My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 159: Holding the line

Chapter 159: Holding the line

"What happened?" Her voice cracked halfway through. She didn’t look up, just ran her thumb over the edge of the damaged wing.

Elias stepped forward.

"We’d like to know too," he said, the words flat. His gaze stayed locked on the men in front of them.

The guards had stopped just inside the doorway. All four were breathing—but wrong. The movement of their shoulders didn’t match the rhythm of their chests. Their uniforms were soaked through with blood, dark patches crawling up the sleeves and down the front. One of them looked like he’d taken a hit to the head—hard—but kept walking anyway.

Their eyes...

Elias stared.

Red streamed from the edges—not smeared blood, but fluid, fresh and glossy. It ran in thin lines from the corners like their tear ducts had ruptured. None of them blinked.

Faye leaned closer, her tone dropping to a whisper.

"That’s not right."

Her Ikona gave a weak chirp, barely audible. The melody had lost its shape—no rhythm to it, no echo. She didn’t stop holding it.

Kikaru’s orb flared bright gold, the glow harsh against the quarters’ dim walls. Her voice cut through the tension, sharp and certain.

"Look at their eyes. Someone’s controlling them."

She didn’t move from her spot, but her stance shifted—shoulders tighter, weight forward. Blood had soaked through the edge of her shoulder wrap. The bandage had already loosened. Still, her expression didn’t change.

Asurik had warned them about this. She hadn’t forgotten.

Tidwell let out a short breath, his knife twirling once before locking in his grip. His cloud Ikona hovered behind him, its form tighter than before.

"Fucked up," he muttered. "Really fucked up."

No jokes. No smirk. Just frustration, low and raw.

Paul took a step back, his Ikona dim behind him. His voice was quiet, almost like he didn’t want to say it out loud.

"Rogues did this."

Junjio didn’t move. He stood behind the others, fists trembling again. His Ikona barely held shape.

"What are they?" he asked. Not to anyone in particular.

Wes glanced around, one hand resting on the shoulder plate of his Ikona. His voice was calm, but not relaxed.

"Stay sharp."

Elias stepped forward and raised his hand.

"Stop," he said, not to the guards—but to the moment, to the tension stretching the room. His shard pulsed once. Dot floated close, her glow steady beside his arm.

"What’s going on?"

His voice was louder than he expected, but it didn’t shake. The guards didn’t answer. They didn’t blink.

The one on the left—the one with the broken neck—swayed forward an inch, then back again. Blood had reached his boots. The pooling was slow, but steady.

Kikaru didn’t lower her orb.

"They’re not answering," she said. "They’re puppets."

Faye pulled her Ikona closer. Its song had faded almost completely.

"Why hurt them?" Her voice cracked near the end, barely holding. "They’re just guards..."

Someone stepped through the open door.

A woman.

She moved like she’d already won. Slow. Deliberate. Blood on her hands. Her shard sat buried deep in the center of her chest, a jagged crimson shape, glowing under her torn vest. Wrapped around her arm, coiled tight like it belonged there, was her Ikona—serpent-formed, its body twisting just above her wrist, red scales pulsing with the same rhythm as the shard.

Vira.

Rogue shard user. Just like the Epics had been in Vardency. Same look in her eyes. Same cold weight behind it.

Behind her came another figure. Asurik.

He didn’t raise his weapon.

But he didn’t sheath it either.

Elias didn’t back away.

Dot hovered near his side, her glow low but steady against the floor. His shard pulsed once beneath the skin—no flare, just a pressure curling in his chest. The guards didn’t move. Their eyes were wrong. Blood still streaked their cheeks where it had dried, but none of them blinked.

"What’s your play?" Elias asked.

His voice came out even. Not loud. Not forced. The fear sat low in his ribs, but he didn’t let it reach his face.

Vira stood halfway into the room. One boot still in the hall. Her coat hung open. The sleeves were soaked. Blood dripped from the tip of her serpent Ikona, trailing in slow lines to the floor. It hissed once, quiet and low, like it didn’t need to be heard to be understood.

"Join us," she said. "Or bleed."

She didn’t change her tone. The words didn’t come like a threat. Just a fact—already decided.

Her shard flared behind the skin at her collar. Red lines pulsed through the serpent’s body, thin and sharp. The guards twitched again. Elias saw the blood move first—tendrils winding up their sleeves, curling under their armor. The rifles in their hands dipped, then corrected, like someone else was testing the weight.

Asurik stayed where he was in the hallway behind her. His blade was drawn, but not lifted. His posture hadn’t changed.

"Don’t push her," he said.

He looked straight at Elias when he said it.

Magma shifted on his shoulder. The red cracks across its skin brightened slightly, not flaring—just alert.

Kikaru stepped forward.

Her orb Ikona floated beside her, casting a soft pulse of gold into the shadows. Her shoulders stayed relaxed, but her footing adjusted. She didn’t break eye contact.

"You’re the one pulling the strings," she said. "This isn’t projection. You’re inside them."

The guard with the broken neck tilted slightly again. His balance wavered, but he didn’t fall. The movements weren’t his.

Faye moved closer to Elias’s left. Her music Ikona drifted to her shoulder, feathers singed near the tips. The sound it gave off was uneven, like it couldn’t decide whether to hum or stay silent.

Faye’s voice came quiet. She didn’t look at Vira when she spoke.

"Why them?" she asked. "They didn’t even try to fight."

There was no anger in it. Just something thinner. Something tired.

Tidwell leaned against the doorframe, his knife held low in one hand. His cloud Ikona circled behind him, drifting slower than usual.

"She’s puppeting them," he muttered. "Real creative."

Paul had already stepped back. His eyes never left the rifles.

"She’s rogue," he said. "Whatever this is—it’s not sanctioned."

Junjio stood frozen near the wall, one hand clenched at his side. His Ikona flickered once, the light drawn in close to his shoulder, barely visible.

Wes kept his position near the rear of the group. His voice didn’t rise.

"Don’t crowd her," he said. "Hold the line and wait."