Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 132: Cowardly Leech

The air in the room had gone still, save for the faint crackling of Von’s torch, which he had placed against the wall beside him. Its dim orange glow danced on the cold stone and cast long, crooked shadows behind the two figures seated against the far wall. Von sat with his back to the stones, legs stretched out, one hand resting near his club, and the other on his knee. His chest rose and fell, slower now, as the urgency of moments before began to settle into something heavier—something wearier.

Borik lay beside him, propped on a pile of old cloths Von had found in a corner—likely remnants from whoever had used this chamber long ago. His skin was pale, but not deathly anymore. The angry wound along his ribs, once an open mess of torn flesh and drying blood, was now sealed with a blackened crust. The heat from Borik’s axe had done its job. It had been brutal, painful beyond belief. Borik had screamed when Von pressed the glowing blade to his side, and the sound still echoed in Von’s ears like a ghost refusing to fade. But the wound was no longer seeping, and most importantly, it wasn’t showing signs of infection. That was the part Von had feared most—an infection in this place, with no medicine, no herbs, nothing but stone and fire, was a death sentence.

Borik stirred slightly. He hadn’t said much since Von had treated him—just a grunt here, a wince there—but now, as he shifted, a soft breath escaped his lips. Von looked down. Borik’s eyes were closed, his chest rising with the kind of slow rhythm that meant rest, not weakness. He was breathing easier.

Von exhaled, finally allowing his body to sag. His shoulders dropped. His muscles loosened, and for the first time since they’d been separated from the others, he let himself lean back fully against the wall.

There was no telling how much time had passed since the spirit had attacked. No windows. No sun or moon. Just darkness and fire. The events blurred together in Von’s head—running, fighting, the smell of burning flesh.

He rubbed a hand across his face. Sweat mixed with grime streaked down his cheek. He hadn’t even realized how dirty he was. His fingers came away stained and sticky. He took a long breath, drawing in the dry air through his nose and letting it fill his lungs before pushing it out again.

Von looked over again, taking in the dwarf’s chest rising and falling in that steady rhythm. He reached out and adjusted the cloth he’d used as a makeshift pillow, stuffing it back under Borik’s neck so his head wouldn’t hang at a strange angle. The dwarf stirred a little, let out a low, gruff sound, but didn’t wake. That was fine. He needed the sleep. Needed the rest.

"Damn fool," Von muttered, not really in anger. "You really had me worried, Borik."

He sat back again, leaned his head against the wall, let his eyes flutter shut — but not all the way. He wasn’t stupid enough to fall completely asleep. Not in this place.

He thought about the others — Liam, Marcus, Jason... Sophia. The priest’s chamber had scattered them all. For all he knew, the rest were already dead or worse. But that kind of thinking was poison. He shook it off.

No, they were alive. He had to believe that. They had to be.

Borik stirred again, groaning low as he shifted slightly, blinking one eye open.

"Hey," Von said quietly, scooting over. "Still with me?"

Borik’s voice was a hoarse whisper. "That... smell. That better not be my shoulder cooking."

Von gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Smells like boar meat to me. Maybe a little overdone."

Borik tried to smile, but it turned into a wince. "Feels like you seared my whole arm off."

Von sat back down beside him and offered the waterskin. "Drink. Just a little."

Borik sipped, coughed, but nodded. "You did good, Von."

"You would’ve done the same."

Borik grunted, but didn’t answer. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes again.

Von didn’t say anything more. Just sat beside him, eyes on the dark archway, hand resting near the axe — just in case.

There were worse things than wounds in this place. And he had a feeling they hadn’t seen the last of them yet. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

But for now, just for a little while, he’d rest. Just enough to be ready.

Von had almost drifted off. His body was at its limit — muscles tight with exhaustion, eyelids drooping with every second that passed in that cramped, low-ceilinged room. Beside him, Borik had slipped into a deeper, steadier sleep. The slow rhythm of his breath was the only comfort Von had in the cold silence. The air was heavy with the stench of dried blood, burned flesh, and sweat-soaked cloth. But it was still, and in this cursed palace, stillness was the rarest kind of peace.

And then, that peace shattered.

It was a faint sound at first — like the softest tap of footsteps against stone. Too soft, too measured to be random. Von’s eyes snapped open. His instincts screamed at him before his mind caught up. Something was wrong. He reached for the club before he even looked toward the hallway.

A shadow flickered past the arch.

He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He stared at that opening, heart thudding in his chest. Then she stepped in —quiet as a ghost.

Sophia.

But it wasn’t her.

Von rose slowly, towering to his full height, hand wrapping around the thick haft of his iron club. With his other hand, he reached behind him and grabbed Borik’s axe — still bloodstained, half-charred from earlier. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let Borik face whatever this was. Not in his state.

Sophia walked into the room like she owned it. Or rather, like something inside her owned everything.

Von stiffened. His jaw tightened.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

The thing inside her smiled — no warmth in it, just a slow curling of her lips like a predator savoring the moment before a kill.

"What do you want?" Von growled, stepping in front of Borik protectively. His grip on the club tightened, his knuckles white.

Sophia — or whatever wore her skin now — tilted her head slowly, almost curiously, and took another step forward.

"Back up," Von said, louder this time. "You don’t belong here."

She didn’t answer. Her mouth opened like she might speak, but all that came out was a low, wet laugh. A sound too deep for her throat. Too twisted.

"Son of a bitch," he spat, voice shaking with rage. "You slimy, cowardly leech."

Sophia — the spirit — kept walking. Slow. Measured. Playful.

"You crawl into her ’cause you’re too damn weak to face us with your own form," Von said, backing up slightly. "You picked her ’cause you think we won’t hit her. You think we’ll hesitate."

"You’re wrong," he said, voice low and steady. "You come any closer, I swear to every god and ghost in this place, I’ll break your damn spine."

Sophia’s face twitched. Not in fear — in amusement. That horrible, crooked smile twisted deeper, and she stopped, just a few feet away.

Von didn’t wait to see what it would do next.

He roared and lifted the club with both hands — not to strike, not yet, but to warn. To say without question: I will fight you.

"Come on then," he said through gritted teeth, sweat dripping down his brow. "Come for me. Possess me. Try. I ain’t running. I ain’t begging. I’ll die standing if I have to."

The room went still again. The tension stretched like a drawn bowstring, ready to snap.

But the spirit didn’t attack. Not yet. It just stared at him, as if trying to decide what game to play next.

Von held his ground, heart pounding, refusing to show fear. Not for himself. Not for Borik. Not for Sophia.

Not now.