Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 125: Possessing Sophia

Sophia rocked back and forth, holding Sera close as if her embrace alone could stop the bleeding, could undo what had happened. The blood seeped through her fingers, warm and thick, and every second that passed made the hope inside her dim a little more. Her breath came in soft gasps, whispering broken words.

"You’re not going to die, Sera. You’re not."

Sera’s fingers were wrapped weakly around her forearm, her grip growing lighter with every heartbeat. Her face was pale, lips trembling, eyes wet with pain and exhaustion. "Stay with me," Sophia begged again, her voice nearly breaking.

But then it changed.

A sudden wave of cold passed through the room—not the cold of wind or weather, but something deeper. Older. A chill that seemed to crawl inside the bones, prickling against the flesh. Sophia froze. Her breath caught.

The hairs along her arms and neck rose all at once. Her entire body tensed, heart thudding with a slow, deep beat that seemed not her own.

Sera felt it too.

"Sophia?" she whispered, eyes widening. "What is it?"

Sophia didn’t answer. Her fingers clenched tighter around Sera’s shoulder, but her gaze shifted. Her body trembled—not with fear, but with something else. Something not hers. A pressure inside her chest that grew by the second, like claws gripping her from the inside.

Then it hit her.

Her back arched violently as if struck by lightning. She screamed—a raw, choking sound—as her body convulsed. Her arms jerked, her legs kicked against the floor. Sera gasped in horror as Sophia fell back, her body writhing, clutching at her own chest as though trying to rip something out.

"No—NO!" Sophia shrieked, nails tearing at her skin, dragging down her arms, her neck, her face. Her eyes darted wildly, as if something inside her was fighting to stay, to survive.

Sera pushed herself up, eyes wide with terror. "Sophia! Fight it! Don’t let it in!"

But it was too late.

A deep, hollow sound echoed around the room, not quite a growl, not quite a laugh—something in between. The torches flickered and dimmed, casting long shadows over Sophia’s body as she let out one final, ragged breath and collapsed onto her side, motionless.

For a second, it was quiet again.

Then Sophia moved.

Not slowly, not weakly.

She rose in one smooth, unnatural motion, like her limbs weren’t bound by muscle or bone. Her eyes snapped open—and they weren’t hers anymore. They were hollow, empty, as if the soul behind them had been gutted and something far more ancient and cruel had taken its place.

Her face twisted—lips pulling back into a grin that didn’t fit. Her cheekbones seemed sharper, her jaw clenched, veins darkened around her neck and temples.

Sera could only stare.

"You sneaky piece of shit..." she rasped, voice shaking with fury.

Possessed Sophia tilted her head slowly, the grin widening as her feet lifted an inch above the ground. She hovered there effortlessly, arms at her side, hair floating slightly as if caught in an unseen current.

"You were not enough," the voice said. It was Sophia’s mouth, but the sound that came out wasn’t hers. It echoed with layers—high and low, man and woman, as if more than one voice spoke through her at once. "But this one... this one is better."

Sera’s blood boiled, but her body betrayed her. She was too weak to move, too cold. Her vision blurred, her limbs numb from blood loss. All she could do was watch.

With a flick of her hand, the possessed Sophia summoned the bow from the floor. It flew through the air and landed smoothly in her grasp.

She hovered closer, bending slightly at the waist, staring down at Sera with cruel curiosity.

"Thank you," the spirit whispered. "For your sacrifice."

Then, without another word, she turned.

The torches dimmed further. Shadows stretched like claws from the walls. Sera tried to call out, to scream one last plea—but no sound came.

Sophia’s body floated toward the far end of the room. Her shadow danced unnaturally across the stone behind her. And then—

She vanished.

Gone in a blink.

The torches died with her.

Sera was left alone in darkness.

________

Marcus stood nearby, fists clenched, his eyes locked on the closed door they’d entered from. "We can’t stay here. That thing—whatever it was—it’ll come back. We need to move."

Liam looked down at Mariel again. "She needs help."

"We’re the help," Marcus snapped. "There’s nothing much we can do at the moment, Liam. We carry her and we find the others."

Liam didn’t argue. He nodded once, then gently slid his arm beneath Mariel’s shoulders, lifting her head carefully. Her face twitched at the motion, but she didn’t wake. The blood had soaked through the back of her tunic, warm and sticky against Liam’s hands.

"There’s nothing clean," Liam muttered. His eyes darted around for anything—cloth, a rag, even torn leather. Nothing.

Without hesitation, he reached for the hem of Mariel’s dress. "Sorry," he whispered, more to her than anyone else, and tore a strip clean from it. He used it to blot the blood first, gently wiping around the gash as best he could. She didn’t stir. Then he tore another, longer piece, and began wrapping it around her head, firm and tight to keep pressure on the wound.

"She’s gonna hate me for tearing her clothes," Liam said quietly, trying to force a grin that didn’t quite land.

Marcus knelt beside him and helped with the knot, tugging it snug. "She can kick our asses later. Right now, we keep her breathing."

When the makeshift bandage was done, Marcus leaned forward, hooked one arm under her knees and another behind her back, then lifted her carefully. He grunted at the weight, adjusting her over his back like a pack.

"I’ve got her," he said through gritted teeth.

Liam nodded, stood, and grabbed the torch. The flame burned low, but it was enough to light their way. The shadows pulled back, just barely, revealing the rest of the chamber. The first door they’d come through remained behind them—shut tight. The other door stood directly ahead, thick and wooden, reinforced with blackened iron at the edges.

"Second door," Liam said, voice low. "Let’s hope it leads somewhere better."

He stepped toward it, drawing his sword in one hand. The metal shimmered faintly in the torchlight.

Marcus adjusted Mariel again on his back. "Use the skill. Don’t waste time."

Liam gave a tight nod.

He exhaled slowly, then focused.

The sword in his hand flickered—once, twice—then burst into flames along the blade. Blazing Sword.

The fire roared along the steel, crackling with heat. The glow bathed the room in amber, casting Liam’s face in sharp, burning light. He raised the weapon and pressed it against the wooden door.

The fire hissed on contact, smoke curling around the edges.

Liam pushed harder, the tip of the blade driving into the wood with a sizzling hiss.

The wood groaned.

They waited—hearts pounding—hoping this was the way forward.

Hoping the others were still alive.