Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 126: Fighting the spirit

Back to Jason and Gorr.....The silence in the room was suffocating.

Jason sat with his back against the cold stone wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent, arm draped across it as he stared blankly at the flickering torchlight on the far end of the room. Across from him, just a few feet away, Gorr sat hunched over with his arms resting on his knees, head tilted slightly forward, breathing slow and steady.

Neither of them spoke.

The tension had settled like dust—quiet, heavy, impossible to ignore. It clung to their skin. The walls still bore the echo of Sera’s laughter, her voice like a blade slicing through every bit of courage they had mustered. But now, it was gone. And they were left with only each other.

Jason’s fingers twitched against his thigh.

He looked down slowly, barely moving his head, just his eyes.

Tucked inside the sleeve of his arm, just beneath the lining of his leather bracer, was the arrow. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

He could feel it now.

Cold against his skin.

Waiting.

Gorr shifted slightly, muttering something under his breath. Jason’s eyes snapped up, watching him, gauging every breath, every muscle twitch. The man looked tired. Not just physically—but in the eyes. Haunted. Still, he was sharp. Always sharp.

Jason clenched his teeth.

His mind raced, thoughts crawling over each other like ants. Gorr had fought like a beast in every battle.

Jason shifted slightly, hiding the movement with a cough.

His fingers closed around the small arrow inside his sleeve.

It would be fast. A jab to the neck or the thigh. One stab. He wouldn’t even need to pierce deep. Gorr would be down in seconds. Not dead, not yet—but unable to fight back.

Jason’s heart pounded louder.

He could almost hear it in his ears.

But still, he hesitated.

Gorr hadn’t moved. Just sat there, staring at the floor, fists resting on his knees. His breathing steady. His silhouette hunched in the torchlight, quiet... almost calm.

Jason looked at his face—scarred, worn, tired. For a moment, he saw something else. Not a monster. Not a threat.

Just a man.

A broken man who’d lost too much.

Jason swallowed hard, his thumb brushing along the shaft of the arrow.

He didn’t know if it was fear... or guilt... that was stopping him.

But the thought kept creeping back in.

He’s too dangerous.

And if Gorr sensed it... if he turned first...

Jason wouldn’t get a second chance.

His grip tightened.

He looked at the side of Gorr’s neck.

The muscle.

The artery.

Still.

Silent.

Jason inhaled slowly... and didn’t move.

Not yet.

______

The sword sizzled as it sank deeper into the wood, flames licking along the grain as Liam pushed with all his weight. The heat radiated in waves, sweat already dripping down his brow. The thick wooden door, reinforced with iron bands, groaned under the assault, but it was giving—slowly, inch by inch.

Marcus stood behind him, his breath heavy, arms wrapped tight around Mariel’s limp form. Her head lolled against his back as he tried to keep her still, his jaw clenched with effort and worry. The torchlight danced in the room, casting shadows that twitched with every flicker of flame.

Then—

A laugh.

Not just a laugh.

A sickening, shrill, maniacal laugh that seemed to crawl out of the walls.

Both men froze.

Liam’s sword paused mid-burn, the fire still roaring along its blade, but his muscles went stiff.

Marcus turned slowly, his spine locking up.

The torchlight flickered again—harder this time—and from the far end of the chamber, near the stone pillar where they’d first entered, a figure appeared through the smoke and wavering light.

It was Sophia.

But it wasn’t Sophia.

She stood with her feet floating inches above the ground, head tilted just a bit too far to the side, as though her neck were no longer bound by flesh and bone. Her hair hung in loose, tangled curls, drifting unnaturally in the still air. Her eyes—those once bright, sharp, calculating eyes—were now void. Hollow. Pure black, like pits bored straight into nothing.

And her smile...

That damn smile stretched too wide. Too calm. Too pleased.

"Liam," she cooed in a voice that wasn’t hers. "Miss me?"

The possessed Sophia twirled the bow lazily in her fingers, the string pulsing with a faint, eerie light. Arrows floated beside her, orbiting in slow, menacing circles as if waiting for a thought, a glance, a whim to be loosed.

Liam took one step back from the door, blade still flaming in his hand, his mind reeling.

"No..." he whispered.

Marcus lowered Mariel—slow, controlled—until she rested gently on the floor. Then he rose, his hand already gripping the handle of his battle axe, knuckles white.

"Shit," he muttered. "She’s gone. The spirit—it’s in her now."

Sophia floated forward another inch, her eyes locked on them, that awful grin splitting her face.

"You boys look surprised," she said, her voice a little too calm, too sweet. "Sera was fun... but this one? Oh... this one’s perfect."

The torchlight dimmed further, as if afraid to stay lit in her presence.

Liam took another step to the side, positioning himself between her and Mariel. His breath was heavy now, not just from effort—but from the gut-wrenching realization that one of their own had been taken.

And not just anyone.

Sophia.

She’d fought beside him. Laughed. Argued. Bled.

And now—her body was being worn like a cloak.

The air thickened as the spirit hovered silently within Sophia’s frame, the faint ripple of unnatural energy pulsing outward with every heartbeat—or whatever replaced a heartbeat in such a creature. Liam steadied his grip on the flaming sword, its fire casting a violent orange hue across the stone walls, while Marcus slowly circled to the left, his axe gleaming under the flickering torchlight.

Then the bow moved.

It wasn’t with Sophia’s usual fluid precision. This was something else—sharp, deliberate, unnatural. The bowstring drew back on its own, creaking, groaning with pressure. But there was no arrow—at least not at first.

Then, with a flash of light, one formed.

It shimmered into existence, a twisting black shaft of what looked like smoke and bone, fused with the hiss of magic. Before either of them could react—

Thwip!

The arrow flew straight at Liam’s chest.

He barely moved fast enough, shifting his weight and swinging the flaming blade across his body. Steel met spirit-forged arrow in a shower of sparks and ash. The arrow shattered into smoke, and the force of it pushed Liam back half a step.

"Hell no," he growled.

Another arrow was already forming.

This one faster. Sharper. It wasn’t even pulled by hand—the spirit did it with thought, the bowstring humming like a living thing.

Thwip!

Liam turned sideways, slashing again. The sword cleaved the air, cutting the arrow mid-flight—but just barely. The shock trembled down his wrist.

Marcus didn’t wait.

With a roar, he charged, axe raised, eyes flashing with restrained fury.

"Get outta her, you freak!"

Possessed Sophia turned without urgency, gliding to the side with an eerie calm, her feet never touching the floor. She raised her hand again—and an arrow formed mid-air without even needing the bow this time.

It blasted toward Marcus’s leg.

He dove, the shaft grazing his thigh, the heat of it singing his pants as he rolled to the side and came up in a crouch. His axe slammed into the stone floor to stop his momentum.

"Shit, she’s fast," he grunted.

The spirit began to float higher, laughing softly. The sound echoed unnaturally, as if it came from the walls themselves. Its smile didn’t falter, and its hollow eyes remained fixated on them with cruel amusement.

"We can’t hurt her," Liam muttered, more to himself than to Marcus. "If we land a real hit—if we actually cut her—"

"We kill her," Marcus finished grimly, sweat running down the side of his face. "And this bitch knows that."

The spirit fired again.

Two arrows, this time—one at Liam, one at Marcus.

They split in the air, perfectly aimed.

Liam twisted, swinging the flaming sword in a spinning arc, slicing his in half. Marcus ducked, the arrow missing his shoulder by inches as it struck the wall and cracked stone.

"We’re not winning this," Marcus spat, crouching low. "Not like this."

The room trembled slightly under the pressure of the spirit’s presence. Dust fell from the ceiling in soft trails. Sophia’s body moved like a puppet now—graceful and wrong. Her arms drifted unnaturally, her neck cocked slightly in a broken-porcelain angle.

Liam tightened his grip.

They needed a plan.

They needed her back.

But for now, all they could do was dodge, block, and not kill her.

And the spirit knew it.

It was playing with them.

And loving every second of it.