Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 87: Cruel Selection

Eleanor stared at the stone in her hand, unable to breathe. Her fingers refused to unclench, but the color was already visible to everyone watching. Black. Pitch black. The color of doom.

The gasps began as a low ripple—first from the strangers, then from her own group, and finally from the natives who erupted into triumphant chants and thunderous stomping, their blood-slick feet pounding the earth with anticipation. The drums increased, both in volume and speed, like a heartbeat reaching its peak before stopping altogether.

Liam’s mouth went dry. His heart plummeted to his stomach as he took a step forward instinctively, only to feel a spear’s tip press against his chest, halting him.

"No..." he whispered. "No, no, no..."

Eleanor didn’t say a word. She didn’t scream like the others. Her arm trembled, but her face stayed blank—a soldier’s face. She looked down at the stone again, as if hoping she’d seen wrong. But the truth was etched deep in its onyx surface, as final as a blade to the throat.

Marcus let out a harsh breath, slamming his fist against the ground in fury. Jason was muttering, pacing back and forth, rubbing his temples. Sera covered her mouth, barely holding back a sob.

Von just lowered his head. "Damn it..."

Just then, more commotion came from the far side of the shrine. The crowd parted slightly, creating a path. Two figures were being led forward—women, half-dressed in rough, leafy garments that barely clung to their skin, with smears of white paint marking their faces, necks, arms, and legs. Symbols of purity. Or sacrifice.

Mariel and Sophia.

Mariel’s long hair was a tangled mess, falling around her face in chaotic curls, and her eyes were red—she had been crying. She was sobbing still, but quietly, as if her voice had gone hoarse from too much screaming. Her arms were bound loosely in front of her with vine rope, but it was the brokenness in her expression that said everything.

Sophia walked beside her, eyes blank, face painted in defiance and despair. She didn’t look afraid—but that was Sophia. Still, her hands shook where they were tied. Her mouth pressed into a thin line as she stared straight ahead, ignoring the howls and chants of the jungle natives.

They were placed on a raised platform to the left of the sacrificial altar. Set apart, but not spared.

Liam felt a fresh wave of helplessness wash over him. Seeing both of them like that—dressed like ceremonial offerings, paraded like prizes or lambs—boiled something deep inside him. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists till his knuckles turned white.

Sophia finally saw them—her group. Her friends. Her eyes locked with Liam’s across the shrine clearing. Her face twitched, just slightly, like it pained her to look at him. But she held his gaze.

Mariel, shaking, tried to move toward them but was forced back down by one of the guards. She fell to her knees, crying openly now. Her voice cracked as she muttered, "Eleanor... no... please, not her..."

Eleanor turned her head slowly, the black stone still in her palm. When she saw Mariel and Sophia, her lips parted—but no words came. Her shoulders fell just slightly, as if the full weight of what was happening had finally settled.

The chants continued. The drums rolled. Somewhere in the jungle, the sky was darkening.

They had drawn their fate. And the gods, it seemed, had chosen.

After the shattering silence that followed Eleanor’s doomed draw, the ritual resumed with a new layer of dread hanging in the air. The drums never stopped—deep, guttural beats echoing through the jungle like a heartbeat of something ancient and cruel. The natives—bare-chested, their skin painted with blood and ash, their dreadlocked hair tied with bones—circled around like vultures, whispering chants that didn’t need to be understood to be terrifying.

Threk was the first among Liam’s group to step forward after Eleanor. His broad shoulders twitched with tension as he walked to the stone sack, glancing once at Von, then down at the earth. His hand dipped in. There was a moment of pause—fingers brushing over the stones—then he pulled one out and opened his palm.

Black.

He didn’t react at first. Just stared at it. His thick jaw clenched, and his brow furrowed. No scream. No curse. Just resignation.

"Damn it..." Von muttered, low and hoarse. "That’s three"

The natives roared in excitement again. Three black stones. Three offerings.

Next was Von himself. His face was hard, carved in fury and control. He stepped up with steady steps, shoved his hand into the sack, and yanked out a stone without hesitation.

White.

He held it up immediately for all to see, his eyes blazing as if daring anyone to challenge it. The natives jeered but allowed him to step back.

Jason was next. His hands were trembling slightly, but he tried to mask it with a scoff. "Well, hell. Might as well get this over with." He stepped up, dipped his hand into the sack with a shaky breath, and pulled one out.

White.

Jason released a deep breath of relief. "Damn... okay... okay..."

Sera came next. Her eyes were wide with fear, and tears glimmered at the corners, but she was silent. Marcus gave her a small nod from behind, urging her forward. She walked up like someone heading to execution, her fingers trembling as she reached in.

She hesitated. Then pulled.

White.

She gasped, staggered a little, and turned to rush back into Marcus’s arms. He held her, grunting softly. "Good. That’s good, Sera."

Borik approached next. The dwarf muttered something gruff under his breath, something like a prayer or a curse—no one could tell. "Let’s just get this cursed thing done with," he growled and shoved his stubby hand into the sack.

He yanked it out.

White.

He smirked and held the stone high. "Ha! Not today, you bone-wearing bastards!"

The natives didn’t seem pleased by his taunt, but they didn’t retaliate either.

Next came Gorr. Silent and steady, he walked like a man who had faced worse odds. He reached in, pulled out his stone, and opened his large palm.

White.

He gave a single nod to Threk, who remained off to the side, stone still in hand. Their eyes met. Something passed between them—brotherhood, maybe. Loyalty.

Then... it was Liam’s turn.

Everything went quiet for him. He heard the drums, the murmurs, the sniffles, and even the distant calls of jungle creatures—but all of it felt far away, like it came from another world.

Mariel was still on her knees, watching him with wide, pleading eyes. Sophia sat beside her, silent, her face unreadable now.

Eleanor stood with her arms slightly raised, as if still unsure whether to resist or not. Her black stone still pressed into her palm like it had fused there.

Liam stepped forward slowly. He could feel every eye on him—his friends, the strangers, the natives. Even the painted masks hanging from the trees seemed to watch him.

He reached the sack.

Paused.

Breathed in.

Then he dipped his hand in.