My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 130: Fostered Blood

Chapter 130: Fostered Blood

Elara wiped blood from her eyes, her gaze cold and steady.

The Announcer stepped toward her, his grin wide and wild. He held out the shard, its surface slick with Ravel’s life, droplets falling to the frost below. "Your prize, Croft," he said, his voice dropping to a purr. "Wear it well."

She took it, her armored hand closing around the jagged crystal. Blood smeared her fingers, mixing with her own, but her expression didn’t shift—just a slow, deliberate nod.

The Announcer spun back to the crowd, raising his mic high. "That’s all for tonight, my lovely chaos-lovers!" he shouted, his tone dripping with theatrics. "Sleep tight—dream of blood and shards, ’cause we’ll be back soon for more!"

He snapped his fingers, a sharp crack echoing through the pit.

The arena shimmered, the gravel blurring, the torches fading to black.

Elias blinked, the platform dissolving beneath his boots.

His stomach churned, the image of Ravel’s spliced body burning into his mind. Ninety-four left, he thought, his shard pulsing faintly against his chest. She took him apart—brutal, cold, like she’s proving something. His hands still shook, slick with sweat, the railing’s rough grain lingering on his skin.

He glanced at Kikaru, her arms still crossed, her jaw tight. "She’s unstoppable," she muttered, her voice low but firm. Tidwell’s grin was back, tight and forced. "Yeah, and scary as hell," he said, his fingers twitching.

Junijo stopped pacing, his eyes wide. "She didn’t even hesitate," he whispered, his Ikona flickering nervously. Elias didn’t reply—couldn’t—the weight of it all pressing down like a stone.

Elara’s not just fighting, he thought, his mind racing. She’s purging something—anger, guilt, whatever the resort left in her. The blood on her face, the ice in her fists—it wasn’t just victory; it was survival turned savage. But how long can she keep this up? How long before it’s one of us down there?

The arena faded completely, the system’s hum vanishing.

Darkness swallowed him, a void thick and suffocating.

Then—a sharp blare jolted him awake.

Elias sat up, his heart pounding, his pod’s alarm screaming in his ears. The clock glowed red—5:00 AM—its light cutting through the dimness like a blade.

He sucked in a breath, the air cold against his sweat-damp skin. His shard pulsed faintly, a steady thump grounding him in the real. Ninety-four, he thought again, Ravel’s bloodied halves flashing in his mind. She’s alive, he’s not..

That’s good though he thought.. The primed epics lost a member and what is this? 94... I thought we were at 96 yesterday? Did someone die? Perhaps an shard user went and took the primed Epics offer?

The pod’s alarm blared at 5:00 AM, a shrill scream cutting through the haze of Elias’s sleep. He jolted upright, his heart thudding, sweat clinging to his skin from the fading echo of Elara’s blood-soaked victory. His shard pulsed faintly in his chest, a steady thump grounding him as he swung his legs over the bed’s edge.

The metal floor bit cold into his bare feet, the chill creeping up his calves. He rubbed his face, the image of Ravel’s spliced body flashing—blood, frost, Elara’s fractured skull still standing. Ninety-four left, he thought, the number heavy as lead.

Dot’s phased out, her tiny form shimmering blue beside him. "Rough night, huh?" she said, her voice soft but edged with concern. She hovered closer, her light flickering as she studied his drawn face.

"Yeah," Elias muttered, his throat dry. He stood, the pod’s recycled air tasting stale against his tongue. "Let’s just get moving."

He shuffled to the sink, splashing water on his face, the cold stinging his cheeks. His reflection stared back—eyes shadowed, jaw tight, a man carrying too many fights in his head. He grabbed his boots, yanking them on, the leather creaking as he laced them up.

Breakfast was the usual slop—gray mush and a protein bar that tasted like dust. Elias shoveled it down in the common area, the hum of the facility buzzing around him. Kikaru sat across, picking at her tray, her sharp eyes darting to the others filtering in.

Tidwell slumped into a chair, his cloud Ikona drifting lazily above. "Heard about last night," he said, his grin tight. "Elara turned that guy into a popsicle—brutal."

Junijo slid in beside him, his lanky frame hunched, his chameleon Ikona flickering nervously.

Elias swallowed a bite, the mush sticking in his throat. She’s still Elara, he thought, but the doubt gnawed at him—her bloodied face, her unyielding fury. He pushed the tray aside, the clatter sharp in the quiet.

Training started at 6:00, the group filing into the room with a tense rhythm. The mats were worn, the air thick with sweat and the faint ozone of Ikona energy. Elias squared up with a dummy, his fists clenching as Dot’s hovered nearby.

"Hit it harder," she said, her tone sharp. "You’re holding back again."

He swung, his fist slamming into the dummy’s chest—crack—the padding splitting under the force. Sweat beaded on his brow, his shard pulsing as he drove another punch, then another, the rhythm drowning out Ravel’s last scream.

Kikaru sparred nearby, her light Ikona carving scorch marks into her target. She moved fast, precise, her breath steady despite the sweat dripping down her neck. "Keep up, Junijo!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the grunts.

Junijo fumbled a portal, his Ikona trembling as the rift collapsed mid-jump. He cursed, wiping sweat from his eyes, his hands shaking. "I’m trying," he muttered, frustration lacing his words.

Faye’s voice hummed soft across the room, her birdlike Ikona weaving sound into shimmering discs. She launched one, cracking a dummy’s arm, her focus tight despite the chaos around her. Paul barked orders beside her, his glass shards orbiting in a deadly dance.

Hours bled by, the group pushing harder, their breaths ragged, their Ikona flaring bright. Elias’s knuckles bled through the wraps, the sting sharpening his focus—94 left, 94 left—the number looping in his skull.