Chapter 140: Fickle Powers
Torqa lumbered in, stone Ikona grinding, ochre shard pulsing, boots trailing sand. "Hit now," he growled, smashing a crate, splinters flying, Stone Crush flaring, demanding blood. Vexen’s hawk screeched, landing, amber eyes glowing, Signal Trace syncing with drones. "Patrols cycle hourly," she said, leaning on a crate, green shard pulsing, caution in her eyes.
Roachaline’s Coercive Pulse flared, level two, a ripple silencing Torqa’s growl, her shards sparking, Ikona’s claws snapping. "We bait," she said, voice biting, cigarette hissing out on the table. "Draw their shards, strip ’em, like the video says." Her attractive scowl burned, believers murmuring, "Rogues coming," their zeal fervent, a comm buzzing: "93 shard users, arena active."
Torqa’s stone Ikona rumbled, his eyes narrowing. "Ravel’s gone," he growled, voice low, challenging, ochre shard flaring. "You slipping?" Roachaline stepped close, violet shard humming, knife glinting, her power complex unyielding. "Test me," she snapped, Ikona hissing, her fierce beauty a blade. Torqa backed off, muttering, his shard dimming, believers watching, awed.
Sylira’s console beeped, wire Ikona sparking, her wit cutting. "Got their comm freq," she said, grin sly, screen flashing patrol grids. Vexen’s hawk circled, screeching, "Rogue’s six klicks." Roachaline exhaled smoke, knife twirling, ordering, "Scout tonight, Vexen. Sylira, sync drones. Torqa, leash it." Her Ikona skittered, believers chanting, "New blood!" the video’s threat alive, raid stakes rising.
The courtyard’s ash stung Roachaline’s throat, rubble crunching, Vardency’s winds swirling dust through broken walls. Ravel’s shrine glowed faintly, wilted roses, shard fragments, and knives piled high, red flags fluttering, believers kneeling, their chants soft now, "Power reigns." Her insect Ikona curled still, shards dim, red a faint spark, violet a low hum, the comm’s "93 shard users" burning in her ears.
She sat, muttering, "Ravel, you burned too fast," a rose clutched tight, petals crumbling, her fingers trembling, grief raw in her pale gray eyes. Her knife glinted, twirling slowly, cigarette smoke curling, her attractive scowl softening, fierce beauty stark against the shrine’s decay. "Rogues’ll bleed for you," she hissed, shards sparking, placing the rose, believers murmuring, "Video calls," their zeal a pulse.
A believer knelt, adding a shard fragment, chanting, "New blood joins." Roachaline’s violet shard hummed, her glare sharp, Domination Aura flickering, silencing their hum, her power complex commanding. Vardency’s plains stretched beyond, dusty and scarred, red-flagged outposts dotting the horizon, the hideout’s rusted walls looming, graffiti bold—"No Rules."
Her insect Ikona skittered, claws slashing air, Swarm Strike flaring, a shimmering arc slicing dust, believers gasping, their red flags surging. "New blood rises!" they roared, voices cracking, shard fragments glinting on Ravel’s shrine, wilted roses curling, knives piled high. Roachaline’s red shard sparked, her fierce beauty blazing, dark hair catching dawn’s gray light, scars flexing as she stepped forward, cigarette smoke curling, knife twirling in her calloused hand.