My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 167: Shoulder’s Climate

Chapter 167: Shoulder’s Climate

"You won’t mess up," Elias said, his tone firm, though his own doubts churned beneath the surface. He placed a steady hand on Junjio’s shoulder, feeling the boy’s shaking through the worn fabric. "You’re stronger than you know, kid. Your dad’s waiting, and we’re going to get him out."

The words were more than reassurance; they were a promise—a lifeline that Junjio could cling to. And for a moment, Elias saw a glimmer of hope return to the boy’s eyes.

Still, Elias’s own heart raced. The countdown pressed against his mind like a vice, each second another step closer to the impossible choice ahead. The faces of those left behind came unbidden—Kikaru’s searing distrust, Faye’s trembling fear, Tidwell’s pained defiance, Paul’s resigned uncertainty, Wes’s unyielding challenge.

Their Ikona dimmed under the nets’ relentless drain, but their expressions remained etched into his thoughts. I can’t let them down, he thought, the weight of their trust a heavy tether he could never break.

Vira’s serpent flicked its tongue, a sharp, almost predatory motion that mirrored her tone. "Enough chatter," she said, cutting through Junjio’s hesitation. Her voice, smooth yet impatient, carried a warning. "My blood can handle any stragglers, but we need the kid’s portals to slip Cube X’s net. Don’t make me regret bringing you, Elias." Her gaze was sharp, measuring, as if testing Elias’s resolve.

Around them, the corridor seemed alive—pipes hissed faintly, the air heavy with the mingled scents of oil and blood, the walls streaked with shadows cast by the unsteady glow of conduits.

Junjio’s breath hitched. The flickering ring of his portal Ikona dimmed further, and his voice wavered. "I’ll try, I promise. But what if I—what if I mess up?" His words broke into silence, his hands trembling as though the weight of his father’s life was too much to bear.

Elias turned toward him, his grip firm on Junjio’s shoulder. "You’ll do more than try," he said, the steadiness of his voice hiding his own quiet fears. The boy’s trembling echoed his own unease, but Elias pushed past it. "You’re getting us through, kid. Your dad’s counting on you." Each word was more than encouragement; it was a promise Elias couldn’t let himself break, no matter how uncertain he felt.

The corridor closed in around them, the rhythmic hum of conduits growing louder with each step. The sounds of fighting sharpened—plasma rounds hissed through the air, steel clashed in bursts of violence, and voices rose in a mixture of defiance and despair.

Just ahead, the passage widened abruptly, opening into the central hub. The cavernous space yawned before them, filled with chaotic movement and noise, as if the corridor had been a throat leading them straight into the belly of chaos.

The hub sprawled before them, a battlefield forged from desperation and steel. The walls, thick with crisscrossing conduits, loomed high above, their curves forming the ribs of a machine long past its prime.

Overhead, pipes snaked through the chamber in a labyrinth of glinting metal, while below, the floor was a slick patchwork of blood, shattered glass, and scorched debris. Plasma rounds, their faint glow like dying stars, were embedded deep into the cracked armor of fallen guards.

Around 10 or 15 of them lay scattered, their bodies charred and broken, the air thick with the bitter stench of burned circuitry and singed flesh.

The control panels that had once monitored this part of Cube X now hung dark or flickering with bursts of static.

Sparks rained intermittently from ruptured consoles, while hissed plasma leaks painted the chamber in eerie, shifting light.

The space was alive with chaos, its every surface a testament to the violence that had exploded here. And yet, amidst the wreckage, two figures stood at the center of it all.

Jasmine and Culdrin moved like the eye of a storm.

Their Ikona flared brightly against the dwindling guards who still fought to maintain control.

Jasmine’s mist Ikona swirled around her in a silvery haze, her movements hidden behind a shroud of smoke that turned incoming plasma rounds into harmless sizzles. Her sharp eyes swept the room with calculated focus, every glance commanding precision. "Push them back—hold the line!" she shouted, her voice carrying over the hiss of plasma and the echoing clatter of falling debris.

This wasn’t just a fight; it was a reckoning born of loss. Her sister’s disappearance into Cube X’s experiments had left a raw wound that never healed.

Every step Jasmine took was charged with that pain, every strike guided by the memories of what Cube X had stolen from her.

Her lean figure moved with purpose, her dark hair pulled back tightly, framing a face hardened by months of resistance.

She had spent those months dissecting Cube X’s operations, finding its weak points, and drawing up plans for this moment. Her rebellion wasn’t a spontaneous spark—it was a carefully lit flame, fueled by grief and honed into a weapon.

Culdrin loomed beside Jasmine, his bone Ikona encasing his broad shoulders and chest in a jagged lattice of ivory plates.

Each piece bore faint cracks, the result of relentless plasma fire, yet the armor held firm. With a thunderous roar, he brought his shield down on a guard’s rifle, the weapon splintering under his weight.

His gruff voice cut through the din, a harsh exterior masking the grief that drove him—his brother, locked away in Cube X’s depths, was a chain he swore to break at any cost. "They’re not getting through!" he shouted, raising his bone shield just in time to absorb a volley of incoming plasma.

The impact sent fractures spiderwebbing across the surface, each crack a testament to his determination. Culdrin’s rebellion was not born of blind rage, but of purpose—Vardency’s fall had forged his resolve, tempered by loss and unyielding defiance the things shown to him by Asurik were ground breaking.

The hub’s open space served as both battleground and chokepoint, the main entrance sealed by heavy blast doors.

Junjio’s portals were their only viable path forward, and the air hung heavy with heat, blood, and the charged tension of every remaining second. The fight was relentless, the chaos deafening.