My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 196: Gamified Life

Chapter 196: Gamified Life

The glare stuttered along his cuffs, sketching thin bars of radiance that crawled over the immaculate fabric before bleeding into the blank horizon.

His lenses glinted red and blue, his grin unchanged, as if Elias’s sacrifice were just another rule in the system’s game.

Nothing in his posture hinted at reverence—only practiced poise, like a presenter waiting for the next slide to load.

"Take it, Kikaru," he urged again, voice smooth, almost sincere, the shard hovering above her cupped palms. "He gave you this chance—don’t waste it."

The words drifted between them, bright and hollow, echoing off the colorless sky until they sounded like the instructions printed on a test form: choose, submit, proceed.

She didn’t look at him. Her gaze stayed on Elias, on the fading outline of his body, the blood drying at the corner of his mouth, the echo of his grin frozen on lips that were no longer there.

Every flicker of torchlight passed straight through him now, turning muscle to mist, certainty to suggestion.

Her fingers trembled, the shard pieces digging deeper into her palms, as his words echoed in her mind: There’s very few people I’d trust with her. You’re one of them.

The memory hit like a dull blade—no sharp shock, just relentless pressure—until her shoulders rounded, trying and failing to guard the ache spreading beneath her ribs.

Her chest ached, a hollow pressure that spread through her ribs, her breath catching as she tried to speak, to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come, lost in the weight of his trust, the weight of her failure.

Silence collected in her throat, thick as wet sand, and all she could taste was iron where hope used to sit.

A low hum vibrated through the realm, a sound like a distant engine waking, and the air shimmered, green and black light splitting the space before her.

Each pulse felt wrong, as if reality itself had developed a skip in its record.

A portal ripped open, its edges jagged, crackling with static, the green and black swirling like oil in water, a void that seemed to pull at the light around it.

Kikaru’s head snapped up, her good eye widening, the shard pieces slipping slightly in her grip as she shifted her weight, sand scraping beneath her knees.

Instinct overrode grief, forcing tendons to lock, lungs to prime, every sense dragged back to the present with ruthless clarity.

The Announcer froze, his grin faltering, his hand lowering the shard of Radiant Stability as he turned toward the portal, lenses flashing with a sudden intensity.

In that heartbeat of hesitation, Kikaru felt the rules tremble—and realized the game might no longer belong to him.A figure stepped through, tall—seven feet at least—his presence filling the realm like a storm rolling in.

The boundary behind him shivered, bending outward as though unsure it was allowed to touch him, and every torch along the rim guttered a fraction lower.

His hair was white, long and unbound, cascading over shoulders wrapped in a deep cloak, its outer fabric a midnight black that seemed to absorb the light, the inside a vivid red that flickered like blood in the torchlight.

Each slow sweep of that cloak swallowed sound, leaving only the faint rustle of fabric and the steady thrum of the platform beneath.

His skin was pale, a blue‑white hue that glowed faintly, almost translucent itself, and his eyes—sharp, unreadable—scanned the arena with a calm that made the air feel heavier.

Under that gaze, micro‑fractures spider‑webbed through the glass‑smooth floor, thin as hairlines yet loud in the mind’s ear.

Small claws tipped his fingers, glinting faintly as he moved, his steps silent on the unseen ground.

One idle tap of those claws against his palm drew a tense flinch from the torches, their flames shrinking in silent submission.

"So this is where you’ve been holding these games," he said, voice low, resonant, carrying a weight that seemed to press against Kikaru’s chest.

The words hummed inside bone, turning breath into something laborious.

His gaze swept the arena, lingering on the fading outline of Elias, then shifting to the Announcer, his expression unreadable but his presence undeniable, a predator stepping into a den not his own.

When that stare landed, the realm’s ambient glow recoiled, leaving a dull shadow pooled at the Announcer’s feet.

The Announcer’s calm demeanor shattered, his grin vanishing as sweat beaded on his brow, rolling down his sides in thin, glistening trails.

Shoulders that normally stayed square for the cameras sagged a centimeter, suit fabric suddenly rumpled as though it no longer belonged to him.

His lenses flickered, red and blue light stuttering, as he swiped his hands to the side, his voice booming through the mic with a forced cheer that cracked at the edges.

The gesture—once the epitome of rehearsed flair—jerked halfway through, fingers twitching like a marionette whose strings had been yanked.

Status panels flared into existence, then collapsed, unable to lock onto the intruder’s identifier; a single warning tone chirped and died.

"THANK YOU ALL!" he shouted, the words echoing through the realm, sharp and desperate, as if he could banish the figure with volume alone.

The echo came back thinner, carrying a ragged undertone that wasn’t present in the original sound.

"We —ah—will resume shortly," he added, pitch skating upward.

No transition screen appeared.

His right hand hovered near the emergency‑override stud hidden beneath his cuff, hesitated, withdrew when the newcomer’s eyes narrowed a hair’s breadth.

Another bead of sweat chased the curve of his cheek slowly; he failed to wipe it away before it dripped from his jaw.

"Contestants, please remain calm," he tried again, throat clicking as he swallowed, voice trimmed into something almost polite by raw fear.

Inside the lenses, micro‑servos whined, over‑correcting focus again and again, desperate for data the system refused to supply.

Stripped of scripts and safety nets, the Announcer finally fell silent—not by choice, but because his breath stalled on the edge of another word, and for one suspended moment even the realm seemed unsure it would start again.