through the hilltop. Massive holes split the terrain beneath him, the ground shattering like glass under his blows. Rocks crumbled into dust, and the wind howled in response. The crater grew deeper, wider, more jagged.
"WHY!?" he cried out, striking again. "WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING!?"
He didn't hold back anymore.
Everything the scientists had taught him—how to control his strength, how to stay calm, how to suppress what made him different—he threw it all away in that moment.
The visions of Kid Buu still echoed in his mind. That sinister smile. The chaos. The destruction of the lab. The death.
Then the voice of the scientist.
"Monster."
"Mistake."
"Creature."
The words echoed louder than any explosion ever could.
With each mental echo, Mori's rage grew, but it wasn't only rage. It was grief. Regret. Loneliness.
He was nine years old.
And yet he carried a weight no child should bear.
Another punch. Another crater. Another scream.
Until—finally—his strength gave out.
He collapsed onto his knees, breathing hard. His hands were scraped and trembling, but the ground beneath them had stopped breaking. His muscles twitched. His heart thudded heavily in his chest.
He looked up.
The night sky stretched endlessly above him, scattered with thousands of little white dots—stars.
Some he recognized. Some he had even named.
He smiled weakly through the tears, remembering a time not so long ago when he had sat in this very spot and played the naming game with himself. "Bright One," "Cold Spot," "Little Screamer," "Big Sleepy"...
His eyes flicked to the largest star he could see—the one closest to the direction the scientists once said Earth lay.
"Whistler," he whispered.
That was what he had decided to call it.
He didn't know why, but that star felt important. Not because of what it was… but because of what it could be.
A place to belong.
A place to be something more than "Anomaly."
More than "mistake."
"I'll find it," he muttered, voice hoarse but firm. "I'll find somewhere that doesn't see me as a monster."
His feet slowly rose from the ground. Pebbles and dust lifted with him, swirling in a soft current of pink-tinged wind. His body floated gently upward, the night air cool against his face. He looked ahead—not behind.
But just as he was about to take off, a single tear trailed down his cheek.
It wasn't like the others—this one shimmered faintly, almost glowing.
It was a tear not of sadness… but of love. A quiet, buried kind of love. For the ones who raised him. For what he thought he had. For the name that made him feel whole.
The tear slipped from his chin and fell, gliding through the air until it landed right in the center of the deepest crater he had created.
Unseen, unnoticed.
The ground shimmered where it landed. The light from the tear soaked into the soil. And then… life returned.
The cracks healed. Crushed grass grew anew. Flowers bloomed as if responding to something divine. The air shimmered with warmth, the land restored in a soft wave of vibrant green and color.
But Mori never saw it.
He was already rising higher and higher, eyes locked on the sky.
Higher than the trees. Higher than the clouds. Higher than any limits he'd ever known.
He hovered there for a moment, high above Big Sleepy—the hilltop crater now glowing with gentle life beneath him—and he felt something strange settle inside his heart.
A whisper of purpose.
Then, with one last look to the stars, Mori took off.
A streak of pink light shot across the sky, carving a line of wonder into the night.
Through dust and silence and stars unknown, the boy with no name—once called a mistake—began his journey.
To find answers.
To find freedom.
To find Whistler.
And maybe… to find himself.
The stars stretched endlessly across the cosmic canvas, their brilliance flickering softly like candles in a dark void. Months had passed since Mori's anguished cry echoed into the universe—a cry of pain, of confusion, and of raw, unshaped power. Since then, the child once hidden within metal walls had become a drifting figure of mystery and silent miracles.
Mori's journey through the void was not one of direction, but of instinct. He didn't know where Earth was—only that something deep inside him urged him toward it, toward a place he could not name but felt inexplicably drawn to. That feeling kept him moving, and the endless stars became his ceiling, the windless vacuum his road.
His small body floated in a natural sphere of pinkish-white ki, dim but warm, like a protective glow. The ship from the lab had long been destroyed in the outburst. Now, Mori relied entirely on his flight, pausing only when exhaustion overtook him.
And so, planet by planet, he touched down—unknowingly becoming a legend.
Planet Tishra-9
The first world he landed on was dark and barren. Tishra-9 had long since died—its soil dry, its atmosphere thin, and its rivers reduced to memory. Mori stumbled onto the surface with barely the strength to stand, his breathing ragged, his spirit dim. He collapsed beneath a jagged stone arch.
But as he slept, his body pulsed with ki—gentle waves radiating from his core. The pulse seeped into the ground. First a faint shimmer, then a sprout. Then another.
By morning, grass had begun to grow where dust once ruled. Rivers ran along old paths. Creatures stirred from dormant cocoons, reborn by the touch of unfamiliar energy. Mori awoke to a green haze and birds chirping in wonder, blinking as he looked around.
"…Pretty," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
He didn't understand what he'd done. But something inside told him he didn't need to. He smiled, stretched, and continued flying.
Hours after Mori left, a large metallic sphere descended. It was silent, precise, and efficient. The Big Gete Star had found the afterglow of his energy.
"Scanning complete," came its robotic voice. "Signature identified… positive ki structure mimicking regeneration and life synthesis. Target codename: Ultimate Lifeform."
Small drones emerged from its shell, dispersing across Tishra-9 to quietly inform the confused inhabitants. No one knew where the boy had gone—but stories began forming. Whispers. Worship.
The "Ultimate Lifeform" had come. And he had made a dead world bloom.
Planet Chursa, Two Months Later
Mori landed again, this time on a cold, metallic world. It had long been a scrapyard planet—home to scavengers and broken technology. His landing shook nothing, but his presence meant everything.
A young scavenger girl spotted him first. Her name was Keera, and she had lived among ruins all her life. She saw him sleeping against a jagged hull piece, a soft glow enveloping his body.
When she approached, her bruises began healing. The rusted scrap around him restructured itself slightly, forming unnatural, clean edges. Mori woke with a yawn, looked at her, and smiled.
"Hi."
"Who… who are you?"
He scratched his head, thinking. "Mori, I think."
She tilted her head. "You're not from here, are you?"
He shook his head.
"You made the machines stop crying," she whispered.
Mori blinked. "Machines… cry?"
Keera pointed to a damaged AI drone behind her, its systems rebooting. It began speaking in a language not heard in centuries.
Mori waved goodbye later that day, not knowing Keera would grow up and build her people's new civilization using the rebuilt tech around him. The Big Gete Star, ever-watchful, arrived again after he left.
"Target displays restoration field properties through subconscious ki bursts. Mythos probability: 71%. Initiating whisper protocol—codename: Ultimate Lifeform."
Soon, nearby planets knew the tale. Chursa had changed. The scrapyard had become sacred ground.
Month Six – Mori's Reflection
Mori floated in space now, surrounded by nothing. He stared ahead quietly, his breath steady, his body no longer tired. He'd learned to sleep less, to rely on the energy inside him to recover. He hadn't eaten in days, yet he didn't feel hunger. He didn't need to understand why.
He clutched his knees in the middle of the stars, watching distant planets rotate.
"I wonder if they're still watching me…" he mumbled, remembering the scientists.
He sighed.
"I miss Noen."
His voice was soft. The mention of the only scientist who had treated him with kindness still made his chest ache. But even that pain seemed to do something. It softened his ki, made it gentle, radiant.
A comet drifted by. He chased it for fun.
Planet Iwoko
The final planet he landed on before nearing Earth's solar system was one of energy beings—translucent creatures made of pure light. They had no form, only pulses. Their world was untouched by technology, and they saw Mori as something they could not explain.
He didn't speak to them. He didn't know how. But when he touched their land, the glowing field around him merged with theirs. They experienced joy. A concept unknown to them.
He smiled.
They responded with symphonies of light that painted the sky for days. And when he left, the Big Gete Star arrived once more.
"Influence confirmed. Name propagation successful. Local designation: Shin-Ra, meaning Light's Will… translation—Ultimate Lifeform."
It deployed satellites around Iwoko, storing data.
"Tracking target. Assimilation postponed until maturation. Continue observation."
The Tear That Went Unnoticed
Back on Big Sleepy—the crater-ridden hilltop from which Mori had departed months ago—something stirred.
Just before Mori had taken off, a tear rolled off his cheek and hit the ruined ground. It shimmered briefly before sinking into the earth, glowing softly.
Where once there were scars, life began to return. Flowers bloomed. The air regained scent. The crater began to fill with color, peace, and warmth. The first birds ever on that world chirped under a newborn sun.
But Mori didn't see it. He was long gone—just a speck of light flying toward Earth.
He had no idea of the myths forming behind him. No idea that tales of the "Ultimate Lifeform" were whispered across space, traced to his unknown kindness.
He simply flew. Toward a planet he didn't know. With a heart slowly mending and ki that could change the universe.
And behind him, the Big Gete Star watched, waiting.