My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 144: Prose Triangle

Chapter 144: Prose Triangle

Torqa stood a few paces off, his massive frame hunched as he pried a rifle from a corpse’s grip. The metal creaked in his hands, and he tossed it aside, the clang ringing in Roachaline’s ears. Blood dripped from a gash on his leg, pooling in the dust, but his eyes gleamed, fierce and unyielding. His stone Ikona loomed beside him, jagged rock grinding with each shift, ochre shard pulsing faintly. Torqa muttered, "More to crush," his voice a low growl, and smashed a chunk of rubble with his fist. The impact echoed, dust swirling, and Roachaline felt the ground tremble, her pulse quickening at his raw power. The believers’ chants rose from smoldering skiffs, "Blood binds!" their voices a fervent pulse, and she caught Torqa’s grin, a flash of defiance through the ash.

Nexis leaned against a skiff’s wreckage, his breath heavy, the air shimmering around his flame Ikona. Blood oozed from burns on his arm, glistening red, but his grin held, wild and reckless. He scooped a blackened helm from the ground, its surface warm, and hurled it at a retreating squad. The helm struck with a thud, flames erupting, and Roachaline winced at the soldiers’ screams, sharp and fleeting. Nexis laughed, "Keep screaming," his voice jagged, and raised his hand. His orange shard flared, a Flame Burst surging outward, fire swallowing the squad. The heat brushed Roachaline’s face, acrid and stinging, and she saw Nexis wipe blood from his jaw, ash dusting his grin, the believers’ chants—"Power reigns!"—ringing in her ears.

Zykra slipped through the rubble, her Shadow Veil a faint ripple, violet shard dim against her chest. Blood seeped from her arm, soaking her bandage, and Roachaline caught her soft hiss, a flicker of pain. Zykra darted forward, her knife gleaming as she slashed a sniper’s leg. Blood gushed, staining the concrete, and the sniper’s cry pierced the air, cut short as he collapsed. Zykra vanished into the shadows, her Ikona shimmering, leaving only a smear of ash. Roachaline’s chest tightened, admiring Zykra’s silence, and the believers’ chants followed, "Rogues rise!" a steady drum that pulsed through the plaza’s ruin, grounding her in the moment.

Vexen crouched behind a skiff, her hawk Ikona perched, its amber eyes glinting. Blood flecked her cropped hair, a graze on her arm seeping red, but her hands were steady, rifle aimed at Varkis’s exosuit. She fired, the crack sharp in Roachaline’s ears, and a nano-joint sparked, circuits whining. Vexen muttered, "Core’s weak," her voice clipped, reloading with a flick of her wrist. Roachaline felt a surge of respect, her pulse quickening at Vexen’s precision, and the believers’ chants swelled, "Blood binds!" Vexen’s hawk screeched, circling, and Roachaline caught the green shard’s pulse, a beacon in the smoke.

Sylira vaulted a rubble pile, her wire Ikona trailing sparks, blue shard flaring. Blood streaked her thigh, a gash stinging with each step, but her grin was sharp, fingers twirling a looted comm. She dodged a turret’s blast, the ground trembling, and Roachaline flinched at the explosion’s roar, dust stinging her eyes. Sylira quipped, "Miss me, Feds," her voice bright, and hacked the turret’s aim, shots veering into a bunker, concrete splintering. She tossed a rigged drone, its blast scattering soldiers, blood pooling, and Roachaline’s lips twitched, Sylira’s wit a spark in the chaos, believers chanting, "Power reigns!" their voices a fervent pulse.

Lyra fought nearby, her wind Ikona swirling, Tempest Rush slicing a soldier’s armor, blood gushing as she spun, braid whipping, cyan shard pulsing. "I’m your blood!" she shouted, her voice fierce, deflecting a nano-blade with a wind gust, steel sparking. Roachaline’s eyes narrowed, assessing Lyra’s defiance, and the believers’ chants surged, "Rogues rise!" Lyra redirected a turret’s blast, the blue energy arcing into a soldier, his scream fading, blood spraying across rubble, ash dusting her pale skin, her loyalty a fire in her gaze.

Varkis lurched forward, his exosuit a sparking ruin, nano-blades flickering, antimatter grenades dim, gauntlets crackling. He slashed at a skiff, steel shredding, believers screaming, blood pooling. Roachaline’s chest tightened, the sound piercing, and Varkis hurled a grenade. The blast seared Torqa’s shoulder, blood gushing, his roar shaking the air as Stone Crush countered, ochre shard pulsing, smashing a bunker, rubble burying soldiers. "Weak!" Torqa bellowed, his grin fierce, and Roachaline’s pulse raced, the believers’ chants—"Blood binds!"—a fire in her veins, Vardency’s crimson dust trembling under combat’s weight.

Roachaline paused at the plaza’s edge, her breath catching, pain throbbing in her ribs. She lit a cigarette, the ember glowing, its smoke curling through the gore-soaked air. Her knife twirled, salvaging a soldier’s shard, its pulse faint but warm, and she muttered, "Ravel’d feast," grief a heavy knot in her chest. Blood dripped from her arm, ash streaking her face, and she wiped it away, her fierce beauty unyielding, red shard sparking, violet shard thrumming. The believers’ chants pulsed, "Power reigns!" red flags waving from skiffs, and Roachaline’s eyes fixed on Varkis, his suit faltering, the reactor’s glow a beacon of victory.

Torqa crouched, binding his shoulder, blood soaking cloth, ochre shard dim. His stone Ikona ground against rubble, and he smashed a comm tower’s base, sparks flying, growling, "More to break." He kicked a corpse, blood splattering, his leg oozing, sweat dripping, his grin fierce, ash clotting his wounds. Nexis leaned on a skiff, burns bleeding, orange shard pulsing, tossing a burning crate, flames crackling, his grin wild, "Hotter yet!" ash coating his face, Vardency’s smoke curling.

Vexen knelt, hawk perched, green shard glowing, checking her rifle, muttering, "Lyra’s holding, but raw." Ash matted her hair, blood seeping from her arm, her eyes sharp, believers chanting, "Blood binds!" Sylira rigged a trap, wire Ikona sparking, blue shard flaring, quipping, "Sing, wind girl," tossing a comm, blood streaking her thigh, her grin sharp. Zykra stood cloaked, violet shard dim, bandaging her arm, blood soaking cloth, her gaze steady, shadow Ikona shimmering.

Lyra faced Roachaline, wind Ikona swirling, cyan shard pulsing, her voice firm, "I’m your power, video called me!" Roachaline’s knife paused, red shard sparking, Domination Aura pressing, "What’s your shard’s edge?" her voice cutting, trick veiled, believers roaring, "Rogues rise!" Lyra’s Tempest Rush shattered a drone, steel sparking, "It tears their steel, I’m no Fed!" she shouted, hurling a rifle, cyan shard glowing. Torqa scoffed, stone Ikona rumbling, "Bleed for it." Sylira grinned, "Breeze cuts, prove it lasts," her quip sharp.