Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 187: Family Bond

The first thing Liam felt was cold. Extreme cold.

Not the kind that stung the skin or curled the fingers—but the kind that came from the inside, that spread like a black tide through bone and marrow. It started in his chest, right behind the heart, a pressure like something ancient cracking open.

Then came the weight.

Like a mountain pressing down on him from every direction, grinding his muscles against his bones. His legs buckled, and he dropped to one knee, teeth clenched so hard his jaw began to tremble. The sword in his hand trembled too, the steel whining under the strain of his grip.

Anna wasn’t lying.

Her power—whatever it was—didn’t belong in this world. It surged through him like floodwaters breaking through rotten wood. His spine arched, ribs strained, and for a moment, he thought his heart might rupture. His eyes rolled back, and the darkness inside his skull pulsed with images—images not his own.

Skeletal gates of stone. A vast ocean of black. Moaning winds that never ceased. A throne of ash beneath a pale sky.

The underworld.

Her home.

And now it was bleeding into him.

A scream built in his throat but never left. His body convulsed once—violently—then went still.

Then... he rose.

Liam stood slowly, like something no longer human. His breath steamed out in long hisses, and his eyes—still his—now held a quiet, terrible clarity. The blood from his wounds no longer flowed. His veins shimmered faintly with a dark blue light. And when he looked toward the king, there was no longer fear or doubt.

Only purpose.

The king, standing yards away, lowered his sword slightly. His eyes—those pits of ancient fire—narrowed.

He felt it.

The shift.

The power.

"Undead," the king muttered, tilting his head ever so slightly. "What have you done, boy?"

Liam didn’t answer. The wind whipped around him, but he remained motionless—his figure dark and still like a statue carved for war.

Then he moved.

Fast.

So fast the ground cracked where he stood.

The king barely blocked the first strike. Their blades clashed with a sound like thunder, sparks hissing into the air. Liam pressed in, a flurry of strikes too sharp, too sudden to follow. For every slash the king parried, another came from a different angle—precise, relentless, unyielding.

Anna was in every movement.

She was guiding him.

Pushing him.

Fueling him.

But the king was no ordinary opponent. He was old. So old that time had become a tool in his hands. Even with Anna’s full strength, even with Liam’s enhanced reflexes and the fury of the undead pouring through his limbs... it was still not enough.

The king moved like flowing iron. Every step he took carried weight beyond comprehension. His counterstrikes tore chunks from the ground. When he swung his blade, the air itself cracked, splitting with pressure.

Still, Liam matched him.

The two danced through the chamber—locked in a battle no mortal man could follow. Their swords blurred. Their feet left trails of destruction. The cold stones crumbled in their wake, and ancient runes flared to life on the walls, reacting to the magnitude of power now unleashed.

The queen, barely able to sit upright after the king’s earlier assault, watched from where she lay on the cold stone. Blood dripped from her mouth, but her eyes—those pale, glowing eyes—remained wide with awe and horror.

She could see it.

The king still held the advantage.

Yes, Liam was faster now. Stronger. But he lacked the centuries of technique, the endless pool of dark energy the king could draw from. He was a candle in a hurricane—burning bright, but far too close to being snuffed out.

The king struck again, this time with such force that Liam was thrown backwards, crashing through a stone pillar. Dust billowed into the air, swallowing him whole.

Silence.

Then Liam stepped out—bruised, bleeding again, sword still in hand.

The king scowled. His patience was wearing thin.

"Even with the girl inside you," he spat, "you’re still just flesh. You bleed. You tire. You break."

Liam said nothing.

He just raised his sword again.

And charged.

Their blades met once more, and the war resumed—each strike shaking the very air, each moment a heartbeat away from collapse. The chamber around them wept dust and stone. The boundary between life and death thinned with every passing second.

The king still had the edge.

But it was no longer a victory earned with ease.

Liam moved again, sword slicing through the haze like a whisper of vengeance, and the king barely stepped aside in time. The steel caught his robe, ripping the fabric and grazing the skin beneath. It wasn’t deep. Not yet. But the king felt it.

He blinked.

His eyes narrowed.

There it was again—that sharpness. That defiance. That... purity.

He had faced warriors before. Thousands. He had killed many in battles. But this... this was different.

This was blood.

And not just blood—but a bond so deep, so raw, so unshakable that it twisted the very laws of death and spirit. Two souls sharing one vessel. Brother and sister. Flesh woven with love, sacrifice, memory. He could feel it radiating off Liam like a heat that wouldn’t die—no matter how cold.

Liam forced him back with another swing.

The king snarled and blocked, but stumbled a half-step—just enough to feel the sting of something he hadn’t felt in eons.

Doubt.

Liam advanced, sweat pouring, chest heaving. Every strike now had a purpose. Every movement was refined, sharpened by Anna’s control and Liam’s rage. He wasn’t just fighting with muscle anymore. There was a rhythm. A unity. The kind that only siblings who had once shared their earliest laughter and their deepest tears could understand.

"You see it now," Anna whispered inside Liam’s mind.

The king did.

He truly did.

He leapt backward, gaining ground, raising one hand to slow time around them—just enough to breathe. His chest rose. Then fell. And for the first time since this began, his lips trembled with a quiet, ancient fury.

"Two," he whispered aloud, voice jagged. "Not one."

He understood now.

He wasn’t fighting a boy.

He wasn’t even fighting a girl.

He was fighting the purest magic of all.

Family.

Not the kind bought through vows or conquest—but blood-born, grief-forged, and soul-bound. A kind of bond that the underworld itself could not sever. Not even death could keep these two apart. Anna had seen Liam’s sacrifice, and now she gave herself back—completely, fully, without hesitation.

And he hated it.

He hated them.

He raised his hand toward the heavens and howled—not in pain, but in rage.

The walls of the tomb trembled.

A cold fire erupted from his skin, dancing along his limbs, crackling in the air like lightning too slow to fall. His eyes pulsed red, then deeper, into the black void of the cosmos beyond the stars. His back arched, his voice turning guttural, ancient syllables flowing like molten stone from his throat.

He would not hold back anymore.

"Enough," he roared. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

The chamber darkened. The air became thicker, like breathing through smoke and sorrow. From the earth rose hands—specters of the past, wailing, their faces twisted in agony. Souls, broken and fragmented, began to pour out through his mouth and eyes, swirling above him like a storm.

He was done with restraint.

He would crush them.

Even if it shattered time.

Even if it tore the earth from beneath them.

Even if it cost the last fragment of what he once was.

Because now, he wasn’t fighting to rule...he was fighting for survival....They were both fighting for survival.

And nothing was more dangerous than that.