My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 164: Bloodied Thoughts

Chapter 164: Bloodied Thoughts

Elias didn’t let him go.

He kept his focus tight as he turned to face Vira, forcing calm into his voice.

"I see," he said. "That’s a smart play."

The words came out clean, but his gut twisted under them. His shard pulsed in his chest, slow and deliberate, syncing to the tick of the system prompt overhead—Save a life. 23:38.

"How long have you been planning this?" he asked.

He wasn’t trying to provoke her. Just control the pace. His perception picked at the details without permission—Vira’s weight distribution, the shallow twitch at the corner of her mouth, the casual confidence in her stance that hadn’t faltered once since the beginning.

The pod’s hum carried low beneath it all. The corridor beyond remained still. Pipes reflected light from the cracked fixture above the door—silent, steady, cold.

Vira tilted her head. The serpent along her arm stirred, coils tightening. Her shard pulsed once at her collarbone, the glow illuminating the edge of her jaw. She didn’t smile this time.

"We’ll talk later," she said.

No threat in it. No warmth either. Just something final.

"We need to move. Jasmine and Culdrin are holding off whoever’s left from the security wing, but they won’t stall forever."

She turned toward Junjio, already calculating.

"We use the portal. Quiet exit, straight shot through. Simple."

Blood continued to trail from the serpent’s mouth, each drop hitting the floor with a soft, deliberate rhythm. The air in the pod quarters hadn’t shifted, but the weight of it had grown. Elias felt it in the silence behind him—the same pressure he remembered from Vardency, just before the walls came down. The same calm certainty people wore when they thought violence was the answer and history would forgive them for it.

Dot moved beside him, her glow pulsing brighter for half a breath. She rotated slightly in the air, the soft hum of her frame deepening as she adjusted. There was nothing playful in her tone when she spoke.

Dot hovered slightly higher, her glow steady now, the hum at her core carrying a sharper tone than before.

"Portals aren’t clean," she said. "They don’t leave things where they found them. And they rarely ask what they’re allowed to take."

There was no sarcasm in it. Just fact—delivered the way Dot always did, as if logic should be enough.

Vira’s serpent lifted its head at the sound. The coils didn’t tighten, but they didn’t relax either.

Vira turned enough to glance back, her gaze passing over Dot without urgency.

"You sound like someone who’s seen the edge of one."

She didn’t ask a question. Just let the words hang—light, but edged. Like she was filing that detail away for later.

Then she faced forward again, voice already returning to motion.

"Doesn’t matter if it’s clean. It just has to work."

Faye’s Ikona let out a soft hum near her shoulder.

She didn’t seem to notice. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

"Junjio’s just a kid," she said. The words barely carried. Her voice caught halfway through, cracked on the edge of something raw. That shot—the guard’s body—none of it had faded yet.

A few feet away, Tidwell twirled his knife once, then caught it in a tight grip.

"This is bullshit," he said. Not loud. Not aimed at anyone in particular.

His Ikona shifted overhead, the cloud formation boiling slowly, coils tightening in sync with the muscle in his jaw.

Paul glanced at the bodies. Then at the corridor. Then at Elias.

"You’re risking us all," he said. His tone wasn’t angry. It was quieter than that. Tired. Cautious. Like he’d already counted the ways this could go wrong.

Junjio didn’t speak right away. He just stared at the floor, eyes wet, lip pulled in like he was holding his breath.

Then, quietly—

"My dad..."

The words hit harder than anyone else’s. No answer followed. Just silence.

Then Wes stepped forward. His boots scraped lightly across the tile. He didn’t touch his weapon. Didn’t raise his voice.

He looked straight at Elias.

"What’s the point of this?" he asked.

Vira stepped toward the door.

Her serpent Ikona slithered at her heels, red lines dimming slightly under the overhead lights.

"What about your block?" she asked, smooth as ever.

Blood slipped from her fingers in a steady drip, trailing behind her.

"I could kill them. Twist the bodies into something pretty. Make puppets, if I had time."

She stopped by the wall panel.

Boots scraped glass and debris. The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead.

"But that’s always a hassle," she added. "I’ll just lock you back up."

She lifted her hand.

The panel lit green under her palm. Sensors clicked to life.

The air inside the pod shifted—just enough to feel. Still stale. Still wrong.

A soft click sounded from the door’s bolts.

Junjio moved.

Just one step forward.

Eyes on the guards behind her.

The ones whose mouths had gone slack. Whose eyes were leaking.

"You don’t even know him," Junjio said.

His voice shook, but the words held.

"My dad died so I could get out. He gave up everything for me to be here."

The guards raised their rifles.

No commands. No warnings.

Their barrels glowed hot. High-frequency charge—Cube X’s tech, repurposed for control.

The first shot hissed past Junjio’s head.

Then the others fired.

Tidwell’s cloud Ikona broke apart in seconds. The mist peeled away, revealing twin wounds—one in his gut, the other above his heart. Blood soaked through his fatigues in dark, widening stains. His face had gone pale. Breath came in short, uneven bursts.

Paul dropped to his knees beside him. His crystal Ikona flared as he pressed both hands to the injuries. Shards formed on contact—thin, glinting plates that sealed over the bleeding like fragile glass.

"Stay with me," Paul said, his voice strained. "Just stay awake, alright? We’ve got you."

His hands trembled. The light from his Ikona shimmered across the blood as it slowed.

Tidwell let out a guttural sound—half a groan, half a curse. "Fucking rogues..." His knife slipped from his fingers, clattering beside him. The cloud that floated above him dimmed, losing shape.