MORPHORCE-Chapter 19 - 18: Adaptive Evasion

Johan forced a trembling smile. "He... hehe... I’m f*cked."

***

The biggest orc stepped forward first, muscles bulging, its greataxe glinting under the sun. With a guttural roar, it brought the weapon down in a wide arc.

Johan yelped and dove to the side—WHAM!

The axe smashed into the dirt where he’d been standing, sending soil flying.

"That—That was close!" he gasped, scrambling backward on all fours.

Before he could even breathe, another orc charged in with a roar. Johan rolled to the side again—WHOOSH!

The blade sliced through the air inches from his head.

"W–Wait—hold on a sec—!"

Another came from the left. He rolled again. Then another from behind. He rolled the other way.

"STOP—ATTACKING—ALL—AT—ONCE—!" he shouted between desperate tumbles, each word punctuated by another near-death dodge.

To an outsider, it looked less like a battle and more like a chaotic dance — Johan rolling, flailing, and gasping as six hulking orcs tried (and somehow failed) to crush him flat.

"Hah—hah—if I—keep this up—" he wheezed, narrowly avoiding another axe, "I’ll evolve into—an Olympic gymnast—by tomorrow!"

[You are really dumb, aren’t you?]

Johan’s eyebrow twitched. Even while panting and surrounded, he somehow managed a strained grin. "Can’t... you just give me an idea instead of mocking me?"

[Did you forget you already have 5000 CP?]

Johan froze mid-breath. "Huh?"

[You can just level up by using them.]

[Really... what a dumb host.]

Johan blinked, realization dawning with painful slowness. "Oh. Now that you mention it... I did forget about that."

The six orcs loomed around him, their heavy breaths rumbling like beasts ready to pounce. Johan lay on the ground for a heartbeat longer, feeling the dirt against his palm as the wind blew through the clearing. Then, with deliberate calm, he pushed himself to his feet, gripping his sword tightly.

"Use 3000 CP to level up."

[Ding!]

[3000 CP has been consumed.]

[You have leveled up.]

Johan exhaled slowly, lowering his sword until the tip touched the ground. The air shifted around him. His trembling arms steadied. His gaze turned sharp and cold.

"Now then..." he murmured. "Let’s end this quickly."

[Heh... show off.]

[Anyway, it’s better now.]

Johan smirked faintly. "You bet."

The six orcs roared and charged in unison, weapons raised high. Johan stepped forward to meet them—his body no longer trembling, his movements no longer desperate.

This time, he wasn’t running.

***

The main road of Kandirpar, Cumilla, pulsed with its usual chaos.

Engines rumbled. Rickshaw bells clanged. Vendors called out over one another, their voices melting into the hum of a restless afternoon.

People moved like waves—faces blending into the crowd, footsteps merging with the rhythm of the city.

Among them walked Logan.

A gray hoodie covered his head, hands buried in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the cracked pavement. The world seemed louder than usual, each noise pressing against the walls of his mind.

A massive digital screen hung above a nearby building—its glow flickering against the traffic.

The voice of a reporter filled the air, smooth yet heavy with implication.

["Breaking news: The S.A Group led by the Mizraan Family, once one of the nation’s leading conglomerates, is facing severe financial collapse following multiple government investigations. Sources confirm that their assets have been frozen, and Bangladesh Awakener’s Association is moving forward to arrest the Founder of the company ’Zayen Mizraan’."]

The crowd slowed. Some stopped to look.

Logan didn’t. He kept walking.

["Additionally," the reporter continued, "connections have been found between the Mizraan family and the long-unsolved disappearance of the Tashreen family, a case dating back over a decade. Authorities have reopened the investigation after uncovering crucial evidence pointing toward—"]

Logan froze as he heard the name Tashreen. For a brief moment, Lian’s face flickered before his eyes—smiling, alive, from a time before guilt and fear.

He lifted his gaze to the screen.

It showed an old photo of Lian Tashreen.

["Lian Tashreen, the main victim who disappeared first. It seems this tragedy was the doing of the Mizraan family."]

As the broadcast shifted to another image, Logan began walking again.

His expression—unreadable.

He felt something stir deep inside, though he couldn’t name it. But it wasn’t grief.

It was... something like relief.

The screen now showed footage of protestors shouting for justice, their voices raw with anger and pain.

Logan looked up at the sky and smiled faintly, but his eyes were dry — hollow of warmth."

In the end—

everything has been resolved.

But still—

what’s the point?

I already lost everything.

***

The outskirts of Cumilla lay silent—too silent.

Even the wind seemed hesitant to pass through the barren fields that surrounded the old industrial zone.

There, hidden beneath the shell of an abandoned factory, stood the secret hideout of the Mizraan Family.

A vast underground complex — reinforced steel walls, surveillance cameras blinking like unblinking eyes, and the hum of power quietly vibrating beneath the floor.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavy.

Dozens of armed guards patrolled the corridors, each one an experienced Awakened — Top-tier D-ranks and Low-tier C-ranks, every step sharp and disciplined.

At the center of a wide chamber sat two figures.

Zayen Mizraan — Mid-Tier B-Rank Awakener.

Chairman, S.A. Group.

His presence alone filled the room, calm yet suffocating, like the eye of a storm waiting to awaken.

Beside him sat Meherin Mizraan — Low-Tier B-Rank Awakener.

Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest, eyes sharp, lips pressed into a thin line.

The tension between them was almost tangible — the quiet before something inevitable.

Zayen’s fingers tightened on the armrest, the creak of the leather the only sound in the dim room.

"Our son has been missing for a week," he said finally, his tone low, simmering with restrained anger. "And this—" he gestured toward the screen showing fragments of the chaos outside— "had to happen now?"

Meherin crossed her arms, glaring at him. "How can you call yourself a father? You can’t even find our son for a week. And how long are we supposed to rot in this miserable hole?"

"Don’t ask me," Zayen shot back. "It’s all happening because of you. Why did you have to wipe out an entire family?"

Her eyes narrowed, voice sharp as a knife. "Now it’s my fault? What I did was right. A lowly non-Awakener dared to stay with our child—so I taught them a lesson."

Before Zayen could reply, a soft, mocking voice drifted from outside the heavy steel door.

"My, my..."

BOOM!

The door blasted inward, ripping off its hinges and crashing against the wall. Dust and smoke filled the air.

When it cleared—two silhouettes stood framed in the doorway.

Soraya Navraan— Mid-Tier A-Rank Awakener.

Afraan Malik— Top-Tier B-Rank Awakener.

Soraya stepped forward, her eyes gleaming coldly. "Do you think you’re special or something?"