My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 132: Boots Walking

Chapter 132: Boots Walking

Colby leaned against the wall, his massive frame dwarfing the dim office, one patched eye catching the flicker of Geras’s desk lamp. His gray tank top strained against his chest, veins snaking thick along his arms. "Labs were a nightmare," he said, voice gravelly, like he’d swallowed grit. "After Silas tore Spock out, I was gone—heart flat, blood pooling. Woke up strapped to a table, tubes jabbing my chest, some doc yelling about soul energy. They pumped in this glowing shit—looked like molten glass, burned worse. Felt my veins frying, like they’d burst any second."

Elias shifted in the creaky chair, boots scuffing the black floor, shard pulsing faintly against his ribs. Geras sat behind the cluttered desk, files teetering, his gray undershirt taut as he rapped a knuckle on the wood. "Keep going," Geras said, voice low, sharp, eyes flicking between them.

Colby flexed a hand, knuckles popping loud in the quiet. "They cracked my ribs open, hooked me to machines that hummed like the system itself. Soul energy infusion, they called it—straight into the blood. Kept me alive, but I couldn’t move for weeks. Muscles tore, regrew, tore again. Docs said I was lucky—most die when a shard’s ripped out. Soul shock, they called it. I was their guinea pig, proof you can rebuild a man without one."

Dot’s phased out, her tiny blue form flickering beside Elias, hovering over the desk’s edge. "That’s insane," she said, voice sharp but tinged with awe. "They channeled soul energy into your blood? That’s next-level science—system-level, even. But..." She bobbed, light dimming. "That’s gotta be dangerous. Push too hard, and what? You burn out? Like when an Ikona gets yanked?"

Colby’s jaw tightened, a cord of muscle flexing along his neck. "Yeah. Docs warned me—overdo it, and it’s lights out. Heart seizes, blood boils, same as soul shock. Takes hours to recharge after a big push. I’m strong, but I ain’t invincible."

Geras leaned forward, elbows on the desk, the lamp casting harsh shadows across his face. "He’s a super soldier now," he said, voice clipped. "Two hundred percent baseline—strength, speed, endurance. No shard, no Ikona, just raw output. But it’s a trade-off. Burn too much energy, and he’s down for a day. Burn past that, and he’s dead. System doesn’t care—neither do the labs. They want results."

Elias’s fingers tightened on the chair’s arms, the metal cold under his palms. "So you’re a walking experiment," he said, eyes on Colby’s bulk. "And you’re good with that? Throwing yourself into the Primed Epics with no shard?"

Colby’s grin was small, dry, his patched eye unreadable. "Didn’t have a choice. Flatlined once—ain’t eager to do it again. But Vincent’s got Spock now, my Ikona, and I’m taking it back. Labs gave me the tools; I’ll use ’em."

Dot’s spun, her glow flaring briefly. "Tools with a fuse," she said, voice sharp. "Soul energy’s not stable like a shard. One bad draw, and you’re gone. Scientists are playing god, and you’re the test dummy."

"Enough," Geras cut in, rapping the desk again, harder. The sound echoed, sharp in the sterile air. "He’s stable, Dot’s. Labs know what they’re doing—mostly. Point is, Colby’s your edge. Mission’s set: you, Kikaru, Paul, Colby. Infiltrate the Primed Epics as refugees. Elias, you cook, draw ’em in. Colby’s muscle stays quiet till it’s time to strike."

Elias nodded, shard pulsing hotter, a faint thump against his chest. "When do we move?"

Geras’s eyes narrowed, his fingers stilling on the desk. "When the system hits ninety shard users. Right now, we’re at ninety-four after Elara’s fight. Four days, give or take—could be sooner if the arena’s bloody. Twist comes at ninety; nobody knows what. System’s rules, not mine."

The room fell quiet, the hum of the facility’s lights buzzing faintly, like a distant swarm. Elias’s throat tightened, the number sinking in—ninety-four, dropping fast, each fight a step closer to the mission, to whatever the system had waiting. Colby shifted, his boots scuffing, the weight of his frame making the floor creak. "Four days," he muttered, cracking his knuckles again. "Better be ready."

Geras stood, chair scraping, his shadow looming over the desk. "You will be. Training starts now—obstacle course, sims, sparring. Colby’s got a biosuit being fitted; you’ll see it soon. Elias, check your comm for system quests. Move."

Elias pushed up, the chair groaning, his shard a steady pulse. Colby followed, his steps heavy, the air shifting with his bulk. Dot’s hovered close, her light flickering, silent now but her presence sharp. Geras’s eyes tracked them to the door, his last rap on the desk a dull thud as the reinforced panel hissed open.

The halls stretched cold and sterile, lights flickering overhead, casting jagged shadows on the gray walls. Elias’s boots echoed, each step a dull thump against the tiled floor, Colby’s heavier tread a half-beat behind. The air tasted of recycled metal, faint ozone clinging to the back of his throat. Guards stood at corners, rifles glinting, their nods brief as Elias passed. A viewport showed the facility’s bulk sprawling under a starless sky, its edges blurred by recycled mist.

Elias’s comm buzzed, a sharp chime cutting through the hum. He flicked it open, the screen glowing cold blue. "System Quest," it read, words stark. "Spar with Colby Varkis. Win: 100 points. Lose: 50 points. 94 shard users remain. Mission trigger: 90." The text pulsed, unyielding, the system’s voice a mechanical hum in his ears. Dot’s bobbed beside him, her glow dim, eyes fixed on the screen. "Sparring already," she said, voice low. "System’s not wasting time."

Colby glanced over, his patched eye catching the screen’s light. "Points, huh?" he said, voice rough. "Guess I’ll owe you a beating." His grin was tight, more challenge than humor.

Elias snorted, pocketing the comm, shard pulsing against his chest. "We’ll see." The words hung, light but edged, as they rounded a corner. The training room’s door loomed ahead, its reinforced frame scuffed from years of boots. Kikaru’s silhouette moved inside, her light Ikona flaring briefly, a scorch mark blackening a dummy. Paul stood nearby, glass shards orbiting his frame, glinting like knives. Faye sat on a bench, her birdlike Ikona perched on her shoulder, a soft hum weaving through the air—notes sharp, twisting into faint, shimmering waves that pulsed and faded.