My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 112: Sliced Movements

Chapter 112: Sliced Movements

Tock flickered mid-air, core pulsing without rhythm, then dimmed. The plates collapsed inward, folding tight, returning to the central shard lodged deep in what was left of Randalp’s chest.

It slid loose from the muscle as his body fell into pieces.

The shard rolled once, then stopped against Vincent’s boot.

The silence held longer than it should have.

Vincent didn’t move.

Across the arena floor, Randalp’s remains twitched once—reflex, nothing more. Then the convulsions started. His arm jerked violently. A pulse rippled through his chest, what was left of it, and a long breath escaped the open cavity like a dying wind.

Then came the heat.

Faint at first—low waves rising off his skin, the edges of his shredded uniform curling inward. The blood on the stone bubbled. His fingers flexed once. Then again.

Vincent took a half-step back, one hand still loose at his side, the other clenched as if bracing for something he couldn’t name.

The corpse lit from within.

No flame. No spark.

Just a sudden collapse into blackened char as the muscle peeled from bone and the structure of Randalp’s body folded in on itself, breaking down into ash that scattered outward in dry, weightless flakes. Whatever the System had embedded in them—whatever mechanism judged the moment of death—this was its seal.

The last curl of smoke drifted upward.

And then the lights above the arena flickered once—just a pulse—before a familiar voice returned.

Not quite cheerful. Not quite solemn.

"Looks like you survive to live longer, Mr. Vincent."

The Announcer stepped into view at the far end of the field, hands tucked behind his back, his polished shoes gliding silently across the stone. He didn’t bother with fanfare this time. His eyes flicked to the shard resting near Vincent’s foot. The fox Ikona had already returned to it, the faint glow of its presence dimmed like something curled up in sleep.

He knelt, plucked the shard from the floor between two fingers, and turned it once, inspecting the faint streak of blood still clinging to its surface.

Then he stood, eyes sharp but not unkind.

A snap of his fingers echoed across the arena.

Vincent’s chest rose sharply.

The burn down his side cooled in an instant. The cracks along his ribs sealed. The swelling in his throat and shoulder ebbed like it had never been there. His breathing eased.

"Please," the Announcer said, gesturing with a slight nod, "go ahead and stand up."

Vincent hesitated, jaw clenched, but then pushed himself upright with a low groan. He glanced down his torso, then to his legs. No bruises. No fractures. His skin had reset, marked only by grime and residue.

He exhaled slowly, the tension draining second by second.

The Announcer stepped closer and extended the shard. It rested in his open palm—pale, humming faintly, a few smears of dried blood still visible along one edge.

"So enjoy your spoils of war," he said, voice clipped but even. "You now lead the pack... with three shards."

Vincent reached for it without a word. As his fingers closed around the stone, it lit up—soft at first, then brighter, threads of white pulsing beneath his skin. His breath caught. Not pain. Just weight.

The shard in his thigh began to sink—flesh giving way to the pressure like it had always meant to vanish. In its place, one shard rose through his left shoulder. A second emerged through his right.

They hovered for a moment, just under the skin, before settling into place—slight, raised shapes beneath muscle and bone.

The lights above flickered again, warmer this time. A faint golden hue bathed the arena floor, soft enough to make the remaining debris seem distant, almost unreal.

The Announcer clapped once, then spun in a slow circle, arms open wide.

"And with that... what a thrilling conclusion to our first official round!"

His voice regained its brightness. No strain. No hesitation.

He stepped away from Vincent without looking back. "You’ve all been wonderful—violent, messy, brave, short-lived—but I’d expect nothing less. Our count now stands at ninety-six. That’s right—ninety-six of you still breathing, bleeding, and building those beautiful little trees of yours."

He gestured upward and the world seemed to shift—just slightly. The environment blurred at the edges, like the floor and walls no longer had physical limits.

"In one more day, you’ll see me again. Same space. New opponents. A fresh chance to be remembered... or erased."

The smile in his voice never faded.

"As a small token of appreciation, for your time in this wonderful little simulation, each of you has been awarded one hundred Soul Energy—automatically applied to your system upon waking."

The air pulsed gently, a low confirmation tone that only registered in the spine.

"And, starting now, you’ll all receive daily quests. Complete them. Don’t complete them. I don’t care. But the rewards might just make the difference between the next name read aloud... and the next body left on the floor."

He tipped an invisible hat, then vanished—no flourish, no final line. Just gone.

The arena began to dissolve.

The ground thinned beneath Elias’s feet, and the air around him seemed to breathe. Pressure shifted. His body felt lighter. Almost like it wasn’t there anymore.

Stillness followed.

Elias kept his eyes forward, even as the space blurred. His mind didn’t rush to the next fight, or even the idea of winning. It lingered on Vincent—on the second shard, the way it had activated, and how little control Vincent had shown when it happened.

He didn’t win.

He survived.

Barely.

Kikaru hadn’t said anything since Randalp fell, but Elias had caught the look on her face. Not shock. Not disgust.

Recognition.

She knew that moment—pushed to the edge, then dragged further anyway. It wasn’t the death that shook her. It was how cleanly the rules could shift when you thought you’d done everything right.

Elias glanced at her just once before the world finished collapsing.

He heard her thoughts in his own—We’re not ready.

His eyes opened to darkness.

A faint red light blinked in the upper corner of his pod, and the low hum of the Cube’s ventilation system crept back into his awareness. He blinked once, then again, vision clearing just as the alarm began its gentle beep.

5:00 AM.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment before moving.