Chapter 169: Shoulder Press

Chapter 169: Shoulder PressYui and Kimi regrouped with swift precision, their suits shimmering as they blocked the group’s only escape. "You’re not leaving," Yui said, his voice as cold and unyielding as his gaze.

His gauntlets began to hum, the energy coiling within them like a gathering storm. His predatory stare settled on Junjio, unblinking, the target fixed in his mind. Beside him, Kimi spun lightly, her once playful movements taking on a deadly grace.

"Playtime’s over, rogues!" she called out with a mock cheerfulness. Her gas canister hissed as it primed, and the pink-lined energy field of her suit blazed brightly, reflecting the frantic, chaotic light of the hub.

The chamber erupted once more, the clash of forces reaching a new crescendo. Jasmine’s mist collided with Kimi’s gas, the two substances swirling into a roiling, opaque tempest that split the hub in two.

The hiss of vapor and the heavy smell of chemicals enveloped the space, each side pushing against the other in a desperate struggle for control. Culdrin charged straight into the fray, bone armor cracking as it met Yui’s powered gauntlets.

Every strike between them sent a burst of light and a jarring shockwave through the floor. Cracks webbed outward from Culdrin’s shield, each fracture a testament to the relentless force of Yui’s blows.

Amid the chaos, Vira’s serpent Ikona lashed out again and again, its blood tendrils threading through the confusion.

It darted and snapped, each strike aimed for Yui’s throat, but his movements were too sharp, too quick. Each miss only stoked Vira’s fury further.

The crimson glow of her shard pulsed stronger with each attack, a fire that burned ever brighter in the face of resistance.



Asurik’s magma Ikona provided the only semblance of a path. Streams of molten heat cut through the chaos, forcing the guards back and creating pockets of space where none had existed before.

His voice growled over the cacophony. "Junjio, now or never!" The urgency in his tone cut through the confusion, the battle around them closing in with every passing moment.

Elias guided Junjio toward the portal, his hand steady on the boy’s shoulder. Dot drifted beside him, her blue glow unwavering, her hum a constant rhythm against the chaos.

The images of the companions he’d left behind flared in his mind like a burning brand—Kikaru’s face drained of color, Faye’s fingers trembling as the nets pulled tight, Tidwell bleeding out, his wounds too deep for Paul’s waning seals to hold, Wes’s steady glare as he faced their betrayal.

The weight of their fading Ikona hung on Elias’s chest, the tether that linked them together growing thinner with every moment.

In the corner of his vision, the prompt’s stark glow bore down on him: 12 minutes remaining. The countdown loomed like a final verdict, the hub’s chaos spinning around him.

Plasma fire lanced through the thick air, leaving streaks of light and heat that stung the eyes.

The coppery stench of blood mixed with the acrid bite of scorched flesh and the chemical tang of Kimi’s gas clouds, turning every breath into a struggle. Elias’s choice loomed over it all, unresolved, sharpening with every second.

Jasmine’s mist parted briefly, revealing a guard raising his plasma rifle.

The weapon’s charging whine cut through the noise, a single note of impending destruction. Nearby, Culdrin braced himself, his bone armor splitting further under the force of Yui’s relentless strikes. Vira’s serpent pulled back, coils tightening in frustration as it awaited a new target.

And through it all, Junjio’s portal trembled, the once-solid ring now a faint flicker, its clarity slipping. Beyond it, the corridor beckoned—a fragile thread of hope.

"I have to save his father," Elias growled, the words a low, steady vow. His shard throbbed in his chest as he grabbed Junjio’s arm, pulling the boy closer to the flickering portal.

The faint ring of Junjio’s portal Ikona wavered, its edges dim and unsteady, its light struggling to hold shape. Through the flickers, the corridor beyond shimmered—a path leading to Hiroshi, Junjio’s father, the man Elias had promised to rescue.

Elias’s shoulder ached from Vira’s earlier strike, the bruise radiating a deep, steady pain. His sweat-soaked sleepwear clung to him, the lack of blood a small mercy. At his side, Dot’s blue glow pulsed brighter, her hum cutting through the chaos.

Above them, the system prompt hovered like a hammer poised to fall: "Save a life, 12 minutes remaining." Each second ticked louder in Elias’s mind. Hiroshi’s out there, he thought, and I’m not leaving without him, no matter the cost.

The hub roared with violence, a vast battlefield of steel and destruction. Conduits lined the walls like the ribs of a long-dead machine, reaching high into the dim overhead light.



Blood pooled beneath the bodies of ten, maybe fifteen, fallen guards, their armor cracked and still faintly smoking.

The acrid stench of scorched circuits and charred flesh filled the thick, choking air.


Debris covered the floor—shattered consoles and twisted metal scattered alongside streaks of blood that snaked through the wreckage.

Control panels sparked in fits and starts, their screens either dark or flickering with static. From ruptured conduits came the hiss of leaking plasma, casting a pale, eerie glow over the scene.

The hub stood as a crucible of defiance, its sealed front entrance looming, waiting for Junjio’s portal to breach it.

Vira’s serpent Ikona coiled tightly near the portal. Its bloodied fangs dripped steadily, each crimson droplet vanishing into the slick floor beneath. Her shard pulsed a vibrant red, illuminating her taut expression as she stood at the edge of the fray.

"Get that portal stable, kid, or I’ll carve you myself!" she snarled, her words slicing through the chaos like a whip.

Her blazing eyes reflected not just the immediate battle, but the deeper zeal that burned within her—a fervor born from the Epics’ rebellion. Her gaze locked onto the fight, her vendetta against Yui Raki flaring brighter than ever.

Beside her, Asurik loomed, his magma Ikona glowing faintly, its molten light pooling around his feet. He took a deliberate step forward, the heat rippling outward in waves. "Move, Junjio—Hiroshi’s waiting," he urged, his voice low but steady.

His words were simple, but his eyes carried the weight of unspoken calculations. The part he had played in sparking this rebellion wasn’t written in his tone, but it lingered beneath the surface.