Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 130: We can’t hurt Sophia

The room had grown too quiet. Gorr’s body lay still on the cold, hard floor, a warrior in repose. His face, though pale and empty, held no fear. There was peace in the lines of it—an ending accepted, not resisted. The blood had stopped pouring from his neck, but its thick pool darkened the floor around him like a shadow refusing to lift.

Liam sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn slightly up, sword resting across his lap. His breathing was low, steady, but his jaw was tight, clenched in a way that showed the storm brewing just beneath. Across from him, Marcus stood, hands clasped before him, his head bowed.

He muttered softly.

"Spirit of the his gods... take him fast. Let him walk among warriors. Let Threk greet him with laughter, not silence. Let his soul not wander."

Jason said nothing. He hadn’t spoken a word since Gorr’s final breath. He simply sat beside the lifeless body, his back straight, lips pressed into a line. His hand still rested lightly on Gorr’s shoulder, as if refusing to believe the warmth had already gone.

The firelight from the torches flickered, casting shadows that danced over the blood-streaked stone walls. The air smelled of iron and ash, and something deeper—grief.

Marcus finally broke the silence, voice gravelly. "He knew he was dying. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t cry. Bastard faced it like it was just another fight."

Jason nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the body. "He called me strong... for not killing him earlier."

"You are strong," Liam said quietly, not looking up. "You made the right call."

Jason scoffed under his breath. "Did I? He’s dead now either way."

Liam glanced at him. "He died fighting beside brothers, not from betrayal. That matters."

Another silence fell. No one moved.

Then Marcus straightened, rubbing a hand roughly through his beard. "We can’t stay here."

"I know," Liam said, standing up slowly. He walked to the wall and leaned against it. "But the next step... that’s the problem."

Jason rose, brushing blood from his knees, and turned to face them both. "How do we kill a spirit that jumps from body to body... a thing we can’t even hit without hurting the person it’s inside?"

Marcus grunted. "We don’t even know if it can be killed."

Liam turned toward them, eyes hard. "Everything can be killed."

"But not without cost," Jason said, glancing down at Gorr’s body. "Not without losing someone."

"We already have lost someone," Liam replied, voice tight. "And we’re going to lose more unless we end this."

Marcus folded his arms. "Alright, so let’s think like soldiers. What do we know?"

Liam nodded. "We know the spirit was in Sera first. Then it moved to Sophia. It only left Sera after she got exhausted."

Jason perked up. "So it doesn’t stay in damaged vessels. Maybe it needs them intact and strong to function properly."

"That’s possible," Liam said. "But if hurting or exhausting the host is what forces it out... then we hurt host...but we can’t hurt Sophia."

Marcus shook his head sharply. "That’s off the table."

"Agreed," Jason added. "We’re not sacrificing her to stop this thing."

Liam exhaled slowly. "Then we need another option. Maybe... maybe there’s a way to trap it. Bind it. Keep it from leaving one body and jumping to another."

"Like a magic seal or something?" Marcus asked.

"We’re not mages," Jason cut in. "And we don’t have a sorcerer down here with us."

Liam frowned. "Then maybe... maybe there’s something in the palace. The spirit came from here, right? Maybe this place holds whatever bound it before."

Marcus paced the floor, arms crossed. "We can’t just start checking random rooms while it’s still out there, Liam. Possessed. Invisible. Moving faster than we can blink. One mistake and that’s it—we lose Sophia too."

Jason spoke quietly, almost to himself. "And we still don’t know if she’s in there. I mean... her soul. Is she still aware? Or did the spirit burn her out?"

They all fell silent again.

Liam looked at the floor, eyes heavy. "I think she’s still there. She has to be."

Marcus looked at him. "You sure about that?"

"No," Liam admitted. "But I have to believe it. She fought it. I saw it in her eyes—when it took over. There was a moment. A flicker. She was still trying."

Jason walked over and picked up a torn piece of cloth. "If she’s still inside, then hurting her too badly could... kill her. Even if it drives the spirit out."

Marcus nodded grimly. "Which brings us back to square one."

They all looked at each other. Exhausted. Bloodied. Sobered by the loss, by the weight of their next decisions.

Jason finally sank back to the ground. "We need a way to separate them. Get the spirit out of her without harming her. Something that attacks it, not her."

Liam turned his gaze to the flickering torchlight. "Then we need to learn what it is. Where it came from. What it’s bound to. Everything."

Jason looked over. "You think it’s bound to something in this palace?"

"It has to be," Liam said. "Everything about this place... it’s wrong. Cursed. There’s something ancient here. Something older than us, older than these walls."

Marcus muttered, "Great. Now we just have to find the spirit’s ancient source while it floats around wearing our friend’s skin and trying to kill us."

Jason chuckled grimly. "Sounds easy enough."

Liam didn’t smile. He stared at the floor, jaw set.

"We’ll find a way," he said at last. "We have to. We’re not losing anyone else."

The three of them sat there in the heavy silence. Around them, the torches crackled. Somewhere deep in the halls, wind howled through cracks in the stone. The palace groaned like it was alive, aware.

Outside that room, a possessed monster still hunted them—wearing the face of the girl Liam cared about.

And they still had no plan.

Liam stood up quietly from where he sat, brushing the dust and dried blood from his trousers. He turned toward the corner of the room where Mariel lay. Her form was still, barely moving under the dim glow of the flickering torchlight. He crouched beside her and gently brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. Her skin was cold, clammy, but not lifeless. Her chest rose—slow, shallow breaths—barely enough to notice unless you were looking closely.

She was alive. But only just.

He reached out and lightly placed two fingers against the bandage he’d tied earlier. The cloth was damp with blood, but not soaking. That was good. The bleeding had slowed. Still, he didn’t know if it was because the wound was healing... or because she was slipping further away.

He let out a breath through his nose and sat beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just watched her.

His mind drifted back to the Captain Ander and his hand on his shoulder.

"You keep her safe," Ander had said.

Liam had nodded then, proud, certain. He’d believed he could do it. That somehow, by strength or courage or sheer will, he could protect her from anything.

But now?

Now they were trapped in a cursed palace, hunted by a spirit that wore their friends like skins, watched one of their own bleed out in his arms, and Mariel... Mariel was lying broken on a stone floor, her breath soft and fragile as paper, and Liam had nothing left to give her. No medicine. No healer. Not even words.

He clenched his fists.

"This isn’t safe," he muttered under his breath. "This is nowhere close to safe..."

His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard.

"I’m sorry, Captain," he whispered, more to himself than anyone. "I’m trying. I swear I’m trying."

But deep down, Liam knew that trying might not be enough anymore.

He glanced back at Marcus and Jason, both silent, both staring at the ground. Everyone was running on empty now—exhausted, broken, and trapped with no way out.

And outside that door, the thing wearing Sophia was still waiting.

He looked back at Mariel, brushing her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers.

"Just hold on a little longer," he murmured. "Please... just hold on."

And then he leaned back against the wall beside her, sword across his lap, eyes staring into the dark.

Waiting. Thinking. Dreading what came next.