Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 102: Spare yourselves. Let Marcus die

The smoke from the shattered altar still lingered in the air, curling around the clearing like a ghost reluctant to leave. Liam’s sword hung at his side, the metal now cool and ordinary again, but the weight of what he’d done hadn’t left him. He could feel it in the silence of the tribe, in their bowed heads, in the way they avoided looking directly into his eyes. He didn’t care for worship, but he did care about control—and if this was how he could keep them from slipping back into savagery, then so be it.

He turned to Von, his voice low but firm.

"Call that man," Liam said. "The one who spoke yesterday... the one who said they had no king."

Von gave a small nod, already knowing who Liam meant. He raised a hand and barked a few short phrases in their native tongue.

Moments later, the man stepped forward from the crowd—bare-chested, lean, wiry arms covered in faint white scars that twisted like vines. His face was painted with fading charcoal streaks, his eyes sunken and cautious. He walked slowly, like he expected punishment.

Liam gestured to the rest of the tribe.

"Tell them to go. I want this private."

Von relayed the order, and within seconds, the tribespeople began to drift away in silence, back toward their huts and woven shelters. The man stayed, standing just a few feet away from Liam now, his head slightly lowered but his shoulders tense.

The others were close—Sophia, Marcus, Eleanor, Jason, Sera, Borik, and Mariel, all forming a loose half-circle behind Liam. Gorr leaned against a tree nearby, arms crossed, silent as always.

Liam turned to Von. "Ask him... how many of them are there? How many people in this tribe?"

Von translated.

The man frowned, hesitated a moment, then answered in his tongue. His voice was tight, unsure, like he wasn’t sure if sharing numbers would get him killed.

Von translated, "He says... around five thousand. Maybe more. Spread across many huts. The jungle feeds them well, and they’ve survived here for generations."

Liam blinked. Five thousand? That was more than he expected. He glanced at Marcus, who raised his brows in surprise. Jason gave a low whistle.

"Five thousand cannibal jungle dwellers... no wonder they never needed a king," Jason muttered under his breath.

Liam ignored him and pressed on. "Ask him if there are other tribes in this jungle."

Von nodded and asked.

The man’s answer came faster this time, more confident.

"He says yes," Von relayed. "There are other tribes. But not in this part of the jungle. Deeper, much deeper. Days of travel. Dangerous lands. He says the others are different... some peaceful, some worse than his."

Liam narrowed his eyes. "Worse than his?"

"He says some eat not just flesh... but souls. He says their gods are crueler. And their forests darker."

Sophia shifted uncomfortably. "Great. Just when I thought we’d hit rock bottom."

But Liam wasn’t done.

"Now ask him about the ruin," Liam said. "The one Borik and Sera are dragging us toward."

As soon as Von finished translating the question, the native man visibly flinched. His eyes widened. Sweat instantly began to bead on his brow, and his mouth opened in a kind of stunned horror.

He took a step back, shaking his head vigorously. Then he dropped to one knee, hands raised—not in submission, but in fear, in pleading.

He started speaking rapidly, voice cracking, shouting now.

Von stepped in to translate, but even he looked troubled.

"He says... no. No. That place is cursed. He says no man should ever go there. Not even gods. It is death. Death and poison. Madness and fire. He says their ancestors once tried to claim the ruin... many generations ago. None returned. Not one."

The man dropped his forehead to the dirt, trembling.

"He says the trees there do not speak, the animals vanish, and even the wind avoids it. He says it is not a ruin—it is a grave. For the world. For gods. For all."

Silence followed.

The jungle buzzed faintly in the background—distant birds, insects humming, wind gently shifting leaves above. But here in the clearing, not a sound.

Liam didn’t say anything at first.

He just stared at the man before him, this warrior of a tribe that once strung up strangers and danced in their blood... now begging on his knees to be spared the fate of even thinking about that place.

Marcus scratched his head. "Okay... uh... that’s not terrifying or anything."

Sera looked away. Borik folded his arms but said nothing. Jason seemed disturbed, but also oddly intrigued.

Liam finally broke the silence.

"If even these people... these fearless, bone-wearing warriors are scared of that ruin," he muttered, almost to himself, "then what the hell are we walking into?"

Sophia glanced at him. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

Liam turned and looked back toward the edge of the jungle—the direction they were all headed. The wind had shifted. The air felt colder now, even under the heat of the day.

Whatever waited in that ruin... it wasn’t meant to be found.

But they were going anyway.

Liam stood still for a moment, staring hard at Borik as if he could pull the truth from his bones by sheer will alone. His fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening. The jungle heat was thick, and yet the air between them felt colder than it had in days.

He looked around at the group. Not a single one of them looked pleased. Sophia had her arms crossed, jaw tight. Jason stood off to the side, eyes narrowed. Marcus had said nothing, but there was a storm brewing behind his eyes. Even Eleanor, who was usually the calmest among them, had her lips drawn into a hard line. And Sera—she sat a few paces behind Borik, quiet, unreadable, but her hands trembled faintly where they rested on her knees.

Liam turned back to the native man, still crouched a few feet away. "You," he said sharply, his voice laced with frustration. "Get two people. Strong ones. Brave ones. I want them to guide us to that ruin."

Von translated, and the man scrambled to his feet, nodding repeatedly. He vanished into the trees without another word, feet barely making a sound as he moved.

Liam watched him disappear, then turned again—this time with fire in his voice.

"What the fuck are you doing, Borik?" he snapped, stepping closer. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you realize we could all fucking die in there?"

Borik didn’t flinch, but he didn’t meet Liam’s eyes either. He stared past him, expression flat.

"I asked you a simple question," Liam growled, his voice low. "What the hell is in that ruin? What are you even looking for?"

Silence.

Then Borik muttered something under his breath. It was barely audible, but it reached Liam all the same.

"Then don’t follow me, and Marcus will die."

Liam blinked. "What?"

Borik finally looked up. His face wasn’t angry—it was tired. Worn. Like he’d carried a burden for years and knew no one would ever help him lift it.

"I said don’t follow me," Borik repeated. "If you’re that scared... if you think it’s not worth it... then don’t come. Spare yourselves. Let Marcus die."

Liam’s jaw clenched. "That’s all you have to say?"

Borik said nothing. His silence was louder than a shout.

Liam shook his head, disgusted. He turned on his heel and walked away, boots crunching through the leaves and dirt as he headed toward the other side of the clearing.

Mariel sat alone near a fallen log, her sword across her lap. She was turning it slowly, catching the sunlight against the steel, but she wasn’t admiring it. Her eyes were distant, cold. As Liam approached, she didn’t look up. Didn’t speak.

He sat down beside her without asking. The tension between them was like a blade itself—sharp, impossible to ignore. He stared ahead for a moment, not sure what to say.

Mariel broke the silence first, though her voice was flat and quiet.

"So... your group’s falling apart."

Liam didn’t respond.

She continued, still not looking at him. "You’re walking into a place that even the natives fear. And your own allies can’t even agree on why they’re going."

Liam leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Yeah. I know."

Mariel finally turned to him. Her eyes were dark, searching. "And you’re still going?"

Liam nodded slowly. "I don’t think we have a choice. We can’t let Marcus die."

A bitter smile ghosted her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked back at her sword, dragging her thumb lightly along the flat of the blade.

He watched her for a moment. "Mariel..."

But she cut him off with a glance—sharp and emotionless. "Don’t."

Liam went quiet.

The coldness in her eyes hit harder than he expected. She had been warm with him once. Kind. Brave. She had kissed him in front of a hundred watchful eyes, and for a second back then, he believed something real had bloomed. But now? Now all he could feel was the wall she’d built between them.

She looked back at the blade again, then sighed softly.

"Whatever’s in that ruin," she said, voice quieter now, "you better be ready. Because I don’t think any of us are walking out the same."

Liam didn’t argue.

He just sat there beside her... staring into the trees... and wondering what darkness awaited them beyond the jungle’s edge.