Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 123: I’ll set the alive one free

The spirit didn’t answer. It only tilted its head, still smiling, as if amused—unbothered by their attempt to understand. Then it hissed violently and lunged toward Jason with blinding speed.

The attack had come faster than their eyes could track. One moment the shadows clung thick around them, the next—agony.

Jason let out a sharp gasp as he felt claws rake across his cheek. It wasn’t just a scratch. It burned, deep and wet, blood already seeping down his face and into his collar. He staggered, tripping over his own boots and hitting the floor hard, hand pressed against the wound. It felt like fire had been etched into his skin.

Beside him, Gorr roared out. The spirit hadn’t spared him either—its claws tearing into the side of his leg with enough force to nearly knock him off balance. The man dropped to one knee, clutching his wounded thigh. His teeth clenched, sweat pouring down his face as he tried to hold in the pain, but it was no use. He cursed under his breath, gripping the wall to steady himself.

Then the voice came—cold, guttural, and echoing with layers. It wasn’t one voice. It was several speaking all at once, all through the same cruel mouth.

"I’m going to give one of you a chance," the spirit hissed.

Jason blinked, panting through the pain, trying to keep his eyes on where the voice had come from—but the thing was already vanishing into the dark.

"The next time I’m back..." it said, "only one of you should be alive."

It paused. Jason’s breath hitched.

"I’ll set the alive one free."

Then silence. The presence vanished, like it had never been there at all. The air was still and choking.

Gorr stared, his chest heaving, blood pooling at his side.

"She’s lying..." he said after a long pause, spitting onto the stone floor. "It’s just playing with us." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

But Jason didn’t answer.

He was sitting against the wall now, wiping the blood from his cheek, eyes cast downward in thought. His hand trembled slightly—not from pain, but something deeper. Something colder. His mind was working through the spirit’s words like a puzzle, every possibility and outcome racing through his head.

He didn’t speak.

Gorr looked over at him, frowning.

"You ain’t thinking about—"

"I said nothing," Jason snapped, sharper than intended.

Another long silence fell between them.

But Gorr saw the look in his eye. The gleam. The calculation.

And for the first time since they’d met, Gorr truly started to worry—not about the spirit.

But about Jason.

But before Jason could make a move, Gorr’s expression shifted.

"What are you thinking?" Gorr asked, his voice steady but with a hint of concern.

Jason paused. The weight of what he was considering hit him hard. He was ready to throw away his honor, his friends, his own integrity, all in hopes of surviving a moment longer. But something in Gorr’s eyes reminded him of who he was—and what he was willing to become if he took that step.

"I..." Jason faltered. The words felt too heavy to speak, yet they hung there, suffocating him, then he quickly lied "I... can’t betray you."

Gorr stood up straight, watching Jason closely, as if reading the turmoil inside him. "We won’t betray each other, we won’t die. Not like this. If we fight together, we’ll make it out of here. No one gets left behind."

Jason’s heart clenched. For a moment, he felt like he might break, but Gorr’s unwavering stance, his refusal to give in, grounded him. The idea of betrayal, of turning against those he’d fought alongside, suddenly felt unbearable but he was still seriously considering it.

The two men stood in silence for a long moment, the atmosphere of the room pressing in around them.

"I’m sorry," Jason said quietly. "I almost... I almost made the wrong choice."

Gorr clapped a hand on his shoulder, the weight of the gesture speaking volumes. "You didn’t. Let’s just focus on getting out of here."

Jason leaned back against the cold wall of the stone chamber, sweat trickling down his forehead even in the damp stillness. He had tossed his crossbow and staff aside with a sigh that sounded genuine enough—enough to fool even Gorr, who glanced over and mirrored him, dropping his club with a grunt.

"We’ll fight it together," Jason said, his voice low, almost solemn. "We’ll wait for it to come back... and we’ll give it hell."

Gorr nodded slowly, relief softening the hardened lines of his face. He exhaled heavily and slumped beside Jason. "Aye... together."

But Jason didn’t look at him.

His eyes were fixed on the darkness ahead, unreadable, silent.

Beneath his sleeve, pressed tightly against his forearm, his fingers curled around a small, slim arrow—barely the size of a dagger. Hidden. Sharp. Poison-tipped. He had kept one. Not because he feared the spirit.

But because he feared the odds.

As Gorr leaned against the wall, rubbing his shoulder and murmuring something about how quiet everything had gone, Jason didn’t reply. He just stared forward... silently... calculating.

_____

Back to Liam and Marcus. The fire of the blazing sword still burned bright in Liam’s hand as they moved swiftly through the dim hallway. The flames danced on the sword, casting long shadows that flickered and moved like phantoms. Marcus stayed close behind him, his axe gripped tightly, sweat running down his brow not just from the heat of the sword, but from the tension crawling under his skin.

They reached the end of the hallway and saw the door, same as the last—wooden, thick, and without a handle.

Liam didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, angled his sword, and began to press the blazing edge slowly into the wood, carving a square just like he’d done before. The smell of burning wood filled the air instantly, thick and choking. Sparks hissed and flew as Liam guided the blade down, right, up, and then across again, a perfect square melting through the ancient timber.

The cut glowed red for a second, embers drifting like fireflies.

Then he started kicking it inward.

When Liam finally kicked the door inward with a loud crack, the heavy wooden slab groaned and gave way, crashing into the floor inside. Smoke and dust whirled around the threshold, but Liam didn’t hesitate. He stepped in quickly, sword blazing with fire in his grip, the light dancing off the stone walls around them. Marcus followed right behind him, his axe already drawn, expecting anything.

What they saw made both of them freeze for a heartbeat.

Mariel was lying on the cold stone floor. Her long hair was matted with blood at the back of her head, and her face was pale—too pale. Her chest was still rising and falling, but weakly. Blood stained the stones beneath her head, soaking into the cracks. Her arms were limp at her sides, and her eyes were shut tight like someone caught in a nightmare they couldn’t wake from.

"Mariel!" Liam shouted, rushing to her side. He dropped to his knees, pressing a hand to her neck—her pulse was there, but faint.

"Shit..." Marcus muttered under his breath, stepping over and looking around cautiously. "What the hell happened to her?"

Liam didn’t answer. He was already tearing cloth from his shirt, trying to stop the bleeding. His face was tight with worry.

Mariel didn’t stir.

She was alive... but barely.

And they had no idea how much time they had before that would change.