Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 95: A god

Liam had been still too long. Too numb. The weight pressing against his chest had turned to something else now—hot, wild, and untamed. Anger. Fury. Not just at the natives or the battles, but at the truth. At everything they’d gone through. At the deaths. At the lie they had all been sold by Nexus Corp. The betrayal. The horror. The senselessness of it all.

And now... the giant knelt before him.

The colossus that had nearly killed him, that had smashed Eleanor into a hut, whose roars had filled the place with terror... was powerless now. Bloodied. Beaten. His massive hands trembled by his sides. His body heaved with each breath. His head hung low, waiting for whatever fate Liam would choose for him.

Liam stood tall, eyes burning with something deeper than just rage—resolve. His blade was slick with blood, streaks of crimson running down its steel edge. The silence around him wasn’t peace—it was fear. It was reverence. The natives didn’t breathe too loudly. Even the wounded among them dared not groan. The smoke curled between them all like ghosts clinging to the aftermath.

Then, without a word, Liam stepped forward.

The giant looked up, just once, just for a moment—his eyes a murky brown, full of fatigue, of resignation. Maybe he thought there was mercy in Liam. Maybe he hoped for it.

But Liam was done hoping. Done waiting. Done pretending.

With a swift and precise movement, almost elegant in its finality, Liam raised his sword and swung. One clean arc of steel.

Schlak.

The blade sliced through flesh and bone in an instant. The giant’s head rolled to the side with a heavy thud, bouncing once before coming to a stop, his glassy eyes staring into nothing. His hulking body teetered, then crashed to the ground like a felled tree, shaking the earth beneath them.

Gasps echoed from the gathered natives.

They hadn’t expected it. No one had.

For a long moment, everything was still again. The jungle quieted as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. The scent of blood and burnt leaves hung thick in the air.

Then Liam turned slowly, his gaze sweeping across the remaining native warriors. His jaw clenched, shoulders heaving. His face was still streaked with sweat, dirt, and blood, but his eyes—his eyes were something else entirely now. Alive with fury. Bright with something primal.

He raised his sword again, pointing it toward the stunned crowd.

"Anyone?" he shouted. His voice cracked like thunder across the ruined shrine. "Anyone of you bastards still want to fight?!"

The words hung in the air like fire. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

The natives didn’t respond, they didn’t understand his words.... Instead, they cowered in fear.

They didn’t shout. They didn’t charge.

Some backed away. Others lowered their weapons. And slowly... one by one... their eyes dropped to the ground. Knees trembled. Bows fell from hands. Then, with a reverent kind of terror, the first among them dropped to both knees, lowering his head in a full bow.

Then another. And another. Until the clearing was filled with kneeling figures, heads bowed low, arms spread before them as if in worship.

Von’s eyes widened. "By the Ancients..." he whispered, voice dry with disbelief.

Jason blinked, stunned. "What the hell is going on?"

"They’re... kneeling," Sera murmured, almost to herself. "They’re kneeling to him."

Von stood slowly, using his club like a cane. "This... this is no ordinary gesture," he said, a note of awe in his voice. "These jungle tribes... they only do this for what they believe to be divine. To them..." He turned to Liam, who still stood tall with blood on his blade. "You are their god now."

Liam’s sword lowered slightly. His brows furrowed as he looked around, confusion creeping into the hard lines of his face. "What?" he muttered. "What are they doing?"

Mariel stared at the rows of bowing warriors, then looked up at Liam like she was seeing him for the first time. "They think you’re a god, Liam," she said, voice quiet but clear. "You ended their ceremony. You killed their priest. You defeated their champion. You did what no one has ever done."

Sophia stepped forward, bruised and bloodied, her bow hanging by her side. Her eyes, rimmed with tears and soot, locked on Liam’s. She didn’t say anything, but the way she looked at him—like he was something greater now, something more than human—said it all.

Even Eleanor, still lying on the ground as Sera and Mariel wrapped her wound, lifted her head slightly to see him. Her pain was clear, her body weak, but her gaze was strong. Proud. Grateful.

Only Marcus broke the silence with a scoff, wiping blood from his lip and cracking his neck.

"Well I’ll be damned," he muttered. "Look at all of ’em. Bunch of murder-happy maniacs now kneeling like puppies." He took a step forward and spat near one of the native warriors. "You hear that, you bastards? You’re lucky he’s the one standing there. If it were me, I’d have burned the whole place down."

Jason gave him a look, but even he couldn’t argue.

Because it was true. Liam had done something none of them could. Not just physically—but something deeper. He had faced the weight of death, of fear, and still rose.

Now, he was standing at the center of it all—alive, burning, and untouchable.

Liam looked around again, breath still heavy, his heart thundering in his chest.

He didn’t feel proud.

He didn’t feel victorious.

But the sight of all these people kneeling...

That was something else entirely.

Liam stood at the center of it all—blood-slick sword in hand, ash and soot smeared across his jaw, his body shaking not from weakness but from a cold, rising storm within him. The jungle was quiet now. No drums. No chants. Just silence... and the sound of knees pressing into the dirt as the natives bowed, their faces lowered like sinners before the altar of their own undoing.

But Liam wasn’t flattered. Not even close.

He stared at them... these savages. These monsters. Their skin still painted in ash and oils, their arms still stained with the blood of Threk and the woman they’d carved apart like animals. He could still hear her screams, still remember how her blood had poured like water onto the altar. And Threk... his headless body. His soul. Gone. For what? For some twisted belief? For tradition? For madness?

Liam’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. His knuckles went white.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t want this.

Not their reverence. Not their awe. Not their prayers or their trembling loyalty.

Not from them.

He took a few steps forward, glaring at the line of kneeling natives. They didn’t move. Not a single one dared to lift their head. Not a single one spoke. They feared him now. Worshipped him. He could see it in their eyes—those wide, feral eyes.

To them, he was a god.

He hated it.

He hated them.

The word god made bile rise in his throat. God of who? A god of cannibalistic maniacs? A deity worshipped by butchers and blood-drunk zealots? It disgusted him. Every instinct screamed at him to lash out, to raise his blade and finish what he started. To wipe the entire cult from existence. To avenge the dead and burn their foul altar to ash.

He turned to Von, eyes blazing. "I don’t want this," he spat. "I don’t want them. I should kill every last one of them right now."

Von looked at him calmly, though his battered body bore the toll of his own fight. Blood stained his shoulder, and one side of his head was swollen where the giant had struck him earlier. Still, he stood tall—his wooden club resting against the ground, one hand resting on its handle as though it were a staff of wisdom more than a weapon.

"You could," Von said quietly. "They’d let you. Every single one of them would die without raising a hand if you gave the order."

Liam looked back at them, then to the blood-soaked altar. "Then maybe I should," he muttered.

Von walked closer, his voice low. "But they didn’t choose you because you’re like them, Liam. They chose you because you’re not. You stopped them. You broke their chain. You ended the curse they called tradition."

Liam didn’t say anything. His breathing was rough. The sword in his hand felt heavier now, as if burdened by more than just steel.

"They’ll always worship you now," Von continued. "You can’t change that. Even if you leave, even if you hide, they’ll still pray to the idea of you. To what you did. To what you stopped. It’s in their blood now."

"I don’t want it," Liam growled. "I’m not their savior. I’m not anyone’s god."

"No," Von said. "You’re not. But you are their symbol now. And whether you like it or not... symbols have power."

Liam closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight.

He could end it. All of it. A single command and it would be done. But there was something else stirring in him now. Not anger. Not grief.

Responsibility.

If they could choose him—the man who tore down their priest and killed their sacred giant—if they could choose him as their god, then maybe, just maybe, they could change.

He looked back at the group. Sophia, Mariel, Eleanor—bloodied and bruised but alive. Jason leaning on his golden staff. Marcus sitting on a rock, chest heaving. Borik nursing a wound on his shoulder. Sera crouched beside Eleanor, still trying to keep her conscious. All of them were watching him.

"They think I’m their god," Liam said aloud now, louder so the others could hear.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "We noticed."

"I don’t want them," Liam said again. "I hate what they are. What they’ve done."

Everyone nodded slowly.

"But," Liam continued, turning back to the line of trembling natives, "if they chose me... me of all people... then they’ll live the way I tell them to. No more sacrifices. No more blood rituals. No more killing."

Sophia took a step forward, bow still in hand. "You think they’ll listen?"

"They will," Von said before Liam could answer. "They don’t see him as a man. They see him as the end of the old and the start of something new."

Liam looked down at his bloodstained blade, then back at the kneeling tribesmen. "Then they’ll live according to me. Not the priest. Not their traditions. Me."

"Hell yeah," Marcus muttered from the back. "You want followers, Liam? Make ’em earn it."

Sera gave a small nod. "At least this way... something good might come from it."

Liam didn’t say anything else. He just stood there—tired, bloodied, furious, and somehow... in control.

He didn’t want their worship. But if it could stop more death, more horror... then maybe he could bear it.

Maybe, just maybe... something could change.

And the jungle stayed silent. The altar soaked in blood. The new god, unwilling but standing, took his place among history not as a savior... but as a reckoning.