Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 90: My Fault

They came for Eleanor, two towering natives with glistening muscles and jagged bone necklaces grabbed her by both arms, their fingers digging into her flesh as they dragged her toward the bloodstained altar. She kicked and twisted, her heels scraping against the stone, her voice hoarse with panic.

"No! Let me go! Don’t touch me!" she screamed, trying to dig her feet into the ground, trying to find anything to grip.

The crowd only grew louder, their chants rising in fevered rhythm with the pounding of the drums. Their painted faces—masked in bone-white streaks and dyed leaves—looked more like demons than people. Eyes wide, mouths open, teeth bared in ritual ecstasy as they prepared to feast again.

Sophia turned her head, unable to bear the sight. Mariel shut her eyes, shaking silently, lips moving in a prayer to gods she wasn’t sure existed.

And Liam—Liam couldn’t take it.

"ELEANOR!!"

His voice tore through the chanting like thunder, raw and full of fury.

Without thinking, without a plan, he lunged forward. Arms bound behind him, blood already dried on his lips from the earlier scuffle, he rammed his shoulder into one of the natives. It did little—but it showed he wasn’t going to just sit and watch someone he cared about be butchered like an animal.

The warriors reacted quickly. Two others moved in, grabbing him roughly, slamming him down hard into the altar steps. One of them kicked him in the stomach, another punched his face, and a third brought the hilt of a club crashing down on his back. He grunted, coughing blood, still trying to crawl toward Eleanor even as they pressed their knees into his spine.

He didn’t care. He had to try.

Von made a move too, staggering up from where he’d been kneeling. "Enough of this!" he shouted, pushing one of the guards aside. But the response was swift. A giant—easily over seven feet tall—stepped forward from the crowd. With a mighty roar, he swung his heavy wooden club down against Von’s head.

The crack was loud and sickening.

Von collapsed immediately—face-first into the dirt, unmoving, blood trickling from beneath his thick black hair. His body twitched once, then went still.

A collective gasp rose from the group.

Sera screamed.

Gorr’s fists clenched but held back, his eyes blazing with helpless rage.

Marcus and Jason looked at one another, their expressions a mix of horror and restraint. They had seen what had happened to Liam and Von—defiance meant immediate punishment or death. They didn’t want to add to the body count.

Eleanor had stopped struggling by then. Her breathing was ragged. Her eyes were locked on Liam, who lay gasping in the dirt with blood on his teeth. Their gazes met for a brief second—and in that look, everything was said.

She was sorry.

He wasn’t giving up.

She was terrified.

He loved her.

But the natives didn’t care. They dragged her the final steps toward the altar, lifting her up onto the cold, blood-slick stone, pinning her down. Her legs kicked once, then went still as one of the priests began to mutter words over her, holding a freshly sharpened blade in the firelight.

Liam’s vision swam. He was barely conscious now.

But his heart still raged.

_______

The air was heavy—thick with the scent of burning oils, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood that clung to the altar stones like a curse. The chanting had softened now, slow and deep, like a lullaby of death, each beat of the drum echoing like a heartbeat before execution.

Eleanor’s breath hitched as the jungle priest, his eyes rolling back into his skull, reached down with one painted hand and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He yanked her head backward, exposing her pale, trembling throat to the sky. She let out a strangled sob, not even trying to resist anymore. Her body trembled from head to toe, tears streaking down her cheeks. The sharp edge of the ritual knife hovered just above her skin, glittering with the fresh blood of those who came before.

Her lips moved, whispering something no one could hear—perhaps a prayer, perhaps a goodbye.

Across the clearing, Sophia had collapsed to her knees, hands bound, her face soaked with tears. Her usually sharp, confident blue eyes were wide with helplessness. "No, no, no..." she whispered over and over, her voice cracking as she watched the unthinkable unfold. She struggled against the ropes at her wrists, but it was futile.

Mariel couldn’t hold it in any longer. She was sobbing openly now, biting her lip until it bled, trying not to scream. The bone crown on her head wobbled as she trembled, the absurdity of the garb mocking the reality of what was happening. Her fingers dug into her thighs, nails clawing at her own skin as if punishing herself for being powerless.

Sera turned her face into Jason’s shoulder, weeping quietly, her small frame shaking with every breath. Jason didn’t speak—his jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on the priest’s hand as it tightened around the knife.

Liam, though bloodied and broken, tried to lift his head. His vision was blurred, crimson leaking into his left eye, but he could still make out the shape of Eleanor pinned on the altar. He wanted to scream, to call her name, but nothing came. His throat felt like it was being crushed by the weight of the moment. His heart thudded painfully in his chest—once, twice—each beat screaming for him to do something, anything.

Borik sat slumped to the side, his hands over his ears, rocking gently. "My fault... it’s my fault..." he muttered to himself. "Greedy little fool, chasin’ gold and ruins... should’ve stayed in the damn mountains." His voice cracked as he looked up, eyes glassy with regret. "I brought ye all to this... this hell."

Even Von, unconscious and bleeding from the earlier blow, groaned faintly where he lay. His fingers twitched in the dirt, but he remained still, caught in that hazy place between waking and sleep.

The priest raised the blade a little higher now, chanting louder. The crowd around him swayed and moaned in unison, waiting—hungry and eager for the next offering to their god. Painted warriors banged their spears on the ground. Smoke coiled into the air, twisting like spirits fleeing a cursed earth.

Eleanor clenched her jaw tight, her body shaking. She closed her eyes. She had always been strong, always composed. But now—now she was just a girl on a slab, waiting for death.

She tried not to think of home.

She tried not to think of Liam and the others.

But their faces burned into her mind like fire.

And just as the priest inhaled deeply, his blade ready to descend—