Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 118: You’ll die a slow death

Marcus hit the ground hard—his shoulder slammed against something jagged and unyielding, and a sharp jolt of pain rippled through his side. He groaned, his voice echoing briefly before being swallowed by the dense, suffocating dark that surrounded him like a burial shroud.

"Shit... dammit—what the hell..." he hissed, spitting dust from his mouth as he sat up, clutching his side. His fingers instinctively found the handle of his axe, still strapped across his back, and he gripped it tight, drawing it free with a metallic rasp that was far too loud in the silence.

Darkness. Thick, oppressive, absolute.

He couldn’t see a damn thing. No flicker of light, no outline of walls, not even his own hand in front of his face.

"Hello?" he called out, voice sharp, hopeful, desperate. "Sophia? Liam? Anyone?!"

No answer.

Only his breathing and the distant, spine-chilling sound of something... not human.

It was faint at first, but unmistakable—the screech. That damn screech from Sera... or whatever Sera had become. It cut through the black like a blade across stone, and it echoed—distorted, hollow, as if coming from every direction at once. Marcus clenched his jaw. There was something deeply wrong about the sound. It didn’t even feel like it belonged in this world.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead, though the air was cold. His heart was pounding now, not from exertion—but from the slow, creeping realization that he was alone. Really alone. He called again, this time louder. "LIAM?! JASON?! SOMEBODY SAY SOMETHING!"

Nothing.

He growled under his breath and slammed the butt of his axe against the stone floor, sending a dull echo down what he was now starting to realize was a narrow, stone passageway. He stretched out one hand and touched the wall—rough, cold, and moist with damp. The other hand held the axe so tight his knuckles ached.

Every few steps, the screech echoed again. It didn’t seem closer. Didn’t seem farther either. Just constant. Just... there. Like a warning.

Marcus turned slowly, adjusting to the close walls. "You better not be dead, you bastards," he muttered, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. "I ain’t dying down here by myself. Not like this."

He started forward, step by cautious step, his axe raised and ready, his eyes straining to see something—anything—in the dark.

But there was only the weight of the silence, the chill of the underground stone, and the ever-echoing cry of a corrupted soul somewhere in the maze.

And he was on his own.

As for Sophia, she remembered the moment she hit the floor. One second she was falling—her scream lost in the chaos—and the next, silence. Cold. Darkness.

A low groan escaped her lips as she stirred, her head pounding and her body aching from the impact. Her hand instinctively reached for her bow—but it wasn’t there. Panic tightened in her chest. She patted the floor around her frantically, but the only thing her fingers met was the chill of stone and broken fragments of something she couldn’t quite place.

She forced herself to sit up, teeth clenched as a throb pulsed through her ribs. Her mind swam, but she focused. First things first—find the bow, find the arrows.

Her fingers scraped the ground around her, wide-eyed despite the complete blackness. Her breathing was shallow, her chest tight. "Mariel?" she called, voice soft and shaky. "Liam? Jason? Marcus...?"

But there was nothing. No reply. No whisper. Just her own words bouncing back at her in the dead silence.

She found something—smooth and curved. Her bow. Relief washed through her, but it was short-lived. The arrows were still gone. She crawled forward, feeling in every direction, but there was nothing more than bits of broken rock, dust, and dry air. Her fingers trembled.

She pressed herself to her feet slowly, one hand on the wall to steady herself. It was coarse and cold beneath her palm, but as she moved along its length, her fingers ran across something different—wood. A door. Her hope lifted for a moment.

She felt along it, pressing her hands over its surface. No handle. No hinges. No keyhole. She pushed with her shoulder, then her foot. Nothing.

It was sealed shut. Dead shut.

Sophia pressed her forehead against the wood, the silence closing in on her like a noose. For a long while she stood there, breathing hard, her fingers twitching helplessly against the useless door. Then her legs gave way, and she sank to the ground, her back against the unyielding barrier. Her arms wrapped around her knees and she buried her face.

A single sob slipped through.

Then another.

She tried to stop it—tried to breathe—but the weight of the darkness, the loneliness, the silence, all wrapped around her like cold iron chains. She didn’t know where the others were, didn’t know if they were alive or if they had also been scattered, broken, or worse. That thing in Sera, that... monster—it was still out there. Still screeching. She could hear the distant echo of it—somewhere in the depths, it was still calling.

Her tears soaked into her sleeves as her shoulders shook.

"I’m not ready to die here," she whispered to the dark. "Not alone..."

But the dark didn’t care. The door didn’t open. The silence didn’t answer.

She was alone.

And she was afraid.

Mariel on her side didn’t remember hitting the ground.

All she knew was the pounding throb at the back of her skull, like someone was driving a nail deep into her brain. Her vision was spinning, her limbs numb. Cold stone pressed against her cheek. She couldn’t even cry. Her lips parted, but all that came out was a broken breath.

She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know where anyone was.

"Liam...?" she whispered weakly. "S-Sophia...?"

Silence.

She winced, forcing herself to move. Her arms were trembling, barely able to hold her weight as she rolled onto her side. Something wet coated her fingers.

She touched the back of her head. Pain spiked instantly. Her fingers came back slick and dark.

Blood.

Panic flickered, but it was distant—like her body was too tired to even feel it properly. She was losing blood, she could feel it. Her body was getting colder, heavier... her heartbeat thudding like a drum underwater.

"I’m... I’m dying," she muttered, the words barely forming on her lips. Her back hit the wall behind her, and she slumped. Her breath was shallow, fluttering like paper in the wind.

Then suddenly—light.

Torches on the walls flared to life one by one, as if unseen hands had lit them. The whole chamber was bathed in an eerie, flickering glow.

And standing across from her, emerging from the shadows like a nightmare born of fire and smoke, was Sera.

But not Sera.

The thing that stood there wore her face, but it wasn’t hers anymore. Its black, soulless eyes locked onto Mariel, glowing faintly with malevolent fire. Its smile was all teeth—sharp, long, unnatural. Veins black as ink crawled across its face, pulsing, twitching. Its nails—no, claws—tapped slowly against the stone.

It didn’t speak at first. It just hovered above the ground, dark hair drifting as if caught in water, eyes never blinking.

Then it laughed.

A sound that didn’t belong in any living world. Cold. Guttural. A twisted mockery of a laugh, as if several voices, male and female and inhuman, were speaking all at once.

Mariel didn’t even have the strength to scream.

"You’ll die a slow death," it said.

The voice made the walls shiver. A deep, grotesque blend of distorted tones, like something ancient and wrong echoing from the bottom of a well filled with rot.

Mariel’s eyes were half-lidded now. Her pulse slowing. She was too tired. Too cold. Her words came out a whisper, full of spite and fading breath.

"Fuck you..."

The thing just grinned wider. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Then it vanished. Gone in an instant. The torches blinked out one by one until the room was swallowed in black again.

Mariel slumped against the wall, her head tilted back, eyes fluttering.