Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 74: You’ve Made me like you

With the battle over, the sound of clashing steel and screaming pirates gave way to the low groans of the wounded, the creak of the Sea Phantom’s bruised timbers, and the heavy breath of survivors. The Ocean was strangely calm in contrast, its dark surface reflecting the smoke drifting from the half-sunken Leviathan’s Howl, now a cracked and crumbling hulk leaning violently to one side in the distance.

The remaining pirates—those lucky enough not to have been cleaved, crushed, or drowned—were now lined up on their knees, their weapons tossed overboard, hands bound behind their backs. Their heads hung low in submission, bloodied and defeated, no longer the savage beasts who’d gleefully tormented the crew moments ago. Some whimpered. Others stared blankly, eyes sunken in the aftermath of terror.

But Droskyn was singled out for something far worse.

Captain Ander, despite the bruises swelling one side of his face and the dried blood caked into his beard, had ordered three of his strongest crewmen to seize the fallen pirate lord. And they did—without hesitation. Droskyn had been dazed after the strike to his head, blood still trickling from the gash near his temple. He’d tried to bark threats when they grabbed him, but his voice was weak, slurred, and no one was listening anymore.

The crewmen dragged him roughly to the main mast and tied him there—arms spread and suspended, his feet barely touching the deck. The ropes bit into his wrists, stretching his limbs wide, forcing his chest out, and leaving him completely exposed and powerless. The Ocean breeze hit the sweat on his face, mingling with blood and grime. He spat at the deck, tried to curse, but his voice broke into a cough.

Ander stood watching, holding his side where a deep bruise darkened his tunic. His one eye stared at Droskyn with a coldness that hadn’t been there before the battle. There was no pity. No mercy. Just righteous, burning hate.

Then Mariel stepped forward.

Her long brown hair was matted with sweat and her face still bore the tear stains from the terror she’d endured. But her eyes—those soft eyes—had changed. Now they were full of fury.

She walked up to the suspended Droskyn slowly, her boots tapping with purpose. The crew gave her space without a word. Even Von stepped aside. And Droskyn, in his bound state, managed to lift his head to look at her. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

"You filthy little brat," he croaked, forcing a sneer despite the blood on his teeth. "You think this is over?"

Mariel didn’t answer. She stared him dead in the eyes, then spat directly into his face, the saliva hitting him square in the cheek and running down toward his lips.

Droskyn growled low, but she cut him off by delivering a vicious kick—hard and direct—between his legs, just under his torn trousers. The impact made a sickening thud.

Droskyn howled in pain, jerking against the ropes, his legs folding under him though he couldn’t fall. His entire body twitched violently as he whimpered like a wounded dog.

"That’s for licking me," Mariel hissed, her voice shaking from rage, not fear.

Captain Ander didn’t say a word. He just nodded once to her—quiet, solemn approval.

---

Off to the side, Eleanor and Sera had already gotten to work. The deck was slick with blood, but they had commandeered a few barrels and crates and created a makeshift infirmary where the wounded were gathered.

Eleanor’s hands moved deftly, wrapping cloth around the arm of a sailor who’d been slashed across the bicep. Her expression was calm but tight, every so often glancing at the more severely wounded with clenched teeth. Sera, though far less experienced, did what she could—fetching water, tearing strips of cloth, trying not to cry at the sight of so many wounded men groaning in pain.

"I need more clean rags," Eleanor said quickly. "And a needle. We’ve got some wounds that won’t close without it."

Sera nodded and rushed off.

Elsewhere, in the shadow of the tattered sails, Liam sat quietly on an overturned barrel, resting his sword across his lap. His clothes were soaked and still clung to him from the swim, dirtied with blood that wasn’t entirely his own. His hair dripped water, and a fresh cut traced a thin line across his cheek, but it wasn’t the pain that made his expression so heavy—it was the weight of what they’d just survived.

He looked at his hands, stained with blood and sweat, and exhaled.

"Damn," he muttered. "How close did we come to dying...?"

No one answered immediately, but Jason walked over, wiping blood from a small cut on his brow, and sat next to him with a tired grunt.

"You tell me," Jason said. "You’re the one who blew half a pirate ship into the abyss."

Liam gave a half-smile, but his eyes still carried that distant look. "I was too late. Should’ve acted sooner."

"Shut up," came Marcus’s voice from behind.

Liam turned to see Marcus limping slightly, dragging his battle-worn axe along the deck. He stopped just a few feet away, eyes gleaming with battle-high energy.

"You showed up when it counted most," Marcus said firmly. "That explosion? That timing? Couldn’t have been better. You saved our asses."

Jason nodded. "And gave me the window I needed to break free. Hell, we’d all probably still be kneeling there if not for that stunt."

Liam chuckled under his breath, finally relaxing a bit. "Just figured I’d set something on fire and see what happened."

Marcus grinned. "Classic Liam."

"Reckless as always," Jason added, bumping Liam lightly on the shoulder. "But you’ve got style."

They all shared a laugh—tired, worn down, but alive. And that was enough for now.

_____

Captain Ander stood in front of Droskyn, his breath shallow and labored, but there was no doubt in his eyes. This was a man who had seen too many battles, too many deaths, and today, his crew had come out on top. But Droskyn’s cruelty would not go unpunished.

Ander’s boots echoed on the bloodied deck as he walked to the edge of the ship, looking out over the darkening ocean. The wind had picked up, salt spray biting at his face, but it did little to ease the storm brewing within him. His crew had suffered enough, and Droskyn had caused far too much damage, both to them and to innocent lives. This pirate had to feel the weight of his actions.

With a grim nod, Ander turned toward Droskyn, his expression set in stone. "Make him feel it," he muttered, his voice cold and devoid of mercy.

Without hesitation, three of Ander’s men approached Droskyn, each carrying a thick, heavy whip. The sound of their boots tapping against the deck was the last thing the pirate lord heard before the first crack of the whip split the air. The sound was sharp and cruel, a biting lash against Droskyn’s exposed back. He jerked as the leather made contact, a grunt escaping his lips, but it wasn’t enough to break him—at least, not yet.

Another crack. And then another.

The pirates had been whipped before—many times—but it was different when it was for punishment. Droskyn’s eyes flickered with rage, but his body trembled as the pain seared through him. He clenched his teeth, refusing to give in, but the sound of the whipping echoed like a chorus of justice around the ship. The crew, witnessing this punishment, felt a bitter satisfaction rise within them. They had been humiliated, beaten, but now it was Droskyn’s turn to feel the weight of his sins.

Ander’s hands were steady as he stepped closer to Droskyn. The pirate lord, still groaning in pain, tried to turn his head, but the ropes held him firm.

"You think this is enough, Captain?" Droskyn spat, his words laced with venom. "You think this will change anything?"

Ander didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached down and pulled Droskyn’s shotgun from its resting place near his feet. The weapon was cold and metallic, its heft in Ander’s hands a reminder of the destruction Droskyn had wreaked. He examined it carefully for a moment, the weight of what was coming pressing down on him.

"This ends now," Ander said quietly.

He held the shotgun up and aimed it at Droskyn’s chest, taking a long breath. The pirate lord’s expression faltered, his lips curling into a weak grin.

"You won’t do it," Droskyn said, his voice more wheezy now, the defiance fading into desperation. "You’re not like me."

Ander’s finger tightened on the trigger, his eyes narrowing. "You’ve made me like you, Droskyn."

He fired.

The shot rang out in the night air, the deafening boom of the shotgun shaking the very hull of the Sea Phantom. The blast tore into Droskyn’s chest with ruthless force, sending a violent spray of blood across the deck. The pirate lord screamed in agony, his body jerking violently as the force of the blast knocked him off balance. His body hung limply from the ropes now, blood dripping steadily from the wound, staining the floor beneath him.

For a moment, there was silence—a heavy, oppressive silence that settled over the crew, the only sound the faint rush of the Ocean against the hull. Droskyn’s breathing was ragged, shallow, as though the air itself had been stolen from him.

The crew watched, some with grim satisfaction, others with relief. No one spoke. There were no cheers, no loud expressions of triumph. The pain was still fresh, the wounds still raw, and even with Droskyn’s downfall, the battle had cost them dearly.

But Ander—Captain Ander—did not look away. His expression remained as cold and unforgiving as the Ocean that stretched out before them. He was not a man of unnecessary violence, but the pirates had crossed a line that no one should ever dare to cross again.

"You’ve made your last mistake, Droskyn," Ander said, his voice low but filled with finality.

The pirate lord hung lifeless, the ropes holding him up now the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor. His body swayed gently with the rocking of the Sea Phantom, the blood still dripping from his wounds, a stark reminder of what had been done.

Ander turned away without a second glance. His men—his crew—stood in silent agreement, each of them aware that, for now, the battle was won.