Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 93: What manner of man is he?

The fight had quieted, just slightly. The screeches and the thunder of bodies clashing had begun to fade into something else—panting breaths, groans of pain, and the heavy stillness that follows the storm.

Only the cries of the natives who couldn’t fight now echoed through the shrine clearing. They were huddled, eyes wide, painted faces smeared with blood and ash. They stood frozen in disbelief, watching their riors fall one by one. Their champions were dead or dying, and the foreigners—those strange outsiders they had meant to feast on—were still standing.

Well... most of them.

Von was on one knee, his massive chest rising and falling like a bellows. His club—no longer smooth or clean—was slick with blood and cracked from impact. Splinters jutted from its edge where it had struck something too hard. Blood streamed from a deep gash across his shoulder and another just above his brow. One of his eyes was nearly shut now, and his nose looked broken—blood dripping freely from it onto his beard.

But the two giants he faced? Gone.

One lay facedown in the dirt, a twisted mound of flesh with his skull caved in from Von’s final crushing blow. The other, impaled on a shattered wooden post from the shrine structure, had tried to charge at Von one last time. The big man had stepped aside at the last second, grabbed him by the jaw and throat, and with a roar that shook the trees, threw him sideways into the spike. It was raw force. Animalistic. But it had worked.

Now Von leaned on his club like a crutch, teeth gritted against the pain. Blood stained his animal-hide trousers and dripped from his side, but he hadn’t gone down. He wouldn’t—not until it was over.

Behind him, Mariel and Sera had dragged Eleanor into the shade, just beyond the collapsed hut. Mariel knelt beside her, her hands pressed desperately against Eleanor’s abdomen, trying to stop the bleeding. The girl’s breath was shallow, her eyes fluttering between open and shut, her lips stained with red. Sera was sobbing softly, holding Eleanor’s hand and muttering prayers under her breath. Mariel wasn’t crying—not yet—but her hands were shaking.

"Stay with me, Eleanor," she whispered. "Don’t you dare leave me. Not after what we’ve been through."

Not far from them, Jason sat slumped against a shattered pillar, his golden staff now more red than gold. Borik stood beside him, one arm hanging limp, likely dislocated, his short axe jammed into the earth as he leaned on it. Marcus had dropped his axe, both hands on his knees as he wheezed for air, sweat dripping from every inch of him. His shirt was torn, one eye swollen shut.

Sophia’s bow was cracked at the tip, and she only had a single arrow left—clutched tightly in one hand.

None of them could fight anymore. They had given everything.

Only one was still moving.

Liam.

He was still in the fight.

The last giant—larger than the others, more scarred, more brutal—stood before him, roaring with each breath, muscles twitching with bloodlust. The ground shook every time he shifted his weight. He had seen what happened to his kin. He didn’t want victory anymore.

He wanted vengeance.

Liam stood with his sword raised, chest heaving. Dirt and blood caked his face, and his left arm hung slightly lower—bruised or maybe worse. But his eyes... they were sharp. Alive. Burning with focus.

Jason took a step forward, trying to limp into the fight, but Von extended a bloodied hand.

"No," he said, his voice gravel and fire. "Let him finish it."

Marcus blinked through the blood running into his eyes. "Are you mad? He’ll get killed."

Von didn’t flinch. "You interfere, you break the momentum. He needs this. We need this."

Sophia said nothing, but her grip tightened on the last arrow. Her heart was pounding against her ribs.

Everyone’s eyes turned to the fight.

Even the natives—the ones who remained—watched silently now. No more chants. No more cries. Just the quiet dread of seeing their last hope face a boy soaked in war.

Liam took a slow step forward, his sword dragging lightly across the stone floor, leaving a thin trail of blood behind it.

The giant let out a final roar.

And then... he charged.

The moment the giant charged, the air seemed to ripple with the weight of his momentum. His club, thick as a tree trunk and dark with blood, swept in a brutal arc aimed straight for Liam’s head. The force behind it could crush boulders, and the speed was shocking for something so massive.

Liam ducked—barely. The wind from the club’s swing whipped his hair back, and the crash that followed as it slammed into the altar behind him sent fragments of stone flying like shrapnel. He didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t.

He rolled to the side, came up to one knee, and slashed at the giant’s leg—just below the knee where the skin seemed softer. The blade sliced a thin gash, but it wasn’t deep enough. The giant barely flinched.

The monster roared again, lifting the club high, ready to bring it down in a crushing overhead strike. Liam dove forward, under the swing, sliding across blood-slicked ground, coming up behind the giant. He slashed again—this time across the calf—and the beast howled, staggering briefly.

But not for long.

The giant spun around, faster than Liam expected, and backhanded him with a thick arm. Liam’s body lifted off the ground and slammed into the base of a wooden post. Pain exploded through his back, and for a second he saw stars.

Sophia gasped, stepping forward, but Von held her arm. "He’s not done," he muttered.

Mariel, still pressing on Eleanor’s wound, looked up with tear-streaked cheeks. "Come on, Liam... please..."

The giant stomped toward him, each step shaking the earth, club dragging behind him, eyes wild with fury.

Liam spat blood and rolled to his side, narrowly avoiding another deadly downward strike. The club cracked into the stone beside him, leaving a crater.

He couldn’t fight strength with strength. Not with this monster. He needed to be faster. Smarter.

As the giant raised the club again, Liam used his good arm to grab a handful of dirt and threw it directly into the beast’s face. The giant roared and staggered, blinded for a heartbeat.

That heartbeat was all Liam needed.

He surged forward, blade flashing, and this time he went for the side—just under the ribs. He drove his sword in hard, deep, twisting as the giant shrieked and swung blindly. The hilt of the sword slammed against the giant’s side, and Liam yanked it free in time to duck another wild blow.

He circled behind again, eyes locked, breathing hard. Sweat mixed with blood on his brow.

The giant spun to face him again, slower now, bleeding from his side and his leg. It snarled, and something flickered in its gaze—not rage. Caution.

Liam raised his sword and charged.

He ducked one clumsy swing, rolled low, and with a burst of strength, leapt up and drove his blade through the giant’s shoulder. The beast shrieked and dropped its club, its fingers spasming as it clutched the injury.

Liam didn’t stop. He spun, stepped in, and swept his leg under the giant’s weakened stance. With a guttural yell, he rammed his shoulder into the beast’s chest.

The giant stumbled backward—staggered—then crashed to its knees. The earth trembled beneath its weight.

Liam stepped in, sword raised, the edge gleaming in the firelight, ready to end it—

But he didn’t.

He stood there, panting, blade trembling in his grasp, staring into the giant’s wide, confused eyes. Blood streamed from its mouth. It knelt before him, dazed and beaten.

But not dead.

Liam slowly lowered his sword.

Around them, silence.

The natives who remained stood frozen, their painted faces shocked. Murmurs rose among them—strange, clicking sounds, tongues scraping the back of their throats, low growls, guttural hisses. They looked from Liam to the fallen giant and back again.

Von stepped forward, wiping blood from his beard, his chest heaving. He heard their whispers, and for a moment, he smiled through his pain.

"They’re saying," Von grunted, "What manner of man is he?"

Sophia blinked, her eyes wet. "What?"

Von nodded toward Liam, who stood alone in the center of the shrine, sword still lowered, shadowed in the glow of torches and blood.

"They’ve never seen anyone like him," Von said. "Neither have I."

Marcus, beaten and bruised, managed a breathless laugh. "Damn right we haven’t."

Even Jason, leaning on his staff, grinned weakly. "That’s our boy."

Liam turned slowly, locking eyes with the others. His face was blank—not in shock, not in triumph—but something deeper. Like a fire just barely contained behind his eyes.

He wasn’t finished yet. Not while his friends bled and Eleanor lay broken.

But for now... they all looked at him.

Even the enemy.

And they feared him.