“Oho… Finally, I arrived!” Johan announced as he stepped forward, the echo of his boots swallowed by the sterile stairwell.

  He met Shahryel’s gaze. “Hey, old man. Which one of you is the high-rank awakener?”

  Shahryel shrugged with bored amusement. “Ahh, man. The head count’s increasing. Now I have to kill one more person.” He took a casual step forward. “Kid, you shouldn’t have come here. Why bother coming to your own grave?”

  Johan’s jaw tightened. “My own grave, you say? I assume you’re the higher rank among all of you, aren’t you?”

  Shahryel’s smile thinned into something colder. “Oh, despite being a kid you have good eyes to judge people. But what a shame. You won’t live long. Don’t worry I’ll kill you in one go so that you won’t feel any pain.”

  “Is that so?” Johan said, and without hesitation he surged forward. Whoooosh! He moved with a blur, every muscle coiling for the strike. “I’m looking forward to th—”

  His words clipped off as Shahryel’s bare palm flashed up and met Johan’s fist. The contact rang like wood on metal—SMACK!—and Johan’s eyes widened at the sheer force behind the block.

  Shahryel’s tone turned almost patronizing as he studied Johan. “Oh, you’re also an awakener kid. You really have talent; at such a young age you’re already a low tier D rank awakener. But you see. I’m a top tier D rank awakener. What a shame. You wo—”

  Johan didn’t wait to hear the rest. He twisted and drove his other hand into Shahryel’s stomach with a brutal THUD! The strike landed with the sound of a heavy drum.

  “You talk too much. You shouldn’t talk during a battle.” Johan said coldly.

  But Shahryel was completely fine despite taking the hit. “Is that so? But it doesn’t matter, though. Because—”

  Shahryel’s smile returned, sharp and cruel. “I’m stronger than you, kid.”

  Shahryel charged forward, his killing intent thick enough to choke the air. Johan’s body stiffened under the crushing pressure—he couldn’t move an inch.

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  I’m really doomed now, he thought, forcing a shaky smile out of fear.

  But before Shahryel’s attack could land, a blur appeared from behind.

  Bang!

  Shahryel staggered forward and fell to the ground.

  Fahim stood behind him, his expression sharp. “Did you forget about me?”

  Fahim turned to Johan, eyes hard but urgent. “Hey kid, I don’t know who you are. Normally I would’ve said to stay out of this. But we need to work together. We can’t defeat him if we fight him alone. But we can defeat him if we work together. Although I don’t want to admit it but he is strong.”

  Shahryel pushed himself up slowly from the ground, dust drifting off his clothes like smoke. He blinked, annoyed. “Ahh man, can’t you come at me one at a time? Dealing with two of you at the same time is a pain in the ass, you see.”

  Johan met Fahim’s gaze, then looked back at Shahryel. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s work together.”

  Fahim gave a curt nod. “That’s a wise decision.”

  Shahryel snorted, a contemptuous sound that cracked the air. “Ahh man, really? Don’t you guys have any pride?”

  Fahim’s jaw tightened. “Pride, you say? Is attacking someone weaker than you what you call pride?”

  Shahryel’s lips twisted into a thin, impatient smile. “Oh, that didn’t work, huh?” He took a step forward, the floor seeming to tense beneath him. “I guess I don’t have any choice. I’ll just kill the two of you together.”

  Without another word the three of them surged—whoosh!—and the stairwell erupted into motion. Footsteps thundered, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls as the battle closed in.

  The clash continued to shake the third floor. Johan and Fahim attacked from both sides—fists and kicks flashing through the dim corridor—but Shahryel was a blur. Every strike they threw was met with a block, a deflection, or a counter that sent shockwaves rippling through the floor.

  Bang! Crash! Wham!

  Shahryel laughed through it all, his grin wide and wild. “Hahaha! It’s really fun! It’s so much fun!”

  His laughter echoed through the hall like the sound of a beast enjoying the hunt.

  Johan’s breathing grew heavy. “Huff... Huff...”

  Fahim, beside him, was on one knee, drenched in sweat. They’d given everything they had, but it wasn’t enough. Shahryel stood before them, barely scratched, a monster wrapped in a man’s skin.

  The two collapsed fully, their chests heaving against the cold tiles.

  Shahryel brushed off the dust from his sleeve and sighed. “You two wait here. I’m already late, you see.” His tone was calm, almost casual. “I’ll finish my work and come back in a minute.”

  Without another glance, Shahryel turned away and walked down the corridor, heading toward the nearest room in the third floor’s VIP wing—Room 355.

  The heavy door creaked open.

  Shahryel stepped inside, his eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. But his confident smirk slowly faded. The bed was empty. The sheets untouched. There was no one there.

  He froze.

  “What... the hell?” His voice dropped low, sharp with disbelief.

  Everything was in place... except the person who should’ve been there.

  MORPHORCE