It’s only November, but Christmas might have come early with what is the last issue in this run of No One Left to Fight. I say “this run” because there’s surely no way a five-parter like this, that ends with one whole issue of what can only be described as searingly kaleidoscopic all-out war, won’t meet outrage at its conclusion.

What the creative team of Aubrey Sitterson, Fico Ossio, and Taylor Esposito have brought to life with NOLTF has miles on it. Miles and miles. If this was a TV series, I would happily watch it until all the actors were fat and had to keep taking weirdly plotted sabbaticals to have kids or go to rehab.

Even aside from all the psychedelic dust-ups, we’ve been introduced to brooding feuds, secrets and teenage angst that deserve answers and conclusions. These characters have deep emotional sides to their personality, and individual history that deserves to be explored – and it isn’t often you can say that about people with Dragon Ball hair who are friends with other people who live in a secret cloud.

I want to know more about The Hierophant. I want to see Vale and Timor do the full POWERMELD. I want a flashback issue entirely about Krysta’s arm. And obviously, we all want to know where Pod came from, right? It’s like The Sopranos, but worse, for us readers anyway, because no one is dead and these characters are still out there, twisting in the wind, waiting to continue their journey.

On the subject of the issue itself, it’s basically impossible to recount the events without spoiling the outcome for you, so if you weren’t reaching for the pre-order at the mention of the word POWERMELD, let’s just say that this entire issue is a fight, from front to back, with full battle pages that are so incredibly and amazing detailed, you’ll need to take your glasses off and hold it right up to your face to drink it through your eyeballs. Careful not to drool directly on to the page though.

This series has been a complete treat from beginning to (hopefully temporary) end, and I await news of future issues like some sort of rich 1800s aristocrat clutching her hanky at the bay window, awaiting the return of her husband from war. And with that, I have nothing more to say about No One Left To Fight. Sophie Francois