My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 111: Rigid Lines

Chapter 111: Rigid Lines

He felt the drain immediately. Soul Energy pulled out in a sharp wave, syncing with Tock’s rhythm. A dull ache spread through his chest.

Then his body vanished.

It wasn’t a teleport — just speed. The plate had done something to the space between his steps. He reappeared above Vincent’s shoulder before his own shadow caught up.

There was no time to adjust. He dropped his heel.

Vincent looked up as it landed.

The strike sent him to the ground hard. Stone split beneath him in a perfect ring. Randalp landed unevenly, knees trembling under the force. He didn’t get to enjoy the silence.

Vincent twitched. One hand curled against the floor. His chest rose once. The shard embedded near his ribs flared like a furnace.

Still breathing. Still in it.

Randalp wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and steadied himself. His legs trembled beneath him, not from fear but from damage—the kind that didn’t stop aching once you got used to it. The air burned in his lungs. He tasted copper.

Tock hovered closer, plates quiet and motionless. Randalp didn’t speak to it. He didn’t need to. Their sync had gone quiet minutes ago—past language, past tactics. It was all instinct now.

Vincent pushed to one knee. Molten stone flaked from his shoulder as he rose, frame hunched, body cracked along the joints where his makeshift armor had broken under pressure. His fused form wasn’t holding well anymore. His chest heaved. The shard at his side flickered, pulsing slower now—running low.

So was Randalp.

The field between them stretched out like something hollowed. They met in the center without a word. The impact shook the ground again.

Randalp hit low this time, cutting past Vincent’s broken guard and driving a plate into his side. It didn’t break through, but it folded the armor, made Vincent twist. The return punch caught Randalp in the shoulder. He spun with it, redirected the force down his arm, and braced into a full-body slam.

Vincent didn’t fall, but he staggered.

Tock shifted mid-air, releasing a spread of plates that rotated outward in a wide arc. One caught a loose slab of stone and held it suspended above the field. The rest hovered in a loose shell behind Randalp, adjusting for pressure and angle.

Nosey responded. The Ikona dropped from behind Vincent’s back, wings barely fluttering, and pulsed outward. A thick wave of heat rolled off the floor—small shards of glass forming where sand and stone had cooked under pressure. The molten plating around Vincent’s arms knit tighter. What was left of his chest armor sealed.

Vincent let out one sharp breath, then moved again.

They clashed. Again. And again.

Plates shattered. Skin split.

Tock formed a rotating ring around Randalp’s waist, catching low strikes and transferring recoil into counterforce. The plates weren’t shields anymore—they were movement. Balance. Every hit taken gave Randalp another angle to move from.

But it wasn’t enough.

Vincent wasn’t fighting clean anymore. He tore through space like something cornered. There were no calculated punches—only swipes, slams, knees driven upward with the full weight of a collapsing body.

Randalp caught a fist under his jaw. The world tilted. Tock snapped a plate into place beneath his boot, stopping the fall—but only just.

He couldn’t keep this up.

Not unless he found a break.

Vincent charged again. Too fast. Too close.

But his step caught. His left leg dragged—too long spent favoring the right.

That was the moment.

Randalp didn’t hesitate.

He rolled past the swing and slammed both palms into Vincent’s ribs, just beneath the broken armor. One plate followed behind and struck the same spot. The energy snapped inward, hitting the weak seam Nosey had fused back together earlier.

The armor cracked.

Vincent fell to a knee.

Randalp didn’t let up.

Tock spun two more plates around his shoulder and fired them point-blank into Vincent’s back. One shattered on contact. The other buried into the cracked seam and detonated in a pulse of stored force.

Vincent collapsed forward, caught himself on his elbows, and stayed there. His body shook as the last of the molten armor cracked and bled heat. What remained of his fused plating was brittle, half-slid from his shoulders, leaking thin lines of glowing red along the joints. He didn’t move.

Randalp didn’t speak. Didn’t celebrate. He stepped forward, breath scraping out of his chest in short, broken pulls. Blood ran freely down his side. His knees shook, but his stance was steady. Tock’s final plate rotated slowly behind his back, barely stable, low on energy. It was enough.

He raised his arm.

The strike wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t desperate. This was a clean end. A plate-forged edge lined his forearm, pulled into focus by his own weight and whatever soul energy he had left. The moment it fell, it would finish it.

Vincent didn’t rise to meet it. He didn’t charge.

He lifted his own hand—slow, unsteady—like he meant to stop Randalp, palm open.

There was no energy behind it. No glow. Just the raw, quiet shape of protest.

Randalp hesitated.

Only for a second.

That’s when the second shard lit.

A pale white light cracked across Vincent’s ribs—thinner than the molten one, colder. It flashed once, and something small flickered into view just behind his shoulder.

The fox Ikona didn’t step out. It unfolded, drifting across the air like smoke made solid. No growl. No charge. Just one breathless ripple of movement.

The space between Randalp and Vincent bent.

Randalp had just enough time to lower his arm and shift his weight—no time to run.

The first invisible arc sliced across his waist. The second hit at the neck. The third tore diagonally down his chest, skipping once across the line of his ribs before stopping at his thigh. The sound came after—wet, sharp, wrong.

His body stayed upright for half a second longer.

Then it came apart.

His upper torso slid sideways from his waist. A moment later, his left leg detached at the knee. His right arm, still attached to the shattered plate, dropped last—twitching once before hitting the floor.