Chapter 129: Cold Matter

Chapter 129: Cold MatterHer body jerked, energy draining fast, her breath rasping through gritted teeth. Cubes dimmed at her side, frost faltering as Ravel’s thread pulled harder.

He grinned, blood dripping from his split lips, staining his teeth red. "Got you," he rasped, his voice a wet gurgle. His remaining hand clenched, the thread glowing brighter, his vertebrae twitching back into a shaky orbit.

Elias’s heart slammed against his ribs, his grip on the railing slick with sweat. He’s pulling the same trick, he thought, flashes of Vincent’s fight with Randalp searing his mind—three shards, relentless, turning the tide at the last second. She’s got to see it coming.

Kikaru’s voice cut low beside him. "He’s got more up his sleeve. Watch."

Tidwell’s smirk was gone, his eyes hard. "She’s bleeding too much already."

Elara staggered, her armor splintering, ice flaking off in chunks. Blood trickled from her side, soaking her uniform, her breath puffing white in the frigid air.

Ravel forced himself up, his stump oozing, his vertebrae clacking unevenly. "You’re done, Croft," he spat, blood flecking the gravel. "I’ll take it all—just like last time."

He swung his good arm, Vessel Drag firing again—a thicker thread snapping toward her head.

Elara ducked, the thread grazing her temple, tearing skin. Blood sprayed, hot and red, splattering the ice beneath her boots.

Ravel lunged, his vertebrae spinning into a jagged arc—three bones aimed straight for her skull.

They hit.



A sickening crunch echoed as the bones slammed into her forehead, fracturing through bone with a wet snap. Blood poured, a thick curtain streaming down her face, matting her hair, dripping onto her chest.

Elias flinched, his stomach lurching. That’s a kill shot, he thought, dread clawing at him. Her head tilted back, her body swaying, the arena blurring in his vision.

Ravel laughed, a ragged, triumphant sound. "Told you—mine now!"

But Elara didn’t fall.

Her eyes snapped open, blood-streaked and blazing, her shard pulsing cold and fierce. The fracture ran deep—bone cracked, blood gushing—but she stood, her breath a low growl.

"Cubes," she snarled, her voice thick with pain.

The air turned razor-sharp, frost snapping outward in a brutal wave.

Ravel’s smirk faltered, his vertebrae slowing. "What—"

Elara charged, her armored fist glowing with fresh ice—jagged, brutal, unstoppable.

She smashed it into his gut, ice piercing flesh, blood spraying in a hot arc. Ravel doubled over, gasping, his ribs cracking under the blow.

She didn’t stop.

Her knee slammed up, ice-coated, shattering his jaw with a wet crunch. Blood and teeth flew, his head snapping back, his body lurching.

"Cubes, shards!" she roared, blood dripping from her chin.

Glacial Constructs erupted—a storm of ice shards, sharp and relentless, tearing through the mist. They sliced into Ravel—his chest, his legs, his good arm—blood gushing, flesh ripping, his screams choking off in the cold.

He stumbled, his stump flailing, blood pooling beneath him. His vertebrae spun wild, cracked and uneven, desperation fueling his shard’s red glow.

Elara pressed forward, her boots crunching through his blood-slick ice.

Her fist swung again, ice forming a massive spike mid-strike.



It drove into his shoulder, tearing muscle, snapping bone—blood sprayed, hot and thick, steaming against the frost.


Ravel howled, collapsing to one knee, his shard pulsing frantically.

"Stay down," Elara said, her voice a cold rasp, blood streaming down her face.

He didn’t.

His good arm shot up, Heartstring flaring brighter—a second thread lashing out, hooking her shard again.

Her body shuddered, energy draining, her knees buckling.

Ravel’s vertebrae twitched, one rising—then another.

A new Ikona shimmered into being—Bairn, stolen from Camber Tullis.

Its hunched form unfolded, three soft arms curling, its Cradle Shell flaring—a living membrane shimmering in the mist.

"Cubes—freeze it!" Elara snapped, her voice raw but steady.

Cryo Burst blasted out, a shockwave of ice slamming into Bairn.

The membrane froze mid-formation, cracking with a high-pitched snap.

Elara spun, her armored hand grabbing the frozen Ikona.

She yanked, twisting its icy form—its Kinetic Proxy activating, a ghost strike lashing out.

But she’d seen Vincent pull this trick—Randalp’s death replayed in her mind, the fox Ikona slicing through.

She redirected Bairn’s force, spinning it back toward Ravel.

The frozen Ikona slashed down his throat, cutting deep—blood gushed, a thick torrent, his scream choking off.

His body split, flesh tearing from neck to groin, the Ikona’s force ripping him in half.



Blood sprayed, soaking the gravel, his halves slumping in a steaming pile.

The arena fell silent, frost swirling in the air.

Elara stood, panting, her head bleeding, her armor cracked.

Cubes pulsed faintly at her side, ice dust settling around her.

Elias exhaled, his hands shaking, the brutality etched into his vision.

The Announcer’s voice broke the hush, sharp and wild. "Elara Croft stands unbroken! A frozen fury claims victory!"

She wiped blood from her eyes, her gaze cold and unyielding.

The gravel glistened red and white, Ravel’s broken halves steaming in the frost-choked air. Blood pooled beneath him, thick and dark, his shard dimming as life drained away. Elara stood over the wreckage, her chest heaving, blood streaming from the fractured gash in her forehead. Cubes pulsed faintly at her side, its icy glow flickering like a dying ember.

The arena’s silence was a heavy shroud, broken only by the faint crackle of settling ice.

The Announcer strutted forward, his boots clicking on the frozen ground. His silver microphone twirled in his hand, his blazer flaring as he stopped beside Ravel’s corpse. "Well, well, folks!" he boomed, his voice sharp with glee. "Elara Croft stands unbroken—a frozen fury claims the night!"

He knelt, his fingers brushing the blood-soaked gravel near Ravel’s chest. The shard—dull now, streaked with crimson—glinted faintly as he plucked it free. Blood dripped from its edges, splattering his polished shoes, but he didn’t flinch.

"Another falls, another rises!" he declared, spinning to face the sparse crowd on the platforms. His mismatched glasses—red diamond left, blue right—flashed under the torchlight. "That leaves us with ninety-four shard users still breathing, still bleeding, still clawing for the top!"